Goodreads

Karin Mitchell's books on Goodreads
Between Families Between Families
reviews: 5
ratings: 8 (avg rating 4.75)

Sunday, November 11, 2012

I get how the military keeps our government going and protects our government leaders.  I genuinely don't understand how they protect freedoms though.  I'm not trying to be a disrespectful asshole; I really don't get it.  It seems to me that dissenters and protestors, activists, lawyers and judges, and all those who exercise our freedoms, defend our freedoms.  Feel free to explain or defend your own position. 

Friday, June 1, 2012

Drum roll please

Ways to announce you're pregnant:

"I'll totally punch you and steal your lunch.  What?  I'm pregnant."
"I have to watch Grey's Anatomy now.  I'm hormonally predisposed due to pregnancy." 
"Shit happens when you party naked.  Like pregnancy.  Get it?  I partied naked and now there's going to be lots of baby shit."
"Wanna see how much yoga pants can stretch?  Watch me for the six next months.  Due Jan 2013."
"Seriously, hand your lunch over.  I'm pregnant and hungry.  I'm not fuckin around."
"You've got to be kidding me!  Lunchmeat?  All that bullying and I can't even eat this!"

Looking forward to the current household indigents getting a new resident on or abouts January 3, 2013, you know, minus the giving birth part.  That part's fucking horrifying.

Sunday, May 20, 2012


I took a test for my teaching license in Denver yesterday and went to a bridal shower and then fell asleep after putting Magnus to bed at 8. Which means I woke up at four. Sleep is stupid. There's never enough of it and I always screw it up.

I miss crapping by myself.  Now there's this toddler who wants to come sit in the room with his snacks which is just gross.  And since he's allowed in the room, the dog and the cat have to come see if the rules have changed for them.  They haven't.  Or shit, I don't care, whatever.  I just miss not subconsciously echoing Magnus "poop!"  "Yes, mommy's pooping."  "Pee, pee."  "Yes, you go pee pee in the potty."  And on. 

I got to use a babysitter to go to the OB the other day though.  That's totally what I want to do with my kid-free time.  Here's what I think is weird about the twat doctor trip: when they walk out of the room for you to take off the bottom part of your outfit.  Then you sit for an indeterminate amount of time with a paper blanket on your bottom half but looking all normal and reading a book on the top half.  Makes me feel like one of those children's books with animal parts.  You know, where you turn the page and get an ostrich's feet and a giraffe head?  I feel like that. 

A lot of my identity feels split like that.  Formal on top, silly bottom.  My favorite tease-Rob tactic lately is a dramatic bottom shaking.  It's a stylish dance I'm perfecting over time.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Someone was selling a Love Sac on Craigslist.  Just makes me laugh.  Love sac, yeah, yea.  I'm heading down, the atlanta highway... lookin for a love getaway!  Headed for lu-uv getaway!  Well the Love Sac is a little ole place where...
I almost emailed to ask if it was hairy.  Huh, huh.  I put my hairy Love Sac on Craigslist.

Friday, April 20, 2012

Oops and more reasons I'll never get a job

Sometimes I feel awkward.  Like, middle school awkward.  The kind where you just know people can see it.  You bought the slightly off version of what's cool and your underwear's sticking out, or you stared too long until it became weird, or said something that made the world come to a screeching halt and now the whole world knows how odd you are.  How ill-suited for normal company.

It doesn't happen a lot anymore.  I live in a place that I'm perfectly suited for and that's partly why.  I'm also good-looking and a lot of leeway comes with looks and age.  But when my friends from home hang out, the middle schooler peaks out of me.  Facebook is the worst for this.  I should really abstain more. 

When I lived in St. Louis, I was never part of any group.  I had friends who were drug dealers, and friends from the honor's society.  I had friends who were in college, and friends who were in drama at my school.  I sprawled and felt awkward in most of those settings.  I liked learning about different people and I always had a few folks in any given group that I felt a connection with.  So I lingered on the outskirts of lots of groups. 

