I’ll be back after the first of the year. Much love to you all!
I hope Santa is good to you, but I hope your family is better.
Because one day I might find time to write words, today, you get this.
And also because I, apparently, don’t know what day it is… (It’s not Wednesday?!)
More People Who Don’t Know What Day It Is here.
I remember my dad laughing out loud, heartily, at the show “Married With Children.” I remember thinking it wasn’t that funny. It was OK funny. It was “eh”. But laughing out loud? Not so much.
I think I get it more now. The two kids. The money. The sleep deprivation. The lack of a sex life. The “you better praise your lucky stars I shaved my legs today.” The job. The mortgage.
Did I already mention the kids?
The kids. ... Again ...
We had a long talk last night about our life. It’s hard. It’s not what we thought. It’s more all-consuming having these children. And that’s just from his perspective.
I know you know (but hey! Just in case you’re new here) I was the one who struggled with Postpartum last time around. I’m doing much better this time. In fact, I am almost embracing the whole mom gig. It’s not easy, sure. It’s not always fun, right. It’s annoying/frustrating/exhausting of course. But it’s supposed to be, right? And well.. It’s not all that bad.
Is it possible for Dads to have Postpartum Depression?
I’ll never understand the thought process that having a kid will save a marriage. I had a pretty great marriage. I married my lobster. But those kids, they do things to you. They make you fight. They make you tired. They make you wonder when the last time you did something truly FUN, without having to rush home, worry, wonder what was going on with them. The mister is having a hard time.
And it makes me just so very sad that I can’t fix it. Because I’m a mom and we want to fix everything.
Internet? I just sent my first boobie mail. I’m giggling like a naughty school girl. I’m peering around the corner like I’m going to get caught. I’m glancing over my shoulder to see if anyone noticed. Then? I log on and tell the Internet about it.
Because that’s what I do.
See, I’m giddy because both kids? Right now? Are asleep in one room. THEIR room. The KID ROOM. Do you know what this means to me? Do you know how many months I’ve been waiting for this? Except for the one exception: It’s a little like my preemie going off to college. Sleeping alone. In his own room. Across the hall. My god. He’s growing up so fast.
On the other hand, when I described our sleeping situation to some friends last night I realized, about two minutes in to the conversation, it’s shitty. Just. Plain. Shitty. Mr. Flinger and I have been trading who gets the love seat each night while the other blissfully rests on the long couch. Yes, that’s right, we’ve been sleeping in the living room. We’ve been setting our phone alarms. We’ve been going to bed two hours too late and getting up at 4AM every day with the smallest one. Then, just as the Boy Child goes down at 6:30, the Girl Child walks in, bleary eyed and awake saying, “Will you get me some breakfast please?”
It’s been hell.
So today I prepped both children for the move. “Look,” I said, “my marriage isn’t based around you kids. My marriage is a good one with lots of spice and romance and snuggles. It’s just that once you kids got here? It all went to pot. And I’m effing tired of it.” Kids look up at me with innocent eyes thinking, “We did this? What did we do?” “No, no,” I continue, “It’s not your fault, per-say, It’s just that I’m thirty two and you are, together, less than four years old. I out weigh you both by two olympic gymnasts. I. Win.”
Then I ran the hell out of them and wore them down until they cried Uncle and wanted to go to bed.
And then? They did. Together. An hour ago. And it’s been quiet ever since.
I realize how I am now completely shooting myself in the foot. I know Karma, the bitch, will come to bite me. I know there will be screaming, crying, cussing (me). But for now, I just wanted to tell the Internet that I was so excited, so effing proud of this one tiny thing, this one tiny taking back of my life, that I took a boobie picture and sent it to my husband.
And I’m damn proud of it.
(Now is a great time to tell me you’ve sent boobie mail and that I’m not the godawful whore that I think I am. Plus? It’s fun. So even if I am a godawful whore, at least I’m whoring out to my husband, lucky bastard.)
