Boob Pockets

It’s been a while. Did you miss me?
I’m so glad over the last decade my friends and family have begun to understand that I never intentionally blow them off, or purposely ignore them. It’s just, well, LIFE. My life, anyways.
My center focus is, and always will be, me, my kids, and my companion, in varying precedence. Outside of that, everything is just extra. Work is extra. Friends are extra. Daily taskers are extra. Sometimes I just like to take a break from the entire extra and go introvert for a while. I admit it: I like to put my phone on Do Not Disturb mode…a lot. Then again, I think most people could actually benefit from doing this, if not every day (like myself), but a least a few times a week. To be completely disconnected can be very refreshing.
I got to do exactly that this past summer on a road-trip with my girlfriend. I think we used her phone for GPS, pictures, and most other things and I took two weeks and maybe used my phone 3-4 times. It was AMAZING. And, yes, I’m a terrible mother; I didn’t even call my kids.
As I perused CNN/FOX at work today I came across a very disturbing article (see below). The basic gist of it is that there are literally human beings out there who get so emotionally wrapped up in the fictional lives of other people, that they would say and do things most rational and “normal” people would shake their heads at. I would like to think I am one of those rational/normal people. I enjoy TV shows and I have been known to get caught up in a feeling or two on occasion, but there is a huge distinction between reality and fantasy for me. Apparently, there are multiple people out there who blur those lines, or do away with them altogether.
My point is, as much fun as fantasy can be I think there are better ways to spend the majority of our time. For example: shut off the TV and fuck your significant other.
Okay, maybe that was a bit rough (no pun intended), but seriously! We have become so addicted to our mobile devices, our televisions, and media in general that we would forgo a quick romp in a bathroom to see who’s going to bite the dust on this episode of “The Crawling Dead”. I get that we enjoy watching shows with others, but when was the last time you literally sat in a room, at a table, on a porch, or any other intimate setting and had a conversation? If you reflect on the amount of time you’re investing in fantasy, fictional characters with which we imagine romantic flights of fancy, Facebook, or even reading this blog, you can quickly add up minutes you could be doing something, or someone, else. You could actually be living the fantasy! What a concept!
For me that something else is time spent with my significant other and children. If you’re single with no kids, perhaps it could be spent on you, or actually engaging in social activities. With every advance in media we lose more and more of our humanity. We lose the best things that set us apart from other living things.
I’m not saying give up media in its entirety; I myself have several TV shows I watch on a regular basis, some with and some without my SO (it’s why we have two Livingroom’s). I obviously write this blog and maintain a FB. I’m just suggesting we ensure we aren’t over indulging and that it doesn’t cost us more of what makes us, us than is necessary.
Day to day communication is key to any successful relationship, be it with a spouse, partner, child, etc. I by no means am instructing you to pull out two chairs, sit directly across from one another, and stare at each other as you go through a list of questions. That would be quite odd (picture awkward interview), even for the closest of people I think. Nor am I instructing you to be interested in everything someone else is saying. My daughter, for example, has no concept of summarization. I get every little detail and a few tangents to go along with what could literally be a two minute conversation, but ends up being 10 or 15. It’s okay though, because we have that time to just interact with one another. Half of the shit my SO talks about I have no interest in, or don’t even know how he got onto a topic, or what it has to do with me, but we have interaction; we are talking. We are verbally and non-verbally communicating. It’s not always about content. I’m sure 80% of what comes out of my mouth he’s hearing, but doesn’t give two shits about. Unless of course it’s food, sex, or outside related. Only then I will get his undivided and enthusiastic attention. I’m okay with that.
Equally important is non-verbal communication. My SO and I rarely pass by one another without some kind of touching going on. I’m not talking full out groping (okay, maybe sometimes), but even the slightest touch on a back, or hand, and an occasional ass smack goes a long way. It also makes for amusement for my son who likes to smack me on the derriere too. The kids hate it even more when we kiss or hug. This is setting a great example for our kids. No, seriously.
Non-verbal communication is something my SO would say I’m fantastic at; mostly because I wear my emotions all over my face. One evening last week we were having a fire in the front yard (we do this a lot) and he got to talking about life, and us. So fucking random. At one point, he was trying to say that as unlikely as we are to have happened, and even more unlikely that we would have worked, we do and quite well. Que the “Awww.”.
WAIT.
This is what it actually came out as: “Well, we’re not ideal. (long pause) You know, I’m super bouji, and I want Disney. We’re not Disney. ( another even longer pause) But, we’re comparable!!( longest pause ever) I mean… I love you. And… I don’t want to lose you.”.
With every sentence I could feel my face getting more and more red, and I could see his eyes widening in reflection of what my eyes were doing as he quickly realized his wording was pretty fucked up and he continued to stumble over the shit that was falling from his lips. I’m sure he could clear as day see the “proceed with caution” sign that was flashing above my head. I have the worst poker face ever.
In my head, to myself, as I stared at him: “WE’RE NOT DISNEY? Da fuck does that even mean?! Should I start dressing up as Minnie Mouse motherfucker, or are you more of a Daisy Duck? You want to go for a magic carpet ride and never come back? I know you saw what Scar did to Mufasa!”

