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January, 2014
Archive

  • How To Get Your Sexy Back After Baby

     

    The birth of a child can turn an active, carefree lady into a tired, worn out woman. Your wardrobe has even changed as you barely have the time to shower, much less primp.  And while your body may be physically ready for sex, you may be unprepared mentally and emotionally because of your new appearance.  Even if you don’t look exactly the way you did before you had your baby, all is not lost. You can regain the self-esteem and get your sexy back after giving birth.

    Being a parent requires all of your time and energy, which can quickly leave you feeling completely exhausted. This feeling of running on empty doesn’t bode well for your attitude, happiness, or sexual well-being. Therefore, it’s essential that you take some time for yourself. Take a step back as often as possible and put yourself first. Even if it’s just taking a 10-minute break, you must carve out some time at least once a week for yourself. Make sure to do something relaxing like taking a walk, doing some yoga, or reading a magazine, because soothing activities like these can help relieve the stress that often wreaks havoc on our bodies. It also helps to release some frustration, making you less likely to be tense and uptight when you’re engaged in sex.

    According to EveryDayFamily, being in touch with your sexuality plays a major part in how you feel about your physical appearance. Therefore, it’s important that you get in tune with your sexual self. Whether this means engaging in those sexy activities with your partner or doing it on your own, you must devote time exploring what turns you on. If you’re feeling way too uncomfortable or lack the confidence to even partake in a little sexual discovery, start off slowly and employ a bit of humor. For instance, skip the usual dinner-and-a-movie date night and play a risqué adult board game with your mate to get things flowing. Adam & Eve notes that these games, which range from strip poker to sex-themed dice, are a great way to get foreplay started. They’re flirty and fun without being overly aggressive about the whole thing, which will allow you to ease more naturally into sex with a post-baby body.

    No matter how you look after pregnancy, it’s crucial that you feel as good about yourself as you did before you had your baby. So take a moment, step back, and examine how you can regain your confidence and feel good about your physical appearance again.

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    January 31, 2014 • Mommy Body, Mommy Mind • Views: 2184

  • Am I Cheating On You?

    So The Munch has been gluten free for almost 5 months now.  As much as I don’t trust people who are “gluten free,” and part of me thinks it is a new-age eating disorder – I have seen positive results.

    For one, The Munch has not gotten sick once since she has been on this diet.  Now, I live in New England, where most winters everyone gets at least 3 colds, 2 flus, and some sort of weird hybrid stomach virus.  If you were to peruse the blogs of my past, there are probably 20 where I am complaining about Munch being ill.  Considering she goes to school now, and is around snotty nosed cesspools all day, it is kind of impressive that she has managed to stay so healthy.

    Yet I feel bad for The Munch having to harbor this concern so young.  She asked me the other day is pears were gluten free.  When I was a kid I ate gluten sandwiches on gluten bread for lunch, and my child is concerned about gluten lurking in carrot sticks.  So in solidarity with The Munch, I am gluten free too.  I don’t buy things for the house that she can’t eat… because I am a good and noble person.

    Buuuuuut…. Last night I was having a sleepover at my friend Gita’s and she lives near this organic Pizza place that I LOOOOOOOOOOOVE, and never get to go to.  So you better believe that is what I wanted for dinner!

    Gita: Why don’t you guys come pick me up, and then we can drive and get the pizza before we drop off the car and unload your stuff!

    Toni: I can’t do that.  Munch will see the pizza.  I can’t do that to her.  You have to go and get it while I am putting her to bed.

    Gita: Fair enough.

    Of course because we are in a new place it took forever for Munch to get to sleep… and so by the time Gita came back with the Pizza I could tell she was still awake.  But I couldn’t wait to eat it,  and started digging in.  But every noise I heard, I panicked thinking Munch was getting out of bed and coming into the living room, and my reaction was to hide the pizza… I didn’t want to get caught cheating on The Munch!

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    January 30, 2014 • 3 years old, Eating, Health • Views: 1183

  • With or Without You

    I was never one of those people who knew I wanted to have kids.  Maybe that is because doctors told me in my early 20’s that I would never be able to, so I needed to make peace with that possibility – but there was also this part of me that was never sure.  I didn’t have this unequivocal “I must create a spawn or I will not be a whole person” perspective.

    When I was a teenager of course I didn’t want to get preggers- especially because there was no “16 and Pregnant” on MTV – and subsequent way to get famous from it.  Being a teen mom just wasn’t as glamorous in the 90’s as it is today.

