Almost 35 weeks pregnant

I normally love the summer; I run outside to soak in the warmth every chance I get.



Not this year.



My enormous belly got a rash on it that has spread and become a red, itchy, blotchy, massive wound.



Just going up a flight of stairs winds me completely.



I was in the hospital the other day because of belly pains and dizziness.



Cole screams for at least an hour whenever he wakes up from his nap.



My daughter hates me—makes nasty faces and comments all the time.



I have zero strength to get any productive writing done on my projects.



I guess you could say I’m a little stressed out.

How Do I Know Whom To Listen To?

I was researching other Mommy blogs when I stumbled upon this short interview with the author Betsy Brown Braun on Guru Mommy.

The interviewer happened to ask the question I struggle with...

So how do we get our child to listen? Listening is not the problem. The problem is that your child is not being compliant, not doing what you are asking him to do or not to do. There is no one-size-fits-all answer. You, however, need to grow some credibility, otherwise known as backbone.

What do we do if they ignore this? Position yourself deliberately, right in front of your child and not across the room from your child. State your request clearly, being very specific in your expectations.

And if this isn’t working? Explain the consequence for non-compliance, giving just one warning. Give him a moment to comply, and when he doesn’t, lower the boom (impose the related consequence.) Repeated and hollow threats create children who don’t listen.

It's good advice, I guess.  But I think we've tried this method and it hasn't worked.  And it really brings up the issue of "compliance" in children.  Yes, there are times that our children need to listen to us, but at what costs to our children's future self-esteem?

I want my children to learn independence, too, and not just how to comply with what an "authority" says to do.

Sometimes I think I read too much.  I end up with so many differing opinions on what's right and wrong that it gets confusing to know just what to do at all anymore.

Find Your Peace

I have to go into the OB’s office every week now for a non-stress test. This morning the doctor saw a “decel” of the baby’s heart, so just to be safe, I had to go to St. Vincent’s to be hooked up for an extended non-stress test.

The baby turned out to be fine. The machine was even picking up my early contractions. They better just be Braxton-Hicks; I’ve got seven weeks to go.

That was my entire morning. I managed to stay sane for the whole afternoon with the kids. Cole is so frightened of thunderstorms; he just lay against my body for a half-an-hour during the loud booms.

Speaking of loud booms, Genny did not like it when I said it was time for bed. She freaked out in all her glory.

Screaming. Crying. Throwing books. And her piece de resistance—kicking her mother a few times.

I tried ignoring it. Reasoning with her. Sending her to her room. But nothing worked and she refused to listen to anything I said.

Finally, after holding her door closed while she screamed hysterically, she stopped. I could hear her taking out her dress-up drawer. I managed to get the now freaked-out Cole to bed.

As I came out of his room, she came into the hallway and apologized. She got no books. But I lay down with her.

I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I’ve read books; I’ve followed my instincts; I’ve been understanding; I’ve been stern.

I always end up back here. Trying to figure this whole parenting thing out.

Mom on Strike

We went away for the weekend to the Rocking Horse Ranch in the Catskills. And while none of us actually went on a trail ride, Genny did get to go on Pony rides. There were indoor and outdoor water slides, pools, a lake with boating of all kinds, and lots of food.

In between a few intestinal issues for a few members of the family, everybody had a good time.

So, imagine my annoyance when after a fun-filled weekend, Genny started in on her “I hate Mommy” antics at dinner last night.

For some reason, a new part of me snapped and I announced, “I’m on strike! I’m not having this new baby until I feel like I live in a loving family.”

Take that, cranky girl!

“I don’t care.”

Fine. I sat there and seethed in my anger.

“OK, then…well, I’m going to take the new baby and go away somewhere where people love me.”

I got a big pouty look.

After Genny excused herself, Nick looked at me and said, “What was that all about?”

That’s when it hit me. My mood swings have been quite erratic lately. I’m not giving myself enough acknowledgement that being 33-weeks pregnant in the heat of the summer with wild hormones rushing through me is taking its toll.

I can’t control my feelings. When I’m angry—watch out—it’s coming out. When I’m sad—I’m just bawling my eyes out wherever I am. I can’t control it and I just have to accept it right now.

I hope my family can, too.

Genny runs back into the kitchen, beaming.

“Come into the living room everybody!”

Nick carries Cole and I lug my aching body towards the living room. A sign hangs on the doorway: To Mom. Genny.

As I walk in, Genny tosses homemade rainbow confetti on my head. She’s beaming. I sit on the living room table as she sprinkles colors across my face. I push away the thoughts about how when Genny does something nice for me it usually means a big mess for me to clean up.

She did it for me. And I really do feel loved.

Ugly Mother

I have something not pretty to say about myself.

I stick my tongue out at my daughter when she’s being a brat and turns away from me.

I call her nasty names in my head when she is being rude and disrespectful.

Tonight I almost slipped and said something very not-nice. I caught myself and my head spun as I stood my 32-week pregnant belly up off her bed, searching for something to say out loud that would shock her into six-year-old recognition of how mean she is to me.

“I…I…I don’t want to be your friend anymore!” I said.
With that, I left her room and shut the door and sat on my bed and buried my face in my extra-large body pillow.

And she does not react. She does not cry or feel bad or care.
And all I can think of is how I would have reacted if my mother had said that to me. I would have sobbed and run to her and begged for forgiveness and told her how much I love her.

But my daughter only says “I love you” to me when she wants something. She does not hug or kiss me. She decided awhile ago that she does not need me.

And we have tried everything under the sun (besides any physical punishment)—ignore the bad behavior, use natural consequences, instill time-outs, take away videos, reward for good behavior, etc.
But again and again she disrespects me. And people tell me it’s a phase and I tried to convince myself of that. But I don’t think it is. I think her personality is showing.

If you are not a mother you are probably thinking, “She’s six! Give her a break!”
I have. And I have.

But how much disrespect and apparent hate can a mother take from her child, day-in and day-out?

Where did I sign up for this? Where were the warnings of what being a mother would be? And how did I miss them?

A Sick Toddler and a Cranky Six-Year-Old

It is these moments.  Today is the second day in a row.  At about this same time. 

When my daughter will not listen and I am tired and feeling very pregnant.

When Cole has a 103-degree fever and is lying on the floor crying.

Dishes undone.

Toys all around me.

When I sit on this red dining room rug and cry.  And wish I were anywhere but here.  And wish I were anything but a mom.

And I can understand why women would take their own lives when overwhelmed by it all.

When sitting and crying and asking where is the joy that I feel like some 1950's homemaker, trapped.  Wondering how I will go on.

And, of course, I can reassure myself that it is my depression.  Overwhelmed.  Feeling helpless without my own mother to speak with.  To say, to cry, "Mommy, how did you survive?"

I don't wanna!

Today is just one of those days when I ask myself--why?

Why does my six-year-old daughter not listen to me anymore?

It's been going on for some time now, but when I'm frazzled by my 32-week itchy pregnant belly in 90 degree heat, carrying around my twenty-four pound eighteen-month-old, and being completely ignored by someone much smaller than me, I just about want to scream at her in the face and then run away.

I certainly question my sanity as I sit here pregnant again, wondering where I went wrong with my daughter.  Wondering how to handle this whole whining, crying, moaning, laughing phase.

I am teetering.

Europeans on nudity: Just grin and bare it

Genny just looked at this image and said, "Oooh, that's gross!"

"Why?" I asked.

"Because you can see his pee-pee."

"So?"  I laughed.

I didn't expect that reaction from her.  That's why I wasn't even hiding my computer screen from her. 

How funny that I was just going to say how glad I am that Genny, at six-years-old, has more of a European attitdue toward nudity.

I'm curious where she learned her reaction from.  We've always been open and comfortable about nudity around our house.  She sees me, her father, and Cole naked all the time, but never reacts or seems bothered by it.

I've always felt it's best to let kids draw their own lines when it comes to their comfort with nudity in the family.

So why the reaction to a statue?

She barely watches television, so she hasn't learned that "Oooh, that's gross!" from there.  Perhaps from her schoolmates?

