How Do You Have Sex after Kids?

(And, your mom lives in the basement. And, she shares your kitchen.)

Answer: With Great Difficulty!

(Language Warning)

Is this a topic that people are too afraid to talk about? There just isn’t much to find online. It’s not like I’m looking for details or anything. Just ideas. Really. That’s all!

This is usually how it goes for us (some background info: Hubby works at 4am so is up at 3; I haven’t gone back to work yet, but kid #2 doesn’t quite sleep through the night yet…):

It’s 8pm, and the kids are actually in bed. Oh, wait, baby peed. Change his diaper. Give him some more bottle, and when he’s back to sleep, put him back to bed. It’s 8:30 or 9:00.

Me: Wanna have sex?

Hubby: (looking exhausted and slightly comatose) You probably need to sleep.

Me: Apparently I look exhausted and comatose, too, and maybe I’ve been a bit cranky. But I want to.

H: Uh huh.

M: No, really, I do. I want you to fuck me. Just lube me and do me. It’ll feel really good!

Hubby then answers with either an “Okay”, or he tells me yet again that I need some sleep and then proceeds to snore.

Sometimes the kids are at daycare for the afternoon, and when Hubby gets home after lunch, my mom isn’t home:

Me: You wanna get frisky?

Hubby: Okay. When does your mom get home?

Me: I don’t know. We might have half an hour. We might have three.

H: K. I just have to wash up.

This is usually followed by either a quickie, or some actual love-making. Usually it’s the former. And, more often than not, we’re just getting going/I’m about to get loud, and my mom drives up. Now we have to finish quickly and quietly, and hope that she thinks we’re napping.

Yeah, we try to nap as much as possible. (It helps with the comatose thing.)

Sometimes on Hubby's days off we try to get jiggy in the morning before the kids wake up. Or, before my mom comes up to make her breakfast (we really need to get a kitchen put in downstairs).

This usually starts out with good intentions, but sometimes ends up with me “napping" solo for a while after Daddy gets up (he had time to finish) to deal with morning potty breaks, wet diapers, and Cheerios.

I do have to admit that Sex After Kids has been more possible lately, but it can still be tricky trying to find some alone time where you have enough time and enough privacy—and enough energy—to get the job done with great satisfaction. “Satisfaction” is a relative term. Sometimes “satisfaction” means a good, hard, fast quickie, and sometimes you’re so tired that an hour of effort on everybody’s part produces only a mediocre result, and you wouldn’t normally call that satisfied, but at this point, it’s been a while, and you got some, so you’ll take it.

And then try again the next time the house is empty/everyone else is asleep.

How do you find the opportunity for some good alone-time?

Chester the Molester

Sometime in my early twenties, which was also sometime in the nineties, I got a job as a First Aid Attendant in what’s known as The Oil Patch. I mostly worked on drilling rigs, but I occasionally did some pipeline and plant work, and once some seismic.

Drilling rigs were nice because they were 24/7 jobs, so I usually had my own shack, or at least half of one, whereas the other jobs were day jobs (AKA Truck Jobs), and I usually had to sit in my truck for twelve plus hours. Because I could never master the art of wearing sunglasses while “reading” an opened newspaper (a friend of mine could do this; said one guy, “I can never tell if you’re sleeping or not.” She usually was, but she could wake up before they got too close), it wasn’t that much fun.

Sure I got to read lots, and sometimes the road-radio chatter was amusing, but truck jobs didn’t usually come equipped with toilet facilities of any kind, unless you counted the trees. Have you ever seen the forest in the muskeg? A wheat field in the spring would provide better cover. Anyway, I digress, and this topic could be a whole other story, so I’ll leave it for now.

Back to the drilling rigs.

My second job ever was on a Bach-Camp job. In other words, the guys could stay in a nearby hotel (which was in the middle of nowhere on the Alaska Highway, north of Fort St John), but I had to stay on site in a shack 24/7. It was me, the Consultant for the Oil Company, the Tool Push (Rig Manager) for the Drilling Company, and a Geologist. I was the only woman.

