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I walked over to the Virgin Mary’s house this morning. She was supposed to have her baby yesterday so I was just checking to see if she needed help. I heard a whimpering voice say, “Come in.” There she sat, on her couch, like a beached whale, crying. I knew being pregnant was miserable, especially in the summer, plus, it’s a lot of pressure having the Christ child. I told her we were heading to the zoo and would be happy to take her daughter with us seeing as how she hadn’t been out of the house and was stir crazy. She was lenient but agreed if she could go with us, hoping the walking would start something. We held hands in one long line, walking towards the monkeys when bird poop hit my shoulder. I took a deep breath, lead us to the bathroom and wiped it off, all while maintaining my sunny disposition. At the lion’s cage, I noticed her daughter needed a diaper change. Again, I lead us towards the bathroom and took care of it. Looking over at the Virgin Mary, I noticed she looked exhausted. “Are you ok?” I asked. She said she was too tired to walk so I hugged her, pointing out a bench. While hugging her, I felt a splash. Thinking it was spirited toddler jumping in a puddle, I pulled back only to realize the Virgin Mary’s water had broken, splashing me in the process. She started crying, which made her daughter cry, which made spirited toddler scared, jumping in my arms. All of a sudden, everyone in the world was looking to me for guidance and I froze. “What should we do?” “I don’t know!” Like an injured lost sole, I started screaming for help. I’m not sure what I expected would result in my screaming because it just produced mass chaos. The man who smelled like elephant poop was disgusted by a woman in labor and two crying kids so I pushed past him getting everyone back in the car and towards the hospital. Well, all of a sudden, the Virgin Mary turned into the Devil. She was in so much pain that she was cussing like a sailor. Spirited toddler kept saying, “Mommy, she said a bad word!” I suggested The Lord’s Prayer instead but she wasn’t falling for it. I didn’t think it could get much worse but it did. The sirens started behind us so I thought it was a fire truck getting through. All of a sudden, it dawned on me; I was the one they wanted. “What should I do?” The Devil started screaming, “Go to the hospital!” I did, which seemed to tick off the policeman so he pulled next to me, took one look at us, and pulled in front, serving as our escort to the hospital, only a mile away. The policeman’s lights and sirens made both kids as happy as could be producing more screams. Thankfully, an orderly with a wheelchair approached our screaming car taking over. Bird poop, the cops, screaming kids, screaming neighbor, stained car seat…it’s only lunchtime!
Something unusual is happening. The sky is dropping rain upon our desert. Puddles are forming on top of our dirt backyard because the land is too hard and dry to absorb it all, like cement. Spirited toddler seems confused as well, going over to the sliding glass door, asking me to stop it. Driving in it seems to be a real struggle for people. Some just pull over, confused, waiting for it to stop. I drove the same, just rolled down the windows a bit and took in the smell of the Creolte bush. People think it’s the smell of rain but it’s actually the Creolte bush getting wet, a bit musty but comforting. For now, most have retreated to their caves, like a man when you tell him, “We need to talk.” So here I sit, eating strawberry Twizzlers, drinking expensive water, and feeling peaceful. When the lightning stops, we’ll go in our flooded backyard to stomp in the mud puddles and admire the water and the life it will bring our roses.
Today is my last day of the semester to teach. I have a love hate relationship with the last day of class. I love it because it means I get a two week break before starting all over again but I hate it because I pass out an evaluation. They makes me think of my college days when I used to tell the professors just what I thought of them. Sometimes I told them they sucked but they were hot so I liked coming to class. Sometimes I told them that they were the worst teachers I’ve ever had. Basically, since we didn’t have to sign our names, I didn’t hold back. Teaching sign language is a little different than teaching anthropology to college punks but I still cringe before reading them. Last time, one mother said, “when you get excited, you talk too fast.” All week I tried not to get excited or talk too fast. She screwed up my personality for a whole week.