The words “not ideal”, “comparable”, and not fucking “Disney”, made me want to throat punch him. BUT, because he often swings and misses trying to find words to express himself, I understood what he meant and that he wasn’t trying to insult me…even though he made what seemed a valiant effort to do just that. If we weren’t well versed in each other’s communication habits and mannerisms that night could have turned into an episode of snapped with quickness. Also, like a good girl, I didn’t get mad or bring it up before bed, or even the next morning. Instead, I made a quick decision to let it go and changed the topic of conversation. I also went and made myself a drink. He brought that night up though, a few days later, just to say that he appreciates that I “get” him.
You may now “ Awww.” out loud again.
Most nights I end up laughing my ass off while he struggles to communicate his thoughts or feelings. Just last night he told me he really wanted a “wider dick”. He meant deck; we have a lot of home improvement projects planned for the next 30 years. I suspect a Freudian slip was occurring; after all it was almost bed time. I was in tears and told him I was satisfied but wouldn’t mind a wider dick. Verbal communication is something he’s obviously not that great at. The fact he tries, just for me, is amazing. This took time and effort to get to though, and probably because we spend more time talking, about mostly nothing, than we do engaged with media.
I won’t bother to touch on the way media makes it easy for people to stray in relationships or that it can take the place of them. That’s a well-known and already published fact. I could spew statistics on kids and their addictions to media. I’m sure there are even studies on media and how it directly influences people’s sex lives. By now any person with even the slightest bit of common sense should know these things as they are self-evident.
For some people the monotony and routine of “Hey, honey, how was your day?” would seem almost fake. Real life is not Happy Days. Or maybe it is, and our disappointment stems from the flippant expectations we have to be extraordinary instead of ordinary. Seemingly, these expectations are fueled by what we see more so than what we experience or feel.
My SO and I work together and I still ask how his day was, even though I could probably tell him how it went. For us, it’s almost comical to ask, but upon arrival of whoever gets home last, it gives us an opportunity to engage with one another; this happens even before we open the door and get caught up in the day to day extra of being parents and the many uninteresting conversations we will participate in and stories we will hear that we really don’t fucking care about.
In my opinion, it is still way better of an investment than sitting silently on a couch, reading about other people’s fictional lives on FB and Instagram, or seeing it play out on television.
Balance: a simple enough concept. I think more humans should strive to find it and start being humans again. After all, you only get one life. That life should be real, and not lived in a self-created dome of fantasy. Be a basic bitch. It’s okay.
Be Ordinary.
#SaveCrockPot
http://money.cnn.com/2018/01/25/media/crock-pot-this-is-us/index.html

As parents I think we all experience those moments where our kid says something out loud in public in front of others and it’s super embarrassing. Children, bless their little hearts, have the gift of being able to say whatever comes to their sweet little minds whenever they choose.

I miss the days of not having to filter what I say.

