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The sign on the door read, Scott-Allen Timmothy Andrew Norris, in precise gold lettering that glimmered as it reflected the flickering firelight of the lobby. Tallulah grabbed the knocker with all the confidence of someone who'd had a three martini lunch and slammed it against the solid wooden door. Slowly the door creaked open, as a blast of cold air sucked the breath right out of her chest.

"I'm done Scotty," Tallulah gasped, quickly recovering her composure, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, she was dressed all in black as always, her ruby colored square framed glasses reflecting the fire in her eyes. She thrust form 71B of the Hospitality Engineers Licences Limited hand book at him, "here's your resignation. I am done with this place."

The meek looking banker sitting in the over-sized leather recliner couldn't have been more than 5 foot 4 his legs dangled above the marble floor and his small circular glasses hung down of the tip of his nose. No one would have expected Mr. Norris to look so... So... Puny. People had this belief he was larger than life, a muscular overlord who owned far too much and gave far too little back. He'd owned the chain of hotels as well as a series of banks under the title Savings Our Users Love inc. for what felt like eternity and yet he barely looked a day over 30.

"Well then Tallulah, what exactly are you going to do? How are you going to pay back this debt you've acquired? I believe you're still under contract to us for another 45 years? And your debt to the bank is close to immeasurable. I can't honestly fathom where you think you'll go from here," he wheezed from his chair.

"Yes Scotty and I don't care if it takes me a thousand years I can't work another day in this place, send me up there, I’ll strip to pay you off," she said still full of fire and conviction, her years of loyalty and service had only been rewarded with more and more debt and a conscience that was drowned daily in vodka. Tallulah had reached her breaking point long ago, but Mr. Norris had a reputation and she hadn't dared to leave him until now, the torture that was her job had worn her down and she just couldn't stomach one more day.

"I do believe I have some connections in Winnipeg, I could send you there..." Mr. Norris snorted with a bemused smiled, as he toyed with one of the subtle platinum chains he wore around his neck.

"Where's Winnipeg?" Tallulah asked, suddenly getting concerned, she'd been banking on Las Vegas she knew she could bail herself out of debt there.

"It's a small city in central Canada where the winters hover around -40 and last 6 months of the year, in the summers it sky rockets to a humid 90 in the shade and these small blood sucking vampire insects called mosquitoes come out in full force devouring anyone who dares to go outside, I do believe they have a few strip clubs still, I'll have you set up there for tomorrow Tallulah, but be warned, if you leave I'm not letting you come back, and you'll still be paying down your debts, you'll have very little for yourself you know, it wont be like here where I can take care of you."

"That's fine Scotty I'll go to Winnipeg, anywhere is better than here," she smiled triumphantly.

"And how exactly do you think you'll make it as a stripper, I've never seen you wear anything but a pant-suit with your hair in a bun, you can't walk in heels, and you've got all the grace of a rhinoceros after a Jack Daniels bender, I can't imagine you spinning on a pole," his whiny irritating voice drove her over the brink.

"I'll improvise Scotty, it's what I do best, you've said so yourself,” she started.

“Yes and I've also said you’d never leave me,” Scott-Allen wheezed.

“Besides we know I can wield a whip, we know I can work with some restraints and you damn well know I'm flexible, a stripper in Winnipeg has GOT to be better than a Hooker in-"

"Don't you dare say it Tall," he cut her off, "don't you dare mention this place by name aloud, or so help me, I will banish you right back to the chambers and increase you debt to the point where your great-grandchildren will still be stripping in Winnipeg to pay it off."

Tallulah stormed out, slamming the door behind her, glad to be rid of Scott-Allen Timmothy Andrew Norris. Nothing could possible get in her way now.

When she arrived at the airport in Winnipeg on a blustery Monday morning in January she'd assumed she'd have a minute or two to herself, and yet waiting for her in the lobby was a short muscular gentleman named Bruce who had quickly ushered her into a car, "you're on stage in 20 minutes, do you have costumes?" He'd asked.

"I think I have something that will work," she replied nervously pulling her torture gear from her purse.

When they got to the bar there were only two people drinking light beers in the back as they plugged bill after bill into the slot machines. She walked over to the bar and ordered a double vodka martini.

The cute blonde bartender handed her the drink grinning, "First show? Ya look new!"

"Yeah," Tallulah replied taking a sizable gulp of her drink.

"Where'd you work before this?" the blonde booze goddess asked her.

Tallulah stared into the abyss of her drink taking too long of a pause before downing the remaining contents of the plastic martini glass, “Hell”.

TW: sexual assault, domestic violence.

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Nolan fidgeted nervously rubbing the penny between his thumb and index finger. His four year old patience always wore thin by this point in the morning. It wasn't his fault really, or at least that's what Grandma always said, boys will be boys and boys like to run and play, not sit and listen to momma play piano all day. It felt like all day anyway, at least to Nolan.

Momma didn't play as much anymore, so he knew he should be a good boy, sit properly and listen nicely. He mustered up the last of his patience putting the penny carefully into his pocket and sitting up straight. Most days now Momma just slept and went to see Doctor Gallagher. Nolan didn't like the doctor, even though he always had a teddy bear in his office for him to play with and a sucker for him if he'd sat quietly when Momma had to bring him along to appointments. The office always smelled like those horrible mints Grandma liked, Nolan had tried one once and told her it tasted like burning.

His mother slowed her rendition of Moonlight Sonata, even at four Nolan could recognize the notes she missed, her focus was gone. Grandma must have noticed it too because in an instant she was at her daughters side, "Lori that's enough for today why don't you go lay down," said Grandma, her hands grasped firmly on Lori's shoulders as if she were trying to hold the younger woman together.

