scary mommy
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Posted:Dec 4, 2016 3:09 pm
Last Updated:Dec 6, 2016 10:04 am
9654 Views
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My mother told my sister and I about sex when I was in second grade and my sister was in fourth grade. We were sitting on our beds and mama was sitting on a desk chair at the end of the beds sort of between them but a little bit aways since the space was skinny and the chair wouldn’t really fit in, so to speak. It started off okay with how girls get the curse and then you have to fight off men like they have some kind of demon in them, sort of scifi-ish.
Then mama turned all serious and started with the baseball. Mama didn’t much care for baseball, which was clear. I was tuning out now but my sister threw her stuffed at me like I should listen up so I caught up just as someone stuck a tongue down someone’s throat.
My sister ran for the bathroom and mama got up to go after her and I sat there wondering what the hell that had to do with baseball.
My sister, the saint, was dragged back in. mama said tongues in the mouth were called French kissing. I asked if there other countries that used other parts and she gave me that look so I guessed the answer was no but I thought it was a smart question. So I asked did the French make this up. She said she had no idea why it’s called French kissing it just is. I said it should be called tongue kissing cuz that would make more sense. Mama sighed.
So second base was when a boy touched a girls nipples. I was still going without a shirt in the summer at the camp so I didn’t much think about nipples but my sister the Saint always wore a shirt now and seemed to guard hers with her life so maybe this mattered to her. I ignored this part.
Third base you will simply not believe. It’s when a boy wants to play with your pee-er. Mama always makes us call it a vagina but I hate that word cuz it’s ugly. So the Saint and I call it the taco. We like tacos. The saint figured out if you rub a nail board at the top of the taco inside, it makes you feel all fidgety and stuff. Well she does anyway. So far it’s not doing much for me. And get this…….an entire baby is supposed to come flying out of that little hole…..no way. Mama is out of her mind.
I start laughing and rolling around the bed and squirting babies out my pee hole ‘til mama reaches over and grabs me. THIS IS NOT FUNNY! THIS IS SERIOUS!. But it is. It’s too funny. The Saint starts to cry ….again…….so that gets messy and I scoot out of there to find Da. He’s smoking his pipe and I settle in under his arm.
“The Saint is crying.”
“Uh huh and don’t call her that”
“Mama is mad at me cuz I laughed”
He choked on the smoke a little. “uh huh”
“Why is sex about baseball?”
He got up from his chair and yelled up the stairs…….. “I told you they were too young”
Mama ran down the stairs and gave him the look.
I took off. The Saint was sitting on her bed, perfectly composed. She just shook her head, waving her hand in the air. I picked up my book. Guess that’s it.
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14
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mushy blog
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Posted:Dec 1, 2016 12:10 pm
Last Updated:Dec 4, 2016 1:33 pm
8016 Views
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In the morning the sky was brilliant blue without a single cloud.
By afternoon, it was that flat white that spoke of snow, air filled with the smell of crystals so small they couldn’t be felt but the dogs knew and lifted their noses. He piled the last of the sled with as much as they could pull, stepped on the back.
Within the hour he could see but a few feet in front of him and so settled himself and let his dogs have the run. They know the way.
The quiet was broken only by the bark of the lead as he commanded a shift. He found himself obeying as one of the pack, leaning as they did, balancing the load. Hours passed as the forest became more dense and what had been a path was now only a homing instinct, locked in the Lead as she pulled them forward.
The man thought he should have left the night before and followed the moon but he had slept instead, weary from a day of bargaining for all that the sled held for his family. Enough to hold them until the thaw in the spring. He could hunt the rest, the wood was even now leaning against the cabin. There was medicine on the sled and surprises for the wee ones. He reddened when he thought of what he had for his woman, his thoughts spinning into a dream.
When he felt the tip, he sprung awake, unaware that he had drifted to sleep, the yelp of the Lead sent him off to the bank. The second, lay tangled and bleeding, the snow already covering his hinds, his head straining against the yoke.
