Textile Therapy

I've mentioned before that I quilt, right?

It is no secret that when Emily was a baby, I struggled with post partum depression. For three years. BAD DEPRESSION. One of the ways I expressed my love for her was to make quilts for her. I think it was my way of telling her - with a snuggly quilt- that I loved her and wanted to protect her, when I couldn't express that any other way.

I would make her one quilt per month. She would bring these to child care for her nap time. They all had pillows to match. I think some moms thought I was trying to show off , but that wasn't it, at all. This was my way of telling my child that I loved her. That I cherished her. These were my textile arms, my fabric embraces.

As I have been cleaning in the basement, I found the buckets with her quilts. They are all being packed and taken with us. I dream of wrapping my grandchildren in these someday.

January:
Has two quilts. The snowflake and the polar bear quilt. Cause you never know what you'll need in January in New England. I think I made the polar bear one first and then saw the second fabric and thought "We need color in January"....




February:
The ballerina pigs cracked me up. I mean, honestly.


March:
The I spy quilt. This quilt is HUGE. Each square was cut to display a unique item. The teachers in her one year old classroom used to spread this out and play I spy with the Toddlers.


April is a mystery. I am not sure what quilt was made for April. I assume it is around here somewhere...Could be the TinkerBell Quilt....

May:
The birthday cake quilt for her birthday. The frogs are flying fairy frogs. I had intended to applique candles on each year, but never quite made it. This one has lace as the edge of the frosting on the cake.



June:
Teddy Bears and Honey bees. I was at the Shaker Village herb garden days with Emily one year and some one asked me if I sold these quilts. I was shocked. I didn't think anyone would be interested in my quilts. Plus, I view quilts as highly personal items. I have only given two in my life. One for my mother when Emily was born - a grandmother's quilt. One for my sister for her high school graduation - one I called "The Pond" It was a masterpiece - each block was unique and done in a crazy log cabin style. It made the blues, purples and greens shimmer. I plan one making on for my brother when he marries (Give me some advance notice in the event that this will happen, Donnie).


July:
Patriotic frogs and fish. This will be the only red/white/blue thing I make in my life, so take a good look.


August:
The Gardening Gals. This was one of my most ambitious quilts. The pattern kicked my ass, but was stunning. My friend Jessica referred to this pattern as my new "Signature" pattern. As you can see, I use lots of color. I like a riot of color. I want my quilts to glow in a room. No drab colors!


September. Another mystery. There is an apple quilt Somewhere in this house...

October:
Two quilts for October. The first was just a rail fence pattern. the second was a "magic carpet" pattern with the cutest Cats in Masquerade. Those are one inch squares of 11 fabrics. I had to bust my ass to find enough fabric for that quilt. The fabric was long discontinued when I found it.


November:
Harvest - one of the most demure quilts I ever made!


December:
Santas around the world.


Looking back on that time in my life, I try to not regret the emotional void that I lived in for most of those years, feeling like a terrible mother - a bad person. In these quilts, I see me as a good mother, trying to express love in non-verbal ways. These quilts offer me redemption, just as they offered Emily comfort and love.

Good Vibrations

You all recall the "penis post" over at club mom right? Cause if there is something I want to club moms with, it's a penis.

Well, here is part two of what I would like to dub "Dawn's uncomfortable foray into the world of healthy sexual curiosity of the 8 year old."

Now, I am not squeamish when it comes to most things. As an early childhood professional, I had to talk about all sorts of bodily parts, fluids and behaviors. I learned to be direct and to the point. I used to want to crack up as I forced fathers to tell me Where their daughter's diaper rash was - exactly. Nothing like grown men hmming and hawing over the word "labia".

Emily knows all the correct terms for her body. I have taken great pains to make sure that she understands that her body is hers to explore, although it needs to be done in private and not on the living room couch. This freaks Terrance out in ways I can't even put into words.

So this weekend, we were visiting our friends and their son. It was the baby's first birthday and Emily was thrilled to be there with him. We stayed a while longer after everyone else left to chat and let Emily play with Jack. The other Mrs B. and I were casually chatting and vaguely watching our progeny play. Emily had pulled out a little radio flyer ride on toy. She was sitting on it and pushing buttons.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her expression change. She lights up a little. Her eyebrows raise. She smiles.

"Mama! It vibrates!"

I look at the other Mrs B., who returns my look. We both start to laugh. Hard. I bury my face into a pillow. Terrance looks up and says, "What?"

Nothing, honey. Nothing at all.