"I told Nolan I'd take him to the park," Momma replied flatly, Nolan knew the tone all too well, she felt bad, and he never wanted her to feel bad, he wanted her to be happy like she used to be.

"It's ok Momma, Grandma can play in the yard with me," he choked out the words trying not to cry, only babies cried and he was a big boy now, he could count to 100 and jump off of the second branch of their apple tree, he'd had lots of practice climbing that tree.

"Right," Grandma retorted guiding her daughter out of the living room and off to the room she rested in, that room smelled like the doctors office and Nolan seldom went in, even with an invitation from his mother he preferred to stay out in the hallway to talk to her, all the pills and creams and potions that sat on the side tables made him nervous, the room was always dark and somehow seemed colder than the rest of the house.

Nolan tried to shake the image of the dark resting room out of his head as he wandered out into the yard. The hot July sun beat down on the lush green grass, he listened carefully to a small flock of sparrows splashing in the neighbors bird bath chirping and fluttering into the gnarled old apple tree, curved and bent leaving lots of opportunity for climbing. He hesitated at the base of the tree, Grandma tended to worry if he got up too high, especially if he was out by himself and got caught. The path out to the back shed was an old cement walkway cracked and crumbling in places, pieces of it pushed aside by the beginning of an anthill.

The ants loved the cracks in the cement poking their funny little heads up looking for food. Nolan hated the cracks especially in that sidewalk, he used to run up and down, jumping over the cracks, singing to himself not really paying much attention, that was before Momma got sick.

He'd tried explaining it to Margo who lived next door that you couldn't step there anymore, "in fact," he'd said, "just stay off the sidewalk, walk on the grass," he'd told her.

Margo was terrible at following rules, and she'd happily pranced across the sidewalk, cracks and all, while Nolan shrieked at her to stop, "you don't understand!" he'd screamed, "you'll make her worse! It will be my fault, stop it Margo!" but Margo had just stood there right on the biggest crack of them all looking at him with a strange and confused look on her face, and so, Nolan had pushed her into the grass, he hadn't seen the small stick and of course she landed on it scraping her knee. Margo hadn't been over to play since, sometimes though she'd call through the fence in her singsong voice "don't step on a crack or you'll break your momma's back," just to taunt him.

"Are you watching the ants?" Grandma asked. Nolan wasn't sure when she'd come outside but there she stood staring at the cracks in the cement right along with him.

"Do you think it's my fault Momma keeps getting sicker?" he asked tears streaming down his face.

"Oh heavens child no, it's not your fault that your mother is sick, why would you think that?" she replied hugging his shoulders the same way she had his mothers moments before.

"I was thinking about Margo and how she stepped on the cracks and how I didn't stop her and maybe that's why Momma's back is so broken," he whimpered, as the summer sun baked the tears onto his skin.

"No sweetie, that old rhyme has nothing to do with why your mother is sick," Grandma offered reassuringly, "now come on, lets go in and get some lunch."

Nolan looked up at her, but he couldn't make out the expression on her face, he couldn't be sure she wasn't just trying to get him to stop crying, be a big boy again. He took a slow deep breath and steadied himself on his feet, grabbing grandma's hand firmly he walked the path back into the house, watching intently as they both avoided every crack in the pavement.

Cheddar strained to push himself into his 26th push up just as Provolone walked into the room, as his friend waited nervously by the chewed out hole in the wall, leaning gently against a set of old, frayed copper wires,

"97..." Cheddar grunted full of bravado, "98... ugh 99..." his arms began to buckle under the his weight as he strained into his 30th push up, "well he panted, that'll do for today."

"You are remarkable," Provolone stated as Cheddar scurried up from his place on the floor.

"Oh thanks P-man I didn't see you come in," Cheddar lied.

"Are you ready for the big raid tonight? I hear everyone's coming, even Slice and Whiz from down street. I hear Mozza and Parm are even gonna bring the kids this time. I haven't seen the little Curds since back in the Bothwell days. Old man Wally isn't even gonna know what happened to his poor kitchen when we're through with it..." Provolone trailed off.

"Yeah it's bound to be a good one," Cheddar panted, still trying to regain his composure.

"I can't believe I'm going on an actual kitchen raid with the legendary Cheddar Mousekewitz. I mean you're the guy who does arm curls with those snappy traps, you don't stick to the sticky paper, and you damn well dance to that terrible whining noise thing plugged into the wall, you're a legend man!!"

"Thanks man, ya know just doing my best out there, speaking of, we probably should get on it, hunh? I mean the sun has set, the house is quiet I think it's feedin' time!".

Provolone nodded, tucking his tail back just like Cheddar had taught him and scurried across the floor towards the pantry, as Cheddar crept along silently behind. Sniffing frantically at the air, crackers, oats, seeds and something else, something that smelled like...like cheese maybe...but not exactly...some other substance... "The cheese," squeaked Cheddar, "stay away from it." The rest of the clan nodded creeping along behind them sticking close to the walls trying not to make too much noise.

Provolone grabbed for a stray piece of straw that had shed from a broom in the corner of the room, tentatively he pushed the bristle into the crevice that would lead him into the pantry, and with a slight sideways jiggle he managed to push the bait off the trap on the other side. A sickening snap rang out momentarily deafening the micey, flooding them with adrenaline as the two leaders pushed their respective ways into their feasts. They gorged themselves digging near-silently through boxes, buckets and sacks, the small seeds and grains filling their bellies till they'd nearly doubled in size, the quiet nibbling of their friends and family filling them with the warm glow of victory.

