On Summertime and the Big City

Holy shit, it's officially summer! That little bitch, "Mother Nature" has been teasing us with warm, beautiful days here and there since last month, and here we are, officially in summer, and we've yet to receive consecutive "summer weather." It's all part of living in the Mitten, right? I mean, we're shaped like winter apparel, why are we surprised by the erratic weather patterns up in here?

With that being said, allegedly we're supposed to get our asses kicked with some severe storms and possibly tornadoes later today and overnight. Doesn't that sound nice? Who doesn't want to deal with tornadic weather in the middle of the night? I'll be sweeping my family into our flooding basement in the dark at 3:00am and using myself as a human shield while twisters sweep my money pit of a house away. Aside from being homeless for a while, getting a new house out of the deal might not be a bad shake.

All kidding aside, I don't wish to be involved in a tornado, nor do I wish for my toddler to have to experience that, not to mention, Leopold and Jameson would be shitting their fur to be involved in such an event. There, there's my disclaimer.

In other news, J and I went to Chicago last weekend for a family wedding. G had his first overnight weekend at Grandma and Papa's, in which he did amazing. Mama bear over here was all nervous for nothing, but, I guess that's what we do.

I'd never been to Chicago. J had been years ago. We've been to NYC and DC on past trips, and I must say, Chicago is the tamest in regards to traffic and crowds. Don't get me wrong, it was still hectic as hell, and there were people everywhere, but somehow, it seemed calmer, I don't know why. We got a little sightseeing in, you know, the standard Navy Pier visit and Millennium Park. Of course we wanted to get to Willis Tower, but my ass is so scared of heights, I couldn't bring myself to get up there, and forget about that sky deck or whatever. I couldn't even get on the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier, okay? This is how much of a sissy I am.

I won't lie to you, I missed my kid, alright? I got choked up here and there when I saw little toddlers running around, having fun. However, this does not mean I didn't enjoy my adult time either. I got to spend an entire weekend being pre-mom me. We went out to the bar with the family and their friends for a little pre-wedding imbibing. It didn't matter what time we finished up or how lit up we were. We could just go to the hotel and fall asleep. We walked and biked around the City not having to worry about whether or not we were giving our son heat stroke or stopping for nap time. We went to the wedding without having to worry about leaving at a certain time to be home with our boy. It was, refreshing, needed. Naturally, when we saw him on Sunday afternoon, we wouldn't let go, but that's neither here nor there. Now that we know he's cool with spending a weekend away from us once in a while, it might be prudent to indulge our pre-kid selves and have a weekend. Right... we'll see.

On Giving Up

Typically my posts are smarmy and full of humor because I want to make you people laugh, only if it lasts for just a split second of your entire day. So I'll throw this disclaimer out there right now... this post probably won't be humorous, it probably won't leave you feeling jovial on the inside, you probably won't think about something you read here and laugh about it later. It will be downtrodden, and depressing, it will echo the feelings of a forlorn pet owner. If this shit isn't for you, it might be best to stop reading this post right.... here.

For years and years, our family owned a parrot, Paco. My mother met him at the pet store she worked at 30+ years ago and formed a bond with him as he sat at the cash register. One day, she decided to bring him home to join the family. For about the first 8 years of my life, Paco and I were rather indifferent of each other. I knew if I tried to pet him, he would bite my damn finger off. Still, I talked to him, and tried desperately to be friends with him because I found him incredibly interesting for a hateful bird. Paco had a big mouth, as most parrots do, he would screech and carry on and just over all be a noisy bird. This eventually led him to be placed in one of the bedrooms, which would have been fine, but it was the bedroom my dad slept in while he worked mid-nights, so it was dark, and it was cold.

Being the big ol' softie that I am, I brought him in to my room as I spent a lot of time in there and it was the warmest room in the house. A great environment for a warm weather bird, right? Eventually, I wore him down. After spending countless hours with him, reading, playing board games, having conversations, he finally warmed up to me, and we became pals. That is until we got a cat. He fell in love with the cat, and I was yesterday's bitch. Though, through the years, the three of us would hang out in my room, playing board games, the cat swatting away the pieces to be a dick, like most cats are. Paco would grab a piece in his mouth and run away, something he learned from the cat undoubtedly.

