Friday, December 31, 2010

Mama Poetry

I have been blessed with a good mama. The best mama for me. She can find poetry that fits any occasion, and she makes sure she gets it to you, which to me is amazing. I find cool writing all the time, but I never get it to anyone. She brought me this Nikki Giovanni poem today. I've read it 100 times already. So true it makes my stomach sick, so right it makes ache swirl.


there is a hunger
often associated with pain
that you feel
when you look at someone
you used to love and enjoyed
loving and want
to love again
though you know you can't
that gnaws at you
as steadily as a mosquito
some michigan summer
churning his wings
through your window screen
because the real world
made up of baby
clothes to be washed
food to be cooked
lullabies to be sung
smiles to be glowed
hair to be plaited
ribbons to be bowed
coffee to be drunk
books to be read
tears to be cried
loneliness to be borne

says you are strong woman
and anyway he never thought you'd really miss him

Thank you sweet Mama, for respecting my ache.


One night I asked for a little validation, "You do think I'm sexy, right?" He said all the right things, praised my "Betty Boop" body. Told me men would have loved to paint my scrumptious curves, and then I ruined it! "Do you always have to reassure the women you're with that they're beautiful?" He was thoughtful for a minute and replied, "No, most women want to know if I like the way they think because they have such nice bodies." Ha, I deserved that.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Queenpin in the Kitchen

Last night Queenpin cooked for two of her best gifts from my marriage. Along with my beasties, I have been blessed with two stepkids, and now a step-grandbaby. Last night I cooked a big ole' lasagna for us, with yummy bread, and easy salad and I remembered that I love to cook for people.

Queenpin in the kitchen has been a struggle since my wusband left. Since a good Queenpin delegates any tasks she doesn't relish I have been taking food shortcuts. We eat out, we eat breakfast for dinner, we open a box of mac and cheese (organic, of course).

Food and I have been in a fight lately. Food has become a struggle. Food has taken on a whole new meaning trying to feed two small beasties whose tastes shrink by the day. My two little ones don't appreciate a good hot meal of kale and pasta. Last night while the kids played and I cooked, I remembered the excitement and joy I would get out of cooking a big meal for my family. I used to love family dinners, now I dread them.

There are so many facets to this food thing I don't even know where to begin. Food started to become my enemy while trying to figure out how to conscientiously feed two growing kids. We are meat eaters, but how to find and afford conscientiously raised animals to eat takes time, work, and money. Finding vegetables that are organic, and raised right, that takes work, time, and money. Figuring out what the kids will eat takes time, work, and some sort of extra sensory perception that I do not possess. Sitting down and eating with a seven year old and a four year old, holy shit, that takes the patience of Job. I'm exhausted just writing about it. Really, I just had to take a break from writing because I was so tired out by the thought of cooking.

In between luscious novels I am reading Geneen Roth's book Women, Food, and God. It is all about food as a reflection of our lives, how we feel about our place in the universe, and how we feel about ourselves. That means that the Queenpin is a quickly thrown together meal, with no substance, little attention to detail, and some resentment on the side. That sounds about right. Feeding myself is one thing, but when I have to take into account my beasties it throws in a whole other aspect that I am still attempting to analyze.

My goal this month is to find things to cook and eat with my kids and to make our meals enjoyable, healthy, and yummy!!! WE WILL HAVE A NICE FUCKING DINNER AND ENJOY EACH OTHER, or else.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Fairy Tales

Once upon a time there was a single mom with 2 kids, a boy and a girl. The mom was bright and shiny as a penny, her laugh was so infectious it made you want to do tricks just to see it again. She also was a sassy mama, a queenpin in training. The sassy, laughing queenpin in training mama met a man. She loved the man, the man loved her. They got married and the queenpin in training began to change, to wilt, to not be so bright and shiny. The kids missed their mama, they wanted to know why the man had to come into their lives, why they weren't enough. They tried to do tricks to make their mama laugh, but her laugh became bitter, her voice always tired. There was nothing the children could do to save their mama from the man, and over the years they suffered as they watched her bright light burn out.

