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?