Anyone have any ideas about explaining why the vibrations feel good?

Yeah, I thought not.

A story which must be told...

to be believed.

Updated to add:
I wanted to give you photos of how close our bedrooms are to one another. For me, it only heightens the hilarity of the whole thing.... I mean, who can fall for "I'm scared" when we are inches away from each other?

And who made it into my bed at 1 a.m. last night? Queen Ninja Badass herself...

Gratuitous Flower Shots

Bear with me. As I separate from my home of 12 years, I must also separate from my garden. I don't talk about my garden much, but suffice it to say that I have built this entire garden from nothing. I have dug and composted and set ladybugs free in this garden. I have planted little cases of praying mantis eggs in the shrubs to encourage good organic bug eating. I am the daughter and granddaughter of gardeners.



While the showy annuals get their places in the front containers, and the small movable pots, the garden beds are reserved for my beloved perennials. Less showy, more reliable, my perennials have become old friends. They plug along with me year after year. Some years I get upset and rip them out of their spots when they have become a little to big for their britches (yes Lemon balm, I AM talking about you). Other years I move them around to encourage their profligation.



Because one side of my house is in shade most of the summer, I have become friends with the shade loving species (not hosta's- bleh). The cranesbill, the lady's mantle, the lamium, the goat's beard, the columbine, the bleeding hearts. For my heart lies with the flowers of spring. The plucky blues and purples. The lush succulent greenery. The showy pink and whites of the bleeding heart. I find these to be hopeful flowers. They are not the bright yellows and oranges of the rudibeckia's or the bright red of bee balm. They are not the white of daisy's or the hot pink of catchfly. They are not the white and purple echinacea I have so lovingly fostered for 12 years. They are not the scarlet oriental poppies I convinced a neighbor to let me have last year, or the cardinal flower I planted years ago for the hummingbirds to fight over. They are not the pink and purple lupines which have now seeded themselves and appear everywhere.



I won't see many of the summer and late summer flowers bloom this year. I am not planting my buckets of heirloom tomatoes, or my buckets of cooking herbs for next to the kitchen windows. Usually by this time each year, I have all of my window boxes filled with the hot pink and white geraniums I favor. Those buckets and window boxes all sit empty at the side of the porch. More than anything else, this signals to my soul that I am leaving this place. I visit my garden every day now. I walk through and say goodbye to these dear friends. It was in this garden that I suspected I was pregnant, as a little female hummingbird fearlessly hovered over my head for fifteen minutes in 1997. I stopped weeding and watched her, spellbound. It was magical.

I will create another garden, but not this garden.

Not quite the same

Apparently Canadian television and American television are not the same.

We found this out as I sat down to choose our digital cable package.

Now, I only have a few shows to which I have pledged undying and eternal love. Most nights, if the television is on in the bedroom, I am watching Comedy Central. What can I say? I like the funny. I thrive on the funny.

My other "go-to" channels are National Geographic, TLC and Discovery. I already confessed several times that I am a shameless nerd. I mean, I did see the new X-men movie -today- to taste the yummy Wolverine goodness. But I digress.

So, down I sit to peruse the cable channels. I scroll down the first set. Hmmm. No Comedy channel. No Nickelodeon. No National Geographic channel.

All right, so they are with the more expensive packages...I can do that. Nope. Don't see them. I go to the Ultra high end package, cause I am NOT moving with no access to Jon Stewart. There is only so much I can take and a life without JS is no life I want to have!

What? What? Where the fuck is Comedy Central? Seriously. I start to get loud in front of the computer. Terrance walks in. I begin to gesture toward the screen. There is NO COMEDY CENTRAL!! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO??? WHAT SICK LAND ARE WE MOVING TO? I REFUSE TO LISTEN TO CELINE DION AND WATCH NON-STOP CIRQUE DE SOLEIL!!!

"There is an online question spot - why don't you just ask them if they have it."

Oh. Well. OK. That seems reasonable.

I type my query into the box. I wait. And wait. And wait. And wait.
Jesus. Is the entire country asking questions about their digital service right now?
Terrance sits on the bed next to me and we both watch the screen. Waiting. Waiting.

A tech comes on-line. Let's call him "Rene", for the hell of it. Rene writes that these channels are not available in Canada. The Canadian government wants to protect the Canadian industry and so these channels aren't "Authorized".

"What about Nickelodeon?" I type.

Nope. Not authorized.

Terrance says - "Ask about HBO!"

Nope. Not authorized.