    And then my friend Bitty died when I was 20, and it changed everything. I think that was the catalyst for my uncertainty to procreate.

    The only way I knew how to deal with the mourning was to find some meaning in the loss.  That is not easy to do when someone dies so young.  There is no logic to it.  No rational that can ease the pain.  But I needed something that would paint the dark consequence of death a different shade of black.  I couldn’t let her passing be random.  It had to be significant.

    So I made a promise to Bitty.  That I would love her forever, and never stop keeping her in my heart.  And that she could live whatever life she wanted to through me.  It was like I offered my existence to be a conduit for her to still experience the world.  We could share my body, like we did everything else when she was alive.

    I held onto my love for Bitty with an irrational fervor, because to let go seemed too lonely to bear.  But then all these things would happen, these coincidences, mysteries, moments, where I genuinely felt we were still connected.  Still communicating.  To explain them would be like trying to relay a dream, but they felt so real to me.  I started to believe in the eternal nature of the soul.  That we are all connected by love, and that love is the very fabric of the universe.  The space between that holds everything together.

    I became more interested than ever in the esoteric, spiritual, and metaphysical realms.  And part of me wanted to pursue that path fully- to commit my life to one of deep existential reflection.  To do things like live in an ashram, or go on month long silent retreats, and be free of all earthly attachments.  I just didn’t see how a child fit into that plan.

    But as the universe would have it, I could get pregnant, and did have a child.

    And I was right in many ways.  Having a kid has made it so I will never travel the road I thought I would.  Because how can I leave her behind?

    That is the thing about making a baby.  They they are always on your mind.  There are days where I am counting the minutes for my freedom from the The Munch, but then after the initial thrill of being an individual wears off – I miss her.  As much as I sometimes want to get away, I also can’t wait to get right back to her. There is no escaping how much you care about your child, how much they are a piece of you, how you can never again feel complete without them.  They are always with you, lurking in the depths of your being, like the herpes virus.

    But now The Munch IS my spiritual practice… and I am pretty sure she has taught me more about life than my mind alone every could have.

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    January 29, 2014 • Mommy Mind, Musings, Old School Stories, Parenting • Views: 1199

  • Ummmmm Was I a Teenage Alcoholic?

    I started drinking when I was 11.  Well, let me rephrase that, the first time I got drunk I was 2, but I started drinking consistently at around 11.  How does a 2-year old get wasted you may wonder? Yeah… me too.

    I guess what happened was that I was at a party with my parents, and somehow took a sip of wine.  I guess I liked it, and drank more while no one was paying attention.  My dad told me that after an hour of of being an inebriated toddler; the fun for me stopped when I kept saying, “my head hurts” and falling down.

    My mom and dad were always pretty relaxed about alcohol, and felt like if they made it too taboo, it would only seduce my brother and me more.  They are Europeans, and felt the American attitude towards drinking was juvenile.  Their logic is reasonable, but also forgets the fact that not only is alcohol seriously fun, but also sort of addictive.  However, my mom did give me some pretty epic motherly advice on why not to abuse it.

    My Mom: Now don’t be stupid about drinking Toni.  You don’t want to become an alcoholic like your grandfather.  Always remember how he had to give up drinking entirely, and can’t even have wine with dinner.  Now what kind of life is that?

    Again.  Flawless reasoning.

    When I was in the 5th grade, my best friend from school would come over every weekend.  Somehow we got into the habit of drinking my parent’s liquor and then taking bubble baths in my their giant Jacuzzi.  After we were pruney and belligerent, we would make some flavored instant coffee to balance us out.  I don’t really know how this started, but it was our ritual.

    That year started a custom of drinking on the weekends with my friends.  Yet during the summer months, it became more of a daily routine.  I remember one specific night when my friend Bitty and I were hanging out with these two boys, and took a bottle of my mom’s whiskey.  We didn’t have any thing to mix it with, so we used Orange Fanta.  I thought I buried all the evidence, and we had gotten away with it.  Then the next morning when we were all having breakfast, my mom was looking out the window out at the garden, and the bottle was clearly hidden under the shed with the bright orange Fanta right next to it.  My mom was livid!!!  But not for the reason you would assume.

    My Mom:  Jesus Christ girls! What is wrong with you?  I cannot believe you mixed Glenlevit whisky with orange soda! What are you barbarians!!!!!!!??? I am honestly appalled by this.  That is just disgusting behavior.