I had my own shack, which was nice. I had to cook my own food, which was really nice because at that time I was a vegan, and camp food sucked—all salads came with ham or bacon.

I had a TV, but I didn’t have my own satellite receiver; I was tied in to the Consultant’s receiver, so I had to watch whatever he watched. His name was Chester, and I secretly called him Chester the Molester. Before you panic, let me clarify that he never molested me. I just called him that because he was always winking at me, which, when you’re the only girl around for miles on a rig staffed by men that are called Rig Pigs for a reason, makes you a little nervous. I was extra wary at all times.

Conversations with him would go something like, wink “Hi Spinny” wink. “I saw you out walking” wink today.” Wink “Where did” wink “you go?” wink. Chester’s winks didn’t occur fast enough to be mistaken as facial tics, but he winked a lot.

Anyway, I had to watch what Lester did, or more accurately, whatever he left on while he wasn’t watching. There were four options: movies (the rarest of them all); The Golf Network; a news network from somewhere that had NOTHING whatsoever to do with our region (or country, for that matter) and that looped the exact same half-hour newscast ALL DAY; and porn. Porn was the most frequent option, so I didn’t watch a lot of TV.

One day I had the TV on for background noise because it was golf or news, but it definitely wasn’t porn for once. I was carrying on with my day, and I happened to look outside at just the right moment to see Chester the Molester walking from the rig to his shack. He went in, closed his blinds, and within one minute, porn was on my TV.

How is a shy, nervous, never-makes-waves, young girl to handle such a situation? Well, it was the end of the month, so I waited a few minutes, and then, playing ignorant, I took an invoice over for him to sign. ;)

I let him keep the pen.

The Bookshelf (and the Kindle). A.K.A. My Library

I have a bookshelf full of books. A friend of my mother's was excited when she saw it; it makes her sad that so few people have a personal library these days.

I've always loved books, but when I was younger they were expensive (probably in part because they were "real" and partly because my allowance wasn't that big), so my library cards were well used. And, of course, English Literature was one of my favourite classes!

In my twenties I worked as a First Aid Attendant in the Oil Patch (more stories from there, I promise) and I a) made lots of money, b) was often out in the bush for weeks at a time and didn't want to incur late charges at the library, and c) had LOTS of downtime just waiting for someone to do something inanely stupid, so I started buying lots of books.

Now I have a couple of kids and an in-town job that doesn't pay as much (but it's getting better), so the buying of real books has slowed down. A little. I try to stick to series and authors that I already have been collecting. I only add authors that have recently produced some kick-ass series. Or authors that have filled a need . . . but more on that later.

Enter my Kindle. Baby number two does NOT like to nurse while I read real books. He's distracted by the light, and by the turning of the pages. So I downloaded Kindle to my phone and found a couple cheap books that were pretty good. I can now read silently in the dark (so long as I dim the screen)!

I have to admit that I prefer real books. Sure, my husband won't believe that statement since I've been reading tons of e-books lately, but honestly, I love real books. I thought that I'd NEVER go digital, and I still prefer to buy my favourite ("quality") authors in paper, so I reserve e-books for the cheesy stuff that I would prefer not to admit that I read (but I will. Admit it. But only under high duress) and for the books that are only available digitally.

Okay, I'll admit it: I also love digital books. No one knows what you're reading, hubby doesn't know how many e-books I'm buying until he sees the credit card statement, (actually, I don't know how many e-books I'm buying until I see it on paper. Cheap books can add up to a lot of money. . . . Ahem) I can quietly read in the dark, and I'm not carrying any extra weight in my purse when I'm out and about and my phone is right there when I'm waiting in line anyway, so it's really easy to whip it out to read.

But, I still like the feel of real paper in my hands. I love the smell of books. Paperbacks don't really weigh that much, and the batteries never run out. I can also read them in the bathtub (favourite pastime!) without fear of financial ruin; it's not too bad to replace a ten dollar book, but a 500 dollar phone? Yeah, no.

