A DILF and a Muffin Top

(A post-writing/reflection-note: Yes, I struggle with the post-prego weight thing and I know why I do - because I'm weak. I am victim to the media crap - the US Weeklys with all the famous moms who are skinny within three months( I did my Master's thesis on eating disorders in the media. I've seen it all!). That's precisely why I no longer adore Gwen Stefani. She had a baby and got all anorexic! Now she's prego again. Why would she put herself through it?
And, I am noticing lately that women (we common folk) are reluctant to even share our post-pregnancy weight woes and/or triumphs with each other...I say, ask for freakin' help, and share some freakin' secrets, and don't be freakin' proud! Just like with prissypants Elisabeth Hasselbeck (see my Who Wants Cupcakes! And The View blog), nobody anymore wants to admit they didn't lose all the weight in the en vogue span of 3 months. Hence, faux Spanx. I hate to see women completely obsessed with it, it's fucking (not freaking) ridiculous and we should be ashamed that we place these limits on ourselves and each other! I am Woman, hear me fucking roar.)

Soooo, my husband is insanely hot. Five years younger, a mountain biker extreme-sports dude with the best ass since Mel Gibson in his trailer in Lethal Weapon. He isn’t all ripped in the chest and abs but just nice and toned and thin. And his mug ain’t bad, either.

Anyway, when I met him, I was 28, and fairly hot too, I think. He thought he really scored. Then he knocked me up. Twice. I thought it would all go right back to normal, but, truth is, it did not. Although I have seen some extreme cases where a woman – even over thirty – (and in the real world, not Hollywood) can give birth and it is a nearly undetectable fact within three months, for the majority of us it, well, scars us for life. Some people are just lucky. When I got pregnant last summer with Beckham, and Izabel was 3 ½, I had finally lost most, save ten pounds of my 50 pound Izabel gain. I thought I did really well during my 2^nd pregnancy, with my goal being 25-30 pounds. I ended up with nearly 40 but actually tried to lose it right off, unlike with Izzy, when I ate chocolate cake, cherry pie, key lime pie for months.
So I'm ahead of the game compared to last time, I am back in my jeans. But I want pre-Izzy jeans (I still have them)! Nevertheless, even if the jeans fit, it ain't the same. So I mean, seriously, how does he watch me walk out of the room and say, damn, that ass in FIIIINE! It’s like he really can’t see cellulite. At least he swears it’s not there. He bought me all these cute boy-short Victoria’s Secret panties for Christmas and I’m freaking embarrassed to try them on. I have to position them just right on the hip so they don’t cut into the hip fat. And the muffin top hanging over my low-waisted jeans, that is the best right? Maybe it's the wine. But I've researched it, and it's only like 90 calories a glass, give or take 10 for red or white. I mean I make up for that eating salads for lunch right? And I don't EAT carbs at night...I drink them. What? Gah! Can't I enjoy anything?! Oh and I haven’t mentioned the boobs. I used to have the BEST little small C boobs. Now, notsomuch. Not Ethiopian, but not Perfect Ten, (Chris used to tell me they were Perfect Ten Magazine-worthy) either. But I'm not calling up the plastic surgeon. Not yet (more on this in a later blog).

It usually seems like the guys go downhill with the women, but not us. He remains hot. Gray hair and wrinkles are charming on guys. Why is that? WIth the exception of Emmylou Harris...But Hey!, I am still working at it. Getting hotter ...and older by the day, right. Watch out, Demi! I guess couples don’t have to be equally hot, and thank God, at least, his parents raised him not to be toooo shallow with women. After all, their mother ran around gardening nude, after she had nursed three boys. So, they've seen, well, worse...

You should see him in the little striped tightie whitey Gap boxers I got him! HOT! Should I share a pic? Have I said Hot enough? Geez, who am I, Paris Hilton? Forgive me.

(note to feminists: I am just effing kidding about him acquiescing(sortof), it is I who acquiesce, really...)

I like big butts,
~R

Assman?