Come to think of it, I have noticed that she doesn't like it when I wear anything even slightly revealing in public.  So, she seems to be okay with nakedness in our private world, but not the public.

Maybe Americans really are just more prudish and uncomfortable with themselves.

Perhaps if we saw the nude male figure around and about town and women portrayed in more "natural" states of nudity, we might not be so caught up with what lies beneath our neighbors' clothes.

Kendra Wilkinson: How I became Hef’s girlfriend

It is interesting to hear another ex-stripper's take on how she fell into the business.

It is obviously easy to judge others from a distance, but what can we learn from the stories we hear about how young women are lured into the adult business by older men?


What makes this woman a television star while other women who do the same thing (but on a smaller and less "famous" scale) are considered "whores"?

I think perhaps the lesson for all of us ex-stripper-writers is that if you want to get your book published, you'd better get a reality show first.

Wonder Woman...the Stripper?

I have to say something about this image. All I really want to say is--are you kidding me?

DC Comics revealed their revamped version of Wonder Woman by graphic artist Don Kramer and it is...something.

I was never big into Wonder Woman, but my sister was, so every once in a while I would browse through the comics in the 1970s. She seemed like a pretty cool woman, good-looking and ready to kick some bad guys' butts.

But this new image is so disturbing. Is this what we want young girls to think a Super Woman looks like? Are we seriously going to move this much backward in progress? Was there a single woman involved in the production of this image change? And if so, did she agree with the boys, Oh, yes, definately needs bigger boobs, lips, and more sex appeal!

Who is DC marketing this comic to today? Is this comic still for girls? Or is it for pre-teen boys?

Help me out here everyone...why does Wonder Woman look like a porn star?

Mom Who Wants to be a Stripper

This is another story making the rounds about a stripper mom. Well, in this case, she wasn't a stripper yet, but had aspirations.

Her eleven-year-old son called the police because she was packing and had told him she was leaving him and his six-year-old brother to become a stripper in California.

The police arrived and she told the police to get take the boys, to do whatever they needed to do with them. When her 11-year-old went to hug her goodbye, she punched him in the stomach.

Of course, the biggest reactions to the story have been of outrage and disgust. Yes, it is horrible how the children were emotionally and physically abused. Yes, it is enraging and frustrating.

But I wonder if we can also look at how sad this story is, too. To hear of a mother so beaten down by life that her greatest dream is to become a stripper and leave her children behind.

What mother has not had the dream of running away to somewhere beautiful like California to start a new life with none of the responsibilities of raising children. If we are honest with ourselves, can we not find some compassion?

This wanna-be Stripper Mom is only 29-years-old with two children. She became a mom at eighteen-years-old--a child herself.

Who knows where I would be today if I had done things the other way around. If I had had a child at eighteen and not pursued a fantasy life, but been faced with the magnitude of raising kids.

And what is this dream that women see in becoming a stripper? Perhaps she wanted to be seen as beautiful and desirable as a woman again. Perhaps she could not find a way to be both mother and woman. For her, the burden became too much.

Opposing Views: Video: Mom Pretends She's a Stripper, Kids Throw Money

Opposing Views: Video: Mom Pretends She's a Stripper, Kids Throw Money

I'm not sure what to say about this video.

It would be very easy to judge in so many ways, but it just makes me feel sad.

Then again, it's not like the mother takes any of her clothes off in front of the children. She could just be playing and having fun. Yes, it would still be strange that the little boys know about stuffing money into dancing women's clothing.

I guess when I think of currently working stripper moms, I tend to hope they don't actually perform in front of their children, but again...I have seen moms bring their kids to strip clubs when they couldn't find a babysitter.

Mistresses, Mistresses—Everywhere!

David Boreanaz -- The Marriage is Stable


I feel so bored by all the latest gossip about this and that mistress who slept with this married guy and that married guy and now wants money or fame or whatever.

But, of course, what makes me even crazier is that, again, most of the “blame” seems to be landing on the women instead of the men. Like, what? These women are such evil temptresses that no man can resist? Please. It takes two to tango.

And what makes me even crazier is that these women who have done nothing more than sleep with some well-known personalities will now be able to score themselves some nice book contracts. All it takes is a super-shot of “fame” for some silly reason and you are guaranteed a book publisher will come knocking on your door.

Just being a good writer does not qualify one for a book contract. Perhaps I should do something stupid and flashy to get the publishing industry to take an interest in me.

Alas, I believe those days are behind me.

I am now a mother of two children. Or should I say two-and-a-half?

Stripper Mom will be Mom times three come September.

Now if I could only have sextuplets or something, then I’d surely make a name for myself.

Bad Talkin’ Stripper Moms

It’s been a bit since I posted. As usual, life (two young kids, a husband, a house, a job) gets in the way of my writing.

All this Jesse James and Michelle McGee gossip has irritated me to no end. I guess my biggest gripe is that all the reports talk about McGee as a slut and point out how she is a Stripper Mom. Like that’s the problem.

OK, hello, folks! She’s not the one who was cheating on her spouse. Why does the woman always get blamed as being the whore in situations like this? It’s the same with the whole Tiger Woods scandal. The mistresses are made out to be evil and slutty, much more so than the man who did the cheating.

It’s the old double-standard that just doesn’t want to die.

People act all shocked and disgusted that McGee is trying to make a buck off of her affair with Jesse James. But why? She sees an opportunity to make some money without having to take her clothes off! Why wouldn’t she jump on that chance?

Of course, I will admit the whole Nazi photo shoot is ridiculous, but no one would have even cared about it if it hadn't been for this cheating scandal.

I mean, are famous people that stupid? If you’re going to cheat on your spouse and you are a gossip-worthy persona, guess what? When the “relationship” goes sour, which it more than likely will, someone is going to blab to the press for cash. Please don’t be surprised by that fact.

A recommendation to all famous people who want to cheat on their spouses: Get a nondisclosure agreement before you proceed!

Stripper Mom Thinks

I’ve been away for awhile. Regrouping. Rethinking about what I want this blog to be.

I got off-track for awhile with what I was doing with Stripper Mom. I started writing about what I thought people wanted from me rather than what made sense for me. So, I will begin again. I will use this space for what I had intended.

I want to figure out who I am.

I know I’m a writer. I know I’m a mom. I know I happened to be a stripper once upon a time. And I know that stripping down is a good analogy for what I’m about in life.

Right now what I need to strip down to is what I’m doing with my writing.

I’m getting so tired of working and reworking the same project. I’m getting bored of waiting on agents to get back to me.

I have a possible agent holding on to my manuscript right now. Very lovely. Likes my manuscript. Provided great editing so far. But now I have to wait for her to find another agent to back her up on my project before she can take it to the head honcho.

What I’m worried about is that this will just keep going on like this for years. An agent will like the manuscript, take it on, have me revise it, sit on it for months, and then pass. And then I’m back to square one.

I want to move to square two already.

Peepshow

Here’s an interesting looking stripper tale. I’ll have to check it out.

From Publishers Weekly:

Peepshow by Leigh Redhead. Outfit (www.outfitcrime.com), $16.95 paper (216p) ISBN 978-1-60701-150-7

Australian author Redhead puts her past as a stripper and table dancer to effective use in her debut, the first in a crime series to feature aspiring PI Simone Kirsch. Simone, who performs in peep shows and as a striptease dancer to support herself, gets her first break after Frank Parisi—a thug who ran a strip club called the Red Room in St. Kilda, a Melbourne suburb—is “brutally hacked to death before being dumped in the bay.” Frank's brother suspects Simone's best friend, Chloe, who worked for the dead man, ordered the murder. Simone, who manages to buy some time by offering to identify the real killer, gets a job at the Red Room and starts to pump the other dancers for information. Soon, she's involved with several men, one a police officer whose boss is notorious for being both dirty and violent. Readers should be prepared for some graphic sex scenes, which fit naturally into the action, given the heroine's line of work. Redhead has made an unlikely premise convincing. (Nov.)

Stripper Mom Receives Apology

In the spirit of peace, church apologizes to those it has hurt

Finally, a story about a Stripper Mom with a happy ending.