Cheddar sighed contentedly as Provolone cleaned his whiskers, "I can't believe how easy it was," mumbled Provolone into his front paws, gently cleaning his ears.

"This was a good run alright," replied Cheddar, "almost too easy."

No sooner had the over fed mouse uttered his half doubting statement of victory than a sharp yowling sound erupted from across the kitchen over by the mouse hole. In a frenzied blur the mice scattered dashing every way imaginable as the two glowing green eyes of old man Wally's least favourite barn cat, came pouncing into view slashing giant claws of terror in every direction.

The Mousekewitz clan narrowly managed to escape with their lives, darting back into crevices and crannies even a champion mouser couldn't manage, to await their next raid on old man Wally's kitchen.

Thanks for reading my week 5 entry for LJ Idol, clearly old man Wally needs to "Build A Better Mousetrap".

How to do yoga at home with a toddler in ten easy steps.

Step one:
Find the mythical window that coincides between toddler nap time and big kids still at school time.

Step two:
spend 45 minutes trying desperately to get toddler to nap, once toddler is actually asleep tip toe out of toddlers room, remember that your yoga pants/top/mat etc. are all in the room next to toddler room and carefully tip toe past sleeping toddler in search of these.

Step three: (if you're lucky the toddler stays asleep, if not, proceed to step 7)
Get into discount department store yoga pants and pull your hair into messy pony tail. Put on yoga DVD take deep breath, get annoyed with soothing voice on tape for not hurrying up as you only have 45 minutes until the toddler wakes up and you need to get on with this shit!!

Step four:
Remember you totally promised your husband you'd get caught up on the laundry, realize this is an impossibility and decide instead to just do his laundry, toss in first load and run back to soothing work out DVD.

Step five:
Attempt to hurry up and relax into some basic stretches, breaking once for water and once to pee. Succeed in making it half way through the DVD and consider spending the rest of nap time eating chocolates or taking a shower, decide instead to finish the work out.

Step six:
Get into the more complex poses and begin to find some sort of relaxation, yeah this is great, I feel kinda calm and maybe even a little zen, as you attempt a handstand, toddler wakes up and demands mama! Rescue toddler from the perils of nap time.

Step Seven:
Try and get into your inner zen place thingy you swear makes yoga better, as you attempt a back bend toddler will sneak under you and sneak a boobie-snack, do not fall on toddler. Try another pose, only to be climbed on by toddler who then smacks you in the face with the netflix remote demanding Bubble Guppies. While attempting to downward dog, point remote at the television and find Bubble Guppies, give up and stand up properly get toddler set up and resume one last attempt at a standing forward bend despite the annoying high pitched Bubble Guppies theme song making you want to gouge your ears out and ruining any attempt at relaxation you could have possibly cultivated. Toddler will then press their face directly against yours and with a gob of drool landing firmly on your chin demand "juice box". Sigh defeated and get toddler a juice box.

Step eight:
Passive aggressively text your husband saying you're running away with the circus, or at least you would have been if the darn toddler had napped and let you finish your yoga but now you can't because you're not flexible enough as follows:

Wife: Is chicken ok for dinner?
Husband: yeah sure.
Wife: Fine I'll make meatloaf.
Husband: ok.

Step nine:
Decide that whatever enlightenment/exercise/whatever you were aiming for is just not happening today and reach for the lap top and some thin mints.

Step ten:
As your husband pulls into the driveway remember the half finished laundry that's still sitting in the washing machine.

Our story begins with our heroine bravely stocking the shelves at the local Valu-Mart, on the midnight till 8am shift. Her neon purple and black dreadlocks pulled back into a bun that somewhat resembles a moldy blueberry bagel, her septum piercing wiggles as she sighs dramatically hoisting package after package of Valu-brand toilet paper over her shoulders, trying desperately not to catch her 00 gauge neon orange silicone plugs as she goes along. The distant patter of a cold March rain echoes through the mostly empty store.

"Becca," Kurt, the night shift supervisor calls from aisle two, "I can hear your frowny face from here, remember, turn that frown upside down and keep a hap-hap-happy face on in front of our loyal Valu-Mart customers."

"Got it," she replies, plastering crimson lips into a distorted grin, intentionally pale skin contrasting her jet-black eyeliner and long fake lashes obscuring eyes that glimmer an excellent tone of aquamarine.

"I mean it Becca, there's no "I" in team, and we need to make sure we're all on the same page!" Kurt carries on his usual stream of cliches, hurrying over to her aisle. "Presentation is important here Becca, we don't just stack the packages, we display them."

Our heroine rolls her eyes, sighing deeply, "I know Kurt, you can scurry along back to the office now, I can handle stocking the TP."

"Bathroom tissue, sweetie, and don't forget I'm assigning you a brand new buddy today, Ms. Lilly will be here shortly, make sure you get her in the spirit of the Valu-Mart team and remember--"

"I know, make sure she doesn't get lost on the north stairs up to the break room," Becca finishes for him.

"Right, because we all know how that works, such high turn over in this place!" Kurt says, pushing his square framed black plastic glasses back up to where they should have been sitting on his face, his hair immaculately spiked with it's frosted tips glistening under the glow of the fluorescent lights. He flutters away, returning moments later with a small blonde girl in ratty sneakers, "now you two play nice, Becca, why don't you take her to the break room and find her a nice little uniform ok? Ok then."

"Hi, I'm Lilly!" Squeaks the blonde.

"Great," Becca replies replicating her best fake smile, "this is going to be peachy keen. Come on lets get you up to the second floor."

