Puppies: They’re just better.

At July 20, 2009
By Lotus, aka Sarcastic Mom
In Depression, Miscarriage, More Whining
18

I wrote a very, very short and moody, desperate and pathetic post a few weeks ago about getting hit upside the heart again by the desire for my lost babies.

It really never goes away. It just hides a little sometimes, lurking; waiting for the right time to shit on your world. Or mine. Guess I can’t really speak for others.

Or yours, maybe, is true, since I’m publishing this crap.

I thought about sharing that post with you now that the bewbs of BEWB Fest 09 have been filed away… because really? Sharing it with you right at the same time as going, “OMG LOOK! IT’S BEWBS!” just didn’t feel right. And everything about bewbs generally feels good, so why ruin that? I mean. Really.

So I thought about sharing it with you now, in all of its deep and philosophical questioning glory (read: whiny and pathetic yearning-filled, demanding inquisitiveness). I thought about making you read trite crap like, “I’m stuck whining the same things, being the same pathetic empty, yearning bag over and over again.”

And

“When will it get so old that my heart just implodes from feeling the same tortured longing one.more.time?”

And the rest of it, too. But no, I saved it as a text file entitled, “baby nonsense.”

I did make you read part of it, now, didn’t I? Manipulative, emotional arse, I am. But you’ll not have to read that in its entirety.

Instead, please enjoy looking at this cute puppy.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/conwayl/ / CC BY-ND 2.0

I like puppies.

They are way, way better than fetuses that are ripped out of your uterus.

Of course, then they grow up and pee on your baseboards and shit on the kitchen floor.

I have such a positive outlook.

I could use a few glitter coated unicorns flying out of my ass on rainbows during times like this.

But a memory, as I wait for the spark of Spring.

At February 21, 2009
By Lotus, aka Sarcastic Mom
In Miscellaneous Blabbering, Photography, Photohunt
31

Today’s Photohunt Theme is “Warm”

What it has to be for the flames of this sunflower to lick at the summer sky.

It’s what I long for, especially in the dead of winter. I’m not a fan of being cold. In fact, I’d rather live a thousand summers than one winter. I despise the pain of being chilled to the bone.

Any temperature that raises itself above the definition of “cold” is my friend. Warm is nice, but I’m even okay with hot. Dry heat, humid heat, whatever. Take me to daytime Mercury for crying out loud. Oxygen is highly overrated. I just don’t want it to be COLD.

Jack Frost tried to woo me this winter with a love letter.

And it worked; oh, did I swoon. He sent a shiver down my spine, and I was head over heels.

But he is a typical player. It was but a one night stand. His icy kiss faded fast, leaving me with nothing but chattering teeth and chapped cheeks.

Now, as I wait for the spark of Spring to revive, I’m trying to recall the buzzing of the bees. Their song tells a much sweeter love story.

I’ll close my eyes for awhile and listen to that memory in my head and smell the sweet smell of summers gone by, like a dream. Wait for the flutter of a butterfly to tickle my face as it hurries by, on its way to the next yellow beauty.

And when I have to open my eyes and the cold, bleak, gray of Winter is still peering at me with its icy, slate eyes, I’ll just shrug deeper into my sweater and try to concentrate on other warm things until time turns the pages of the calender for me, again.

Looking back over my shoulder, and then towards the horizon.

So, I’m still thinking a lot about how much time I spend being a Momma, and how much time I get to just be me. And the disparity. And how I need to manage that better, and have help doing so.

Thinking about what I need to be a mentally healthy, happy person.

Thinking about how I need to carve out something that’s my own, and to myself. You know, time for me to just step to the side, alone, and say, “Leave me alone right now. I need to just be me for a little while.”

I LOVE this gig as mother and wife, don’t you DARE get me wrong. But, people, I am MORE than that.

see…

Before my son and my husband, I actually existed and had interests and desires! Oh. My. Gah.

I was this functioning, complex, driven person before a human being was thrust forth from my nethers.

I was a dreaming, aspiring, determined to go and do and become! person before I ever heard that sweet Texan drawl on the other end of the phone line back in 2001.