You remember the story back in 2001about Christina Silvas? Silvas was asked to withdraw her daughter from the church-run school because Silvas was working as a stripper. On Sunday, Silvas sat with her daughters during the worship service as the pastor apologized.

Cole said he decided to apologize while preparing for this week's sermon.

"This has been weighing on my heart," the pastor said in an interview before the sermon. "This should have been done long ago, I don't want to let any more time go by."

After the sermon, Silvas, teary-eyed, called Cole's heartfelt apology amazing. "For so long all I felt was shame - people whispered about me, calling me the stripper mom," said Silvas, 31.

She said she had been urged by friends and attorneys to sue Capital Christian but had declined.

Now working for the state, Silvas quietly returned to the church about a year ago. Last year, she said, Cole and other church leaders offered a full scholarship to Silvas' two daughters.

"Coming back to church and my girls going to school here is more valuable than what any settlement would have bought," she said.

Perhaps this is a sign of something greater for the Stripper Moms of the world.

We have nothing to be ashamed of. None of us do.

Sleep, Please

Cole is nine-months-old. He ate Stage 3 chunky baby food today.

We went out to dinner to celebrate Nick’s birthday and Cole just kept wolfing food down.

We’re hoping that his belly is finally full and he is going to sleep longer than usual, which shouldn’t be hard to do.

I’m so exhausted. I was going non-stop today. I really, really want some sleep.

A poop story

Cole’s introduction to more solid-type foods kind of backfired today, or rather, didn’t backfire with enough explosive power.

All day he was straining, red-faced, and obviously constipated. Two times when I changed his diaper, his tushie-hole was even open as if gasping for relief.

When his face turned beet-red in the tub, I thought I was going to see a brown island floating by, but still, no.

I put him to bed, knowing I’d be seeing something in the middle of the night.

Sure enough, a half hour after he was asleep, he started bawling.

I picked Cole up from his crib, turned on the John Lennon lamp, and lay Cole on the changing table.

His eyes were closed as I opened his diaper.

There they were. Two lumpy hard sausages with another stuck halfway out.

This half-in/half-out baby turd was as wide as a silver dollar and it was not budging. Cole was half-asleep but crying in pain.

I did what only a mother would; I grabbed a wipe and grabbed a hold of that poo and gently pulled it out.

Cole immediately stopped crying and fell asleep on the changing table.

I gently wrapped up the three hard, corn kernel-filled poos to share with Nick when he came home.

I placed Cole back in his crib and he remained asleep.

My work here is done.

Labor Day

Nothing like a day to bring back memories of labor. Those two days already grow fuzzy in my mind—life’s little gift to keep itself recreating.

Cole is all about the standing. He stiffens his legs and lifts up strongly.

He’s also all about eating big people food. Anything he can pick up and shove in his mouth himself, he is glad to do.

I should be sleeping now, but that’s what chocolate brownies with rainbow sprinkles can do to you.

Stripper Fail

The teething continues. The screaming. The crying. The horror.

So in my state of exhaustion, I give you something funny to watch.

It is, indeed, a stripper fail.

Go to my happy place…

Oh, for the days when the most crucial part of my day was getting my hair right.

Cole is teething (or being taken over by alien beings who just like to scream and cry nonstop).

He has his two front bottom teeth, one upper front one (yes, I know there are more technical names for these, but they escape me at the moment), and—hello! The second front tooth has poked his little toothie self through.

Miss Genny is still in a phase. You know, the kind where she tells me to shut up.

My nerves? Fried. My hair? Horrible.

If I don’t get some peace, quiet, and sleep soon, this Saturday I will look like I’m going to my fiftieth high school reunion instead of my twentieth.

Pole Dance Doll Hits the Big Time on Perez Hilton

The pole dance doll finally made her way onto Perez Hilton’s website.

If she wasn’t real yet, I’m sure someone will manufacture her now.

The Big Why

What a way to top off a long day.

I’m at the Big Y grocery shopping when Cole dumps over Genny’s milk jug onto himself, our groceries and the floor. While I’m trying to clean up all the mess, Cole dumps over my ice-tea.

The fun wasn’t over yet either.

As I’m bent over mopping up milky ice-tea, I notice a man with a handlebar mustache saying, “Excuse me, ma’am.”

“Yes?” I ask, thinking he’s come to my assistance.

“You’re falling out of your…bra there.” He averted his eyes.

“Argh, I’m having a rough day.”

He politely excused himself as I tucked my errant nipple back in. I really shouldn’t wear this tank top in public anymore.

The Other McCain: CULTURAL APOCALYPSE WATCH:The Pole-Dancer Doll for Girls

The Other McCain: CULTURAL APOCALYPSE WATCH:The Pole-Dancer Doll for Girls

I don't understand the fury over this doll.

She has on her clothes and she's dancing around a pole with a disco ball.

What child is going to think anything else than, "Oh, cool. A cute doll that swirls around a pole!"

Last time I checked, roller rinks had disco balls, should we be offended about that?

And what about subway trains? Shall we declare war on people holding on to poles because of the wrong impression it might give to children?

Dancer Doll

I do understand the concern that parents have over this doll, knowing what they know about adult “pole dancers.”

I don’t know though. If I were a child and I saw this doll, I would just think that it’s a cute doll who dances around a pole.

Aren’t we just imposing our adult knowledge on our children when we have a problem with a doll like this? They don’t know about our adult references.

This appears to simply be a doll that dances around a pole. So what? Unless she strips off her clothing or dances provocatively, I don’t see what the big deal is.

Striptease or Burlesque?

The big tease: Burlesque grows in popularity
Shows sparks debate: performance art or downright smut?

Is there a difference between striptease and burlesque besides personal opinion? I don’t think so. One woman’s burlesque performance is another woman’s striptease.

It’s the old “I know it when I see it,” defense, only for striptease instead of porn.

The last club I performed at was called by two different names: Fallen Angels and Blue Angels. It was considered a burlesque club, which meant you could do performance art while you stripped, as long as you ended up naked.

I always wanted to push the envelope and do some funny stuff, but my need for cash kept me pretty much just straight-stripping. Although, by most peoples’ standards, a lot of what I did over the years was more burlesque than just peeling and posing.

I did feel better about myself when I worked at Blue Angel. I was not so afraid to tell others where I worked because now I could say I was a “burlesque performer” instead of an exotic dancer.

My favorite routine to do there was my own version of Strawberry Shortcake. I had a pair of yellow cut-off shorts and a halter top with strawberries all over and I put my hair in pigtails. I would bring strawberries on stage with me and eat them suggestively.

I found most men really didn’t care what you did though; they were waiting for the naked part.

Wiggle It

I’m feeling better today.

I’m actually thinking my major depression feelings of the past few days have come from my hormones realigning themselves. I just started my period back after baby two months ago. The depression matches my ovulation timing perfectly.

I find it very peculiar to write about things like my children, my period, and stripper news all in the same blog post, but hey, here goes.

Have you all noticed how accepted strippers and strip clubs are lately? Well, I don’t mean “accepted” accepted, but there are often stripper news items to report. When I was a stripper in the early nineties, stripping was still very uncool and untalked about.

This afternoon Genny stood up on the kitchen chair and started shaking her tushie. It was a tushie dance.

She had watched The Wiggles beforehand and I was out of the room for some of it. Should I be worried? Are those Wiggles actually wiggling around in stripper stilettos?

Or was it those darn Care Bears?

Love Lost

I don’t know if you’ve noticed my blog posts have been a little depressed lately. I’m sorry for that. I’ve just been falling into one of my dumps lately. I’m feeling overwhelmed by life’s responsibilities. I’ve got three major projects I’m working on, too. Or I should say, trying to work on.

I guess I thought my daughter would love me.

I know she will one day. I mean, I know she loves me now, but she likes to make me think she doesn’t.

She lies. She constantly tells me she likes Daddy better.

When she was rude for the umpteenth time to me today I asked if she would speak to a friend like that.

“No, but I like my friends better than you.”

“OK, but that’s kind of rude to say. You should have some respect for your mother.”

“Well, I don’t. I respect my friends.”