The pair walk silently towards the forbidden north stairs, "you'll have to watch your step back here, one of the stairs isn't safe to step on, in fact it's kind of, not there, well not exactly missing so much as, well there's a kraken, it's the third one from the top, so just step over it ok? I'm not supposed to take newbies up here but the only other staircase is out the front door on the side of the building and there's no way I'm going out there in this rain," Becca states rather flatly as she climbs the stairs.

"A crack? In the stairs? Like one's missing? Or like there's a crack in one of the steps or what?" Lilly asks confused.

Becca turns around, "no, like a kraken, a giant cephalopod, that lives in another dimension who's only access point to our reality is under this missing step in this staircase and if you stand on it the sea monster will raise one terrifying tentacle drag you down into the depths of its watery dimension and sell your soul to Cthulhu, God do I have to explain everything?"

Lilly, blinks a few times, then starts laughing, "look I get it, I'm new, I'm blond what-ever, but I'm not stupid ok," she pushes past Becca in one brisk movement, jogging straight up the creaking old staircase, "so where's this crack? Cause I don't see anyth--" and like something out of a bad science fiction story, an enormous glowing tentacle wraps itself around her leg dragging her down in a shower of spurting green water. The poor girl hasn't even a chance to utter one last horrified scream.

Becca sighs, "Kurt," she yells, "we've lost another one. I swear to god I warned her but she just wouldn't listen. Do you want me to claim she didn't show up? God we've gotta do something about that thing, this one didn't even get into uniform. I'm getting sick of all this paper work."

Kurt pokes his head around the corner "Becca, I've told you, there's no "I" in team, now I'll get to the paper work if you handle mopping up the floors, darn thing brought half his ocean with him this time! Gosh golly, what a mess!"

Becca rolls her eyes again heading for the broom closet for the standard mop and pail, "whatever, Kurt, I'm taking tomorrow off, I have like, stuff I wanna do, like reading or something, you still need to hire someone else, like I can't be here all the time just cause you have trouble finding decent staff."

"Oh alrighty then," Kurt replies sounding somewhat defeated, "it's just good help is hard to find."

This was my feverdream of an entry for week 2 of The Real LJ Idol, topic: The Missing Stair. Voting this way. Thanks for reading.

Earle sits in his tattered old lawn chair, you know the kind, with those maybe-plastic, maybe-cloth woven straps on a cheap metal frame, the kind that your pudgy aunt Martha fell through last summer at the family reunion? Yeah one of those pieces of shit. Every day Earle sits on that chair on the left side of his wrap around porch on the corner of Middleton Street and Sassbury Bay without fail, every day at noon, rain or shine, summer or winter Earle sits out there and sips his old mason jar of home brewed beer. In the summer months he'll strike up a conversation with lady Gwendolyn the friendly older lady next door while she pulls up the dandelions in her flower beds, making more room for her lilies and creeping violets.

Earle aint exactly friendly, sure he likes old lady Gewn alright, probably because she stays out of his way, doesn't even complain when his grass is overgrown and full of weeds making her garden ripe for their seeds to spread, nah lady Gewn's just plain nice, but Earle, he's a real bastard when he wants to be. His kids are grown now, the wife left some 20 years back took the kids and they never came around after that, left Earle with a big old basset hound and his beers, the basset hound sat out there with him every day after she left, never took his sleepy eyes off the old man sippin his brew.

That dog died some years back, I was about 11 or 12 at the time, it wasn't long after that, that my momma started sending me down to mow the lawn and shovel the snow for the old man. She said it would "build ya some character" to deal with the old coot. At first I was just plain afraid of him, the grumpy bastard drinking his beer sneering at the neighbors.

"Boy," he'd yell at me, "y'aint got the gumption in ya ta cut that grass right, kids these days are too damn lazy for push-mowers."
"Sorry Sir," I'd mumble looking at the laces in my sneakers.
"That's Captain Sir, to you kid. Aint got no respect for us vets ya damn kids don't, Imma get up off this porch and whip ya good if ya missed a spot." He shouted.

Never did get to whip me good, and I think my momma knew he wasn't really able to beat the piss out of me like he'd holler about. Old man with a cane and a bum leg, sitting on his military pension just drinking his beer and hatin the world. But my momma, being a good neighbor, a good church goin lady wasn't about to let old Earle "fall to shambles" as she called it, so over I went being the oldest and only boy in our house to help with repairs and keep up with the old shack.

As I got older, he'd tell me stories, some of em I just hoped to God he made up, gruesome stories where peoples limbs were hangin on only by the threads on their clothes, stuff like that, others he claimed were funny but I guess I was "too young and too dumb" as he called it to get em really.

He'd holler at me with his slow scrambled drawl after one too many beers, while I nailed another new board on his front porch "the enemy only attacks at two times" he'd say, "when they're ready an when you aint."

My 14 year old self never seemed to get much outta that line, but it stayed in the back of my mind anyway, every time he'd say it and then tell me I had shit for brains.

These days he's tamer, still tellin bloody combat stories and bad jokes, just the other week, he got into his fourth beer and started in.

"There was this group o new soldiers standin in line on base. The Drill Sargent shouted "All right! All ya idiots fall out."
Well all but one o dem soldiers walks off, so the Drill Sargent walks right over till he was eye-to-eye with that one remaining private, and then he raises just one eyebrow. And that soldier he says, "Sure was a lot of 'em, huh, sir?" ya get it kid?" Earle grinned, "ah Jayus Chripes kid how'd ya ever get anywhere with yer fancy pants schoolin if ya didn't even get that joke?"

