One Closes, Four Open

I am less one friend today.

I take full responsibility for my part even though there are still moments when I find myself wondering how it could have happened. I mean, I’m 35. Shouldn’t we stop losing friends at some point? How junior high to say the words, “I’m not her friend anymore.”

All kinds of relationships are at the mercy of personality drifts. Sometimes you find yourselves going in different directions. Sometimes you find yourselves going in the same direction, but with different ideas on how to end up where you both want to be.

I started to feel like I couldn’t trust things told to me and their life choices were incomprehensible. I began to feel like there was a weird competition going on for the attention and friendship of others. The list goes on. But I didn’t confront it. Later, I told a mutual friend that it’s “the stink breath syndrome.” If you have a friend that you don’t want to be around because their breath stinks, you probably won’t speak up. You’re not trying to hurt the person’s feelings. You just want your space. That is how I felt.

I told my Dad I felt awful about judging. How is it being a friend when you pull away because of someone’s life choices? Shouldn’t a real friend just accept people for who they are? My Dad said, “Friends are the perfect people to judge. There’s nothing wrong with saying, ‘I like you, but you lie. I like you, but you steal. I like you, but your hair is fucked up.’ When you say you’re not gonna judge, what you’re really saying is that you’re willing to lie to yourself about who this person really is.”

I’m not perfect, and I don’t expect perfection. But I need to feel like I’m having an honest friendship. I can’t worry about whether or not what my friends are telling me is the truth. If someone admits to stretching the truth and beating the system in other areas of their life, it’s only natural to question what they tell you.

As Maya Angelou says, “When people show you who they are, believe them the first time.”

I didn’t listen to the opinions or warnings of others. I didn’t take into account that this person had just ended a friendship with a handful of other people. I told myself that that their experience doesn’t have to be mine.

Later, after a falling out with a mutual friend, she deleted me from Facebook. Something I should have done awhile ago, but we were involved in a project together and I didn’t want to make it “weird” for the others involved. As the smoke clears and war stories are compared, I realize that my instincts were right. Lies were told, even about how things ended, but that’s okay.

I said to my mother, “Hell, maybe I have all the friends I’m meant to have.”

And I have great ones: Sophie, Amy, Mike, Bette, Richard, Tara, David, Tobias and those are just the tangible ones that I can see, touch, call, etc. I’ve met some great “virtual” ones, too.

I will not cut myself off though. To do so would be to deny myself the possibility of new friendships and endeavors.

Because of the generosity of my friend Alegra, I am participating in a beautiful anthology that celebrates motherhood and the written word. Milk and Ink: A Mosaic of Motherhood features many of my writer friends (who also happen to be Moms) as well as some lovely writers/poets I’m just getting to know. All proceeds from the book sales will go to support Mama Hope, a charitable organization doing great work for the women and children of Africa.

Recently, I became more involved in getting this book off the ground (it will be available in November of this year), and in doing so strengthened two budding friendships – Jordan and Tomi (pronounced TOMMY) – and solidified another (Alegra). These three ladies have done an excellent job of editing the wonderful pieces submitted to the anthology and are working tirelessly in getting it ready for print.

I’ve been working with my friend and boss, Kevin Palmer, in rebuilding and revamping the website so that it better serves the needs of Milk and Ink. First, it needs to be a place where we can promote the book, but also promote and support a community of writers. Not just mothers who write, but all writers. Finally, once the book is released, we will be transitioning the spirit of Milk and Ink into an online literary magazine.

I was thrilled and honored to be asked to serve as a co-editor with Alegra, Jordan, and Tomi. We have so many exciting things planned. We’ve spent many days juggling our husbands, jobs, homes, and kids only to dive into a massive email/IM creative session in the evenings – tired, but fueled by an excitement for, and faith in, this project.

It’s sad when things come to an end, but I am overjoyed by this new beginning.

It would really mean a lot to me if you could give Milk and Ink a follow on Twitter.

Also, tell your friends. Once the site is up and running, I’ll be promoting it more and asking for further support.

Be Good To Him

When I was pregnant with Jack I would often ask Donny, Kali, and sometimes the universe, “What are we going to do with this little boy?” The thought of having another person in our lives was frightening. The thought of being a mother to a boy after being, I thought, such a girl Mommy – all about mani/pedis, Girl’s Day Out, and teenage vampire flicks – was bizarre.

I wondered how he would fit into our family of three and if we really knew what we were getting ourselves into.

One day, I tossed the question into the air, rubbing my belly and eyeing my swollen feet, and Kali volleyed back the most simplest of answers.

“We’re going to love him, and take care of him, and be good to him.”

That latter stuck with me.

Be good to him.

Loving him would come naturally.

Taking care of him was my responsibility and I’d be held to it by the law if necessary.

But being good to him? It was such an odd thing for a 9-year-old to say. Such a simple answer and simple concept.

When Jack was about a week old I was suffering from excess water retention, in my legs and feet, on my lungs, and apparently on the brain as I was purposely ignoring the medication that would help because it would potentially dry up my breast milk. It was a tough time of very little sleep and patience. Whenever I felt like I was at the end of my rope I would simply hug him, rock him, kiss him and remember, “Be good to him.”

That instruction has remained with me for the past two years as I was reminded how energetic and difficult toddlers can be. It has remained with me as I am introduced to how rambunctious and fearless little boys can be. And it was my mantra last night as I struggled to get Jack to go to sleep when all he wanted to do was jump around and toss toys into the air.

