A Love Affair In The Morning.

You are more to me than just a breakfast. You are what makes a day worth being a part of.

I’m very blessed. My days get to be filled with something that truly gets me.

Your crunch muffles the sound of my kids fighting or the latest episode of Dora The Explorer. All I hear is rainbows forming and birds tweeting in their nests.

You hold up my ego as you hold up my spoon. If I’m not devouring your joyfulness fast enough, sometimes you let me down. Yet I can’t seem to quit you. I just try again with more of you.

You’re not jealous of my coffee. You get that I can only enjoy a mug or two during the day. But with you, I can spend some time in the middle of the night. It may be sneaking around but I don’t care. You make me into a bran-loving whore.

You don’t seem to care about how my hair looks or if I’m wearing makeup when I hold you. It feels like love when I hear the dink dink as you hit the bottom of my bowl.
Each spoonful fills my soul with kinship. I don’t worry about my family or the stressors that come with living out of suitcase. Or that we need to keep our son on top of his curriculum so he doesn’t fall behind.

You don’t care that my son’s outfit is mismatched or that my toddler is eating her nose candy. You just concentrate on me and my needs.
The pains and woes of my everyday disappear when I open my mouth and let you in.

You are so inviting….

so flavorful….

….and when we sit alone and I masticate you, I am complete. I am whole.

Oh cereal…. You are amazing.
Your puffs filled with peanut butter and understanding make me feel like I can do anything.

Like I can finish this blog post. Like I’m the princess and you and all your raisins are my princes.

Thank you for being a dollar off with coupon.

t.r.m.

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Write Post, Attract Trolls, Get Death Threats, Repeat.

Dear People That Make Cruel and Insanely Mean Comments On The Internet,

This is the hardest letter I’ve ever written…

Ha! That’s a bunch of crap. I’ve been wanting to write something about the phenomenon that is “trolling” for a while now. This won’t be hard…

You are all a bunch of cowardly, hide-behind-your-keyboard fucks…but I would never wish that you would die.

Based on the above statement, I’ve stooped to your level; speaking through my keyboard instead of face to face about something or anything I could’ve written.

Up to this point, I’ve pretty much been under the radar. I just write about my family, a few giveaways or reviews and for the most part lay low. I’ve have not sent any submissions to Huff Post, which seems to have become “troll central”, or any other website for that matter. I have my reasons for not submitting and frankly, you are one of them.

You guys are just hanging around looking for the next blogger to attack because of something you don’t agree with. I’m all for being a devil’s advocate, stirring up the discussion and disagreeing with the author, but your pitchforks never have lube. You make decent speakers never want to express themselves again. Fuck you hard for that. Not everything online has to be agreed upon. Or correct. Or perfect. Many times, you don’t understand the whole story.

You just react.

In all honesty, this letter is out of disgust over comments on a friend’s post. A post submitted to Huff Post. (No, I’m not posting the link) Comments saying that that blogger should die. Should. Die.. Over expressing their opinion. Telling a story.

Tell me, should you fucking die too, you piece of juvenile trash?
You expressed your opinion. Isn’t that the way it works?

Listen, it’s 2014. We should be moving on from this type of behavior now. Something more civil. Just the fact that we are that much closer to flying cars should give reason to let posts or articles that you don’t agree with just roll off your back.

Take a long look in the mirror. Really think about your actions. Is your life simply better by bashing or threatening another online? A person you have never met. A person you may never meet.

Just today, I read someone’s comment on a thread that read “You aren’t a real blogger until someone threatens your life”. Why is that a “thing”? Why does that have to be common knowledge?
Is it our fault for putting ourselves out there? Our fault because we choose to tell our stories to our computer?

Your bullshit drama does not make this world a better place. You are not
stopping anyone from writing or expressing their feelings.
Frankly, this is the shittest thing I have ever written. Or maybe not.

But it’s my right to write it. And it is not a reason for you to attack me verbally. Although, you and I both know that you can’t help yourself.

Let the bashing begin. Go ahead and prove my point.

Sincerely,
A blogger that won’t ever stop writing.

t.r.m.

P.S. Thanks in advance for the page views. :)

Dear Santa, My Underwear Is Trying To Find Religion

Dear Santa,

I need to vent..

I mean, I’m kinda venting already.

I don’t think I’m a greedy person but I like nice things. You know from past holidays that I’m kind of a gamer if by gamer means hours of Mario Bros.
Thanks for adding to my addiction, by the way.

I was the kid that wanted “want”, not “need”. Don’t give me socks or pjs. Please oh please oh please NO!
I, of course, would smile about the socks I got and the cute jacket that was not a new toy.

Sigh…. Times, they have changed.

I need underwear this year, Santa.
Not just any type of underwear though .
The “nice” (or naughty) kind.

Let me explain….
I have those ugly cotton granny-panties. You know, the if-they-get-messed-up-once-a-month-because-my-hygiene-products-have-failed-me-again ones?? I gots those by the pile load.

It’s the “other” type that I don’t have or can’t seem to keep…somehow.

They have all become religious.
Hol(e)y.
Crotchless.

They’ve all got holes in the crotch area. All. Of. Them.

