Can I have a tantrum?

How do you make a hormone?  Don't pay her.

My hormones are completely out of control right now.  It's usually like this, it's nothing new.  However, currently my life's stressors seem to have kicked it up a notch (or three) so today the whole "girl-hormone" thing is almost too much to handle.  Like the straw that broke that poor camel's back (speaking of water retention).

Here's how I'm usually affected by my hormonal changes:

I eat.  Anything.  And a lot of it.  Like the other day I should have guess this was starting when I had a Whopper Jr.  and then before the paper wrapping even hit the trash can I was asking Kevin if he wanted to go to Taco Bell.  Of course he said yes, he would never deny me.  I proceeded to order my food and had to end my order with the words, "Don't judge" because I CLEARLY got a look from the counter girl.  Whatever, bitch.  I ate it all too.  It seems like the foods I want to eat are all shitty, fast foods.  Normally, I don't really eat those.  

Tonight Kevin and I are going to indulge in some Chinese Carryout (more on the water retention, good stuff).  I can't wait.  It's sad that A) I am clock watching for 5pm when I can go to his house and get my fucking food and B) I'm blogging about it.  S doesn't like Chinese food, or is it Japanese, or is it Thai...?  I don't know... I just know there is some issue with rice and I haven't had any fucking Chinese Carryout in a long goddamn time and tonight's the night.

Can you JUST READ THE HORMONES coming through?

I drop things.  I drive badly.  I cry.  I'm horny.  I over-share.

I sound really fun when I'm hormonal, don't I?

So on top of all of this, I'm a little sleep deprived from working... and I'm trying to get my resume together for a job interview on Thursday.  LOVELY time for a job interview I think.  Perhaps I'll bring donuts, try not to spill coffee on myself, and over-share about stealing work jello with possible (probable?) pubic hair my blog.  Do you think they'll hire me then?

Good Question.

In another blog I read, Feministe, a writer asks the question, "What would your 15 year old self say to your current self?"  The writer links back to a recent New York Times interview with Katy Perry where she was asked "What would her 15-year-old-self, the one whose teenage dream it was to be a gospel star, think of her life now?"

You can read the blog and the interview if you'd like. 

I think we should consider the question ourselves.   

What would 15 year old me say to 31 year old me?

I think she would be really surprised that I am not a writer, maybe disappointed.  I  think she would be completely shocked that I am a nurse and almost a nurse-midwife.  (I always hated biology and science.)  She would be amazed that I have 5 kids because at 15, I wasn't sure I wanted any.  I was going to be single forever and move away and live a fantastic life as a journalist.  Hey -  I was 15.

She would ask me, "Don't you miss Theresa?"  Fuck yes.  I do. 

She would laugh, "So you married him?"  Yes.  I did.

She would ask if I still knew her.  I don't.

She would say in disbelief more than ask the question, "You forgave?"  I have.  I would assure her... you will.

I would spend some time telling her about S and the life I hope have with her.  I don't know what the 15 year old me would say to me about being gay.  At 15 I knew, but still didn't want to be.  I think I can say that if the 31 year old me, visited and told me what my future held - things might have been different. 

But this isn't the time time for the 31 year old me to give sage wisdom to the 15 year old me.  No no... this blog is supposed to be about the little 15 year old girl, seeing herself in the future, and what that might mean to her.

I admit, there is much I want to tell the 15 year old me. 

Fear: Does it motivate you or paralyze you?

What would you do if you weren't afraid?

I find that most of my life has been filled with fear.  'Bullshit,' my friends are thinking.  My friends that read this.  I think that they see me as this totally brave woman.  A fearless woman who just goes out and does instead of sits and says.

If they really knew how afraid I am.  How afraid I've been. 

I think we are all afraid and I really don't feel special in this.

I have looked fear in the face though, and I have used it to motivate me.  But I do admit that there is a lot more that I feel is paralyzing about fear.  There are a lot more fears and anxieties that I have than confidences.  I'm just a really good fucking actress.  Maybe.  Or maybe people really can see right through me.

What would I do if I weren't afraid?  What have I done?

