Away for a while

Father’s day snuck up on my this year. I didn’t even realize until the day before, although looking back I had a nice funk building up to it so I must have been aware on some level. So when the ex-wife started cheerfully chatting with my step-son about what he was getting Matthew for father’s day…Whabamm!!!
So it’s an unusually hard year for me, especially considering I just let my therapist go (what was I thinking?! NOW?! I couldn’t wait a couple more weeks?!) I’ve been out of the loop for a long while, I know. I’ll be back around eventually but I’ve got a lot of bootstraps to yank on first. Essentially, I’m still around and I’ll be back in the groove in time. See you all then.

Sarah Palin’s Gone Nutz

Okay, just a quick jot since it’s been a week since I posted anything. But I’m currently getting a big kick out of Sarah Palin’s reaction to David Letterman’s little joke about her daughter getting knocked up.

For those that don’t know (although I don’t know how, since this story’s kinda all over the place) Letterman made a little joke on his show “One awkward moment for Sarah Palin at the Yankee game, during the seventh inning, her daughter was knocked up by Alex Rodriguez.”

Rather kicked off a fuss.

Now the thing is here that Letterman has said the joke was aimed at 18-year-old daughter Bristol. But since he didn’t name anyone in particular in the joke and Palin was with her 14-year-old daughter Willow at the time and not Bristol…

Well, you can see how that might cause a fuss.

Palin said it took Letterman time to think of the “convenient excuse” that he was talking about Bristol instead of Willow. Now, to be fair I think it’s much more likely the joke really was aimed at Bristol and the folks on Letterman’s staff who come up with those jokes for him just didn’t do their homework. Probably got too excited at the prospect of hacking on Palin to be bothered with such things.

PalinPAC spokeswoman Meghan Stapleton said Wednesday, “The Palins have no intention of providing a ratings boost for David Letterman by appearing on his show. Plus, it would be wise to keep Willow away from David Letterman.”

That last comment caused a bit of a stir as well, though Palin largely just shrugged it off. She even inferred that maybe her spokeswoman meant it would be best to keep Willow away from Letterman…for Letterman’s sake. Which I thought was high-larious and was exactly what I would have said as well.

Palin herself has said, “I would like to see him apologize to young women across the country for contributing to kind of that thread that is throughout our culture that makes it sound like it is OK to talk about young girls in that way, where it’s kind of OK, accepted and funny to talk about statutory rape,” she said. “It’s not cool. It’s not funny.”

She also read right from her BlackBerry a comment she received, “Every male organization. . . should rise up and shout in defense of their daughters, their sisters, their mothers.”

I got a real kick out of that one. You never hear feminists say that sort of thing, which I really think is a shame. I’ve always been convinced that if feminists (real feminists, not the current fascist man-hating unshorn lesbo pro-abortion club we call the feminist movement) were to shame men more often on their failure to stand up and defend their daughters, sisters and mothers we would accomplish twice as much as we do. We might even put those other so-called feminists out of business finally.

Men (real men) can’t stand the implication that they haven’t lived up to their real man status and will literally knocked down mountains to defend that. How we could possibly missed this incredibly effect means of rallying the most fanatical support to any particular cause I’ll never understand.

But all in all I find the whole thing just makes me want to stand up and cheer. We never see mothers step up and just go off when their daughters are insulted in this way anymore. I see Letterman making a tasteless joke at the expense of Palin’s daughter (whether 18 year-old Bristol or 14 year-old Willow, both deserve the same general response in my opinion) and Palin pulling out all the stops to just plain make him sorry he opened his big, dumb mouth.

That’s awesome. We really should see that more often.

Now if Bristol and Willow’s dad had come on TV and gone red-faced, bulged a vein or two in his forehead and threatened to call out Letterman to the parking lot I’d probably throw a party. But, as I’ve hopefully implied, we seem to have forgotten who’s job it’s supposed to be to defend our daughters.

Oh, well. Missed the mark but hit the tree.

Dear Doctor

There’s lots I don’t talk about here on this blog. Anyone who keeps up with both the news and this blog will have noticed how often I don’t mention some major current news story while every once in a while opining on something out of the blue. It’s largely the same with events in my life as well. For every post you can bet there are twenty things I haven’t mentioned and this is usually because it’s just too hard to write about. And I don’t really mean emotionally, just simply requiring some effort. I don’t ever set out to force myself to write about anything on this blog whatsoever. The only thing you see here is whatever just pops out on its own and those things require no effort. Hence the rather chaotic nature of the subject matter around here.