As we drove to the restaurant, memories began flooding my eyes. He knew why and comforted me with a hand through my hair. Every street and building seemed to bring me back to that place, only seven short years earlier. The surrounding has changed in the way of names on the buildings but the buildings themselves were sill the same shape and color. We were the same people too just updated by circumstances. Thankfully, the restaurant was exactly the same, filling me with pleasure. The waitress informed us that in one week, the restaurant would be moving to another city. I was thankful we had made it just in time. I wanted to take a piece of it before it moved on, like a circus, to the next town. He asked me, as we celebrated our anniversary, if there was anything I wish I’d done differently. I was a bit hurt, and quickly answered no. I asked him the same when he got up and came beside me. On one knee, he said he regretted the way he proposed to me and would like another chance. With an impressive ring, he thanked me for bringing him years of happiness and asked if I would have him again. I love the way he loves me. We hugged and kissed, blocking out our surroundings. On our way out, we ordered two huge coffees and a slice of cheesecake. After hopping into bed at the hotel, we fed each other cheesecake with plastic forks, laughing and complimenting the other while feeling young, full of life, love, and cheesecake.
It’s amazing what you’ll do for a good time when kids are involved. Yesterday, abnormally large breasted friend and I went to the community pool. Now what makes this park fun is that there’s all these buckets, hoses, and sprayers that shoot water at you while you run and skip through to the other side. Her kid is a little different than mine when it comes to personality. Hers is a boob kid, meaning he’s always on her hip wanting the boob. Mine got over it and plays independently exploring ever detail of the earth. Before kids, like any woman, I dreaded pools, especially pools where other women would be. Somewhere, there’d be that woman that usually ends up swimming near you that looks way hotter than you in a swimsuit. I try to avoid these chicks but they seem to gravitate towards me, making me look like the ugly one. Anyway, I’m losing focus. My point is, when you have kids, all your dignity seems to come out of you when that squishy baby head leave your vagina. Yes, I said vagina. All of a sudden, you don’t care how you look because you have better things to do like making sure your kid doesn’t die. Anyway, here’s the picture, abnormally large breasted friend, with kid on hip, starts running through the sprayer that pretends to be a car wash. It tends to blind you for a bit because there’s so much water so you instinctively close your eyes while running to the other side. Well, abnormally large breasted friend starts running, closed her eyes and runs herself into a pole. The force of the pole knocked her down on her fanny, taking her and boob kid with her. Now boob kid, being his typical self, was holding on to her boob so hard that when he fell, he took her top down with him. There she was, on her fanny, boob kid still attached, with boob out of its cage for the entire world to see. She was still in the midst of spraying hoses so she was concerned with getting up and running past which I’m assuming is why she didn’t notice her boob was flying all around. I helped her up trying not to laugh. With one swoop, the boob was covered, dignity restored. We pulled ourselves together putting both kids on our hips, and tiptoed out of the park. The overly tan lifeguard with eyes bugging out thanked us saying, “Hope to see you here tomorrow.”
Our hiking club met tonight at the hospital. There were 100 hikers in the auditorium for our monthly motivational get together. It’s always motivating to size up the competition. We swap stories about where we’ve hiked and what time of the day we choose to do it. There are two types of hikers; the ones that go early trying to beat the suns wrath and the hikers that let the moon guide them. The moon walkers are usually free spirits who aren’t afraid of the dark and what comes with it while the sun fighters are reserved, older, and organized. There’s an unspoken rivalry between the morning walkers and nightwalkers. We don’t think the morning walkers should be in our hiking club. Call it childish but I don’t think walking in the mall wearing spandex counts as a hike. Some of them consider a walk to the mailbox a hike so as you can see there’s some tension. I’m sure they hate us just as much, thinking we lack responsibility and we’re all vegetarians but they’re just jealous that we can see the trails at night. I’m jealous because they can afford all the cool equipment. The funny part about this hiking club is how it’s advertised, free.
I still remember every detail from the smell, to the purple walls like it was yesterday and every time I do, it makes me blush.