(And no, there will not be a picture HERE. Jeeze, Internet. You make me blush.)
I once asked Mr. Flinger what the difference between Jesus and Santa was. He answered, almost immediately, “Weight.”
Later we got to talking about the similarities. Real person? Check! Alive only in people’s hearts? Check! Hotly debated? Check! Giver of gifts? Check!
I mean, sure, the fantasy surrounding Santa Claus goes a wee bit further than the stories around Jesus. I mean, it’s crazy, right? Bearded man living in the North Pole who has reindeer fly him around to drop of presents to every kid’s house? And as grown ups, we’re pretty willing to keep that story going.
But then? I wonder. If we’re perfectly willing to lie to our children about this one tiny thing, this one tiny thing plus the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy and the Binki Fairy and the Eat-Your-Peas-Or-The-Monster-Will-Get-You (no? Just us then?) what’s to keep them from growing up and questioning the whole Jesus gig?
I guess, if you think about it, they’re not so different after all. Each one brings a little hope to people who need it and maybe offer some happiness if you choose to believe in that. And you know? Who am I to say that’s crazy. Bearded man in the north pole or not, commercialized or not, believing in Jesus or not, there are still great lessons to be taught here, right?
Like “eat cookies at every single house once a year will get you fat” and “fasting in the desert for 40 days will slim you right up.”
Then, of course, there’s the whole love one another and celebrate life and happiness and hope. And no matter what you believe, that’s not a bad message to have. Don’t you think?
p.s. I’ll update the second in the series boosting your reader’s traffic soon. In the mean time, I’m securing my place in hell.
You know how I’ve been all I dunno if I want to keep blogging and all The Internet seems like a horrifically selfish place now and I just don’t have TIME, people? You know how it’s kind of like your friend in Jr. High who always says she’s fat and you always say, “No, no you’re not” and you know how annoying that is? Like shutthefuckupalreadyaboutthenotblogging. Because? I’m blogging about not blogging?
I even annoy myself sometimes. Trust me.
So I thought it might help to let you in on part of why I came to a head with my blog crisis:
A) Apparently I am a blog failure. According to several articles, I break at least ten very important blog rules. Namely, I don’t always answer comments (I’m so so sorry, Internet. I love y’all. I love your feedback. But damn if I don’t have some sort of shit to clean up ... I mean this literally… every time I want to reply. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s always me.). I don’t participating in social networks. (Facebook? BUHAHAHA. Haven’t logged in for about two months. Cre8buzz? Mia’sMom? Cafemom? All of them? It’s just. TOO. Damn. Much.) I don’t have good content (Farts? Girdles? Cussing?) and I do not update frequently (Per the two tiny spawn of mine who, in the end, I feel deserve more of my attention than faceless people on The Internet, however much I enjoy said faceless people).
B) While launching our Mamaspod.com website, I started doing some research on SEO because frankly, I’ve never done much with it and the goal of our new site is to be a resource some day, as opposed to my personal blog which is, well, personal. I’ve never researches ways to increase traffic. I’ve never really looked in to how to become google’s top bitch. I’ve never considered writing certain things. And that’s when it hit me: Every other single blogger is looking for traffic. I mean, sure, we all want exposure and that I’ve always been thankful for. I’ve enjoyed being linked to. I’ve enjoyed when people say really kind things about me. I giggle like a school girl because writers I respect and admire link and say nice things. But the self seeking traffic is only now becoming a focus for me, for the new website and it’s stressing me the fuck out. If I can be honest.
That’s when it hit me: You people? YOU people? The people who come over, stop in, say hi, read, give me a virtual chuckle here and then or slap my virtual ass? You are the people who deserve the traffic. The love. The attention. Because honestly? Without you? I’d be writing in my locked journal like the sixth grade pimply faced drama queen pondering hormones and boys and makeup. Instead, I do it here, with you, and we can have a good chuckle about my eyebrows together.
Everything is better when it’s shared.