Anyway, the point of all this is that I have an eclectic library and I'd like to share it with you, so I'll be reviewing books that I've recently read, and I'll go back and review the books that I've already read. And, I'd love to hear your thoughts on these books/authors. I'd also like to hear any suggestions for good reads (and warnings against the bad ones).

I'm just going to go pick one. . . . See you soon. Maybe.

To Clean, or Not to Clean. Your Plate, That Is.

I frequently, well lately it's sometimes, read this blog. Which recently pointed me to a nutritionist who says we should not be forcing our toddlers to clean their plates or to eat food in a certain order (IE good foods first and treats after).

Okay, firstly let me admit that I pretty much browsed through the second post very quickly because my kids are napping and will wake up any minute now, so I may have missed a pertinent point or two.

Regardless, I'll say that in theory I wholeheartedly agree with her.

When it comes to what our kids eat, it's usually pretty healthy food because that's 98% of what we buy, and when we do buy junk food, it's usually the "healthier" or more natural version, like real ice cream or potato chips that have ingredients that you can actually pronounce and spell unassisted. So to us it doesn't really matter what order the kids eat in, but usually because we eat dinner first before we even offer dessert, that's usually the order it goes in.

When it comes to our toddler, we've learned that sometimes he eats non-stop all day and therefore all it feels like I do all day is to get him meals and snacks. Usually, though, he eats some crackers. And by some, I mean two. Sometimes "two" means two halves of a stoned wheat thin, and sometimes it means two whole stoned wheat thins. Whatever. It's two. We've been okay with that. Because, in the grand scheme of things, sometimes all he eats is vegetables (raw; heaven help us if we cook his!) or fruit.

And, usually, when he's done eating, he's done, and it's all good.

Recently, though, I've been ready to force-feed him the last of his plate. We've had a few late suppers (as in, eat supper and go to bed), but when they've been early or on time, a snack before bed is provided. Lately supper has gone unfinished and/or the snacks have remained uneaten. No big deal, and this should be a non-issue according to Maryann.

I am, however, getting really tired of someone pounding on his door with his little fists while crying about how hungry he is within a five minutes of going to bed, which is within half an hour of the last offering of food (he gets to eat some crackers). And being woken up in the wee hours (read 04:00--a.m.) of the morning for the same reason got old the first time (he gets to eat more crackers).

So, generally, we're happy if he eats. Anything. And however much he wants. But he's either going to be force-fed before bed or ignored all night (but only if I can find my earplugs).

Maybe I should just feed him those magical crackers before bed/at supper. . . . Good thing that they sell them at Costco.

KissMyFace Sunscreen Will Never Kiss My Face Again (After the Tubes I Just Bought Are All Used Up). I won't even let KMF KMA.

I recently went on a road trip to a much sunnier part of the province (which wasn't that much different in the amount of sun Home's been getting this year, but wow is 36C ever HOT, especially when humid. And I'm talking about degrees centigrade, not the cup size at a wet tee-shirt contest) and along the way I bought a "natural" sunscreen.

The result: well, let's just say that someday I might actually send in this letter:

 

Dear KissMyFace,

My search for a wonderful “natural” sunscreen, IE one that uses a physical (mineral) barrier rather than a chemical one, has not gone well.

I have small children, and I want to find something that will be safe for them to use for years to come.

I started out with Consumer Reports’ recommendation, and ordered some Eco. It all came expired. I’m talking, watery, cottage-cheezey grossness. I got my money back, but I needed something sooner rather than later, and the supplier had to wait for a new shipment, so on went my search.

Next I tried a local store which carries Green Beaver sunscreen. Let me just mention that Green Beaver could also be called Greasy Beaver. Oh god, that sounds awful. Maybe Green Butter would be better. Because, let me tell you, it’s like putting on butter, it’s so greasy. It works on the kids, though.

On a recent road trip, I left it at the place I was staying while out on a day excursion, so I stopped at a local store and bought the only sunscreen that they carried, KissMyFace. I picked some up for both my kids and for myself.