Shortly after picking me up, I told him to stop the car. His driving made me sick. I realize now what a manly thing it was to pull over and let me drive his car knowing I’d probably be better at it. Like most first dates, we went out to eat. The menus at the restaurant were about 5 pages too long, considering we were bad decision makers in our youth. His bad decisions included drinking anything in range, sleeping with anything in range, and smoking anything in range. My bad decisions included overlooking his drinking, overlooking his companions, and overlooking his smoking. Based on his bad decisions, I made one good decision and that was to make him wait. To celebrate our anniversary, we’re driving back to the city, back to the restaurant, and back to our non-married days, but this time will be different. I’ll still be driving, but now there will be a two year old in the back seat clapping and asking important questions like, “Why?” There won’t be any drinking or smoking but I know the night will involve flirting, laughing, and falling in love again over a bowl of angel hair pasta. Back then I knew I liked him but now I know why.
I’ve taken a stand. I will not be influenced or pushed in a direction that is not I. My light was dimming, my candle almost snuffed, slowly drowning. I was starting to feel not quite right, an identity crisis perhaps. I was trying to fit in rather than take a stand. Fear of criticism perhaps. My clothes, my hair, they were all slowly starting to change. I was covering up the tattoo around certain company. I was starting to hide books I knew would offend. I watched my topics of discussion like a kid in church. I thought, “Maybe I should tone it down a bit because I’m married with a kid.” Well, no more, that’s not me. Those subtle changes were compromising my life. I’d rather be alone than with people that lack creativity and life. I was letting people steer me in the direction they were comfortable going in without them even knowing it. No longer. I am my own person, standing tall, moving ahead and living out loud. God, creativity, heart, and soul will be my guide, not others. My head was just about to go under the water but I’ve found strength in a deep breath.
Like most couples, we have our fights. This is how the last one went. “Stop watering my orchid!” “Go get your own plant and leave mine alone.” He grabbed his keys, ran out the door, and bought his own. The competition has begun. It all started when I brought home an exotic pink orchid.
I set it in the kitchen where I’m giving it little attention. This drove cute hubby nuts. He got online, looked up the proper care and maintenance and informed me of my errors. “We need to turn the thermostat down at night because it needs to be between 60-70degrees for it to really blossom.” I was appalled. When he goes to work, I sneak over to the thermostat and set it to my liking. When he’s sure to return, I sneak back over and turn it back up to where he thinks I keep it so when I hear he’s willing to turn it down for a plant and not me, I freaked. 
The online information said we need to have more humidity in the house too so he suggested I place a bowl of water near my plant. I told him if I see him near my plant again, I’d take scissors to his. That seems to have stopped him for the time being. Poor guy, still with all the bells and whistles he’s using, I’m still winning the competition. I hope he doesn’t break down and cry. I hate sore losers.
My first ever Mo’Time book club selection will be The Bitch in the House
. Did you know we even had a Mo’Time book club? Well we do now, because I said so. Unfortunately men, this book is for the ladies, although, you should read it if you want to impress the women in your life. After everyone is done reading this life-changing book, I will host our first book club meeting. I know Arizona is a bit far for some of you who live in the Philippines but it will be worth it. Now we’ll need someone to bring the chocolate. Who wants to be in charge of the chips and guacamole? I’ll make my famous margaritas and cute hubby can serve them to us while we chat. (That alone is worth the visit ladies) I’m warning you though, this book plus alcohol will probably include some male bashing so if you’re up for a real treat, let’s meet here at my house this same time next week. Just use the secret Mo’Time knock so I know it’s you. If it takes you longer than a week to read this book, than don’t bother coming because your heart wasn’t really in it. Believe me, once you start this book, you won’t be able to put it down. Oh, but if you have a rocky marriage, I don’t recommend this months selection due to the high number of husband/wife fights it may cause.