We got about 10 years with the cat before we lost him to cancer. Paco and I were devastated. Paco wasn't the same after he lost his cat. He stopped speaking, and just sat there quietly, observing, mourning. Eventually the time came for me to move out. Since Paco and I were still pals, he moved out with me. He was the center of attention, the only child, but still something was missing. While, his quietness was a blessing while living in an apartment, I felt bad that he had fallen in to such a depression. I thought, I'm ready for a new cat, maybe he is too.

Leopold entered the scene and once more Paco was in love, and again, I was yesterday's bitch. Leopold was the center of his universe and he only wanted to be around him. I think Leopold became his mate. He would holler until he got to be with the cat, and when he was with him, he was happy. I should mention here, that we also have a dog, who Paco hated and dive bombed on the daily. He's always hated dogs, big and small, I don't know why. He didn't care how big they were, he'd dive bomb them and bite the shit out of them, he had no fear.

Time passed, and then there was a baby. During the first months of his life while he was immobile, Paco could give a shit less about the baby, until the baby started getting around, then he was a threat. He was a threat to his cat, who the baby adored and wanted to pet. Paco did not want anyone touching his cat and would pretty much peck anyone's eyes out that dared pay attention to Leopold. So, he took some swipes at the baby.

This got to be a problem. I thought... why is he having such an issue? He was around when I was baby and he didn't dive bomb and bite me. Of course, he didn't have the freedom when I was a baby that he had now. Was he jealous? Maybe. I think it mostly stemmed from him wanting no one touching his cat.

After this behavior continued for a long while, it was decided that Paco might be better living with a foster family who didn't have young kids or dogs to incite his anger. This decision was not settled on lightly. Paco and I had been together for 30 years. As much of a dick as he was, he was my family. I found a lovely bird rescue through my vet. The plan was to place him with a foster couple who are members of their bird club and the foster couple might elect to keep him, or he could be adopted out.

This broke my heart. During the time I communicated with the rescue group to the time they found him a foster home (which didn't take very long) I felt an emptiness, a dread that he was going to be leaving. I did learn he was going to live with a very nice couple who had 2 cats and 2 birds. This information helped a little, but I still didn't want my little asshole to leave.

He left for his new home on February 28th. The second I closed the door, I wept. I wept for three days. It's been three months since he's been gone. I get regular updates on his progress and hear he is doing quite well and is happy. He loves his new cats and has made friends with the Macaws he lives with. Which, for a bird who tried to murder his cockatiel friend years ago is amazing. He went to his first bird meeting and was quite convivial. He stepped up on random people's hands and was quite social. The couple he is with now, is the couple he'll spend the rest of his life with.

I'm thrilled he won't be bounced around further. I'm thrilled he's found a new loving environment where he can thrive. However, there's still a huge hole in my heart for him. Part of that hole is missing him, and other part is the fact that I gave up on him. I couldn't give him any more and I had to let him go. I wasn't a good enough bird parent and I couldn't give him what he needed so he was letting me know by acting out and there was still nothing I could do.

It hasn't gotten better in the three months that he's been gone. Sometimes, I still hear him fluttering around, or I'll hear his bell in his cage or some other toy jangling. I haven't had many pets, but I never let any go, they spent their lives with me, and that's what I intended for Paco. He deserved better though, better than what I could ultimately offer, and that's the kicker, I'm a bird parent failure.

I miss him. I think about him often. It feels strange that he is someone else's. It feels strange that he has other cat companions, bird companions, and people companions. It still feels like he should be with me. I haven't felt the same since he left. There's a part of me that's just gone, and maybe that's silly since I'm talking about a bird, but I grew up with him. He got to hear all my tales of woe and teenage angst and all my achievements and happy times when I was younger. He always just listened.

But... the important thing now is that he's happy. He's thriving. He's loving life. That's what he deserves.

On Total and Utter Randomness

I had a couple different topics that I could probably milk and get a couple of blog posts out of, but they seemed so insignificant to merit their own post, except for maybe this news right here:

As some or most of you might know, I am an attempted writer. I do have one fiction book published at the moment, that has remained rather stagnant since its publication in 2011. This year I decided I'd spend a little money and enter it in a couple book festivals, not expecting high results, because, what writer does? My first festival was the San Francisco Beach Book Festival. "Stress Test" did not win any of the grand prizes... however, it did win First Honorable Mention in the General Fiction category. Not such a huge deal to most, but a pretty big deal to me, as its creator who though my first book might very well be utter drivel. This little milestone is quite exciting to me, and almost a week later, I'm still riding the high from it.