"Do you have Canadian equivalents", I type. Like Splenda instead of Equal.

"Kinda" is the response. He gives us some website addresses and tells us to go look at them. We do, while staying on line with him.

Sweet Baby Jesus - There it is. On the Canadian Comedy channel - Daily show and Colbert Report. I am saved. Emily does not fare so well. Some of the Nickelodeon shows are on the Canadian version - but not all. Terrance finds a Canadian Movie network which shows some of HBO's stuff, so he breathes easier. Rene seems to sense our stand down of panic on the US end of the internet. He tells us to call when we get to Montreal and they will be there within 24 hours.

Why does my cynical American nature refuse to let me believe that?

Friday Fun with Toys

Following the Ugly Ikea riots, the truth was revealed regarding who was really doing the looting.



Damn you crafty white people. Damn you to hell.

Yeah, they are holding wine bottles.

Shoe Ho' in training

I solemnly swear, as the mother of a girl child, that I will bring her up to love and respect the power of shoes as much as I do. I pledge to buy her an excess of fashionable shoe options by which to express her individuality. I promise to not flinch at spending 40 dollars for a pair of childrens shoes, cause they are damn cute. (There are several pair missing in this photo...)



When appropriate, I will purchase the matching accessories in order to highlight the fabulousness of the shoes, again, regardless of expense. I will do this happily. I will convince her father to do this as well. So much so, that he will start returning with shoes finds for her, in order to prepare her for the type of man she Should marry some day. ( Can you stand the English Roses Line? So Sweet!)



Yes, in this way, I shall pass on the code to my progeny, thus insuring the work for shoe designers for millennia to come. I do so solemnly swear.

Additional ways to scare the shit out of me...

Or "Why it is the afternoon and Dawn hasn't showered yet.."

Here I am, typing away when this god awful noise begins outside my window. Scraping. Loud scraping.

A face is in my bedroom window. Holy shit!!

I sneak to one of the windows with the curtains drawn and peek out to see this:


ACK! There are work people. Washing and painting! Now I can't shower, cause they'll see me! (Did you like how I snuck the camera out of the window to take this undercover pic? - I didn't want to make my presence known...)

Here is an additional way to scare the shit out of me - repeatedly.

Be a Robin. Decide to build your nest in the eave of my bedroom window. Fly at my window several times in the course of the day, startling me EVERY time, then pull up short to your nest. Rinse and repeat.

I popped out of my window to see the nest. The Robin was NOT amused.




I can't see any eggs - can you?

Updated to add, at 3 p.m. today, I have scouted all the work people out and seen them all on the front of the house. They have left the back of the house general area, and I feel it will be safe to take a shower. Cause they're all done with the back of the house...Right?

Exactly. I think you know where I am going with this. Hair is washed and I think - I'm going to shave my legs. Mid leg (and can I recommend the "Basin" brand tea tree and lemon oil shaving cream...Heaven) I hear what I am pretty damn sure is a loud scraping sound. Oh yeah. They're back and in my shower window. Once again, I have flashed my boobs at people unknown. This time however, I added a blood curdling scream and leap as I jumped back out of the shower and tried to get the shower curtain closed. Sadly I still had a leg full of shaving cream and was now trapped in the bathroom. This was because the entire back of the house was re-covered with work people and my clothes were in the bedroom - where someone else was at the window.

So this makes the boy neighbor while doing the underwater handstand, the Painters and the Fuel guy with whom I have inadvertedly shared "the girls" . Good times.

Who needs cocaine when you got sugar?

YOU KNOW WHAT I LOVE??? BIRTHDAY CAKE!!! I LOVE BIRTHDAY CAKE!!! I LOVE BIRTHDAY CAKE EVEN MORE WHEN IT ISN'T MY BIRTHDAY!!!

I LOVE FROSTING!!!! DID I MENTION THAT I AM A DIABETIC AND SHOULDN'T EAT SUGAR?? CAUSE IT MAKES ME CRAZY AND THEN I PASS OUT IN A COMA WHEN MY SUGAR LEVELS PLUMMETT!!

WHHHHOOOOOOOOOO-HOOOOOOOOOO! I LOVE BIRTHDAY'S AND BIRTHDAY CAKE!! I GO TO THE "REAL" BAKERY'S IN TOWN AND BUY THE "EXPENSIVE" CAKE CAUSE IF I AM GOING TO BLOW IT OUT, I WANT THE REAL SHIT. DON'T GIVE ME NO FAKE WHIPPED CREAM SHIT. I WANT THE BUTTERCREAM ALL SUGAR, MADE WITH SHORTENING CAKE.