I have writer's block. Think I did so much expressing over the past week I ran out...anyhoo...
have you ever eavesdropped? Is that even how you spell it? Well i had my day off (finally!) today, and went to plug in at Panera Bread Co. Ended up by a group of 3 mommys w/ first babies and it was impossible to tune out their discussion. I thought, "they think I'm just a single girl with her laptop, maybe a grad student, poor little thing..." they were so fucking boring; never spoke of anything but Mommyhood. I was glad they weren't my friends. I never heard a word about sex, or good food, or an event they'd been to. Nada. If there was a moment of silence, one would tell the new tricks the baby was doing as of late. Maybe they just weren't that great of friends. I know one of the three was from out of town; she was the outsider. It's like I was a Mommy spy....but i pulled up adorable pictures on my desktop just so they'd know they had nothing on me...
So I heard them talking about nursing and how so-and-so is still 75% getting most of his milk from it(I'm sure she has NEVER bought a jar of even organic baby food either), and i felt SOOOOO guilty! I know I shouldn't, but I did. I just weaned Beck in December (he actually weaned himself), but her baby was smaller and I donno how old he was. Anwyay I have such mixed emotions... i got home and tried to see if he'd nurse. like there'd be milk left after a month.? Well maybe there would! I've actually tried intermittently for this past month and he wants nothing to do with it.....i think i feel denied. SOoooooooo i know it's notsomuch my fault but...Does this mean he'll be an Assman?
Additionally,,, wanted to touch on something i've been a bit negative about ~ Parenting magazine (and the like). In the latest issue, I was pleasantly (sortof) surprised) to find a story on...SEX! I mean they used naughty words and everything. How bout that? But the stories of perfectly balanced mommies and daddies working out their everyday stresses overpowered it... whatev.
Are you still with me?
And, do you find it at all fishy our gub-ment wants to GIVE us money, in an election year? I donno, i think they're all suspect. I 'll take the $$$ though.
Hasta manana,
~R

the kitchen sink

Sooo.. let's just call this a stream-of-consciousness- blog tonight. I have many thoughts, due to the numerous hours I've been spending cooped up in this house with two people at least 30 years younger than me.! This quarantine is partly the weather's fault, and partly my extreme paranoia about a stomach virus that is undoubtedly going around as we speak. Screw that shit! I'd rather go crazy and stay at home! And, my hub worked another night out of town so i have had no break for a while now..this brings me to my first point:
1. In my CHicken Caesar blog, I failed to mention those women who I should hold even higher on a pedestal: single mothers. And of course, single mothers of two+, double their majesty. WHen Chris is gone I think of that, and how poor little me I am, and how, what if it was like this all the time, but on Wednesdays and every other weekend? Of course, for some single moms, there is no Dad in sight, and its 24/7, period. Work outside the home, for any of us, is a break, I believe. It is definitely the hardest job ever to change diapers, feed, clean up, chase after, entertain, bathe, babies all day long. I was so bummed today that my Mum couldn't come on her regular Wednesday. That's my one almost full day off a week. I had planned to run a couple errands, and go to my favorite coffee shop and plug in for about 3 hours looking for online writing jobs and pimpin out my resume! I was so hungry by the time I read Izzy 3 books tonight I was about to die.
2. I am so sad about Heath Ledger. Why was he going out with Mary Kate Olsen? He had so much more substance...what a beautiful boy!
3. I want touch on "drinking" as a topic. For those purists, those thinking, you're a Mommy, you shouldnt have wine! I'm calling SCAN! For those thinking why speak of it? FOr those saying, but that's your expendable income! I say this: there are MILLIONS of women (stay home mothers AND working ones and non-mothers for that matter) on anti-depressants that do God knows what to their bodies and the difference is, most of them don't broadcast it. Wine is my Prozac. I don't smoke anything, don't take any pills at all besides freaking calcium! So, by God, I will have my red wine with resveratrol! And, I'll bet my bill is a lot cheaper than if I was on an anti-anxiety or anti depressant drug! I mean i know some people truly need it and I'm not telling you to become a drunk, but if you just need to take the edge off, wine's your guy.
4. On "cussing,", screw ya!
5. What's the deal with baby boys? WHy are they so different from girls? I swear Izzy never seemed to get into anything she shouldnt. We childproofed everything, but I dont recall her once heading to the cleaning products cabinet (they're all natural of course anyway but you shouldnt drink em!), or the electrical outlets, or the fireplace.. she just naturally sortof stayed away. Beck on the other hand, is like a magnet, touching anything that will prompt me to yell out "NO!" WHat is so fascinating about an outlet? He snaps his head around, and usually stops. But he goes right back. Over and over. Just like a man, it takes him about 10 times to learn his lesson. He's so damned fat and cute, thought, it's hard to be angry with him.
6. Even though I drink and cuss, I must boast a few things about my mothering:
My kids' diet is #2 in my book of parenting. For instance, tonight, they had quinoa pasta with organic broccoli and butternut squash. Izzy also had some salmon. Yes! They eat like that all the time! I even make food cubes!
#1 in my book is LOVE! Give them love, and they'll probably do just fine. But not if you pump them full of sugar and MccyD's.
7......I donno. Guess I'm done. Chris says I can go out toomorrow night to decompress. Any takers?
8. Now for the Black Box....
9. Besides those of you who call and say, "that was so funny" or email me, I'm not really sure if anyone's reading this, but it is still catharsis. Works for me.
Insane,
R