We do not spank. A sharp rap to the hand to stop a bobby pin from finding its way into a light socket is one thing, but we do not hit the bottom, face, or legs with our hands, belts, wooden spoons or other foreign objects. It’s a personal parenting choice that has served us well. That is not to say that I’ve not found myself at the end of my rope. I have. Sometimes I want to tie that rope around my neck and jump! But it’s an effort I choose to make, to discipline from a different place and in a different way.

And it’s easy to do when I just remember those four words. Be good to him.

I said them last night as Jack finally settled down, nursing from one breast with his hand on the other. His eyes were closed and I kissed his brow. He sighed and hummed and gave my breast a quick squeeze. I pulled him closer, still amazed after 11 years of motherhood how perfectly their bodies seem to mold into mine. Like puzzle pieces finding their correct spot, they belong to me and I belong to them.

Jack’s breathing, through his nose, slows and I know that he’s finally asleep. Not enough that I risk removing the breast. I decide to give him a few more minutes, but really they’re for me. I enjoy that internal smell every time he exhales. It has such a boy aroma to it. It’s hard to explain to people what that means. Just like it’s hard to explain that I still stick my face close to his when he yawns to soak up that baby breath. Yes, thankfully, he still has baby breath. I placed my hand on his back and pushed him closer still.

I feel bad that I’d lost my patience a few minutes before. I think about a mother in New Zealand whose baby fights for his life because someone wasn’t good to him. Someone lost their patience or swung too wildly or… God only knows. I think that I am lucky and blessed.

I woke up this morning to an email from my friend Alegra. Her nephew is that baby, and last night he stopped fighting. He is in death as he was in life, a perfect little angel. Donny called me a short while ago asking if I’d seen Alegra’s Facebook status about it and I told him about the email. We spoke for five minutes about how senseless it was. How sad. How painful. When Alegra had first told us what had happened to baby Cezar, Donny and I tried to remember what Jack was like at five months. All we could come up with was beautiful, sweet, and small. So small.

It doesn’t make sense and I’ve had to stop writing this several times – sometimes to cry, sometimes to hug my baby, sometimes to do work and not think about it. But then, of course, I will think about it and I have to write again because it helps get the feelings out. Otherwise, I feel like I’ll choke on them.

Please say a prayer for baby Cezar and his family. And if you have little ones, be good to them. Even if you’re tired and stressed over bills and life in general. Just take a moment. Take a breath. And be good to them.

Adventures in Geocaching

So we mapped a route of caches from our house to my Dad’s. Some were easy to find. Others? Not so much. There was one called “Movie Night” that was hidden around those Red Box movie rental machines. We had to wait forever as muggle after muggle rented movies. We tried standing around like we were waiting our turn to rent something, but it kind of felt like it does when someone stands too close to you at the ATM.

Um, can I help you with something?

We never found the cache. We did rent The Crazies on BluRay for $1.59.

After hanging out at my Dad’s house for awhile we headed home, stopping at a few more caches on the way. Here’s some video from one off a trail in a park.

Tomorrow, I’m going back to that Red Box machine and getting my $1.59 back.

First, Bitches: Geocaching

First, Bitches are a series of blogs about me discovering new things. They may not be new to you.

I recently noticed a friend on Facebook posting pics in an album called, “Geocaching.” I didn’t know what that was, but the pictures were all of rivers and trees so I figured it was a whole lotta something I wouldn’t be interested in. Then she posted more photos last night and my nosy ass decided to google “geocaching.”

I found the main site that describes it as:

Geocaching is a high-tech treasure hunting game played throughout the world by adventure seekers equipped with GPS devices. The basic idea is to locate hidden containers, called geocaches, outdoors and then share your experiences online. Geocaching is enjoyed by people from all age groups, with a strong sense of community and support for the environment.

The word “outdoors” immediately turned me off, but it was surpassed by words like “high-tech,” “treasure hunting,” and “GPS devices.” The competitive, amateur sleuth, with a gadget fetish in me was overjoyed.

I signed up for a free basic membership and read up on different types of caches. I did a search by zip code and was pleased to see that there were pages full of hidden treasures just waiting to be found. I woke Donny up to show him the site. He grumbled, rolled over, and went back to sleep. When he was awakened again a few hours later because I’d been hogging the covers I asked him, “Do you know what we’re doing tomorrow?”

Blank stare.

“Geocaching.”

Blank stare.

“Do you know what that is?”

“Treasure hunting?”

“So you were paying attention!”

We went to sleep.

I was so excited I woke up much earlier than I usually do on Sundays. I did some work and then over coffee, Donny and I tried downloading the necessary GPS apps to our phones. Two hours later I was ready to throw my phone, laptop, and Donny out the window. When we finally got our act together (or so we thought), we prepared to leave.

And then it started raining.

I took that opportunity to get more work done while Donny read up on Geocaching. When the rain stopped, we headed to the first cache at a park two minutes away. We stopped for fast food and ate in the park’s parking lot. And while we ate the sky opened up. I was starting to think that me and geocaching weren’t meant to be. Donny said he thought the storm would pass quickly and despite having no reason to believe that he actually knew what he was talking about, I decided we’d wait it out. Thank the Lord for headrest TVs with a DVD player. The kids kept themselves busy with a movie while Donny and I played around on our smartphones.  After about 30 mins the rain let up considerably. We all donned zip up hoodies and took off in search of our first treasure.