Over dinner, we agreed, in order to erase our overwhelmingly difficult day, we needed to be nasty. Without further ado, he headed to our favorite shop. “If J stops by, just tell him I’m at the store.” “Don’t worry,” I remind him. “I can handle it.” He teased me and said, “Don’t touch him.” I play a bit too and tell him I don’t think J would be any good but thanked him for the idea. Just as suspected, he stopped by. My lover came shortly but was smart enough to leave all paraphernalia in the car. I wonder what he brought us, a movie? A toy? A playmate perhaps? I wished for all three but would settle for one. J stopped by to deliver a CD but stayed way too long. Three seconds would be way too long for I knew what was to come. After edging him to the door, I took on my much more comfortable role as whore. I often wonder what would happen if we weren’t equally yoked when it came to fucking. Luckily, we satisfy each other. Never dull but daring. We were naughty together, taking what we came for. Giving what we had to. I needed it. I love falling asleep after passion, collapsing from ecstasy. At 5am, I slinked out of the bed and into a bath to wash away my sins. Without a towel, I ran dripping, back into the warm bed that still held my lover. My thoughts turned to last night after feeling him underneath me again.” Do you want more?” he said. “Yes.”
In a musty bookstore, I found October Project, which was a regular in my CD player many years ago. Buying it would involve opening up memories I wasn’t sure was worth the $8.00 but I was wrong. I had it in the house, waiting for the right time, the right mood, like today. I thought I’d recognize each song but instead, I’m relearning every word. The singer’s coffee house voice puts me back in time. A time where I thought I was cool and different. I lived according to what my friends were doing. I lived when the moon came out. I lived when the pubs got busy, filled with sexual electricity and drink specials. I thought about our past friendship, newly rekindled. Is it better to reminisce about our past fun filled days or shove that aside and start making new ones? On the phone you sounded reserved but still the same you. Are we the same, therefore, capable of the same friendship? Maybe as adults, we won’t like each other. Maybe we’re completely different now but I wonder why our lives have crossed paths again. I remember you being willing to step on the edge of life and expecting the same from me. We would dangle our toes, looking down at the earth and people struggling to fit in their boxes, thankful it wasn’t us. You encouraged me to live wildly, love life. The songs transported me to the house we shared. I remember being sick of my peach colored room so one night I painted it purple. To this day, I can picture the landlord’s confused face. I wonder if you still eat veggie burgers with ketchup. I remember hearing your homemade bunk bed creaking all night. I wonder if you keep your room just as messy as you did in college. If I were a betting woman, I’d say yes. Oh, I also remember finding your post it notes all through the house with one word written on them, ”YES!” We lived positively together.
My sister didn’t marry well. I mean, she married a really nice guy but you have to remember you’re also marrying the family, which sometimes should be reason enough to run like hell. She didn’t and now she’s paying for it on holidays and special occasions like a recently attended “Getting out of prison” party. That’s right. She had to attend a “getting out of prison” party for some relative she’s never met due to the time he spent in prison. Parties in general can be difficult for some people, especially if it involves unloved family members like this one. What do you talk about at a post-prison party anyway? The food? The lodging? His sore ass? Um, no. What made this party even worse, was that some of the other partygoers had a party just like this thrown for them at some point in their lives too. Basically, they compared stories and reminisced about the days of prison. How nice. I wonder if there was cucumber sandwiches and petit fours. One thing I do know is that there was beer, a lot of beer. Oh you may ask, “Why was he in prison?” DUI. That’s right, driving under the influence. After the beer filled party, they all drove home.
On the other hand, I married well. If someone is in prison, you never hear about it because they’ve been squeezed out and never mentioned again. While ignoring shameful family members, they get on their fancy dresses and go to the opera, pretending to be respectable folk.