Content: to Be or Not to Be?

Guess what I got to do today? Well, my hubby was home this after noon, and after I did my personally designed yoga/pilates/tae-bo(yes the DVD is coming soon) while watching CNN, I skipped out for the post office and a BOX of cabernet (yes I'm onto boxes. Black Box. I've tried it, it's good and it's equivalent to 4 bottles of decent wine for $18 at Sam's!). THEN, I came home and took a bath with a glass at 4 o'clock! What a life of luxury I lead!! I locked the door. I read US Weekly and Rolling Stone. I was content.

The concept of contentment is a comforting one for many people. It means that, finally, you have reached a place in life where you have to strive no more, to want for nothing, to long for nothing. Not me. Today, as that wave of contentment rushed over me, I enjoyed it for 2.2 seconds, then I became uneasy. I wanted it to go away. I believe I am what they call a "malcontent."

To me, contentment means, "I give up, I have nothing more to do. Stick a fork in me." So, when I start to feel that feeling, I frighten it away, for fear that I will never, ever accomplish anything ever again.

I cannot remember ever being content for long. As a child, maybe. Possibly even as a teenager. Until my 20s, when I realized there was more out there. So much that no one could ever discover it all. But I really wanted to. I will blame the fact that I didn't go out and discover it all, right then, on two things: security and lack of money. The security thing is basically that I was raised (and I am not blaming my parents, just attributing my fear to my upbringing - is that basically blaming them?) to, well, fear things. To fear leaving your home, to fear uncertainty, to fear being alone. And of course, I feared that I couldn't get by on little money.

But, I did go out, with someone, of course, and do a little discovering. Traveling and moving away from home a couple times. I think the only reason my family was ok with it was that I was with a Man, my protector. Yeah right. But I always came back. And I am glad that I did, because that's what led me to these two precious little cherubs and my DILF of a husband! The cool thing is that he is a lot like me. We're married with children, but we aren't done yet! We still want to take our kids and discover that's out there. Maybe I'll teach ESL in France, maybe he'll open a bike shop in Northern California, who knows. We may not know how or when, but at least we're not done... yet.

Who knows what we'll really do, but to me, being totally satisfied with my life literally means I have given up. Don't get me wrong; living in the moment is beautiful, but I feel like if I totally do that, I'll never try to do anything else! I envy people who are content with contentment, honestly! Like the bath and wine today, I would just think, hey, this isn't all that bad. I think this is good enough for me. But wait! I want a bigger bathtub, to fit the rest of my family in if I so desire! I want a bottle of 1997 Stag's Leap Cab instead of this Black Box! I want to be able to HIRE a babysitter instead of beg grandmothers for free help. So there is work to be done. Maybe by the time I'm fifty, Chris, 20 year-old Izzy and 16 year-old Beck and i can take a family bath in our gigantic oceanfront mansion. Oh, wait, that probly doesn't sound too good. But you know what I mean.

a buncha B.S.