This morning for the first time in 5 months there was no sweet text waiting for me on my phone. This morning there is no man. This morning the Queenpin is making herself not say, "I miss you, come back." This morning I am reminding myself that I am a strong woman and I can do this.

That story above is about a friend whose mom I love, love, love. Still love, but have watched pull her kids through the shitter, and herself down to the dumps because she chose the wrong man. Maybe the right man for her, but the wrong man for her kids.

My man was sweet, smart, fun (oh my, so fun), but there was a darker side I didn't like to shine the light on, because if I did then I knew it would be over. For four months it was fine to play dress up, and have a life completely separate from my kids, but this holiday season I found myself wanting him to come into me and my kids' lives, I found myself compromising my promise to keep them separate. And I found myself ashamed that I wanted him and my kids together, though I knew it might not be right.

Yesterday I talked to my friend whose mama chose the wrong man and she said, "There is no judgment here, but you need to be done." And though she never talked about her mama, I imagine she was thinking of her. As do I. Early in my relationship with my man I used to say her stepdad's name to myself when I wanted my man to come with me and my kids to do something. My mantra of protection against stupid decisions. Today I have repeated that man's name as my mantra to keep me from contacting my man and saying, "Just kidding, let's keep doing what we were doing."

I'm writing this as my protection against myself. There is a part of me that doesn't want to post it. If I post it then it is over, I've got to let this man go. I'm holding myself accountable, I'm saving myself for the beasties, or maybe its them saving me from myself.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Permed, Trimmed, or Shaved? The Beaver's Coiffure

Oh, yes, I'm gong to talk about the haircut of my beave. Sorry mom. I just think its funny.

I have traditionally been an all natural girl. I affectionately called my style the Diana Ross. I mean, in the winter I usually let my leg hair grow as extra insulation. I am not a huge fan of shaving. Entering the dating scene in 2008 as a 36 year old woman, I had a lot to learn about keeping up appearances.

Sitting around my neighbor's kitchen last summer, conversation fell to grooming and care of your lady bits. We laughed as we all told stories of our preferences and stories we've heard about how other women make their precious parts presentable. I was the only woman who was all natural. Everyone trimmed, some shaved full on, and others went for the Brazilian wax! Ouch, baby.

Soon after that conversation I started dating my biker. This man has dated lots of beautiful women and I'm sure seen the gamete of beaver styles. So one night before I went over I decided to do a little haircare for myself. Nothing drastic, just a trim. I stripped down, got out the scissors and began to slowly snip away Diana Ross' curly locks. Everything was going well, until I realized I had a half dollar sized bald spot right on the mound of my pubic bone! No kidding, and I hadn't even saved enough hair for a nice comb over. I had 30 minutes until my date and really thought about finding something to color the spot in with, but in the end I just decided, "what the hell?" and I went out.

I've got a body thing. I fight with her all the time. To be all natural or to sassy myself up? To wear makeup, to wear sweats, to shave, to trim to wax? Many days it just seems to exhausting to think about those things, yet when I do them, I feel beautiful in a way that I don't when I'm furry and cozy in my comfy pants. Who am I? Sexy goddess? Exhausted mother of two? Silly teacher?

The truth is I am all of these things, but many days they don't flow together easily. My beaver trimming summed it all up for me as a woman. I am real. I can trim off the spiky edges and soften myself up, but there are flaws that are a part of me. Can I rejoice in them? Accept them? See them for the minor things they are?

The night I went over with the bald beave, my man didn't even notice. That was not was he was focused on. He wanted conversation more than fancy grooming. He wanted cuddling and company more than a show. I had to tell him the story anyway, just for shits and giggles. He laughed and said it always looks good to him.

Now that I'm single again, I'm gonna let Diana grow. I always thought she might look good with a pink mohawk, but what can you do with a balding beave? Rejoice in her individuality or invest in a toupee?

