Live and let live with me…

Hello faithful blog followers and people who read this blog through the RSS feed to my facebook page. I know I’ve been lacking on the posts lately. I’ve gotten caught up in other things. I think I’ll go in a pseudo-chronological order and give you all the 411, as the kids used to say.

On June 8th, I made the trip to what Luna has dubbed “the baby doctor” for my first prenatal checkup…only took them five months. Sigh. Anyway, aside from the doctor hurting me with that stupid metal duckbill they shove up inside you to check for cancers, infections, and diseases, the visit went okayish. It was ridiculously short.
He seemed wholly unconcerned about the things that were concerning me, which I guess means that I should pretend to not be concerned, since I’m just the stupid woman living in her own body that is not acting normal for her and he is the medical professional who has learned about the average textbook way that a woman’s body should act.
June 9th, 10th, and 11th were community service, which I had to do in order to pay off the speeding ticket I got toward the end of Spring semester. *facetious joy to the world* I guess it went well. I was concerned that it might be harmful to my pregnancy, but, as it turns out, the persons assigned to the Civic Center spend more time in veritable solitary confinement and being tortured by boredom than they do actually cleaning the place.
We were sent to clean the same areas over and over and over…and the third day I was the only person to show up, which meant I spent the whole day sitting in one part of the building pretending to clean the same things that had been cleaned the day before and trying to not fall asleep.
The worst part about doing the community service, though, was not the boredom and loneliness. It was the fact that June 10th was my 25th birthday. I had honestly forgotten about my own birthday when I scheduled the community service. I could have skipped the day and done more paperwork and showed up another day to make up for it, but once I remembered that it was my birthday I figured the damage was done and that I may as well just go and get it over with all in one week. I guess my birthday went okay otherwise.
In May, husband and I had gone to a local animal shelter to just look at the dogs there. He really wants a dog. Anyway, we couldn’t find any dogs that were both house-broken and kid-friendly, but who got along with Luna. On a whim, we looked at the cats as well. We found a kitten the shelter had dubbed “Scooter” who was adorable and gentle and got along with Luna. He kept climbing on me and he was very friendly. And he was all black. I fell in love with him instantly.
A few weeks ago husband said to me, “I still don’t know how we went to the shelter to get a dog, and ended up getting a cat.”
“Because you love me.”
And thus the new kitty was my one of my b-day gifts this year. We renamed him Midnight, though, because Scooter just doesn’t seem to fit him. He loves our house. Much more room to move around than a tiny cage. And, unlike the dog we had brought home from a friend’s last year that ended up running away, Midnight actually does his business in the proper spot.
The shelter charged us $50 to bail him out, and we got to take him to one free vet checkup. The Fianna Hills Animal Hospital performed said checkup for us. Although there was some misunderstanding about medications and billing practices, he did okay at the checkup, and I learned that getting him fixed and micro-chipped would have cost us upwards of $200 at the vet, so getting him for $50 was a huge deal.
My mother sent me three t-shirts from Arizona for my birthday, along with a card. Unfortunately, Luna has torn the card to shreds since then, but the t-shirts seem to have lasting quality. They are XXXL, which on any normal person would mean they could be dresses, but on me they hang about the hip area because my tits and belly and ass keep them from hanging any lower. But they will last through the entire pregnancy, which is awesome, and they are so soft.
Husband gave me $20 and a box of Swiss Cake Rolls, strawberry shortcake flavour, the morning of my first day of community service. I guess that was part of my b-day stuff. As is my habit, I ended up spending more of it on Luna than on myself, and actually used part of it to purchase the b-day gifts for a friend’s daughter who is Luna’s age so that Luna could bring a present to the little girl’s party at McDonald’s.
Before the birthday party, while we were at the Wal-Mart picking out the gifts, we spotted a table where customers were being allowed to decorate their own cookie-cakes for Father’s Day. Husband went out-of-town for Father’s Day weekend to spend time with a friend of his at an anime convention. I let Luna decorate a cookie cake, trying to guide her hands to spell out “Happy Father’s Day” but you could really only make out a few of the letters.
She used every color of icing they had and would have covered every inch of that cookie with icing if I hadn’t intervened.
Luna seemed to have fun at the party, and as we were driving home she was asking for the little girl by name. I feel bad that, because of husband’s work schedule and my lack of friends who also have toddlers and free time, the only constant companions she has these days are me and a cat.
Luna and Midnight still get along, except that she does have scratches on her now, because he’s finally learned to fight back. Her lack of toddler-friends and the sibling rivalry between her and the kitten aside, Luna is enjoying this summer, I think, because it’s the first one in her life that mommy hasn’t been trying to take classes and do homework. We bought her a bike for her birthday, but, unfortunately, she hasn’t ridden it much, because most days have been 110 or at least feel that hot. That or it’s stormy weather.