I was never happy living there.  Circumstances were never right, I never felt like I fit.  Eventually, I gave up and left.  I moved to Colorado and I've been happy ever since.  And even though, I'm the one who did the leaving.  Still, sometimes when the core of one of those groups has gotten together and had a good time, I feel like a loser who got stuffed in a locker and forgotten about.  That's the thing.  Of course they forget about me.  I haven't lived anywhere near them in 9 years.  But on certain vulnerable days, I feel sad and left out when my friends who are still friends and see each other often, stay friends and see each other often.

Oh, and I've been applying for jobs.  Which involves a lot of rejection in the current employment climate.  It's not exactly uplifting.  While thinking, or obsession as the case may be, about what to say on a cover letter for example, I compulsively check email or FB or whatever.  Which also means, I start to get a little wacky and free with the commenting.  Then I found a job I thought sounded really interesting.  So I contacted the only person I know who works for that organization.  Wouldn't you know it, on FB.  And then I realized he'd be my boss.  Which is probably super uncomfortable and stupid but whatever.

Also, all this writing has had me on the computer a lot.  Tomorrow, I'm taking a break to go to Denver and attend an information session on attending grad school.  I'm seriously considering getting a Master's in creative writing.  Is that the dumbest thing you've ever heard or what?  What the hell does anyone do with a Master's in Creative Writing?

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Vanilla Candles are not toxic if you were wondering

ChompSki's had horrendously bad gas lately. Like, what the fuck did that dog eat? Tires, skunks, and bear shit. Has to be. Then he puked it up and ate it and NOW he's farting. I've been joking that he should have the decency to at least finish it off with a vanilla candle chaser.

So then Magnus decides to take the advice instead. I catch him in time. He's only licked a little bit of flavory wax off his fingers when I stop him. My house is getting taller and taller by the minute. The high shelves are in demand and getting fuller and more crammed. And damned if I can ever find my beer.

I remark on having caught him in time when Rob shares with me not to worry: the candles aren't toxic. He knows from calling poison control. He was wise not to mention this to me. I've turned into some what of a fretter, in a way I'm not especially proud of. I'm afraid I may raise a mama's boy.

A short time later, Rob shares how he spent 20 minutes driving around town because he was so enjoying singing Concrete Blonde's "Joey" at the top of his lungs but was determined to get through the entire song without laughing and was having trouble. Not laughing. He was having trouble not laughing. Singing "Joey" at the top of his lungs for 20 minutes wasn't a problem at all. That's why the 20 minutes. I swear I'll start whislting it if he ever comes to a meeting I'm at late.

In other news, I've been spending some time on creative writing and started this blog:
http://www.sixmonthsofwriting.blogspot.com
My plan is to do some writing on there every day for six months. We'll see how it goes. I know I've been known to start other blog projects in the past and... ahem, not follow through. Hopefully I'm more deligent on this one.

Monday, April 9, 2012

Easter weekend was a delightfully slam-packed weekend. We visited friends in Denver. Dyed easter eggs, went to the park, went to IKEA and dinner at Steak N Shake. I went for a run. Went out to a series of bars that included a lot of live music and dancing. I'm a good dancer and kind of a looker when I get gussied up and the light's all dim-like. So I'm a catch, even when I'm already wearing a wedding ring. Apparently. This boy hits on me. Goodlooking kid too. In grad school for aeronautical engineering. I think I even spelled it right. It went over real well when I told him I was a stay-at-home mom. He wandered off, gathered his gumption, and came right back and tried again. He was all nervous too. And did I mention he was the best looking guy at the bar? He was. He apologized and said he just had to tell me I had the most beautiful blue eyes. This was AFTER I told him I was a stay-at-home mom. We'll go ahead and call that a win for me.

Then we came back to the mountains and dyed more eggs with Magnus and my nieces and then I went to a BBQ at a friend's.

I stopped nursing recently. My first response was to tear up. No tears actually exited my eyes. But then I discovered why women talk about having their bodies back. I can leave and go to a BBQ or out with the girls and bedtime is not disrupted. I don't feel weird about boobs during sex now. And in theory at least, I could buy a sexy bra now. And there's subtle things to that. Like that I actually went out with the girls and got hit on and didn't feel like I was stealing a small child's dinner to do it. All those subtle ways remind me of how much I like being in my skin. Moving around in the world and saying the weird things I say and shaking my ass in a dive bar. Just good to be out and about in spring.