Essentially, I’m lazy, I guess I’m saying.

One major thing I’ve skipped over recently is the thing that’s most responsible for my recent funk. And I’ve been in something of a funk for the last couple of weeks. Now this is largely due to being pretty nastily sick during that time. Ah, the joy of upper respiratory infections. And yeah, the fact that I’m smoking a pack a day hasn’t anything to do with that, right?

But the other thing that’s pretty much snatched the rug out from under my feet for the last couple of weeks is that my therapy sessions with Dr. Fry (not her real name!) have come to an end. It wasn’t a huge surprise or anything and I knew it was coming from way back. In fact, my therapy has very probably gone on a good bit longer than was necessary but with so many major changes in my life a couple of years ago, we decided to carry on a bit more. And really, I do think that it was generally a good idea that we did.

But still, we since come to the point where the sessions just aren’t necessary any longer and in fact rather hamper the progress one has to make on one’s own. Rather like learning any new set of skills, there’s only so far your training can go with hands on. Eventually you get to the point where your instructor has to step back and let you run with it. And then, when the time’s right, go off and find someone else to teach because you’ve got this new thing well in hand. From a practical standpoint there are plenty of people out there who need her help as much as I ever did and she needs to move on and help them. Purely selfishly, there’s much I have to learn that I can only learn moving forward on my own.

All of which is just a lot of blather to make myself feel better. True, yes. All true. But still, stated just to alleviate my distress. I’m still pretty broken hearted. And really, no matter how good your therapist at maintaining boundaries and how wise one is oneself as to resist the impulse to latch on it really is unavoidable, this inevitable attachment. It really hurts to let go of someone in whom you’ve invested so much, whom you’ve trusted so much more than anyone else in your life and who has, if you’ll pardon the ridiculous poetical, lovingly tended so many wounds. I shudder to contemplate therapists who don’t take their professional relationship with their patients seriously and I admit I’m only encouraged to admire this woman all the more.

Really, I could never be a therapist. I’ve seen that job. There’s just no way.

I mean, I’d just seriously screw some folk up.

Buy, anywayz, this was supposed to be just a nice little thumbs up to someone who’s made such a major difference in my life that I hesitate to even attempt to acknowledge it. I just know I can’t possibly do it justice. And yeah, the cynical may say I got what I paid for (and really, it was rather darned expensive) but if I could lay out all this woman has gone through for my sake, none could argue she did it for the paltry pocket change I tossed her way. Not without looking stupid, anyway. Some things money just can’t pay for. There’s just no renumeration for what this woman has done for me and, I’m quite certain, scores upon scores of other young women as well.

What a blessing this woman has been to the world. Here then is one of the miracles that those who despise God so often whine and complain He doesn’t do for them. And yes of course, they’re completely blind to it.

So, doc, let me say you’re good people. And few people are, really, good people. So few bring more into their lives than they take away and few heal so much more harm than they cause. Few heal even as much harm as they cause. And yet you’ve taken on the wounds of hundreds. You, all by yourself, are a testimony to God’s loving care. And I do thank God for you.

I’ve seen you at your less than best. I remember you being grumpy and not at all in the mood to deal with crazy people today, thank you. I remember that ridiculous plant by the window. Mind the plant! Still haven’t the foggiest notion what the hell species that weird thing was supposed to be and after the plant incident I never had the guts to ask. I remember the tic tacs and the rubber bands, too. I remember your getting too personal and telling a bit too much of yourself to me as well. I remember you making your mistakes and that you were never perfect yourself.

But I remember your holding my hand when I puddled on the floor. Waiting patiently, nearby,…but not too close! Until I came back from there. I remember your taking calls at all hours because I needed that. And I remember you firmly (and really, thank you) shutting it down when it wasn’t necessary. I remember the simple observations that snatched the happy, happy, joy, joy right out from under me, too. And I remember you summoning the men in white coats to whisk me away when that became necessary as well.

Perhaps these may seem to some like strange things to praise you for but I know. Because of you I’ve come to understand the bandage, the medicines and the soothing balms are no less good and Godly healing than the application of the hot iron to stop the bleeding in the first place.

