tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38263522011-04-21T18:51:14.247-07:00too much infomy "100 words" keeping place.one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comBlogger351100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-1142012909910330932006-03-10T09:46:00.002-08:002006-03-10T09:48:29.926-08:00Eamons Birth StoryEamon was due on the 20th or 21st, depending on which midwife of mine you asked. I was CRABBY by the end of my pregnancy. I was HUGE, I'd gained 80 pounds at least, I weighed well over 200lbs........I was TIRED OF IT. I refused to be weighed at about 7 months. So on Saturday, which would have been the 22nd, I went to the bathroom and lost my plug. I was all giddy because with one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-1142012765956504742006-03-10T09:45:00.000-08:002006-03-10T09:46:05.976-08:00Katie's Birth StoryKatie was due somewhere around the 10th or 11th of April. I don't even remember. I just recall it coming to the 15th and everyone joking about me having a tax day baby. How stupid.My pregnancy, quite honestly, was a pain in the ass. I had horrific hypermesis (i.e. really really bad morning sickness). I lost nearly 20lbs in the first trimester. I had the worst heartburn you've one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-1110821289795484732005-03-14T09:28:00.000-08:002005-03-14T09:28:09.796-08:00When she was a little girl, and played pretend with her friends, I bet she never once thought she’d get married in a rural town at a country club. That her husband would settle on her because the one he loved the most didn’t love her. That she would give up dreams of becoming a mother in order to not be alone. That there would never be that passion, that spark past the age of 21. That she and herone smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-1110476843676224612005-03-10T09:47:00.000-08:002005-03-10T09:47:23.676-08:00They’d been talking you up. “You have to see him! He’s so nice! He’s so funny! He’s the best”. I shrugged it off. They weren’t trying to set us up, they just thought you were funny. When you came over that night, your new tattoo was glistening with the ointment that you’d put on it. I think you’d gotten it finished that day. And I made fun of you, saying it looked fake. There was no real one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-1104728632442959672005-01-02T21:03:00.000-08:002005-01-02T21:03:52.443-08:00his hand slides down my thigh and up again. upwards, pushing my tee shirt up and of course I know what he wants. and of course I play dumb. I love his act of trying to get me as much as he loves my act of not wanting to be gotten, so we play that game. he whispers in my ear “you’re wearing too many clothes” and I laugh, softly, so no one else in the house can hear. I am lavished with kisses down one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-1104728394717271782005-01-02T20:59:00.000-08:002005-01-02T20:59:54.716-08:00your kisses make my stomach lurch even more than they did three years ago. the look you give me that says it all kills me everyday. my greatest comfort is the warmth of your body that I feel every night. my greatest sadness is waking with you gone, your spot next to me cold. no one in life has ever known me this way, no one has ever had me so completely figured out. you know my worst flaws and one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-1080809329546655802004-04-01T00:48:00.000-08:002004-04-01T00:52:22.186-08:00I wish that I could speak in a more grown up voice.
I wish I could ignore the facts presented.
I wish I could fight as dirty as she did.
I wish I wasn’t going to bed alone tonight.
Because if I had all these things, I’d be normal, right? I could FEEL normal. I could be like her or her or her. They talk big but think little. They “stoop to that level” and still feel superior. They gave it up to one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-1080809147283707442004-04-01T00:45:00.000-08:002004-04-01T00:49:19.966-08:00Sister, let me tell you a thing or two about love.
Love means never having to say “I’ll give up my desire”
Love means never having to say “Yes you can trample my dreams”
And most definitely
Love means never having to say “Its ok…my feelings aren’t important”
And yet you say you are in love. And yet you say all these things.
Sister, you don’t know what love is.
I wish I could help you find it, one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-1080808993993885202004-04-01T00:43:00.000-08:002004-04-01T00:46:46.700-08:00Once upon a time, there were two friends. And the friends were such good friends they were nearly siblings at heart.
They drank together and laughed together and many many other things.
And then there was a betrayal. And it happened unexpectedly and suddenly.
It shook their world.
One friend remained indignant and proud.
The other friend always felt a little broken. And even though she was one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-1080808780495695522004-04-01T00:39:00.000-08:002004-04-01T00:43:13.233-08:00I’ve lost something that was never mine to begin with. It’s gone away and although I never had it, it’s even further from my grasp than ever before.
It should be gone. It should have left ages ago. It’s best that it’s gone from me and I know it.
But there is still a small sliver of loss I feel for this thing that was never mine.