I hate that we had to hack down our two front yard trees last year, but they were pretty much dead and were throwing huge branches on our house and our neighbors’ houses, and then one really bad storm threw half of one of the trees across our driveway. Anyway, now there’s just these two stumps, which offer no shade to anyone…with the possible exception of smurfs and the cast of the “Honey, I shrunk…” movies.

I think I just need to wake myself up at 5a each morning, get Luna and I dressed and fed and such, and then take her out to ride her bike before the sun bakes the horizon. It would also help me to get a good start on the other things that I need to do in a day.
Husband and I have a constant fight about the housework. I am tired and in pain, and, well, also lazy. I do housework, but not on his timetable. Yesterday, he and I had a huge argument about the housework again, which culminated into me bawling my eyes out and babbling about how he doesn’t love me and doesn’t want to be with me.
I think he really felt horrible for making his pregnant wife cry, even if it was partially my fault for not being more proactive with the housework. I started cleaning things while I was crying and arguing with him, and somehow I started talking more calmly and crying less, and we moved on to unrelated topics. It was way past his bedtime, and he very well could have just gone to bed, but he chose, instead, to help pick up things and follow me around while I was cleaning.
At one point I went into the garage and shut the door so that I could sort the laundry and start a load and sweep the garage floor. He came out there and held the dustpan for me and then went back into the house while I started the load. He opened the door again asking me how much longer I would be. I finished up and went into the house and swept part of the kitchen and started folding the clean laundry on the kitchen table.
He came up behind me at some point. It started with just him hugging me, then tickling me…the next thing I knew he had me sweating and moaning bent over the built-in in the den. Afterward, still in the post-coital euphoria, I tried to fold the rest of the laundry while he showered and went to bed.
Since it has always been my tendency to over-analyze everything, I began to wonder what had spawned his need for such a random, although certainly fun, encounter with me. Could it be that he was simply just horny? Could it be that he felt the need to have make-up sex because of the fight we’d had earlier? Or could it be that my husband is turned on by watching me perform domestic chores?
I supposed I simply could ask him, but he tends to take those sorts of questions as evidence of the fact that I’m “a bit of a mess” emotionally, which is true, lol, but a non-point. Sometimes I want my questions answered. But sometimes maybe I don’t need an answer.
The Good Wife’s Guide to Housekeeping, apparently circa 1955, is chock full of all kinds of ways that a woman can do things to please her husband, which seem to fall short of actually leaving her pleased. But maybe there is something to be said for some of the advice. No, I will not stand idly and quietly by while my husband stays out all hours of the night with no explanation as the guide indicates a woman should.
And I won’t be caught dead in heals and pearls and my “sunday best” at 7a to great him as he gets off of work, but if I make a conscious effort to keep the house clean to his standards, will I be able to expect much more of the same fun from yesterday? Maybe those June Cleaver wives know something I was missing, that a pleased husband will pleasure his wife? Perhaps I should test this theory…My domestic responsibilities are not the only thing occupying my time these days, though.
I had decided that this summer would be the time that I would focus on getting things together for next year’s graduate school applications, and I’m happy to report that I’ve sent off a check and paperwork, thanks to some relatives’ help, but am awaiting the GRE people’s response so that I can reschedule the test that I, unfortunately, paid for and missed back in January.
I’ve also been sending poems off to various publications, hoping for at least one of them to get accepted. A friend provided me with another website that I can use to research other publications looking for submissions. Though I prefer poetry, I know I should seek out any and all writing opportunities that are within my realm of expertise.
Recently I got the opportunity to attempt freelancing for a certain magazine. I’m not going to mention them by name, because I am not certain that the staff wants a direct association between their publication and my blog, but I think it might be a good opportunity for me, even if I have to force myself to focus.
One thing about it that is troubling me, though, is that I’m 25 years old, attended primary and secondary school, and just completed seven years of college (to earn a 4 year degree which I just picked up today…).
After all of that education, I still have difficulty talking on the phone to strangers. I hear a lot of “ums” and other such stutter or speech-filling; I forget what it I had planned to say to the person; and sometimes I even take the time to write a script and still get caught off-guard. Sigh. And to think that I write otherwise eloquently and have had professors tell me that it’s not just that I write well but that I actually have something to say.
At least, so far, the persons I have needed to interview were understanding of my professional shortcomings. One of them could wholly relate to the sounds of my toddler loudly at play, because she apparently had two of her own. If I’m going to be freelancing on a much more regular basis, though, then I really need to go back to using the den as my office (when it’s not a pleasure den…) and go back to confining Luna to her bedroom when I am trying to get work done.