"Sorry Captain Sir, guess I'da been that one poor bastard standin there after all the smart ones had gone," I replied.

Old Earle broke out in an ear to ear grin, "yer alright boy," he said, "even if I aint need no help around here. Yer momma taught ya good, you'll do alright."

"Thank you Captain Sir," I replied.

"Ah, kid, ya can just call me Earle, I think after all this time, ya done earned it."

I still go back there every Sunday after church, did all through my schooling to become a "fancy pants mechanic" as he called it, make sure old Earle's holding up alright, guess momma did teach me right. And some days, I just sit there and watch him drink his beers, talking about the war, and bitchin bout the weather, sittin on that frayed old lawn chair hatin the world.

This weeks topic was: "Jayus" Definition for those unaware: "From Indonesian, meaning a joke so poorly told and so unfunny that one cannot help but laugh.”

Thanks for reading voting is this way. :)

Hi my name's Ani and I'm....

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Attempting LJ Idol maybe it'll mean I post more?

You should sign up toooooooo

Because I felt the need to respond to this: http://www.scarymommy.com/another-boy/

I given birth to 3 daughters, with the bonus kids there are 5 young women to whom I have to at least attempt to NOT be the worlds worst role model, and Lee is stuck with the potential of helping to pay for 5 weddings and college funds. Joy. That said having girls is pretty darn great and we were both thrilled to find out the baby G was female gendered when we were pregnant with her. That said, the rest of society seems to think that all people want the perfect balance of boy-girl children and can't possible fathom why we weren't utterly devastated to have won the estrogen lottery yet again.

10) Oh don't worry the next one is bound to be a boy.

Thank you for assuming we are so disappointed with the gender of this child that we obviously have to rush right into spawning a fourth/sixth minion. 5 college funds is a lot, heck 3 college funds is a lot. And whether or not we want to expand our family (spoiler alert, we don't) isn't really something that's up for public debate, thanks though.

9) Well you must have WANTED a boy.

Um, no, not really, we wanted a health baby, prior to wanting a healthy baby, we just wanted to have some adult fun, but surprise, here we go, a baby, how exciting. To be completely honest we both were hoping for a girl, we both have experience raising little girls and were much more comfortable with the idea of a baby girl. That's not to say we'd have tossed a boy out the window, but we by all means were not disappointed to learn she had girl parts not boy parts.

8) You're going to be in trouble when they get to be teenagers!

Yes, yes we are, JUST LIKE EVERY OTHER PARENT. Yes, with girls come hormones, and periods and breasts. With boys come hormones, erections, and physical energy. Teens are hard, for everyone, just because our society largely glosses over male adolescence doesn't make it easy, for the parents of penis owners comes the need to teach about respecting women, and sexuality, not to mention a thousand other things. For the parents of vagina owners comes the need to teach about menstruation, body image, and sexuality, not to mention a thousand other things. All of these are hard chats, having a house full of girls just means they also have older sisters to go to when they need advice, not just mom.

7) At least you don't have to buy all new toys/clothes/baby stuff.

Well actually we do, because there are 5 years between my youngest-turned middle daughter, and 18 years between his youngest-turned middle daughter and neither of us expected to have a new baby not to mention the rules for cribs and carseats changed at some point while we didn't have a baby in the house so buying all new stuff (whether pink and frilly or full of race cars and dinosaurs) was something we'd have to do anyway.

6) Your husband must be so disappointed!

*sigh* See #9

5) My sisters and I can't stand each other!

Well, that's a shame, I'm sorry to hear that, how that relates to me and my children I'm not too sure, if we're just shouting random personal trivia, then uh, I like pizza. If you are in some way implying that all sisters hate each other, I can assure you that's true, at some point, all siblings fight regardless of gender, hopefully you and your sisters will work it out eventually.

4) Well think of all the money you'll save on sports equipment!

Right, 1910 called and wants your archaic ideals back. Did you know women even have the right to VOTE now? Shocked I'm sure.

3) You'd better be careful to raise little ladies, you wouldn't want to be one of those mom's with a slutty pregnant teenager.

I don't even know where to start with this one. No of course I don't want my kids having babies as teenagers, I want them to get good educations, good paying jobs, settle down with someone who respects them, loves them and treats them right. That said, being a "lady" in that sense isn't on my list of concerns, teaching my children to be sexually responsible, oh yes that's right up there with basic self defense, knowing how to pump gas and change a tire, and never expecting the man to pay for dinner, whether or not they choose to be sexually promiscuous isn't something I'm too concerned with, that they are educated on how their bodies work, have access to birth control and the understanding of how to use it, those are more important parts of "being a lady" than just closing your legs.

2) You must just LOVE having little girls you can dress up like little dolls.

Yes my girls are incapable of independent thought and let me tell them how to dress and how to think.

1) Well at least you'll probably end up with grandchildren/Just think you'll be able to teach them to bake like you/At least the older ones will help with the baby.

Yes, because male children can't lean to cook or bake, men don't produce grandchildren, and the older girls must all be hyper maternal and would have refused to help with a male baby. *sigh* your children will all have their own interests regardless of their gender, my eldest loves to draw and dress up in pretty clothes. My middle child loves to bake, couldn't care less about her hair and is amazing with puzzles and math problems, and the baby just loves to dance and stomp and eat me out of house and home.

All children are precious, regardless of gender and I am not the least bit disappointed with all girls.

As a side note, I went to highschool with the woman who wrote the original piece, and uh she doesn't seem to have changed much since then.