Tears froze on his face as he pulled the dogs apart. They alerted and watched as he gently detached the yoke from Batu. Amy moved forward to lick the face of her friend, but she snarled as the others tried to join her. She made room for HIM to move Batu to the sled and cover him with his jacket.
The team pulled with a mighty strength. Home was near.
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10
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Love is a four letter word.
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Posted:Nov 29, 2016 12:01 pm
Last Updated:Dec 1, 2016 12:55 pm
7928 Views
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She slept curled against the her body keeping them warm, a barrier from falling to the floor in the night. The sounds never ceased around her. Always someone moving, someone coughing , moaning. Last night they slept in an atm and she spread her coat over all of them, her body a sort of mattress as they clung to her for warmth. Tonight was better, they were full, so full they slept and they’d had showers, babies that smelled like babies again.
Her breath hitched as a woman came to kneel by her bed.
“We have a room.”
“A room?”
“Yes, in a family shelter. You can move in tomorrow.”
“Is it safe?”
“Is this?”
She nodded.
“They will help you find housing. It’s their job”.
She turned her head back to the pillow, feeling the woman pat her shoulder as she left. A shelter. Should she wake them now? her heart beat faster.
When the woke up to the sun in their eyes, they held onto each other as they always did. The oldest one saw the lady with the red curls coming towards them and pulled the others tighter.
“Hey, good morning, where’s your mama?”
They all shook their heads. But no one said a word. They weren’t allowed to say words. Words were dangerous.
It took nearly 6 weeks to get them home to their parents.
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5
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Symposium Post - SEASONS
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Posted:Nov 27, 2016 11:43 am
Last Updated:Dec 1, 2016 12:53 pm
8193 Views
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Spring begins with the first time the land gives under your foot, that certain smell of earthiness that had been missing, a sense of anticipation. The running of a stream filled with snow melt. Soft green hazing before the buds, with valiant snowdrops pushing through icy leftovers. A day when you feel like running instead of walking, like laughing out loud instead of chuckling. It aches in Spring, the world. Stretching from months of quiet, inhaling deeply, pulling up from the roots all it will need to show its glory.
Summer……oh, such a lazy bastard. The work is done, it’s all about just sitting there, letting mother nature have its way.. Summer is a show off, a carny boy with a sweet smile and a pack of luckys in his sleeve, seductive, sweaty. Everything ripening under deep blue skies with the heat pounding on its back. Nights that go on forever, the smell of bbqs, suntan oil, where sound travels so we are all one giant family in one giant yard, connected. We sink our bodies into the sea, into each other, fecund, rich, bloated with days that will never end.
Then that small wind blows through and you can taste it, Fall is coming, a shiver up your back. A time of pulling in, of serious thought. Nature shows you her colors, a rich and beautiful tapestry that changes as you stand there. The days shrink away. So much must happen in this the shortest of the seasons. Or so it seems, as we reap what we have sown. Time to gather, to revel in the bounty of the life we have, to change what we must. To let go of what is no longer of use, to prepare.
But winter, winter is when you have so much time to think. To remember. To become those things you always left …. to become. This is the time. A hunkering down of sorts. In the middle of the deep quiet of a fresh snow. Surrounded by the smell of baking bread, during long afternoons with your on your feet. While, being taken to heights of pleasure that Spring was too naïve to even imagine….. Winter is a sacrament, given with a caveat. Use it wisely. If you do, winter is all seasons. If you don’t, you will just grow old.
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9
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no, thanks
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Posted:Nov 25, 2016 8:39 am
Last Updated:Nov 28, 2016 1:46 pm
8063 Views
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The men stood in long lines with plastic trays. No one said much of anything except the old man who talked incessantly and was always ignored. The trays were filled and they sat as they always did by subgroups determine by crime or by race, by who was deemed less human, or more.
Desultory discussion of the meal ensued for a few minutes then waned. No one seemed to have much to say; no one seemed willing to break the heaviness of the day.