Leave him.  Hurt him.  Admit that there is no other way.  In admitting that I am a lesbian, I could not stay married to him.  For a long time I tried to find ways to leave him without hurting him.  I tried to will him into leaving me, thinking he would hurt less.  I never wanted him to get hurt.  I don't want anyone to hurt.  I was afraid, so I got married.  I was afraid, so I stayed married.  I was afraid, so I got divorced.  Fear was paralyzing and motivating. 

Fall in love.  Not use my body as a tool, as a way to avoid real communications or real relationships.  It's easier to fuck than talk.  It hurts more to be rejected for my thoughts than my body.  Talk.  Listen.  Share.  Even this blog, its' all fear based.  I get afraid.  I get quiet.  I come here and write.  It's bullshit.  To those who've told me it's so brave... bullshit.  It's not.  So... I try to make this as an authentic place as possible.  At least I can do that.  These, my friends, are the truest of my thoughts and feelings that I can share.  This is as close to me as one can really get.  My body is not involved.

Forgive.  Them.  Me.

At one time in my life I was afraid of failing, and that fear did NOT stop me from becoming a nurse.  Again, though, the fear is back.  I don't think it's a fear of failing this time.  I don't know what I am afraid of.  But the fear is there, on the surface and I have two simple choices.  Stay in school.  Quit school.  I really feel like I am meant to be a midwife, or rather, I am a midwife.  But I made choices and now, continuing my education at this point seems questionable. 

I chose myself over the lie of my marriage that was killing me.  I chose loving my kids fully over struggling to fight the resentment that was building daily while parenting them on an empty tank.

What would I do if I weren't afraid?  What have I done?

Play the guitar; Tailor my own clothes; Buy a real camera and learn to use it; Audition for community theater; Interview for a per diem RN job; Return at least one creditor's phone call; Learn how to make sushi; Cut my own hair; Wax my own bikini area;  Apologize; Forgive; Own a pet that I can't just flush down the toilet if it dies; Continue an unplanned pregnancy; Terminate an unplanned pregnancy; Talk without shame about those hard choices; Tell a friend the truth instead of biting my tongue; Write this blog as if no one ever reads it; Let myself cry and not stop; Admit that I am afraid...

There's a lot.  Too much.  So much.  But I have to keep moving forward and I must keep facing my fears.  At the end of the day I want to say, "I did all I could.  I did my best."  Some days, I wonder if that's true, sadly.

2 Moms, 4 Kids, Unplanned Trip to the Mall, Shoe Shopping (sounds fun right?)

S's phone is damaged, and she's getting a new one sent to her in the mail.  In two weeks.  WTF?  Are they delivering it on ponies?  Anyway, until then the company was kind enough to offer her a "loaner phone."   However, I live in the middle of fucking nowhere it seems and the nearest retailer for her phone company is about 45 miles away.

Road trip!

S and I packed up the kids yesterday for an impromptu, Saturday afternoon road trip to the mall.  45 miles away.  You would think an hour drive in the car wouldn't be that big of a deal ....

Five minutes into the "road trip" I had to stop for food.  Not lying.  Subway sandwiches and drinks.  All I could think about was what was happening with the Baby and her carseat while she was being left unattended with her "small" 22oz sprite.

Road trip, continues!

OH OH OH... let me mention... I had worked the night before and only had like 4 hours of sleep.  (I just want you to have the whole picture.)

We finally arrive at the mall and the kidlets are mesmerized ... you will never guess... by the escalators.  Right away the Boy wants to ride the escalators.  I have to promise him after S gets her new phone we can have one ride.

While waiting outside the cell phone kiosk for S to settle up this loaner phone deal... something comes over me.  Something stronger than me.  Something outside of my control.  I can hear myself talking and I can't stop the words, "Would you guys like to buy new school shoes while we are here?" 

(What have I done? < Internal voice shrieking< ) 

The Boy is elated at this idea.  M said she definitely NEEDS new shoes; however she is in this phase where she needs anything that anyone else is getting.  Lately she needs chiropractic care, eye glasses, and just yesterday she asked about tampons.  L said she's all set on shoes, but would like some outfits.  OF course she does.