Current Mood: blah

Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

This year I've been busy!

Last Tuesday I ruled Iran as a kind and benevolent dictator (700 points). In August I saved a busload of nuns in Angola (326 points). In October I had a shoot-out with rival gang lords on the 5 near LA (-76 points). Last Friday I committed genocide... Sorry about that,

kat (-5000 points). In March I bought porn for

_tyke (-10 points).

Overall, I've been naughty (-4060 points). For Christmas I deserve a spanking!

Sincerely,
dreamsreflected

I've been a mother for nearly 9 years, been married twice, divorced once, in love, employed, unemployed, I've worn high heels and makeup, work boots and dirt, but somehow it's taken till now to really say I'm ok with myself, and instead of feeling like a "kid" or a "girl" I feel like an adult woman.

I have hobbies, a job (that I hate), a family and a life that I love.

I feel very well rounded lately, like things are balanced for the first time in a way where I don't have to panic. Like things actually are ok, instead of "will be ok".

I think this state of nirvana, might actually BE ok.

I didn't think it really would "be ok someday".

But you guys said it would, and you were right.

Thanks for sticking by me.

Now time to make the soup and drink the wine, and hug my babies, and edit pictures of my garden.

Current Mood: happy

Spawned by a conversation I had yesterday at works bikini car wash...

( on body image, eating disorders, and motherhood )

Current Mood: okay

I had my first daughter four months before my twentieth birthday, and two years later I had my second. Within a handful of months of the birth of my then baby I was staring at a stack of bills, I was unemployed, homeless, legally separated, I had no education and not much left in terms of friends or family having spent years in isolation, I struck out, I built us a life and I never looked back with even an ounce of regret.

I remember telling friends I didn't mind not having a life of my own, I didn't know what I was missing, I'd never been to a bar never really been drunk or partied or had a one night stand. I'd gone from living with my parents, to married with two kids in an isolated small town where I was rarely allowed outside never mind seeing friends or family, so the transition to single mom, working mom, full time mom, wasn't difficult. In fact it was liberating. I was free. I had my girls, and my life and no one could tell me what to do. And yet, largely I did nothing. I was always home, in bed, by 10pm, having tucked my girls into bed sometime after 7pm, 7 was my magic curfew, I was sure we'd all turn back into pumpkins, that my ex would KNOW we were out if we weren't home by 7pm, this curfew he'd set out for me was ingrained deep in my mind. I'd overdose on LiveJournal, read web comics, chat online, all of my friends lived in my computer anyway and I didn't stray from that much at all, at least not at first.

Life was quiet and yet so unbelievably busy, both of my kids were early risers, and terrible sleepers, I went about five years before I slept through the night after the birth of my eldest, there were days the lack of sleep left me so hopelessly depressed I didn't think it would ever get better. I did though, and while they've never been great sleepers, it's rare now that I'm left hopeless and exhausted more than every-so-often.

The thing that's always bothered me most when I tell these types of stories or I explain how at 28 I'm about to have a 9 year old, is the ever present comment from someone who did things differently than I did, "I don't know how you did it!", at one point I went off on an epic rant;

Was there another option? Did I miss the "reset" button, where I can go back in time and do it all differently? Was there an exit back on the Highway of Life that read "Ex-Husband is No Longer A Douche-Bucket, and All Of Your Problems Are Now Solved, turn here"?

Last I checked, I did it, one day at a time, one moment, at a time some days, clinging to those girls to keep ourselves afloat, not end up another statistic of "single welfare-mom with no education beats her kids, has 5 more, gets them taken away, has a substance abuse problem, goes no where, finds one abusive man after another".

No one ever stepped in and said to me "you know, you can just leave" I suspect because they all knew I wouldn't, I couldn't, that those weren't my values, that those babies meant (and still mean) everything to me, because when I was younger it just wasn't an option that would ever have occurred to me.

When I eventually got old enough to realize that being a decent human being was a Choice ( with a capital "C"; among many) it was the most terrifying moment of my life, to realize that as an adult, for the most part the only person I was truly accountable to was myself, that no one other than me was holding me hostage to my decisions good or bad, and that much like my ex-husband chose to do, the option had been there for me as well to just walk away.

This is 2/2 of my entries for week 8 lj idol exhibit B; choose your own ~~adventure~~ topics of 4, this pieces was written on the topic "When I Was Young".

She cradled the orb in her arms, nurturing it as her own, it wasn't hers of course, just some shiny she'd picked up along the way while he'd been sleeping, he was always sleeping. Its' colors were a deep piercing blue with swirling white and a spattering of browns and greens. This would be her new toy, something to play with while he slept.

She'd been waiting for him to stop sleeping for what could be have been eternity, she was sure he'd come out of it some time, after all he'd gone into the sleeping state, logic stood to reason he'd come out of it, and then, then he would be hers and they would make something new, maybe he'd even help her with her new play thing.

The first thing she did was make another orb, a bright ball of fire, one to keep her smaller orb warm, then she sent her small toy sailing around it looping lazily at just the right speed, yes this is a good start she thought to herself, but there was a problem, only one side of the orb was being kept warm by the glowing ball, she'd need to make the orb spin, then it would all get some warmth and some light. The spinning worked perfectly, and the orb began to slosh, giant pools began to melt and the green and brown bits became more solid looking less frozen in their places, they began to move and shudder.

She cocked her head to the side peering deep into the orb, it was growing things. The ones that took their life from the fire orb she called plants, the ones that ate the plants she called animals, and the more they spun around the fire orb the more and more of them their seemed to be. This was great fun, watching them grow and change, looking closer then further back. She liked her new toy, it had kept her busy for quite awhile already and there was still much more she could do with it. She began to whip up breath to cover the landscape, change the shape of the surface, scatter all the small pieces and throw them around, then tears swollen from the water and dropped back to the surface.