My 5 year old is going through that stage where he says everything out loud that comes to his mind. He’s also very good at pointing out the obvious.

Case in point, a few weeks ago told the man standing in the 7-Eleven line ahead of us that he had no teeth in his mouth.

Another time we were walking by two teenage girls and he said “ew!!!” as he made a twisted and sickened face (girls also have cooties right now).

Friday night he and I went out to dinner by ourselves. As we were leaving the restaurant he’s in one of his very talkative, outgoing moods. One of the hostesses tells us to have a good evening and he replies with “You have a good evening, fatty!”. I quickly ushered him out of the door and as we’re walking an older couple stops and holds the door open for us. He walks past the gentleman and says “Thank you very much…fat man!” At this point I’m trying to refrain from giggling out loud as not to encourage his behavior. It came across as a very muffled chuckle.

You see it wasn’t what he said so much as how he said it. He used a very authoritative, grown man voice while gesturing a wide open space with his arms.

I tell him that it’s not nice to call people fat. This fucking kid looked me square in my face in all seriousness and asks “Then why were you laughing?”. ( shame…)

Marley was the same way at his age. It led to A LOT of dirty looks and mild embarrassment on my part. Marley liked to tell people about how I liked to “wrestle” in the bedroom with the door closed. Her favorite story by far was when I was pregnant with her brother and sneezed, and when I stood up from the couch there was a wet spot… because I peed.

Now, I would never encourage my children to be rude, or to say things that could possibly hurt another person’s feelings, however…

I feel as parents we want to start filtering our children’s thoughts and feelings at a very young age. We condition them to say and do the “right thing” at all times. Kudos to us for trying to raise empathetic and thoughtful members of society.

Looking back, I know I was raised to be very conscious of what I said and did. It was the norm to be considerate of others even if it came at my own expense.

At some point in my early adulthood, I decided that I no longer wanted to have a filter. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a raging bitch or anything(okay, maybe I am) but I do say what’s on my mind. I’ve had family tell me I’m abrasive. I feel like if I constantly have to think and question and filter my thoughts and feeling to cater to someone else’s feelings, I’m only doing them a disservice. I’m not being myself. I like me.

I want my kids to be able to do the same; to an extent.

There are things you CLEARLY never say out loud to other people or about them. This goes for children and adults. But why as an adult do I get to pick when my children stop being naïve, outspoken, and unconditioned individuals? I thoroughly enjoy their candidness. I love that they have yet to be tainted by the “real world” and the pressures and stress that come along with being an adult. I don’t think that when children say aloud their very normal observations of the world around them that they do so to be mean or callous. For them it really is just stating the obvious.

In most of the situations where one of my terrorists has said or done something most would consider inappropriate, I always get similar reactions.

The man with no teeth laughed his toothless smile and looked at my son and said “you’re absolutely right. Don’t start smoking.”.

The older “fat” gentleman holding the door laughed and patted his belly.

I think most of us appreciate the brutal honesty we get from children because we don’t get the same from other adults. We get lip service. We have one thing said to our face, and many things said behind our back to other people. Adults will stab you in the back. Children will stab you with a plastic spork while looking you dead in the eye with a scowl on their face because you won’t give them more milk to drink. Hell, they will even tell you beforehand they’re going to stab you!

How refreshing it is to have unfiltered innocence touch our lives on occasion, straight from the mouth of babes.

I envy their ability to not have to put so much energy into piecing together social interactions. Perhaps we can take a page from this short chapter in their books and apply it in moderation to our own daily interactions with others.

Or maybe we just need to be a little less restrained and more like what my son very casually told his teacher his father was once: An Ash-hole.

 

Marley had a follow up appointment with her Pediatrician the other day. While in the office, she suggested doing her physical in a few months. She also told me she should be starting puberty and getting breasts soon.
Da FUCK?! Um, Doc, she’s 9. NINE. I’m not prepared for ANY of that. I can’t even handle her 16-year-old mood swings now. You want to throw a whole fury of hormones into our already jacked up mix? No thank you. Of course, I know I can’t prevent it from happening.