S finishes with the kiosk.  I tell her the shoe plan.  She's in.  She's pretty easy.  She just wants to play with her new phone anyway.  She's barely watching where she's walking.  See, if she had been paying attention maybe she could have snapped me back to reality.  But no, onward, to the shoe department we go trotting.

But first...

Baby has her hand down her pants again.  Have I ever mentioned that we are potty learning?  She's doing so well!  If you don't mind spending most of your day in the bathroom with her, or telling her to get her hand out of her panties, or watching her change her panties, or helping her wash her hands a 100 times, or hearing about how she has to poop all day long but we don't have any diapers... really... it's going really really well!!

First we all stop at the toilets and everyone does their business EXCEPT the BABY.  Figures.

Shoe shopping.  Where do I even begin to describe what that was like?  It wasn't really that bad, I guess.  It seemed as though at one point I was sitting on the ground in the department store surrounded by piles of shoes in boxes with four kids, none of whom had on any shoes... no the Baby had on display shoes that were four times too big for her.  I literally layed down and asked S if we were on Candid Camera.

All in all, the Boy and M came away with new shoes and were happy.  I told L that her outfit would have to wait.  I just didn't have it in me. 

But let us not forget... the escalator ride.  We had to go up, then down.  Good god.  What must people think when they see us?

As we were leaving I was doing my little "head count" thing I occasionally do.  Moms with lots-o-kids do this.  We can't help it.  Suddenly I realized, WE ARE SHORT ONE!  Who's missing?! 

The Baby was over by the escalator still with her little chubby finger resting ever so gingerly on the Emergency Stop button.  Ah Jesus.

So on the ride home things were fairly quiet.  Except S and I kept hearing Baby squawking about something in the her seat.  Finally I decided I needed clarification, "Baby are you saying Poo Poo or Boo Boo?"

pleasesaybooboopleasesaybooboo.... There is SUCH a difference in boo boo and poo poo, ya know?  I really didn't want to deal with the poo poo smell all the way home. 

She had a terrible little boo boo that needed some attention.  THANK MOTHER CHRIST.  It was just a mosquito bite she scratched open.  Phew.  Dodged that bullet.

S is basically on CLOUD 9 (yeah, me too)

S talked to her family a few days ago and I guess they already, ahem... knew about me.  And when I say they know about me, ME means all of me, all of those kidlets and everything.  She was so nervous that they might be less than supportive. 

I guess according to their conversation to say they were supportive may be an understatement actually. 

My heart is so happy too.  Her parents had questions about her "new family." 

You just never know, ya know.  I'm a mother, and I can understand.  You see one path for your daughter, your son, your child... and then maybe you wake up one day and you realize the kid is no longer a kid and they are not on that path.  But rather they are blazing their way through a forest making their own freaking path.  And... you are scared for them, unsure, apprehensive.  You want things to be easy.  You want things to be easier for them than they were for you. 

But you see your kid... and you are proud.  Because they are not you.  They are them.  They mirror back to you the love and strength that you provided them.

I could have told S that... a couple weeks ago, when she was biting her nails over this.  But, I didn't.  I don't know her mother.  I don't know her father.  I can see what kind of woman S is though.  And I can see what kind of mother S has been when she's with the kidlets... and there really wasn't a doubt that THAT didn't come from somewhere... from someone.

Tonight when I picked the kidlets up from their dad's, the Baby and the Boy came running to me.  Baby signing, "Mommy-mommy-mommy-" and I scooped her up rather swiftly.  I kissed her on the cheek and she said, "Is S home?"  I went out to the porch and she saw S in the van and ran out to her.

S is home.

Maybe it was the GERD

S and I went out for lunch today.  She wanted spicy.  I had overindulged the night before with my wine and had taken some ibuprofen.  So... I'm not sure what was up with my stomach, you see... I was feeling wickedly sick before lunch and during our festive fajita feast all I could think about was lying down in the cool pleather booth.  Was it the overindulgence the night before?  The medicine stomach?  The fact that I have GERD and I'm not taking my protonix any longer?  (fuck, I feel old sometimes)

Anyway, cold sweats were about to ensue and she insisted we get the check and make it back to the Shack to cuddle on the couch with movies.  I was all in favor of that.

Here's my blog.

