Penis Envy

Wake up! There's no better way to greet a Monday morning than with coffee in hand and a little penis talk (Not "little" penis talk...but a little talking about penis. I just felt as if I should clarify before anyone made any rash judgments about the 7 dudes living in my kingdom! Are we good? Ok...carry on.) I think I should be able to be classified as a professional in this area by now. In this house, penis is what makes the world go 'round. I'm surrounded by them morning, noon, and night. It's nary a moment when I get to bask in a penis break...a pause...a minuscule moment when it is not the center of attention.

The male species has an intriguing fascination with their manhood. Even today after 14 1/2 years of being a dude mom and shacking up with the original dude's dad, I'm amazed at how important the penis actually is...to them! I could honestly (most of the time...a woman's gotta get hers too, ya know!) care less. I'd postulate that at almost any given moment I am NOT thinking about or touching a penis. The boys in this 'hood can't claim any such statement. And I dare say, that all males are created equal. And by equal I of course mean...obsessed with the penis!

It would be quite the sight if I adjusted my yanna benini as much as a male counterpart. I'm pretty sure my lady posse would unfriend me quicker than you can say, "she must have cooter cooties!". It's simply not acceptable for the female variety to check, adjust, manipulate or otherwise "fondle" one's self in the same way that the human male does. I'm not even sure I want to throw a double standard card because I have zero desire to check my lady parts. However, I will grant one side bar...sometimes lady parts do require "attention" due to some unfortunate issues that I can only guess are similar to jock itch. Regardless of the discomfort, though, a lady does not address such issues in public. We simple squeeze some things or adjust our stance hoping that "the seven year itch" will resolve on its own.

With all of that said, I would like to humbly admit that I often suffer from penis envy. Shameful indeed, but let me first make my argument before my lady peers "castrate" me. I can already hear the angry crowd chanting, "Boys have a penis! Girls have a vagina!", but please hear me out. I will open my argument with the "Getting Ready for the Day" scenario. The males in my home have very little requirements to greeting the day without odor, clothed and with a smile. I would like to lead with the "shit, shower, and shave" principle...that's all they have to do! If we are going somewhere "fancy" they simply swap t-shirt for collared shirt, adorn the same jeans and sneakers and head out the door to cram themselves into our (what can only be referred to as) clown car and wait for mama bear to make an entrance.

As any other female is already aware, our process of getting ready to leave the house (let's assume we have a goal of looking and smelling bathed and wearing something other than yoga pants.) is a much longer process. Showering isn't simply showering. It requires multi-step hair care, exfoliating, shaving and skin care regime. At this point I'm not even almost complete. Next is lotioning and perfuming and more skin care steps and of course the hair is going to require some attention. I'm only lotioned and smelling good at this juncture and most assuredly still naked! The attire hunt is profoundly more challenging as everything is taken into consideration...sitting or standing; will I be bending to pick up kids or kneeling on the ground; do I get to stand and just be arm candy; will their be a rogue child chase; are we going to be inside or outside; what's the wind/rain expectancy; am I bloated today; do I feel like sucking anything in for extended periods of time. The list goes on and on from top, bottoms, accessories, shoes. I'm exhausted before we leave the house...all the while my crew of 7 dudes are calmly waiting for me to finally exit the work room. And when finally I do make my grand entrance, if none of my dude posse comment on how fabulous I look my entire selection from top to bottom must be reevaluated. For the love of penis! I just want to be able to shit, shower, shave and show up!!

Honestly, I don't even think I have the energy to expound upon my second or third points which were "Getting ready to go to bed" and "Hoochifying oneself for sex". I think you all see where I am heading with my argument.

So ladies of the jury...what say you? To penis or not to penis?

My Lady Bumps

Not many women out there are in love with all of their lady parts, bumps, curves and the sort. However, before one can loath and complain about her curvaceous "lady bumps"...one must have some to begin with. Don't get me wrong; I used to have some rather enviable lady bumps pre motherhood. But since embarking on this never ending journey and labor of love, my "lady bumps" leave something to be desired. As a side not...some of my bumps aren't horrendous. My derriere isn't perfect...but it isn't stop-traffic scary by any means (I'm an avid believer in squats and lunges. If I don't squeeze it, who else will?!) My "lady bumps" north of derriere-ville, however, could use some much needed medical intervention. There isn't a workout that exists on google that is going to perk up Lady TaTas to resemble their glory of yesteryear!