I may need to up my wine to child ratio a bit to cope.

My daughter is the sweetest child you will ever meet. Seriously. I’m not saying that because I’m biased, she really is THAT good. Sometimes I even have a hard time relating to her kind, gentle, and well-mannered disposition. She’s an excellent student, smart, sarcastic. She’s always been super easy. Except for the fact that she is hopelessly disorganized and slow as fucking molasses. Frozen fucking molasses. I should count my blessings that these are her only real annoyances. Yet, these minor infractions bring me to a level of stress that I usually only reach while interacting with my son’s father.

She has a list of about 5 things she needs to do every morning before we leave; you know, the essentials. Brush her hair/teeth, get dressed, put shoes and socks on, etc. The normal every day shit. Do you know how much of that gets done on a regular basis without me shooting flames from my mouth and smoke from every other crevice? Not even half!!

I’ve had countless conversations with her regarding this and its literally like talking to a brick fucking wall. Only this wall looks at me like I’m not even speaking English. Like she needs a real time fucking translator.

Earlier this week, I woke her up and told her to shower and get ready. She showered, came down stairs dressed and ready, packed her bag, and then went to put whatever shoes on she hadn’t yet lost this week. I look over at her and immediately lose my shit. She had showered, but didn’t even bother to take her hair out of the previous days’ pony tail to do so. Now, she has VERY curly hair. But it’s not unmanageable. She’s just lazy.

Today I asked the kids to clean their room, so we could go to the store. They worked on it for about two hours. Yes, you read that right: two hours. I asked how long until they would be done. I was told 20 minutes. They “finish”, and ran-down stairs and outside to get their crap from the week out of my car so they have a place to sit.

Of course, I went into their rooms. SHIT everywhere. Like, what the hell were they doing in there to have accomplished NOTHING?!! Unfortunately for them, and much to my dismay ( hahahah, okay not so much) I was forced to leave them behind and make the trip to Wally World alone.

Now, I had given Marley fair warning that the first thing that would happen if she kept up her behavior was a haircut. If you have little hair to manage, you save time in the morning. Until this point, her hair was trying to form its own dreads. When I came home from my shopping trip, I had new shears in hand. And, she got 6 inches cut off. Of course, she cried. I explained that I wasn’t punishing her, I was simply helping her improve her time management. Some people may view this as harsh. To each their own. I remember having my hair completely chopped off to make it manageable as a grown adult woman against my wishes. It improved my morning routine.

I just never imagined that I would need to repeat myself over and over and over as a parent. Where was that chapter in the “What to Expect” series?

I believe children should listen the FIRST time. We’re working on it, and it’s a slow process, and thank God I have Derek, or I’d lose even more of my fucking mind. I may have gone an alternate route if I didn’t finally have some forceful back up: to include multiple booms boxes scattered throughout the house with CDs on repeat of the 5 most common phrases I use everyday. Stop! Put that where it belongs! That’s NOT yours! WHAT are you doing?! And…Seriously?!

Okay, I might still do that someday.

Also, my children’s frequent use of the word “mommy” as of late makes me want to pull my hair out. From the time they wake up, to the time they finally pass out at night, it’s pretty much non-stop. And over the stupidest shit.

“Mommy?”
Yes?
“when are you going to wake up?”
“Mommy?”
Yes?
“Um, Um, Um, Um,”
Spit it out.
“ Um, what are you doing?”
Going to the bathroom. Clearly.

It was soooo bad today, I felt myself about to wig out on them, so instead I countered them with a new rule. They had reached their limit of calling my name, and would no longer be acknowledge unless they addressed me as “Her Majesty” first.
At first, they thought I was joking. Then they started addressing me by my new name.
You see, as annoying and frustrating as they are, I do love my children. Sometimes, I need to bring myself down before reacting, and I try to use humor or something ridiculous to counter my instinct to run outside and drive away.

As my night is winding down, and we still have showers to take, clothes to fold and put away, and a plethora of other things that probably won’t get done, I’m glad I have my little assholes around.

