Quiet fireworks

Posted on May 9, 2013 by Heather@That Uncomfortable Itch

Today would have been my 20th wedding anniversary. That’s big shit. Truly. It would have been even bigger had Matt and I still been married. But, small technicality, we’re not. We’ve actually been divorced for about 10 of those 20 years. Regardless of the fact that our youngest child will be nine this summer, we didn’t quite adhere to the vows that God and so many churches set before us, the date is an honest one.

The truth is that I’m totally okay with this. In fact, had Matt’s father not been such an enormous butt head and insisted his first born grandson be legitimate, I’m fairly sure Matt and I would have let nature take a more natural course and not gotten married. I like to think we would have lived and loved one another without the pressure of marriage. What can I say, we were young, impressionable, without college degrees. We gave in and tied the knot. A knot that eventually left me without breath and I insisted on severing the legal ties.

However, here we are. Twenty years later. We live together. Love together to the best of our abilities. I sometimes look at us and throw back my head and laugh. Because us? Twenty years? Are you fucking kidding me? Damn straight. It’s not easy. In fact, it’s a daily project. But I love this man. He gave me three beautiful children. This man who has seen me big, small, young and not so young. He has endured my crazy and accepted it for what it is. We have weathered the emergency room for most members of our clan. Deaths. Defeat, hope. You name it and we have pretty much been there and done it. So there. Bring it, bitch.

I’m not sure there is a gift for 10 years of marriage and another 10 to breathe life into a union. What would it be? A weekend trip to the psych ward for one while the other can enjoy 48 hours at a wine tasting vineyard tour? Or how about three months in Europe while a nanny attends to the children on the home front? No, there’s not really anything for it.

I woke up today with a smile to what this date truly means. We were once a long time from here, and now we truly are right here: two souls who made a few more souls. We all share this absurd love for one another. We are all a bit broken, but who among us isn’t? We are a bad ass group, our family. I love us all to pieces and would be absolutely lost without us.

So here I toast to Matt: my man and love. Our children: Loren, Cassidy and Devon. We are a clan, a brood, a flock, a family. We are a lucky lot to have found this. Thank you, I love you all. And a most special thank you to Matt, I hope there are many more unspoken days of glory. You deserve a trophy, my love. We both do.

This is one of my all time favorite songs and it never fails to remind me of the months when Matt and I first met. I was 21, he 20. We were so young. I first heard it not long after after he had his stroke. The first time it played and the words circulated through my head, I wished we could both go back and start all over again. We can’t and won’t, but this song never fails to give me a good case of chills and hope. In equal amounts.

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Fingers crossed

Posted on April 2, 2013 by Heather@That Uncomfortable Itch

One of the more grueling aspects of parenting is that there never seems to be any sort of hiatus, at least not that I can tell. These past few years with Loren have been hard. I find myself holding  my breath, watching and wondering who and what he will become. It’s not like the toddler years when I wondered when he would ever walk. I knew he would and that he would do it well, it just took about 16 months for him to get around to it.

This end of development isn’t a simple black and white. Loren could fly. Or not. He could fly only a bit. He could crash into a tree. He could take up with the wrong sorts of birds, or creatures not at all birds. Simply put this stage is terrifying. Recently Loren started making edits again. He had made a few since graduation but they were different, edgier, and they had me worried. Gone was his whimsy. But I had a feeling it would return. And it has.

Loren took this over the winter with two of his best friends and his little brother. So much fun was had that day.

We live in an odd area, this mountain paradise. The kids here grow up without a proper appreciation of just how impractical our lifestyles are. It often isn’t until college that we realize just how outrageous it is to have the luxury to ski and snowboard any weekend we feel so inclined. Or, like Lo, that a winter on the slopes counts towards high school credits.

Loren is toying with the idea of returning home next year to film a friend who is an up and coming skiier. He will also take some classes and work. If he makes the move. Over spring break he asked my opinion and it was all I could do to not jump up and down and scream, “YESYESYESYES!” Youth is fickle and this plan could fizzle before this year’s snow even melts. But I do so hope Loren comes back to live here and experience the silliness of vacation living and to make the beauty and fun  he sees through his lens.

BeauTiFul from Loren James Creer on Vimeo.

This was one of Lo’s winning films from his Jr. year in high school. I’ve always loved it.

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Candied babies

Posted on February 25, 2013 by Heather@That Uncomfortable Itch

It’s no secret that I’m a fairly half-assed Catholic. My Sunday Mass attendance is roughly 50% and my beliefs are shaky at best. However, I usually try to hop on the Advent and Lenten wagons. Some years my church attendance sky rockets during these season, usually my Lenten vows fall by the wayside within days of proclaiming them.