No matter what else I might say the fact remains, the truth is and the whole thing boils down to…I’m a thousand times better off for having had you in my life. I don’t even count it as luck having found you either, as I could easily have ended up with you-know-who down the hall. And, btw, what a frightening prospect. Thank you again, my Good Father, for that nice save.

No, I’ve no doubt God led me to you and I thank you, dear doctor, for allowing Him to use you to heal me. As I thank Him for blessing you with that gift and the opportunity to glorify Him through it.
So I suppose I stand with you then and honor Him, praise Him and thank Him for allowing us both to be part of His love. What a good and glorious God He is, yeah?

So thanks, doc. Thank you oh so very much. I do so hope I was able to bless you as much as you have blessed me. I pray that God continue to hold and keep you.

In His name I pray, for you, my dear doctor.

Be well.

And mind the plant.

A Strange Place

I have no pain today
Today, no pain

All day I think I’ve waited
Unawares
I wait to ache

But no pain today

A strange thing, I think
And I wait, but nothing

Lying in bed
With cool sheets
And such comfort

There’s no pain today

I don’t hunger
Nothing I want

I move only to feel the sheets
On my skin
And breathe in content

No discomfort

You’ve come into the room
and that’s good to me

I don’t have to move
to fetch you here
to share this thing

So lie with me then

Here, in this bed,
Without pain

We made this place
You and I, we made it
And it’s strange

We forgot the pain

It’s good then
but strange

How did we forget?

The Sex Talk and How I Suck At It.

So I can’t remember how exactly we got on the subject but one day me and my step-son ended up talking about penises.

No, really. We did. And this just popped into my head today for no reason, so I thought I’d share.

Because I’m kooky.

Now by this time me and my hubby were very close to actually tying the knot but we hadn’t actually set about finely manipulating that cord into a proper restraining ligature just yet. But still…I’d since come to the point where I figured if the boy asked me questions I should do my best to answer them. And I wasn’t even really thinking about the Sex Talk but pretty much everything. Including, like, financial advice. Whatever. I hadn’t quite gotten bold enough to consider myself a mother figure to him yet, you understand (still don’t, really) but I had at least accepted I would soon be something of an adult female figure in his life. Or something.

Actually I’m not sure what the hell you’d call that. Step-mom, I guess.

So anyway the point is I can’t remember how in the world we ever got on that subject. I know we hadn’t been discussing anything inappropriate so that penises would just pop up. Well, I mean, so to speak.

Ah! Wait. Now I remember! We weren’t talking about penises to begin with at all. We were talking about breasts. And we’d gotten on that subject when talking about his “type”, which is to say what kind of girl he found most attractive.

And we’d gotten on that subject because I’d introduced him to the Sims game. You know the Sims, right? So I was walking him through making his own Sim and trying the game out. Then it hit me to ask whether he’d like his Sim to be married and all that or go about trying to win over one of the Sims in the game. Or even if he wanted his Sim to be married and have kids at all. Then he decided maybe he should just make a wife and start the game with her and avoid all that extra complication.

Wise, I thought. And so of course I was showing him how to do that. During the course of which I noticed he was making a dark-haired, dark complected, very exotic looking companion for his Sim.

And yes, “complected” is a word. Get over it.

That’s what led to me asking what kind of girl he liked and to him describing that to me. I admit I was surprised. I had, for some reason, assumed he would be into big-boobed, blue-eyed blondes.

No, wait. Now I remember why I assumed that. Because that’s what his father had always preferred, for about as long as I’d known him. Which has been rather forever, really. That’s since come to rub me that wrong. Being none of the above, after all.

But come to think of it, I think I did actually say something maybe inappropriate to him. Because he didn’t mess around with the girl Sim’s chest size. Which, really, if I had any sense I would have realized was most likely because I was sitting right there. Kid was trying to be respectful, after all. I’m sure if his teenage buddies had been around he’d have gone hog wild. But I do tend to be a little screwy when it comes to recognizing what is and isn’t appropriate conversation.

Only a little screwy, mind you. Enough that, in this instance, I didn’t realize he was probably just being polite. And enough that, in this instance, I didn’t stop to think maybe the thing I was about to say to him wasn’t really appropriate to say to a 12 year old boy. At the very least it would be embarrassing to him.

“Huh. I figured you’d give her big boobs. I thought all boys liked big boobs.”

