I wasn’t quite a teen, but I definitely wasn’t a child when I fell in love for the first time. I can clearly remember seeing him on the TV for the first time. His rippling muscles, his attitude, the rakish tilt to his bandanna. All a girl on the verge could ever want. ~sigh~
But I had to hide my new found love from the world. I knew no one would understand. I knew I would be the brunt of a million jokes at home and at school. And so, I loved him in secret.
As the years past me by, I lost touch with him and his career. I grew up. Met a boy. Got married and had children of my own. I watched with jaded eye when I saw him on the television, smiling with a secret pride when my children gasped in awe watching him fight for justice.
Sadly I thought, he’s changed – gotten older and less… mysterious.
I assumed I had finally grown up.
But today. Today I found the truth. I learnt that a girls’ first love will survive anything. Today I watched him in the theatre. So large, at times his face took up the whole screen, and I felt that old familiar heat in my blood. Even my toes were tingling!
How wrong it felt, sitting there, passing Twizzlers to one child, holding a popcorn bucket for another, while my thoughts were centered on the being on screen. How wrong was it for me to be holding a toddler in my lap, my eyes closed, imagining a time and place where we could be together without societies prejudice.
How wrong was it that I left the cinema in a very, shall we say, excited state; caused from staring at my old beloveds beautiful green body face for an hour and a half.
How wrong is it, that I am still in love with him?
I’m Glad It’s Friday. Not for the normal reason of OMG lets go get drunk and play hide the penis! But because No One Reads Blogs on the weekend. Well I do. But most people actually have lives.
I could write about how I am still pissed off that the two youngest boys Exercised Stuperman’s bed to death, and how I don’t really want to spend the money on a new bed right now. But since no one is reading anyway, it’s the perfect opportunity for me to show my true bitchy colors ;o)
First a quick Cast of Characters :
Dorothy- Sister In Law. Matt- Dorothy’s 11 or 12 year old son. Papa- Jake, My Father In Law. Nana- Irene, the mother in law.
Thursday. After School, Rainbow man runs inside just long enough to throw his back pack in my general direction. He is off to his Nana’s house to play with his cousins.
The Husband and I, As well as Stuperman, go over around five thirty for dinner and gabfest. I noticed right away that Rainbow Man was sporting a brand new black eye. I was told the boys had been roughhousing.
Since they do this so often, I thought nothing of it.
Friday. I called Nana over to help me decide if Blue Boy needed stitches or a band aid, and she proceeds to tell me the real story behind Rainbow Mans’ eye.
It seems Matt, who is four years older then RM, thought it would be OK to hold Rainbow Mans hands up above his head and kick him in the face.
Nope. You did read that right.
He kicked him in the fucking face. Four years older, a good fifty pounds heavier and prolly two feet taller. He immobilised and kicked my son. In.The.Face.
So now I am mad. Why wasn’t I told this last night? Why wasn’t I given the opportunity to say something to Matt and Dorothy about it? Don’t dare tell me that it had already been dealt with. He is MY son. I will “deal” with it.
Nana goes on to tell me that things are very awkward at the House right now because just this morning (the older two had slept over) Matt had closed his hands around my sons’ throat, picked him up by the Neck. The Goddamn Neck! Picked him up, off the ground, and THREW him down.
Have you any idea how small a child’s neck is? how fragile? How easy it is to bruise their brains? Snap their vertebrae? Any idea how this makes me feel?
I am glad that Papa yelled at Matt. I’m Glad it made Matt cry. He could have killed my son. I don’t care if he is family or not.
Matt is four years older. Four fucking years. Matt KNEW better. Don’t fucking tell me boys will be fucking boys Dorothy. That’s not normal behavior. And heaven help me, Had I been in that room when your son picked up mine, I swear to God, He would have regretted it. Family or not. That’s MY Son he hurt. MINE.
I feel a bit hungover tonight. The bloggy party was a roaring success. When I wasn’t staring lovingly at my monitor today, caressing my beloved template and thinking hawt steamy thoughts, I busied myself with making the famed pioneer Woman Cinnamon buns. FYI: Make them. Then eat them. Then loosen your pants.
I had no plans for this post, and was a bit worried. I tried to visit blogs for ideas, but bloglines was down. So I’m doing the Meme Fab tagged me with instead. Unfortunately it has a lot to do with music. I just don’t do music.
1. LIST FOUR SENTENCES YOU’VE NEVER SAID BEFORE:
Of course you can jump on the bed! I Think I will change out of my pajamas before noon today. I think I’ll wait to check my e-mail. Wanna share my coffee?