One of the first things they tell you about geocaching is to look out for Muggles. Much like in the Harry Potter books, Muggles are people that don’t know what the fuck is going on. You want to search for the caches and replace them without letting the Muggles around know what you’re doing. The idea being that Muggles will fuck it up for everyone by moving things and being general pains in the ass.

Because of the weather there were, thankfully, not many Muggles around. We set off in the direction my phone’s GPS said to go, jumping over puddles and stepping in mud. I regretted wearing my new $100 sneakers, but it was too late to do anything about it. I took solace in the fact that the hoodie was protecting my new $140 hairdo.

When we got to the designated spot, we began to search the area; we kicked around leaves, twigs, and rocks, we looked up into the trees in case the canister was tied to a low branch, and we checked all around light posts. Nothing. The GPS wasn’t very helpful as once we got close to the coordinates the needle started spinning all willy-nilly. We were miserable.

We decided to go to Best Buy and buy a real GPS. I figured we’d buy one for the car, one that we could also carry around for cache hunts. I figured wrong as the Best Buy associate explained that for geocaching you’d need a handheld that has geocaching built in. The prices were too high for something I wasn’t even sure I’d enjoy yet. We went home.

While I worked again, Donny did some research and found a handheld GPS device exclusively for geocaching for $199, but reminded me that we had a shitload of reward certificates for Best Buy. He ordered it online and went to pick it up. It cost us $80. We logged back in to our geocache account and pulled up a bunch of caches in our area. We read the descriptions and other helpful hints posted by the people who hid them and people who’d previously went looking for them – sometimes successful, sometimes not. With the GPS plugged into my laptop it was as simple as clicking “send to my GPS” when we found caches that appealed to us. We loaded a few and left again.

People try to get pretty creative in the containers they use to hide the cache. The first one we attempted kept hinting at “nut” in the description so we figured the container might be a fake nut of some kind. It was located at an intersection that can be pretty busy sometimes, but not too bad on a Sunday late afternoon. It was also located, if the GPS was to be believed, down a ditch in front of a private residence. Jack and Donny waited in the car while Kali and I stepped over a guardrail to find it. Crickets leaped at our ankles and I felt like things were crawling on my neck. After a few minutes, Donny and Jack joined us. It was pretty clear that the GPS was directing us down the ditch and it was very steep. Also, the whole “in front of someone’s house” thing made me afraid. I was pretty sure Muggles don’t play that. I pulled up more information on the cache and when I saw, “Beware of ticks,” I called a big fat, “let’s get the fuck outta here” on the whole operation.

We got back in the car and loaded up the next cache. It turns out it was in the parking lot of a supermarket strip mall near our house. The GPS seemed to point us smackdab in front of a light post. That area of the parking lot was completely empty. I stayed in the car with Jack while Donny and Kali got out to investigate. There was a Muggle on a skateboard nearby, looking at us curiously. He got bored after a few moments and looked away. Whew!

After a couple of circles around the post, I saw Donny lift up the base around the pole. “Did you find it?” He nodded. I told him to bring it to the car. They got back in the car and I locked the doors. I don’t know why I was all Deep Throat about the whole operation, it just felt like the right thing to do.

Some caches have items in containers that you are welcome to take, but it’s proper etiquette to then leave items of equal or greater value in return. Some just have a log for you to sign. This one was a log only and it was pretty neat seeing the names and dates of the people that came before us. That cache had been there for almost three years!

We signed the log and then Donny returned the stash. We decided to sign it with our last name, the date, and then I threw in two little stars ’cause I’m a fucking girl. Sue me. We’ll use that until we come up with a badass geocache team name. We headed to our third location.

Because of the name and description we figured it was in a park with ducks, beavers, and other wildlife nearby. My city slicker, me-no-like-animals ass completely blocked all of that info out due to being so high off our first find. We figured out we needed to park at a dead-end with a big ass “no parking after 6pm” sign… it was after 6pm… to get to the next cache. Since Donny and Kali had gotten out and found the last one, Donny said that I should go with Kali this time, but warned that we should hurry cause if the po-po came, he was going to leave us. That’s how he rolls.

Kali and I started off, me carrying the GPS. We walked down a trail with woods to our right and trees that backed up into a lake on our left. The lake looked dirty and lonely. Ahead of us I could make out a brown bridge. It looked sinister. I started thinking, “This is where the white folks die in movies. What the fuck am I doing out here with my baby?” At the foot of the bridge I stopped.

“Kali, maybe we should go back.”

“Noooo, this one has treasure. I want to see what’s in there!”

Just then I heard a branch snap to our right. I’d seen enough movies to know this is usually the appetizer to a dismemberment entree.

“Come on, Mommy!”

We stepped on to the bridge. It didn’t cross water, just more dirt, so I suspect it was just for show. It felt reliable enough, but the sounds of our footsteps on the wood gave me the heebie jeebies. At the other end, I stopped once more.

“I don’t think I want to do this.”

“COME ON!”

I think it’s safe to say that this was my daughter’s white half kicking in. I’m sure her black half was yelling, “RUN, girl, RUN!” She’d apparently tuned that half out. According to the GPS we had to hook a left though we didn’t need it to tell us that – directly in front of us and to our right was thick woods, the path continued to the left only.

As we turned left, I looked ahead at what was waiting for us. I didn’t like what I saw.