“Do they take care of you? Will they buy you things and make you dinner?”

“No, but I like them better.”

I remember reading somewhere that it’s our jobs as parents to love our children, but not the child’s job to love us.

I believe this intellectually, but it hurts when I don’t feel love, or even like, from my five-year-old.

What Type of Girl is Your Favorite NFL Team?

What Type of Girl is Your Favorite NFL Team?
By Andy Benoit, www.NFLTouchdown.com

This choice article is a fine example of why sports bars and strip clubs belong together.

I keep thinking our society is evolving away from men like this and then I keep being proved wrong.

If NFL teams were girls, what type of girl would each one be? What would it be like to date that team/girl?: Let's find out.

Raiders

Ms. Raider is that super sexy, rough-around-the-edges girl with the notorious wild side. Her hair isn't its natural color, her cleavage appears to have been sculpted by Michelangelo and her lower back is stamped with a half-visible tattoo. The second you see her, you want her. But by the next second, you're smiling coyly and thinking, On second thought...looks like a blast, but probably too much for me. And you're right. Ms. Raider is a better stripper than girlfriend. She's always attracting large, surly alpha males (think Vin Diesel type). The ones who date her quickly learn to run because deep down, just like her mother, Ms. Raider is crazy as hell.

It's so endearing to see the woman-loving articles out there on the Internet.

Reporter Gets Hit by a Mean Hoe

The craziness continues. You must read this article and see the accompanying video of the fifteen-year-old stripper’s grandmother.

What really gets me though is the last line of the piece:

If you ask questions about a stripper, don't be surprised if you get hit by a hoe.

I’m sure a lot of men who frequent strip clubs are laughing heartily. But you know what? Why must strippers be so jeered upon? Why is it okay to make a joke like this? If they made this joke about anyone else, people would be in an uproar.

This just solidifies my feeling of absolute exhausted sadness tonight.

Mom finds teen daughter performing at topless bar

Rosemary Lumpkin says she got an anonymous call from someone claiming her 15-year-old daughter was a stripper at the business. So this spunky mom didn't waste any time -- she called Cocoa police and officers raided the place.

Why is this mother “spunky”? What mother wouldn’t call the police when they found out their fifteen-year-old was stripping?

The most disturbing thing about this article is the comments section. There are some really whacked-out responses to the fact that a fifteen-year-old girl was stripping. I’m wondering what planet these people are from.

Here’s a fine example:

More girls should start out this way as to get ready to spend their life serving their MAN as they should!

There is nothing like a well oiled machine, if you know what I mean?

Women were born to take care of MEN regardless of what happens to them....PERIOD!

For those of you who don't get it, GET OVER IT!

Oh, and I hope that this one was written as a joke, but…you never know.

I think it's a womans choice to dance on top of mens faces, laps, poles or wherever we want to dance! The dance is just a dance! We were born with our 'money makers' and we have the opshion of using them who ever way we want too. I gots lots of monies from doing this for meny years and are a verry eductated woman.
I terned out just fine and so will shie if only her mother aksepts her dancing. Dancing is an art form! We are artistses!
Not just hores!

Daddy Cyrus to the Rescue

Miley’s father has come to his daughter’s defense regarding the great stripper pole dance.

“I always tell her to love what you’re doing and stay focused for the love of the art and not worry so much about opinion,” he says.

I agree with what his beliefs in staying true to one's art.

I do think it’s important for a young girl to not glamorize being a stripper, too, but I stick to my guns in believing that Miley’s routine wasn’t meant to cause that connection.

And if people are so sure that’s what they see in that ice-cream cart pole and they are so upset and outraged by it, my real concern then becomes, what? The pole bothers you but the short shorts and the other innuendos don’t?

If we’re going to get all huffed up, shouldn’t we be more concerned by the overall message sent by sixteen-year-olds singing and dancing like this?

Shouldn’t we wonder what this tells us about the American youth culture?

What does this tell us about ourselves? About the importance we place on looks and sex and youth?

Isn’t Miley just providing the audience with what it wants and expects?

And aren’t we as adults in this society responsible for the culture we create?

Miley Cyrus: Stripper in Training?

I had to check out the video of Miley Cyrus on the MTV Teen Choice Awards after I read about how inappropriate her dancing was.

While I would agree that, yes, the dancers, including Miley, are all dressed in very short shorts and dancing pretty sexily, I just don’t see the stripper pole dance at all.

Yes, there’s a pole on top of the faux ice-cream cart that she holds onto while the cart is pushed stage left. Only once does she even dance while holding the pole.

Can a pole never just be a pole again?

Anyone who sees Miley as promoting stripping through holding onto a metal pole so as not to fall down probably has a stripper pole in their own bedroom. I don’t see how anyone without their minds fixated on stripper poles would ever make that connection.

Mobile Stripper pole on bicycle New York streets!!!

Now I’ve seen everything.

Thank you, Meredith, for this link.

From an online stripping thirteen-year-old to a stripper on a pedicab.

What is the world’s fascination with stripper poles all about?

Is Your Child an Online Stripper?

Online stripping? This letter details how a thirteen-year-old girl was earning $1 an hour in virtual money as an online stripper in Second Life.

I’ve never played these virtual games, so I know nothing about this issue.

It does seem strange that people would actually want to watch a virtual strip tease by a cartoon character.

I am not surprised by this letter though. Our children are online. They can see and learn about anything and everything.

Genny is five-years-old and already can operate a computer and play online games. She’s always supervised, but there will come a time when we will turn away for a few minutes.

How do we protect our children beyond education and supervision?

It’s a scary world. Our children will learn this sooner or later.

Oregon seamstresses sew custom-made strip-wear

There’s so much stripper stuff in the news that I’m trying to catch up on since I came home from vacation.

This article demonstrates that Portland, Oregon is the place to be if you’re a stripper: They harbor 50 strip clubs!

I remember a motherly figure that used to come backstage to strip clubs in Connecticut selling homemade costumes. I even bought a leopard-print tuxedo jacket with matching thong from her.

If you have good sewing skills, this stripper costume-making business could really prove to be lucrative.

...And I Wouldn't Have Thought "G-String" Was a Musical Term

Thank you to my friend Paul for this great conversation from Overheard in New York.

Oblivious teenage girl: Are strip cubs illegal?

Less oblivious friend: Um, no. Why would you think that?

Oblivious teenage girl: Cuz while I was going out with Matt he said something about a strip club getting busted.

Less oblivious friend: You went out with Matt? You slut!

Oblivious teenage girl: No, if I was a slut I would have known whether strip clubs are illegal or not.

--Central Park

Home Sweet Home

We’re back from vacation in Myrtle Beach, SC. We had a great time, but Nick was a bit stressed out since he was trying to work.

Cole liked the ocean. He is also now rolling over like nobody’s business, and he can crawl backwards.

Genny had a great time pestering all of her family members.

I even got one afternoon when Cole napped and everyone else was out at the movies or the alligator farm. Guess what I did? I got to read, uninterrupted for an hour! Now that’s a vacation!

Vacation

Stripper Mom and family are going on vacation for a week!

I probably won't be posting, so I'll see you all in a week.

Sleep, Baby

It’s so interesting how different ways of putting a baby to sleep are, well, so, different.

I’ve been trying an in-between take of the two extremes: let baby cry it out or respond to each cry from baby.

Nick and I have been trying to ease off the running to every single whimper. We’ve been having success with putting Cole to bed without nursing him into a coma. I’ve been nursing him and putting him in his crib while he’s still awake. He cries, but I don’t leave the room. I soothe him with songs and back rubs until he’s out. It takes about thirty minutes.

I figure this is a good step to helping him learn to fall asleep all by himself.

Today at Playland Village (an indoor play space in Monroe) I was speaking to another mother about Cole waking up four to five times a night. I told her I nurse him back to sleep each time.

“You’re going to have to let him cry it out,” she said.

“Well, I don’t know if I like that method. I don’t want to mess him up psychologically.”

“You won’t,” she said. “I’m a psychologist.”

So she explained it’s the way to teach Cole to go back to sleep in the middle of the night on his own: let him cry for a half-an-hour the first night, then an hour the next night.