This second bit is just a general observation about G-Money. I will preface this by saying, I know my boy is only almost two and things will change for him drastically as he gets older. I brought him over to a school a couple weeks ago to play, his future elementary school actually. One of the many things I like about him is his ability to stand back and observe his surroundings before he dives right in and reacts. There were about a dozen other kids playing while we were there and he cautiously walked up to the playground and kept a safe distance and watched each of the kids doing various things. He stood there for probably about 20 minutes just taking it in. He then started to play on his own, near the other kids, but not trying to play with them. I could see that he was hesitant about engaging them and it brought me back to my own elementary school playground happenings where I'd often times either play alone or with a set group of friends. I was painfully shy throughout all of my school years, and am still very shy, I know how it affected me, and I shudder to think that my sweet boy might take after me in that aspect. On the other hand, I know he's still so young and he may blossom into a social butterfly by time he reaches school. Either way, I just want him to be happy.

This third bit has to do with dating. I was at a bar with some co-workers the other day, having a good time, relaxing, when totally unsolicited a freakishly tall biker man approached me. He asked my name, I told him, he told me his name, he asked if he could hang out (at the bar) with me, I quickly said, I'm married. He was like... "that's okay." Red flag number one. Now, when a woman almost immediately tells a stranger she's married, does that not tell said stranger that she is not interested in talking to him any further? He still persisted. It must have been something about my red nosed, puffy eyed, sick voiced, no make-up personality that really got this guy. Then I was like, look dude, I'm married to this guy's sister (pointing at my co-worker). "Oh, that's even better." Seriously, bro? It took him a minute or two to let it sink in, then he was like, "Oh, so it's like a f**k off kinda thing right?" I stared at him while it set in. You'd think he would of gathered that from the whole, I'm "married" thing. Don't get me wrong, just because I'm married doesn't mean I'll be an asshole and refuse to talk to the opposite sex completely. But, I'm not completely blind, creepy biker man approaches one of only a couple mildly okay looking chicks in a bar asking to hang around after knowing she's married, and to a woman (so he thinks) and won't back down. Man, I can't be a party to that.

See what I'm saying? Three somewhat interesting pieces of information that really do not merit their own post, but it's something to think about. So let me know, any of you have any scum bag stories for me?

On Starting a Publishing Business

 

If you follow me on Facebook, this is old news to you, if not, then you won't be completely bored by the following information. I've done some thinking and deciding, and planning. After successfully publishing the first book all by my lonesome, editing, doing the cover art, getting the ISBN numbers, copyrights, etc., I thought it might be time to start my own press. If one is going to ride the self publishing train, it seems like the next logical step. Reading up on it, it makes sense. No one wants to look on the inside cover of a book and see that the publisher is in fact, the author. It does in fact, look hokey.

So, with that in mind, I've set the wheels in motion to officially start my own press. I've got the name picked out. Research is done to make sure said name is available. Next week I'll be putting the papers in to claim the name and business. This might sound like a bigger deal than it really is. Officially, I'm just doing this for myself so that my own books have an actual publisher, instead of just me. However, if it so happens that some other newbie Indie authors want an actual publisher without going through the hassle of starting their own press, well, hey, I'll be available, and maybe I'll pick up some proceeds from it. Yes friends, it really is "All About the Benjamins." Though in my case, it'll probably be "All About the Hamiltons."

In the end though, it's not about the money (obviously because I'm not making any). I mean, I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to be Stephen King or James Patterson rich, but if I can get a story out there, and entertain even one person, then that's what it's really about in the long run. It's also about perseverance. Following a story through to fruition, editing it, editing it again, and then one more time. Choosing your cover art, setting your price, your publishing platforms, filing all the paperwork. Being stubborn enough to get shit done. I did it once, and it was awesome. Awesome when it was done, mind you. Knowing that I had it in me. The during is what really grates on you. Having these ideas swirling through your brain, but never really knowing quite how to put them down on paper, or screen.

Case in point, the short story book, the first story is out there, it's started off on a gritty note, but I fear it's treading into the contrite shit realm. I don't know what the main problem of the story is going to be. I don't know who the antagonist is going to be. Maybe the main character? How? This is shit I just don't know. I can't stop thinking about it though. I make little notes, I scribble those notes out, I make more notes, I throw the page away. It's like throwing away your feelings.