THE PURE DOMINICAN CANE!!! WHITE GOLD!!!! SUGAR!!!!!



AND NoW I CAn STart TO feeL THE SugAR WEArinG OFF anD WONder how much LONGER tHE higH IS going TO LAST.......



ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

"What's that, Dr. Ferber?"

"You're taking back some of what you said about the family bed? That's right, be-yotch. Eat your words you pompous motherfucker, just as I eat my delicious birthday meal at our favorite sushi joint. I will crush you and all your child development expert friends, just as I have crushed my mother and her professional ideas. Fear Me!!"

We now interrupt the regularly scheduled post...

The woman tried to repress this post for a few weeks, but I Vlad, have seen my opening and taken it. The spawn of the She-devil appears to be celebrating the day she was hatched into this accursed world. The She-devil has been busily assembling 746,359 pieces of German torture plastic(aka Playmobil) and buying cake to appease her hellhound of a child. Little does she know that upon eating the sugar laden flour, the spawn will burst forth as an alien life form. I will then claim her as my own, for she is a expert torturer at her tender age of 8 years.

************************************************************************************


AHHHHHH!!!!! The woman was going to post something witty and erudite here for today, but she seems to have devoured her family in a fit of sleeplessness induced rage.

Oh Yes I, Vlad the Imapler have watched the disintegration of the woman over the several days. The man has been gone for several days on a "business trip". This has left the woman alone with the worlds most dependent almost freaking eight year old ever born unto this dimension.

In addition, the woman is concerned that she is having some kind of hormonal meltdown. She's hot. She's cold. She's exhausted, she can't sleep. She is now waking every day at 5:30 a.m. Why? She doesn't know. A week ago, while talking to a friend ( who frankly deserves a little impaling), the friend suggested that instead of fighting the natural rhythms of her body, she take the morning as a gift of sacred time. Do something for herself. "Ah", thought the she-devil. "I HAVE been wanting to squeeze some more yoga in - this may be a great way to do that in the morning without feeling rushed."

So, when she wakes, she rises and begins to punish herself in the most inhumane ways. While I, Vlad, have told her she looks like an impaled fish as she flops up and down, she insists that these "Sun Salutations" and "Upward Bow" are doing her good. Watching her try to do the move she called "Revolved Triangle" , or "Exalted Warrior" at 6:06 a.m. is enough to make even the heartless Vlad feel a little sorry for her. I have offered to torture her in different ways, involving what Vlad feels will be less pain and suffering on her part, but she steadfastly refuses.

The female succubus seems to believe that this extra yoga will make her tired and able to sleep at the other end of the day. Vlad has not observed this. Last night, at 1:30 a.m., the woman was wide ass awake. She rose at 5:50, wide ass awake. She added 20 more minutes to the yoga to punish herself.

Vlad is delighted at the progress of the small hell hound that is the womans daughter. If Vlad could father girl children , which he does not, Vlad would take this one as his own. For the last three evenings , the hellhound has refused to fall asleep until 9 p.m., whimpering and crying the entire time. The hellhound refreshes herself for 2 hours, then wakes at 11 p.m. to begin the accursed torture afresh. After varied and uninspired threats are lobbed at her, the hellhound falls back to sleep until 1 a.m., when she renews her assault on the She-Hag who is her mother. Last night Vlad overheard this exchange:

"Emily, I swear to god, if I come in that room I will BEAT YOUR ASS!"

to which the hellhound cried loudly and whimpered. She-Hag awoke to find the hellhound snugly enmeshed into her armpit at 5:50 a.m.

I, Vlad the Impaler, may have to adopt this girl-child as my own seed, for she truly understands the subtlety of torture.

My Television boyfriends

I don't watch alot of television. I don't care for reality television. Anything that starts at 10 p.m. and requires emotional involvement is out.

But Fancypants recently highlighted her television boyfriends and that got me to a-wonderin'.

Who are my television men?

First up, Wentworth Miller:



I would help this guy break out of just about anything, let alone prison. Where has this dishiness been all my life? Now, I know that men in real prision don't look like Wentworth here, but DAMN. He is easy on the eyes, and in my imaginary world, he's very smart and witty. And likes to give foot rubs. And does dishes.

Next on the "TV boyfriend" parade:

Jensen Ackles portraying Dean Winchester on Supernatural.