And all the while he slept, in his chair, his long grey beard trailing lazily through the cosmos, he wasn't as new as she was, needed the rest, he'd always been that way, but the sleeps grew longer it seemed and she wondered how he got anything done.

In the before; before the sleeping he'd helped her to make orbs and grow things, patiently cultivating and changing the landscape, one orb they'd made had grown sentient developed so many ways of destroying it's self, he'd been so concerned with the orb, they'd nicknamed it Terra, their sentient daughter, and though she'd tried to nurture it, and he'd tried to wait it out Terra had gotten much stronger than they'd hoped.

She'd tried breaths, and floods, and fires to calm her, the critters on Terra had named them "acts of god" and yet they referred to her as "Mother Nature" perhaps it was them combined that was God? She wasn't sure, the Terrans were strange critters, naming and destroying and capturing as much as they could that got in their path.

Before the sleeping, he'd put Terra in a box, sealed her up in his beard, frozen and still. It had drained him so completely, the rhythmic pulsing in his chest had slowed, his heart giving it's last to protect Terra. She'd wept as he slept at first, waited, as patiently as she could for him to wake, but patience was never her strong gift, no she was the doer, the grower, the changer, the Mother of Nature, to his Father of Time, and waiting didn't come easily to her. Slowly she'd begun to collect orbs again, though he wasn't helping her to make them now, now they appeared as if from some other force than time, they bounded into their cosmos, and she grew them and nurtured them and waited while he slept.

This is 1/2 of my entries for week 8 lj idol exhibit B; choose your own ~~adventure~~ topics of 4, this pieces was written on the topic "The Heart Of Time". concrit always welcome.

3

Mine are sticky and three years old, dirt trapped under the nails, crumbs caked in the crevices, the sweet smell of summer lilacs drifting in through the open kitchen window. I place my palm against hers, study her dry cracked skin, how long the middle finger is standing taller than the rest, the thin gold band of her wave-shaped wedding band, a soft subtle gold with silver accents, the diamonds are small, her bony hands so much bigger than my own. I ask "will I have hands like yours when I'm bigger mommy?".

She laughs, "maybe, I hope not, mine are all dried out from too many dishes and all that hard soap from scrubbing your socks. Should we go outside and play my dear?"

And we do, we play, and we laugh, and I admire her glamor, her nails long and thin, crowning her bony fingers. I admire her face, it's perfectly sun-kissed color, her thick cascading blond mane, her perfect grey-green eyes, she's my idol, tiny and perfect, I want hands like hers when I'm grown.

***

12
I hoist myself onto the rooftop, the sun has set as I scribble by streetlight into my diary, ink-stained and calloused, they tell the beginning of my story, "no one understands, no one listens, here I am world, twelve is so hard". A noise, a summons, a demand to return to the barracks for slumber, junior high is war and the soldiers must be well rested come morning, he insists holding the door open as I scamper inside, "wash up, and I'll grab you a pastry" he says.

I smile, swing down from my rooftop, hiking boots crushing gravel beneath my feet.

***

16
Nails bit down to the quick, fingers chewed and mangled, she sit on my bed, half a liter of vodka consumed between us, 16 and barely been kissed. We start, desperately searching, desperate and craving, acceptance, lust, love, she and I, our hands, entwined, lost, devouring each other, etching pieces of ourselves into one anothers' skin.

***

19

Sliding the ring onto the finger , his promise, his purchase, the second one seals the deal, I am his.

***

21

His rise and fall, the echoing sentiment when I refuse to comply, "you're MINE, you're MINE," he repeats as the bile rises in my throat, the same words he cursed at me when I dared to speak up, when I dared to object to the way he threatened the children. Twenty-one with no direction, afraid to leave and afraid to stay. I pack my things, I pack my children, secure them safely in their seats. His reaching for the pot that moments later sails past my head.

"You threw that at me!" I accuse.

"If I'd thrown it at you I wouldn't have missed!" he replies, his reaching for my throat.

***

27

The baby coo's from her place on my chest, her tiny month old fingers entwined with the necklace, you bought me, our baby daughter, tugging at the rings of my pendant.

Theirs, so precious and small grasping mine as we walk, my eldest on my right, her younger sister on my left, the baby on my chest, we hold togther.

"Mommy?" Inquires MiddleSpawn, "when I grown up, will I have hands like yours?"

"Or how about me?" The eldest pipes up.

I laugh, "maybe," I say. I look down at them, nails chipped, middle finger longer than the rest, skin dried and calloused pulled over bony fingers, palm to palm with my daughters, one on each side, and smile, "I have my mothers hands."

This is my entry for week 7, LJ Idol, topic: "Hands".

I had to make a cheese and crackers platter for Adalie's last day of school (today) festivities (not to be outdone Aridine decided she needed to bring rice krispie treats for her class) so I did my best to cut up some cheese which started damn near melting the minute I took the brick out of the fridge so I made a plate of poorly cut cheese slices and crackers. It kinda looked like my 6 year old did it... I might even lie and say that she did ;)

Me: Do you think the first graders are going to judge me based on my crappy cheese slicing skills?
Lee: um, no, no I don't think they'll care they;ll just be too busy shoving them in their little sticky faces.
Me: See this is why I can't be on the PTA, I suck at all this Martha Stewart stuff, like this shit gives me serious anxiety.
Lee: that's kinda silly.
Me: no really I can hang off the rafters from my ankles at the bar, no panic attack, but ask me to make a cheese plate for some first graders and I'm freaking out over doing wrong.
Lee: well on the bright side you're probably not going to jail?
Me: over my crappy cheese plate?
Lee: well think about it, Martha went to jail and she'd never have made a cheese plate that looks like this.
Me: that's a great point.