“Turn off the monitor,” she said.

I just don’t know. Yes, I want to sleep for more than two hours, but I don’t want to make Cole cry.

What have all the mothers out there found to work?

Goodnight

Today was a bit overwhelming.

I’m exhausted.

Headache.

I need to sleep.

Here

This is where I want to be.

This is my mantra.

I sat beside Cole as he fell asleep in his crib dressed in his soft monkey onesie. He tossed and cried. He paused as I rubbed his back, his legs.

I held my hand against his lower back.

I wanted to be somewhere else. At my computer. Some me time.

This is where I want to be, I said.

I will be at my computer later. When Cole is asleep. Right now, this is important. Helping Cole learn to fall asleep. It takes patience. And I have that patience to give him, to teach him.

This is where I want to be. This is my job as a mother. To be here while he learns to sleep.

To be here. To give.

Nurse away

This is a new one—a breast-feeding doll.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

I was surprised when I saw the title for this video on MSNBC. In fact, I was confused. Breast feeding? Like a baby doll and a mommy doll for it to nurse on? No: a baby doll to nurse on the little girl.

Sure enough, the video shows the commercial of a little girl putting on a halter top with flower pasties to nurse.

It seems odd to me, but Genny has never shown interest in nursing her dolls. Since she’s seen Cole nursing, the only reaction it’s spurred is that she wants to nurse again. But not seriously. She thinks it’s funny to pretend to want to latch on. I always stop her, but if I didn’t, would she actually nurse?

I wonder what her reaction would be to this doll. She reminds me all the time that she doesn’t want to be a mom. The reason? She saw me get a blood test while pregnant. I’ve explained that people get blood tests all the time for all kinds of things, not just being pregnant. And she’s already had blood tests. But still, she says, “I don’t want to be a mommy.”

Nick’s looking forward big-time to being a grandpa, so I hope she changes her mind.

I don’t know how I feel about the nursing doll. I mean, in principle, I don’t have a problem with it, but I do agree with the doctor being interviewed that it sexualizes young girls.

It would be better if the halter top didn’t have big flower pasties on it. Of course, then what? Pretend nipples? That would be weird.

I just don’t know. I guess being in a crappy mood today doesn’t help.

I’m feeling overwhelmed and unproductive.

If only I’d thought of the nursing doll, maybe then I’d be rich and sitting on a beach nursing my real child.

Giving Stripper Moms a bad name

Cops: Mom left 2 kids home alone to work at strip club

This woman is what people think of when they think of Stripper Moms.

When Fiordaliza Collado-Ramirez of Palm Bay, Florida couldn’t get a babysitter last night, she left her four- and five-year-old daughters home alone while she went to work. At a strip club.

The question I have is: was she planning on leaving them home alone all night by themselves? The report even says that the four-year-old was sick. How does a mother leave two small girls alone to go to a strip club?

After my initial anger and shock, another emotion and thought enters.

I wonder why she felt the need to not be late to her job. Perhaps she would have lost her job if she were late one more time. Perhaps she needed money to pay her rent or buy food. Perhaps this is the only job she feels she is any good at.

I am not forgiving her action by any means. I just want to remind us all that we don’t know the circumstances of her life.

I feel sad for her and her kids.

One more question: did the cops not let her change out of her work clothes?

Cold, please!

I’ve wanted the heat and now I’ve got it and I’m cranky as all get out.

I’m sick of being sticky and sweaty. I don’t know if it’s just me, but ever since I gave birth a second time, I feel sweatier and smellier. I can’t get clean.

I would like to live in a cold shower for the next month.

I would like icicles to hang from my nipples and a great ice floe to form around my midsection.

Ah…I feel cooler already.

This phase

Genny has a few annoying habits.

She laughs when she thinks someone has been hurt, but not in an embarrassed, don’t-know-what-to-do way. She purposefully laughs screechy and loud and then looks to see if she’s hurting that person’s feelings.

Genny also loves to tell me every chance she has that she likes Nick more than me. It’s fine that she says it, but she seems to do it to get a rise out of me. Nick says that I encourage it, but I don’t think so.

I wish my mother was here so that I could ask her if I said things like that to her. I don’t remember being mean to my mother at that early of an age. I was too shy and scared, I think.

I’m looking forward to Genny growing out of this phase.

He is asleep

Praise the Lord. I just put Cole to bed without nursing him down.

It was time. He’d been cranking all day. I nursed him in my bedroom like I normally do, then headed to his room when he had conked out. As usual lately, the moment I put his body in the crib he woke up crying.

I consoled him. Sang, Rock a bye, baby. And then I turned out the light and sat on the daybed in his room.

I let him cry on and off for fifteen minutes. I would sing and tell him, “Mama’s here.”

Then I moved over and sat in the chair next to his crib. I massaged his belly. He arched his back from side to side and I slid my hand under his back and rubbed. I massaged his legs. Stroked his hair. The crying stopped. He rolled from side to side. Getting sleepy now. And finally he ended with my hand on his belly and one of his hands resting against my arm.

All in all, it took me less than thirty minutes. I knew he wasn’t hungry. He just wanted what he wanted—the usual sucking on one of mom or dad’s fingers.

This feels like such a triumph. It’s the first step to getting him to learn how to sleep on his own.

Now, let’s see how long this sleep lasts.

How old are we?

Mama is feeling mean today.

If the wrong breeze brushes by me, I’m going to blow.

Just one of those days when I feel angry at everyone and everything.

I had a nightmare experience with Nana in Stop and Shop. Taking care of her is wearing me thin. She’s my grandmother and so, of course, I will do all I can, but sometimes I think I’m going to lose it big time.

Taking care of a 7-month old, a five-year-old, and a ninety-year-old is just plain crazy.

Especially when the ninety-year-old says in front of the five-year-old, “I want to die.”

And then, of course, you get the five-year-old saying to the ninety-year-old, “Why don’t you go home.”

So much fun to explain to them both that it’s because the other is “only five,” or “very old.”

Attitude of gratitude

Those buttery pretzel bites at the mall are addictive.

After indoor noshing and playing at the mall, Genny, Cole and I headed for a friend’s place where we went swimming. I was proud of myself for getting right into the cold water. Cole was loving being in the pool. He has no fear of cold.

I learned how to make homemade baby food. So easy. At first I thought baby jarred food is so cheap—less than one dollar a serving! Then I realized Cole’s going through three servings a day. That’ll add up. I may actually start being a happy little homemaker! (No, not really, just a little.)

Actually, seeing our friend holding Cole and loving it made me appreciate what we have. And perhaps also seeing the child in a wheelchair at the mall. I consciously said to myself, I am grateful.

Cole fell asleep in his car seat on our way home this evening and I thought he’d be out for awhile, but he just woke up. I nursed him and he went right back out.

It is Friday evening. Here I am. My family healthy and safe.

Remembering

I’ve just learned that a good friend of my mother’s died in Long Island Sound.

I feel so sad for his wife and family.

I told Genny and she said that he is now in heaven with Grandma Mary and Grandma Alice.

Rest in peace, Ray.

Looking for work

I don’t know what happened to my baby today. He was awake from seven am until three pm then he had just a little bit over an hour nap. That’s it. And he’s been cranking and drooling and squealing nonstop. And I have a feeling he’s not going to want to sleep now either.

As much as I can, I’ve been job hunting today. Nick’s work has been intermittent and I want to help financially if I can. Teaching is kind of out for now since it’s summer and takes too many hours.

I’m looking for editing or writing or yoga teaching jobs. I don’t know how exactly I’ll manage any of these things, but I’ll try.

Looking for work got me to thinking about why I used to only look for nude work when I was young. How strange that I only thought to look for naked jobs. I guess that’s all I thought I had to offer. How nice to have other options now.

Oh boy. Cole is crying. I must go.

Quiet

Another miracle day.

Genny’s grandparents took her to see the movie “Up” this afternoon. They are out for dinner as I type.

Cole is napping upstairs.

I just ate a salmon burger at my desk while surfing the Internet.

And now it is just me in the room. Sitting and typing and enjoying the cool, rainy weather.