Maybe I like guys who run around slaying the undead and demonic of the world. Maybe I like moody drifters. I don't know, but I like me some Jensen.

And rounding out my trip of man-candy?
Oh yeah. Nathan Fillion.



I could watch Firefly over and over and over and still not get sick of Nathan.

I know. All my guys are misunderstood tough guys with hearts of gold. They all do some ass-whoopin when needed - but only in self defense.

**Honorable Mention**

This is an up and coming TV boyfriend...

He plays "Russell" on Invasion. How the first wife ever left him for the creepy sheriff, I'll never know...

Friday Fun with Toys

With Barbie behind bars, Tink was pretty sure no one would figure out that she was the one who took out Ken. The dude was a hard core fairy dust addict and she was sick of him shaking her down all the time.





Don't forget to visit me at Gimlet Eye...

What makes me laugh

In case you ever wondered what type of thing ( aside from gnomes) makes me laugh so hard that I cry, I offer you Feral Mom.

I swear to god, she can hear the soundtrack in my head....And the swearing, the sweet, sweet swearing.

Go here first...

Then here.

Tell me you didn't pee a little...

True Confessions Part 1

Confession #001

Maybe the scratches on the top of car weren't caused by the car wash. Maybe they were caused by your daughter cheerfully clearing the car off with the steel tipped snow shovel. Maybe.

Confession #002

I know that you do loads of your own laundry when I'm not home. I know that you ignore the stack of the family laundry and wash your own personal load. I know this cause I find them in the dryer, and there is no coincidence large enough to convince me that this is "just what you happened to throw in". Especially as it has happened repeatedly for 15 years. This makes me unreasonably mad. That's why I leave all your clothes for the end, sometimes.

Confession #003

Your electronic organizer? The one you loved in 1998? Yeah. That didn't fall out of your car and get run over by your tire. I washed and dried it in the laundry , then tried to get you to think you'd done it by wedging it under your tire, in the rain.

Confession #004

I always spend more than I've told you I've spent. ALWAYS. No one gets this many shoes for what you think I've spent. That's the beauty of my own checking account.

Confession #005

I know where your belt, glasses or wallet are. I just think it's funny to watch you run around like a crazy person looking for them.

Confession #006

I WANT you to go out with your friends. Please. Get out of the house. Plus you always come home awfully grateful for what you have at home after listening to your friends bitch and moan about their wives.

Confession #007

When I say, "I don't care", sometimes I don't care. Sometime I do. Listen for the tone. It's been 15 years, it shouldn't be this hard to figure out.

Confession #008

When you go out of town, I play video games like a maniac. I also leave the bathroom door open when I pee, cause you aren't there to get all freaked out. And I don't do the dishes until right before you come home. Basically, chaos reigns.

Confession #009

I'm not really sleeping when I bump you at night. You're snoring Loudly and I have got to do something to stop the noise.

Confession #010

Your mother and I talk about you. When you are being a shit, I call her and she convinces me to stay married to you. You don't know how much you owe to your mother. Seriously.

But you should have seen what I did to the kid who cut in line...

During our recent trip to Florida, the father of Emily’s best friend made a funny observation about me.

Apparently - I can be a little combative.

As we were walking into Universal Studios, it was discovered that the ticket machine had spit out two child tickets and one adult ticket. Now, we had been in the same park a couple of days before ON THE VERY SAME PASSES with no problem.

Until we met the Gatekeeper. She was bound and determined that I was not getting through the gates with this faulty ticket. My daughter was leaping and bounding by her best friend. An adult had to be directed back to the guest services. All right. Terrance would take both tickets back and I would accompany Emily into the Park – seeing as we had a valid adult ticket – and a valid child’s ticket.

Not so much. The Gatekeeper began insisting that I couldn’t be in the park without carrying my ticket around with me.

According to the other father, there was a transformation that overcame me. He feared for the Gatekeeper. I looked mean. I looked like I was about to open a whole six-pack of whoop ass on the Gatekeeper.

Instead, my husband grabbed me and dragged me over to guest services to exchange the tickets while Emily waited with the other family.

When we got through the gates (AND we were stopped again, since one ticket had already been processed for the day and we were clearly trying to sneak Back into the park), the father said, “Wow. You looked like you were going to kick that woman’s ass.”

At first, I had no idea of what he was speaking. I looked at him quizzically. “You aren’t someone that I would want to piss off – but you know, she was just doing her job.”