Luna is capable of playing by herself and staying out of trouble. The problem is, getting into trouble is much more fun at her age. The worst consequence is an unscheduled nap or a spanking, depending on the crime she has committed. I want her to learn to follow rules and behave, though, so that when she is out trying to function in society as an adult, she understands that there are consequences for her actions, and negative actions get negative consequences, much worse than spankings and naps.
My friend Charlotte linked me to an article about so-called helicopter parenting a while back. I’m not sure what the obsession is with putting people in categorical boxes, but our society seems to do that a lot. Anyway, the article stated that “‘Helicopter’ parents have neurotic kids.” The article was focusing on college students who had overprotective parents.
Now, I’ll be honest, I am proudly overprotective of Luna. And I do tend to hover over her. Not in our own home. I do want her to have independence and boundaries, but out there in that big bad scary world, I feel the need to hover. I want, for instance, for her to learn to follow rules and protocols. I am annoyed by the lady at the Wal-Mart Deli who tells my child that she can go ahead and eat her popcorn chicken before it is paid for.
No, lady, that is stealing, because we do not yet own the product, regardless of our honest intentions. I want to punch the guy who sees my child in the cart as we pass the toy department and asks her directly if she wants some toys because they are “on sale.” Gee, thanks, sir, for inciting a toddler-riot over a toy that she neither needs nor will likely play with given the massive numbers of toys she already owns.
I am frustrated by the parents at Kool Smiles and McDonald’s who allow their children to climb into the play area in bare feet or with shoes on, and sometimes wearing little more than a swimsuit. The signs say that children must wear socks and that patrons must be fully clothed.
My child gets angry with me because other children are not being reprimanded for doing things that she would be reprimanded for. She feels that somehow her rights are being infringed upon. And in a sense, they are. But not by her own mother. Yes, I have broken rules and laws in my life (such as the speeding down I-540 that landed me in community service), but you teach your children what rules and laws are and that they are to be followed or the consequences are to be suffered.
Maybe McDonald’s and Kool Smiles and Wal-Mart do not care about those little rules I’ve mentioned, but if she learns now that there are no consequences, no punishments, then who’s to say whether she might grow up and rob a liquor store?
Maybe I’m snowballing. Maybe she will grow up to be a productive citizen in spite of bad habits she might learn. But isn’t it my job as a parent to do my best to teach her the right ways of doing things and the safe ways of doing things? I don’t want her to go out in public in skimpy clothing because I know that pedophiles may be watching. I don’t want her to run out of my site in public because I know that kidnappers might be at the bank or the grocery store or maybe even the WIC office.
But as for the article, I will not be a “helicopter” when she is going to college. My mother insisted upon us choosing our own electives when we reached the grades where there were electives. I tried band, choir, cheer, dance, theatre, yearbook, and art. I had fun, made a few friends, and learned what I liked and what I didn’t. I want the same for Luna. I’m not going to interfere in her college admissions choices, because before she ever gets to college she will be making choices.
I want her to have her own thoughts, her own opinions, her own voice.
I’d like to think that I have my own voice. I encounter controversial topics of discussion on a fairly daily basis. One ongoing topic that has caused me some frustration is the concept of religious freedom. I am going to let Luna make her own decisions regarding religions just like I want her to make her own decisions regarding anything else. But no matter what belief or unbelief she may choose, she’ll likely encounter prejudices and discriminatory practices.
Sadly, it seems to be a prevalent human nature to hate that which is different.
A prime example of this was a group several people tried to invite me to on facebook about a month or so ago. It was an internet petition attempting to prevent a mosque from being built near Ground Zero. Put aside, for a moment, the fact that internet petitions are not applicable in swaying politicians due to the fact that all signatures can be forged, and a facebook internet petition is even worse since many people have dummy profiles. I am not Islamic, but I respect their right to believe and worship how they choose.
It is, after all, one of the fundamental rights of American citizens, and should be a fundamental right for everyone.
What I tried to get people to understand, but which I think fell on deaf ears in some cases, was that Islamic people died on 9/11 as well. Not just the radicals on the planes. People who worked in that part of New York, who had families of their own, who didn’t ask to be lumped together with the extremists. I don’t protest the building of any houses of worship for any belief system. I also read a recent article about an Atheist school a guy was considering creating. I’m all for that too. Why not?
There are how many “faith-based” schools in the world?
I guess for someone who tries her best to ignore politics, I have a lot of political opinions. But even politics is something I want to keep from forcing upon Luna. Or from forcing upon the not-yet-born child either. I will love them whether they are Democrats, Republicans, Independents, Green Party, Tea Party, or they just like to party like a rock star. It is their choice, not mine.
I do have to make decisions for them while they are young. With Luna, it’s what she can wear and how far away from me she can walk or run in public, and what she can eat and drink, and when she goes to bed. With the not-yet-born it’s what I eat and drink, what time I sleep, what position do I sleep in, and the choices I’ll have to make surrounding the birth.
Many people keep asking me questions like:

