I Want Another One

The constant shriek of children running around screaming with feigned fear and excitement. The smell of ridiculous amounts of calories. The children catered music in the background. The chatter of adults ignoring it all. All of that and what I am doing? Watching the toddler who isn’t quite old enough or big enough to play with the other kids yet attempt to climb the steps. I am watching his father pick him up and swing him and that smile that instantly splays across his face followed by the infectious laughter of pure joy. I am watching that, and all I can think is “I want another one.” 

Then I hear DUN DUN DUN as if someone had a soundtrack to my thoughts.

For someone that never EVER wanted a child, this urge I get occasionally (with increasing frequency might I add) to reproduce is so unbelievably strong. I know that in a year or two Jackson and I will start trying, but my goodness I want one now.

I try to think of the sleepless nights. The sore nipples (and not the good kind). The time off work. The classes. The frustration. The pain in my bank account. Starting all over again. I try to think of all the reasons we decided to wait. I try to think of months not being able to sleep on my tummy. The doctors appointments. The constantly having to pee in cup. The grumpiness. The crazy cravings. The horrid feeling of being more of a slave to my hormones. The lack of alcohol. The irritating diet I can only imagine Jackson will force on me. The bad showers. The ups and downs in my libido. I try try try to think of everything bad about having another child. The hours of labor. The constant worry if everything will be okay. The pain OH the pain (that I know was there the first time, but don’t quite remember). I ponder on all of these things but still, after all of those thoughts. I want another one.

We Were Arguing, I Was Wrong

But don’t tell anyone!

I have a vagina, which by definition makes me crazy sometimes. I don’t have a problem with admitting that fact. We were going back and forth in the truck tonight after dinner. Even my poor child asked us to stop fighting. (He doesn’t really know the difference between a fight, and a disagreement 🙂 ) That caused me to stop arguing, for the moment.

I knew that, he knew, that I wasn’t done. I wasn’t. After my son was in bed, and Jackson and I were hitting the night time routine, I started up again. I thought I was right. (Can someone tell him now that I am ALWAYS right?) Yet, when he finally got it through my thick skull, that I was wrong, I felt bad. I hate being wrong.

We were in bed, and I tried my hand at an apology. “I have no idea how you put up with me.”

“It’s a challenge.”

I smiled, “I’d say sorry, but then I wouldn’t be me, if I wasn’t challenging.”

He put his book on the night stand, “Never stop being you,” he said, turning to look at me.

“I won’t,” I said, moving to rest my head on his chest. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

I kissed his chest, and the rest, well I think you already know. . .




Today I Am Thankful for. . .

Here is my short list.

My son.

My man, my Dom, my lover, and my best friend in the whole wide world.

Orgasms, honestly, where would we all be without them?

My teeth, because without them I’d have a hard time pigging out today.

My parents for traveling with me, so the mother and I could continue our black friday tradition, another week of so excited I can barely contain myself.

My dear dear TBS superstation, for promising to play a Christmas story yet again this year, the days will fly fast.

Last, but not least, I am thankful for my future mother in law not making my life miserable. Apparently this new shiny ring has super powers!


Happy thanksgiving everyone!


What Makes Him Sexy

I know, I know, it could be a long list, I get it. I just want to add one, that hits me like a brick wall sometimes.

Today was an odd day for me I had to stay late at work and Jackson picked up my baby boy from school. Maybe I should stop calling him my baby boy he is six. Anyway, when I got home with dinner I expected to hear “mama!” and my sons excitement from my arrival. I expected him to come running at me telling me what happened at school today. He didn’t, None of those things happened. I admit there was the smallest bit of regret for not being there to pick him up, when he didn’t greet me. Yet, I sat everything down on the kitchen island, and walked through the house looking for my boys. What I found was much more than a mom could ever ask.

When I found them, my son was sitting at his desk, doing his homework, frustrated at a math problem. Jackson was sitting on the desk, patient as ever, telling my son that not everything was going to be easy for him. That once he does it over and over again, he will be proud of himself that he did it, told him to try it again.

I moved out of the door way, and listened for a moment in the hall. “Is it twelve? he asked. I am guessing Jackson nodded because I just heard a “Yes!”