We kept walking with me checking the GPS every few seconds. We were 80 feet away. I’d already decided that should a rapist, mountain lion and/or deer appear, I would yell for Kali to run for her life, back to her Daddy, brother and safety, and I’d go down fighting like a true Brooklyn bitch. Cause that’s how I roll.

When we got to the point where the cache should have been 6 feet away, I stopped walking. I turned in a complete circle, taking in everything around me. I was looking for anything out of place, a color that didn’t belong. I wanted to make sure we were alone before I dropped my guard to look for the container.

I was sure we were alone, but just in case I dialed Donny’s cell with my own, put it on speaker and handed it to Kali. I told him we were looking, but I was too freaked to concentrate. After I minute, I decided I was heading back and he’d have to come do it. When I got to the bridge, I could see Donny and Jack outside the car. I waved that he should come to us. He and Jack met us at the bridge and the four of us made our way back to the cache site.

Donny spotted it within ten seconds, a few feet up an embankment, resting against a tree, covered with leaves.

“You know, I’m sure I’d have found it quickly too, but I was distracted by all the bricks I was shitting.”

I didn’t want to fuck around looking at the loot in the woods and I didn’t like leaving the car unattended so we practically ran back to the car.

This cache had a lot of little toys and knick knacks. We took a toy of plastic hands that clapped when you shook it for Jack and deposited a big, hot pink, die in its place.  (Donny made it back safely and we headed to our fourth location).

This one cleverly had “PUBLIX ENEMY” in the name and we could tell by the location marker that it was very near the Kroger supermarket near our house. (Publix is another supermarket chain). We also knew that the person who hid the cache had left a simple two-letter hint that when decoded, revealed LP. I figured it stood for “light post.” Also, someone who had quickly found the cache left a comment that they had to wait to replace it because a Muggle parked his truck near the hiding spot. It turned out it was in a light post behind the Kroger where the deliveries are made.

I hopped out and looked around. Much like the first one we found, the base lifted and out rolled an old film container. I grabbed it and hopped back in the car. This one had a tiny scroll of paper inside a little ziploc bag. Sure enough, when it was time to put it back, a Muggle truck driver came out to move his truck. While he was trying to do that, and his back was turned, I jumped out and returned the cache.

We gave the first one from earlier that day – in the park – another attempt, but still couldn’t find it. According to the log online, someone just found it 7 days ago. We wondered if it had been muggled in the meantime. Damn Muggles!

We had so much fun doing this as a family. I’m grateful to my friend Cathy for bringing it to my attention and that GPS was worth every cent of the 80 bucks we spent on it. It was so much more reliable than the program in our phones and easier to use. When we found a cache we could mark it as found and leave comments about our experience straight from the device.

As we get better at it, and maybe on some days when it’s just Donny and I, we’ll attempt harder ones with more rugged terrain. The caches are identified by their difficulty level in both finding the cache and the terrain you’ll have to cover to get there. There are also multi-caches where the first coordinates lead you to one cache which provides a clue to the GPS coordinates for another location and so on. And there are many that have puzzles you have to solve before you leave the house. Once you solve the puzzles, they reveal the coordinates which you can then load into your GPS and go hunting like normal. We’re going to try those next weekend. Some of the puzzles look pretty easy, but we found a local geocachers that has dozens all around our area and her puzzles are challenging. We can’t wait to try those!

If you think you might like to try it, I’d love to hear about it. We’re thinking we may start hiding some of our own caches with items specifically for people people with children. It really is a fun family activity.

Summer TV Viewing

After this Tuesday’s Glee finale, all of our fall shows will be done – some for good. Sure, we still have So You Think You Can Dance and my summertime guilty pleasure Big Brother to look forward to, but this is also the prime time for Donny and I to catch up on shows that either fell to the wayside or we never got into.

The great news is that a lot of these are available via Netflix instant viewing and can be streamed directly through our XBOX 360.

Here’s our list so far. Feel free to suggest some shows you think we’d like. Note: I groove most off shows with their own mythology and have several seasons under their belt, but I know there aren’t that many shows of Lost’s or Battlestar Galactica’s caliber.

1. Fringe – Seasons 1 & 2

• We started watching this show during it’s first season, but it got pushed aside after one of my TiVos fizzled and we lost a few episodes. We’re gonna get season 1 today and we’ve been TiVo’ing (and saving) season 2 which just ended.

2. Bones – Seasons 4 & 5

• We’re partway through season 4 now. Thankfully, it’s just been added to Netflix’s instant viewing list. We’ve also been TiVo’ing and saving season 5 which just ended.  I like the show, but the thought of any Booth/Bones romance puts me in no rush to watch it. Also, (spoiler alert) and I don’t dig the way everyone so easily forgave serial killer helper boy.

3. The Mentalist – Seasons 1 & 2

4. CSI – Season 10.

• We’ve seen some of this, but the majority of the season is on the TiVo in Jack’s room. I was going to give up on it and delete the 17 episodes saved up until I realized they had a serial killer storyline this season and I’m a sucker for those.

5. Rescue Me – Season 5 Vol. 1 & 2

• We’ve seen some of this, but stopped as life just got busy. Thankfully, it’s available on instant viewing.

6. The Shield – the final season

• As much as we love this show I can’t believe we haven’t watched the final season yet. Yay instant viewing!

7. Prison Break – the final season

• This show lost it’s shine after season 1, but we have completion issues so I kinda have to watch this. Also, instant viewing ensures I won’t have to spend any extra money or energy to do so.