2. LIST ANY NUMBER OF SONG TITLES THAT DESCRIBE HOW YOU’VE FELT THIS WEEK: * due to the fact I do not know song titles. These may or may not be real titles. I refuse to take the time to google and see if I have made them up*
All Shook Up! Girls just wanna have naps! Don’t Worry, Drink Java
3.IMAGINE YOU’RE HAVING THE IDEAL PERFECT DAY. WHAT FOUR THINGS WOULD YOU BE DOING?
I would be drinking coffee in bed, watching Jaws while receiving oral pleasures from one of my many man slaves and plotting to take over the world
4. MAKE UP FIVE CREATIVE NAMES FOR A NEW ROCK BAND:
Clotted Milk Bubbles Tattoo’d Nunnery Kitty Kat Klaws Hurt In My Thigh Oven Mitts OF Doom The Buttered Biscuit
5. CONGRATULATIONS! YOU GET TO GO BACK IN TIME AND ENSURE THAT THREE SONGS WERE NEVER WRITTEN, THUS SPARING HUMANITY FROM EVER HAVING TO HEAR THEM. WHAT THREE SONGS WOULD GET THE AXE? Fucking hell! Songs as again?
Anything By: BackStreetBoys N-Sync Brittney Spears William Hung
I could go on for a long long time. Save for Metallica and Randy Travis, I really don’t care for music.
I will tag people. I think normal people like music. Or at least all the cool kids do! I’m not cool.
Ahhh, Now that the present I so thoughtfully picked out for my beloved blawg is here, the party can START!
But first Let me say a few words about my new template :
It Fucking Rawks!
See the coffee? See it? Huh HUH? Do you? Do You See The Coffee? It’s mine and I am NOT sharing. I have water on tap for y’all. Now, a little about my new templates’ designer, Rachel. {And Jan, Someone named Jan! Hi Jan, You rawk Too!}
She Fucking Rawks!
Even after the forty thousand bazillion e-mails I sent her day and night, telling her I was a retard and help me with this cus !!omg I broked it!1! She did it. With a Smile. No really. All of her e-mails ended with a smiley face. Now that’s service! Want a template? Go to Weblog Designs.
But don’t touch my coffee. That’s a really easy way to lose fingers. Am I the only one who can almost smell the steam coming off it?
OK It’s time to Party hard!!… in a minute.
I have seen a lot of Bloggers hit their blogaversary during the past year that I have spent sitting on my ass in front of this machine. A lot of bloggers started their blogs during times of personal crisis, The other half, it seems, Did it out of boredom or just for kicks.
Wanna know why I started Bluepaintred? Do ya? You do! Goodie!!
I started BPR because of this video:
I’ve made no bones about the fact that I love Sharks, That the movie Jaws is BY FAR my all time favorite. I haven’t shied away for explaining that if I had a choice, I’d Rather die by Shark then in any other manner. Lets face it, Sharks turn me on. Big time.
When I saw this video, I was amazed, Finally, FINALLY, vindication. And so, BPR born to help me post this video. That’s it. That’s the only reason. My blawg is here because Bruce the Shark made me horny.
Deal with it.
And Now, On this auspicious day, we gather to celebrate… Even though my blog was born on St. Patrick’s Day – shadddddup! I’ve been busy, and I wanted to celebrate the day by giving my bloggy its present! Like you’ve never been late for anything?
This is my third attempt at writing this post. I can’t find the photo of Jittery Joe in the purple velvet, and he wont do a re-enactment for me. Rest assured that when I DO find it, I will pop it up in the photo blawg.
So. Don’t read this if you are squeamish. I talk about periods. And placentas. Placenta placenta Placenta! If you got through that without wincing, please feel free to proceed.
It’s February of ‘98. I am six weeks pregnant, though I would not find this out for another eight weeks. In preparation of our second Valentines together – back during a time when he still remembered it – I bought a dress. It was beautiful. Velvet. Purple. Strapless. I had my very first strapless bra to go with it and the tiny-est black thong I could find. It was going to be an awesome night of fine dining – on a budget, and hot hot sex for dessert.
Then my Ex- Boyfriend, Ty, called saying his mom was in a bind and would we be willing to come down and help them run the dog sled races during the Valentines weekend. How could we say no? The dress went to the back of the closet. I eventually did wear it. To coffee.
Saturday the fourteenth found us knee deep in snow, watching the races, with nothing to do. They had enough volunteers that we weren’t really needed, but that’s OK, we had fun anyway.
After the races, we went back to Ty’s parents’ farm and decided we would go tubing. For those of you with no snow, that’s tying a tractor’s inner tube to a ski-doo and going really fast and laughing and falling off, and generally having an awesome time. I do not recommend this as an appropriate activity for pregnant women. . .
I hadn’t packed the proper clothing for this activity so Ty’s mom lent me waist-high ski pants, mittens and a toque. I had a good winter coat already.