Monday, April 2, 2012

I'm a big fan of an escape route. Imaginarily mostly. Its my out- my way of dealing when I get frustrated.

In college I was going to quit and become a truck driver. Well, until I started having seizures and stopped being allowed to drive. That was kinda sucky.

Today I lost my first piano student before it even started. She just found another teacher closer to her house. Nothing I should take personally. But I'm just about out of patience with not know what the fuck I'm doing. So I took it kinda hard.

My escape was to Borneo this time. To be totally honest, I don't even know that I could find Borneo on a map. Well, with some time, I'm sure I could. Pacific somewhere, right? See.

Anyway, I told my mom I was quitting life and moving to Borneo and she told me the following:

My grandfather was stationed in Borneo. He didn't like it. Said that pigs were very important to the family there. So much so that he'd once seen a human woman nurse a pig.

Its annoying when even my escape route has an image of a loose-titted woman nursing a pig from around the corner.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Its a five star day. I don't know what my horoscope has to say about it, but I'll tell you. FIVE. Stars.

I'm in Taos with a friend for a really quick trip. The idea was to spend the day in town milling about today and then ski tomorrow. Skiing's generally the highlight of any trip for me. I go to bed early for skiing. I forgo drinking in favor of skiing. I hump skiing. Ok, maybe not the humping part. But the rest.

But this trip... it might be today that was the best part of the trip. I usually only have the time of my life and the strange encounters and quirky wonderful people experiences when I'm by myself. But this time, oy. Such good stuff. I feel like packing my shit and moving here after just a few hours of being here.

It just fits. Some places have the exact imprint of your hand in a glove as you slip it in. And its orgasmic- that fit.

We rolled up and found the earthships. A community of sustainable housing. I showed a video on these homes made from mud and tires and cans that use no electricity they don’t make and no water they don’t capture to a bunch of teenagers once. They were rapt in attention and completely invested in the ideas and technology of the alternative homes we talked about. They all wanted one whent hey grew up. So off we went to tour the earthships. And you know what? When I grow up, I want one! The places catch rainwater to supply the home’s water. The water from your sink and shower is then run through planters that grow food all along the walls of the home. Then the runoff from that goes into your toilet when you flush. Because seriously, why on earth does the water that flushes my shit need to be filtered fresh? I’m going to poop in it.

The earthships are making their way around the world. They train building crews pretty often and send them to put up shelter after disasters all over the world. They also have a housing development for richy rich folks in Taos. And they’re working on building some affordable housing for Taos. Meaning they would charge about $1000/year for a room and you’d have no utility bill. How sweet is that? I left thinking, “That’s a possibility. Maybe Rob and I could get involved in that.”

Just before going to the frenchman’s, we went to a wonderful gallery full of artwork I’d love to own. Lots of artwork I see in galleries, I can easily walk away from without a second thought. Well, or the second thought is, what the fuck are people thinking puking away money on that crap. But I loved the work in there. If had an extra few tens of thousands of dollars around, I’d have a newly decorated room in my house. The proprieter there struck me as an awestruck teenager who’d spent 30 years following an artist around trying to be cool enough. But unsuccessfully. We humored her and listened to her and looked at the artwork she makes herself (wax dragons.) She clearly plays D&D in her parents basement even though she’s well into her 40s if not 50s. We left, ready to go and CERTAINLY not expecting the delight that was the Frenchman’s shop.

Frenchy man’s antique shop.

This part of the trip alone was worth the trip. Robert is the proprieter of a quirky antique shop with human teeth and a black velvet grid display case full of human teeth. He’s wonderful. With a thick French accent, we stood and listened to his stories for hours. Just before we left, he told me, “When I see a pretty girl like you come in ‘ere, I sink, If I were sree month ‘younger…”

He told us a story about a bear in his home and calling the police in. He was so worked up, he talked to the police at length before realizing he was naked shortly after a police officer told him to put his weapon away. The story’s not complete without a 73 year old French accent and gestuers though. Not to mention the swear words littered into the conversation. And you know how I love swear words!