As the turkey was pushed around the tin plates, congealing gravy sticking to lumps of white matter that passed for potatoes, the blaring began so the men rose and emptied their trays, filing back out down long cold corridors.
In hundreds, thousands of homes, families remembered their names. Said prayers. In some homes, mothers sat in solitude, a vigil without celebration. Sharing the day with their sons in the only way they were allowed.
When the sun was swallowed down, she sat on her bed, an album in front of her. She didn’t dare open it. It would likely kill her. But inside her lived, smiling, laughing, himself. Her hands roamed over the cover.
At 11:00, she turned off the lights, knowing that he would be in darkness as well.
He lay in the dark, his mind blank. It took everything to keep it that way.
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9
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Her scarecrow
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Posted:Nov 21, 2016 11:22 am
Last Updated:Nov 28, 2016 1:03 pm
8777 Views
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The wheels of her moped spun in the gravel. She grinned at the sign as she always did.
Beep if don’twant to see us to naked. In French, of course.
She didn’t beep, couldn’t beep, no hands free. She bumped on with bags swinging off the handle bars, making the ride even more precarious until she passed through the large bushes into the front yard of the cabanon where she kicked the bike against the wall. Calling out, she hefted the bags, hurrying towards the main house although she could smell the deep burn of the kilns.. they must be firing.
The kitchen still held the cool from the shade trees, trapped in the huge stones. She hung her discarded sundress on her hook, her hook, her hand pausing to sink the moment deep before beginning to unload the treasures she had brought with her. The skittering of claws, made her brace against the counter. Josie rounded the corner at breakneck speed, skidding on the tiles, piling into her ankles with a grunt. She knelt to ruffle the dog. This is how they missed seeing her as they came through the door.
He, tall and skinny, stretched skin over long bones, white hair in a halo around an etched face of wrinkles so deep they looked like scars. A woeful face, a map of sorts, a lived in face. His hands still in gloves, wearing a heavy apron but nothing else but boots. She, a round little woman, made to comfort. She called herself a peasant, she the goddess, barefoot, glowing. So deeply bronzed, the light bounced off her, her silver hair plaited running down her spine, skin as smooth as poured metal but soft, so soft. His hands seemed always to find her, unable to stay away, her body to lean into his. Like magnets, when separated that dance back towards each other until they are joined again.
“Ou es tu?” His deep voice filled with laughter. She popped up from behind the counter, shining with the sheer joy of being included in their light.
“Alors…there you are. What did you bring to us? “ He demanded, hands on hips.
“Goodies.“
The term delighted them both. He worked the word in his mouth, making it his own while his wife sang it aloud. When He laughed his face made her want to hold it in her hands, a thing his wife did often. It came alive.
Together, the three filled the kitchen, Josie always there to catch a falling tidbit. They laughed, talked, food found its way to the table, into eager mouths. The hours flew by. Words, memories, small touches, silences filled with swallowed sighs. Josie leaned against her leg.
A little the worse for wine, she pulled her sundress from the peg, walked outside, mounted her moped. Slipping her dress over her head, waving as she putted up the drive. When she turned for a last look, the sun drenched them in its final rays.
She watched as they disappeared into their paradise. They were her scarecrow.
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6
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gutter snipe
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Posted:Nov 19, 2016 10:22 am
Last Updated:Nov 21, 2016 12:18 pm
8067 Views
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All the leaves had been down for weeks. It wasn’t as though this day was any different than any other day as far as she could see except today she could sleep late and was desperately trying to do that.
The clanging was what first woke her. It seemed to be from a neighbor’s house so she dismissed it and sank bank into a drifty sleep but it didn’t stop and she gave it up, sleeping had left the building,
Running the water until it steamed the room, she stepped into the shower, lazily playing with the slippery soapsuds on her skin, pulling her nipples hard, sighing. She walked into the kitchen to turn on the kettle, noticing the ladder frame against the windows.
Of course, the man was doing the gutters. Now she remembered.
It was hard to tell where he was as she peered out the window... The leaves seemed to have quietly disappeared from the backyard. She toweled her hair dry in the sunny kitchen, watching the ladder top move. Back porch?
