Holy Hell!

I thought I had a post brewing. It seemed like something I could sink my teeth into, something a bit more revealing. I'm also working on the next installment of How He Became Our Son, but then I found this series today.

Incredible writing. Incredible strength. An incredible woman.

So rather than posting myself, I had to sit and read the whole thing.

It's amazing.

And frankly, I'm almost embarrassed to even be recounting my adventure by comparison.

I'm sitting with some serious perspective right now.

I'd Blame it on the Illness or the Weather...

...but I came up with this on Friday when it was beautiful and sunny and 80 degrees and I still just thought the tickle in my sinuses was allergies.

I was enjoying a little sunshine during the workday on Friday when a woman passed me on the sidewalk with a fairly low-cut shirt. It was impossible not to notice the tremendous stretch marks on her chest obviously caused by the ginormous boobs she was lugging around.

I looked down at my own girls and silently thanked the goddess of discount designer shoes that I had never been that well-endowed. Gravity and two nursing babies have taken their toll and the girls just ain't what they used to be, but by no means will they ever rest on my hips.

And that's when I had a thought:

There should be a boob bank.

The gals with a little too much can make a deposit--in exchange for maybe an iTunes card or something--and the ladies who need a little lift or filling could make a withdrawl.

The world would be a happy place and we'd all be perfect C's.

And the fact that this science doesn't exist is just further proof that G*d is NOT a woman.

The Lesser of Two Evils

As I left for my physical today, I stopped for a moment and wondered.

Which am I looking forward to the least--stepping on the scale or getting a
PAP smear?

The PAP? Wasn't the worst I had.

*sigh*

What DIDN'T I Do?

Children, this is your mother.

You may have found my blog.

You may think this is your ticket to throwing my past in my face to exonerate you from all laws that apply to you, but you're wrong, wrong, wrong.

You see your mother was a well-behaved teenager, she never did drugs, she never had sex, she never snuck out of the house, she never drove before she got her license and she especially never wore horrible fashions or thought big hair was hot.

NEVER.

And this is all true because it is in writing--here on my blog.

Now step away from the computer and go get mommy some of her special juice--and don't forget the lime.

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This week's Friday Flashback asked What did you do (or not do) at your prom. Not wanting to tarnish my pristine reputation, I stand behind the words above and will also swear that my marriage is perfect, my children always behave, my house is always clean and I'm really happy with my current weight.

Check out these other fine friends who are participating as well.

Mrs. Flinger
Oh, The Joys
Mamalogues
Julie

Do You Know About This?

Please take a moment to see what Jen and Odette are doing.

This project makes me smile and want to cry all at the same time.

When you read about it, I'm sure you're going to want to get involved as well.

My heart grows bigger just knowing there are people like this in the world.

How He Became Our Son, Part II

If you missed the first installment, you can find it here.

"Your sister's in jail and you need to come get him."

I was at work--in my new office. I took a deep breath and thought for a moment.

I have to tell the hubs. He's NOT going to believe this. How could she be so stupid?I just started this job two weeks ago. How do I explain that I need
to take a day off already? How much do I share with my boss? How do I
explain that I'm going to be a parent?

My new firm was small. They appeared to be a family, but who ever really knows in those circumstances. I decided that laying it out there was my best approach. I knew there were going to be tons of adjustments and they needed to understand what was going on.

But were they going to be okay with this? I mean seriously
I just started this job.

Thankfully, my boss was amazing. Turns out he had a brother who was a bit of a "challenge" himself and he completely understood my situation.

Honestly, what happened next is a blur to this day. I don't remember packing or going to the airport or even the plane ride home. I just remember getting off the plane and seeing him.

He was so little. He was so adorable. He had no idea what was going on.

The hubs and I had started dating the same year he was born, so he knew us both well. I was his god mother and we spent all the time we could with him whenever we were at my parents. We knew he'd be okay with us, but how were we going to explain that he was getting on a plane and coming to live with us--for how long we had no idea.

With my sister's MS, my nephew was accustomed to her being hospitalized from time to time. We decided that the best approach for now was to tell him that she was sick and couldn't take care of him so he was coming to stay with us for a while.

In reality, we had no idea what was going to happen. We didn't have a lot of details about her arrest, about the process of hearings, about sentencing. Honestly, we didn't have much experience with this, though enough that my parents had finally reached their breaking point and refused to post bail (and I was completely behind their decision). We just had no idea how long he'd be living with us. Three years? Five years? Her attorney thought it would be in that neighborhood.

The hubs had stayed behind to get things ready for our little guy's arrival. I didn't know what to tell him we'd need. My mom was getting his clothes and some favorite books and toys together. But what did we need at our house? I left it to my husband to figure it out.

When I came home Sunday evening I brought with me one huge bag and one little guy. What had the hubs gotten to get our house ready? A super-sized box of outlet covers.

Oh yeah, we were prepared.

WYSIWYG

Recently, at a rather quiet and refined gathering of bloggers, the topic of blog personas came up. The discussion involved the comparison of real life personalities to personalities asserted online and the fact that many times they are not the same.

I sort of scratched my head at this. I mean, sure, I know there are many talented writers who create wildly intricate stories that have nothing to do with their personal experiences, but when it comes to blogging... I don't know. It feels so personal to me. Now maybe it's my lack of talent, but I'd be hard-pressed to prevent my personality from seeping onto my blog.

My blog persona is my real life persona--for good or for bad.

In real life, and online, I find myself gravitating toward people who are genuine. Too many times in my life I've been confused by folks who will say one thing when you are alone but change their tune in front of others. When I was younger, I was just too trusting. Now that I'm older, I don't have the patience or energy to keep guessing.

Be yourself. I promise I'll like you much better that way--warts and all.

In fact, the warts often make folks far more interesting. I know the posts that strike me are often those that reveal the writer's imperfections and how they're approaching them.

It's certainly true about the post I nominated for this month's Perfect Post Award.

My incredible friend Steph reflected about recent challenges she's overcome and how she's decided that life is just too short not to be true to herself and those around her--despite the reactions that may cause.

I'd argue that Steph has been far more authentic than she might believe all along, but the message of her post was so right on.

She asked there and I'll ask here: do you think the world, your readers see your authentic self?

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The Original Perfect Post Awards are brought to you each month by Petroville and Suburban Turmoil.