Picture
Many people in blogland know that Heather Armstrong from Dooce.com recently had a baby. She named her Marlo. All over her blog are incredible photos like the one above showing this face of beauty so exquisite you could just die with longing.

In fact, I do. EVERY TIME I see one.

People, I'll be 40 in February. And Rex not only doesn't want any more kids, he... we... took medical steps to ensure it wouldn't happen.

This didn't keep me from bursting out crying the day he came back from surgery, all limping with his ice pack of peas. I might have been a wee bit dramatic, what with the "I'm barren!" and "You're nothing but a sterile shooter now, babe!"

I thought five years later I'd be over it, but I'm not. In my mind, a third is insane. Emotionally it would take me down quicker than a Jonas brother by a paparazzi.

But in my heart, I just want one more chance. To really get it right this time. To savor every leg kick and night feeding and smell of baby head. To see Pip and Stink love on their little brother or sister and embrace all the new stories and adventures that life brings with it.

This is where you come in to tell me that I'm being selfish, what with world population. And that the two kids I have right now are just enough. And I'll say you're right. And I'll nod my head.

And then I'll cry when Dooce puts up a new photo of that stinking beautiful Marlo.

* Photo from Dooce.com (If I've done some sort of copyright infringement could you let me know? I really don't want the Queen of blogland up my arse.)
 
 
Picture
Everyone and their mother seems to be Facebooking. I'm no exception. And while I enjoy the occasional updates here and there, especially from some lovely women I've met through blogging (you know who you are) I'm also starting to get really annoyed.

My irriatation might stem from the fact that I already write a blog for pay, as well as one here and sometimes at another site. I'm so sick of myself already. I don't have much more to add in a one or two sentence blurt.

More than that, there's a false sense of intimacy. It's like I know what is going on in my "friends' " lives, but I don't really know, because it's just what they care to reveal in a short sentence or two.

And maybe I don't really know them more than a quick meeting at a coffee shop ten years ago in Tulsa but they found me on Facebook so now "Hey, we're buddies! I get to hear about how they're not sure if it's going to rain, snow or hail rubber chickens! Yeah! I can't live without that info!"

Then there's the fact that all these other people respond in one or two lines, often very quirky and funny and clever, which is super... and yes, it keeps me somewhat "connected" to my past career - but half those people who respond to the ones I do know (meaning saw their human skull at least once) I actually don't know.

And then there's the fact that because I've heard from my friends on Facebook, I don't actually TALK or, Godforbid, SEE them as much anymore.

Which is a huge reason why I sometimes feel alone in this whole parenting/family/social community thing. Because, when you make all your contact through the computer, the hard core truth of it is, YOU. ARE.  ALONE.

So am I going to give up my Facebook privileges? Heck, no. But I'm offically going to draw the line in the sand and become like those old ladies that one day just get tired of decorating their homes with the latest styles because the gold mallard ducks they bought in 1967 work just fine. (Yeah, Stella, I'm talking about you.) They're comfortable with how their bones feel in their dated recliner. They don't value their community based on the number of clicks or buddies they have in some virtual counting box.

This year, when school starts, I aim to keep my blogs. I'm a writer, and writers write!

I'll occasionally FaceBook. But more than anything, I'm going to start seeing people again.

Bring on the coffee cups. Bring on the handwritten greeting cards and the care packages. Bring on the stray kittens I can hold in my palms and thrift store treasures I can bequeath to friends who pretend to like it but really don't but won't say anything to the contrary because I'm standing RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM. (And I can see in their eyes that they've always wanted vintage Holly Hobby toilet paper holder. You know you want one, too.) 

PS: My apologies for the length of this post. I'm rebelling in the face of the one line Face Book wall. Don't like it? Don't friend me on FB.

PSS: Photo of the kids' great grandma Stella, at 86, before taking a test flight on cousin Michael's plane. That was only 2 years ago! Now there's a woman who doesn't need a facebook or a face life. She's a real live human being! Imagine that! 
 
 

Who is tired of boring weddings?

Steph at Footnotes Facebooked this hilarious wedding opener. I only wish I had thought of it myself. (Though it wouldn't have made a difference. Rex would not have gone for it. Would you? Click the lnk and come back!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-94JhLEiN0

 
#5 is Alive! 07/25/2009
 
Picture
how did you go from this
Picture
to this
Picture
Picture
to this
Picture
then this
Picture
now wait just ONE SECOND
Picture
To a 4 year old....
Picture
To a FIVE YEAR OLD!
Pip, your organization, spunk, directness, kindness, intelligence and beauty, both inside and out, blows me away. I can't wait to see what the next year brings. I love you so much.

(But you're so confident, you already know that.)

Happy birthday Pipper Squeaker!!!!!!!!!
 
 

Please excuse the absence. (Or be sad that your vacation from me is over. Your choice.)

Summer has rocked my world. At first in a great "Wow, I'm lucky to have kids and freedom I couldn't be happier how sad for people that work who can't be with their precious kids all day" kind of way.

Then I decided that working moms of the universe have conspired to make me wake up one day and realize how STUPID STUPID STUPID I really am.

But now, I'm back to the land of the living. I'm actually smiling again and have it confirmed from my shrink that I am, indeed, not bipolar.

According to best male friend, Herb, I'm actually tripolar - as in "I'm trying too hard."

Truer words have never been spoken. I don't have to be perfect. I only have to be me - flawed and all.

With that, I have some announcements to make about some new memberships I'm a part of:

1. R.E.I.. This is a sporting store. For a one time fee of $20.00 I can now pretend I'm super hip and sporty when really my passion for all things hiking, camping and skiing come from buying super cute vintage outfits at the Salvation Army and posting photos of my kids peeing in rivers on this blog.

2. Costco.  I am now an executive card carrier. This means that instead of paying $50 for access to thousands of items I don't need I paid $100.00 for 2% back on thousands of items I don't need which lands me in exactly the same spot as I was with the $50.00 membership only I get to gain weight on their 2000 Oreo cookie packs. But for $1.62 I get a hotdog and Diet Coke, so I'm thinking it's all okay.

3. Jesus. Okay, don't freak out on me. I'm not going to be a Bible thumper like some people I know (you know who you are.) But it works for me and I'm tired of doing everything by myself. I'm giving it up to the Man upstairs. I have found a peace that only comes with faith. It doesn't mean my life will be perfect (because how boring would my writing be?) but it does mean that I can finally get out the middle ground and make some strides toward what works in my heart and life.

I'm not sure which membership will last the longest, but I'm certainly hoping I can take my $183.00 worth of R.E.I. Keen walking shoes to heaven with me because, for what I paid for them, those fxxxrs better last an eternity.

PS: I'm thinking in my new Christian walk that using x's in my curse words makes me a bit more devout. Or for you non-Christian readers, it just proves what hypocrites us faith walkers really are. A win-win either way!