It will be done though. Someday. Probably not this year. Sure, I can shoot for November. That would give me 6 or 7 months of writing and a couple weeks of straight editing. For the typical writer, that should be more than enough time, but I'm a procrastinator, I make excuses. I choose sleep over writing most of the time. However, I may be back on the evening writing train some time soon. But, it will be done.

On Giving It Away For Free and Always Working

It's not what it sounds like. I know what you're thinking, get your mind out of the gutter.

I've recently been alerted that this is "Read an e-Book Week." Who knew such a thing existed? Certainly not me. In any case, since I personally have an e-Book floating around the world, getting read by exactly no one, I took full advantage of throwing my book into promotion mix. For this week only, until March 7th, you can download a copy of my book for FREE! Yes homies, I said FREE! Not like paying for the sucker would break your pocket book. It's typically .99 if you're all about paying for things. But, now you don't have to regret throwing that dollar out the window and you can read my drivel for free! Much like reading this blog. To download your free copy, follow this link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/49360 and use the code: RW100 at checkout to get it for free on your e-Reader or computer.

Now that I've got the shameless plugging out of the way, I'll get down to brass tacks. I may never be a renowned writer, I may never have a best seller, hell, I probably won't ever be remotely popular because I don't write dumb ass sparkling vampire fiction or downright abysmal fan faction based on said sparkling vampire fiction. I've accepted that, it's ok, it really is. The point is, I like writing. Even if it's just for me. I like entertaining my small sphere of influence, even if they're just humoring me by telling me they're entertained.

I've been working a bit on my short story book. I still don't know what the hell it will be about in the long run, but that's part of the adventure. A lot of writers will outline the shit out of their pieces, they'll have everything planned out, and the story will be written exactly as it's been planned. I tried story boarding, I really did. I always stray from the plan and then I think, why did I bother in the first place? So, now I fly by the seat of my pants. The inspiration has been flowing lately. It's exhilarating. Some people get their kicks by jumping out of air planes, and swimming with sharks, or whatever else, but me, I'm electrified by ideas flowing through my mind and getting jotted down on paper.

So even when I'm working my day job, or I'm at home with my son, I'm always driving ideas through my head. I'm always thinking of the next book, the next story, the next disaster. The hopefulness of what that story might be is entrancing. It might not be much, but at least it's something. 

On A Month Deep Into 2015

Well... now that we've got that nasty bitch called January out of the way, why don't we breeze through February and March while we're at it too?

To quote Bill Murray in Groundhog's Day, winter in the Midwest and Northeast really will be cold, it's going be grey, and it's going to last you the rest of your life. At least... that's what it feels like when you're ass deep in it.

Then again, without the shitty Michigan winters, how can one truly enjoy the majestic pleasures of the summer and fall. You know, the nice four months, maybe five of warm weather you get to enjoy before you totally freeze your ass off for the rest of the year. Without one extreme, you really can't enjoy the other.

In any case, I've held true to my promise to myself. I sat my bony ass down in that chair and started my new project. It happened one day after work when I happened to have an hour or so to myself. No one was home, the house was quiet, I thought.. I... I might get to write right now. By golly, I'm taking advantage of this. I eagerly climbed the stairs and walked into my office that is still lined with boxes despite having moved in last May. I turned on my computer, opened the word processor, and looked at that blank white screen, that blinking cursor taunting me again. I felt a rush of fear, starting over again. Will it be any good? Will I see this one through to fruition? Will I write what I really want to write? Should I be worried if people will judge me? Piss on it, I thought, and started typing.

I'll be honest. I know this will be a book of short stories. Probably four good length ones in total. Aside from having a few quick ideas of how to start them, I really have no idea how any of the stories will turn out. I don't know the characters, I don't know the story lines, I'm really just swinging blindly in the dark. I know I want the stories to be real, to be visceral, gritty. I want to impose some sort of shock value, I want the reader to really imagine what it might feel like if the story on the page were real. Of course, don't all writers want that? Maybe... or maybe some of them just want to make boat loads of money and have their crummy stories being made into crummier movies. I won't lie, I'd love to make boat loads of money on my stories and have my best selling book made into a blockbuster movie, but I really don't think that's in the cards. I really just want to write to get people's imaginations churning.

While it will be slow going, I'm thrilled to be back at it again. It's somewhat invigorating to be at the beginning again. To go through the whole process. I'm looking forward to going through the finished project piece by piece, to edit, get the copyright information, register it, design the cover, put it out into the world. I think this one I'll work a little harder on advertising, I feel like this one might really be something. Or maybe it will be drivel, something only useful in starting your campfire. Time will tell.

