Cookie Jar

What do normal people do when they see a spider in their house?  They might think, “Oh, I need to call the exterminator.”

The spawn is not a normal person.  I found the spider hiding in a potted plant in my kitchen.  I grabbed a plastic bowl and caught it, intending to release it outside.

She saw me holding the bowl and asked to see what was inside.  I, like an idiot, thought “What harm could it do to show her?” and let her see.

Immediately, before I could say a word, she said, in that cute little 4-year-old voice, “I finally have a pet!”  And declared that it’s the cutest thing she’d ever seen.

After a lengthy conversation about why it’s a bad idea to cuddle the huge fucking spider (the thing is seriously big), she decided to name it Cookie Jar (dude, I have no damn clue), and I spent the evening googling how to take care of the spider I apparently now own.

Some may remember me mentioning my friend Chevy, one half of the gay couple I almost carried a baby for (and thank God didn’t happen, Ford went seriously crazy).  He’s the resident spider/scorpion/gross-crawly-thing expert, so I gave him a call, and discovered that it’s probably a female Southern House Spider, and that feeding it a cricket every week or two is all I need to do.

So tomorrow I’m going to Petsmart to buy a goddamn terrarium thingy and some crickets.  For a damn spider.  And it’s not even a cool spider, like a tarantula.

But at least now she’s stopped hounding for a dog.

My kid is seriously the weirdest person I’ve ever met.

Fun with “Feminists”

So I was sitting outside the spawn’s acting class, trying very hard not to interact with the toddlers-in-tiaras parents, keeping my nose buried in my phone, when one of the moms leaned over and nudged me.

After the obligatory your-kid-is-so-cute thing, she asked what I do for a living.

“I’m a stay-at-home mom.”

I have this conversation at least a couple of times a year, always with other women.

Most of the time, when I utter that sentence, the woman I’m talking to will react either by smiling genuinely and saying, “oh that’s so awesome,” or by doing that fake-smile, wide-eyed thing, their voice rising half an octave, and saying, “oh, that’s so awesome.”

And then life, and the conversation, goes on.

But every few months, I’ll get a different reaction. It’ll be anything from disbelief to disgust, as if my lifestyle was personally offensive to her.

Oh honey, you have no idea.

That’s what happened with this woman. She curled her lip and asked, “Are you serious?”

giphy

Why does God hate me?

I was way more interested in the email and text conversations I was having on my phone anyway, so I just said, “Yep,” turned my body away from her, and buried my nose in my phone, using every body language trick I knew of to let her know that the conversation was over.

She didn’t take the hint.

“You know, that’s the problem with society today.  We can’t move forward as a culture until we stop living in the fifties.”

I couldn’t help but grin.  This reaction is by far my favorite.  Don’t get me wrong, the “lazy” accusations, and the I’m-not-contributing-anything-to-society accusations, and the “I-have-a-full-time-job-and-work-out-every-day-and-still-have-time-to-spend-with-my-kids” comments are entertaining in and of themselves.  But the “feminists” are the most fun.

You know the ones.  The ones who find a reason at least once a week to declare loudly and proudly, “I’m a feminist,” and are quick to condemn any woman not living what they think is a “feminist lifestyle.”

Sure enough, she uttered those very words.  She said, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be insulting.  I’m just a feminist and I believe that women are better than being kept barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen by their husbands.  I mean, you do know you’re contributing to the patriarchy, right?”

I had to laugh.  Because come on, that’s funny.  “Am I?”

She seemed stunned that I was laughing, and then seemed to get a little irritated.  “I don’t know why you think it’s funny.  Women have suffered for our rights, so we can live our lives the way we want to.  And you’re basically spitting in their faces by supporting the patriarchy.  That’s the environment you’re choosing to raise your daughter in.  You think that’s funny?  Is it a joke to you?  Don’t you think your daughter deserves a strong female role model?  Don’t you want to do right by her?  Do you think teaching her to obey the patriarchy is funny?”

I couldn’t help it.  I mean, I’m all about self-control and all that.  But it was just too perfect.  I couldn’t resist.