He also told of trying to avoid jury duty by telling a judge that he doesn’t speak enough English (the judge knew he was a former professor so called him out.) He then told a room full of people that he ahs to pee every 5 minutes.

There was a man in his shop that clearly had issues. He told me about his 3 children being removed with 2 tallboys up his sleeve still in a paper bag. The shopkeeper told us stories of this man and how he is a petty thief but one who also fixes his airconditioner for free and grew up blind until he was 7 and has just led a rough life all around. He figures if someone steals $40 here and there but fixes his air conditioner for free, its fine. He said they all take care of him like that. He also complained about people getting bent out of shape about breastfeeding.

Finally, he talked about being a foster parent for his son’s best friend. How can you not love that. He said he said no at first but that he came home and there ewas his wife and the boy and his son and two people from the state and his wife had that look that meant: he would be a foster parent.

I LOVE this town. And I haven’t even skied yet. The last thing the Frenchman told us was about how steep the skiing at Taos is. I’m going to pee myself with excitement over tomorrow!

Monday, March 19, 2012

Its easier to write about the bad things I've decided. You need an outlet. A keyboard releases in clickity clackety keystrokes what you didn't say 10 times a day when someone asked you how you were.

But now. NOW! I'm so happy. And scared to even type it. When life is good, you don't write about it. The goodness is bigger and better than my words. I'll pierce it like a balloon and all the good will goosh out and ruin things.

The words that are coming faster, fasterfasterfasertefastfasfaRRRRRRRRRRRR out of Magnus. His laugh and the time I'm spending with him. I'm redefining what makes me happy. What luxurious is. Its not going out for meals. Or getting new clothes. Its having time to make good meals. Goood. Its snuggling up and time for morning kisses.

My life is boring to write about. Its about grocery store trips and reading lift-the-flap books 3 times in a row. Its just another boring life. On paper. But to live it. I chase Magnus around ooh, oohing and aahhh, ahhing. He says "monkey" the same as "mama." Cracks my shit up. He says mama and pounds his chest and cracks up. He runs at me so full force that he ends up headbutting me and crying the rush of his exuberance and love so fast and free. These moments fill all my cracks and spaces. They take up space that used to be filled with fears for other people's children. These moments feel infinite, but they're not. There will be a day, not all that far away, when I put him on a bus and send him to school.

I'm redefining luxury. This life. This good, good life. Its luxurious.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Two Tragedies

Two Tragedies
their sadness cutting lines
in a pavement walkway
between the front door: a grand entrance
lain with gold
and the dank side door
I bet it opens to basement stairs
blank stares
on those lined up to go down
indoor outdoor carpet
low pile
many a deep-creased brow
same down caste eyes
disparity of reason
their sadness cutting them apart
a mingling in the front
a line down the side

One a funeral
dress blues
the other a soup kitchen line
I wonder how many veterans
in each?

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Skiing

I realize I don't talk about skiing enough on this blog. Its just a given. I go skiing. Pretty often. Not as often as I like or as I should, but pretty often. I went this weekend and this week. I go downhill skiing, park skiing, cross country skiing. I take friends who are newer to the sport and help them get better, or hang out with my guy friends and make jokes on the lift. Sometimes I go by myself and just feel good in my skin. Sometimes I go and end up helping someone who has fallen on a run. Sometimes I meet high schoolers or old schoolers on the lift. My guy friends tell me things on lifts they might not have mentioned if we were face to face. In mixed company. There's something about having a helmet and goggles on and being with someone you'd trust your life to that just opens things up differently. I love the relationships. I love my relationship with the mountain. Its ever changing states. The winds and views and different snow conditions.

A gal I know wrote recently about thinking that people who are parents and do extreme sports should reconsider when they become parents. I'm not sure I agree. Maybe to a point. But it would be like asking an artist to give up her palette for me to stop skiing steeps. To not take a chance here and there. Maybe its something you just can't understand if its not what you love. What you live and breathe.