    Even though I may have drank my way through my teenage years, by the time I got to college, booze was old news.  So instead of going to parties I did my homework… then smoked pot and went to bed – obviously a much more productive schedule.  But I did get all A’s so hey…

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  • You Are So Boring… Or is it Me?

    Sometimes being around a kid all day is so mind-numbingly boring, I want to floss until my gums bleed profusely just to feel something.

    I know. There are a LOT of problems with what I just said.  For one, boredom is a sign of a weak mind.  Anyone with an imagination should be able to amuse themselves regardless of the circumstances.  Second of all, kids aren’t boring.  They are endless entertainment with their delightful curiosity, fantasies, and wonder of the world.  But still, after hours and hours of being stuck in a house with one, I am bored out of my skull.

    The Munch is not the problem – I am.

    As much as I know these years are fleeting, and I should appreciate every waking second of The Munch’s childhood, I still have my moments where I am like “holy fuck I can’t wait for you to grow up so we can talk about something other than Care Bears.”

    Part of my problem is I really try not to let her watch TV.  TV is an amazing glorious babysitter, but The Munch is too consumed by it.  She has an addict’s personality – no internal impulse towards moderation.  So by default, I can’t let her go into that K-hole very often.  The come down is harsh – she sits there shaking with a wool blanket over her while trying to bite her neck, and then she needs at least a few days of hard core methadone detox.

    My other problem is that I live in the sticks, and there are not that many places I go.  I should probably embark on more adventures, but that takes thinking, planning ahead, and being okay with being around other people – all of which I struggle with.  I guess when it is nice outside, we always play outside, but when it is the Polar Vortex and I am living in the open tundra, you kind of want to stay in.

    So when The Munch and I are home together, unless I am making her dance or yoga with me, she is trying to make me play with her.  And The Munch plays some pretty weird games too might I add.  She also has a limitless attention span, and can do the same thing over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.  That is essentially my issue.  How many times I have to do the same thing again and again and again and again and again and again.  I wonder where she gets this from?

    Munch: Okay.  You be Minnie Mouse, and you make her talk. I will be the Mommy, and you will be the grandma.

    Toni: Okay, so I make Minnie talk and I am the grandma?

    Munch: Yes, and make Minnie be really naughty.  And have her cry for me not to leave.

    Toni as Minnie: No Mamma no! Don’t leave me!

    Munch: I have to leave you Minnie! I am going to my dance class!

    Toni as Minnie: No don’t go! Stay with me! Wahhhhahhhhhaaaa!

    Munch: That is it Minnie!  You are going in the corner.  You are not listening and you are being very naughty. I am going to leave you now, and I am never coming back.

    Toni: Jeeze Munch, that is pretty harsh!

    Munch: Do it again Mamma! But this time make Minnie hit and kick me too!

    Okay, fine… none of this is the real issue.  I am just skirting around the obvious.  The reality that spending time with a child, who although is delightful and inspiring, is not yet intellectually challenging. The games we play aren’t like advanced physics or something.  So after a while, there is nothing to distract me from the recesses of my own mind.  There is so much abstract silence and repetition that I am forced inside my own psyche – to deal with my anxieties and demented thoughts.  At least when Munch was a baby I could listen to Podcasts all day and have those voices keep me company.  But now that she talks, she is like, “uhhhh shut that phone off and interact with me…” which is fair, but also means that I have to spend too much time in my own brain- not something that I wish on anyone really.

    “Seriously Mom, how can you not want to talk about Care Bears all day?”

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    January 27, 2014 • 3 years old, Behavior, Family Drama, Parenting, Playing, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1135

  • Do You Remember Your First Love?

    Do you remember your first love? Someone that you crushed on so hard, that if your emotions had weight you would have suffocated under the intense pressure?  That person your young lust was so consumed by, it devoured your every thought with an innocent carnal desire.  I sure do.

    My best friend Bitty and I loved the same boy.  He was 7 years older than us, and hotter than both Cory Haim and Cory Feldman combined into some weird Cory siamese-twin hybrid.  We would fixate over this boy’s physical perfection and had countless daydreams about us both marrying him and running away to live in California.  I mean, we did everything together so why not keep that going right? Besides I think we were a little too young to be jealous or possessive, so polyamory seemed like a totally legitimate idea.

    Because we were 13, we were also slightly naïve about the nature of relationships.  Our love wasn’t necessarily sensual, but more obsessive.  It was an infatuation that wasn’t rooted in reality, but instead a childish fantasy of just being around this boy’s beauty.  That was all we really wanted.  To be able to look at him all day, but still hang out with each other.

