A poem for my living room carpet:
They said you were dirty
but what did they know
I’ve cared for you plenty
and boy does it show
You’re not even black yet
just a dingy grey
I swore that I’d steam you
one of these days
Then a cranky toddler
had fits he did throw
got time out, and got back
at Mom with Pee Shows.
Oh carpet, it soaked in
and I waited too long
I steamed you last night
now you smell like burnt schlong (??? sorry, it rhymed)
Another Mom Lesson
with answers you seek:
don’t let it soak in! when
you do clean, it REEKS.
Like, after you do it because you are a cheap bastard.
Last year, I decided to really start teaching Braden to wash his hands on his own – meaning that he’d do all steps without my assistance/intervention. Previously, I’d turn on the water, put the soap in his hands, rub them together… you get the drift.
In order to make it easier on him and cheaper on our budget, I decided that a foaming soap dispenser was a good idea. That way he’d have instant lather, instead of having to create it from goopy soap. I figured it would really save on soap, too, since he wouldn’t be sliming his hands excessively if he had the foam.
I was right. It was easier on him not having to create lather. Now, figuring out that he had to have the other hand under the pump when he pressed it down? THAT WAS THE HARD PART. Hah!
By the time he was a pro at it, the dispenser was almost empty. I eyed the bottle of Method Green Tea & Aloe Hand Soap that was up on top of the cabinet where he couldn’t reach it, longingly. But no, I didn’t want him Gooping!
Then it hit me: the stuff in the foaming dispenser really just looked like heavily watered down soap. So I tried it… I put in a small amount of soap and filled the rest of the dispenser up with water.
TOTALLY WORKED. And now we all wash our hands with that soap! We’re using way less soap for hand washing, which is cool and it falls under the “Reduce” category of Eco-Friendliness.
It will also save ya some bucks. They charge way more than they should for the watered down soap in the foam dispensers, so just buy that ONCE and then refill it yourself. And of course, if you choose an Eco-Safer soap like Method, or Lemon-Brite, you’re also treating Mother Earth kind by not dumping chemicals all up on her shiznite.
Do you have an article or post about something “green” that you do in your home, or on Eco-Friendly tips? Please feel free to link to it on the Mr. Linky below.
I used to do this type of post once a month, and it’s called Project Support Beauty in Nature. You can click that link (or the tab on the navigation bar under the website header) to read all about it, how it developed, and see a list of past posts and participants. I have had the project on hiatus for several months while I tried to find the emotional energy to write more again.
I’m happy to say, the project is back up and “airs” the 2nd Monday of every month.
Please feel free to add your “green” link to the Mr. Linky (just below) in this post anytime for the rest of this week.
March 1st – 7th
Canon Powershot G9
To view all my photos, visit my Flickr Photostream
No matter how much space you have between you and the family members you grew up with, they can reach out and slap you as easily as if they were just whispering in your ear a moment ago.
It’s not just the fact that we are so connected nowadays, though that is what enables it. But the slap is sharp and quick because they hold a part of you.
No matter how far away from you they are, no matter how long it has been since you have spoken or seen one another, they have the ammunition to bring you to your knees.
They know things that no one else knows. They are always the quickest to offense and the most equipped to pull you down… and why is it that they always seem to opt to exercise that power when you’re finally lifting your head above your own sordid bullshit?
Many of us have stories that fall into this zone, this space of feeling and emotion.
Sometimes, I just want to stop hearing the ones that play over and over in my head. And I’d like to stop adding new ones to the list.
And if you could successfully edit the reel of memories that plays back inside of you from the past… would you even want to?
Can we appreciate the good times if we don’t have the bad times?
This double edged sword of emotions is piercing my heart today.
The potty has moved
slowly across the first floor
towards the bathroom
for a short time now,
and yesterday something cool
happened in that room.
A certain little
boy ran in, looked around and
chose the higher stool.
He WANTS to pee on
the toilet now and can do
it all by himself!
Now if we can just
address this annoying thing
called “shitting in pants.”
I miss my youth.
Now, before you go brow-beating me about how I’m still young, how I have so much longer to go before I lose my youth, or how much older than me you are and yadda yadda yadda (oh, yeah, I totally just ‘yadda yadda’d’ you), hear me out.
I mean not only youth in body, but youth in spirit, feeling, knowledge.
I miss the bliss of ignorance, the forever stretched out before me. The feeling that anything is possible.
With the passage of time comes experience; with experience comes knowledge, understanding (of sorts).