I love the feel of skis beneath my feet. I mean, love. The feel of skis beneath my feet. I step into my skis and instantly become me. I love pushing against the ground and feeling my muscles making their presence known in my fun. Its exercise and cool and strong and confident. I don't have to pick out my outfit. I don't put makeup on. I just go. And fast. I love floating on a powder day. How you feel your skis lift up and down to turn instead of leaning side to side.

I love sharing it with others. I love to teach them and watch them grow in the sport. I like thinking about how to explain what you do with your body in simple terms that help someone get better. Help them access an ability they didn't have a moment ago. I love when they used to be afraid but they're not anymore: they're excited. I love that people feel confident they'll get better when I'm around and want to ski with me. I even slightly enjoy when men get over-confident thinking "well, if she can do it." Its resulted in more than a few broken bones and humbled egos.

I like that its a slight counter culture. A break from the rat race. Its cool and easy and full of slang. Sick, yo. That outfit's steezy. Did you see him throw that switch 9? Sicky, illy, powpow!

I love being outside. I love the quiet of the snow and the woods.

I love looking down the mountain and thinking creatively about my line. I love to think of the way water would flow and follow it. I love sticking my line and feeling like water. Strong and indestructible and smooth and beautiful. Its calming and exhilarating all at once. It is yin and yang. It is nearly a religion for me. A form of prayer and communing with others and with nature.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

What I said to Magnus last night as I was putting him to bed:

May the love in my heart be in your mind
protecting your thoughts, making them kind

May the love in my heart protect your body
keeping you strong, healthy and mighty

May the love in my heart live in your soul
making you good, keeping you whole.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Lora blogged about the bugs that come out of the woodworks post-exterminator. You can imagine how horrifying it is. Spindly, scary numbers of feelers and legs and hairiness that lived in your floorboards and under your tile that you never knew was there. Suddenly dead out where you can see them. Most of them were not meant to be seen by the light of day. I remember a girl telling me in 5th grade all about the bugs (see also, microorganisms,) that live under your nails and in your eyepits and all over your body. That there are literally thousands on every surface you can think of, you just need a strong enough microscope. I remember spending lots of time when I was supposed to be listening digging under my fingernails and thinking about it.

We have this desire to think we are alone. That we, as a species, are exclusive. The only ones allowed to live in our house. The only organism. Lots of people don't even believe themselves to be animals. We forget that since we have all these bald skin patches instead of fur, we're subject to living in the same critter-infested food web as the microbiota on our skin or in our guts. Some of them help us out, some of them just exist. But we'd rather not think about them.

We don't want to think about the drug addicts or the whores we live in the midst of. We move out to the burbs where there are no rats or drugs. Yeah right? They live in the woodwork too. Sneaking around dropping their kids off just like everyone else. Sometimes they slip. My dad's friend did. So did mine. My dad has been visiting one of his closest friends in the hospital lately where he's spent some time strapped down detoxing from heroin. My dad's the hoity toity type. Operas and nice restaurants. He's a loyal friend too. I'm less so. I dismissed my friend. She stole from us. And has tried for 15 years to contact me about it. Heroin's involved in her life story too. But I keep her under the floor boards. Especially until I exterminated the Social Services out of my life recently. Now old things are floating to the top of my mind.

I've been thinking about all kinds of things we don't usually think about. Like what happens to our piss and shit after we flush the toilet. I know when you throw a diaper away, it sits in a landfill mostly NOT decomposing for a few hundred years. I know it slowly leeches chlorine and that its basically a packaged biohazard sitting there waiting for flies to carry its disease around.

I've been looking into starting a cloth diapering business, see? So I've learning all the ins and outs of peeing and pooping and composting and whatnot. They make compostable diapers now. Did you know? Probably not, and you probably didn't want to. Because who the fuck composts their own diapers? How do you safely do that?

I don't want to. But I want to stop seeing so many people put gift-wrapped biohazards into landfills for future apocalypsing. So I'm trying to figure it all out.

Composts don't want to touch human waste. Except our landfill has a fantastic composting program. They want to. But its an expensive venture. Thing is, they're kind of already doing it. They accept all the piss and shit already from the sewer district. The guck they pull out after you're through with your flush, it can be composted. In my community it is composted. But they treat the shit out of it first.