“I think it’s hilarious.  I’ll make sure to tell my husband and both my boyfriends about it tonight so we can all share a laugh.”

And seriously, the look on her face was just priceless.  Like, I felt like I was in a Mastercard commercial.  But I took the opportunity to impart some knowledge.  This is obviously not word-for-word, but I’ve repeated this lecture a few times now, and it’s always about the same.

There is nothing wrong with patriarchal relationships, or relationships where the man is the dominant partner and primary decision-maker.  If that’s the relationship both partners want, then there’s nothing wrong with it.  That’s not the problem.  “The Patriarchy” isn’t evil. Men are not our enemies.  There’s no reason to be hostile toward any situation where a man takes a position of authority over a woman.  “The Patriarchy” isn’t the problem.

The problem is that you’ve become what you hate.  The first feminists wanted women to be treated as equal, to be given the same rights as a man, and to have the ability to live their lives the way they want, without being ostracized for it.

You assume that my relationships are patriarchal, which you don’t approve of, so you become condescending, choosing not to see me as your equal, and you condemn the choices I’ve made regarding how I want to raise my daughter.  In one breath, you acknowledge the struggle that the first feminists went through to give us the freedom to live our lives the way we want, and in the next, you condemn me for living my life the way I want.

My situation is the exact opposite of a patriarchy.  I am the dominant partner and primary decision maker in all three of my relationships.  There is no patriarchy. But even if there was, why should I not be allowed to choose that life for myself?  Women aren’t allowed to think for themselves anymore, is that it?  They’re only allowed to lead the lifestyle society deems appropriate?  They’re not allowed to want to submit to a man?

Haven’t we come a long way in our attitudes toward women…

I am in charge and in control of every aspect of my life, including the raising of my kid.  Hell no, I don’t want someone else raising my kid while I’m at work.  I want to be directly responsible for every aspect of her raising.

And it’s paid off.

She was potty-trained before her second birthday.  She’s 4, and she knows the difference between weight and mass.  She knows the difference between mammals and fish.  She knows what symbiosis is, and can provide multiple examples of two different animals having symbiotic relationships.  She knows what sonar is and how whales use that to navigate.  She knows what the biggest shark and smallest shark are, she can tell you the biggest fish in the world, she can tell you what that spike on a Narwhal’s head is made out of, and how tall the average male polar bear is (she’s been on a huge marine life kick for the last year or so).  She knows what bioluminescence is, and can name a few species that live in the midnight zone that have it.

She can sit quietly in a doctor’s waiting room, a nice restaurant, or at an airport gate indefinitely (the wait at the airport was 4 hours).  She hasn’t thrown a temper tantrum in public since she was a year and a half old.  She constantly gets compliments about how well-behaved she is, and people are stunned at her vocabulary (even though she mispronounces some words.  Like frost-er-rated, instead of frustrated, and tech-lick-ly instead of technically).  She always says please and thank you, “yes, ma’am,” and “no, ma’am,” and “yes, sir,” and “no, sir.”

She recognizes her emotional state and will acknowledge if she’s feeling grumpy or having a bad day.  Granted, she’s just a wholefuckinglot on the melodramatic side, so telling her she can’t have a second serving of M&Ms often gets the “I’m not having a good day” comment.  But she can acknowledge it and has a few basic techniques to try and control it.

She can do simple addition and subtraction in her head, and while she needs paper and pencil to do simple multiplication and division, she can do multiplication and division.  She can also interpret bar graphs and pie charts.  Finding the mean of a set of numbers is still a little too difficult for her, but she can tell you the median, mode, and range without missing a beat.

While her weakness is English, and she’s only just recently mastered the concept of letters making sounds that form words (she knew that A makes the “a” sound, she had all that down by rote memorization, but if you showed her a picture of a dog and a picture of an apple, she couldn’t tell you which one started with letter A), she can write letters just fine, and loves having stories read to her so much, she’s memorized a couple dozen books.