I almost don’t know what to do with myself all by myself. Should I work? Should I write? Should I watch television for the first time in months? The possibilities are endless.

It’s actually quite nice just imagining all my choices.

But if I am correct, I do hear some baby stirrings. It was lovely while it lasted.

A Third?!

I told Nick not to trip on the three wise men outside our house this morning. Yes, it’s true. We had a little Christmas in July here last night. A miracle. Cole only woke up one time.

How he goes from up five times a night to one time is beyond me, but I don’t mind about that, as Genny would say. I await without my breath held to see what will happen tonight.

I finally got my first period after having given birth. It really got me thinking about whether Nick and I will have another baby now that my body is saying it’s physically ready again. Of course, my brain isn’t saying anything like that yet.

Since I’m no longer that young, if we’re going to have another baby, it will have to be sooner than later. But how soon?

It’s a hot topic for me because as much as I’d like to have a big family, the pregnancy and early years part is so tough for me. I know Nick would do all that tough stuff if he could, but alas, he will not be the world’s second pregnant man.

I can see how it is probably true though, that after two, adding a third is no big deal.

We’ll see about that.

Strippers in Training

Genny, Cole, and I kept busy this afternoon by going to the Connecticut Post Mall in Milford. After visiting the bookstore (and purchasing Rainbow Fairy sticker and stencil books—score!), we made our way down the long deserted hallway toward Playtown, stopping briefly at Pretzel Time for some pretzel bites (Oh my goodness—hot pretzel delights drizzled with butter and salt and probably sugar!).

After Genny’s requisite climbing fun, we went to the pet store located right next to it (at the Trumbull Mall they have a candy store right next to their Playtown—ah…the genius!) and pet a $1600 Chihuahua named Bumbles, or something.

Walking back down the hallway toward our minivan after testing out all the mattresses in Sears, we went into a fancy dress store to see the “princess” dresses. As we worked our way back into the tulle madness we encountered what can only be described as stripper gowns.

Stripper gowns are what must be worn in higher end strip clubs in New York. They usually look like a prom dress on crack. Just like these today.

There was one so awful and so stripperly that I had to remark to the saleslady, “Wow—you must have a lot of strippers shop here, huh?”

She looked at ME like I was on crack.

“What? NO! These are prom dresses!”

“You mean this one here with the slit up to the crotch in pink and zebra print? That’s a prom dress? You’re joking, right?”

“No, actually, that one is quite tame. You should see what they wear to their proms nowadays.”

I looked from her to the stripper gown in horror. I’m sorry, I mean, the “prom” dress.

Horror.

Summer is here

Today was all about being hot, sweaty, and uncomfortable. Ugh. Carting around two kids in a minivan in 86 degree heat made me wistful for the old summer days I remember before I was mommed.

I’d stop at a deli, buy a hard salami sandwich with a pickle, drive down to the beach with my windows unrolled and the music cranked. I’d let the breeze whip my hair into my mouth. I’d sing.

I’d lie down on the hot sand in a teeny-tiny bikini and know I looked great. The heat would soak me raw and hot. I’d walk down to the water to cool off.

I could spend my whole day doing nothing and being responsible for absolutely nothing. Maybe I’d take a nap later on and just chill out.

I just noticed the stubby end of a pretzel stick that Genny left for me on my desk.

She made cherry juice earlier.

She actually helped water the garden and only complained once.

Cole is sleeping. Genny is sleeping.

And I just finished a cool glass of ice tea.

Into It

Genny’s latest cute saying, “I’m into apple juice now. Yeah, I’m really into it right now.”

I’m into the need for sleep right now.

Boomba

I think Cole set an all new record for least amount of naptime in one day. He slept for only 30 minutes two times today. That is not much for a 7-month old.

I’ve been getting crankier as the day wears on. I barely got any work done.

Yo—chill out, Mom.

Man, I really do need to lighten up on myself, but then I remind myself that I’ll never succeed in life if I don’t keep pushing past my limitations.

Cole’s word of the day was boomba.

Progress

Genny is full of beans today.

She’s taken to calling me Sheila a lot.

I didn’t mind when she did it every once in awhile, but now it seems she’s doing it to get me going.

And when she doesn’t get her way she makes the most awful pout ever.

I was getting Cole undressed for his bath and he was crying, so I said, “Don’t you like baths, Cole?”

Genny from across the room said, “He doesn’t like you.”

I looked at her and she bit her hair.

Of course, five minutes later she rushed into the bathroom to help bathe Cole. I try to let as many of her little annoyances go by as I can, but sometimes she’s just pushing me too hard.

Cole was only up twice last night. True, he didn’t go to bed until 10:30, but this is progress.

Five Boxes A Weekend!

Nick and I have started a new blog called Five Boxes.

We have pledged ourselves to clearing out five boxes a weekend from our basement. Nick estimates there's about 200 boxes of stuff down there. We are going to share our journey through too much stuff with you.

You'll share all the sorting excitement as we struggle through almost 100 years of stuff. We're sure to come up against all our issues as we sort and sift and decide what to keep, what to sell, and what to throw away!

Stuff

For some reason Cole can’t seem to sleep longer than two hours at a time. Last night was awful. I took him into bed with me and he used my nipple as a nuk, not actually nursing and emptying out the milk, but just suckling. The second I would try to reclaim my breast for myself, he’d wake up and cry. So I had an overfilled right breast all day.

And then he barely napped today. Ugh. I should be sleeping now, but this is my time to get a few things done.

We harvested broccoli from our garden! And we have corn stalks almost as tall as me. Pretty cool. Nick is quite the farmer.

The Other Slide

I've got another nagging depression biting at my ankles.

I'm having agent problems--as in, my agent won't return my phone calls or emails. I'm still feeling sick. Cole is only happy when in a lap. And I'm tired. Plus all the other annoyances that include my grandmother making me nutso.

On a lighter note, Genny told a great joke unknowingly today.

"Mommy, why did the chicken cross the road?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"To get to the other slide!"

"The other slide?"

"Yeah! That's funny, right? I guess he was at one playground and there was another one across the street!"

That's my new fave joke.

Sleep Deprivation

This is a nursing blog. Cole sucks away, which makes typing difficult.

What do I need to strip away tonight?

I need to reexamine Stripper Mom and figure out what I want to focus on.

What do I want to write about?

I do not know tonight.

I want to sleep.

Full of grouchiness

There's nothing like being peed and pooped on to make a day great.

Enough about that subject...

Cole poked me full force in the eyeball with a sharp fingernail.

Besides the eyeball pain, I also have a headache and a shoulderache.

Cole was screaming for apparently no reason for most of the day. And he only had itsy-bitsy naps.

Fortunately, Genny was in better spirits, until she rolled off the couch and walloped her head on the wood floor.

Did anything good happen today?

Why yes, I somehow managed to get two pages done on my graphic novel project. I have no idea how.

Roles

I’m wondering what truth is anymore. I’m wondering whom I speak to when I write my words. I’m wondering who I was and who I am.

Who will my children know me as? When I am old and need to be driven to the grocery store, what will they tell their spouses when they talk about me afterward?

I know I am not the only one who is right.

But I am wondering how and why I became the caretaker. I don’t feel like I ever chose the role, rather it snuck up and clobbered me on the head, said, “You’re mine. Now get to work.”

Perhaps I just need to accept this role. And all the other roles I play.

And the roles I played, that are now quite played out.

Get ‘er Done

I’m still just getting better—not all better yet.

I’ve been doing a good job of keeping up with my writing. It truly amazes me that I’m getting so much more writing done since I became a mother.

I wasted so much time as a non-parent. I would think nothing of watching three hours of television an evening. I don’t even know what shows are on TV anymore.

Have other parents experienced this upsurge in creativity since becoming a parent?

And for you non-parents, how do you keep yourself working and not being distracted by all our digital era offers?

Storytime

Here is a funny stripper mom commercial. This would never fly in the United States.

I’m wiped out. I took Genny and Cole to the pajama storytime at the library.

Cole threw up pear sauce and breast milk all over him and me.