We were out for a good long time, and when we went in to warm up, I laughed at the snow that had been pushed up, without my knowing, into my shirt and bra. I didn’t mind, I wasn’t even cold!
That night my nipples were on fire. I went to the bathroom and peeked under my bra and they were red and swollen and OHMIGAWD!!ONFIRE!!PUTITOUT!!ITHURTS!
Uhm, just so you know, don’t put cool cloths on frostbitten skin to kill the burning hot ouchyness. Yea, not a good idea.
So I took some Tylenol and hit the hay, hoping that whatever was wrong with my poor abused nipples would be done and gone by morning. I got my period that night. It was unusually heavy.
Unfortunately by morning my nipples were cracked and bleeding and blistered. Disgusting to say the least. I put some polysporin on them and tucked toilet paper in my bra and tried to get through the day.
By Monday I was dying. Or wishing. Same thing. Nothing can ever compare to what my nipples felt like. Every time I took a breath they would rub on my bra, opening blisters and skin and blood and guck and owie! They say you forget the pain of birth, and you do, but you do not forget this type of pain. Ever.
I finally went to a 24 hour clinic, basically, because I was pretty sure that my nipples were about to fall off, or explode. At that point I didn’t care which, as long as the pain ended at the same time.
When the doctor explained to me that it was frost bite, I blanked, I couldn’t figure out where This could possibly had happened, and I even argued with him. After about ten minutes I finally remembered the snow packed bra and slapped myself up-side the head.
So the Doctor peeled some of the dead skin off, not fun, gave me prescription creams and instructions to purchase breast pads. You know? The ones that stop leaky milk in Moo Mommies?
It took a long time before they were healed and a lot of embarrising doctor appointments. Even now, eight years later, when they get cold, they BURN. If you ever see me walking outside in the winter time and you cant see my hands in my sleeves, that’s because they are tucked into my bra trying to keep my nipples warm.
Any ideas for next winter, girls? I’ve tried the little mitten inserts, but they get too hot too soon. I have what i call my winter bras, they are heavy thick Cotton. Can I get a bra in flannel? I wonder if lumberjack checks would turn Jittery Joe on…
Now for the hard part of the story. At the beginning I explained I was six or so weeks pregnant. We had no clue. None at all. I swear to God, If I knew, there is NO WAY I would have gotten on that inner tube. But I didn’t know.
On March 25th, I went to the doctors for a pregnancy test. because Coffee Mom made Me I argued and argued when he told me I was already 14 weeks pregnant, I explained very patiently, that I had gotten a period, a nice heavy one, in February. I could not possibly be 14 weeks already.
But whatever! Cool! A baby!
Throughout my pregnancy with Rainbow Man there were weird shadows and echos during the ultrasounds. Lots of things that we didn’t understand, nor to be truthful, really paid attention too. The baby was healthy at each appointment, growing, that’s all I cared about. We planned our wedding, and by “we” I mean them, ‘cus I watched a lot of TV and napped while they did all the work.
Finally the day came for RM to be born. I won’t get into his whole birth story here, although, I would like to mention that I am a champion pusher and had that boy out before the doctor even got to the room. Three pushes. I rawk.
Anyway, at about four centimeters a nurse came and broke my water, then I had a nap. A new nurse came in a while later and broke my water again. I had no clue what was going on, I didn’t pay attention to the birth videos in prenatal class except to make fun of the seventies bush the women all seemed to sport. And I was tired.
We didn’t know anything was wrong until the nurses started to argue about who broke the bag of waters. Rainbow man was out and in his nice warm bassinet. Ten Fingers, Ten Toes. Jittery Joe was over on the other side of the room, doing the proud papa act, he even changed the first diaper.
When it was time for the placenta to come out, something else came with it. Something that the doctor later told me should have killed Rainbow Man in the womb. Rainbow Man had a twin. My doctor figures that because there was two separate sacs for them to live in, that’s why RM didn’t get ill.
And to be honest, really and truly honest, I had my healthy wee baby. I fell in love with him long before he was born. I didn’t know about his sibling until it was already to late, and by then, well I had my baby, the only one I had known about and loved. The most perfect little man.
I’ve never been really sad about Rainbow Man’s twin, whats the point? You can’t miss what you don’t know after all, but we do have a lot of questions about what, if anything, do we say to Rainbow Man about his birth.
Not really the post you expected, huh? I tried to make it humorous but I failed. I like whips, so flogging me is a viable option…Just sayin…
About the title. Seriously. I drink enough coffee. I swear my bobbies would make some sort of coffee product not milk. Maybe Coffee Crisp’s? That would Rawk!
Still. So. Hot.
