Here you go.

iwannagoapeea

In needing to write more, I wanted to start afresh. This blog will be geared more towards the art of writing (blog rolls, for example, will continually grow as I study up on columns I love, authors I'm inspired by, etc.)

Enjoy my dear readers. This is for me you.

What's the Word on the Street?

Brett Paesel wrote a book called "Mommies Who Drink: Sex, Drugs and Other Distant Memories of an Ordinary Mom"...

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Here, the 46 year-old mother of two tells Polly Vernon about domestic debauchery, drugs and talking dirty with the girls.

Brett Paesel did not mean to write a book that would explode every taboo on modern motherhood. A book that would polarise the breeding faction of the US, where a certain kind of woman embraced it as an inspired, funny, brilliantly rude and long-overdue affirmation; while another kind of woman pilloried it as an inflammatory, gratuitous, irresponsible article of near blasphemy. Paesel, 46, didn't intend to write a book that would inspire Cindy Chupack - legendary executive producer of Sex and the City - to say, 'It's so painfully honest and funny, there should be a two-drink minimum [for readers] ...'; a book, furthermore, that would get banned in Oregon, where it was deemed too sexy. Paesel didn't mean to become a significant voice in what Americans call the Beta Mom Movement, the anti-hot-housing, anti-competitive, haphazard and easy-going school of child-rearing; she did not mean to become a regular on talk shows and the star draw on fashionable reading groups. Brett Paesel didn't mean to write a book at all.

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Amen. The idea behind having others read what I write is to draw them into the humor and honesty of what it really means to be a Mom these days in relation to what we all talk about while dropping our kids off for preschool. The desire to scream to the world that the first time my husband I had sex in our current home we broke the bed and the books that were used to 'prop it up' are there to this day comes from a soft heart - really it does. I don't mean to be unGodly or compromise my values but gee it'd be nice if the lady next to me coddling her son as he screams on his first day of school knew that she wasn't the only one who enjoys a Cosmo before the US-agreed-upon drinking time of 5:00pm. I want to smile and invite her over for a glass of wine while the kids learn about the weather and play in the sandbox. She may even have to drive afterward, God forbid she's a lightweight. In that case I'll give her a half-glass.

I have been struggling over the past 24 hours due to multiple emails between a friend of mine and myself. She encouraged me in my writing to an extreme that has had more affect on me than I thought it would. I wanted to have sex last night... I had weird dreams... I was sure things had happened when I woke up this morning that haven't actually happened in reality - not sure I even dreamed about them... I've had a supernatural patience with my defiant children this morning as though I'm not really 'present'... I feel as though I'm beginning to see things clearer now although I don't know what to compare that clarity to because I really feel like I've always been 'clear of thought', per se.

I don't know what all this means necessarily (see the clarity is obvious, no?) but the word on the street is that I'll be writing a lot more.

So stay posted if you're not easily offended. If you are, please pray for grace because there just may be a word for you in the midst of my honesty.

My Annie Blog

After an evening of wining and dining with some close girlfriends, I came home nodded to my husband who was on a business call and headed upstairs to see what I could accomplish in the next few moments before bed.

I saw the bright green "END" light on my washer and dryer so I strolled into the laundry room with all the strength I could muster after feeling rather 'blah-se' most of the day. I pulled Mr. Bear out of the washer and haphazardly set him atop the dryer. He looked so picturesque; so rugged and worn with his damp, knotty hair. And then it clicked in me as to why I wanted to run and get my camera -- he was a picture of how I've been feeling the last couple of days.

My best dog died. I just received the news roughly two days ago. I was feeling rather downtrodden and in somewhat of a 'mourning state' although I couldn't quite place my finger on it until now.

No, Annie was not umpteen years old, living with my Mom and Dad, old and greyed; she did not have a bad hip suffering from tremendous pain; she was not sick or untreatable. Annie was a young 6 years old (next Tuesday) and died of heat stroke down at her home in Tucson, Arizona. Her brother, Tucker, has been with her since the moment they were both born back in '03 and my heart saddens and wishes that I could scratch his ear and reiterate to him how much it hurts me also. Our first dogs now live with John and Meg W. down in Arizona - they are loved and adored so dearly and I know it hurts them as well that this beautiful animal we gave them not more than 2 years ago has been lost.

I cried about 10 minutes after I read the email; I cried in the shower the next day and then I've cried one other time that I can't remember very clearly. Isn't it odd how definitive death is... so odd.

Annie was the smart one. When she and Tucker were just puppies Annie LOVED tennis balls. She would carry one around wherever she went. Tucker on the other hand fell head over heals for this crazy haired stuffed toy named 'the Vet'. If he, in his tremendous naivety decided that he wanted to outsmart his sister and give her the 'what for', he would go and grab her tennis ball. She would walk into the room and recognize her brother's stupidity as he beamed over the top of her tennis ball at her; she would then go get 'the Vet' wherever it lay and walk into the room prancing. He FREAKED OUT running to retrieve his prized possession without recognizing that it had already been laid to the wayside and Annie was once again chewing on her ball.

Ahhhh... Annie. If I would one day find the likes of you again I will be a proud dog owner. Twice.

Rest in peace, dear Annie. I really think you might have been a human.

Back to Mr. Bear... oddly enough when I went in to retrieve my folded clothes after putting fresh sheets on our bed he was surrounded in gambling paraphernalia! Money and dice everywhere... must have been betting with himself on how long it would take the clothes to dry.