Every single time we are out to eat... anywhere at all... any kind of dining... the check gets put directly in front of her.  NOT in between us, ambiguously.  No.  Just smack dab in front of her.  Like where her plate was just two minutes ago.

I have noticed this in the past and it was a mere observation.  But today, blame it on the GERD I guess, I was a little irritated.

It wasn't like we were even asked if we wanted separate checks and S answered for us, "No," so that the server could have subconsciously made the decision S was paying. 

I'm overthinking.  I know.

I should just let her pay for my lunch.  But that's not really the point. 

It makes me wonder what makes the servers do this.

More later... 

101 Days

Ten days ago S asked again if I would marry her; this time she had a ring.  Granted, it was a homemade/woven/dandelion ring, but it was the sweetest ring I've ever been given.  It is my favorite ring, though not very practical for a student nurse-midwife.  It's more of a... keepsake trinket and it will be kept safe forever.

I accepted.  I want to share my life with her, my joys, my children, and I want to be able to have her support in times of struggles, her comfort during painful times, and her love always.  We have spent our time together, giving our attention fully in getting to know one another, and while I don't claim to know S inside and out already (and will I ever?) I have to admit that our communication has been so refreshing to me. (Like, actual healthy, ADULT communication.)

After I said ... "yes" to her big question, she did replace her temporary ring, with a more permanent one.  A more practical one.  ;)

Ten days ago. 8-9-10.  It marked our two month anniversary of our first date.  You remember, right?  The super, inappropriate first date that lasted too many days according to some Rulemaker's schedule.  It feels different, though, not like two months into a relationship.  And speaking of... how did *this* become a relationship anyway?  Everything about her, about us, feels so natural and easy and good.  It just fell into place.  I have no regrets.

So it seems S and I are talking Wedding Talk.  No.  Not really.  Neither of us are interested in anything at all that resembles a traditional wedding or even... really... a traditional marriage (except maybe for the commitment part).  We really just want to share our lives with one another and commit to creating a respectful, sincere, and authentic space for our love to grow and nurture each other and everyone in our family.  Do we need a wedding ceremony to do that?  Do we need the "right" to marry to do that?  Do we need to call this a marriage even?  Probably not.  And wasn't I like *just* in a marriage not too long ago?  Actually, not really.  I guess technically and legally, yes... but by our standards, I cannot say that I feel I was legitimately married.

S knows when I've got something on my mind... when something's bothering me, eating at me, or worrying me.  This isn't necessarily an exclusive trait of hers, no, others have been  able to notice too.  What is different with this woman is that when she says to me, "I wish I knew what you were thinking about," I actually tell her what is on my mind.  It takes some time for me to do so, but usually by the end of the day I open up to her.  She's bringing down my walls. 

Recently I was having one of "those" days, one of those pensive days where I felt very small and inside my own head, but my feelings felt too big for my heart.

Her parents.  Her family.  I know that they don't really know very much about me, about my children, about my LIFE!  It was really creating some internal turmoil earlier this week.  I totally understand S's hesitation in telling her parents so much about me and my life... I guess... but...  Anyway.  I finally admitted to myself and then was able to admit to her, I'm not worried so much that they won't accept me, but I don't know how I could ever handle the rejection of anyone in her family not accepting the children.  Once I said it aloud to her, it brought me back outside from inside my own head, and she was so good with helping me to feel my feelings really are valid.  Sometimes I doubt that.

I looked back through all of the notes I've kept, the email exchanges, etc.  I have the very first email I sent her.  Today, it has been 101 days of a positively, pure connection that has only grown stronger and stronger!  She and I laugh so hard and so often.  Mostly at ourselves each other. 

In the words of a couple new friends I've recently made: life is great!

Thanks to all my friends, new and old, for the continued support and love.

For Rexie (because she so kindly asked)

There are updates I need to make ... to my blog, about my personal life, and even regarding recent events with Motherless (and S ~ together!)...

I'll blog later in the day.  It's way too early and the green tea just isn't doing ANYTHING for me.  I miss coffee (that is, real caffeine).  I miss fruit.  I miss toast.  I miss mayo.  I miss red wine.  Oh ... yeah... I'm doing this crazy FUCKING "cleansing" diet... for who knows how long... and well... I can hardly think straight (you know what I mean). 