Who I am and the direction I’ve been pointed in has changed in so very many ways in the past several years. The way the wind has blown for me has constantly changed, it has whipped me this way and that, and I was lucky enough to be able to let myself float along with that ferocious breeze.

You see, some time ago, I said, “Self?”

And My Self said, “Yup, Loter?”

And I said, “Self, I’m kinda scared, because I had all these really specific plans for Us. And, um, Self, things might go weird if We grab ahold of this sail and let the wind whip Us somewhere else.”

And My Self just leaned back and said, “Hmm, is that so?”

And I said, “Yeah, Self. I’m really kinda scared. But I think it might be interesting, too.”

And My Self raised an eyebrow and said, “Ya think?”

And I said, “Yeah, I do. And that We might regret it if We let that sail pass Us by.”

And My Self? Well, it just smiled and said, “Well, then, what are We waiting for?”

And we grabbed the sail. And we let the wind fill it and carry us away from all of our special plans. And it showed us lots of other things we never knew were in store for us.

Very many good things have befallen this lady’s self. A few bad things have trampled on her, as well. And she has learned very much about Her Self.

And now? I’ve been doing this thing right here for a little over nine months. That’s right, this website has gestated for a complete term, and it is… well, it’s helping me birth the realization that I am actually DOING some things here that I have a talent for! (Right? Please tell me I’m not completely delusional.) and which I thoroughly ENJOY!

The photos, the writing, the sharing, philosophizing, and pondering out loud, with wordage, to all of you.

I feel I am becoming something better. I feel I am finding my place in the world.

And people, I can’t let anything stop me. It’s time for some serious time-management strategies. Momma’s got a job here on Teh Internets, ya’ll. And even though it pays little more than extreme satisfaction at the ability to create, and do, and even become!, Momma is gonna stick with it, folks.

My Self and I? We just bought a compass.

Dissed By Dyson Contest

Sadly, there was no congratulatory e-mail in my inbox today telling me that I was the lucky winner of the contest for a Dyson DC25.

Even though it is obvious that my love and need for one clearly dictate that I should have one.

To those of you who have suggested I just go and buy one already, that is really nice. But there’s this little matter of FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS for me to eclipse before I can do that.

Suffice it to say that the money is needed elsewhere much more greatly than it is needed to fund The Suck I Dream To Own. (No, not that home liposuction kit, the Dyson. Stay on track.)

If anyone feels like sending me one, I’ll happily give you my address. Even if it means you might come here and kill us all in our sleep.

I mean, it’s a chance at getting the Dyson, right?

I do have some good news, though.

Looks like our POS Vacuum was merely having a bout of User Error Disorder.

I fished dug excavated this crap out of it the other day:

Looks like I’m the POS.

*let it be noted, however, that our vacuum is still a POS. And someone should still bewstow a Dyson DC25 upon me.

I don’t care if it makes me seem desperate and pathetic. I am.

Remember yesterday when I mentioned that I had been joking around on Plurk this past Saturday night about what I was going to give John for Father’s Day?

One incredibly sneaky lady suggested I buy “him” a Dyson. Quite a lovely idea, and ohhh, how I LONG to own a Dyson. The thing is… uh. They cost Money. Yes, with a capital “M.” And what I mean is, they cost A LOT of money. More than we can afford.

I’ve heard terrible stories of a couple who tried to offer their baby up as payment for a nice vehicle that they obviously really, really wanted. And people, I was horrified. I mean, I was completely taken aback at how careless, heartless and sick some parents really are. A car!? You would give up your own flesh and blood for a structure of metal that you can ride around in? SERIOUSLY?! Appalling.

But if it had been a Dyson? A DC25, maybe? I would totally understand.

Our old POS Vacuum died about a month ago, and the carpet is now made of a blanket of my fallen hair, discarded cereal pieces, lint, random threads (where the hell do those come from???) and some unidentifiable things that I probably could identify if I really wanted to, but that I’d rather be in denial about. It’s called “coping.” It’s also called “gross.”