Nothing happens to my old necessary panties.
Just the cute ones. The not t-backs or crazy lace in the crack ones. The pretty not granny style ones.
The ones I want to wear everyday but can’t because:

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I’m not sure if it’s the material that can’t withstand the awesomeness of my vaggie or if I’m not cleaning them gentle enough (like maybe using q-tips and unicorn tears) I’m not sure what the reason. I could be an underwear yanker during REM sleep.
Either way…
I’m too old to go commando. That plumbing area has issues after I birthed my babies. Don’t be close by when I sneeze. Just sayin’

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I’ve had to resort to using my destroyed and cut up chonies for other purposes…I’ve created marketing names for them in case I get desperate enough to sell the suckers.

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The Olivia Newton.

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The Emergency Room.

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Santa, I’m sad. Can you see this dilemma I have? Obviously, it is a very strong need I desire this year. I hate wearing those wide full coverage parachutes that make butt feel saggier than usual. I’m a pretty lady. I want to feel like Maria underneath it all too.

Please Santa, I beg of you. If I can’t rely on you to cover my ass and pretty bits this winter in “fabulous”, who else can I rely on?

Thank you and I promise to leave out those “spiked rum cookies without the cookies” you like so much this year.

With love and a chilly vulva,
t.r.m.

Blogger’s Note: Yes, I just wrote a story about my undies that included pictures. If I’m gonna tell a story like this on the internet now-a-days, it’s probably best to have some photographic proof.

All Our Dolls Are Naked. I Blame The Weather And You Tube

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Today, the weather hit a high of around 103. Our front yard gets sun 80% of the day. Our back yard gets it maybe around 70%. Despite a large awning and my husband installing misters, our outside is grounds for imminent heat stroke.
It’s part of our life living in Southern California. I’d say we are used to it but pfftt…we complain about our weather a lot. Pity since we get really gorgeous weather most of the year. We have no real reason to bitch. Yet, bitch we do.

As of recent, I’ve been seeing a correlation with our current heat wave and the sudden absence of our daughter’s dolls’ clothing. She normally removes all dresses and footwear but then tries to put them back on again (with help that she has asked for). Right now, her room is like a Disney nudist colony. Cinderella’s castle has been converted into a brothel with Belle as the Madam.

My little girl has no other male dolls other than the one constant in our home- Naked Harry Potter. The reason Harry Potter is naked is because when my son learned to remove his outfit, it was promptly lost. Lost it has remained and if you ask me, my house could very well be Toy Story and sweet, “innocent” Harry is having his pick of any Disney Princess he wants. So far, he and Ariel have been spending quite a bit of time together. There has got to be some serious play time happening in that bedroom after hours but…
………he is missing an important part of his anatomy so maybe it’s just naked tea parties lately. Girls play that too with their naked “boy” friends.

For the last week or so, I have been unable to locate a dress or shoe or a modest hat to cover up the nakedness. With my 5 year old asking questions daily about boobs and penises, I might be creating YouTube “birds and bees” talks for the next few months. Frankly, I think my son gets most of his ideas from the “tube of you” anyway. Time to pull that plug for a while…

But back to our naked dolls… I honestly think my daughter has caught on to the “it’s just too hot for clothes, honey” that my hubs and I have been mentioning not-so-quietly. My kids wear underwear around the house and little else on these sweltering days. Our whole house is pro-nakedness. Not to mention, my baby girl is potty training again

I still think that Naked Harry Potter might be hiding all the princess’ clothing. Things are quite funny indeed.

Or I’m just crazy from the heat.

t.r.m.

Time Out, Mommy

When I was getting ready to get married, I felt the stress of “not enough” or “too much” or …gasp… “not gonna happen in time” grow with every day that lie closer to the event date.
Everything turned out as it should. It was beautiful and filled with lots of last minutes decisions and, more importantly, tons of love from family and friends.
The one piece I remember the most is being told by a friend to…

Stop. Enjoy this moment. You have your family near you and people that love you. If you don’t stop and enjoy this moment, it’ll pass and you’ll wish you paused.

Thank you, dear friend, for stopping me during the reception to give me time to reflect. The awesomeness around me was too good to miss and I wanted to take it all in. I’m glad I got a chance.

Fast forward to this year’s holidays. It’s only the first week of December and my “list” is screaming at me from the kitchen. Do this! Buy that! Make those! DON’T FORGET ANYTHING!

Crap. And here I am again, stressing more and more as the days coming closer to Christmas fly by.

Today, I’m feeling the big Christmas thumbs on my shoulders pushing down harder and harder. I feel that I’ll miss something or someone. I won’t create enough memories for my children. I won’t have everything done in time.

Then as I get my daughter quieted down for a nap, this happens:

20121202-133015.jpg my kids crawl into bed together as I write this and remind me yet again of my wedding day mantra..

Stop. Enjoy this moment. You have your family near you and people that love you. If you don’t stop and enjoy this moment, it’ll pass and you’ll wish you paused.

Today, I gave myself a TO. I paused and reflected about how it’s always about family and friends and not about getting it all done.

With this holiday and all the other events that come your way, don’t forget to give yourself a time out.

Thanks, kids, for reminding me.

t.r.m.