Where once a "C" cup I did envelope, I am now longing to fulfill the glory of the "A" which seems to be no match for my dwindled, less-than-A-worthy ladies. I need to regress back to the likes of a trainer...training bra, that is (as a side note, I completely don't understand the purpose of the training bra. For what, pray tell, are we training them? You either strap those bad boys in a harness or you don't. No training, prerequisites, or prep courses needed.) This may be the only time in my life I've longed to say "I have a C". Hell, after going this long in A-dom, I'd take a couple D's! These soldiers don't even solute Lt Hubby anymore. It's sad...I know. Where once they stared him directly in the eye, now they hang their head in shame. I only don a bra daily out of shear formality. Well...and honestly, I'm trying desperately to bring them front and center so they can attempt to hold someones attention...anyones attention!

Don't get me wrong. Becoming a mama brings lots and lots of new experiences, joys, and blessings...but I've learned that it's tit for tat, people! And I think we all know what "tit" to which I'm referring?! I nursed the first 5 dudes (remember #6 was gifted to us for a very hefty price and hence my ta-tas got to retire...thank God.), and it never fails that I am left in complete disappointment when I reclaim my boobs as my own. After every dude, I'm left with less boobage than where I started. What the hell is that about? Just an observation that if I have to lose a whole cup size with every child...then Lt Hubby (and every other man) should have to suffer from size shrinkage as well. I think any deflated, once-had-perky-voluptuous-boobs woman is going to agree with me. Tit for tat should apply in this scenario. No man would ever want more than one kiddo after he suffered the same fate that my "lady bumps" have had to incur. To hell with wishing men had to suffer the same pain experienced throughout pregnancy and childbirth (and post childbirth...ouch!). They need to be hit where it really hurts...and not being able to fill out your once over-flowing boxers would be a very good lesson in experiencing the shoe on the other foot. The main flaw with this theory, however, is that it would just be punishing the lady anyway (Oh come on! You were thinking it too! Don't get all high and mighty with me.)

So I'm left with expensive push-up bras, enhancers, and any other contraption claiming to "add a full cup size". Could it add two...or maybe three? I digress. Until I hit the lottery or all of the dudes are out of the house and we finally have expendable cash, I won't be able to reward myself with my much needed new boobs. I know...it's sad for me too. I even think that if Lt Hubby was being honest, he would say it saddens him as well. Hell! When I wear my sports bra, I could be mistaken for a dude! It's that bad people. I'm sure my 14 year old's pecks are bigger than what I'm sportin'. I guess when I'm 70 I'll finally be able to treat myself to some amazing "lady bumps". I'll be the hottest Granny around! I may be senile and arthritic...but my boobs are going salute every perverted old fart in the "old folks home"!!

Watcha Talkin Bout Willis?!

I became a mama at a young-ish age. I say "ish" because it's only perceived as young to our generation. Women are having babies well into their 40's, and most women are not starting to think about having babes until they are established and in their 30's. However, if you look at only a generation ago, women were starting their families right out of high school. Many women of that previous generation were done having their 2, 3, or 4 kiddos by the age that many women of our current generation are barely getting started. I only point out this very boring fact because I'm upset with people's perception of what a mama of a teenager should look like.

I, myself, have a 14 year old trying-to-be-a-man boy, and occasionally I'm with him in public. I am, after all, his mother! I'm allowed to drive him places and require his presence during outings that I may need his assistance or company. He isn't an early developing dude; doesn't look older than his age. I would say, without question, that he looks like a young teenage boy. As for myself, I would like to think (hope) that I look young for my age....I spend enough money on anti-aging products, after all, and to some affect they better be doing their claimed job. With that said, I still look like a woman of a mothering age...even one that could have a child of 14.