Thankfully, and I am thankful, it didn’t occur to him to be embarrassed at this observation. And really I think any other time it probably would have embarrassed him. But by then he and I were still at the “friends” stage and I hadn’t quite come to be viewed as any kind of authority figure. Or maternal figure. Or whatever. So it was okay for us to joke about things like that.

Well, you understand, not at all appropriate but, as far as he was concerned, “okay”. I mean if I caught any other grown woman saying such a thing to him I’d certainly give her a hard eye about it at least, if not outright pulling her out the room for a quick adjustment. Which is why I say I should have realized this was something not to joke about with him, considering I’d snatch anyone else up for doing so. He on the other hand could laugh at me picking on him about big boobs.

So. Huh. I don’t really know if it was inappropriate or not, come to think of it.

So anyway he laughed. And he told me he wasn’t really into big boobs all that much. In fact, he didn’t really like big boobs and thought that whole thing was stupid. Naturally, my esteem for the kid only grew at this honest declaration. Because, of course, it was so honest.

And, of course, that the kid was displaying such wisdom.

But enough about how awesome he is. Because the conversation got pretty humorous to me, though I didn’t dare show it. You see, he set about explaining to me that men didn’t really care about breast size all that much. It looks nice and all, he said, even attractive. But when it came right down to it big boobs would just get in the way. So in the end it really didn’t matter. And least not to guys who had any sense about such things, anyway. Guys like, I was expected to presume, him.

Now imagine me trying really hard not to laugh out loud here. And I really don’t mean to show any disrespect whatsoever to this kid. I really do think he’s awesome. But he’s sooo twelve years old. I mean seriously dude, you don’t think I’m actually buying that you know anything about sex at all?

Or. Rather. You better not. Because seriously, dude. I doubt your father would hesitate for a second in agreeing with me about locking your little ass in the attic until you’re twenty. Not a qualm.

But I could dig it. The kid was twelve. He was not about to let on to me, of all people, that he didn’t know a thing or two. It was pretty clearly something he’d heard an older kid say and it had sounded profound to him. And so he assumed it would sound profound coming from him. And I understood that I was expected to politely overlook the fact that we both knew he was full of it. And so I did.

Besides, he was so serious about it. I just absolutely knew that this kid really wanted me to understand that big boobs weren’t that big a deal to guys. I’m quite sure he thought he was enlightening me to something really deep here. So I let it slide and just nodded encouragingly. Thanks for the heads up there, guy. I did not know that. Very illuminating.

But then it occurred to me, when I understood the revelation of wisdom he thought he was laying on me, that I should probably return the favor. So I pointed out that size wasn’t all that important to women either, though I wasn’t specific about the size of what. I mean the kid wasn’t stupid and I wasn’t about to bring the “P” word into this conversation right off the bat. But still, this got his immediate attention. Because right then I knew we’d already edged over into “the talk”. And “the talk”, I knew, was very important. Especially with twelve year old boys. I wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity to head off some of the complete stupidity his school buddies were undoubtedly going to fill his little head with over the next few years.

So I put on my best “Gimme a minute, I’m thinking real hard about what I’m about to say” face. And then I said:

“Look. I’m going to say something to you and I want you to remember that I said this. I want you to remember that I was completely honest when I said it and that I’m a grown woman and know what I’m talking about. I have absolutely no reason to lie to you and every reason to tell you the complete truth. Because you’re family to me and that means I want you to be happy. I would never lie to you about something so important. And, most importantly, if anyone ever tells you anything different you can know they’re full of it. They might well not be intentionally lying but they’ll definitely be completely wrong. Just smile, nod and file what they said away in your mental filing system under “complete crap”. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Size does not matter. It really doesn’t. No women who isn’t completely stupid, and yes there are a few completely stupid women out there but you shouldn’t be messing around with them anyway…no woman gives much of a damn how big your equipment is. That’s a guy thing, not a girl thing. Guys care how big their equipment is. Chicks don’t really give a damn. What they care about is whether you’re a big man or not. Whether you love them. Whether you’re loving and tender and affectionate and respectful and all that other girl stuff. That’s what women care about. At most some might find it exciting or sexy, like guys find big boobs sexy, but, like you said, when it comes right down to it big just gets in the way.”

“Okay.”

“You’re father already had the sex talk with you, right?”

“Yeah.”

Oh. And of course now he gets embarrassed. Because dad had The Talk with him and now I’m reminding him of that awful fact.

“And he showed you pictures I’m sure, right?”

“Yeah.” Blush.