That brought the biggest smile to my face, and made me want to cry at the same time. I know they have their time together, and I know Jackson thinks of my baby as his own. To see it though, the raw moment of him being a father to my son. Not only did it make me love him so much more, but it just turned me on. That is what sexy looks like, not only the man he is, but the father he is.

I think I take that part of him for granted. When I was dating I immediately wanted to know how a guy felt about my mommy status. I never wanted to waste my time with men who were afraid of the challenge. The kid and I were a package. You couldn’t have one without the other.

I remember my heart stopped the first time my son called him daddy. It just came out while we were out shopping one day. The kid saw an ice cream cart,”daddy I want ice cream.” I will never forget it.  My eyes I am sure flew out of my head. Jackson didn’t flinch. He just took his hand and they left my sitting on the bench, checking my receipt. I will have to find a special way to thank Jackson for all that he is to me and my baby. He has given me everything I ever could have wanted.


Is it just me or is every Sunday bittersweet?

A day of endings and beginnings. We mourn for the end of the weekend, our joyous playtime. We prepare for the upcoming week often times with dread.

My Sunday’s consist of laundry, lots and lots of laundry. I have to pick out clothes for myself for the week, clothes for my son for the week. Make sure everything is checked and double checked in my planner. I plan our meals for the week. While I am cooking Sunday breakfast. Do my grocery shopping for said meals, and snacks.  Wash and vacuum out the car. I prepare myself for whatever game I will be watching today. Double checking to make sure I am not supposed to be entertaining.

Isn’t Sunday a day of rest? Can I practice the Sabbath? Do Jews still practice the Sabbath? If so I think today might be a day to convert.

Jackson’s day starts early with yard work, thankfully. Because come Sunday, our yard does not look pretty. He often heads to home depot for something, I don’t know what, but  a Sunday sans home depot is rare. Which is fine, I think it has become a set moment for bonding for the males in my life.

Sunday is the day for my son’s chores. He also must do the deep cleaning of his room, and help me clean his bathroom. He hates it, but I think at six he is starting to appreciate having a clean room, and knowing where things are.

So here we are again Sunday night, and I’ve had a full weekend. I am all ready for the upcoming week, and I am trying to decide what drink I’d like to make. A fruity concoction, or should I go straight for the crown? We shall see.

To all of you, I hope you had a great weekend. I hope the week proves itself full of fun and progress.



Getting It All Out

I wrote this a couple of days ago, and at the end I decided not to post it, now I’ve changed my mind again. I’d like to add to any survivor of tragedy that it does get better. We are still kicking, breathing, and living. Whatever they’ve done to us has simply made us stronger. Each day, month, year gets better.


I am in bed, because it is the only place I want to be right now. The tears are coming in small bouts, thankfully. At some point I will break down and let the years of hurt and pain come out. Only to lock it away again October 1st. But for now I will write.

I will write because I am tired of calling my therapist once a year. It just feels to ridiculous. I will write because I don’t want to burden my family and my friends with my feelings. They have already hurt enough for me, they have forgotten September  I will write because I need to make sure my baby boy has his mother and not this husk of the broken woman I am right now.

The month of September is a trigger for me. Usually I am fine until it hits double digits. Sometimes, (like this year) I can’t figure out why I feel off. Last night I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t know why.  I start scrambling in my head trying to figure out what is wrong, because everything seems to be fine, good actually. Wanna hear something crazy? At this point seven years later, I can’t even remember the actual anniversary date.

I just looked at September’s calendar in 2005, and I don’t know if it happened on 9/10/05 or 9/17/05. At this point I am guessing the tenth because today seems to be hitting me hard. Subconsciously I know, I guess. Along with everything else I don’t remember but do remember. Suppression is a bitch.   I don’t understand how a date that destroyed my life as I knew it, and brought me the wonderful little boy I have now can be forgotten.

I will go through every stage of the grieving process again. Hating myself for having to revisit them again. I’ve gotten through denial, now that I actually know what is wrong with me. I will go back and forth between anger and depression. Angry because I hate that man and what he did to me, obviously. Depression because I wish it had never happened. Which leads to more depression, if it had never happened I wouldn’t have my son. Then I start questioning, if I wish it didn’t happen, do I really love my son. Back to anger. I hate that this man whom I’ve seen once in my life outside of a courtroom, made something so beautiful as making a child, and having and raising a child something so negative and burdensome, and full of heartache.