“OH!” I began to laugh. “I wasn’t even that upset – I just wanted to know Why and she wasn’t giving me a good enough answer.”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t get in your way.”

Apparently, I am a bad mamma-jamma.

Something you won't see at "Gimlet Eye"

A search engine directed a reader here with the phrase:

"best ass tease"

Alas, I was only number three in this catagory, but I'll take what I can get.

And thank you, skanky reader, for giving me both an odd compliment and the desire to shower.

Big Audio Dynamite

Yeah. This is me. Talk about "phoning the shit in"...

Don't forget - The Gimlet Eye

Don't make me take the phone sex gig....

G-N-O-M-E-S, bitches.

On Friday, I pulled into my driveway. I had to leave work early, cause - Terrance is gone and he is my child care provider. With his absence, I have to be home to greet our hellion as she pupates from the bus. I know, I know. Life is rough when you are the working parent who has to leave work early to greet the kid. Suck it. I carry the health insurance.

So, I leave my office at 2:30 p.m. I estimate about an hour to get home, if there is no traffic. I make it in 45 minutes. I am pleased.

I pull all the way into the driveway and this is the sight that greets me:



I begin to laugh. Hard. Belly laugh. I grope about for my camera in my purse. As I walk up the paved path, I see this on the opposite side of the garden, artfully place near the Lupines:

Might I add that if ever there was a gnome porno money shot? This would totally be it.



I am crying with laughter. CRYING. I've been gnomed. Do you know how hard it is to de-gnome a garden once they've established?

I stumble back to my car, gripping my belly with one hand, camera in the other. I am now laughing in those short, hesitant gasps - the ones when you've lost your breath and can't quite take a full inhale?

I compose myself and get my bag and other stuff from the car. I enter the house and find the Gnomer's card. I mentally hail her as the master. Master Gnomer, Ruler of the Gnome Universe.

I turn to put my shoes on the little "shoe rug thing" ( I believe that is the technical term) we keep by the sliding glass door and I see, peeking over the edge of the deck, down among the columbines and cardinal flower....



I may have pee'ed myself a little at this juncture. For real.

Let's just say that the "Gnome" stakes have been seen, and will be raised Master Gnomer. They will be Raised.

It's Showtime...

You're here to see what I'm going to announce - aren't cha?

I know, I'm such a tease.

Well, first I got a little letter, and I was apprehensive. Cause little letters aren't good.....


So I looked anxious and said, "That's it?" as Terrance handed me...



A big Envelope. Which held.....



My acceptance letter.

And there was much rejoicing..


Because there is always time for Monty Python.

And (Drumroll continues.....) My ClubMom site is up. It will start getting promoted on Monday, so you can all be the official first commenters on the hottest piece of Mom blog ass this side o' the Mississippi. Well, that and I'm going to be paid by how many hits I get, so spread it around N'k? Cause I've quit my job as of June 16th and this Mama needs a new non-company owned laptop with Wifi.

I have to say, I am in a great group of ladies in this "Brave New ClubMom World", as sweetney put it. (I then congratulated her on allowing me to pull an Aldous Huxley reference out of my ass. Cause nothing perks up the day like underused literary references, I say.) Amy of Amalah is the Supreme Overlord Blog Mommy, Kristen of Motherhood Uncensored, Jenn, Nina, Jenny, Amanda, Grace, Linda and Lena are all on board, so it is sure to make for some interesting, funny, thought provoking reading. (Watch us all try not to swear)

So the new blog is here:

http://gimleteye.clubmom.com

And get it? The Gimlet Eye? Baleful Regards? HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA. I do so make myself laugh.

Tomorrow? Gnomes. That's all I have to say.

Oh Yeah, I'm Back...

And to prove I am back, and bet-tah than before. I give you a photo taken in Emily's room.

I'm even giving you this post early as the Friday post as a token of my deep and everlasting appreciation..

((Oh, and big news to be announced on Saturday on this blog. And no. I ain't pregnant. You all read the ball icing peas stories, Come ON!))


So without further ado, I present.......



*************************************************************************************

Now that he really had time to think about it, Ken regretted that last "you could stand to lose a few" comment to Barbie.

De-tox

Today I let go of my pain. I forced myself to focus on Now and not the unchangeable past, or unknowable future. Now.

Energy calls out for other like energy. If you are in a shitty mood, eventually everyone else will be too. Your decision to change your energy can have vast impact on not only yourself, but others around you.