I somehow withstood an entire day indoors with both kids and no fresh air without a near breakdown. Just thought I'd share that.

Soooo I donno if anyone's reading this anymore but... I'm watching the democratic debates, drinking from a magnum (i mean from a glass from a magnum u dummy) of Fetzer merlot and eating my lovely spinach mushroom lasagna with a live butter lettuce salad. Alone(kids are asleep). My husband got stuck in the ice storm coming home from work and ended up at his mummy's for the night. Love to be a fly on the wall there...anyway I was really bummed. I for some reason wanted to curl my hair for him and changed out of my hoodie and put on lipgloss, lit a candle....for nuthin'. For the Democrats I guess.

So I dont know what to make of these three: Clinton, Edwards, Obama. They all seem to be fairly real people. Decent people. But isn't that all anyone does? Fake like they're a good person? Fake like they are a rational person? How can we trust anyone anymore? Apparently everyone is a member of Skull and Crossbones these days. Maybe they're all in it together. ..ALL of 'em.... anyway I guess whoever of the three will have my vote. After all, what choice do I have? Warmonger? Arkie Republican? Don't think so. Barack's cute, so he's sort of been in the lead on my list. Don't think I'm a traitor to women; I'd like to think Hillary could be the one but I just don't think our country is highly evolved enough for that yet. I fear for her life.
All three of them are fairly attractive people. What? You say I have no values? Just think: unattractive people have not been successful running this country in the past. I mean, Dub-yah? Poor lil thang got hit with an ugly stick. His father? Reagan? Nixon? Oiy. Good looking people just have more confidence. We all know Bill was the cutest since Kennedy and look what he did for the economy? So, we should consider Survival of the fittest (cutest) when voting for the next President of the United States. That's my 2 cents. That leaves the republicans out... sorry. U-G-L-Y! U ain't got no alibi! U ugly! Hey Hey U ugly! (sorry-flashback to junior high)....peace out:)

ASSets

I was thinking in my sleep the other night about the Spanx comment in the View blog. If you're interested, the knockoffs at Tar-jay are called "ASSets." Isn't that adorable? My husband loves it when he catches me pulling my jeans off with those babies on. NOT.

Why did these Spanx chicks make it so big anyway? Aren't they just a fucking GIRDLE(spelling?) with a cute name?

Anyway I am extremely menstrual right now and wore them with my jeans last night. I really love how they pull in the muffin top. Nothing could help my face tho. I apparently have adult-onset acne. I look like a pubescent little 15 year-old. If it was only 2 degrees, I swear my face would still be lubed up. I sweat and need no coat when it's in the 30s. What the hell is going on? I mean my baby is 9 months now, aren't the post prego hormones finished yet? And it's a mystery to me how I still have a good amount of hair after it falling out these past 9 months. So do I get some goddamn clearasil and Rogaine or what? What's next? Viagra?

get your ASSets, available in black and nude, $20, several styles, tons cheaper than Spanx, Target stores nationwide.
(Where's my money, Bitch?)

Is my kid a clepto?

Sooooo, Izzy and I saw the matinee of Annie Sunday and I gotta say it was fantastic. I didn't remember the movie - just that she was an orphan, obviously. But I am committed to exposing Iz to as much live theater as possible - other than Barney Live, Care Bears Live! and Dorothy (she calls her "Dorky"!) the Dinosaur from the Wiggles. We saw CATS last year and then some other smaller local theater shows. And she remembers every one of them and the location in which we saw it. "Mommy! That's where we say Dorky!" every time we pass the venue. I guess I hope she'll acquire the love I have for it, but maybe not the fact that I CRY no matter what the freaking show is. RENT, the Vagina Monologues, Alladdin, doesn't matter. It's just the whole live thing. I've made a vow to start theater acting when I'm 40. I'm feeling I missed my calling and the possibility of Rock Star is long gone. But you see all sorts of old chicks in theater. Or, maybe lounge singer?.....
anyhoo~she was good the first 3/4 but then it went downhill, and to save her the embarrassment, I won't go into it other than to say she STOLE the freaking dog off the souvenir table! (This brings to mind during Christmas when, as she was riding on CHris' choulders thru Vici's Secret, we discovered she had stolen a plastic ice cream cone full of panties. They were x-smalls, unfortunately, so we took em back. :) ....anyway, she stole the dog for a split second, I gave it back of course to the guy who thought I must be the worst mother ever to havea clepto for a daughter, and had to carry her out, yes, kicking and screaming, of a full lobby.