And it was bad. It would have destroyed me. And it possibly wouldone smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-1080808615492459752004-04-01T00:36:00.000-08:002004-04-01T00:40:28.263-08:00Its strange to think about. You can be edited right out of someones life. One day, there are memories and pictures. Tangible things like left over CDs and letters. And the next day poof you are gone from history, at least from their history. The memories that were said to be cherished are banished to the trash or some such waste receptacle. The tangible things thrown away or hidden. And it’s likeone smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-1068320182276182472003-11-08T11:36:00.000-08:002004-01-13T19:12:25.623-08:00As she looks around and sees the men who she’s been with and see’s the men she’s tried to be with who’ve rejected her, it overwhelms her. She realizes she’s given so much of herself and that is now in the trash. They didn’t care for her. The only cared that she had a nice rack and was easy. She doesn’t want to think of herself as easy, but she is. She looks around and they laugh as if life is one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-1068320065727400642003-11-08T11:34:00.000-08:002003-11-08T11:34:46.920-08:00The girl stands in the bar. It is dimmly lit, as a good bar should be. This enhances the beer goggles and the various mood altering drugs that will float around the room. It's a small room, connected to another small room and together they are dingy, dirty, sticky, and smell of old vodka and coke. She is disjointed from herself. She sees the men she's been with and they don't care. She tried to one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-1068319832592827012003-11-08T11:30:00.000-08:002003-11-08T11:30:53.843-08:00Everyday, there is a new toy for her. Somedays, that toy is love or lust and somedays it’s creativity and passion. They are all toys to her for she never takes any of them seriously. She bought a very expensive instrument and spent HOURS saying how tirelessly she’d practice and how she WOULD master it and yet it sits in a corner, of course, dusty and neglected. She says she wants love and cries one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-1068319661338628922003-11-08T11:27:00.000-08:002003-11-08T11:28:02.610-08:00He is a little boy trapped in the rather attractive body of a man. But make no mistake, he is a boy. He doesn’t know what life is like and he can’t see or feel anything that is outside of him. He is of the mistaken notion that what he knows to be right IS right and things he condemns ARE wrong. He hasn’t learned, he hasn’t fallen, he hasn’t taken life lessons he’s been given as the opportunitiesone smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-1068319509477501392003-11-08T11:25:00.000-08:002003-11-08T11:25:30.763-08:00You say you feel used at the end of it all. And I want to slap your face. I used you? Oh really! That’s interesting, considering it was me who came to your side at midnight after a horrid phone call…it was me who said “come into my home” when you felt alone and sad…it was me who stood by you when no one else would…it was me who wanted your special day to be extra special at the expense of food one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-1062195167105601582003-08-29T15:12:00.000-07:002003-08-29T15:12:47.106-07:00over and over and over again I try to make amends.
I’m not really sure why, except when I look in your eyes in the picture I keep on my desk, I’m drawn.
It’s like a drug, but then again I don’t know for sure…I’ve never been a drug addict, just a you addict.
sometimes I hear your voice and you aren’t around. it sends a chill up my back. it does.
sometimes I hear your name and I am almost one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-955970562003-06-12T10:25:00.000-07:002003-06-12T10:25:22.820-07:00My deep dark secret:
I do not have career aspirations past being a good mom. I WANT to stay at home all day, play with my kids, clean my house, make good meals, garden, read, paint, and nap. I dont like taking my baby girl to daycare, no matter how nice the girls are that work there and I do not like the idea of thinking about when I can "go back to work" after the next baby comes. I wish money one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-953871452003-06-06T14:53:00.000-07:002003-06-06T14:53:38.120-07:00The day he died, I was the last to talk to him. At 10:45. He had the heart attack at 11:00. We were to have lunch. He told me he felt much better. When they finally let us in, and I took my turn, I griped his hand, which was farmilliar and rough but cold and slightly blue. And all I could do was say "Oh Grampa" in a slightly scolding voice, as if he'd done something wrong. Hours later, he let go.one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-953869942003-06-06T14:48:00.000-07:002003-06-06T14:49:37.000-07:00Some nights... every night...I ease open her bedroom door. Every time, it squeaks a bit but she doesn't even stir. I open that door and say that "I'll just look" and I look and her face looks perfect, her impossibly long lashes resting on her cheeks. And every night I walk in and bend over to kiss her, but really...my secret is that it's really to smell her. Clean or dirty, from the day she was one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-947199302003-05-21T21:00:00.000-07:002003-05-21T21:00:34.750-07:00There is a certain kind of quiet. It appears safe. It *is* safe. And yet, if you think about it in that dark way, and avoid looking into the shadows, that safe quiet can feel a bit erie. My granny, she lives in the heart of the desert in a tiny town with one Italian restaurant run by a Mexican family. This town, it has that erie safe feeling. It has a lonely safe feeling. You go for a walk at 11 one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-942138932003-05-12T10:30:00.000-07:002003-05-12T10:30:18.460-07:00When I look at myself and see my parents, I see them the most in my hands. My mom's hands were always pale, nails perfectly, maticulously chewed to the quick, leaving the rounded pink tips. She had it in her family to have ingrown nails, and you could barely make that out. She'd occasionally have a scratch from working in the yard. He hands were soft (or I imagine they were), untouched, cold. My one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-940677392003-05-09T12:08:00.000-07:002003-05-09T12:08:39.286-07:00Call him a catch. A rare find. A jewel, if you will. Men are hardly described this way, but he deserves it.
He is genuine, modest, humble, kind, thoughtful, sincere, loving. The jaded among us ladies say men like this don't exist.
When he looks at the woman he loves, everyone in the room knows it. She had what most men consider "baggage". He saw it as a bonus.