Current Mood: silly

It's early summer but the heat filters in through my second floor bedroom window like a cloud of sticky-sweet gloom, sun glares through shifting leafy branches dancing shadows across the walls, it's Thursday, nothing starts out well on Thursday. I roll out of bed catching a whiff of last nights tequila seeping out of my pores, the room tilting like a fun house, head pulsing, stomach churning. I have an hour to shower and make my way to the trendy restaurant a block away, need to put on some make up, try on a dozen outfits, drink some water, take an aspirin, my hour starts filling up before I've even hit the shower as I begin to make a methodical list of ALL THE THINGS I need to do, need to be, to make this meeting work.

Why am I so hungover, I don't even think we drank that much?

I'm always hungover on Thursdays.

Right. So why did I schedule this whole lunch thing for Thursday?

Because the kids are with the ex, they're at school, you have the time.

Right. So why did I drink so much?

You always drink like that after work on Wednesday. You hate your job remember?

Right. Into the shower then.

I finally settle on a long flowing dress that probably shows too much cleavage, and what I then consider to be "light make up" meaning less drunken-hooker and more shimmering-green can be tasteful right?

In the alley behind the restaurant nerves take over and for a minute I worry I'm going to be sick. I can't do this, what am I even going to say?

When I turn the corner they're already there, sitting at one of the outdoor tables, sipping iced tea. They're younger than me, considerably, but taller, bigger, broader shoulders, it's not the first meeting or even the second, but it's the one I know is going to count. We're unchaperoned.

We read over the menu and place our orders, I start the conversation with what I hope is a compliment about the younger one's make up, it's received as a criticism.

Of course it is.

"Look," I start again "I'm just going to put it all out here in the open ok? I know it's weird, I'm too young, he's too old, whatever. What could we even have in common right? I get it, this is going to be hard, and I'm not perfect, I'm going to fuck this up, but I'm going to try. And I don't expect you to like me, hell half the time I don't even like me, and I have no idea what I'm doing, I don't have a plan and I don't have it all figured out, but I'm here and you're here, so it's a start."

"So how long have you been dating our dad?" the younger one asks, accepting my invitation to blunt. Her hair is bright blue, eyebrows drawn on with a thin pencil, eyeliner caked to the max.

"Since January, maybe," I respond.

"I thought he was still dating Ex-Girlfriend, till March! That's what he told us?!" She's upset, accusatory.

The older one pipes in, "I never liked her anyway," her hair is perfectly flat ironed, highlights, make-up is tasteful, she could be older than me in the right light, has all the look of sophisticated successful young woman. I'm intimidated by her pretty even though she's been nothing but civil to me thus far, even though I have what feels like lifetimes of experience...

"Yeah well I was just starting to like her!" the younger one retorts.

They bicker amongst themselves the way my brother and I did when we lived at home. Teenagers, I am not equipped for this. I'm not old enough to know how to handle teenagers, hell I still remember being a stupid teenager. But we'd talked about them, he and I, long before now, we'd bonded over stories of our daughters, my two, still little, his two, nearly completely grown.

"Anyway," says the older one, turning the conversation back to me, "he's told us that you're not going anywhere, so I guess we should try and get along," she glares at her younger sister, who shoots daggers at me from across the table, I am the enemy, she's set her stun gun glare to destroy, this is going to be a long road...

"I appreciate that you guys are making an effort, really I do, thank you. I know this is weird, it's weird for me too, and I'm not about to play step-mommy, I'm in no place to tell you what to do, and I have my own children to parent. But we've got something in common right? We're all wanting your dad to be happy, so let me know what I can do to make that happen." I take a deep breath, sip on my water.

"If you want me to back off so you guys can have time with him, let me know, don't bother picking a fight with him tell me flat out "piss off, you're on our time" and I'll happily bugger off on those nights I know are your designated dad nights, if that's not what your after I'll stick around and we can get to know each other and hopefully we'll find a way to get along. I'm not here to bullshit you, I'm not, but I think we can make this work."

They look at each other, and then back at me, "ok, we can try right Little Sister?" says the older one trying to work her own death-stare over on her sibling.

The younger one just rolls her eyes and mutters a "whatever."

We finish our meals, and just as we're standing up to leave, my girlfriend wanders by with my daughters, they scream their high pitched giggles of "Mommy!" at me, before stiffening,

"Who's this?" Asks my elder daughter.

"These are Boyfriends daughters," I explain and introduce them all. My youngest plays shy, and the teenagers get nervous, we say strained goodbyes as I grab my girls by the hands.

"Mommy?" asks my younger-spawn, "can I have blue hair like her?"

I smile, "Oh my dear I suspect someday you will."

This is my entry for week 6 of LJ Idol; topic is "Cards On The Table".

As an epilogue, it has since been several years and an unplanned but very welcome baby later, and the teenagers (who are now 20somethings) are some of the most awesome people I know, I am so lucky that they were willing to give me a chance and have continued to make such an awesome effort to take part in the lives of myself, their father and the little girls, especially now that both of them are working and living on their own.

MiddleSpawn

( Read more... )

( kinda gross, everything you didn't know you didn't want to know about strippers )

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Madness takes it's toll

please have correct change

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