8. The Wire – seasons 4 & 5

• We loved season 1, thought season 2 was kinda slow, and I was kicking rocks when they killed off a major character in season 3, but we hear nothing but great things about the final season. No instant viewing here. We’ll have to wait for the discs to come in the mail.

9. Stargate Atlantis – seasons 2- the end and Stargate Universe – second half of season 1

• This is all me. Donny has no interest in Stargate. I have to watch the season finale of season 2 SGA just to remember what the hell is going on.

10. Freaks & Geeks

• This show only lasted one season, but it’s supposed to be ridiculously funny. I promised Donny we’d watch it.

11.The 4400 – Season 3

• It’s been so long since we watched the first two seasons, I don’t remember what the hell is going on.

12.Big Love

• We’ve only seen the first 2 discs of season 1.

13. Breaking Bad – seasons 1 and 2

• A friend was watching an episode from season 3 the other night and described it as the most intense hour of TV they’d ever seen. How can I NOT watch?!

14. Mad Men

• I’ll probably watch all three seasons alone. Donny isn’t interested.

We’ll probably start with Fringe because that’s what Donny really wants to get into.

What am I missing?

First, Bitches: The Diva Cup, Part 2

To read part one, click here.

The Dry Run

There wasn’t one!

I’d planned on trying to insert the cup a few days before I got my period. I figured when things were good and flowy wouldn’t make the best time to start messing around down there. I was expecting my period around May 9th (a Sunday) so on Tuesday the 4th, I thought I had time.

I was wrong.

As I sat watching Lost, I started to feel really crampy. I thought, “Son of a bitch!” I went to the bathroom, and sure enough there was slight spotting.

But before I get into details, let’s talk about…

The Cup

The cup was bigger than I thought it would be and even though I’ve pushed two babies out of my vagina, I was still a little intimidated. When you get to a certain age, you’re used to putting things of a certain shape and size in your vagina. But depending on what kind of birth control you’ve used, a cup ain’t one of ‘em. I took pics of the Diva Cup next to some random items so you’d get an idea of the size.

And this next item is how I know a man came up with this.

That’s right. That’s a Diva lapel pin. The only reason I can see for wearing one of these is to warn other people (men) that you are indeed on the rag … er … cup and to stay far, far, away.

DAY ONE

So, after Lost, I go into the bathroom with the cup and directions. The directions are pretty simple: squeeze it, fold it and put it in your vagina then turn it and go.

You can stand or sit over the toilet. I chose to sit over the toilet for obvious reasons. I relaxed like the directions said and chose one of the two recommended folds to insert it. I made my decision based on the fact that it was the only one I could somewhat understand from the diagram provided.

Apparently I didn’t relax enough because the first go round was awkward and somewhat painful. I pulled the cup out and was greeted with the most awful sound. It was wet and suction-y and just … gross. Like when you’re trying to squeeze ketchup out of a bottle.It was the mother of all queefs. I laughed for three solid minutes then washed my hands, the cup, and tried again.

Second time was the charm because my vagina is awesome.  Here’s a video I made to explain the insertion process…

I will say that by the time I was done, it looked like that scene at the end of Carrie at the prom.

DAY TWO

I slept in it and woke up super nervous. I’d worn a pad too, just in case. Before I woke Kali up for school I went to the bathroom to check. The pad was clear which was a good sign. I reached to take the cup out and… couldn’t. fucking. find. it.

I panicked. I thought, “Oh my God! I have to call Donny and have him come from work so he can find this damn cup and pull it out!” Because my only other option was the emergency room and I could just see it…

“Doc, my cavernous vagina ATE the Diva Cup! Perhaps they should have a Diva Cup 3 for vaginas that don’t know how to act!”

I called Sophie. She told me to sit on the toilet, relax, and push like I was having a baby while feeling for the stem. Once I felt the stem, she said I should continue to push and gently pull on the stem until I got a firm grip on the cup. I’m pretty sure I ruined her breakfast.

I couldn’t try it then because I had to wake Kali up and get her off to the school bus. The whole time I was helping her get ready, all I could think about was the fact that I couldn’t find the Diva Cup. I knew that under normal circumstances, Donny would have no problem leaving work early to come home and play with my vagina. But these weren’t normal circumstances.

Once Kali was gone, I did as Sophie instructed and felt around and felt around and felt around until I was pretty sure I had violated myself. When I finally felt the stem, I did the baby push thing. I remembered what she’d warned about not pulling it out by the stem or else you’d spill. I firmly gripped the bottom of the cup, pushed, pulled and it was out! I took a few deep breaths before looking at the cup which I was holding in one hand between my knees.

There wasn’t a lot of blood in the cup which surprised me. There was, however, a nice long string of thick, snot-like, blood hanging from the cup. I almost threw up in the tub. It reminded me of the sugary icing on a Cinnabon. Hey! Don’t look at me like that. You shouldn’t be eating that shit anyway.

There were a few times during the day when I had to keep checking it and reinserting it. It didn’t hurt, but for some reason on day two it made me feel like I had to pee… constantly. I’d go the bathroom and try and nothing, but the feeling remained. VERY annoying.

DAY THREE

On day three I had issues keeping the damn thing open. It kept wanting to go in correctly, but then kinda fold like a taco. After taking it out, washing it, and reinserting it a few times, I decided to take a short break from the cup. (Not to mention there was an unfortunate and hilarious poop incident.)

I went without it for a few hours and later I decided against it for overnight.