Here's a new photo to get the last photo out of your skull.  It reminds me of fond times.  Iced lattes from McDonalds.  They weren't that great... but they were quick and I didn't have to get out of my car.  Plus Kevin and I generally loved bitching about how shitty they were.  It was the "experience" of drinking them.

So later today I have to go to my midwife for my annual "tune-up" but it's been like three years... so this should be... fun?  I think S is coming along.  I cannot imagine how this cannot turn into a blog-fest.  I'll make sure the camera is charged up.

xo
Elle

Pubic Hair Contaminated JELL-O Update:

I have consulted a professional... err... okay, I might have mentioned my unfortunate JELL-O incident from last week while I was getting waxed.

Fine!

I did talk about it.  It seemed... uh... appropriate.

Anyway, I just happened to still have the photos of the "pube in question" still on my iPhone and my new friend The Esthetician suggested she view them in order to determine for herself the source.

Her professional opinion:  chest hair.  She really truly feels this may have been a chest hair and not a pubic hair.  (Isn't a chest hair just a FORM of a pubic hair?)

I guess she does deal with a lot of hair.  She would probably know.  I told her I would update the blog... let my readers know... etc.

Here's the thing.  I don't FUCKING feel any better.  I don't really want a chest hair in my JELL-O either.

August 6, 2010: (the day S told me she didn't want to marry me...)

I think what S meant to say was "I don't want to get married." However, what she said was, "I don't want to marry you."

You can see the difference, no?  Read it aloud.  Go on...

Hear the difference too?

Stings a little, right?

The things is... we've known all along that the other person, she and I both... neither of us wants to get married... or be married.  Let's face it, I've "been there, done that" and it's really not all that it's cracked up to be.  If we are going to fake marry, that is enter into a domestic partnership on paper to obtain corporate benefits from The Company, it really feels like cheating.  Not cheating The Company, but us.  But on the other hand, if we do the "real thing" and jump the border to a state that would actually "allow" us a have a legally binding marriage (trying not to gag) then, somehow that ALSO feels like we are cheating... on us.

I guess I'll try to explain.

It feels like what we have is a lot stronger, more secure and a hell of a lot more intact than anything a contract could bind together.  I don't know.  I want to try to explain but it's very difficult right now.  I'm super emotional.  I used to think the difference between  not getting married and shacking up was the "have to-s" and the "want to-s."  You know:  doing it because you want to or because you have to.  Yeah.  I'm still not explaining it right.

Okay.  Here, I'll explain another reason I'm so against another ring on my finger.  I was married previously ... and I lost my identity.  I became Mrs Somebody Else.  Something similar happens when you become a mother.  Or it can happen.  If you aren't careful.  You easily become Toddler Tommy's Mother.  I've worked really hard to maintain my own identity outside of the motherhood ring.  When I call the school, I announce myself as Elle @#$%^&$#, not So-and-So's Mother.  However, since I've reclaimed my maiden name... I do have to name drop the kids' last name a bit.

When lesbians get married... how does that work?  Does one woman lose her identity but not the other?  Who becomes the wife?  Because I'm pretty sure ONLY the wife loses her identity in the hetero marriages.  If there are two wives... and we both are going to lose ourselves to the marriage... who in the FUCK wants that?  I don't.  I love S too much for that.  I love myself too much.

Is this where my hesitation lies?  If so... then why, even when I was a young girl, have I always proclaimed I was NEVER going to marry?  Is it because I've always been a lesbian, or a feminist, or both?  Or is it neither?

Here's why I say neither.  All day yesterday S and I laughed our asses off over not "wanting" to marry each other.  I would pretend to turn down a proposal that S never really would make and then S would say, "I don't want to marry you anyway."  Then correct herself with... "I don't want to GET married."  However, on the dining room table is a printout of The Company's Domestic Partner benefit package requirements.

So, after I get to my super suck ass job tonight... and I realize after seeing my super fucking hairy goat ball schedule that there is a minimal chance that I can maintain these hours AND successfully complete grad school... I start to think about the job and why I have it... and then I start to think about The Company and it's enticing benefit package... and I text to S... "Ask me that question again...."