–“What are you going to name the baby?”

and

–“How is the pregnancy going so far?”

The short answers:

–“I don’t know.”

and

–“Okay.”

The long answers:

–“I don’t care how irrational this sounds because I am pregnant and hormonal and allowed to be irrational, but I’m disappointed with the ultrasound results because I had wanted a son and the tech said she’s 70% sure it’s a girl so I don’t want to name the baby just yet in case she was wrong and I get to have my son but I’m going to love the kid just the same if it is a boy or a girl but I just don’t want to settle on a name and then be wrong and anyway I didn’t name Luna til after she was born so why be different now?”
and 

–“The baby is constantly swimming and kicking, which does feel cool and all, until I get kicked in the cervix or in my bladder which for some reason is full every five seconds; my hips are chronically in pain; for some reason my left knee keeps locking up and hurting; my arms and hands are numb almost constantly; my feet hurt worse than they did when I used to walk all over campus in four inch heals; my blood pressure which is normally prone to getting high anyway is more so more often now; I can’t stand or walk for any significant length of time without getting dizzy; I cycle between emotions faster than a bipolar off her meds (nevermind the potential that I am a bipolar); I puke up meals more often than a bulimic at an all-you-can eat buffet; I have an active volcano in my chest; and I haven’t shit in a week. How the hell do you think I feel?”

I have every intention of loving and caring for my entire family, husband, kids, pets, self, forever and always, but I really am allowed to occasionally or even constantly bitch about it too. It’s freedom of speech and expression. It’s what desperate housewives do (who don’t dress glamorously and screw around and kill people like the ones on TV). It’s why I have a blog. I think that if people don’t like what I have to say or how I say it, they ought to just stop reading or listening.
On facebook, there is a link on the bottom left of everyone’s profile that says “remove from friends.” On blogger, there is a link at the top of the page that says, “next blog.” In real life, one can always hang up the phone or leave the room or just jump out of the moving vehicle. I just think it would be better if you were you and I was me and we all could just be.
Paul McCartney–When you were young and your heart was an open book,you used to say live and let live (You know you did, you know you did, you know you did.), But if this ever-changing world in which we live in makes you give it a cry, say Live and Let Die! Live and Let Die, Live and Let Die, Live and Let Die. What does it matter to ya, when you got a job to do, you gotta do it well. You gotta give the other fellow Hell!
View the full blog at heartchasms.blogspot.com and like the blog on Facebook.

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