Also, in case you were wondering, Marley now LOVES her new haircut ( 2.7 second rebound rate), and we even put a little purple in it. She can’t wait to show her friends her “awesome new hair” tomorrow.
Win, win.

 

No, this isn’t about the Disney movie. Sorry to disappoint.

Marley and I were shopping in the store the other day we walked past the ice cream aisle and she asked me “Mom, when Derek breaks up with you, are you gonna buy all of the ice cream and eat it all?”.

It wasn’t necessarily the fact that she was playing into female stereotypes, as if we as women are unable to handle a break up when it happens, but more so the fact that she asked when. Not if… But when.

Her father and I divorced when she was young so she has no recollection of us even actually living together other than a few pictures that I’ve let her save. She did go through the stage where she often asked why her dad and I couldn’t be married anymore. That was rough! Not enough wine some nights. She would walk in my room late at night and explained to me that she had feelings too( very matter of fact) and that she wanted her father and I to get back together. I was unprepared for this conversation seeing as how she never knew us as an actual couple. I did what any halfway decent mama would do and told her that her father and I were happier apart and therefore she would be happier having parents who are also happy.

I don’t believe in living in a broken home;I would rather come from one as I did myself. I use the term broken very loosely because I don’t feel like it was ever broken and I also don’t feel like it had any long-term impacts on me or who I am today. I was fortunate enough that my mother met a man when I was around my daughter’s age and he gladly filled the role of father for me.

This is probably why I get so irate when any of my previous exes have always thrown the term “daddy issues “at me. It seems every time we got into an argument or fight it would always resort back to you “well it’s your daddy issues showing”. To me this is the equivalent of telling me that I’m crazy( for fucks sake men, haven’t you learned by now?) Because there must be some correlation between the fact that my biological father didn’t raise me and the fact that I have a problem not keeping my mouth shut and calling people out on their bullshit, right?

In light of recent events in Hollywood, I’ve been reading a lot of articles comparing masculinity and femininity and sexual assault and harassment. Mainly because it’s unavoidable and I need time killers at work some days.

I’m not going to get into sexual assault or harassment but I will tell you that there are genuine differences between men and women that are physical and emotional; overall it is our genetic make up that make us so different from one another. I feel over the last 40 to 50 years we’ve taken these differences in our genders and turned them into something to be disdained instead of appreciated.

I am about the last person anybody would ever call a feminist despite the fact I’ve spent the better part of the last decade of my life fighting against female stereotypes in a very male-dominated field. However, I don’t feel as though I personally felt discriminated against. I actually think it was my competitive, A type personality that drove me to be better than everybody, not just men. I never felt like I was an advocate for women in my career path. Speaking with other women they had very different experiences.

Currently, I’m transitioning from a career mom to a stay at home mom. This transition also involves a move into Derek’s house. It has been over 10 years since I actually cohabitated with a man I was in a relationship with full-time. For the last 10 years I have been that independent, single mother. Can I just tell you how fucking exhausting that has been?

Playing both the man and woman roles sucks! Some women are boldly independent and preach about how awesome it is and how they’re so amazing because they do this great job and they don’t need any man’s help. Congratulations to you.

I call bullshit. Not only have I needed help, I actually wanted help although my stubborn, stupid, independence often prevented me from having it. I think I have finally come to the realization that I am too old to do this shit and I don’t want to do it alone.

So, I’m hanging up my working uniform and trading it in for an apron. OK not really an apron because let’s be real I can’t bake to save my life. More like trading it in for yoga pants, and of course, more wine. ( is there ever enough?) You see, all I’ve heard from people is that stay at home moms have the hardest job in the world. I definitely agree with that, which is why I feel like I’m going to lose a whole other role whenever I no longer have to go to work every day.

Do I feel as though I’m giving up a huge part of myself in doing so? Only the part that strived to get through life as a strong, independent woman. You see, I now know that I am capable of doing so, I just no longer choose to.