    Whenever the boy was spotted at the beach we would obviously stalk him.  We tried to be subtle about it – having read a lot of Harriet The Spy I thought we were being slick.  But I am pretty sure our efforts were not only painfully noticeable, but embarrassingly so.

    So one day the boy swam out to the raft where there was a slide, diving board, and high-dive.  Bitty and I obviously followed, but don’t worry, we waited a full 90 seconds so we wouldn’t seem desperate.  When we got out to the raft, the boy was diving in and out of the water.  We climbed onto the dock and tried to look as sexy as possible in our one piece bathing suits.  Then the boy climbed up the ladder, his skin glistening, his brown hair hanging over his perfect features, and with raging hard on.

    Bitty: Oh my god Toni.  He totally has a boner!

    Toni: Shhhhhh!! Bitty! Jesus Christ!

    We both quickly dived back into the water and Bitty was laughing so hard she almost drowned.

    Toni: Bitty stop laughing! He is going to know we are laughing at him!

    Bitty: Dude, it is hilarious.

    I was so horrified by this.  It felt like the time I finally understood that Penny got an abortion in the movie Dirty Dancing – and didn’t just need a doctor for some mysterious reason.  I had seen that film 100 times as a kid, and then one day I was like “ohhhhhhhhh so that is what happened” and suddenly all the color in the world faded, and my existence was left a dark shade of grey.  It was this adult reality my child mind couldn’t comprehend.

    Much like how I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that this perfect boy would do the same things dogs did when they rubbed against your leg.  I had never thought of him in a sexual way, and to suddenly see him as this primal being was terrifying.  All my illusions were shattered, and suddenly my love didn’t seem so pure anymore.

    I guess this was the moment of corruption for me.  That I had to realize what having a crush on a boy really meant.  That you wanted him to put his p in your v at some point, and that image was so disgusting to my 13 year old mind that I got into smoking weed instead.

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    January 24, 2014 • Adventures, Old School Stories, Relationships • Views: 1689

  • Forcing Me To Move The F*ck On

    I don’t know about you, but sometimes I like to hold onto anger and resentment like a teddy bear.  I don’t get annoyed often, but when I do, I like to stew it in for a bit.  Really soak it up with the bread of self-pity.

    There is something about wallowing that is satisfying.  Allowing yourself to feel the negativity, and have it wash over you with the tides of victimization.  Ahhhhhhhhh.  But when you are fighting with an adult, this can also be a strategy of coping with asshole behavior. When someone is being a jerk, you have to figure out how to deter them from treating you like that in the future.  So these passive aggressive tactics often drill the point home.

    But of course, as an evolved person you want to practice non-attachment.  To let go of emotions and let them pass through your being like diarrhea.  And that is why I think The Munch is like a Zen practice for me.  She can be so inanely irritating, and then within seconds transform into a little cherub.  She is like an emotional shape-shifter, and in order to keep up with this emotional extremism I have to be the same.

    For example, the other morning The Munch woke me up at the butt crack of dawn… which I particularly begrudged because the night before I was in her room until 2am stroking her hair during her night terrors.  Now even though The Munch doesn’t wake up during these night terrors, I feel really bad leaving her alone screaming and writhing.  So I just sit with her until they settle down.  I mean, where is my fucking award for this shit!

    I looked at The Munch and realized, “holy fuck, she has had those same braids in since Wednesday – when she went to school last.  It is Tuesday!  Her teacher is totally going to recognize that those were the braids she made because of those rubber bands.  Then it will be really fucking clear that I haven’t washed my kid’s hair in 6 days.” *disclaimer – it has been more than a month, but there is no way anyone would know that.

    Toni: Dude, I have to take your braids out and brush your hair before you go to school.

    Munch: NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

    Toni: Munch, I have to.  Anne is going to recognize her work.  She will know those are the same braids, and that I haven’t washed your hair in a week, let alone brush it.   We have to do this.

    Munch: NOOOO MAMMA!! I WANT MY BRAIDS!

    Toni: Look, I will do them again! I have to brush your hair! You seriously have dreads forming.

    Of course she cried the entire time I sorted through the chupacabra nest in her hair, and finally brushed it.

    Toni: Munch, why are you crying?

    Munch: Because I really wanted my braids.  They were pretty!

    Toni: Dude, you have to trust me on this one.  You looked like an abandoned child at a railroad station.  I will do them again for you.