It’s official. I’m a nerd. The guys are gone and I’m watching these two old ladies on PBS talk about embroidery, and I like it. In fact, I used the clicker, yes, that’s what we call it at our house, to go through all six channels and I purposely landed on this one. I know six channels isn’t much but I’m choosing this over Sponge Bob Square Pants so you know it’s serious. I refuse to get cable because I’m a major TV addict. If someone would let me, and I wasn’t trying to set a good example to others, it would be on all day. I like the option of just glancing over in that area to be entertained anytime I want. You would think that with only six channels, there would be nothing to watch but you’d be surprised, like any good addict, I’ll always find something to give me that high. Anyway, my point is that these two old ladies are in my house inspiring me to sew and I’m not ashamed to admit that I love them. While I’m at it, I might as well tell you another embarrassing fact. Here it goes: I get a little burst of excitement when I see a knitting blog appear under “newly updated”. Now, this burst of excitement doesn’t involve heart palpitations, or feelings in my soul but it’s enough to make me always click on them. Yesterday, I clicked on one who was selling knitting t-shirts. Not just any knitting t-shirts but she was a proud knitter, it said, “I’m a Bad-Ass Knitter” at that moment, I realized I shouldn’t feel shameful because I too, am a badass knitter. I’m not committed to buying a t-shirt just yet but admitting it is the first step. I’m here world. I read knitting blogs for inspiration. And I knit.
It’s official. I sleep with a smotherer and it’s getting on my nerves. In fact, it’s smothering me. All of a sudden, while I’m asleep, I’m gasping for air. I wake up to someone trying to throw their entire body around mine. We’re not talking, just a sexy leg play. We’re talking leg wrap, spooning, hot air on my neck, and squeezing. He actually wants to sleep like this. All nightlong. . I’m all for cuddling, don’t get me wrong, but when I’m sleeping, I’d like to breathe. It’s got to stop but I’ve tried everything. Last night I wore a full-length nightgown but then I woke up because it too was trying to wrap itself around my legs. Pushing him off doesn’t work because he’s usually dead asleep. This morning he asked if I was mad at him. After inquiring why I would be he said I yelled at him last night. Ah ha, I do remember. In fact I remember throwing him off and screaming, “Leave me alone!” Now, I know most women would be thrilled to have someone as sexy as cute hubby all over them but when sex is over, it’s over. Move on.
Last year on the 4th of July, I declared Independence. This year I did too in an entirely different but just as exhausting way. Last year, after sixteen months of nursing a baby, I had had enough. He was a boob baby and wanted it all day and all night. For those of you who haven’t experienced this, it’s exhausting. Especially when someone wakes you up from a sound sleep just because they want a snack and that snack can only come from you. I packed up my pajamas and headed down the street to the hotel. What I thought would be a horrible experience, turned out harder for me than him.
This past 4th of July, I declared Independence when I locked our bedroom door refusing to let a spirited toddler climb into bed between his parents. I had had enough. It was only getting worse so we had to put a stop to it. Needless to say, this past weekend has been tough on all of us. We lay in bed trying to ignore the banging and crying at our door, every fifteen minutes escorting him back into his room only to run back into ours waiting for him to give up. We knew he could do it but he wasn’t so sure. Each night, it got shorter but while taking a quick peek out our door, we’d find him asleep at our feet, only a mere ten feet from a comfortable bed. Last night I picked him up after he passed out from exhaustion and once again put him in his bed. This morning he came running in, full of pride exclaiming he did it. I did it too.
Sometimes in life, I find I don’t have the strength to make a change even though the change is just what I need. The pruning seems painful and unnecessary so I often just let the fruit die on the branch, regretting it. If I just bite the bullet and snip it down, everyone benefits but this is always the hard way. Life can be full of decisions, the easy way, or the hard way. Both have their benefits. Both have their struggles. I wonder if this is how God works. Does he cringe every time he has to put me back into bed wondering when I’ll let go? I do know that I often think my way is better so I ignore him only to fall on my face shortly after, running back for a band aide. I’m just as stubborn as a two year old, needing a good pruning. Sometimes I make it easy on God and give up quickly, but usually not without a fight. But what would I be like without struggles I wonder? Nothing.