On 2015 and Fake NYE Resolutions

Another year is almost over. I have no New Year's Eve plans. How about you? Oh, I could go to a party I suppose, but then I'd feel guilty about leaving G-Money with the in-laws, and I'd feel even more guilty if he spent the night which has been suggested. Why all the guilt? Can't a bitch go out and have some fun for New Year's? The answer my friends, is NO!

So, after the boy goes to sleep tomorrow night, I may imbibe in some wine, catch some Netflix, and call it a night, all before midnight, most likely. It sometimes makes me long for the days of partying half the night away while dodging shaving cream slaps in the face, and then being able to sleep in until noon the following day. Happy New Year!

On to my "resolution." With resolutions in the past, I always knew I was lying to myself, like oh, I'll stop swearing so damn much, or I'm going to give up caffeine...cold turkey. You know, something that seems so simple, but you know you're never going to do it anyway. Well, I think I've come up with a reasonable resolution, or maybe, a "promise to myself." I think by now, you all know I have a passion for writing. If she's so passionate, why hasn't the bitch written anything since that boy has been born? That's an excellent question that you muttered under your breath. Here's the answer: I use the excuse of, I'm so tired chasing after that little stink pot, that at the end of the day, I want to fall into bed with a book, which, honestly, most days I do, or I catch an episode of my stories, mon'.

I did start a second manuscript before G was born, and was half way through it actually, when I decided to shelve that shit. There might be some good meat in there somewhere, but I came to a giant blockade and couldn't go any further. I didn't like where the story was going and I just gave up.

I thought the solution was... start a new project, get new ideas flushed through, that might bring new ideas to the other project. Of course, I misjudged just how tired I would be all the time and decided sleep overruled writing. So... here we are, a year and a half without a word written. Some writer I am. 

What does all this mindless babble mean to you guys? Well, quite frankly, probably nothing, but, I'm making a personal vow to myself that in 2015, I will sit my ass in that chair, whether it's in the middle of the afternoon on a weekend while the boy naps, or after the boy goes to bed at night and get some words on the page. I will follow through with my book of short stories and get it published. Probably not in 2015... let's not get ahead of ourselves here, but it will be done. I did it once, and I certainly don't want to be some single publication sucka.

In closing, it's been a roller coaster year. We mourned the loss of my grandfather, we celebrated G-Money's first birthday, along with several other of his milestones, walking, talking, eating like a man, climbing, and so on and so forth. We sold our first home and bought another one. We've been sick, we've been healthy, we've been stressed, we've been cool as a cucumber. I always like to think the next year will be better than the last, but that's always a crock of shit isn't it? Has anyone ever had a stellar year, the whole year long? You get the same problems, but in a New Year. I'll just be hoping for no major shit going down, and I'll be happy.

On Christmas and a 17 Month Old

Ah, the Christmas Season is upon us again, and has been since Halloween. Those old Christmas carols have been on repeat since November 1st. I mean, what the hell? How can you get into the Christmas spirit when you haven't even disgustingly gorged yourself on Thanksgiving food until you feel like you want to die. I just don't get it.

I'll admit, I broke down and started listening to Christmas tunes a few days before Thanksgiving, only because it was sub-zero outside, and I felt jolly. Not to mention, the jingle bells and shit made the kid bop his legs in the back seat. Anything that makes for a peaceful car ride I'm down for.

Speaking of the kid, he is 17 months old today. I'll call him a year and a half, he's close enough. I'll call him a year and a half until June, when I'll say, he's almost 2. I really hate it when parents say, "Oh, Mindy is 47 months, and Carson is 76 months." Nobody cares! It's like me saying I'm 376 months old. Phew, with that out of the way, I must mention, this child really is his father's son apparently. He's a bonafide hot dog. Climbing and testing his physical limits. He invokes mini-heart attacks on the daily. He's repeating everything, and has been for a while, which is limiting for his mother who typically swears like a sailor. He's a bit of a character, running around the house with a smirk on his face, being independent playing alone in his room, sitting and building shit with his blocks, he's really his own man. I also really appreciate that he's an observer, he really has to stand back and really take in a situation before he decides whether or not he wants to be involved. That's pretty good for a kid of his age.