I shoulda left like a considerate parent but dammit I wanted to see if Daddy Warbucks really adopted her because I honestly did not remember the story! Oh, and the actor who played him -- a drama teacher of 20 years who fulfilled his lifelong dream of stage acting by landing this role! Whaaaa ! I'm crying right now! A big bald thing of a man and look! He fulfilled his dream! I'm veclemped.
Chris told her "they" would take her and put her in jail if she took things that weren't hers. What's jail? She asked. It has bars. "Then what do they do?" I think she's weighing her options.
Sooo, the moral? There's not one. Just wanted to share.

Who Wants Cupcakes! and The View

On the flight home from our oh-so-American Florida family vacation last year, as the plane finally halts after circling the runway for what seems like hours, Izabel stands up in her seat, arms in the air, and yells, "Who wants cupcakes!?" Needless to say everyone laughs, even after the agonizing wait.

The kid simply adores cupcakes. So, yesterday, I was SuperMom! She just recently had a birthday and had cupcakes for days, but any day is a day for cakes and cupcakes for the skinny little thing. So, after the 7 minutes of quality time we'd had the day before, I felt I owed her. We were home all day - never left the house. So, after Beck went to sleep (even without vibrating), we dumped the Betty Crocker powder into a bowl and got to it. We even decorated them with the little flower toothpicks left over from her birthday. And then we stuck our fingers in the icing tub just for fun.

Afterward, she did her "naptime" and guess what! Super Mommy got to lay on the couch for like 30 whole minutes, eves closed, ringer off. I haven't gotten to take an actual nap since Beck was born, or even a couple years before. So screw Ellen and Oprah, it was worth missing them.

But speaking of tv shows that women who are home with the kids may happen upon, the one I try to catch with my coffee and computer in the "Man Room" (our back porch room that was sposed to be for Chris but I have taken over), is The View. I love those crazy bitches. I used to absolutely love Whoopi but I'm noticing some kindof bitchy behavior lately from her, and she's kind of a prude about the whole drinking thing, I mean she wouldn't even taste some wine a dude had on there! (is she an AA person and I don't know it?). But Joy is freaking cool. Anyway my complaint is that damned little prissy-pants Elisabeth is back. Hallelujah. I thought she was just using her pregnancy leave as an out and would never come back. But let's face, it I'd hold on to that job too, I mean she was a nobody Survivor contestant (right? I didn't watch it) who is sitting across from freaking Barbara Walters. What the hell is this world coming to? Oh and by the way, now that I have discovered the power of Spanx (or my Target $20 kind, which work for me), Girl ,she was wearing them yesterday for certain in her skin-tight dress. Her tits are freaking huge, gotta give her that. Makes me wish I was still nursing.


So Izzy's eaten about six of the cupcakes, and still talking about it. I think we made memory!
hearts,
RhoRho

Girls Night out at the Local Pizza Dive

It's Thursday, which means Mama gets the night out -to do whatever she chooses, which used to be yoga, which she hasn't wanted to pay for as of late; or then it was the gym, which she hasn't wanted to pay for as of late; maybe she is just making excuses?...however, a little edge off, she will pay for. ..
Maliah, my younger Mommy friend and I patronized the local pizza joint about a mile from both of our houses. They have great beer on draft. Diamond Bear IPA. I get a buzz with one pint. The local mountain bikers and bo-ho types frequent the place. Anyway, we had the best arty-chick conversation, covering everything from a Levon Helm(?) song to Sex and the City to Alicia Keys (Can she sing or Not?) to Britney to zits and orgasms. Good stuff! And we only spent $8 each! I really needed it, and Thank you, Maliah, my fellow "they can't handle girls like us here" friend, for your spontaneous self! Love U!