DAY FOUR

We went out for Donny’s birthday and that was going to be the real test. How convenient is it when you’re out and about? If you have to use a public restroom, are you comfortable washing it out in the sink in front of strangers? Well, I can’t really answer that for me because I wasn’t out long enough to require a dumping.

Until you know for sure how you’d handle it, I’d suggest making sure you have the carrying bag and a backup tampon or something in your purse. If you have to remove it in a public restroom, but don’t think you’re up to cleaning it in public, you can just store it in the bag (after dumping the contents in the toilet) and wash it and the bag at home.

While I was out I enjoyed the same comfort as when I wore tampons, but there was the added bonus of having a reusable product that wouldn’t cost me money every month.

TIPS:

• If you’re squeamish about touching yourself “down there” and “in there,” then this isn’t for you.
• I suggest using this in YOUR bathroom at home. Not the guest bathroom or the kids’ bathroom. No matter how careful you are, you will get blood in places you shouldn’t. And you won’t notice it till like a week later when you’re sitting on the toilet and spot blood on the towel rack.
• Things can get bloody. It will look like a scene off CSI. I’m not kidding. On day two I kept waiting for David Caruso to strut into my bathroom, pull down his sunglasses and deliver a corny pun.

THE VERDICT:

I definitely don’t regret my purchase. The plan is to use it again, with the occasional tampon until they run out. It may take you a cycle or two to get the hang of it. If the reasons behind using it are important to you, you’ll stick it out.

If you decide to use it, let me know how it goes. Drop me a line and I’ll share it with my readers: nina@blogitoutb.com

Take It or Leave It: Friend or Foe and Mother’s Day Woe

Dear Nina,

My son has two best friends, Jimmy and Connor who live on our street. Not only do they walk to and from school together every day, but they play with each other after school as well. Jimmy is having a birthday party on Saturday. Connor was invited, but my son was not. We heard that it is because Jimmy is only inviting third grade boys to the party. My son is in fourth grade. Needless to say, my son is very upset about this. It doesn’t help that Jimmy and Connor have been talking about this party when they all walk to and from school. My son feels excluded and has now heard that some fourth grade boys ARE invited.

I called Jimmy’s Mom and asked (just to clear things up) if fourth grade boys were invited because my son was so upset when he heard they were. I told her that I’d probably be taking my kids on a day trip the day of the party so that my son wouldn’t have to deal with knowing there was a party going on next door that he couldn’t attend. She got angry with me!

“First of all, fourth graders aren’t invited. Second of all, I can’t believe you’re making me feel bad about throwing my son a party! Fine, I’ll just cancel it cause I don’t need this drama. I didn’t say anything when your kid didn’t invite mine to her party!”

I tried to explain that for my daughter’s party, we decided to only have five kids over and to make it fair, we drew names from a hat. She wouldn’t even let me finish and hung up on me. What should I do? I don’t think I did anything wrong? Isn’t she overreacting?

Hurt In Harrisburg, PA

Dear Butt Hurt,

You’re both overreacting!

Children’s birthday parties are a tricky thing. I personally dread Kali’s birthday because I don’t want to deal with the social minefield of deciding who should be invited. It’s exhausting! Also, I don’t like other people’s kids, but I digress.

Seriously, I’m sure you know – seeing as how you opted to only do five kids one year – that planning your child’s birthday party can be stressful and expensive. Between the invites, thank you cards, food, cake, beverages, decorations, gift bags, etc., it adds up. (Not to mention you still have to buy your child an actual present!) I think we need to give parents a break when it comes to who gets invited.

Restricting the guest list to boys/girls, classmates, or family only isn’t unusual.  Unfortunately, in this instance, your son got his feelings hurt. This could have been a teachable moment, the perfect opportunity to show your son that these things sometimes happen. I’m sure there were kids disappointed that their names weren’t pulled out the hat for your daughter’s party…. which brings me to the phone call…

How would you have felt if a parent called you? And let’s be honest, you know better! What you did was a passive aggressive attempt to, at best, wrangle an invite for your child and, at worst, make your neighbor feel shitty for not inviting your kid. She knew he wasn’t in the third grade when she made the guest list! What you did was put her in a tough spot, and she acted as people often do when backed into a corner. She lashed out.

Of course she’s not going to cancel the party and she didn’t need to know that you were planning a whole “day trip” around not being there when her guests arrived. You were both engaging in emotional blackmail. Frankly, you both deserve the tension that is sure to follow. I think you should have just explained to your son that he’s not always going to be invited to parties and then (without making a big show of it – you don’t want him thinking he gets some special day out whenever things don’t go the way he wans) made arrangements to do stuff away from the house/neighborhood so as not to rub salt in his wounds.

Your friend might give you an apology for overreacting, but I think you need to make the first step and be like, “Listen, didn’t mean to make the party planning stressful. My son was just disappointed he didn’t get an invite. I hope you guys have a good time and we’ll drop off a present before/after the day of the party.”

Booyah.

***

Dear Nina,

I have been a mother for nearly 7 years and my mother has yet to even give me a card for Mother’s Day. It’s almost as if she doesn’t acknowledge me as a mother and she is the only one to be celebrated on this blessed day. Not only that, she seems to expect a gift and expect to celebrate with our family. It’s not just her day, although she seems to think so.

Miffed on Mother’s Day

Miffed,

Some people have really weird ideas of etiquette when it comes to certain holidays. Perhaps she feels as if only the child should do the appreciating and gift giving?