Back to Christmas. The tree and decorations went up Thanksgiving weekend. I thought for sure the tree would have come down at least 5 or 6 times by now. Not the case. However, the boy loves ripping the ornaments off the tree and yelling "BALL!" and giggling as he gallops away with the goods. Which is why, all our ornaments are plastic. This year, he's more engaged in Christmas. He admires the lights, he explores the tree, which makes me think... I won't be able to put presents under the tree because all that shit will be open in 3.5 seconds.

And now, for the sentimentality of it all. Christmas is a magical time of year. Maybe it's the lights, the snow, the frigid temps, the stupid Christmas music, or maybe it's being lit up by holiday cocktails, but even at my age, I still feel something in the air around Christmas time. Of course now, presents aren't a priority, it's about hanging out with family and friends, going to holiday parties, imbibing, dancing, celebrating, and enjoying being alive. I find myself looking forward to holiday parties, instead of dreading them, I'm even looking forward to hosting Christmas dinner at the new house even though I have no idea what the hell dinner will be. I'm looking forward to laughter and good stories that may or may not be remembered. That's what Christmas is all about after all, right?

On Inspiration

Should it surprise you that I've been running my mouth about getting back to work on my writing, and I haven't done shit about it? I know it doesn't surprise me. I come up with new excuses every day for not sitting down in the chair and starting the new project.

• I sit at a computer all day at work
• I have to wait until G-Money goes to bed to maybe get an hour of work in. By then, I'd rather watch Mad Men (which I'm addicted to and will probably be addressed in another post.)
• Gah! I just want to relax by reading a book (I'm gaining a small stack of "to read" books that I'm anxiously wanting to burn through)
• I want to go to sleep
• It's pointless to sit in the chair because I'll just watch the clock until I decide it's time to go to bed.

The thing is. I'm working everything out in my head. I know I'm doing a book of short stories. I know I want it to be dark. Like, twisted, haunt your dreams kind of dark. I suppose I'm apprehensive about how far I can really go without having people think I'm some sort of crazed lunatic writing about what I really think. Well, let's be honest, whenever someone writes something, there's always an element of truth in the writing, a little part of that person mixed in with the characters. In any case, I don't want people looking at me stranger than they already do. Ah, I kid. I'm at a point in my life where I shouldn't care about what people think. I mean, anyone who has given birth knows your dignity and caring what people think go right out the window since you've got a team of people all up in your business.

This is another excuse I tell myself. I'm withholding writing what I really want because I don't want to expose any sort of vulnerability. On the other hand, it might be fun to keep people wondering about me. There's two sides to every person. Their mask, which they wear for everyone around them, and what's underneath the mask, their true selves.

On the plus side, I can pacify myself by saying that I'm constantly pulling ideas from everyone and everywhere. Sometimes it's nice to be that quiet person lurking in the corner observing instead of being in the center of it. It really makes for great material.

On "Mommy Guilt"

Okay, I have to admit, I've fallen prey to the made up moniker of "Mommy Guilt."

Mommy guilt is an equal-opportunity affliction, the experts say — it strikes whether you're 20 or 40, CEO of your home or a Fortune 500 company, living in the big city or on Main Street USA.

If you ask me, it's bullshit. Do daddies feel "Daddy Guilt?" I didn't think I would care about being out of the house so much at work. I thought, ah, distance will make the kid's heart grow fonder, maybe he'll be a perfect little angel during the time we are together... that's a lie, I had no preconceived notions that G-Money would be perfect 100% of the time, though, to his credit, he is awfully sweet, like 97% of the time.

So, "Mommy Guilt" struck me when I started working even more hours at the office, and then I piled more work on top of that. Work, after work, and on the weekends. It's gotten to the point that the boy is so used to me leaving, I put a coat or sweater on and he's like "Bye-Bye Mama," and waving me out the door. I feel like I'm missing out on precious bonding time, time that I won't get back because he will grow and lose interest in his parents and will gain interest in girls. He won't want to hang out with mom and dad, he'll want to hang out with his friends, doing God knows what.

It's all sentimental drivel. Most of all, I feel like in a way, I'm abandoning him by working so much. Though, I know in the long run, maybe he'll be able to be one of those men who don't objectify women and place them in one category or another ie: career bitch, or house bitch. Maybe he'll see that women can be strong working mothers who support their kids and don't have to be just a career bitch or a house bitch, they can do both, or only one, the options are limitless, and hopefully he'll see that one day.