Five Years

Hey there, Strangers.

It’s been a long time. If you, my lovely readers, and I were in a relationship, you’d have every right to toss me aside for someone who doesn’t neglect you as I have the last few months. But, let me tell you something- after five years, relationships tend to go through a stale time before they get stronger. For yes, WordPress has informed me that it has been five years and a few days since I did begin a little online rant called sparklebumpsthebookwhore. Said action forever changed my life, I believe, completely for the better. It is hoped that it did, too, change all of your lives for the better. My histrionica convinces me it most certainly did.

Though I have not yet found life-altering fame, I will say that I am taking baby steps (sometimes very literally) to expand my horizons and experience new things I’ve never before experienced. I’ve thrown my best friend (who I met through my blog several years ago) a rather fabulous bridal shower, and just this past weekend joined her and her other favorites for a bachelorette party that included a horse-drawn carriage ride through the city. (Numerous Uber rides were also a first; I shall never forget the four of us piling into a Ford Fiesta driven by a friendly individual resembling Austin Power’s Fat Bastard. Good Times.)

My life has vastly improved in the last half-decade; this is mainly due to a little man who  resembles me too closely at times- mostly when he’s butting his head against whatever’s nearby when he’s pissed off. Yes, I have the mental maturity to not actually smash my head against inanimate objects, but, I promise, I’m doing it in my head constantly. Perhaps this is the reason I sometimes forget what I’m saying mid-sentence, and find it hard to focus on pretty much everything….

Yes, my Babe is too much like his mother, but in some ways, that’s great. (in my opinion.) His constant growling and attacking his stuffed animals and the dog proves that his wild imagination is intact, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Things with my Rockstar are less sexy that I’d necessarily wish them to be, but that will happen when there’s a toddler about and our work schedules are completely opposite. He still has amazing hair, and a habit of buying very expensive guitar gear. Ah, well. Boys will be boys.

My Rockstar’s Daughter is now officially a high-schooler (cringe), and I have come to realize that for the most part, we will have to ignore each other for the next four years for both of us to make it out alive. That’s all I’m going to say about that for now.

I’m still masquerading as a waitress until I finish my book, but as of this week, I got a $3 an hour raise, so I can’t really complain…even though one of my joyful “managers” refers to me as a “stupid fucking cunt”  to whomever will listen. Let’s just say the feeling is mutual. Even if he is a dude.

I am making more of an effort to use my time more wisely toward writing, which should go swimmingly unless they add an unknown season of Sons of Anarchy on Netflix, so you shouldn’t have to wait so long again for me to entertain you again. We’ll have to see if being a mother has drained me of my general amazingness.

XOXO,

Sparklebumps

The Vagabond (otherwise entitled Why Parents Need Cocaine)

My child is one. I suppose if you want to be technical, he is one and a little more. The point is, I haven’t slept in over a year.

Yes, ok, so that’s not exactly true. I just this afternoon slept for a good half hour while the Babe napped. And I guess my Rockstar watched him yesterday morning so I could sleep in a wee bit. But a whole eight-hour night’s sleep? Such things are the things of myths and fairytales.

I’ve been remiss in my writing of blog posts; a fact that is proven by my last post which was sometime in March, I think. Too, I find myself not a whole lot further in the writing of my book- because Pinterest is the Devil’s hippodrome, and he very successfully distracts me in his evil game of idle pin surfing. Spring has brought hours of yard work, and a kid who freaks out every time I attempt to Brazil butt-lift my saggy ass have also preoccupied me from becoming my most amazing self. On the plus side, my kid is ridiculously awesome and my exact mini male replica.

The thing I have learned in the past year? Anyone who has ever gotten hooked on cocaine must first have had a child. How else would you explain the need to be awake for extended hours and days at a time? How else would the dishes ever get done and the lawn mown and the laundry folded and the kids get fed and bathed and read to?

As I am generally not of the criminal ilk, I have opted for a more legal path. Diet vitamins and other assorted energy-boosting products. Along with reaching my goal weight, I shall now find the energy to create my most interesting characters.

I must admit, the true origin of buying such energy-boosting items stems from the fact that I’m just too lazy to exercise. But, ya know, maybe I won’t be after a week or two of partaking in legalized speed.

My real question is- how the hell does anybody get anything done with more than one kid?!

To Raise a Little Man

So I suppose it’s about time for the big gender reveal….. I am actually a man.

Ha, just kidding. I am all woman. Except for the little 15 ounces growing in my belly.

Yes, my baby is a boy. YAY! A boy is what I’ve always wanted. But you know what they say: be careful what you wish for.