The first KMF sunscreen I tried out was the kid’s stuff. The application started out fine, but then holy cow, my kid looked like he had a really bad case of dandruff. Or maybe he was molting in a horrible fashion. Wow does that stuff ever flake up! It made me wonder, is it all rubbing off, or is that just excess balling up and I’m using too much? Maybe I’ll stick to the buttery Green Beaver on the baby so that nothing flakes into his eyes. . . .

Next, I applied the adult version, which, by the way, and since it’s your product, you should know, reads right on the tube: “Blends in Clear!” Whose opinion is that? That intern in your office who lurks behind the Ficas and looks like she’d actually fit in better in Forks, WA because she’s a vampire? Or maybe it’s the new guy in marketing who has a secret zombie fetish. Or maybe the clown that was at your six-year-olds’ birthday party used it and said that it was freaking awesome and that he couldn’t even notice it on.

Seriously, the only people who’d EVER think that KMF Sunscreen blends in clear, are the people whose skin is a pastier white than my glaring white ass. Like vampires, zombies and clowns, and maybe theatre people.

Oh sure, everyone wants to be a source of joy to people versus a bane, but now, until I can find something better I’m stuck being laughed at by all my friends. They laugh at me every time they see me. You know, they look at me, and laugh, and then they turn to redirect their wayward child, and then they turn back and look at me again, and laugh again, and then they walk by me on the way to the water and laugh at me some more.

So then I go into the water thinking that some of it will rinse off, and sure it does, but now it looks worse because it’s beaded up into tiny white balls, most of which have accumulated along the hairlines. You know, the actual hairline, and along my eyebrows, so I kind of look, well, I’d fucking laugh at me if I were someone else and I saw me looking like a total idiot who got “pied” and didn’t quite get it all wiped off.

Anyway, I could go on and on, but it sounds like the kids are actually asleep enough for me to go to bed, so I’ll cut it off here.

I’ll just say that I will NEVER buy KMF sunscreen again. Ever. I’ll take the Buttery Greasy Green Beaver over the Flakey Pasty KissMyFace. It has a higher zinc content anyway (and I think worked better anyway), and no titanium dioxide, which might be your problem with the ghost effect your product has.

No wonder it was on sale.

Sincerely,

A Person who won’t even let KMF KMA.

A Better Introduction (At Least, It's Longer than the First One)

I love writing. I've always wanted to write. To be a writer. To be a published writer. The published part hasn't really happened yet. Okay, if you don't include my winning entry to a poetry contest that was printed in the local paper 25+ years ago when I was much younger, the published part hasn't really happened yet.

I used to write daily, with an actual ink pen on actual made-from-trees paper, in a real bound journal. Lately, not so much. And by lately, I mean the last 6-10 years. Or so.

And lately, I've started wondering why that is. I came up with a few reasons, which made me wonder why I've started wondering why I stopped writing. Let's start with that.

I've started wondering why I haven't been writing because lately all I want to do is write. It's becoming a bit of an obsession. I need to write. I don't sleep at night because I lie in bed writing entire novels in my head. I stress out when my desk is messy because if I have a few minutes to spare I have to spend it on filing instead of writing (I'll get to why that's an issue a bit later). I daydream story ideas when I should be focussing on other things like what to feed my kids for supper (don't worry, they get fed). Basically, I have so many story ideas screaming to get out that my head just might explode if I don't start letting them out. Or I'll just go stark raving mad.

So, if I've always wanted to write so badly, why have I left it until the stories have gone beyond polite knocking to using a battering ram to try to get out?

1. Time. Or the lack of time. Or, the lack of priority.
I just haven't had the time to write. Or so I thought until tonight. Then I read a comment on another blog which lead me to this. It hasn't been so much a lack of time as it has been a lack of priority. I met a guy, bought a fixer-upper with him, sold it, bought property and put a home on it, had a kid, bought another house, had another kid, I have a horse that sadly needs some "time put on him", and I work full-time (unless I'm on maternity leave, in which case, well, I'm doing other things full-time, thank-you very much!). Sometimes, the priority is simply sleep. Especially when I'm so tired that sitting at my desk to write becomes a dangerous invitation to falling off my chair.