He is adored and feels unworthyone smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-939960882003-05-08T08:50:00.000-07:002003-05-08T08:50:21.000-07:00A confession:
I don't believe that cheating is always about love or respect. Sometimes, I think cheating is about addiction and willpower. I think one can truly love another and truly respect another, but because of lack of respect and/or love for themselves, they succumb to an addition, they have no willpower. And I don't believe "Once a cheater, always a cheater" because people can overcome one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-939344132003-05-07T09:17:00.000-07:002003-05-07T09:17:08.653-07:00they sat for a moment after the car was turned off. she wasnt sure what to do or say. he made some small talk and she laughed. the neighbor came out to walk across the street. the neighbor eyed them with curiosity for they'd been "on and off" for months. apparently they were on again. the small talk stopped and she felt a little akward and he looked at her and smiled. of course he wanted her to one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-939343942003-05-07T09:16:00.002-07:002003-05-07T09:16:55.793-07:00Alison layed across the seat of a huge purple chair, her legs swinging over one arm. The chair had little swirls embossed in the fabric. Between them was a huge matching ottoman that Chris was using, in typical bachelor fashion, as a coffee table. It was covered with newspapers. He sat upright across from her on the couch that matched the chair, except the couch was red. He was perched on the one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-939343822003-05-07T09:16:00.001-07:002003-05-07T09:16:40.196-07:00Being alone is a scary prospect. Many people say they are not afraid of it. I say that's because they haven't truly faced the possibility. Most of our friends are coupled up in some way by their early thirties, and while we'd like it to happen sooner, we are, deep down, think that it wil happen to us. No one truly believes they will be "the one" left alone.
My days go one, and I realize that I one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-939343682003-05-07T09:16:00.000-07:002003-05-07T09:16:26.256-07:00“aeh"
"aeh"
I heard about a tragic thing today. It moved me to tears. It stirred emotions I try to keep burried. But it got to me. And as I sat trying to wrap my brain around the new knowledge I'd just recieved, I heard a small voice say...
"aeh"
I waited.
"aeh ,mama, AEH!" this time with urgency.
My daughter had a hair on her hand...stuck there by some old applesauce from dinner or the one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-939343222003-05-07T09:15:00.002-07:002003-05-07T09:15:39.733-07:00one year ago, about this time, I was preparing to go on a trip. A return trip to London and Dublin that had taken me almost three years to make. The first time I'd been in Dublin, I'd been in love with a boy there and had not seen him since I'd given birth to someone elses child. It was one of those instances where you imagine a million different endings to the story, but none quit make it to one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-939343022003-05-07T09:15:00.001-07:002003-05-07T09:15:17.903-07:00My first love was Grant. He was popular in high school and the long time boyfriend of my rival on the cheerleading squad. He was everything a "cool" guy in high school should be....insulent, rebelious, into drugs and alcohol, and not into grades.My next love was Kyle. Kyle was the antithesis of Grant, being short and stocky and nerdy and into computers. He networked his house. He also was one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-939342872003-05-07T09:15:00.000-07:002003-05-07T09:15:00.620-07:00Matthew called her and asked her to come over. When he got off the phone, he felt nervous in a way he hadn't felt in months. It was good. He wanted to play it cool, so he didnt change, but he brushed his teeth. He'd actually hoped she'd say yes, so he wore his nice pants to work that day, the ones she hadn't seen yet but that he always got compliments on. He left the house but left the front doorone smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-939342672003-05-07T09:14:00.001-07:002003-05-07T09:14:38.756-07:00That was the night they almost got married in Vegas. While he took in a show, she strolled the casino, drank a few Coronas, smoked a few Djarums, and tried to not feel as overdressed as she looked. She finally settled into a stuffed leather chair in a smokey corner and watched the basketball team back in her city loose an embarassing game. She has just lost two dollars in the Adams Family slot one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-939342492003-05-07T09:14:00.000-07:002003-05-07T09:14:13.423-07:00It was dark and not the best neighborhood in town, and only he had a light on the front of his bike. She had just gotten her bike, and hadn't even thought to get lights for it. As she followed behind, the spring air just a bit on the cool side, she was nervous and didn’t know what to say. It was hard to be witty riding behind someone in the dark. They approached the spot where they'd met up 3 one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-939342132003-05-07T09:13:00.000-07:002003-05-07T09:13:44.170-07:00Two nights ago, after we came home from a game, we settled in to watch a movie. It was farmilliar. we shouted conversation as we moved through the house. As he searched the kitchen for something, I made myself at home, getting the cover off the bed to bring onto the couch with me. I watched him eat his leftover mexican food on the other sofa. It's easier to eat over there. And when he was done, one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3826352.post-939341422003-05-07T09:12:00.000-07:002003-05-07T09:12:15.330-07:00Strains of "You are my Sunshine" filtered through the cracked window. Their breath came in visible puffs. He held a white russian and she held onto herself. She'd stopped crying about a half hour ago and they sat silent, occasionally taking a long look at the other, occassionally shifting in the yellow deck chairs. All he wanted was for it to be easy. All she wanted was for him to reach out and one smarmy mamanoreply@blogger.com