Motherhood Uncensored

Don't you know, we're talking about a resolution

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that folks are finding my book in the "sexuality" section of the bookstore instead of the "parenting" section.

At least that's the case at Borders, anyway.

Apparently since it has the word "sex" on it, and so that relegates it to the section where most moms rarely ever find themselves, at least on purpose anyway.

Daisy suggested that we start an underground book movement and covertly move all the Mominatrix books in all the bookstores across America to the parenting section.

Or hell, at least to the very front of the store.

Damn that thing called "life" that gets in the way of important causes.

Regardless of where the book lives, I'm just excited to go find it and take a ton of nerdy pictures of it. Feel free to do the same if you happen to come across it and send them my way. I'd love to have a collection in the Mominatrix flickr pool.

(I have since learned that both Borders and Barnes & Noble have an online feature where you can check book availability at your local store before going on a wild goose chase).

Meanwhile, I'm planning a little challenge for the new year that I'm calling "2010: A Sexual Resolution." Basically, I'm trying to get moms to whip their libidos back into shape with 31 days of daily sexually-related activities.

[If you want to whip your ass back into shape, then there's always the 30 Day Shred, of course].

The best part of the Sexual Resolution is that don't even really need a partner around because it's about you, and not necessarily about your spouse - though he (or heck, she) may reap the benefits.

So, if you want to join me, it's simple - just follow along on my daily Mominatrix blog, where I'll be sharing helpful hints and special tips for the "advanced" students (ahem). I'd love to hear about your own experiences as well.

You know, if you care to share.

And if you prefer to watch, then feel free to practice your voyeuristic tendencies and check out my own daily updates.

Here are my book trailers to give you a little inspriation.

One, two, three, four, get your bladder off the floor

While my vagina has definitely paid the price three times over, my bladder has emerged from the post partum wreckage remarkably unscathed.

So when I nearly peed myself during a long set of squat jumps at kickboxing class, and subsequently found myself having to use the bathroom every two hours, the only explanation I could come up with was that I was pregnant.

And wouldn't you know, that's what the damn test said that I took Christmas morning.

YES +

[Damn new fangled things].

After screaming what must have sounded like the father fixing the furnace in "A Christmas Story," I took a picture and emailed my husband.

Subject: Um, Merry Christmas...

Message: I made an appointment for a vasectomy upon your return.

Okay, so I didn't say it that politely. I'm sure you can figure out my choice of words for that one.

Then I texted him to tell him to check his email. And then I called him to tell him to read the text that told him to check his email.

"What's that?" he asked me.

"A PREGNANCY TEST" I exclaimed. How can you not tell what that is, why, with my fine iPhone photography skills?

"Well, what does it say?" he asked. "I can't read it."

"DO YOU REALLY THINK I WOULD SEND YOU A PICTURE OF A NEGATIVE PREGNANCY TEST?"

Silence.

"You didn't post this, did you?" he asked.

[Ah, the poor husband of a blogger].

We both sat on the phone, scratching our heads trying to figure out how in the hell this had happened.

But even though it was highly improbable that I was pregnant, the little $8 test said I was, so therefore it must be true.

At least that's what I told myself as I finished off the dark chocolate caramels chased with three peanut butter and jelly topped bagels.

The baby is hungry. How can I deprive my baby of chocolates?

The only problem was that other than having to pee, I had absolutely no other pregnancy symptoms. And I had just had a period.

So I can't say I was too surprised that after taking a few tests the next day that might as well have screamed "NO WAY IN HELL" at me, I learned that pregnancy tests should not be kept in subzero temperatures, like in your car's glove box in case of an emergency side of the road pregnancy scare.

[I realize that you will now obsess about the fact that I had a pregnancy test in my car. I cannot give you a reasonable explanation for why there was a pregnancy test in my car other than the fact that I am lazy and sometimes just hide things in my car rather than bring them inside].

So, no folks. I'm not pregnant.

I just need to wear pads.

And kegel like I've never kegeled before.

And so he goes

The call came through around 4pm yesterday while my husband was at church with Quinlan and I was attempting to cook our special "surf and turf" Christmas Eve dinner while keeping the little ones from touching the presents.

Someone "sicked out," and even though my husband had put in qualifiers - basically letting them know that he'd take a trip but would prefer a late show time on Christmas Day - he'd be leaving for a 4-day domestic trip at 7am on Christmas morning.

Fuckers!

I didn't even bother with an "I told you so," considering how bad he felt, though I do admit hoping the pilot who dropped the trip got a really nasty cold.

You funny people on facebook weren't as nice. I suppose STD is more like it, Julie.

So much to our surprise, Santa stopped at our house first, and while it seemed a little anti-climatic for me, the kids were completely thrilled.

And really in the end, that's all that matters.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

He might not be home for Christmas

After spending 45 days in the desert, my husband vowed not to complain about a commercial airline trip for a year. But that doesn't mean I can't complain about the fact that he's on call starting Christmas Day (through 12/28) and will most likely get called thanks to some jackass who decided to bid for that day with the knowledge that he can just call out with no consequence.

Last year, my husband got home late Christmas night, so we just celebrated on 12/26 and it worked out just fine.

But this year, we're a little confused as to what to do. If he gets called on an international trip, he won't leave until late in the day, so it's pretty easy for us to celebrate as is.

However, a domestic trip will require him to leave early in the morning. So, if "Santa" comes on Christmas Eve, which in some families he does, he will need to make a mad scramble to get things under the tree, and "Mrs. Claus" will need to figure out where the hell to put the children while Santa works his magic on 5pm on a Thursday evening.

We could always postpone until the 28th, which would mean I'd need to treat my kids like they're on Big Brother and not let them watch any television or leave the house for three days until he returns.

Sounds fantastic, huh?

Then we'd get to open presents with my in-laws, which would mean I'd have to hear them drill my kids on "Which present did you like the best?" (hint hint ours because the only way we can show love is through material things with lots of batteries).

Seriously, I cannot explain to you how far back my eyes rolled when my MIL called my SIL to tell her that HER AWESOME TOY was Quinlan's favorite.

I politely reminded her that it was actually Santa's toy.

Ahem.

Of course, we won't know any of this until Christmas Eve day.

So aside from patenting a special military/pilot Advent calendar with write-in dates, and accepting a gracious offer from a bloggy friend to enjoy Christmas with her family and her mother-in-law (who happens to be from near where I'm from), I'm a little miffed as to what to do.

Any ideas?

The Lingerie Smackdown

My mother-in-law giving me the Victoria's Secret coupon dredged up the old lingerie with pockets that just so happens to now be a very sore spot with my husband.

I mean, aside from the fact that the thing has two pretty large pockets, it's actually pretty nice.

But apparently, my online jesting has made it look more like a stinky gorilla suit rather than a sexy lacy number, at least to him anyway.

So I decided to surprise him and go purchase the item that lost out to the pockets. He later explained that it was between the pockets and this other item, and after hearing what it looked like, I sort of chastised him a bit for not buying that one.

It happens to be a french maid inspired ensemble.

Pretty cute, right?

[You didn't think I would post that, now did you? I blame the Imperfect Parents for this little dare].

But wouldn't you know, I looked down and what did I see?

 

Yep. That's right. Pockets. A couple of fucking pockets!

So what do you think? Which was the better choice?

 

Place your votes. There's a pretty big bet riding on this.

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[Flat abs brought to you by The Shredheads. Unabashed wearing of lingerie on the internets brought to you by Yuengling Lager Light].