And she doesn't... but rather she gives me a few half dozen or so texts why we won't get married.

And yeah.  That stings.

I guess I'm still just a fucking girl . . . living inside the pages of those stories my grandfather used to read my sister and me.

Hairy Nipples (two rants for the price of one)

I don't really want to talk blog about that.  Not about nipples that are hairy.  No.  I mean, maybe some other day, because if you know anything about E... you know she probably has a lot to say about nipple hair.

At work tonight, I decided to read a copy of Life & Style magazine that was lying around.  Big mistake.  This was actually the first in a series of unfortunate events that has occurred thus far.  It is only 0330.  I have at least four more hours of... this... and anything can happen between now and 0700 when my badge whips through the Kronos.

When I write that I was reading the magazine, I am actually saying that I was "looking at the shiny pictures and pretty people."  If you read trashy gossip magazines, you understand.  If you are a female between the ages of 15 and ... 40 50 60 (when exactly DO we get over ourselves?), then you also know that the images we are flooded with inside these magazines do nothing more than scream at us.  Obscenities.  Shouting that we (collectively we--women) don't dress right, aren't tall enough, don't have the right handbag this season, or are *gasp* FIVE FUCKING POUNDS TOO FAT TO WEAR A GOLD SHINY BIKINI ON THE BEACH.  Uh... hello... I saw the alleged "after" photos... and puh-fucking-leeze... add five pounds to that woman, and she can still wear whatever the hell she wants to wear (or not wear) on any beach.

I "read" this entire magazine and came up with a "plan" for losing weight in five days for myself.  I decided it was necessary.  Clearly.  My legs don't look like hers, my arms are way too fat, and I can't believe that woman weighs how much I weigh - yet she is 5 inches taller.  That's right.  I got sucked right in.  This is why I don't watch America's Next Top Anorectic.  This is why I don't read "magazines" but instead stick to "journals" (*yawn*).

Instead of my usual "lunch"... I went straight for the jello.  My punishment?  I felt the unmistakable tickle of something on my tongue.  A hair.  I pulled out a short, black, curly hair.  It was IN MY JELLO that I stole from the patient fridge.

I pulled it out of my mouth and taped it to this card (I saw something like this on CSI once or twice.  I love forensics).  I showed it to my coworker and she agreed.  Pube.  Fucking pube in my jello.  Goddammit.  I hope you can get a clear idea of how disturbing this was/is for me.  I'm having a hard time recovering from the trauma actually.  Let me paint the picture for you all.  I work with vaginas.  All vaginas.  All the time.  When eating stolen, diet, miracle jello from the patient fridge the LAST thing you want is a short curly getting stuck in the back of your throat.  It's enough to send someone to Occ. Health.  I swear.  The picture does not do this justice.

I recovered.  Coworker and I had a good chuckle after I regained composure.  In fact, it helped snap me back into reality.  There is no way a five day diet of jello will give me Kim's waistline or Jen's legs.  Only plastic surgery.  Either that or 4 hours of Bikram Yoga a day, each day, for 3 months.  Who has that much time?  Celebrities might.  It's gotta be the Bikram Yoga... if only I liked to sweat.

I am grateful for the mouthful of pube.  Really.  Granted, I can think of a myriad of "other" ways to get a mouthful of pube that are all more enjoyable.  However, I digress... I am trying to find the silver lining here.

Where was I?  Oh ... hairy nipples.  I covered my rant regarding the hair... now about the nipples...

I hate bras.  Absolutely hate them.  I hate how they feel.  I hate how they make my tits look (usually bigger).  I hate how I look wearing JUST a bra.  I hate how my clothes fit after I put a bra on.  I hate bra shopping.  The only thing I like about bras... is that purely orgasmic feeling when you take it off after wearing it for longer than 3 hours.  I think I even make noises and roll my eyes during this festival.

So I don't wear one.  Hardly ever.  Rarely.  I used to wear one for occasions like ... oh.... work and ... hmmm... traffic court - or job interviews, funerals, weddings, baby showers, and power point presentations on the history of midwifery.  I used to wear a bra because Ex Girlfriend made me.  Uh, yeah.  Fucked up.  From hundreds of miles away she controlled many things I did or did not wear.