My Pain-body has been in control of my life for about six weeks now. This isn’t depression – different feel entirely. Believe me, I know. My Pain-body sensed an opportunity and, as is it’s nature, leapt at it. By keeping me focused on the past and future, I was paralyzed to attend to now.

The pain-body likes pain. It feeds on pain. It wants to stay alive so it looks to create feeding opportunities. Mine created a hell of an opportunity. It has gorged itself for six weeks.

Until today, when I finally – FINALLY – understood what this was about. Yeah, I know what my therapist said and Yes, she was right, but until I “got it”, I couldn’t get it. My life is going…beautifully. I mean – Duh, right? Accepted to a PhD program? Paid to blog? WTF, Dude?

“Oh No”, said the Dawns pain-body. “Now is the time to remind her about the last time she felt really awful”, it thought casting around for the right trigger. Once found, it latched onto it. “Feeling too successful is Bad. Feeling too good is bad…Must…create…chaos…to…divert”, said Dawns Pain body.

And it did. Chaos that I haven’t seen in years. Shit loads of Chaos. So much, I couldn’t recognize the person I was at that time. She was someone I had not seen in a long time. She does things that Dawn would never, ever do. Like drink a bottle of wine on a Sunday night.

In a last ditch attempt to re-focus myself from doing this PhD program, moving to a city that I love, my mind created needs and wants that weren’t real. Not hallucinations but feelings.

People who live in their pain-body? Addicts. Pick an addiction and you’ll see a person who is avoiding their life now. I started acting like a junkie, looking for the next score, chasing the high that they once had a long time ago.

That’s who I’ve been. It’s sickened me, literally. I tried to purge with extra long sessions of yoga, punishing myself to the point of exhaustion. I’d stopped eating. I’d stopped sleeping. I couldn’t meditate. I just wanted to chase the high. I had it once and I could have it in the future, if I just ignored now. “Come on Dawn – hurts so good”, whispered my pain-body.

I won’t lie, I followed. Willingly, happily, complicity. This Sunday, the true Dawn popped out and gave Pain-body Dawn a real kick ass dressing down. Ergo the bottle of wine. By Wednesday, Pain Body Dawn was in withdrawal mode. Twitching, crying, pleading for something – anything – just feed it. You don’t need pride. You don’t need intelligence. Just give in. Get the high.

Today, I woke up. I looked at the shell that Pain Body Dawn has left and thought, “Thank god, that’s over.” I actually felt her lift from me today. It was glorious.

“Welcome back”, I said to me. “You’ve got some work to do now…”

I have a feeling I will sleep tonight.

Same Planet, Different Worlds

Terrance:(in living room , on couch) "Honey, Bring me the glasses thingy"

Me:(at computer in bedroom) "What?"

Terrance: "The glasses thingy - bring it to me.."

Me: "The glasses thingy?"

Terrance: "Yeah, the things for the glasses"

Me: "Are you asking for Lens cleaners?"

Terrance: "Bring me the glasses thing - you know the things for the glasses"

Me: "Are you referring to Lens Cleaner?"

Terrance: "Yeah, the stuff for the glasses.."

Me: "Do you mean the Lens Cleaner?"

Terrance: "Dawn, stop playing, bring me the stuff - the thing for the glasses.."

I rise and walk the 15 steps from the bedroom to the living room. I am holding the box clearly labeled "Lens Cleaners".

Me: "Are you referring to these Lens Cleaners?"

Terrance: "Yes, just give me one of the damn things.."

Me: "I'd be happy to get a lens cleaner for you."

I hold the box like Vanna White. I smile. I pose.

Terrance: "You're such a smart ass."

Epilogue et al.

So On Monday, I went to work. Yes. Hungovah as Hizz-ell. This is not a state I frequent at the age of 36, and I looked every bit as bad as you think. I actually did take some pictures for you. Cause I'm all about the transparency, baby.

People avoided me, as I looked like the first US carrier of bird flu. I drank coffee and water and ate my Advil liquigels like the manna from heaven they are. I nearly fell asleep at my desk at about 3:30.

I drove home at 4:30. I arrived at 5:30. Cause I work 28 miles away. I parked the car in the driveway. I was annoyed because my spouse had parked the damned Mercedes Square in the MIDDLE OF THE DRIVEWAY. There is, in my opinion, no reason for this. There is plenty of space to park two cars, side by side. I have to pull up as close as I can so the ass of my car doesn't poke out into the street. This makes Hulk ANGRY..

I stumble into the house. I take more Advil and water. I go lay down. Terrance comes in and says "You want anything from the store?"