While the ultrasound technician was roaming around for the evidence of a teeny tiny penis on my baby, I was mainly ecstatic about the fact that he had two arms and legs. I know that seems like kind of a minor concern when there is the question of gender, but, ya know. It’s a little bit easier to do things with all your appendages. Anyhoo, the Babe was in a pose that could either mean he is ready to be a Prima Ballerina, or he’s just waiting to hold up his future NASCAR trophy. I’m not quite sure which thought is more disturbing to me.

When the technician pointed out his little testes, I had mixed feelings of elation and slight disappointment. ‘Tis true I wanted a boy, and I still do, but the idea of such absence of sparkles and ruffles in my future child’s life gave me pause. The only hope is that he may one day be a famous drag queen, because we know then there will be sequins and makeup aplenty.

After my appointment, I got to thinking about the problems I may have in raising a little man. (Other than the fact that my Rockstar wants to name him Vince, after Vince Neil of Motley Crue- a problem which need be addressed another day.)

What do I know about being a man? My coworker insists I am quite manly, indeed, so I shouldn’t have a problem, but I believe he only thinks so because of my appreciation for much sex, a subject we have talked about at great length. Honestly, I’m not quite sure why else he would find me masculine, unless my cursing sailor’s mouth convinced him. Who knows….

What I DO know is that I want my boy to read, and read a lot. I realized that other than blogland, there has been quite an absence of men that read in my actual real life. Sure, here and there, a male that loves books as much as I do has reared his head, but it’s been a disturbingly rare phenomena, like Loch Ness monster sightings. I’ve gone away wondering if I actually saw what I saw, kinda thing. I myself do not find reading to be a solely feminine act, but, you must admit, it doesn’t exactly go with beer and hot wings.

Aside from that, I want my son to be sensitive. Not meaning I want every drop of rain and flower petal to bring him to tears, but that if he sees someone in pain, or having a bad day, he will take notice, and perhaps try to better that person’s situation. Along with that, I want him to treat women like princesses, even though by the time he is old enough to think about girls, most of them will probably be sluts and/ or lesbians (in which case, he might get his ass kicked if he tries to treat them like princesses.. All girls should be made to feel special, even if they are only subpar.

I want him to have self-confidence, but not the yucky jock kind. I mean the kind that will allow him to not be bothered when his mother grows out his hair and people tease him for looking like a girl. The kind that allows him to be proud of himself, and teach others to also be proud of themselves.

If he marries, I want him to have at least a slight interest in planning his own wedding someday, whether it be to a girl or a boy. We all know the best boys are the ones that take an active role in such things, and are generally worshipped among women.

If he doesn’t marry, I want him to be happy in whatever life he chooses, and to have many adventures.

I want him to say what he means, and mean what he says, and not be afraid to say what it is that needs to be said, but know when to stay silent.

I want him to know it’s perfectly ok for him to like Barbie dolls, and to admire their exaggerated feminine features, but to realize that real women that look nothing like Barbie dolls are also desirable. I also want him to like dinosaurs, and realize they are the coolest creatures ever to live. (Besides for mermaids and unicorns.)

I want him to be just a little bonkers, because all the best people are.

I honestly don’t know how I will help my son to become this man I want him to be; luckily, I may be able to help him out in the bonkers department.

Reasons to Brush Your Teeth

On a regular basis, I am required to remind my Rockstar’s Daughter to brush her teeth in the morning. Sadly, I understand her ire at having to complete such a task, as my mother waited until my first trip to the dentist at the age of 5, when I was told I was the proud owner of 5 whole cavities, to properly train me on the brushing of my (then) not-so-pearly whites. To further encourage the Daughter to brush daily, I have come up with a list of reasons why it is a good idea to do so. (I admit my list may not be completely of the child-friendly sort.) :

1. Because the first coffee of the day always tastes better on a fresh breath.

I do not know the reason for such a thing, only that it has been proven to be true on many a -cranky-before-coffee morn.

2. Because you don’t want people to call you Penis Breath. Or Fart Face. Or accuse you of having Dragon Breath capable of wilting a person’s face off.

You just don’t.

3. Because you never know who will want to kiss you.

I am aware that a good number of people with significant others think they know perfectly well who wants to kiss them. What they may not realize is that there may be other people admiring them from afar. Didn’t you ever see Fatal Attraction? Old Dan was perfectly happy being a married man until he realized he could have hot elevator sex with a ‘fro-d out Glenn Close. Do you think Glenn would have been so obsessed if Michael Douglas had forgotten to brush his teeth? I think not.

4. Because if you don’t, your teeth will fall out.

And taking care of dentures certainly seems like a lot more work.

And you don’t want to wake up looking like this, do you? :

 

5. Because people will talk about you and your disgusting teeth if you don’t.

Not that you should care about what other people think, unless the other “people” is me. Then you most definitely should. And I recall many many conversations my friend and I had over a coworker’s lack of oral hygiene.