    Now, not to brag or anything, but I can braid the shit out of hair.  The Munch had nothing to worry about.  So I did one side, she felt the rubber band, and ripped it out of her hair.

    Munch: WAHHHHHAHHHAAAA! THAT WASN’T PRETTY! YOU DIDN’T DO IT RIGHT!?

    Toni: You have got to be out of your mind.  All you did was touch the elastic!! I did an amazing job.  If you looked in the mirror you would have seen it!

    Munch: Do it AGAIN! BUT DO IT RIGHT THIS TIME!

    Toni: Seriously Munch, if you take this one out I am going to get soooo annoyed.  It takes time to French braid your hair, and when you just rip it out like that if feels really disrespectful for my efforts.

    Munch: Okay.

    So I braided her hair again… and again she felt the hair elastic, NOT HER HAIR MIND YOU, but the ELASTIC, and ripped it out.

    Munch: NOOOOOOO IT WASN’T PRETTY! WHAHHHAHHAHHAAAH!!

    Toni: That is it.  You have to go sit in your room and think about how this makes me feel.  I tried really hard to braid your hair nicely like you asked, and you didn’t even look before you ripped them out.  This is just beyond unreasonable…

    I was pissed!!!! Those braids were epic!  So she went in her room and cried and cried.  Can I just add that her sobbing can be kind of obnoxious?  It isn’t subtle at all- but a dramatic wail of discontent.  And I have to say; she is kind of full of shit sometimes too.  I would hear her cry, and then stop for a second because she got distracted by a toy, then almost remember she was pissed, and then violently cry again.  After about five minutes of listening to her waxing and waning of tears, I went in.

    Toni: Are you done crying now?

    Munch: Yeah.

    Toni: Why were you crying so much?

    Munch: Because I wanted my braids to be pretty and you don’t know how to do them right.

    Toni: Fine.  Then have your teacher do them.  Here are the elastics, put them in your pocket and bring them to school.

    Munch: I love you Mamma so much.

    I wanted to be mad still!! That stunt was total bullshit and her teacher doesn’t braid better than me god dammit!!

    Munch: I got a good idea.  I will eat my breakfast while you meditate… and I promise to be really quite.  Does that sound like a plan?

    And yet again The Munch transformed into a miniature Buddha to show me how absurd I am.

    (PS… when Munch came home she made me redo Anne’s braids and make FOUR braids instead… bc she is totally out of her mind).

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  • Nothing Is Ever Enough

    Sometimes I have these moments where I kind of wish my kid didn’t exist.  Not that anything bad would happen to her, but that she would just evaporate, like vicks-vaporub.  And as she traveled into the nasal passageway of the space-time continuum, so would my memory of her.

    As lovely as The Munch is, she can also be as equally maddening.  There is always something going on with her.  Some particular behavior that is particularly annoying.  At one point it was clothes.  How she was obsessed with certain items and wouldn’t wear anything else.  So I bought her two of everything she liked, and that shut her up for a while.  For a moment I thought, “wow, this is pretty cool.  We have no problems and everything is peaceful and amazing.”  Then the next day happened and I was like “nope, wrong.”

    Right now she is dealing with an insatiable appetite for all things.  I have to say; now I understand why gluttony is one of the 7 deadly sins. The inability to appreciate what you just had because you are always in a state of wanting is indeed problematic.  It is like she is in a hedonist spiral of desiring all that she enjoys and forgets to be grateful for what she is in fact experiencing.

    Munch: Mamma, can I have a piece of chocolate?

    Toni: Sure.

    Munch: Can I have 3 pieces because I am 3 years old?

    Toni: Well, okay.  But that is all. That is plenty of chocolate.

    Munch:  Thanks Mamma!

    (she eats chocolate)

    Munch: Can I have another piece of chocolate?

    Toni: No way dude.  You just had 3.

    Munch: BUT I WANT ANOTHER PIECE OF CHOCOLATE!! WAAHHHHHHAAHHHHHHAAAAAAHHHAHAAA I NEED ANOTHER PIECE.  JUST ONE MORE PIECE!!

    Toni: Listen… you just had 3 pieces.  That is enough.  You promised you wouldn’t ask for more.  You have to be thankful for what you just had.  You can have some tomorrow.

    Munch: BUT I WANT MORE CHOCOLATE NOW!! WAHHHHAHHHHAHHHHHAA

    Or

    Munch: Can I watch the Carebears Movie?

    Toni: Okay.  But you can only watch it once.

    Munch: Okay I promise!