I stare at him. Balefully.

"You're gonna have to take my car - cause you took all the room in the driveway and I had to park behind you".

My wifely rattle is going off. Back away Cowboy! Tuck your pants into your boots!

He leaves. He returns. I've not moved. He storms into the bedroom.

"OHMYGOD! DID YOU NOTICE THAT YOU HAVE NO BRAKES? YOU HAVE NO BRAKES? DIDN'T YOU NOTICE? AND ANTIFREEZE! YOU'VE GOT NO ANTIFREEZE OR BRAKE FLUID! DON'T YOU CHECK THESE THINGS?"

"I have brakes. They were braking the whole way home without trouble.."

"NO YOU DON'T - DIDN'T YOU NOTICE HOW SOFT THEY WERE?"

I now begin to stare at him. In earnest. He rants. He raves. He gesticulates wildly.

I maintain my icy, hungover silence. The full Baleful regard is in effect. We've been down this road before....

Which he seems to finally notice. And stops.

"Oh. Yeah. OK. Why don't you take the Mercedes to work tomorrow and I'll get your car filled up, the oil changed and topped off."

Wise man. Stop poking at her with the stick. Nothing good can come of it.

************************************************************************************

And now, cause I L-O-V-E you all so much- Here they are. The post Sunday night photos.




Believe it or not, this isn't even the full "Look" - It can get much, much worse.


And then I had to stop at Walmart to buy the supplies....



Come to me, beautiful...

Chickens roosting in my house. Snarky Chickens.

Sunday night, I am getting dinner ready. No, not cooking - just putting things on plates. Geesh, I hadn't had the bottle of wine YET!

Emily: "Mama - um....look."

Me: "What babe?"

Emily "Your pants..."

Me "What, is there something on my bum?"

Emily "No, it's your shirt..."

Me (twisting to see) "Is there something on my shirt?"

Emily (sighing) "No, I can see your underwear. You need to pull your shirt down. It's not appropriate, Mama."


I have been called out by my daughter in my house for the whale tail.

Oh yeah baby. I may drink a bottle of wine on a work night. I may swear creatively. I may spend her college fund on shoes and Gorillez CD's, but dammit. She can spot a fashion faux pas at a million yards.

Go, grasshopper. You have surpassed your teacher.

In which Dawn gets spectacularly drunk and blogs-

Oh Deary, deary dear. I have taken a photo essay in which I consume the whole bottle of wine and then blog about it.

Dawn is feeling good. Good with the aid of a bottle of good Spanish wine. White, if you must know.

All right. So I spontaneously decided the drink the whole bottle of wine. None of your damn business. But at least you get to reap the benefits.

Here I am at 7 p.m. Yeah. I tried to gnaw the cork off of the bottle. I mean, I got it off once. Why can't I get it off again? Apparently, my teeth aren't made for this task...
-




And then I show you my attempts to get the rest of the cork out of the bottle.
Sigh.


OK - here is the 3rd glass of good Spanish wine. Full. Mmmmm. You are my friend Spanish wine.



And then I decide to pay tribute to my girlfriends. Who, frankly, are the balls. I mean, they give me this shit....Yeah. It says "Most Likely to Succeed" -What of it Bitch? And this..

Yeah, it is the Ganagsta Rap coloring book. What of it? Props to my be-yotch Leah and Denise.


And then, what next?


Yeah, I take a look to see how much wine is left. I estimate a glass and a half.


I think that will take me about 46 minutes to get down.


Did I mention that I am pretty sure that wine has ALL of your vitamins and minerals?


That glass looks lonely. Should it be refilled?

Oh, Shit yeah...


Hmmm, here is Dawn, downing the glass. Delici-ou-sess.


Go Dawn, Go!


Again. Why does Dawn need to get drunk tonight? None of your damn business. Just enjoy her ability to make a spectacle of herself...
Dawn Goes outside to enjoy her last glass..



The loons are singing. She is drinking the last of the bottle.



Salute!



Dawn looks at the night sky...



and Ponders her existence. The Desert. Straws. Firefly. John Mayer's
"Your Body is a Wonderland" plays on her CD player - over and over. Givers, Takers and choices. Sadness, elation, and joy. All rolled up in a bottle of Spanish white wine which will make her sleep for at least tonight. As John Mayer sings. Her candy lips. Her bubblegum tongue.

"Damn Baby, you frustrate me..."

She hopes that tomorrow will bring better things...She swims in a deep sea of blankets...