When I call my stepmother on Mother’s Day she wishes me a good one as well, and so will my Dad if I happen to speak to him. But that’s it. I don’t expect cards, flowers, gifts, or even well wishes from anyone that didn’t come out of my vagina… or isn’t responsible for putting them there. Sure, acknowledgment from others is nice, but not necessary.

Is it important to me that those close to me (read: parents) think I’m a good Mom? Sure. But I don’t need a card on Mother’s Day to tell me that. However, it does sound like this is, at least somewhat, important to you. I’m a firm believer in first weighing the consequences, and then dealing with the situation head-on. With Mother’s Day right around the corner, now would be an excellent time to call your Mom and be like, “You know, you’ve never given me a card for Mother’s Day. What up with that?”

As for celebrating with your family, that’s tough. Without hurting her feelings directly, you may have to just make yourself “unavailable” every other Mother’s Day. Maybe say something like, “My husband planned this all day surprise for me with just us and the kids, isn’t that great?” She’ll get the hint. Hopefully.

***

Nina,

Years ago, I had this circle of friends who I was really close to. If you’d asked me then, I’d have said that we’d have been besties-4-life. But then, I moved away. Not, like, “other side of the country” moved, but about 200 miles. When I left, they all did the whole “oh, we’ll stay in touch, we’ll always be together” thing that people do. And I believed it. I mean, we’d been like family.

Flash forward a decade. It’s been at least two years since any of them have made any effort to visit. For the first five or six years, I was the only one who ever made the effort… I went to them, they almost NEVER came here. A while back, I made the decision to basically just kinda stop being their friend. It wasn’t hard, given that we never spoke or communicated.

What pushed me over the edge? Finding out that several of them had spent a weekend about three miles from my house and never bothered to call. Anyway, recently, one of these people recently out-of-the-blue contacted me saying “Oh, hey, there’s this event near your house and I’m coming down. I thought we could hang out and I could stay with you.”

I never responded, figuring, “Wow, way to use me.” I’ll admit to missing them on occasion, but feel as if letting them back in will only lead to more heartache. I know I’m right, but I need you to tell me I’m right.

Signed,
Won’t Be Fooled Again

Fooled,

You’re right.

As we get older, we get used to the fact that people grow apart. It’s not always a bad thing, but it’s usually a sad thing.

Your visiting friend MAY be trying to extend an olive branch, reignite the friendship fires, etc., by reaching out to you for their upcoming visit, but I think your first instincts are right: you’re being used. One easy way to determine if that’s the case (if you even care to) is to write back with some excuse as to why crashing at your place won’t work (renovations, other out-of-town guests, etc.), but suggesting that you meet for coffee at some point during their visit. If this person were truly reaching out just to see you again, then the venue shouldn’t matter.

N.

And, you’re welcome.

So, what do you guys think of my advice? Should they take it or leave it? What would you do? Remember, if you have a problem you’d like me to solve (or try to anyway) send it to nina@blogitoutb.com. Make sure to put TIOLI in the subject line.

Take It or Leave It: Crotch Shots and Low Blows

Dear Nina,

When trying to get to my seat in a sporting event or movie theater do I face my ass or my crotch towards the other patrons? Thanks!

Confuzzled in Conroe, TX

Dear Confuzzled,

How bout you get there early enough so that you don’t have to worry about doing either?

I kid. I kid.

This is a serious question and something I’ve struggled with it. I’m not a big fan of putting my crotch in people’s faces (at least not for free), but I have to say that if I’m the person doing the scooting by, I’d prefer to face the person I’m annoying. I want to see the look of disgust and inconvenience as I block their view and step on their toes.

And this holds true if I’m the person seated as well. Butts are rude and I don’t want to see yours. I want you to face me so I can be sure that you see my look of disgust and inconvenience as you block my view and step on my toes.

So, my final answer is, you can’t go wrong with a crotch shot.

(Just make sure you wash your lady parts before you leave the house and you should be fine.)

***

So, what do you guys think of my advice. Should Confuzzled and Itty Bitty Titties take my advice or leave it? Anything you want to add?

And if you or someone you know needs me to solve a problem, shoot an email to nina@blogitoutb.com and you might see it featured here in future installment of Take It or Leave It.

BIOBaby: Breastfeeding at 48 Months

My cousin had a baby in July of 2008. I gave birth to Jack in August of 2008. A few months ago we were both invited to a hookah bar and my response was, “I can’t go! I’m still breastfeeding!” Her response was, “So am I. Now, what’s your excuse?”

The big difference here is that she she was referring to her second child born since July 2008! That’s right. In the time it took her to nurse one child, wean him, get pregnant and have another baby, I’m still breastfeeding the same baby. And you know what? I think it downright offends some people. I’ve received eye rolls and head shakes and that’s from family!

When I was pregnant I said that I would breastfeed for the first two years.  It seemed like a good length of time, and I suppose part of that decision was based on the guilt I felt for weaning Kali earlier than I’d planned. I left myself open to the possibility that I’d change my mind once I actually began.

Last February, when Jack was about six months old, my mother moved in with us. She is from the old school of feeding a baby pretty much anything that won’t choke ‘em and chewing up and feeding them the things that might. I was making Jack’s baby food myself (pureeing and freezing ice cube trays of carrots, squash, and apples) and as she made sure he was eating three squares (literally) a day, he seemed to become disinterested in nursing.

