Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the tag “birthdays”

Bird Song

The cardinal visits me in my backyard
I know he’s my grandma, reincarnated
he sings his tune, but they are her words
calling me Stephie
wishing me Happy Birthday
we talk about recipes
and peanut butter and pickle sandwiches
and the popcorn made in an Atom Pop,
washed down with grape juice mixed with 7-Up
we speak of my son,
who she never met,
and how he’s taller than grandpa already,
at only 15
I smell her talcum powder,
and the earthy scent of the geraniums she grew on the glassed-in side porch
I remember the picnic lunches packed in the hamper
and tell her I bought one just like it at an auction
and how I like to look at all her little glass bottles of extracts in her pantry, hoping I would have the same one day
and we laugh over her frustration at my inability to learn crocheting after numerous lessons
and I tell her I miss her and wish
I had spent more time with her
when she was still here in human form
‘I love you’ I tell her
and she says the same as she flies away
but I know she’ll be back to visit me again

Advertisements

Mid-Life Crisis: Take 2

courage

I’m on my second mid-life crisis.  Yes, I’ve determined you can have more than one.  My life, my rules.

Who knows where this particular tailspin has come from. It could be because my 47th year on this earth is quickly approaching.  It could be because I might be losing my job in the near future.  It could be because I’m still not sure how to behave since my son lives with his dad now.

Whatever the reason, I’m flailing once again.

The last time this happened I:

  1. Got my motorcycle license, but never got the bike.
  2. Made plans to jump off tall towers on zip lines (even though I’m deathly afraid of heights) and jump I did, along with my son (who is also scared of heights).
  3. Loaded up my son and took him to Colorado for a white water rafting trip that included both of us going over the side and taking a crisp dip in the river, for one of the most exhilarating adventures either one of us had ever had.

 

But this time the flailing is different.

This time I want a really big change.

This time I want to move.

Not just move, but sell my house and all my shit, and buy an RV and go some place totally different move.

I want out of Kansas.  This will always be my home, but I want to experience something different.  I have lived within 50 miles of my hometown, all my life, except for 3 years in Germany. Seriously, how fucking boring is that?

 

Problem is, I’m scared shitless.  The fear is near paralyzing.  I drag my heels about finishing the minor detail work on my house.  I keep pushing back my listing date.

I don’t know where to find the courage to step out of this comfort zone I’ve constructed for myself.  I have no idea where it might come from, but I have a sneaking suspicion I will have to discover it just like. . .

when I got on a motorcycle for the first time,

or when I got in that raft on that river,

or when I stepped off that zip line platform.

It will come to me exactly when I need it.

To My Son On His 15th Birthday

Son,

Today is your 15th birthday, and I’m very proud of the young man you’re becoming, but it doesn’t make me miss the little boy any less.

I miss your questions and your belief that I still had things to tell you, because it’s been replaced by you thinking you know it all and you have nothing left to learn from me, or the world.

I miss your smiles and your genuine joy at seeing me when I’d been away for short periods of time, because it’s been replaced by your seemingly nonchalant demeanor about us now being separated by miles.

I miss your little hand in mine and your excitement and readiness to go anywhere with me, as everything was always an adventure, because it’s been replaced by your attitude that nothing is ever much fun and you’d rather sit home and play video games or read.

I miss your snuggles and hugs and little boy smooches, because even now when you hug me you never squeeze me as tight as you did when you were little and uninhibited about showing affection.

But most of all, today I miss you because you’re halfway across the country and I can’t run into your room this morning yelling Happy Birthday and telling you once again about the day you were born and how it was the best day of my life.

Just so you know, I’ll always see that little boy every time I look in your face, even when you’re 40.

I love you!!!

Mom

 

 

Forever in Blue Jeans

Today I turn 46. I’m trying to make peace with it. I’m trying to wrap my head around this “aging gracefully” thing.

How does one attempt to age gracefully when time begins to kick your ass?

My eyelids look like Droopy Dog’s, I’ve got jowls, and laugh lines, and crow’s feet, and a bat cape–which is infinitely worse than bat wings, and boobs that require wires of steel to keep them up where they were 25 years ago, and a pooch from 2 babies and a C-section scar and curtains and mud flaps and spider veins and bunions from trying to wear those cute strappy high heels and hands and knees that ache allowing me to forecast the weather and numerous other issues. I take horse pills for maladies and lotion and lubricate and don’t eat carbs and attempt to exercise on a regular basis and I don’t smoke anymore and try to drink the right kind of wine and wear sensible shoes and bifocals. Seriously, all of it is a quite exhausting and a bit depressing.

But you know what really pisses me off about aging?

My inability to find a pair of jeans that fit, that don’t cost as much as a mortgage payment.