This year I’ve decided to give up sugar, an addiction that despite making me sick as a dog keeps me coming back for more. It’s so gross and I’ll try most anything to kick it. Unfortunately Valentine’s Day fell the day after Ash Wednesday and it’s pretty much been downhill since then. A few days ago Matt caught me hiding some candy wrappers in the trash can and the following conversation occurred:

Matt: So how’s that no sugar Lenten thing working out?

Me: Hmmm, well. Yeah, that. It’s a hard business. The Sugar Demon is a beast. It’s a daily battle.

Matt: You think Jesus would be down with that sort of willy-nilly apporach?

Me: Hello? Dude hung out in the desert for 40 days and 40 nights with nothing at all to eat. You think if he encountered a roll of Smarties he’d look the other way? I don’t think so. Besides, JC was a very forgiving fellow.

Matt: Now, do you mean the Will Farrell, Taladega Nights version? Or an older, wiser version?

Me: Duh. Sweet Baby Jesus, Will Farrell version. Obviously. All babies love candy.

 

 

 

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A beautiful bruise

Posted on February 20, 2013 by Heather@That Uncomfortable Itch

I’ve long thought there is something so utterly heartbreaking about parenthood. It’s beautiful, yes, but I suspect the ache that appears along with the birth of a child never disappears. A large part of this is fear. That ball of life that comes barreling through is yours to protect from all things scary or sharp for all of time.What I have found is that the scary things morph and the sharp things get pointier.

When my kids were tiny I was an absolute wreck about anything in their immediate environment. If they weren’t going to electrocute themselves in the living room sockets or choke on a Lego then surely they would perish in their sleep. When they started biking, skiing and snowboarding I was, and still am, a helmet Nazi. In fact, our helmet collection is something to be admired by paranoid moms everywhere. You name a sport or mobile activity and I’ve got a helmet or set of pads for it. Now that Loren is in college and Cassidy is starting to socialize it’s even worse. Am I the only mom who’s nearly 20 year-old son routinely gets texts at 11:45 on a Saturday night?

A little over a year ago a friend of Loren’s was found dead in her bed on an early December morning. Over the weekend a classmate of his was killed in a car accident. Then there is Henry Granju who’s haunting story always brings helpless tears to my eyes. Every time I read about a young person senselessly dying I want to scoop up my children and put them in my kangaroo pocket of safety. Letting go and tucking my trust and hope into their hearts is by far the scariest part of parenting thus far.

There are no helmets, protective pads or safety gates anymore. The nights when Loren is home and I can check in on him at 2 am to see if he is breathing are few and far between. Cassidy is nearly 16 and will leave for college in about two more years. The mornings when I can slip into her warm bed for a quick snuggle are quickly waning. They are growing and flying and all I want to do is hold them close.

I found this Winnie the Pooh quote online this morning, it seems fitting ~If ever there comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart. I’ll stay there forever.

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My cats are enormous jerks

Posted on December 30, 2012 by Heather@That Uncomfortable Itch

Matt doesn’t ask for much. He’s not a materialistic guy. So when he puts in a request I sort of try to take notice and maybe make it happen. Sometime back in November he mentioned a couple times how nice it would be to have the Christmas tree up for Thanksgiving dinner. He thought it would be cozy. Of course I initially scoffed but after he brought it up a second or third time I thought maybe it might be a nice idea: Thanksgiving dinner in this new pad, tree lights twinkling in the corner, me in my apron as the perfect hostess of the perfect afternoon family gathering.

As always in my visions I failed to consider reality. In this case it was our three kitten-cats.

Upon bringing our tree up from the basement and opening the box the cats were ravenous with excitement. We took out the tree, assembled it, fluffed it and plugged it in. It was truly beautiful. Until about 10 minutes later when Theo, the alpha-cat, climbed up into it, felled it and then started bawling in victory. I sternly told him this was a very bad idea for fun, squirted him with the water bottle designated for cat no-no’s and proceeded to put away the tree box. I had absolute faith that after our talk the cats would respect my boundaries and our tree would live unmolested in the corner until the New Year.

Apparently the  effers thought little of my words. The tree became their command center. They lounged in the branches like panthers and took huge joy in bringing it down and pulling apart the sections. Finally by mid-December I became discourage and one day did not right it after a particularly harsh tree death. I figured we could go without or maybe paint a tree on the wall. Except when I papered the corner of the room to prep it for the painting the cats took to hurling themselves at the paper, clawing their way down like pirates on a sail. Once the paper fell off the walls they very much enjoyed pouncing upon one anther and leaving shreds in their wake. Needless to say my never huge Christmas spirit took a beating.