Again with the Baggage

The other day my man said, "Everybody has baggage, they just don't make other people carry it" Shit. Brave Girls Workshop, here I come.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Baggage Claim

Last night I watched one whole movie and two partials. Eat, Pray, Love, (the whole thing), It's Complicated, and Fight Club. Two strong women, and sexy, crazy, angry men (just my type). I related to everybody.

Last night I also cried, yep, pitiful aching crying. I had shaved, waxed, painted, cooked and waited for my man. Who was too tired. To see me. He is tired. 14 hour days, 6 days a week at work. I get it, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. When you open your heart up even just a small crack, things hurt. Do I have the energy for hurt? Life is easier without hurt.

My man has tried to make it up offering breakfast, lunch, and many apologies, but after all that effort last night, today I've chosen to stay in bed, read, and write instead of join him for a meal. I don't have the desire to get all gussied up again. I really only have one of those in me a week, and to be honest, I want that man to suffer.

I didn't think I wanted him to suffer until he and I talked and I realized that when he said, "Baby, (in his oh,so sexy voice) I'm so sorry, but I can't tonight." What I heard was, "You're not important, your to fat, your too furry, and frankly I would rather watch Matlock and drink a beer than have to spend the night with you." I'm telling you, it is crazy territory in my baggage department.

I told my single mom neighbor about it and she came up with a great idea. Baggage claim night. Next Tuesday we're going to go buy old bags from Goodwill, give them names, and put all of our personal, crazy baggage in it. I'm so sick of having this broken hearted, divorce baggage I think I'll mail it to Kathmandu.

Queenpin needs a change.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

To My Cronie On Christmas

A Fine Balance

We are a fine balance
Yin Yang
Reality fantasy
Spoken unspoken
beauty beast

Changing roles
Slipping in and out
Returning to center
Balancing on a wire

When I become afraid
The scales tip
The balance is lost
I forget who you are.

To return to center
I must quiet my mind
plant my feet
remind myself

you and I,
we have know each other
a long time and
you are my friend

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Opening a Can of Worms or My Heart....Whatever

I got asked to attend a Brave Girls Workshop Soul Restoration class. I want to go and I don't want to. It's women, (my favorite kind of people) sitting around a table doing soul work. Digging work. I used to do a lot of digging work. Lots of writing and talking and healing (from what I wonder now?). Much of that work was beneficial, but some was just self-indulgent and ego feeding. These days this blog is my soul work. Miraculously I can go days without having to sort through feelings with someone to help. That past work gave me a good foundation for making my own decisions and standing on my own two feet.

The reason I want to do the Soul Restoration class is because since the wusband left my heart has been closed. Buttoned up tight. When I open it will a butterfly emerge from it's tight cocoon? Will I laugh with more abandon? Will I be more compassionate to others?

The reason I don't want to do the class is the same. What happens to a heart while it is buttoned up tight, protecting itself from pain? Does it decompose like a body? The worms go in the worms go out? What will emerge if I open it? Will it be like the moldy cheese left in the back of the fridge for months? I pretend I don't see it so I don't have to deal with that freaky mess.

As I write this I realize even with my heart closed I still get hurt, but not long term hurt. Not husband leaving hurt. More like a stubbed toe. The first pain is great and then you get little tingly reminders, but you move on and have your day.

Friday night my was cup was filled by a few hours with beautiful ladies. We went to my neighbor"s house, drank margaritas, and made tamales like her Nona used to make. We talked and laughed and my cup was filled. That is what makes me want to do the Soul Restoration. That sharing of estrogen, wisdom, and joy.

What makes me not want to do it is fear of the worms inside, and how vulnerable I'll be without my worms. I'm terrified of being hurt again. When I think about the pain those nasty worms seem downright cuddly and I allow my heart to shelter them.

My mind isn't made up yet. May be I'll just procrastinate until the class passes. May be I'll sign up. May be I'll eat fried worms.