I am making this point because lately it has come to both my son's and my attention that when we are out in public together some people give us really weird...even mean and angry...looks. Weird right? Apparently no. It happens quite frequently, and my oldest and I both have come to the conclusion that some people...ARE PERVERTS! I am NOT a cougar and this BOY is my SON! You freaks!! Anytime I leave with just my oldest or with the oldest and the baby, the looks we get from strangers are ridiculous! I've even received the scoff from women assuming I must be "with" this teenager. Seriously?! PERVERT!!! That's beyond disgusting. I'm 30(ish) and more than old enough to be this young man's mama, and I'm allowed to go out in public with him.

If it were a one time thing, I think I would quietly let it pass as a case of stupidity, but it seems to happen quite frequently. It truly boggles my mind. First of all, I'm not old enough to be a cougar! Secondly, I bear the scars of being his mama so back off! Thirdly, I'm happily married to a man of normal age (ok...you might have me on this one. I did marry a man slightly younger than me. But that just makes me smarter and wiser than him anyway.)! What gets me the most though is that these idiots actually think it's possible. The very thought is gross. Shame on you perverted scoffing stranger!

I normally don't get all feisty and vocal about things, but since this seems to happen anytime I go into a store or restaurant with my oldest son I felt I needed to make it perfectly clear that we've become a society of judgmental people. Your assumptions, sadly, have affected my behaviors. Now I second guess myself and reconsider asking him to accompany me somewhere even though I enjoy that time with him. Getting that one-on-one time with my teenager is precious. I like to take my sons on "dates"...even if they are only to get icees at the nearby gas station. But I am a little worried to go on one of my "dates" with my teenager...even though he asks when it is his turn quite often. Can you imagine the judgements that would be cast our way at the theater (which is, by far, his favorite mom-Ty date night)?!

You see, these are precious times for not only me but for my boys as well. With many kiddos on my heels, the tiny alone moments that I get with each one is priceless and far too few...and I cherish them. And you, you judgemental, know-it-all, assuming stranger that pushes your idiocy onto myself and my son...you deserve a tongue lashing. We leave the establishment feeling as if we did something wrong. My son will say "mom" countless loud times so anyone near can hear. You have left him feeling embarrassed. Instead of applauding the idea of a busy-mom-of-6 and a pulling-away teen spending time together (even if it is just getting groceries), you steal the joy of the moment with your own incorrect (disgusting, I might add) assumptions.

So I return your tsk tsks and exasperated scoffs and leave you with a "shame on you".

I'm A Survivior

I'm in a funk...or maybe, I'm just in a phase...or a season of life...or a rut. Maybe I don't need to label it to know that I'm stuck. "Survival mode" has been my life's theme for about three years now. It's consisted of pre-deployment survival, deployment survival, and post-deployment survival. Hopefully, the post-deployment survival is nearing an end. There is a slight possibility that the uncertain limbo that we've been suspended in may be nearing an end which is good since I fear it is taxing my health. I swear my heart has aged...I can feel it. Add on top of our limbo, uncertainty, and unemployment (hey, thanks for that Uncle Sam), the decision to adopt a little dude to our already crazy lives. As the saying goes, "the best laid plans of mice and men", it has proven to be true. We've naively entered into an arena we knew little (more accurately nothing) about. And just as much as things don't always go as planned, people will disappoint, go back on their word, and let you down. I guess "to error is human" or more precisely we are a fallen race and to be a sinner is easier than to be a saint. Nonetheless, I've been bound, gagged and forced to dwell in the realm of survival for longer than I had bargained.

Quite frankly, I'm tired of surviving...of just getting through the day...of wishing we were a couple years down the road just so I can dream of an easier, less stressful, more joyful time. A realist may say that I'm wallowing or simply sulking in my own pity party...and there may be some very real truth to that. I've felt like a victim...a victim of the government, of the military, of higher ranking officers who don't give a damn, of budget cuts that are personal, of double talkers and back stabbers. And I'm really tired. I miss waking up and enjoying...enjoying my kids, enjoying my husband, enjoying the day, enjoying life...enjoying being a mama and a wife. Stress and uncertainty (and a twinge of sleep deprivation) has left me in a cloudy daze...one that I am desperate through which to find my way.