The old POS now does no more than push dirt around the floor. This is really handy if you’re trying to improve the whole Feng Shui of your dwelling by moving particular pieces of rubbish around the room so that they are arranged in a more harmonious and pleasing manner. You know, so they help channel the energy through the room instead of just sticking to your damn soles when you walk through, barefoot, making you hop like an idiot to see what the hell is on your foot, then lose balance and face plant on the floor.

Yeah. I’m not interested in being the “vehicle” by which the accumulated carpet dreck in my house travels from room to room. What am I? Some kind of Tourist Trolley for Vacationing Cracker Crumbs? I should buy a microphone and start announcing the spots of interest in our house.

“Over here, you can see the mural Braden drew on the kitchen wall! Lotus sure did make fun of John online for that one! But don’t miss this! Here’s where karma bit Lotus on the ass for making fun of John! If we turn around and look back, we can even catch a glimpse of the stove Lotus punished. Now, let’s head upstairs to see the former spot for the container of Evil Ones, now hidden and unused for almost two weeks….”

Maybe someone can come stand outside the door and sell cheesy maps of the Carroll Hot Spots to the incoming Dirtatious and Pollenese Sight-Seers.

Okay, okay, the POS does more than just push dirt around. I will have to admit that it actually does suck up a crumb or two periodically. Then, when you lift it (just don’t lift it, for God’s sake, don’t) it spits out every piece of dirt/stink/hair/crumb/trash that has ever been on any floor you’ve ever walked on. Never mind the fact that this is an impossibility. It DOES. And then all the crap that spews out of the POS flies all over the floor, even into the next room and onto THAT floor. Pieces of long-forgotten crap hit your legs on the way out of the room, bruising you and even digging small gouges into the surface of the skin. Crumb shaped gouges. Soooo sexy, really.

So, you can see that I could really use a new vacuum. And anyone who owns one will tell you, a Dyson vacuum cleaner can perform miracles. Seriously, I heard that this one guy’s sister’s best friend’s hairdresser’s mom knew this chick who met a guy at the bus station whose dentist’s father’s next door neighbor’s daughter was brought back to life by a Dyson. Really. That is some heavy shit, man.

Can you tell how badly I want a Dyson?

I did enter a giveaway contest for one. The button for it is on my left sidebar. See that pretty Dyson? It is literally THE EXACT MODEL I have thought of selling my soul to the devil for been wanting so badly. It must be God playing a really mean joke on me my fate, and it’s destiny that I’ll be broken hearted come June 25 win!

I need to win this contest so badly that when I think about it, it makes me feel funny. And not in a good way, like when you used to climb the ropes in gym class. In a ‘super panicky yet somewhat dreamlike and euphorically uplifting, while realizing that I may vomit at any moment’ kind of way.

If you enter it too, now, and win? I will kill you with my bare hands if you don’t give it to me out of the extreme generosity that flows from within you and the kindness of your soft, vulnerable, beating heart – as well as a deep, evolutionarily adaptive fear for your life.

I Feel Dirty (and so do my floors)…

Dear Dyson Vacuum Cleaners:

You make me weap tears of desire. When I gaze upon you, something inside me quickens.

I yearn to wrap my fingers around your DC25‘s upright handle. Just thinking about your Quick-Draw Telescope Reach™ Wand makes me feel all tingly. You are so lightweight that I know I could carry you upstairs to the bedroom with ease.

I gasped audibly when I read about how your Root Cyclone Technology enables you to perform endlessly without losing a bit of suction power as time goes on. This thrills me to no end.

And the thought of your On Board Accessory Tools? Kinky. Wherever we might be, we could try anything.

Also, a motorized ~~bush~~ brush bar with fingertip control? *prrrrrr*

Your washable HEPA filter and hygienic storage container tell me that even though I could get you dirty so easily, I could slip your parts into the bath and make you brand new again.

I know they say you empty quickly. Normally, that’s a bad thing, but with you? It just means we can be together over and over again with minimal down-time. I like that. A lot. *wink,wink*

I fantasize about guiding you gently… helping you move this way and that with ease, because of your amazing “Ball™ technology.”

Oh, Dyson! I want to love you forever and ever as you suck my carpets and floors clean!

So… why do you have to be so MFing expensive?

All My Love,
Lotus