Eventually acceptance will come as it always does. Every year when I feel like this, just low, and sad, and in desperate need of the justice I will never see. I just wish I could skip the whole month. Then this song comes to me and I listen to it.

Normally I would be writing in the journal, but I it is not in bed with me, and as mentioned before I don’t want to get up,  so I get to share these thoughts with the whomever reads.


Web of Ties~Pt. 2

Read Part 1

Sliding out of my pussy the dildo made a sloppy sound, and I could feel the juices seeping from my body. My head was reeling, how many times will she make me cum? I thought. Feeling Rachel’s lips encircling my clit, the words escaped my lips before I could stop them. “Rachel please! I need a minute.”

“You need a minute?”

“Yes just give me one minute.”

“Scream my name, and I will give you two.”

“I did scream your name,” I said panting.

Rachel’s head lifted, our eyes meeting, “No baby, not like that, you know how,” her head lowered again, blowing against my pussy “you know what I want to hear, I won’t stop until…” she trails off her tongue flicking my clit. My nails digging and clawing at the sheets on her bed. “How does it feel?”

“It feels good, baby you know it feels good, you always feel soooo good GOD”

“You’re getting close, again, I can feel it right here” she said sliding her fingers inside me hitting my spot.

“Ra…Rachel! Right there…YES Rachel!” I screamed as I came again my body a quivering display of weakness and pleasure. Smiling up at me she asked,

“Was that so hard?”

Before I could respond there was a knock on the door.

“Oh girls, I hate to interrupt but you need to wash up for dinner.”

“Thanks mom!” Rachel yelled after her irritated. I could feel the heat in my cheeks knowing Mrs. Rhodes hear us. I pulled Rachel up, kissing her deeply, thanking her for the day. Our tongues playing a game of tag and seek, tasting myself on her lips. She broke away grinning, “To the shower, I want to watch you unravel one more time before dinner.”


“Dinner was great Helen I had no idea Rachel was a fan of Greek food. I have a feeling I am going to learn a lot about her on this visit.”

“Oh if you want stories dear, I have them, “her mother exclaimed clapping.

Charles chimed in “Maybe you shouldn’t be so anxious to embarrass your daughter Helen.”

“Oh but this is my job as a parent, to embarrass her in front of the boyfriend, well girlfriend excuse me.” She giggled.

I was falling for Rachel’s mother already. She was bright and fun loving. Full of life and joy. I could see where Rachel gets it from. I silently wished my family could be so loving, so accepting of this life I’ve chosen. My thoughts are interrupted by Charles.

“So I hear you and Rachel are planning to paint this small town red tonight.”

I glance at Rachel, my eyebrows raised, “painting it red, oh I don’t know about all that sir. I do want to go dancing though. I may be able to drag your daughter onto the dance floor for a few songs.”

“You’re a dancer?” Helen asked placing far too big of a piece of pound cake in front of me.

“Occasionally.” I smile “I wouldn’t call myself a dancer though, every once in a while on the weekend, at special events, weddings and such. I do love line dancing though.”

“Oh Gina, you will have to teach our daughter, that girl has two left feet.”

“Well from whom did I get these two left feet mother?”

“We are not talking about me my dear.”

“Of course not mother.” Taking Rachel’s hand in mine, caressing it with the back of my thumb calming her. She has such a hot cold relationship with her mother, I can’t quite figure it out.

“You girls go ahead and get out of here. I hope Rachel continues to show you a good time Gina.”

My eyes shot to his catching his meaning. “Thank you Charles, I am sure we will have fun.” We headed back to Rachel’s room, and she threw on this green dress, that made her red hair glow. I love touching it, and can’t resist, my fingers are drawn to it. I reach out for it, pulling her head to me again to kiss those perfect lips.

“Uh Uh, I can tell what you’re thinking, later.”

“Promise?” I said threw narrowed eyes and a grin.

“Promise. That blue looks great on you by the way. Now grab your purse we are going to be late.”

“Late for what?”

“That is for me to know and you to find out,” she said as we walked out the door.