She’s the youngest in her acting class by 3 years.  The class is technically supposed to be for 7- and 8-year-olds.  But she holds her own just fine, and the teacher often points her out, saying “Our 4-year-old can do this, so I know you guys can do it, too.”

Yeah, that happened tonightAgain.

So unless your kid can do all of that at 3 years old, I have exactly zero interest in anything you have to say about the way I choose to raise her or the environment I choose to raise her in.

I’ve got this, thanks.

Would I like to have financial independence, and not have to rely on Kazander for money?  Hell fucking yes.  Particularly in recent months.  But I never planned on having kids, and now that I’ve got one, I want to make sure I do right by her.  In my opinion, doing right by my daughter means staying home and giving her every possible advantage I can, using every tool and resource I can get my hands on.  I’ve decided to make raising my daughter more important than something as petty as a paycheck*.

That’s my choice, and I’ve always lived my life the way I want to.  I’m not about to stop just because it’s looked down upon.  Being a stay-at-home mom is not the only lifestyle choice I’ve made that’s looked down upon by the bulk of society.  It’s just the one that I catch the most shit for, because I’m around snobby, entitled, bored, sexually frustrated moms so often.

*This statement is always made for shock value, directed exclusively at the women who feel the need give me shit for my life choices.  I do not think there’s anything wrong with working moms, and I certainly don’t think working moms are petty.  I’m driving a point home, that’s all.

Feeling better

So being sick has had one blaringly positive benefit.  My nausea has made it impossible for me to eat anything, and that blasted right through the plateau I’d been experiencing in my weight loss for the last couple of weeks.  I stepped on the scale this morning, and I have officially lost 50 pounds.

Yay, me!

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I’m not done, I’m not even close to done, and I still have a very long way to go.  But that’s one hell of a milestone, and I’m pretty damn proud of myself.  Every pound I lose puts me one step closer to my goal (and for the record, I don’t have a goal weight.  I have a goal size.  Once I reach my goal size, I’m done losing, no matter what the scale says.  And I will always be thick.  I love my curves and my tits and ass way too much to ever give them up).

So the headache still has me a little foggy, but I’m getting better with each day, and am ready to jump back into life.  On the kink front, I’ve got sissy coming over on Friday night, and I’m going over to sounder’s on Sunday.

The Femdom group I was helping lead here in town went to hell, and all of the co-leaders ended up leaving on the same day.  So we’re going to get together and figure out what we’re going to do from here, and that’ll be a lot more fun and a lot less stress.  Because despite the tension, I enjoyed the group, enjoyed the members, and enjoyed what I was doing.  I don’t want it to stop, and thankfully, neither do the other two leaders who left.  So that’s exciting, I’m stoked to see where that goes.

And next week, we’re going to the San Diego zoo to let the spawn see the polar bears (her favorite animal).  It’ll be interesting trying to drag her away from the polar bear exhibit to see the rest of the zoo, but we’ll make do.

Oh, and I found a hotel with “kids’ suites.”  The kids and parents have separate bedrooms, and two separate TVs.  So with any luck, we’ll be able to have at least some mild fun while we’re on the trip.  And it’ll give me a chance to really test out the new plug I got, to see if it really is as comfortable for long-term wear as it says it is.  The longest kazander has been able to keep a plug in is about 2 hours.  I want to break that record.

So yeah, four days in San Diego will be nice.  Kazander and I are still working on getting back to where we used to be, and even though a family vacation with a 4-year-old isn’t what most people would consider a “sexy” time, getting away together might help us a lot.  I know that after we got back from the honeymoon, the energy was fantastic.  Maybe this vacation will have a similar effect.  I’m sure the spawn will be worn out from all the activities during the day,

Oh, and by an amazing stroke of luck, kids admission tickets to the zoo are completely free during the month of October.  I didn’t know that until I went to book the trip.  October is our “vacation month,” because September is the end of the quarter and fiscal year, and kazander’s job is crazy-busy, and he can finally relax and take a breather once October 1st comes around.  That, and neither of us are big on crowds, and by waiting until October, most places still have decent weather, and all the kids are back in school.  So every year in October, we’re going to have a family vacation.  Next year is Disney Land, and I think the year after that is going to be Sea World.