Genny actually sat in the circle with the other girls. She still looks to the others for how to act though. She laughs when they laugh. She copies. She follows.

I’m hoping that this year being the oldest at her Montessori School will force her into being a leader.

I want her to lead. I don’t want her to conform.

My Life In a G-String: A Round Up of Stripper Memoirs

Here’s an interesting article that my friend Tanya told me about. It’s round-up of stripper memoirs.

I agree with the writer, Katie Roiphe, on a few points she makes, but also feel annoyed at the unfair treatment the stripper writers receive.

Are all naked women pretty much the same? Reading stripper memoirs would lead one to think so. It is a surprisingly rigid genre, with a set of rules and conventions as strict as those of sonnets or villanelles.

Of course, there are “conventions” as Roiphe points out, but what books about a certain group of people don’t have conventions? Alas, there are a lot of similarities to some strippers’ experiences.

You would think the subject would have a certain voyeuristic frisson, but something about stripping lends itself to cliché and obviousness, to the literary equivalent of fake breasts and caked mascara and silver thongs. Still a vast number of them have appeared on shelves, including Lily Burana’s good-natured Strip City, Elisabeth Eaves’ journalistic Bare, and Lacey Lane’s ditsy Confessions Of A Stripper.

True, I’ve read these books and there is a bit of cliché laid on, but that just reflects the job. And for there being “a vast number” of stripper memoirs out there, I’d have to disagree. How are a small handful of books “a vast number”? I’d say there aren’t enough (and not just because my memoir hasn’t found a publisher yet).

How many clichéd white male diatribes about the same old business thing are there out there?

We need more tales of strippers and prostitutes and mothers and clerks and waitresses. We need more stories told by women. Perhaps then we will begin to see the true extent of the similarities and differences inherent in women.

....StripXpertease.... The Strip and the Tease.

....StripXpertease.... The Strip and the Tease.

Shared via AddThis

I just stumbled upon this blog that reposted my Salon article from 2000 with the writer's comments.

She teaches a striptease class.

I've had my own thoughts along these lines...of course, with my own strange twists!

Life is short.

I love it when people take what they've done and find new ways to monetize it and empower themselves and others.

Calling All Mom Writers!

Attention Mom Writers! (Or moms who WANT to write…)

I’m looking for writers for short posts on my blog - strippermom.blogspot.com (and possible inclusion in a book).

Looking for short pieces (25 – 500 words) about what it means to be a “stripper mom.”

It doesn’t mean that you’re out there working the stripper pole at your local “Gentlemen’s Club.” Being a stripper mom is about stripping down to your past, no matter what it may be, and embracing and accepting it, so that you can live more fully in the present. We all have experiences or jobs from our pasts that we view as negative. Instead of letting those things constantly hold us back in life, we can look them squarely in the face and learn from them.

Are you a stripper mom? Are you a woman engaged with using her past stories to create the life you want for yourself now?

Be as creative as you like! What does being a metaphorical “stripper mom” mean to you? What is it like to be a mom writer? How do you make time for everything? What advice do you have for other moms who want to write?

No pay, but good experience and exposure.

Please email your submission in the body of the email along with a short bio and any email or website contact you would like included with your piece. If you would like a photo to appear with your piece, please include that, too.

shageman@hotmail.com

Getting Better

Genny is still at her grandparents. Her grandma was so wonderful to say she could stay one more night while Nick and I get better.

Absence really does make the heart grow fonder. I miss her silly personality and her needling.

Cole is sleeping as I write. I am hoping this will last for a few more hours.

I am feeling better physically.

And mentally.

I’ve upped my Zoloft to 75 mg from 50 mg. Not a big jump, but I think I feel less anxious.

Next week I will hopefully be back to my “normal” self and getting some work done.

One day at a time.

Still Sick

Cole’s first tooth is officially in and it looks like the second one is on the way.

His personality is really showing forth this week. He seems to be a happy soul! I hope he continues along this path.

I’m feeling an eensy bit better after my hospital visit last night. I have a sinus infection, but by the middle of last night, after not having slept for two nights, I started gasping for breath. I had been so congested for hours that I could only breathe through my mouth and it was causing me to hyperventilate and freak out a bit.

I got fluids, medications, and a breathing treatment at the hospital. I’m still crazy congested, but at least I’m not feeling so horrible.

Cole is rubbing eyes like crazy now. I’ve got to get him to bed.

Sick

I am sick.

That's about all I have strength for right now.

Naked Tushie

I’ve got one of those headaches that feels like a starter headache of something else.

Cole’s getting his first tooth in on the bottom. I thought the first one was supposed to be on the top?

Perhaps my headache is simply a starter headache from all the teething screeching. A warning of more pain to come, for him and me.

I’m sitting on the floor typing this so I can be close to Genny and Cole. They’re both rather needy.

I have one sleeve of my tank down because I was nursing. Genny tried to do the same thing with her long sleeve shirt and practically tied herself up.she decided to just take off her shirt instead.

Speaking of my daughter and her liking being nude (oh God, no, please!), she does a tushie dance. She’ll just pull her pants and undies down and shake her tushie and sing, “Shake your little tushie!”

I asked her where she learned it, but she said it she made it up herself.

It is quite funny.

When does doing a naked tushie dance go from being funny to being stripping?

Where am I?

Cole had his six-month checkup.

He’s only 19 pounds 8 ounces. I really thought he’d be over 20 by now.

I realized where my mysterious bruises on my thighs have been coming from—Cole in his car seat smashing against me as I carry him.

I’ve got to say, I’m feeling extremely depressed tonight. I feel disconnected from my body, from other people. It’s one of those things that’s so hard to explain. I feel nervous, anxious.

I just want to be able to relax and stop thinking. I guess I miss my yoga practice. I’ve got to get myself some alone time.

It’s hard to breathe. Shortness.

Blech.

Gotta Go

The nap gods smiled upon us today. Cole took two, I repeat, two two-hour naps.

The rain fell nonstop.

And I gained back a fun side-effect of having a baby.

I pee nonstop.

Well, not nonstop, but any amount of peeage not associated with a toilet, I consider as good as nonstop.

This is one of those untalked about features of stopping your kegel exercises, I guess. I was squeezing my “pelvic floor” like a good yogini many times a day, but stopped about a month ago.

Now, after having partaken in a baby-making activity the other day (with no actual baby-making attempted), I get this silly, if-I-don’t-find-myself-on-a-toilet-the-instant-I-have-to-pee-then-I’m-peeing-where-I-am-phenomenon.

So I’m starting my kegels again. I’m thinking that the recent activity shocked the muscles and they’re saying, whoa, lady, we’ve got to take things slow here, or at least get squeezing!

Questions

Why is Cole not sleepy?

Why does my back ache?

Why does Genny not like me to take her photograph, but she’ll let other moms take it?

Why did I not appreciate my free time before I had children?

Why has the weather been so chilly even with global warming?

Why is Cole scratching my leg brutally and slobbering on my hand?

Tired

Something cute and fuzzy was munching on our corn stalks. We need to build a protective fence around our entire garden.

Tomorrow is Genny’s last day of Montessori school for the year. I’m looking forward to the cute graduation ceremony they do.

I was doing pretty well all day, but I’ve got a headache now. And, you know, I’m a bit exhausted.

It was chilly out today. In fact, I took Genny and Cole to Long Brook Park and Genny wanted to come home without playing because she had goosebumps.

That’s it. I’m absolutely dry. I have nothing to write about. I was writing all day in my spare moments. My eyes are tired of looking at the keyboard.

A Day

Cole continues to astound with his, “Maaa, maa, maaaaa.”

He also seems to have grown an inch in like two days. We had to raise his exercauser a spot.

He likes to practice standing with assistance.

And from his reactions right now, it seems as though he may have a future in computers. He’s practically leaping at the keyboard and his whole body is shaking.

My own mood is pretty okay today. Not manic. Not depressed. Just pretty focused on working and getting things done.

After dropping Genny at school, I took Cole to my home away from home, Starbucks, and I was able to get an hour worth of writing in.

After school, the three of us went to Target to buy diapers and cranberry juice.