When I left the house to hang with Kevin tonight before work I didn't think twice about my lack of bra.  Until I got a "look" from Mrs. Kevin.  Then I realized my nipples may or may not be clearly visible through my tee.  Dammit.  Suddenly I got really embarrassed and worried that my lack of inhibition around the nipple area, may in fact be offensive to some. 

I immediately texted S and asked for her opinion.

You can clearly make out my nipples through this tee shirt.  Also notice the huge wet spot from my McDonald's iced latte (it wasn't actually THAT great). 

S assured me that my nipples are not offensive.

What do you think?  Why am I suddenly so self conscious about this?  Did this trigger me to read that fucking piece of trash "magazine"... and further trigger some major self loathing tonight?

I hate being a girl sometimes.  Especially with huge, ginormous nipples.

There's No Place Like Home

My sweetie is primarily self-employed.  How nice is that?  Personally, I could never do. it  I hate working so much, I would be my own worst employee... I am also not a fan of confrontation or conflict, so I would have the worst time of firing myself.  I am sure I would be the first person to get shit canned.

I guess this "says something" about S.  And probably about me.  I'm not sure what... It's all good though.

I say she is PRIMARILY self employed because she does hold a part-time job with a large company that provides her with excellent benefits in many varieties.... not just the usual health, dental, vision package.  I'll call this The Company.

Her job with The Company requires her to travel and be away from home for days at a time.  Home.  Where is that?  I'll admit it, we've been spending oodles of time together lately and if I added up the days on the calendar that she has actually been at her place vs. my place... I'm not sure where she's been at more.  But, still this is not her home.

Home.  Is it the dwelling?  Is it where you hang your hat?  Is it where you kick off your boots at the end of the day? 

When I say The Company job requires her to be away from home what I really mean is that The Company requires her to be away from me.  I feel okay being apart from S most of the time, because I know that A) she will return home in a few days and B) it will only be a few days.  I can rationalize this in my head and it helps calm my heart.  I respect her Company job because it helps her do what she loves with her own business and in her personal time.  I am an adult with life experiences that help me realize this.

This weekend, though, I realized that The Company job wasn't just taking her away from me.  The kidlets noticed her absence too.  Before we even left their dad's porch, the Boy was asking, "Is S at home?"  I couldn't tell if he meant my home or her home.  It didn't matter, because she wasn't at either place.  I explained to him, again, about her Company job and that she would be gone this weekend.  When we got home the Boy asked, "Why does S always leave?"  

Fuck.  I don't know.  Because she doesn't live here.  I could think of a million reasons why S leaves, but at that moment all I could think of saying was "Fuck.  I don't know." 

When we walked in the house the Baby said "Mommy house, S house."  I guess it seems that way to her too.  It does to me.  When S and the kids are in the house with me, it feels like home.  Not just A HOME, but home.  So seeing the Baby walk around, clearly looking for S, made me very empty.  My middles talked about Halloween this year and L wants S to TAKE her trick-or-treating while M wants S to STAY home with her and pass out the treats.  I don't know who will win.  Either way, S wins.  Who wouldn't want to do either with both girl?

The kidlets and I have been busy this weekend with Karate, the park, ice cream dates, and more.  It's been fairly easy to fall back into a "pre-S routine" and I am somewhat grateful for that.  Until last night, when I realized it wasn't that easy after all.

It was half past midnight and I'm not sure why but the Baby was still awake, sitting on the sofa with me.  S texted me that she had gotten home from her last Company trip.  "S is home!"  I just exclaimed it.  I was so excited that she was home, safe.  The Baby must have thought I meant... you know... home... our home... because she started repeating me and looking for S to come through the door.  I had to explain to her, S isn't here... she's at her home... not our home... and the words felt too big for my mouth.  Like they didn't fit.  Baby just looked at me and when she figured out S wasn't actually coming through the door, she put her bottom lip out in the way that just kills me...

How do you explain this to a 2 year old?  How do you explain "home" to a 2 year old when she clearly already knows what "home" means?  I couldn't.  I tried and failed.  We just cuddled.   Baby was confused because she knew S should be walking through that front door, if she truly is HOME.

So where is home?  Home is us.