2. Guilty pleasure.
I have the unfortunate mindset of thinking of writing as a guilty pleasure. If there are dishes to be done, and floors to be vacuumed, and laundry to be washed and dried and folded, and kids to be entertained/dressed/fed/hugged/played with, and a husband to hang out with, and a horse who still needs to be trained, and a dog who always needs to be brushed and walked. and friends to be visited, etc., etc., etc. . . . Any mom can tell you: it's freaking hard to take time for yourself (although I have to admit that the horse thing can fall into the me-time category--which is probably why mine still needs to be trained to do more than look pretty) beyond the occasional bath (vs. shower).
  Now, I have to be honest about another guilty pleasure: reading. I love to read (this has enough to it to be another post entirely, so more on reading/books later). And, yes, there are times when I feel guilty doing it, but there are times when I can get away with it, like when I'm stuck on the couch nursing the babe for hours on end while the toddler watches Treehouse TV. Hello, Kindle.
  My reading-without-guilt time is coming to an end, though, so if I'm going to engage in a guilty pleasure, I may as well start writing.
  Bottom-line: I need some me-time. All moms do, whether they want to admit it or not. Otherwise they go completely nuts, of the mixed variety. Or, they're just not happy. I want to be happy, and I don't want to be completely nuts. I might be a little bit crazy, but I think so far I'm only cashews.

3. Technical Issues.
Without trying to date myself horrifically, I'm of the generation that learned to write by longhand in school; personal computers were just coming into the schools in the earlier years (and were really only used for games), and by high school, only a few kids handed in computer-printed essays. Most kids hand-wrote their essays, even in grade 12. The ones that did get to use a computer still probably wrote the essay by hand first and then typed it in for the final draft. That's pretty much me.
  Writing a "first draft" of anything directly on to the computer, therefore, can be a bit of a mental challenge. I actually find it harder. The thought of writing an entire novel by hand, though, only to then have to type the whole thing in afterwards, just seemed like too much work. It would probably be a kick-ass novel though because I can "second-draft" really well when I'm typing in something that I've hand-written.
  But at the moment, it still seems like too much work; wouldn't it be easier to revise in a word-processing program? Or would it? Sometimes I still like to print things off to do an edit, and I still like to at least lay out a story on paper (hence the issue with my messy desk). I like physical paper and real pens, I guess. Or maybe I'm just still a bit old-school.

Anyway, I need to make writing a priority, and therefore need to make time for it. I need to stop thinking of writing as a guilty pleasure and start thinking of it as a healthy pleasure. And I need to practice writing first drafts on my computer. Actually, I need to practice writing period.

And what better platform is there than to practice writing and to practice writing using modern technology than a blog? I mean, if I anyone ever starts following this, I'll have to keep writing, IE keep practicing, so I'll be held accountable should I ever stop writing. I'll also (hopefully someday) get some (hopefully constructive) feedback on my writing.

So, finally, we get to the purpose of the blog. At least, the purpose as it stands now:

This blog is a platform for my writing practice, and you are welcome to read it and to comment on it. There will be rants; there will be raves; there will be essays, and there will be fiction. And sometimes, there will be Verbal Streams.
  Rants and Raves will be quick-writes about topics that have inspired/excited me, IE I just write without too much editing, although there will be some editing/revision. Essays will be carefully thought-out ramblings about random topics. (Yes, that sentence makes perfect sense to me.) Fiction will be just that: fiction. It might be a scene from a longer piece, or it might be its own entity. It might be entirely made up, or it might be inspired by true events (so is it fiction, or is it real? I might not tell you). Verbal Stream just sounds nicer than Verbal Diarrhea; IE, the flow valve is stuck in the "Wide-Open" position and the Filter is probably missing.

Whatever happens, I hope that it's well written, and I hope that it's always entertaining, if not always funny.

Enjoy!

Spinny