Just Gimme My Goddamn Chicken Caesar!

I commend any woman who has two children any closer together than four years. I mean, I commend any woman with children, period, but seriously, two is not “easier than one,” as some of those maniacal super-parents claim. Having two is freaking exactly how it sounds – double duty. “They’ll keep each other occupied,” they say. Yeah right, maybe for ten minutes until the four year old girl (Izabel) proceeds to systematically remove every single one of his(Beck’s) blocks or other “baby toys” and place them in an unreachable location so that she can play with them. Or, maybe Giselle, Belle and Ariel are having a tea party. Do you think a 9 month old boy is invited? Hell no. He may tear into it anyway, knocking the cups and plates onto the floor, inducing a screaming fit from his older, wiser sister. It just doesn’t work. Like I said, ten minutes tops.

Another hurdle seems to be dividing my attention between them. Yes, together, I can read them books, or force Baby Einstein videos on them. And they love just good ole on the floor jumping on Mommy sessions (Daddy is better at this). But giving them each my undivided attention is a major difficulty. For instance, take today. I had my grand plan, as usual: I would pick Izzy up from preschool early, get back and put Beck down for his nap, and she and I would color her fairies and drink hot cocoa. Oh, but of course it was 2:30, and I still hadn’t had lunch, so I’d make my much anticipated chicken Caesar salad and eat as we color. Then the cocoa. This salad was gonna be soooooooooooooooo good! My brother gave me some of the chicken he smoked last night, and I could not wait!!! And it was virtually guiltless! No croutons! Forget the 1,000 grams of fat in the Caesar dressing! We don’t care about that anymore, right? Anyway, back to how it really played out. Beck fell asleep in the car coming home. This always totally screws his nap. So I try to lay him down. As soon as I could make Izzy’s cocoa, I went to check on him. Awake. Twenty minute nap tops. So, I fill him up with more milk and lie him down. Ten minutes, he’s screaming, just as I have my first delicious bite of salad, and Izzy and I are into coloring. “Izzy, I’ll be right back,” I promise. I go in to pat his butt (this used to be a magic trick for him, now it just amused him). So I begin with the aggressive pat, as he moans. Then lighten to the pulsating pump, as I daydream of my chicken Caesar salad. “Please, Mother Nature, God, Buddha, Almighty Ruler of the Universe! Please make this baby go to sleep!” I am almost crying, and pressing between my eyes where the frown wrinkle has been steadily forming for about seven years, in an effort to prevent it. “Stop frowning!” I tell myself. Hold it together! “What would Sarah Jessica do?”( I think of her last summer on Oprah when she debuted her new clothing line, and how she said that every little thing we do shapes them for the rest of their lives – oh GREAT. My kids are doomed. I’d love to be a fly on her wall and see how it really rolls with Carrie and Ferris Bueller as parents). Anyway, lastly, I move to the vibrate. The vibrate gets weaker and weaker until, finally, his eyes are closed, and I do a test run: when I remove my hand, does he look up to see if I’m there? No! He’s asleep! (note to self: get one of those vibrating, heartbeating bear stuffies)YESSSSSS! I go back to the kitchen table to apologize for being gone fifteen minutes. The GUILT! At this point she is over it. “I’m tired,” she says. So she retires to her “naptime” which consists of watching a movie of her choosing on her bed with a snack - since she never takes naps, hasn’t in forever. Hope her brother isn’t following in her footsteps.

So, that was mine and Izabel’s “quality time” today. About seven minutes. And there is my luva, the Caesar, waiting for me, as the romaine lettuce soaks up more and more of the thousand-calorie dressing. Lunch at 3 P.M. How I am not skinny as a fucking rail I do not know. I’ve seriously partially chewed a bagel and drank a half a cup a coffee today. These kids can sense when I’m about to eat. But now, Mommy time – meaning Ellen and maybe Oprah – is here. Maybe that glass of chardonnay will be early today. Oh, wait, forget Oprah, rerun, and looks like Gayle is her guest today. Barf.