Saturday, June 30, 2007

Maybe I should just stay here with the midgets and the nausea

So picture this: I'm driving home from a bulk-peanut-butter shopping trip to BJ's. Bellamy is singing along to the Smashing Pumpkins in the backseat (because what 4-year-old DOESN'T know the words to "Bullet with Butterfly Wings?"). Sutton is alternately pulling off his socks and shoes and throwing them at me from his carseat while screaming "Cookie! Please! Cookie! Please!." It's over one hundred degrees outside, and I'm wearing black, of course. When suddenly, it hits me like a bolt of lightning.

I was not meant to have children.

Yes, folks, you've heard it straight from the horse's mouth. I am not Mommy Material. I am single girl, living alone with my dog, can't keep a houseplant alive, nothing in the fridge but lettuce, love my independence Girl. I miss reading in peace, sleeping late, cooking spicy exotic things (for which, I have to first do extensive grocery shopping), getting dressed up, and having spontaneous anytime-of-the-day sex. I miss blowing tons of money on any damn thing I want to buy and not feeling guilty that I'm buying something for MYSELF. I mentally shake my fist at fate, shake my fist at Blaker and his super-sperm. Damn them all. I mean, I love my kids, but how much can one really take before one loses one's mind?

Then, I get a reprieve.

Now, keep in mind, I NEVER get a break. Blaker is fantastic with the kids, helps out every afternoon/evening after work, is an absolutely amazing Dad...however, that does not EVER dismiss me from Mommy duty. Ever. (Or, as Bellamy would say, "EVAH.") But then, last Sunday, his mother comes up (a whole 'nother story for a whole 'nother day) and he and Paula take the kids to the botanical gardens while I get the WHOLE DAY OFF.

What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? I'm so excited. It's a miracle. It's a BREAK!

I went shopping. I bought THINGS for ME (many, many lipglosses--I have a weakness for lipgloss). I went to the movies. I went to Barnes & Noble for HOURS. I had lunch. I had coffee. I had wine. I had EVERYTHING.

But, I did not have my family. I was lonely. One teeny, weeny little day to myself, and I was lonely. I am an ALONE person. I LOVE ALONE. But I missed my babies. I missed my husband. I missed having peanut butter smeared unbeknownst to me on some item of my clothing, having someone demanding I hold her hand, someone forcing himself into my lap. I missed drooly kisses and shrieking giggles.

I missed being Mommy.

And that is how I learned who I am.

Monday, June 4, 2007

Only the Good Die Young (notice that I'm still alive)

Today is my last day of my 20s.

At 6:22pm tomorrow, I will officially be 30 years old. (Sad that I know the exact time, but those of you who know me well are completely aware that I am a vast sea of useless trivia, especially of the macabre, which only truly adds to my charm.)

How do I feel about turning 30? Hmmm... good question. On the one hand, I should probably quit drinking and swearing so much. I should probably refrain from assaulting anyone else (at least in public), make sure my nose piercing is completely closed up, cover my tattoos, take the meth lab out of my kitchen (okay, so now I'm just kidding--I'm way smarter than to put the meth lab in the kitchen. As bad as I am at chemistry, I would have already blown up the house by now)......

On the other hand, at (nearly) thirty, I am comfortable enough with myself to know that I swear because I want to, not because I want to shock anyone (except maybe my Mom--that thrill will never completely vanish. Everytime I let loose with a "goddamn motherfucking cocksucker" she pales drastically and you can actually see her lips move as she prays for my eternal soul). You can't see my nose piercing hole anymore anyway, my tattoos are already covered--except for the new-one-to-be--and well, honestly, if someone is stupid enough to piss me off badly enough that I feel the need to attack them, then they deserve it, as I am not normally even a remotely violent person.

Plus, don't women hit their sexual peak in their thirties? That's something to look forward to with gusto. Plus, in the next decade I will be earning back some of my long lost freedom as the kids get old enough to start school, AND I'm still a total babe. Which means that 30 actually seems rather appealing in many ways.

Still, I have another day left of my twenties, so I have to go now to relish one more day of this decade. One more day to make stupid mistakes without quite so many mental consequences. One more day to hit somebody, pierce something, and spend the day with drunken Mad Libs (that's just for you, Gina) without even one iota of guilt. Oh, what a day.