6. Because no one will want to kiss you.

I am aware that I’ve mentioned this reason once before, but I find it to be of the utmost importance. And you’d be pretty fuckin’ sad if Angelina showed up with puckered lips, only to withdraw in horror at the smell of butt rot emitted from your mouth.

7. Because you don’t want to be like my old district manager.

Yes, he was pretty. In fact, his looks were the sole reason I slaved away as a Pizza Slut for over two years. (Looks DO get you things, such as a well-endowed book whore who rocks at her job). Sadly, there were many long and boring meetings spent across the table from the pretty man Boss that were only made more excruciating by d’odor du poopy. I do believe he mentioned something about a mouth fungus once, which I’m sure could have been prevented by brushing.

A Life Choice

I’m sorry, my Lovelys. There will be no witty or completely entertaining post from me today, because the ugly Depression Monster crawled out from under my bed and is holding on to me for dear life. (Or for dear death. That seems to make more sense for some reason.)

The joys of going through life without treating bi-polar disorder include having completely shitty days where the sun doesn’t shine, even if it’s blazing a hole through the ozone layer outside. (For the record, it’s not sunny out today here in Minnesota anyway.) The stupid nagging that has reared it’s ugly head in the back of my mind for months has finally gotten to the point where something needs to be done about it. And unless someone is will to adminster a labotomy, it looks like I’m stuck with actually making a life decision. (My record isn’t exactly great when it comes to those.)

I want children. (Even though there are days when I hate the little bastards) I want to hold my baby and sing him songs, and I want to teach my 3 year old to read all the amazing children’s books that exist. Ideally, it would be best if I could ship my kids off to a home from the ages of 13-17, but I realize that’s not really an option, so I would be willing to deal with the bullshit of puberty and raging hormones in order to end up with a person with a little bit of me in them.

That being said, my Rockstar has made it abundantly clear that he does not long for more children than the one he already has. (In fact, he didn’t long for her to begin with, either, but that’s a story for another time.) I know that men do not change their minds, and anyway, I am not one of those women who WANT to change men’s minds. (Unless it has to do with changing a penis from a softy to a boner.) Given his mindset, I know that if we were to have a child together, he would end up resenting me, and I am not to be resented. And no matter what people say and how hard I try to make it so, having his Daughter around is NOT the same as having my own kid. So there.

In the past, I was with a man fully willing to assist me in the parentage of said 5 boys. However, either his swimmers were slow, or I lack proper plumbing- either way, we tried for over two years without results. (The way things turned out, I suppose that was a good thing.)

So the question is- Do I give up the possible life of almost-childless bliss with my Rockstar to pursue probably ending up alone without even a step-child? When these are my choices, do you people see why I detest making life choices?

The Cruelty of Children

They say that children are cruel. I know this is true because I was one of the cruel ones. At least a little bit. I was picked on more than I ever picked on anyone, I’m assuming because I was 5’3″ and 130 lbs by the time I was 10, but I did have my moments of wretchedness. You would think since I am now grown, and haven’t children of my own, I would be insusceptible to the bullying that I was subject to. Not so. I have vowed to tell mostly the truth in this blog. So here goes…

My Rockstar has a 9 yr old daughter. That in itself is not the issue, though I believe a 9 yr old son would have been easier to deal with. When we began dating, my Rockstar  was a bit dubious when I declared my position as a potentially awesome step-mother-like figure. Perhaps it was because I have next to no experience with children, or perhaps he was aware of the Daughter’s and my dispositions and need for attention. Who knows. Let’s just say he may have been right.

While the Daughter is quite affectionate, (which I love) at times she can resemble Regan from The Excorcist. (during the really scary part.) Mainly these incidents originate when she is told to do something she doesn’t want to do; I understand for the first 7 years she was babied and not really disciplined, but COME ON. I am going to use a phrase I never thought I would- when I was a kid. When I was a kid, if I acted that way I woulda gotten my ass beat. I do not in any way condone corporal punishment, but I DO believe the FEAR of an ass-beating should be instilled into cerebrum.

The episode that prompted me to compose this post has happened more than once. Last night, everything was misleadingly copascetic. We ate dinner, they played tennis (I detest running) and I read a “bednight” story to the Daughter. Then it was actually time for sleep. I have largely given up trying to actually get that kid to stay in bed after I’ve tucked her in. I just go to bed, since she doesn’t feel compelled to listen to me. I was engrossed in reading my bio of Dolly Parton (Yay Dolly!) when the Daughter comes into our bedroom

The Daughter: “I’m sleeping in here.”

My response is to remind her that she doesn’t listen very well.

Me: “You better get in bed, since daddy has already told you 3 times.”