Its weird though when you think about it. How afraid we all are. How squeamish. I'm cool with digging a trench and pooping into it. Or using an outhouse. I don't want to see ground water contaminated or anything. And I don't want to see the bugs that crawl out from places. But there's a reality in that grime, piss, and shit. That our stuff exists. We poop. We eat from soil that's had poop in it at some time or another. We share our environment with bacteria and fungal flora and hair and knee caps have it too. That's just how it is.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

I’ve spent a lot of time lately taking care of myself and its really paying off. I didn’t do that very well for a long, long time. I stopped recognizing myself when I looked in the mirror. I was all flat and grey and blank. Its like my soul has been having a spa day/week/month. I skied yesterday with my sister-in-law then had dinner with my mom. I took my son and my nieces for the morning today. My husband and I managed to get the house clean. I mean, sheets washed, dried, and put back on, laundry done and put away and there’s scored grapefruit in the fridge for the morning. I have ideas again for writing projects. I’m making jokes again and thinking of clever cheeky things to do and say. I played piano for an hour today while my son and husband played with Legos on the floor. I remember again that life is good. Not just know it intellectually. I feel it in the moment, in my bones. Deep down feel it. Life is good.
Good.
GOOD
good

Monday, January 23, 2012

It finally snowed. Its been a pretty snow-free ski season thus far. Which honestly didn't bother me too much since I was working a lot and it would just mean more shoveling then. But now that I'm unemployed... snow's good. Its reminding me who I am. How good I feel rushing down a mountain. How confident. Strong. Smooth.
I skied 3 days in a row and 2 of them were with one of my favorite old riding friends.
I got up yesterday and shoveled, made coffee and was off. Right before I left, Magnus said "snow."
I took a few runs where ski patrol dropped ropes and I got fresh glorious deep turns. Skiing powder is the single best thing in the world.
Right before I dropped into my run, as the patroller dropped the rope, he said "Let 'er rip!"
"Thanks, I think I will."

Friday, January 20, 2012

The Return of Friday Quotes!

"Remember kids, every time you use "LOL," God sodomizes a chipmunk. Please, think about the chipmunks."

A little boy was wandering around the non-fiction section. I asked, “Can I help you?”

Little boy: “I need to write report on New Hampster and I can’t find anything!”


"Just thinking...If you were my paper work, I'd be doing you on my desk right now..."

"I only heard this in passing, but I'm pretty sure I heard Van der Sloot's friend say he hopes he only gets 10 years because he, "Don't think Joran killed her that bad." That may be the most amazing sentence I have ever heard on TV. He didn't kill her that bad, just enough so that she stopped living. He only killed her about 10 years worth, I don't get why her family is so pissed, I mean he could have killed her bad enough to serve 30 years, and he didn't, so..."



A 45 year old widow just approached me after my show and asked me to go to her hotel to play "poker."
"That was a window, Mikey. You were very drunk."


"I said, "hurry up midgets," talking to my kids. And then there was a whole family of midgets getting out of their car."


"Ben wanted to 'help' so he scrubbed the toilet with my mascara..And then painted his face with it."

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

I realized that I've kind of half assed my explanation of quitting my job with pretty much no idea what I'm doing. Sorry about that. Its just, I feel... umm.... hmmm

This is the kind of thing you can talk about and write about forever. The problems with doing child welfare, my job's hard, blah blah blah. And there's part of me that doesn't want to talk about it or share the details of what I assume you already know. Except maybe you don't. I mean, sure there's that glazed-over look and the obligatory comment of "I could never do your job," that is the response from EVERY person you ever meet at a party that says something child protection workers turn a blind eye to. That there are times when working with families is an impossibly difficult job.

My last week, I took a teenaged girl to the jail to facilitate a visit between she and her dad. Her feelings about the whole thing were impossibly complex. On the one hand, she understood why he was there and believed what he'd done was wrong and that he was where he should be. On the other, she missed her dad. Loves her dad. And is NOT the preferred child as far as her mother's concerned. So its a tremendous loss for her. Her dad was her ally. And her ally's in jail. Rightfully so, but still.

I tried to nurture her through it and support her. I told her what a good job she did. I held her and then let her go to the bathroom for her space.