Oh, hell no. I increased my efforts, offering him the boob whenever I could, and it worked. He was back, firmly nestled in my breast where he belonged. A few more months passed and I thought 18-months-old might be a good place to stop. Then one day while on the phone with Sophie she asked when I was going to stop. I told her when Jack was 18 months. And she said, “Well, he’s 17-months-old now, you might wanna start weaning.”

Well, that was two months ago and I’m still “weaning.”

We tried the “don’t offer, don’t refuse” method. I wouldn’t offer up the booby during the day, but if he went for it, I wouldn’t refuse it either. I tried nursing only first thing in the morning, before nap time, and before bed at night. The problem was, he asked all the time!

And most times, he won’t even ask! I can be on the laptop, reading a book, watching T.V., or playing Halo and he’ll come and pull one out for a little pick-me-up. The boy has even pulled one out as I carried him on my hip, walking down the stairs. He literally lifted one out of my tank top, craned his neck, and started sucking.

“OK. You may need to start getting dressed everyday. No more wearing your P.J.s all day. No more tank tops. Start wearing turtlenecks tucked into your jeans… and wear a belt,” Sophie advised.

“Um, I think I need an armored vest!”

The majority of the time, I don’t mind that he’s still nursing. Sometimes it’s caused some pretty funny moments. Like, the other night when Jack and Donny were headed up to bed, and I decided to stay downstairs and watch Idol. Jack climbed out of my lap to follow Donny up the stairs. Just as he was about to climb up the first step he stopped, ran back to me, stood between my legs as I sat on the couch, pulled my nightshirt down and sucked, sucked, sucked, then ran back to Donny throwing a, “Bye!” over his shoulder. Donny said he just wanted “one for the road.”

Other times, it can be pretty inconvenient when he falls asleep and I have to carefully detach and then pray he doesn’t wake up as I transition him. And I’m pretty sure all these hormones are the reason behind my constant need to wax my face – but that’s for a whole ‘nother blog. I think what is worrying me is that I have no idea how to stop. A lot of people have said I should just let him decide. What if he decides he wants to be doing it till he’s 3? He’s already graduated from sippy cups to child cups with lids and straws, and recently he’s been pushing those aside and drinking from a lidless cup like a big boy, but he ain’t tryna give up the “bee bees.”

A lot of Moms who really advocate nursing will say, “You know, in other countries this isn’t such a big deal.”

Yeah, well, I live in America and I ain’t tryna be the mom squirting breastmilk in his thermos as he heads off to preschool!

Donny and I went to see 2012 and this trailer was shown before the movie. At the end of it, Donny turned to me and said, “That’s gonna be you and Jack.” No, it’s not! Right? RIGHT!?

Brand New

In the span of about six months my child has gone from this:

to this:

And it’s all my fault!

Last November I had a mystery shop at Aeropostale. Prior to that, I hadn’t stepped foot in that store and couldn’t tell you what they sold. It was one of those jobs where they don’t pay you a shop fee, but reimburses for the required purchase – in this case, a shirt. Kali wanted to tag along because the store was very popular with the kids in her class.

First, we had to deal with the little matter of how to pronounce the damn name. My father called it AIR-O-PO-STAL-LAY – all fancy, like he’s Madonna or something. Kali insisted that wasn’t right. I called it AIR-O-POS-TELL (rhymes with Aristotle.) Kali insisted THAT wasn’t right either.

So, I’m doing the shop and realize that I enjoy food way too much to fit anything in that store. Also, the clothing seemed to be catered towards people that actually left the house once in awhile. After holding up a few XS tees to Kali, I decided I’d make the required purchase for her and picked out a super cute orange T-shirt with AEROPOSTALE obnoxiously plastered down the side.

As we’re checking out, Kali nudges me. “Ask him!” she stage whispers.

I look at the young man ringing up the shirt. He’s wearing a tight plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans made to look like they’re dirty when they’re really not.

“My daughter wants to ask you something.”

If looks could kill they’d have been cleaning up a Nina-sized stain off the Aeropostale floor.

“How do you pronounce the name of this store?”

“AIR-O-PO-STAL” (Stal like Stalin.)

So, Kali was right.

He then flips his head, tossing back hair cut in one of those uber-trendy styles that only white boys can pull off, and says, “But we just call it Aero.”

Oh, well, excuse the fuck outta me.

And that was all it took. It’s been Aero this and Aero that ever since. I feel like pulling out one of my mother’s old standards and asking, “You got Aero money?”

For her birthday we took her to pick out some shirts. I was very happy to see the “ALL TOPS 50% OFF” sign in the window. I didn’t want to spend more than $50. We got two t-shirts, a plaid button down, and a white hoodie for just under $50 (everything was either 50% or 70% off.)

It’ a little weird watching her style change and some of it frightens me. I mean, come on! Look at that ad again. Those kids are an eating disorder and one roofy experience away from being an Abercrombie and Fitch ad!

But as long as I am in charge of picking out and paying for the clothes, this shouldn’t be a problem. The style may be older, but we’ll always remain appropriate.

And I’m already putting the brakes on this idea that only one name brand is suitable. She wanted Aeropostale flip-flops, but they were $10.

“Girl, we can go to Old Navy and get you some flip-flops.”

“But these are better.”

“Why?”

“Because they say Aeropostale!”

“Yeah, across the bottom where no one will see it. Let’s go.”

On the bright side, when she’s old enough for a part-time job, I know where to send her.

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