The ladder clanged as it settled. Her belly tightened. She moved slowly, coffee cup in hand to the door of her bedroom. She had raised the blinds before she took her shower and opened the window slightly to air the room. The trotted in before her. His barking was obstreperous. She stood at the door, calling his name.
The man lowered himself a rung or two. Waved. She pulled back behind the door frame. She could hear his laughter.
Now she would need to wait for the ladder to move again before she could dress. She lay back on the bed in the guest room, half listening for the clang, her fingers finding a steady rhythm
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6
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For Sir
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Posted:Nov 17, 2016 2:54 pm
Last Updated:Jan 22, 2017 2:32 pm
7690 Views
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She knew she was different from most other women.
The man that would claim her knew not to ask her if this was okay, or if that was something she liked. Her body craved more than most men knew to take; were able to give.
Words were her force majeure.
They filled the hours of her days, spilled into her dreams. Images, whole stories playing inside her captive mind, her stilled body. Who dares to ask for release?
The girl that hides behind the barbed growth of tangled ivy thickened from years of neglected pruning?
This is not an escape. This is a rebirth.
The voice continues, pushing her.
Inside, she trembles.
No, not with fear. Have you learned nothing?
Tearing down, building up………like a phoenix……….she flies.
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6
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what i meant to say was no.
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Posted:Nov 15, 2016 12:20 pm
Last Updated:Nov 21, 2016 12:24 pm
8991 Views
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I don't usually write directly about my feelings. it's not my style and it isn't particularly comfortable for me. In most cases when I do, it is because I simply can't figure out a way to say what I mean any other way. I tried with lost. but it didn't happen.
I cant stand this. I just can't. It isn't that we elected a president that I didn't vote for. Lord knows that's happened before. this is different. Why?
Because this time we elected a man who not only has no skills to run our country and put him into the most powerful place a man can sit and said....rule, we elected. man who vilified over 75% of the people who live in America. who denigrated blacks, women, latinos, muslims, the lgbtq community. We elected someone who doesn't like us. who thinks we're scum.
And if anyone believes that he'll bring manufacturing back to the USA........think again. the costs of that are astounding. dream on middle America. ain't happening.
we will become a police state. a place where your freedom is NOTHING compared to the need of the state to control the masses. Hello 1984.......goodbye America.
Already women are being accosted, blacks are getting hate mail on college campuses in numbers that are terrifyingly ominous. He says the protestors are professionals. pfft. I'm protesting...I'm a 66 year old social services provider surrounded by people with fear in their eyes. professional my ass.
so many of the people I know who said they were voting for Hillary or "vote their consciences" slithered behind that curtain and voted for Trump. well, I want to tell you something. You will reap what you sowed.
Freedom is something we stood for, something our veterans fought for, something that America could claim as a birthright. i wouldn't count on that anymore.
I intend to fight to let the world see that there are still Americans who believe that all people are created equal, with the same damn rights, that we take care of those that can't take care of themselves, because we are Americans.
I'm so tired of crying and being afraid. so, no, I'm not going to give the drained swamp presidency time to take hold.
it starts now. we start now. we say no, now.
Protest is constitutionally allowed. it is a right. wield it.
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16
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lost
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Posted:Nov 11, 2016 2:29 pm
Last Updated:Nov 14, 2016 1:48 pm
8058 Views
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Ringlets fell around her shoulders. Banana curls, her mama called them for some reason. All the other girls had nice straight shiny hair with bangs. She slipped and hung upside down on the monkey bars, tipping the world so she could swim in the sky. She was in trouble again. Sighing mightily, she figured it would only be another few minutes before he mama would come trotting over the hilltop, that gleam in her eye.
Course she’d made it worse by running. She knew she wasn’t allowed to be at the playground without her sainted sister but sometimes well, if she didn’t have some quiet, she thought she just might explode from insideout. . .and the sainted one talked so hard. She sighed, feeling like she was the last loneliest girl in this world. Hot tears burned down her cheeks.