I choose to be barefoot in the kitchen. I choose to be the primary caregiver of my children. I choose to do the housework and sing loudly to my apple music while doing so. I will cook dinner and do the dishes. I will drive the kids to school, and pick them up. I will do the shopping. I will serve Derek dinner and pack his lunch for work the next day. I will do all of this and do you know where Derek will be? In the garage. Or, possibly having a jack and coke while watching some B rated horror flick. Only when he’s not tinkering in the yard of course.

Derek and I’s relationship works quite well because we both agreed to the roles we were going to play; we refer to it as the “inside,outside” agreement. He does all the things outside and I do all of the things inside. That isn’t to say that we don’t help one another but the majority of the time we stay in our designated place. We are successful because I let him fill the role of a man, and I fill the role of a woman.

His role is to protect and provide. My role is to nurture and support. His role is to start 5 projects at once. Mine is to keep him focused on one task at a time. He is the strength. I am the one who makes informed decisions. I am reason. He is action.

I’m not throwing a wrench in decades of progress for women; I AM saying that men want to be men. I’m saying that women can have the attributes I talk about above, but in my experience the more actively you try to act on those attributes, you’re interfering with your significant other’s basic instinct. Men are simple. They eat, shit, work, fuck, and play. You start taking over both roles in your relationship and you’ll quickly find yourself with a child to raise, or alone.

I’m sure there are many couples who share all the responsibilities and are happy and functional. I am also certain that since women became such a dominant force in the work place( why? Because we’re bad ass mofos), the divorce rates have sky rocketed. I’m not telling you to abandon your hopes and dreams to be a servant to some man who will procreate with you. I’m just suggesting that we, as smart and capable women, choose our battles wisely, and choose to let our men be men more often.

Welcome! Don’t worry about taking off your shoes at the door and please don’t mind the organized chaos that is my house. Then again, if you do mind, you probably don’t belong here. This is a place where, hopefully, I can reach other women, mothers, sisters, daughters, third cousins, dolphins; whatever you choose to identify as, to share in my life experiences.

Men, if there are any of you out there reading, please feel free to hang around as well. Then again, you probably came to this site expecting some kind of free porn or live cam. Joking of course… most of you women were too. Admit it ladies, we’re just as dirty minded and perverted as men. Probably worse.

Speaking of Boob Pockets, you’re probably wondering “what the fuck?”. Maybe not. If any of you have ever worn a bra, you’ll already be aware of how useful they can be for storing essential items. For example: phones, bobby pins, cash, I.D cards, lipgloss, tiny army men.

Tiny army men.

My eldest child, a girl, was sitting in the front seat with me one night after a visit with a friend. As most mothers, I was trying to grab all of the things on my way out of the door to go home. Shoes, jackets, half eaten poptarts, my purse, my sanity. I hadn’t actually planned the visit out that well, so I ended up placing objects where ever I could, some inevitably ending up in my B cups. Okay, barely B, but who’s measuring?

My son had finally fallen asleep in the backseat when I decided it was time to download. Like it was an autonomous action, I slid my hand down the front of my sweater, retrieving the little green army men, and depositing them into my center console where sticky coins were awaiting their arrival. My daughter immediately exclaimed ” OMG!” That’s slang for Oh my god, in case you didn’t know (don’t judge, I had to ask a 15 year old neighbor what a THOT was). “You have boob pockets!” she continued. “I can’t wait to have boobs so I can have boob pockets. Only, I’ll buy some a little bigger so I can have more space to put things!”.

Of course I found this to be hilarious; another example of the simple yet extraordinary way her mind works. She is truly the majority of my inspiration, and simultaneously keeps me grounded. I realized when she was four she had insight and wisdom far beyond her years. Her aunt and I started to record her through pictures, video, and keeping her epics quotes written down with the intention of passing along all of her life advice, particularly dating advice, to her when she turned 18.

Hence, Boob Pockets.

I think I started this blog with the intention of sharing her advice with others, but also as a vessel to share myself, my thoughts, and what I’ve learned so far in this crazy, beautiful, life.

Addison