Its an impossibly hard job though. There are times when the jailers look at you like you're the devil for wanting to bring someone to visit a molester. While at the same time, you just want to help someone see their dad. No matter how you slice it, that's a sad situation.

There's something valuable about spending your time this way. And something you just can't speak about.

There's no happy hour talk that involves bitching about that guy who you just know took your mug this morning.

To make a long story even longer, there's part of it that's inescapable. Its a hard job that's beyond hard. See also, holding a baby who has bruises on its forehead and ribs.

Add into the mix having had your own child.

Most parents ask y0u if you have children. Its a validity/litmus test. They feel like you can't understand what it is to be them if you're not a parent yourself. But the truth no one tells them is that you 'understood' better before you ever held a tiny person of your own. Before you ever gently got up over and over again to a hungry sweet face, all the while not minding. Not minding, because you waited and planned and were ready for this. Before all that, you thought you understood and it seemed so reasonable that someone would lose it in impossibly tough moments. But you thought that before you had all these HORMONES. Before you had a baby.

Once you do that, its a new kind of hard. You can't hold the babies the same way. Or think of 'understand' the same way. The truths you know are still true. That children are better with parents who are abusive than not if they are safe enough. If the parents are 'minimally adequate." But it doesn't stop all the nurturing instinct in you from leaking out onto these people's children.

You can't hug them better.

Add to that some really difficult clients.

Add to that lots of leadership changes.

Add to that the craziest asshole neighbors you ever met, and you've got a recipe for a burntout gal.

The neighbors have been a pretty significant factor. Taking pictures of me in the county car. Sending letters complaining to my employer. Clobbering each other at nights. He got arrested again. It was my husband who called this time. They're convinced it was me. Went after me for it. It all came down the first day or two my new boss started. That's just a little too far behind start from for my tastes. I turned in my notice instead.

So that's a lot of what happened. Like I said, I can talk this subject to death. And once the lid's off, the vomit-mouth is hard to shore up. So this is my best. I quit. It was the right thing. But its complicated too. You just have to trust that things will work out when you do the right thing. I have faith in that. We're smart. Rob and I will make it. And Magnus deserved his mom. So there it is.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Eggs and Whine

I've technically only been unemployed for two days so far. I've been a busy girl. And eating really good breakfasts. Mmm. I love breakfast!

If you put a bunch of pots in the fire at the same time, then something's bound to be edible come dinnertime, right?

See also, starting my own diapering service.
See also, that damn book I wrote that I did nothing with and might maybe sorta try to get published.
See also, 2-3 jobs I'm applying for.

Sure I might burn some stuff, but I just can't handle the idea of putting all my eggs in one basket either.

Speaking of eggs, I went out for cocktails with a few close friends after my last day of work and ended up back at my house eating eggs and drinking wine. (Which was a little sad b/c I just worked too many hours and too hard and didn't have any down time so ended up in that weird place with a few drinks where I started to let down and thought I might cry. No one wants to hang out with a crying drunk girl. There aren't enough black, eye gunk-streaked tissues in the world to make that good.)

Eggs and whine. Mmmm. Turns out they go together quite nicely. Technically, I'm not freaking out yet, so there's no need for a whining post. That might happen later.

P.S. Magnus tried playing the Hokey Pokey with the dog's water bowl. Left foot in, left foot out, you put your left foot in and shake it all about. Its just as fun as it sounds.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

I knew a couple in high school who claimed to still be virgins because they were only having anal sex. Every time I see a picture of her posted on FB, that's what I think of.

I think my child is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I stare and stare at him and I could kiss my own lips right off on that forehead of his. I also think he looks just like me. BUT, I do not look at myself in a mirror with an achy lovey heart and think how beautiful I am.

My neighbors shoveled a line in the snow dividing our two lawns yesterday. They're so fucking bizarre.

I quit my job. I'm getting my house in order. Literally and figuratively. And I even use literally correct in sentences. It should result in more writing. And skiing. And feeling more like myself again. Which is good because I kind of lost me in a deep pit of self-doubt. I'm climbing out now though. Which involves being very poor, and hopefully, very happy.