    (she watches it)

    Munch: Can I watch another Carebear movie?

    Toni: Dude! You have to keep your promises! We said one, and it is not fair to ask again!

    Munch: BUT I NEED TO WATCH 3 CAREBEAR MOVIES BECAUSE I AM 3 YEARS OLD!! WAHHHHHAHHHHAHHHHAHHHHAAAAAA

    Or

    Toni: Okay goodnight Munch.  Sleep well.

    Munch: Can you tickle me more Mamma?

    Toni: Okay I will tickle you one more time, and then it is time for bed.

    Munch: Okay.

    (I tickle her)

    Toni: Okay Munch that is it.

    Munch: No 5 more times Mamma.  I promise.  Just 5 more times.

    Toni: Sigh…. Okay Munch but that is it!!!  Then bed time.

    Munch: Okay

    (tickle her “5” times… whatever that means).

    Toni: Okay goodnight Munch.  Sleep well.

    Munch: No Mamma! 16 more times.  Just tickle me 16 more tickles.

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  • My Harvard Life

    When I was 6 years old my parents, brother, and I moved into a Harvard dorm.  My mom and dad were asked to be the “masters” of Currier House… which seemed like a really big deal – much like how He-Man and his friends were the “masters of the universe.”  We moved the year I started the 1st grade, and I spent my childhood growing up Harvard.

    It turns out being the House Masters of Currier house was a lot less like living at Castle Grey Skull than I had expected.

    For one, I would host a lot of parties.  We had to hold these cocktail soirées so the parents could come visit, and see how their kid was spending their $40,000 a year (besides smoking pot and finger-banging).  Believe it or not, my parents didn’t always want to deal with these events.  So they would send me as their ambassador and I would pass around pigs in a blanket and wine while telling the moms and dads that their child was in fact a genius.  My parents would eventually show up once everyone was so liquored up that they didn’t care anymore that their kid as getting an A-  (the kiss of death in the academic world).

    I also had a LOT of independence growing up.  I came and went whenever it tickled my fancy, and no one seemed concerned about my whereabouts.  I guess my parents assumed that we existed in this hyper safe atmosphere.  And in many ways it was, because the chances of me getting kidnapped were pretty low – everyone was too busy proving their superior intelligence.  But I was also surrounded by 400 college-aged kids, and had 24 hour access to a vending machine.  There was a 3 week period where I consumed nothing but Reeces Pieces as some sort of solidarity to ET.  I also ate every meal at the cafeteria, which meant starting at age 7 I  was picking all my own meals. I think it was about 4 years into my living there that my mom noticed I hadn’t eaten anything green since we had moved in.

    There was this one night in the 3rd grade that my friend Lizzie came to sleep over.  We snuck out of the apartment at around 11 and what happened after is a mystery even to me.  When my parents came to wake us up in the morning because Lizzie’s mom and dad had come to get her, they went into my room and realized we weren’t there.

    My Mom: Ummmm that is strange.  They should be in bed.  And they are not.

    Lizzie’s Parents: Yes, it seems that way.

    My Mom: Hmmmm.  I know! I will call the front desk and ask them.

    Lizzie’s Parents: Yeaaaaah.  That would be great.

    Front Desk: Hello?

    My Mom: Have seen Toni and her little friend?

    Front Desk: Yeah, they are passed out on the pool table.

    I mean, what 10 year old wouldn’t want to play pool at 4 am with a bunch of drunk guys??

    Every day when I got home from school I would roller skate the halls and be on the look out for students who wanted to hang with me (which was a surprising amount of people).  I think I reminded people of their little brother’s or sisters, and when they felt homesick I was a good remedy.

    There was this one girl who had beautiful hair, and I always wanted to practice my hair-doing skills on her.  She was a good sport, and would often let me in her room to chill even after her French braids were done.  One afternoon I was trying on her jewelry as she studied for a test.  At one point she went to the bathroom, and I opened another drawer in search for more pretty sparkly things.  I found this cool little box and opened it.

    When she came out I was balancing her diaphragm on my face, and trying to blow it up like a balloon.

    Toni: These things are awsum! My mom has one too!! What are they for anyway?

    Yeah….. I don’t think that girl ever quite recovered from that moment.

    (Here is a picture of 9 year old Toni…. and of course, a diagram of how a diaphragm is used just so that visual of it sitting on my face can really sink in).

    diaphragm-blog-(i)diaphragm-blog-(i2)

    January 21, 2014 • Adventures, Family Drama, Old School Stories, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 2966