At least a couple times a year I drag my semi-sagging derriere to the mall, or some other shopping venue, in an attempt to hunt down a pair of pants. I walk in the door feeling optimistic, only to leave a couple hours later with my hopes dashed, my hair flat, and tears of shame running down my face. All of this the result of tugging and twisting and bending and pulling and zipping and buttoning and jumping up and down and hopping on one foot and when finally getting each of the 50 pairs on, to be met with flat ass or muffin top or camel toe or moose knuckle or too big in the waist and too tight in the knees or poopy diaper bottom or under my boobs high or crack of my ass baring low.

What, in the name of all that is holy, is so damn difficult about making a pair of jeans that will fit a woman?

Until they figure it out, I’ll be sitting over here in my mu-mu.

**This was originally a guest posting on Valley Girl Gone Country, but I thought some of you might have missed it, so I’m posting it again.  🙂

Guest Posting on Valley Girl Gone Country

I was graciously asked to guest post on Valley Girl Gone Country, and quickly agreed, as I had something on my mind as my 46th (gasp) birthday loomed.  Those of you in your 40’s know aging is not for the faint-hearted, but there’s one particular thing which sticks in my craw about it.  Head on over to Valley Girl Gone Country, and check out my post “Forever in Blue Jeans”, and you’ll find out what it is.  Much thanks to Jolene for inviting this Fat Bottom Girl to guest post!!

You Say It’s Your Birthday?

It’s my birthday too. So sayeth the Beatles.

I just realized this morning while putting makeup over laugh lines, and skin that’s not so taut anymore, that in about a week, I will be 45.

Throughout the day I contemplated. I didn’t contemplate my entire life up to this point, just this last year. It’s been a doozie.

What did Dickens say? They were the best of times. They were the worst of times. Or something similar. A year of extremes. A study in contrasts. That’s what my 44th year has been.

The worst of times because I found myself in a physically abusive relationship.

The best of times because I decided I was worth more than I thought and I deserved better than being someone’s punching bag.

The worst of times because my son decided he wanted to try living with his dad, after I’d had him with me for his first 12 years.

The best of times because my son returned home to me only a few shorts months after moving in with his dad, albeit with some painful lessons under his belt.

The worst of times because I found myself alone, and quite lonely, and thinking that possibly, I should come to terms with the fact I might spend the rest of my life that way. But, also figuring out that being alone, was better than being beat or emotionally abused.

The best of times because I met a wonderful man. I had sent wishes out to the universe for this man for years. I had hoped in vain for this man for years. But I now believe that it wasn’t until I decided, until I truly believed inside of me, that I deserved better for myself, that the universe sent him. Strange how that works, huh?

Life is yin and yang, and a whole lot of other shit in between. And as I stand poised, ready to slide into my 45th year, do I think it’s going to change? Do I think it’s going to get any easier? No. I’ve learned enough to know that anything worth having doesn’t usually come easy. Plus, I’m kind of one of those girls who has to learn things the hard way. Some lessons it took me 44 years to learn.

I know there are more grey hairs and more wrinkles and tears and frustration in store for me. But there’s also more laughter and love and adventure in store for me too. You need the dark and the light, both sides of the coin, the rain and the sun. You have to have one in order to truly appreciate the other. I’ve figured that out in my 44 years too.

So 45 is only a few days away I told him, and My Man reminded me it’s only a number.

And I in turn reminded myself I have a hot, younger man. 45 can kiss my fat bottom!

Photo Credit: deviantart.com

Photo Credit: deviantart.com

Post Navigation

Sparklebumps: The Mother Version

Still histrionic, still a bookwhore; just faking competence because of my kid.

GREAT AWAKENINGS

i've choked on my words for far too long

Zovision

It's not the length of life, but the depth.

My Blog

A great WordPress.com site

The Phil Factor

Where Sarcasm Gets Drunk and Let's Its Hair Down

My Unwanted Existence

A blog of my struggles with mental illness, social isolation and being transgender n a hostile world.

Fighting the Myth

Shining the light of truth on delusion

The Haunted Librarian

Researching, investigating, and writing about the paranormal.

bloggerelstl

You either get it... or you don't.

theonerealheir.wordpress.com/

Inky blackness, a yawning void ~

Caffeinated Cyclist

oh what's the point.

Eye Will Not Cry

"Eye Fly High"

The Roar Sessions

A weekly series edited by Jena Schwartz

Ella Dawson

My business is generally pleasurable.

Beth Teliho

Read. Ingest the words. Like little blue pills, they will affect you.

kirilson photography

the stories behind the pictures, and vice versa

SAINTSWEST

Just my thoughts for all to behold

Book Snob

FOR DISCERNING READERS

An Obvious Oblivion Blog

🍃 Fully Living The Unfinished Things Of Life Through Writings. 🍃

Lou Times Two

top knot wearin' mama to twin girls

Sweet Spell

A baking and dessert blog.

Daniel Aegan

Writer, Dark Humorist, Novelist

Annabel Vita

a little bit of this and a little bit of that

Even at Your Darkest

Seeking Beauty Beyond the Scars

insert witticism

The home of Emma O'Brien

shatteredtalon's Blog

The musings of a scorpion who would have been an eagle