Fun side fact: Nevada has either the worst or second worst public education system in the country, depending on the site you look at, with one of the highest dropout rates and highest teacher-to-student ratios in the country, and Clark County (where Vegas is) ranks in the 48th percentile in reading and math when compared to the rest of the state’s counties.  So yeah, the spawn will either be in private school or home school.

Lots of fun!

Why I’m an Idiot: Reason #863

My kid’s birthday party is tomorrow.  She’s obsessed with this show, the Octonauts, and wanted a Captain Barnacles polar bear cake.

Alright, I can do that.  No problem.

I went and bought all the decorating supplies, and asked her what color she wanted the cake to be on the inside.  Her favorite color is blue, so I figured she’d want the neon-blue cake mix I found.  But she picked out a red velvet cake instead.

Alright, I can do that.  No problem.

It didn’t occur to me until just now, as I put the cake in the oven, that I’m making a cute, adorable, friendly 3D polar bear birthday cake.

And it will be blood-red when I cut it open.

Around a bunch of toddlers and preschoolers.

And when I voiced this particular concern, my daughter started laughing and jumping around the room, chanting “I’m going to eat Captain Barnacles’ guts!”

She had planned the whole thing.  That’s why she wanted the red cake, instead of the blue.  And I didn’t even think about it.  It didn’t even occur to me to ask why she wanted the red, or to think about what it would look like.

I just got outsmarted by a fucking 4-year-old.

Fuck my whole life.

Fish the Fish

The spawn’s fish died yesterday.

m86lz_zpsaa207b1eShe’s staying with the grandparents until tomorrow, so there was a flash of panic.  She’s still really sad about losing the ferrets, and we weren’t sure how she’d handle losing her fish so soon after that.  We thought about running out and buying a replacement so she wouldn’t know.

But her fish was a large, all-red, veil-tail male Betta, and the chances of finding one exactly like it are slim to none.  That, and I really value honesty, and I didn’t want to have to go through all that effort just to lie to my kid.

So last night, I grabbed her from the grandparents and brought her home.  Kazander and I explained to her that her fish had gone to heaven.  She immediately asked to see, so I took her into her bedroom to see the dead fish.

And of course, since she’s more literal than anyone I’ve ever known,

She's not quite as bad as Drax, but dude, she's not far off.

She’s not quite as bad as Drax, but dude, she’s not far off.

She saw the fish and immediately said, in her smartass “duh” voice, “Uh, Mommy.  He didn’t go to Heaven.  He’s right here.”

Which made kazander start laughing, because he’s a smartass, too.

So I had to explain that his body stayed here, and his soul went to Heaven.  Which took her a minute to “get.”

But she got it, she wasn’t all that upset, and we went out today to get her another one.  Her favorite color is blue now, so she picked out a pretty blue halfmoon Betta.

And she decided to name him Fish the fish.  Which, for some reason, makes her bust out laughing every time she says it.  I don’t fuckin’ know, man.  But she’s got her fish, disaster was averted, and life goes on.

Oh, so that’s where that was.

Kazander and I were discussing my desire to get the spawn a pet.  I really wanted her to have a pet.  Sure, she’s got the betta fish in her room (she named him Blpblplb, because that’s what happens when a 3-year-old names something).  But the kid needs a pet.

I wanted to get her a dog.  But we share our backyard with his family, who lives next door, and none of them want a dog.  My reaction, of course, was “fuck ’em,” but kazander thinks I’m “too mean” when dealing with his family. Continue reading

I’m surrounded by short people.

I’m horny.

Like, really horny.

I’ve been much hornier than usual lately. I feel like a teenage boy who just found his dad’s Playboy. It’s all I can think about.

And yet, right now, right at this very moment, when all I want is to throw my husband (or any man, really… I’m not picky) down and do vile, terrible things to him, I am instead standing in a children’s library with the spawn and a host of other very short people.

I want to cum, but instead I’m helping the spawn paint a flower, and learn about mixing colors.

Ah, the joys of parenthood.