So after a week of a dead tree on the ground and paper strewn about I had an idea. Why not put a wee tiny tree on a table, add some other holiday-ish items and call it all good? Having nothing was too depressing and the cats seem to respect the strict no counter policy. (At least they do when I’m in the room and they hear the trigger of the squirt bottle. Other members of the family say they’ve seen the cats willfully, and joyfully, violating my rule.) I thought they would associate this new counter with the kitchen ones and know that their feline butts would be swiftly squirted were they to explore the Christmas Table.

So that’s what we did. It was a throwback to the children’s Waldorf Days so we added some felted animals. The cats were mostly good about it. Sort of. Maybe not entirely. But it only needs to last through January 6 and then we’re done.

 

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Reach for the stars

Posted on November 25, 2012 by Heather@That Uncomfortable Itch

There is some saying that goes something like “Show me a successful man and behind him I’ll show you a strong, more successful woman.” Maybe that’s not spot-on, but it is somewhere in the ballpark.

Here is my twist on that tired saying: Show me an over achieving high schooler and I’ll show you an exhausted, near to tears mother. A mother who has grown to despise the coaches, hate fundraisers and think not so secret mean thoughts about the crap-ass Botox jobs on some of the other moms.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled to bits to have a Miss Everything for a daughter. But damn if we couldn’t have one night free of pick ups, drop offs, meet ups. A night where the coaches didn’t comment on all the hard work. A night where we didn’t even mention the activity.

I obviously was never an over achiever. My loins don’t burn for the gold. Give me a good book and the quiet corner of my bedroom and I’m happy as pie. I want to understand this beast of a daughter, support her successes, but right now I’m mostly just resenting the tired view of the parking lot from the front seat of the car.

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Reinvention

Posted on November 1, 2012 by Heather@That Uncomfortable Itch

Lately I’ve often wondered if it’s too late to start over, evolve, re-up. Maybe I’m too old, at 42, to change things and start anew. It’s scary to realize that whatever I’ve been, done for the recent to not so recent past is no longer applicable, that something different is now in order and the only one capable to create that change is me. I’m not always the quickest to grasp the pendulum called change, I find the ride dizzying. However,  the time has come to hop on that swing and feel the wind in my hair, and instead of closing my eyes I’ll leave them open and perhaps throw back my head in a coyote howl of glee. Maybe. Hopefully.

My job has recently come to an end. Recently as in yesterday. Today is the first of the month, it is also Dia de los Meuertos. Celebrating the gone and embracing the future. This is the first day in a very long time when I have no job and nothing lined up. Sure, I have applications and possibilities, but for today there is nothing. The house is still. The kids are in school. The cats are napping. In times past I would be upstairs in my closet, quivering behind my winter boots. It’s not that the thought hasn’t entered my mind because in the last two months I’ve had plenty of fear about the dawn of this day. In my mind no job equals no self value, this is simply a place I’ve not allowed myself to be. But here I am. Still. Quiet. It doesn’t hurt and I’m oddly excited about it. There is a small Dr. Zuess voice inside me quietly telling me there are great places for me to go, sights to see and joys to hold.

I could be wrong about all of this, delusional. Perhaps those voices are not the ever whimsical Zeuss, maybe they are indicators I’ve finally gone around the bend. It could be the sky will fall and I’ll truly let my family down, my biggest fear in all of this. Or it could be that voice of hope will get louder and I’ll have faith in it. Maybe. Hopefully.

 

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Anybody have a butt-bra I can borrow?

Posted on October 29, 2012 by Heather@That Uncomfortable Itch

In September I turned 42. That number could indicate I’m mid-life, meaning I’ll be 84 when all is said and done. It could mean that most of my 30′s kinda sucked so the 40′s are my reward. However, from I’ve seen thus far it means gravity is out to nail me on a daily basis.

A few nights ago I happened to glance in the full length bathroom mirror as I was changing from my glamorous day outfit -yoga pants- to my night suit -pj’s, and there in all its glory was my naked backside, a vision I’ve avoided since my teens. I cannot emphasize enough this one single word: HORROR. O. M. With a heaping side of G. To begin, I have a flat ass. No curves. No sass back there. So there wasn’t anything sparkly to begin. However. Now? It’s all fallen. Down. One big slide of my ass flesh heading South as fast as it possibly can. Not in a graceful way either, in a mottled, oh-this-hurts-so-I’ll-pucker-up-all-that-cellulite kind of way.