I wish I had a big pause button. I would push pause and stop everyone for one week, maybe longer. I think it would take about a week of sleep to catch up from my severe lack of it. I have a problem with feeling left out or feeling like I’ll miss something if I sleep so I don’t. Oh ya, and there's a wakeful toddler who enjoyes gracing me with his beauty numerous times at night, reminding me that I'm not getting any sleep. At times I think sleep is just a waste of time but it catches up to you, like now, and I can barely function. Just a frame with frazzled insides short-circuiting. The pause button would assure me a week of restful sleep because I wouldn’t feel the need to stay awake. No one would stop by or call, just me sleeping. I’d think, “well, nothings going on seeing as how I froze everyone so I might as well just sleep.” Of course, then I’d think, “Well, if everyone is frozen, than no one can do anything about me getting into mischief” so I may find it even harder. Or maybe a worldwide TiVo button and we could all sleep. If everyone is sleeping than I wouldn’t feel like I’m missing much. I guarantee if we all slept, we’d all get along and be quite happy about our lives.
He’s cute but crazy. “Smell these.” It wasn’t a question but an expectation. “No. I’m not smelling your socks.” He said, “Well, I need to know if they’re clean or not.” I stood my ground. I did not smell them. He was disappointed so he started running after me, tacked me to the ground and shoved them towards my sniffer. Yes, they stank, which to him, made the game all that more fun. Later today I heard some weird noises coming from spirited toddlers room. Cute hubby was in the kiddos room with microphone in hand singing “Strangers in the Night.” He said he couldn’t help himself. The Fisher Price microphone and piano were calling his name. Luckily, I’m always one step away from my camera. To top off our day, we headed to Chuck E.Cheese. After a few rounds of skeet ball, we had enough tickets to redeem for a prize that was sure to break on the way home. Before heading over to the ticket counter, we sat down to watch a show consisting of creepy robotic figures pretending to play instruments. During the five-minute show (due to toddler tension span) I caught a glimpse of cute hubby. He was counting out “his” tickets. I leaned over and said, “If you were a smart boy, you’d save your tickets for the microscope.” “No way, that’s 4,000 tickets!” After tucking his tail between his legs, we headed over to redeem our 30 tickets for a sticker. Spirited toddler was thrilled but the other boy that was with me was expecting a bit more.
Picking up a loved one from the airport is one of my favorite pastimes. Unfortunately, I don’t get to participate much. Although, dropping off can be enjoyable as well. As my mother-in-law always says, “Relatives and fish both stink after five days.” I agree. It was like Christmas day for those of us left behind as we spotted him coming down the long hall. Feeling his face and holding his hand was dream like, a bit odd yet I kept wondering if it was really him. While waiting for his overweight luggage, I stared, becoming familiar with his face again. I wanted to tell him everything he missed but he had heard it already during our many phone calls. The family was together again. Complete. The relief and exhaustion leaked through my eyes as I sat at his feet with my arms covering his thighs. He felt my hair. I didn’t realize how much I missed him until we were together again. We waited anxiously for someone to fall asleep before touching each other more. I couldn’t stand it. The night was just us, caught up in a whirlwind of skin, legs, hands, and orgasms. I wasn’t satisfied though. Like a drug I wanted more. He still wants more but to tell you the truth, I’m not sure if my body can handle another reunion. I heard all about what he did when he was gone but I won’t ever get to experience that lost time with him. The time we were supposed to be with each other was just gone, never to get back. It’s like we were in comas and could hear each other talking until finally, we woke up.
He's back.
We're in bed.
“I’m thinking about selling my business”
“Why?” “Because I’m not having fun anymore.”
“Why not just stick it out due to responsibility. Your business affects others besides you don’t forget.”
Ouch. He was right.
When he starts a book, he finishes it, no matter what. If the first four chapters annoy me, I leave it put. Ironically, there’s a novel to my left that’s about twenty pages from the finish line but I can’t bring myself to pick it up. I don’t want it to end so I’m holding on to every last word. Whit knuckles, holding on.
Upon some reflection, I realized just how often I quit things because they’ve lost their original charm. If a relationship gets on my nerves, I try to phase it out. If I’m knitting a sweater that’s moved from the fun stage to the complicated stage, I just remove the needles and start another one. If coworkers piss me off, I’ve just looked for another job. Being able to pack up and move on is a luxury but now I realize I’ve used it to death.
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