So I’m starting a series on how to get your reader’s traffic. How to help the people who read YOU to have a higher technorati rank. How to be selfless with linking, how to be the one who isn’t afraid to say look! Look over here! I like her/him/them! Because I have a feeling some of the methods you might be using now aren’t as effective as you want them to be. Let’s change that together, shall we?
Next up in the series: Why blogrolling is out and how to help your reader’s technorati rank.
Questions you want addressed? Input you want posted? Got something to say? Let me know.
Also, for fun I added a “call me” button on mamaspod. You can call in and give us some input if you’d like. It goes straight to voice mail that I can use on the air but I did this on Jumping Monkeys and got all giddy when Leo answered my question and Megan remembered me. It was so fun, as if they were talking with me, that we decided to do it, too. So call in, yo. And don’t worry if your baby starts to scream half way through your message. It’s not like that ever happened to ME or anything… cough ... .
I am wearing a girdle for the first time since child #2. It is not pretty. The mass that used to constitute my ab muscles is now squished to the top of a size-that-fit-prior-to-growing-the-largest-belly-known-to-pregnancy “slimming” girdle.
This means one of two things is bound to occur at the office party we are attending tonight for Mr. Flinger’s work: a) someone will ask when I’m due and b) I will get very crampy gas about the time his boss makes his way over to our table and let a teeny tiny SBD slip out. And blame his boss for it.
Remember what happened on our last date? I’m sure this will top it. Let’s take bets, shall we? Who’s in?
Because I have a three year old. Because I have an infant. Because I have a large ass. Because I have a High School English Teacher that said to never EVER start a sentence with Because, I present to you:
The kind ladies over at the Seattle Mom Blogs are letting me share some fitness tips and such on their site. Brave of them, yes?
Please run and check it out. I’ll be updating on Monday with the three moves to do this holiday season. Three. That’s it. Three strength training moves that you don’t need weights, a gym, or more than 6 minutes to do. And I promise you’ll be sore the next day.
In a good way.
Have I mentioned it only a few
times? The 24 hours of bliss? The new podcast site we created? The wine tasting party? Are you sick of it yet? Luckily it’s my blawg and the joy of The Blawg is that One can Blawg whatever they want. Even if the readers are all, “Stop with the freaking new site already! We GET IT. You like to hear yourself talk on top of reading yourself. Gawd.”
Luckily, I’m like a five year old holding her hands up to her ears, “I can’t heearrr youuuuuuuu.”
But honestly, y’all. This wasn’t just an excuse to promote our new site. It wasn’t just a reason to get out and hear ourselves talk. It was a revolution, in a way. It was a bonding of women. As cheesy as it sounds, it was a celebration of being who we are. Women. With Families.
We held a private wine tasting in a small two bedroom suit for a tiny group of invited bloggers and/or business owners. Unfortunately, Mother Nature had other plans and closed most roads in Seattle with a rare snow storm. Three women braved the storm and we enjoyed a small cozy chat with Andrea and Jihan and AmyK. Literally, we laughed, we cried, we farted, we hurled, we talked blog, periods and husbands. We spoke of traveling. Of finances. Of marriage. Of kids.
I only wished everyone could’ve made the trek but I know we’ll all gather again together soon. The wonderful thing about The Internet? It doesn’t have to be this far away thing. Sometimes the Internet can bring you closer to people in your own city.
God, did I just start crying again? Darnit! It’s hormones. That and The Red Tent. But that’s all on the podcast.
Wowzers, 24 hours goes pretty damn fast. The reality of night feedings is weighing back on me shortly, so my half-written OMG-I-hang-with-the-best-effing-people-in-Seattle will have to wait.
But look! Michelle posted pictures!
And so did I!
I just have no idea what the hell this is. I’m pretty sure it’s Laura dancing. See? Don’t you see her? And her little black dress?
You so so SO wish you did. Trust me.
And also, since you’re here, I’ve been dying to ask y’all.
Eggnog? Or no? Because you’re definitely one or the other. You’re never both.
17 guests here now.