I’m not sure how this happened. On October 1, my dearest Kelly-Lynne and I embarked on a Weight Watcher’s adventure that has thus far shed five pounds from my frame. Could it be those 60 ounces were tucked under my butt cheeks and holding them up? Have my thighs somehow shrunk and allowed my butt to fall? Here I was so worried about the muffin top and all this time it was really my ass I should have obsessed about. It’s true that my underwear again fits and that I’ve sensed a small pocket of hiney hanging below them, but I simply had no idea what that meant in terms of a visual.

So that’s how it is. What to do? Implants? Remove all mirrors that show below the waist views?

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The Pinterest illusion

Posted on October 25, 2012 by Heather@That Uncomfortable Itch

I’m a creative sort. In addition to being so I’m also fairly competent in executing my visions, if I actually finish them. There are boxes upon boxes in our basement of my incomplete tasks. See, here’s the thing with creativity, it’s all about the visions. You get a vision, you know exactly how it the project will look upon completion and you don’t worry so much about the in-between stuff. Visions, man.

Liking pretty things as I do, I was obviously thrilled to bits when I first happened upon Pinterest. Who wouldn’t be? The eye candy to be had there is beyond exciting for any person who starts to vibrate at the mere thought of Martha Stewart’s line of glitter. It’s like having a scrapbook without having to actually buy magazines for clipping and then remembering that your 8 year-old used the scissors to cut a project involving much glue, because said scissors are now stuck together for eternity. Pinterest is even better because it’s all pictures. No directions. Just pretty images promising beauty.

Only not so much.

Pinterest is a lying bitch. Turns out there are directions, you just have to click a few times to get them. And apparently even in magical Pinterest land the laws of gravity still apply. Just because those pictures exist doesn’t necessarily mean the projects will be easily replicated in my house. For example, the gourmet caramel apples I planned to make for the spaghetti dinner fundraiser at Devon’s school, they didn’t at all exist in reality.

No. I bought all the needed supplies which involved trips to Bed, Bath & Beyond, Wal-Mart and the grocery store. I cleaned the kitchen. Prepped the supplies. Made the glittery gift tags. Then it turned out the white chocolate chips wouldn’t melt. This meant the chocolate couldn’t be poured into the condiment bottle I had bought, which meant the bottle couldn’t rest in a warm water bath where it would wait to be drizzled over the caramel apple, along with the milk chocolate, to then be sprinkled with the lovely Halloween sprinkles. NO. The white chocolate clumped, the caramel oozed and my soul crinkled up and cried just a bit.

This isn’t my first trip to the Pinterest big top. With my learning curve it likely isn’t the last. Pinterest repeatedly breaks my heart and I end up looking like the incompetent one. But it’s just too damn shiny to ignore and I know that one of these days the stars will align and all that glittery goodness will be mine.

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BHBC Book Review: Diary of a Submissive

Posted on October 18, 2012 by Heather@That Uncomfortable Itch

Diary of a Submissive, by Sophie Morgan, is a definite page turner. It is honest, sexy, naughty and fascinating in a I-want-to-look-but-probably-shouldn’t kind of way. The tale also happens to be a true story about the author’s life as a submissive sex partner.

In the opening of the book Ms. Morgan states that she does not suffer from emotional baggage; her childhood was normal, her parents were/are loving and supportive. She went to college, found friends, started a journalism career.There is no dark past that would indicate a need to be hurt or degraded.

In college Sophie discovered the joys of spanking while exploring sexual boundaries with a temporary boyfriend. She states she could never look at a hairbrush in quite the same fashion after that first night. The experience was fun and eye opening to the blooming submissive within. Ms. Morgan writes about her years of exploration from the hairbrush to more serious encounters. Her relationships appear normal to the outward eye while going further into submissive/dominant roles behind the scenes.

This book will inevitably be compared to the 50 Shades of Grey trilogy. However, aside from the topic of submissive sexual roles, the books are completely different. Sophie Morgan’s book is honest, if not brutally so, whereas 50 Shades is a fantasy. I read all three 50 Shades books and found them poorly written, demeaning to women and lacking in substance. Diary of a Submissive is well written and true. I did, however, find the ending somewhat disturbing in its honesty. In our society of neat, packaged wrapped stories I expected Ms. Morgan to make a 180 degree change and leave her submissive lifestyle for something more mainstream. She doesn’t. She is entirely unapologetic and confident in her choices. I find Ms. Morgan’s approach refreshing and look forward to hearing more from her.

This is a paid review for BlogHer Book Club but the opinions expressed are my own.”


 

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