“Alright, don’t be embarrassed. I’ll make this as quick and painless as I can, I promise.”

“Okay.”

“So you remember those pictures? And specifically you remember all the moving parts and where everything was approximately. So you remember the cervix?”

He looked a little puzzled at that one.

“Well, you can look it up in a biology book later or something. And you can look up what the cervix is for while you’re at it. The main point here is where the cervix is located. It’s about this far up in there (displaying the rough distance between two fingers for him). It varies depending on a few things but usually just a few inches at most. Which rather describes just how big a guy can be before it becomes an issue, doesn’t it?”

“Uh huh.”

“Right. So you can understand how big a guy can be without causing problems. A little stimulation of the cervix can actually be pretty nice for some women but I doubt anyone would enjoy having it beat up on a regular basis. Get me? But even beyond that, you know what the most sensitive part of the vagina is? Pretty much the opening area. Right around there. That and maybe the first inch or two inside. The deeper parts, not so much. So as long as you have pretty much anything to work with you’re good to go. See?”

“Uh huh.”

“So. When guys act like it matters you can know that’s just guys. It matters to them, not us. And when you see stupid commercials on TV with women saying it matters, you can know those women are trying to sell something. To stupid men. So don’t be a stupid man and buy into it.”

“Okay.”

“Now when you’re older and married, my good man, I’ll clue you in on what does matter to a woman. I’ll give all the details. Hell, I’ll write you a book on the subject. All I can promise you now is that size doesn’t even make the top fifty list. Trust me on this one.”

“Okay.”

“And…I’ve probably pushed you past your limit on sex ed talk today, haven’t I? But I’ll say one more thing that I think is very, very important and then we’ll end this talk, I promise. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I want you to know this. From what I’ve seen of you, and I’ve known you a while now, haven’t I? From what I’ve seen of you, you’ll make the woman you marry very happy. And I’m not just talking about sex. I’m not even talking about sex at all. I’m talking about everything else. Which, to clue you in on the things I’m not mentioning, largely covers all that stuff that does matter. So don’t you buy into the crap you’re friends are going to tell you about size being important or how to be a good lover. Be a good man, the kind of man I see you becoming, and you will be a good lover. Get me?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. That’s all I’m going to torture you with today. So you have fun. I’mma go make a sandwich or something.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

…

So. A few hours later Matthew comes and sits by.

“So…you and Jeremiah had a talk, huh?”

“Oh. Well. Yeah.”

“Uh huh.”

“Is that okay? I mean, I was serious about it. We weren’t, like, joking around or anything.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, he asked. So…I figured I’d better answer him. Right? Well, I mean he didn’t really ask. But it came up.”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh, God. You’re mad, right? It wasn’t like that, honest.”

“I know.”

“So should I have just not said anything? Or told you? Or what?”

“Oh, hell no. I wish someone had told me all that when I was twelve.”

“Oh.”

“…”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. If I knew then what I know now, right?”

“Right! Okay. Yeah, right.”

“…”

“…”

“Oh, God. I shouldn’t have said anything, huh?”

“Ha!”

“No, seriously. What was I thinking? The kid’s twelve for crying out loud.”

“He’s a good kid, Mare.”

“Yeah and now he’s a more sexually confident twelve year old good kid. Oh, God. That was just dumb.”

“Relax, I’ll have the “sex before you’re married and I’ll beat you to death” talk with him tomorrow.”

“Not funny, man.”

“You worry too much, you know that?”

“I’m not going to be a very good step-mom for your kid, Matt. I’m just not.”

“Mary, I told him the exact same thing two years ago. Ease up.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I even used the whole breasts vs. penis size thing.”

“…”

“…”

“So why the hell did we end up talking about it if you already covered this?”

“Because I’m dad. There’s a distinct possibility that I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. Dad’s don’t have and have never had actual sex. Didn’t you know that?”

“Oh, but I’ve had sex. And so he can take my advice, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, that just sucks.”

“Hey, we haven’t signed papers yet so you can still bug out if you’re scared.”

“…”

“…”

“You’re not funny. This is not a funny topic.”

“I’m finding it pretty funny.”

“Well, you suck.”

So anyway, the point is: I still married him. Even after that complete horror. Which I guess just means I really am crazy. That and Jeremiah will not be dating. Courting, yes. Dating, no. And always supervised. Period. In part because both his parents and his step-mom are all just nutz.