I just came in from my daily stroll through our garden. It looks like we may have fresh lettuce every day forward from yesterday.

The Only Good Thing in My Life

Nick said I should call my blog post what I said about coffee this morning.

I don’t understand why it should upset my husband for me to say it. I obviously meant coffee is the only good thing in my life BESIDES my family. Besides, I mean, you can’t drink your family.

So, Cole said, “Mahm.”

Not Mom or Mama exactly, but he made the sound. And he knew he was doing something marvelous. He practiced at least three times for ten minutes. He put his whole being, body, and breath into it. He pushed out the sounds from deep in his belly.

He just said, “Mome.”

And now, “Uh-Mum-mum-mum.”

Okay, THAT sounded like, “Mama!”

Very cool.

I’m just saying

Today is Cole’s six-month birthday. He celebrated by screaming whenever we tried to put him down.

Right now he’s sitting on my lap making baby grunts and “uuunh” sounds. If I were to place him on his playmat, which is full of fun baby things like crinkly cows and mirrors, he would once again begin crying until his eyes wrinkled and his entire head and face turned red.

Not the makings of a peaceful day, or a day where one gets much done. I hate having high hopes for a day’s work and then having to settle for being thrown up on instead.

Wow, I am really being a crepe hanger today, as my grandma likes to say.

I just thought of something cute Genny picked up. The other day she asked me what something meant, I don’t remember what, and I said it was just a saying. Now when she says something that I don’t get and I ask, “What?”, she says, “Oh, it’s a saying, Mom.”

Beliefs

I’m sick and tired of being depressed. I can’t stand that I can’t just enjoy life. I want to be able to savor the moments with my children when they are young. I want to relish every smile, laugh, and baby poop.

I know there isn’t anything “wrong” with me, but that thought is always nagging at me. Like I’m supposed to be loving motherhood more. I’m supposed to not mind sacrificing so much of my own life for others. I’m supposed to survive on the joy I receive from others’ dependence on me.

But I don’t fall into that mindset like many other mothers may. But I still want to be a mother. And I really want to find ways to enjoy motherhood more. Perhaps this is enough for one day—to realize how I feel is fine and to want to find ways to gently shift my experience.

I really don’t like how I can’t stand up for my own beliefs sometimes. Why must I feel the way I believe people think mothers should feel? Why must I meet expectations when it comes to motherhood? When it comes to anything?

The same goes for my feelings about strippers. When I read people talking about strippers as if they are whores or dumb, I go through different emotions. Anger. Agreement. Sadness. Disgust.

It’s like my mind is constantly trying to figure out who I agree with, but I never find the exact right belief.

I’m just here. Me. Trying to figure my life out.

Mood Swings

I am considerably better today. I had phone therapy during which I spoke to my therapist about the possibility of my being bipolar. I have such massive mood swings. I physically feel unable to move when depressed, but when in my up state, my body feels like it’s fueled by baby hamsters running through my blood.

I’m hoping that this whole brain imbalance is simply from lack of decent sleep for six months. Perhaps when I begin getting a solid four hours every night I will begin to feel evened out emotionally.

I just took Genny and Cole for a walk. We probably went about a mile. It felt good to move and the added benefit is that Cole fell asleep. I now have some time to work on my project.

On a side note, one of my favorite pairs of pants would not close around my belly this morning. This, I do not like.

Stressed Out

You know how when you’re really stressed out and angry you can only focus on that and not write about anything else? That’s where I’m at today.

Cole was not happy all day. Crying and whining the moment he was set down. He had to be held. And he still does. Nick is holding him while he and Genny watch Kung Fu Panda.

Some days I feel like I can handle everything. Today, I feel like I can handle nothing.

At one point, trying to put Cole down for a nap, I sang, “I want to kill myself, kill myself, kill myself!” It was a rousing chorus.

My depression makes me feel physically heavy, unwieldy.

Tired. I want to pull the covers over my head. I want to call out for my mother to come and help me. And I do call out to her sometimes, but she doesn’t answer. Then I feel sorry for myself.

But the baby still cries. And I still get down on myself for not getting more work done. It’s a bottomless swirl where each depressing thought feeds the next.

I hope tomorrow I can lift my head up above and breathe.

Plunking Rain

Cole’s jammies are very green pea covered. He’s kicking his little feet against my thighs, chewing on his fingers, and saying, “Mmm, mmm.”

Cole should be sleeping. He almost was—twice. But it didn’t take and I gave up and brought him downstairs with me. Now he’s staring at the computer screen.

It’s so slow typing with one hand and balancing a baby on your lap with the other. Lately, he only is content when he’s being held, which cuts down on my work output. Although I am moving forward with a few new writing projects that I hope to be able to share with the world soon.

Now my hand is slopping wet. I may even have a baby hickie on my thumb.

Tomorrow we’re off to a wedding. I promised myself not to spend too much time picking out the dress I’m going to wear. I decided to wear the first one I tried on even though I’m not fond of how my belly pooches out.

Any day now I’ll be starting back with abdominal crunches. And yoga. I’m getting there. Thinking about it is a big start.

Kick to the Head

Bravo to this stripper in Florida!

There were many occasions when I wished to do what she did. After a slap on the buttocks, she kicked back.

Apparently, the customer had broken bones, even though the Cheetah manager said he came back later that same night for another beer.

If anything, the stripper should be suing the guy. Yes, that’s what she should do—countersue!

What a great way for her and the club to get major media attention.

I would gladly take the stand to support the need to kick strip club customers in the head when they slap you on the ass.

Some men think just because a woman is dancing nude that it means they are asking for it, whatever the “it” is that he feels like doing.

“Hey! If a naked woman if sashaying her naked stuff inches from my face, of course I’m gonna grab it!”

Hey yourself! That’s her job! She’s not there so you can grab her ass—she’s there so she can make some money!

Keep your hands to your own self (as Genny’s teacher would say)!

Tired

I was looking at photos of Genny when she was a baby. The similarities between her and Cole are striking.

Cole seems to have really discovered his feet tonight. He’s kicking his legs and shaking and grabbing his toes. And he’s all about making bubbly noises.

I’m feeling a bit under the weather. And I’m smelling Cole, who smells like a carrot.

Genny is watching a Barney video. Nick is on his computer.

My back hurts. I’m tired.

I did get writing work done today. I am content to end my day on this note.

Me, Groggy

Today I am determined to keep on working, even if I’m tired, even if I’m typing one-handed while nursing. The only way to change what I’m not happy with is to take actions to change it. In this case, the “it” is not having a published book. If I need to work when tired, so be it.

The children need tending, the house needs to be prevented from falling down, clean laundry must be made available, and food must be eaten. But that does not matter. I must keep moving forward on my creative projects, even if slowly.

And I am glad that I was there to see Cole take his first playground swing ride today.

I want it all.

I want motherhood. I want work. I want my husband.

I will have it all, even though it means being groggy for awhile.

To Be a Man

Today while I was cooking tofu and broccoli, I wished I was a man for the first time.

Through all the annoyingness of life as a woman, I don’t think I’ve ever wished I were a man before, but for some reason, stirring broccoli florets in salt and water, I did.

I suppose it had something to do with the seeming simpleness of the “male” tasks Nick was performing outside: bringing out the garbage, recycling, and watering the garden, while I tried to creatively cook the same thing I always cook. I had just gotten Cole to nap and Genny was in the living room sulking and moping for some unknown reason.

The thought just flashed through me all at once, “I wish I were a man and I could go to work, earn the bacon, come home and have my dear wife cook for me and watch the children.”

I thought it a curious thought as soon as it passed through me. I guess I was just feeling stressed and frustrated because I didn’t have time to do any creative work today at all. I so wanted to write and draw and study, but there simply was not time.

That is not true. During Cole’s long nap, I too napped instead of working, but he was up twice last night and then awake at six, so I was desperate for a rest.

I tell myself that I shouldn’t let tiredness be an excuse, but I know if I push myself, I end up sick.

Not having enough time makes me crazy. It makes me want to be a man for a brief moment, but then I remember how hard my husband works. It’s not like he’s rolling in time either.

Sigh. The struggle to have it all continues.