She saw the little boy before he looked her way. He was crossing the street, dragging a stick behind him. Not a very big stick all in all but a big stick for him because he was little. Hooking her elbows over the bars she looked for the big person with him. He was littler than her brother, almost.
She dropped to the dirt, wiped her hands on her bum, skip running forward. Then he saw her. He started scream crying like he’d been saving it up for days. She stopped about five feet away like she would with a dog, holding out a hand, talking low and sweet.
“Hey, you lost? Where’s your mama? That’s a big old stick you have there. Can I see it?”
He had no idea what she was saying, but he plonked down, stuck his thumb in his mouth, stared at her.
She pulled him up on her hip, heading home, praying this would be enough to keep her mama from talking at her some more. As she started up the hill, there was mama. Her heart triple timed.
Sometimes, it feels like God just brings you who you need. She ran to her with the boy bouncing like a broken toy.
“Mama……..he’s all alone.”
“Why isn’t he lucky you were here to find him then?”
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4
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the twilight zone
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Posted:Nov 9, 2016 12:48 pm
Last Updated:Nov 20, 2016 8:46 am
8075 Views
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When in the course of human events
He rushed his to the hiding place in the basement of abandoned building at the end of the street. A neighbor who was already there, gathered them in, her eyes sharp and keen, nodding as he moved quickly through the shadows, no words were needed.
The night was warm for April. He ran on, watching the other men as they also ran to the woods, to the place in the woods, remembering how once he had played there as a , building a dam with friends on the small rivlet to make a pool deep enough to swim in… the feel of the stones on their bare feet, sun on their skin, voices raised in wonder as the water reached their knees.
Now he ran for the stolen ones. The ones who disappeared.
First it was the man who ran the paper. Then the lady who ran the shelters. The Mayor. The police chief. The old woman who kept for the state. The numbers grew slowly at first but now they seemed to multiply each week. No one looking anyone in the eye. Fear enveloping the town.
He knew where they took them.
Slowly, he found the men he could trust, a place for the women and to hide. Tonight, they would get them back. Or die trying. This was America. It was time.
He ran. His feet took him towards a beginning or an end. Liberty at least.
A Man cannot live in hatred and fear. It will force him into the light or kill him with the darkness.
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5
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cockblock
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Posted:Nov 8, 2016 10:09 am
Last Updated:Nov 21, 2016 12:17 pm
8473 Views
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As I walked into the elementary school were my had spent five years of his life and I along with him as a room mother most years, I felt a shiver pass though my body.
I vote here, in the auditorium/gym. I have for many years. Eight years ago, I voted to elect the first black president of this country. At the time, I voted for him not because he was black although it was of course profoundly significant. I voted for him because he was smart and because the other candidate wasn’t so smart. Because Obama supported my views of what my country should stand for and against, and the other fellah, well…….not so much. The fact that he was black was fucking brilliant…..a coup, a statement…and I prayed, a way to help a racially divided America begin to heal.
Today, I voted differently. I voted against. I just said NO.
Since trump became a viable candidate for office, I knew my vote would be based solely on refusing him access to the governing of our country. As a woman, as a liberal, as a person who believes in the basic rights of all of America’s citizens…my vote was a cockblock.
Yup. Anyone but him.
This election makes it clear to me that we have a broken system. The electoral college…for real??. No one but the party choice can afford to run. Bernie was a bloody miracle and even then, he was punted.. We are running politicians…….not people of brilliance with great ideas and ability. Not people who are driven to serve…. maybe a few, but few and far between. The world is watching…..and how will we ever explain electing him if we do? And if we do, shame on us.
pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease
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13
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sigh
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Posted:Nov 7, 2016 2:03 pm
Last Updated:Jul 10, 2017 2:35 pm
7415 Views
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a politician is an arse upon which everyone has sat except a man
e e cummings
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2
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To link to this blog (wickedeasy) use [blog wickedeasy] in your messages.
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