The Daughter: “You know, I am the Queen and I live here. You are just staying here for a little while. Maybe YOU should go to bed.”

I admit. If it was a kid I didn’t know, I would probably be laughing too. However. Having a 9 yr old tell me my living situation( and my relationship) is on probation irked the hell outta me. (It also made it impossible to sleep.)

My question is, I realize this is something that my Rockstar needs to address with his Daughter. Or with me. If I am to be a built-in part of their lives, she needs to get it through her head. If I AM on probation, then I would much rather just be told to get the fuck out now. How am I supposed to instill respect into a 9 yr old who doesn’t even understand the concept? And yes, I am 29, but it still hurts my feelings to be bullied. I don’t like it when events in my life make me want to say, “Fuck this shit.”

Children are our future??

Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, all my dear bloggers! Imagine my surprise this morning when I checked my stats and saw that I had 14 views yesterday! I love you all! At least I’m not just talking to myself anymore. (Which I really don’t mind doing…) So. Today I shall delve into a subject that is very sensitive for me. It is something I think about every day but cannot talk about without tearing up. The subject of children.

Ever since I was very young, I told everybody I wanted to have 5 boys. Now, don’t ask, “Why boys?” because I’m not entirely sure myself. It seems odd since I love pink, and dressing up, and anything sparkly. Perhaps it is the idea of having my grown sons towering over my short self, (I’m 5’3″) being the Momma’s Boys I know they would be. Anyway, it did seem I was in the perfect situation when I married a man who was fine with having that many kids. Alas, it was not to be. I was with the man for 12 years, never using condoms or birth control, and came out the other side without even a miscarriage- all while everyone I know was popping out kids left and right. Perhaps it was me, maybe it was him, I guess I will never know for sure because we are now divorced and I have never been able to afford health insurance to go through the bullshit of fertility testing. If I am to be barren, I would rather NOT know for sure anyway, I think. I would guess that it IS me, though, since I have since had irresponsible unprotected sex with men who have fathered children.

Nearly everyone I know has said to me at one time or another that I would make an excellent mother. Now, I’m slightly perplexed about how they would know this, as I never baby-sat as a teenager, commented people on how lovely their children are, or even held my cousin’s babies without handing them back almost immediately. Nevertheless, I whole-heartedly agree with these Everyone. I would make a great mom. I know that Love is what a child needs, not toys; I know that discipline is a must, and not the belt on the ass kind; and I know that they need to be taught Respect. I would read to them every night, and tell them I love them always.

9 years ago, my best friend came to me and said, “The worst thing that could ever happen has happened.” She was pregnant. Now I have never been pregnant, but I think it’s pretty safe to say that if you have that kind of attitude when you find out you are having a child, it’s going to filter on down into your parenting a bit. Granted, and unexpected pregnancy is not usually the first thing every 21 year old wants, but you know, sometimes you have to go with the flow. Abortion for her (or me) was never an option, as we were raised very strictly Baptist, and all Life is sacred. I told her once that if she didn’t want to keep her baby, I would  adopt him. She ended up keeping him, and he’s turned out to be a pretty great kid, though it’s helped that he has had a bounty of familial support.  It seems to me the people who aren’t looking to have kids are the very ones who end up with them, and those couples that are trying so desperately have none. Is that God’s way of  showing who’s in charge, I wonder?

My boyfriend is a prime example. His child is a product of a Fuck-Buddy/ relationship that went awry. In his words: “She trapped me.” Fortuneately, he stepped up and refused to be a Bum father, ‘cuz he’s a Good Guy. Alas, it is still slightly apparent that fatherhood was not his ambition in life. His daughter who is now 9, truly is the apple of his eye, and she is more important to him than I will ever be. (Which is the way it should be.) But he definitely still likes his Alone Time. Let me just say, Yay to all you step-moms that are not coined Evil. First, helping to raise a child that is partially grown is tough when you weren’t there the first 7 years. Add in the fact that that child is a Girl, who is quite sassy, and you will understand my wanting to stab myself in the head some weekends. The agreeance on parenting is still being worked out…

Being as I love my Rockstar and have no intentions of looking for a new beau, I asked him what his thoughts were on trying to knock me up someday. The chances are slim, and I have heard that men don’t change their minds. He has stated that he is kinda old and hasn’t the energy. So, the question is, do I throw away the chances of ever holding a babe of my own in my arms, of training up a Child in the way he should go, of leaving a little piece of me when I die, for Love? I have to admit, the thought makes my eyesight blurry. However, I HAVE come to realize that I like my Alone Time, and not being “tied down” with a kid has it’s advantages , I suppose. So I ask, as I do not regret the things I’ve done, will I regret the things that I will NOT have done?