They say youth is wasted on the young. However, you realize, that is what makes it worth it. If the young knew the value of youth – the desire they would feel to have it back when it was gone… they would never really be able to enjoy it, would they?
With knowledge comes the shift.
The more you learn about the true nature of humans and the things of the world, the more you have to let go of the naive idealism that kept your young cheeks rosy and new.
No, there is no need to let go of hope, determination, and wonder. I am wide-eyed at the world still, believe me.
You could not freely wander the earth with your eyes, heart and mind open and not find a new and amazing thing every day if you tried. This is why I take photographs. Because over and over… again and again, even within my tiny sphere of movement, this happens to me.
So lecture me not on being able to capture the wonder of youth even with age.
But sit beside me for a spell and mourn with me this thing that must happen to us all. Some of us more than others, or maybe just a little bit sooner. But to all of us, it happens, to some degree or another.
The truth is that we must open our hands and let the fancy daydreams of childhood slide from our palms sometimes. Some things which happen steal them from us like wicked trolls, whisk them away to dark places; hiding them from the light. Only a child can pluck them out anew and let them grow for a time again.
My hands are too old to hold onto things which must escape them, already. The effort of trying has worn my fingers tired and weary.
We move through life, rolling along, and suddenly things assault us from this direction or that. The human tendency to ignore these possibilities on a conscious level from day to day allows us to function; it allows us to keep those wheels rolling, greasy and smooth. But no amount of greasing stops a rock from throwing you off your axel. You’ll have to reconsider concepts like need, desire, and love when your cart overturns.
It can take a long time to grease that wheel again. I’m workin’ on it.
I’m workin’ on it.
I speak in riddles because the words are too painful and tiresome to lay out in detail and push around into the proper order. It has been yet another day of remembering so many things that I would sometimes like to forget.
So many things, some of which I’ve shared before, others which I may never tell you. Time will tell.
For now I close my eyes, take a deep breath in, push a long, tired breath out, and put one hand inside of the other. And hold on.
Tomorrow, I’ll open my eyes, and move those wheels along again.
On a somewhat related note: man, I farckin’ hate PMS.
I fell in love when I saw the message over this bar bathroom during Blissdom 09 Photo Walk.
I can’t tell you how many times I can remember going into a bar bathroom to pee and seeing women madly obsessing over themselves in front of the mirrors. Applying makeup, fixing hair, adjusting clothing, etc.
Most of the time, I was stumbling in there half drunk, hitting the stalls, about to burst. (You know, once you break the seal on a drinking night, you’re screwed, friends.) Then I’d have to wait for the latest Cover Girl to finish her application before I could wash my hands.
And I’ve got nothing against anyone checking their appearance or light grooming. But what I’ve seen in the bathroom so very often has gone way beyond that.
I doubt the guys are doing this over in their bathroom. What gives?
I think every bathroom mirror in the world should say at least the first part of what’s above the one in the picture.
“Stop staring. You’re beautiful.”
My little secret…
Men – you need to leave. This is not a post you want to read. Go the place that is else . . . come back tomorrow . . .
I was at work one day and the conversation turned to orgasms.
As they do.
I shared a story that I will share with you here.
Scout and I were laying in bed talking about orgasms. Or my non orgasm during sex, as it were. He says, “Well. I . . . I’ve never had someone …. um …. not . . . before . . .”
I opened my mouth to reply . . .
I took a deep breath . . .
“Well, they, um, were liars, fucking liars, sluts clearly very in touch with their own bodies and and very comfortable with themselves . . .”
I didn’t have the heart to tell them that there were a bunch of fakers in there.
The three of us laughed and laughed. Not at my sweet husband, but at all y’all out there who think a woman has never faked it with you.
Hey dudes, I told you to leave. You didn’t listen. This is what you get.
The next day – one of the girls came to work and immediately grabbed me . . .
She shared a story that I will share with you here.
“So I told my husband about our lunch conversation yesterday . . . he didn’t understand why we laughed . . . he said, “but no one has ever faked it with me before . . . ”
(To this day, hubs still believes in the 100% orgasm rate before me. I like to think of it as a gift from me to his masculinity.)
When she’s not laughing about fake orgasms, Dawn authors a website about her son and other life topics, Alex Year Two. And if you want to see where Dawn, er, gets real, visit her latest project, Room 704. It’s creating quite a “buzz.” And by this Friday, I’ve heard that a visit there will help you stop being a fakester, too. *ohsnort*