Fear has a tendency to cripple and paralyze, and indeed it has made me its prey. It's hard to trust that "things will work themselves out" or "everything will be ok" or "God has a plan" when a family is faced with such scary realities. But we've persevered...as best we can, though I must admit the past three years have left more than bumps and bruises in its wake. However, I still feel that "one day at a time" is hanging over my head and not in an uplifting way. I've lost...joy. And I need to seek it out and grab onto it. I don't want to "just get through the day" hoping that tomorrow will be easier. I want to wake up knowing that each day is precious and that my kids' moments are fleeting. They grow and change and mature every day...and I may be missing it in my quest to survive.

I long for days when I can participate in girls' nights and weekend getaways with friends; days when I can join in the fun with friends because I am constantly feeling left out; moments when I can actually enjoy the companionship of my husband. And in the same breath I know that when those moments are finally here it will be because I am no longer needed...needed by the very little boys that I'm trying so desperately to survive and "just get through". I know in the depths of my soul that these crazy, sleepless, busy moments with my 6 soon-to-be men are the ones to which I need to cling and hold onto desperately. Some day I will wake unassisted after a night of sleep; I won't need to sweep the floor for the third time; I will have endless hours to clean and re-clean a house that didn't really get dirty; laundry won't call my name constantly...but neither will the innocent voice of a little child. Days that seem overwhelming now will be surely missed as my children grow and mature and need me less and less. So even though there seems to be no way out of the survival mode that I am in, maybe it's ok...maybe that's where I'm planted for the moment...maybe it's time for me to grow all the while being still and soaking in these moments that are all-too-quickly going to be only memories.

Maybe...maybe today I'll try to focus on stopping "to smell the roses"...or more accurately the stink weed! I DO have 6 boys!

Don't Forget Your Safe Word

Every day my house gets a little bit smaller; the walls close in a little more; there is less and less "free" space for anyone to steal a moment of alone time. Eight of us live in this house designed for a much smaller family, and what once was my only corner in this testosterone-filled world is now the dwelling place of baby #6. I've been kicked out of my own room, my sanctuary, my place of peace at the end of a boy-filled day...and I don't like it...not one teeny tiny bit!

Eventually, of course, he will be big enough to share a room with boy #5. But at this stage of the getting-baby-to-sleep-through-the-night game, the only thing worse than 1 baby awake at night...is 2 babies awake at night! So baby #6 resides with mom and dad in the only space designated as strictly "theirs" for the sake of letting kiddo #5 "sleep like a baby". Just like that I've been pushed out. Oh don't get me wrong, my bed (and all of my makeup and clothes) are still in "mom's bedroom", but so is little man's crib...2 feet from where I attempt to rest my head at night! Seriously, 2 feet! I could stick my leg out of the covers and touch T6!

I get dressed (and undressed) as quietly as I can in the dark, makeup is left to a minimum, and I never get to do my hair. The only girl-space left in the house was taken from me...ruthlessly! Not only was my girl time and space taken, but he has successfully taken my hope for sleep. It's been years since I've laid my head on a pillow at night and didn't wake until the new day dawns...I'd kill to "bump my head on the bed and not wake up until morning"...stupid, selfish old man rubbing his sleep in my face. It's making me bitter, friends.

Every grunt, groan, sigh, snort, whine and wiggle are detected with my cursed mom ears. I fear I may never have another good night's sleep again! I've been reduced to tip toeing in and out for fear of waking the little sleeping monster. No pillow talk allowed, either. We now use our own form of sign language to communicate to each other...only sometimes my signs get lost in translation and occasionally I have to tell Lt Hubby that he's #1 when his signs are becoming a little too Mr. Bossy Pants. And with all of this tip toeing, sign language and bossy whispering you can guess what no longer is allowed in the new nursery! Yep...no hanky panky; no trying out a toy or two; no surprise red teddy and heels! Nothing! We're too afraid of waking our ruler (plus...ew)!

This sleeping arrangement blows...actually no it doesn't...it's now a "No Blow Zone"! We've been ousted. The dudes have finally taken over. The only place I can fathom any alone time with Lt Hubby would be the back of the mini van in the garage. But who's kidding who...we aren't as young as we once were, and that sh!t hurts! I'm a queen, dang it! And occasionally I'd like to NOT sneak around like horny teenagers (anymore). The storage room is full of junk, the closet is full of clothes (and I really have some clothes that I like. I don't want "that" happening on my treasures.) The laundry room is itty bitty...and Lt Hubby has a war injury...he'd never survive the task. Where, pray tell, are we to exercise our marital rights!?! God says "be fruitful and multiply"...well, we did our part, and now we should at least get to enjoy the "benefits" of being married simply for the sake of "benefiting" someone! I've paid my dues and Lt Hubby and I have some serious lost time to make up!

For now, we tiptoe in and out or our room, stealthily put on our pj's and quietly sneak into bed. The most fun we have in there now is playing "Guess the Plot", and no it's not nearly as much fun as what you're thinking. Normally we watch TV in bed...and that's all we get to do now. Just watch! No sound! We channel flip, hoping to find something interesting to "watch" and then guess what is actually going on. Sad! Sad, I tell you!! No sex. No TV. No sleep. This must be eternal damnation or the seventh circle of hell...either way it's a good thing our procreating days are a thing of the past because neither of us are gettin' or givin' any. Whoever said "this too shall pass" can kiss my child-induced chastity belt!

Wascally Wabbit

 A wose is a wose is a wose. Would a wose by any other name still smell as sweet? 

I'm not completely sure, but my 4 year old's inability to roll his r's has become my most favorite thing in my day. Being well aware that the boy will go to school in another year, I realize that I should actively correct his slight speech impediment. However, it serves a purpose for my own personal amusement. His r's sound a lot like w's...think Elmer Fudd in all of his innocent "wascally wabbit" moments. It's simply endearing and anyone from our generation knows exactly who declares the wabbit to be wascally! Well...I think Teagan could quite possibly be on the same track of finding a trademark phrase. Hey, when you have a big family it is vital that each child individualize themselves from the cult. And my fourth son? He will be known for his inability to correctly use the letter R!

Being a stay at home mama tends to give me lots and lots and lots of time with my crew of dudes. And since they have the privilege of "chillaxin" with me on a daily basis, they tend to pick up some ideas, notions, and tendencies that are specific to the mama-bear. Like any other youngster, my Teagan sometimes does things to copy me. Unfortunately, I'm a girl and he's a boy...and some of my tasks are somewhat stereotypically female in nature. It doesn't bother me so much...a dude that can cook, clean and do laundry is very enviable! Lt Hubby, however, has some issues with the very specific activities onto which our son has seemed to latch. 

What is this innocent looking bag? It's my son's "purse". Yep...my 4 year old BOY has a purse "just like mama". Sweet? Super! Except, remember that my son can't say his r's without making them sound an awful lot like w's. So not only does my son carry a purse, but he refers to it as is "puss"! You read that correctly. Our son walks around all day carrying his Woo Hoo puss and declaring how much he has an affinity for it.

"I have a puss just like mommy."

"Daddy, did you see my puss? Is it like mommy's. Do you like my puss daddy?"

"Mommy and I put stuff in our pusses. Daddy, do you put stuff in mommy's puss? Do you like mommy's puss?"

People, it goes on and on. All day. Every day. And it totally tickles my fancy. That boy has even declared, quite boldly I might add, that "mommy needs a new puss". Ok...I have pushed 5 full-sized butterball turkeys out of my yanna benieni, but announcing that it needs to be sold for scrap and replaced with newer, shinier hardware cuts a little deep!

So our day is full of cooking, changing diapers, cleaning, switching laundry...and declaring how fabulous each others pusses are. Here a puss. There a puss. Everywhere a puss, puss! And it cracks me up! Each time my son asks where his puss is and Lt Hubby cringes I chuckle a devilish chuckle. It's the little things that get me through my days...and some days, you just need to focus on the "puss"!

So you be the judge...do you like my son's "puss"?!