Thursday, March 4, 2010


Tonight I went to a writing class.

Uh-boy, not a good opener. Now you've gotten the idea that a good post follows and well, friends, that just ain't happenin'. No really. I need you to let it go. With these words...gently, open your hand...release that silly little idea, let it float away into a sweet spring take a deep breath. What do you smell? Ah yes, the dog crap I didn't pick up in the front yard. Right I'll get on that. Now that you're inspired to keep reading, here's what's up:

I'm just having a crappy ass time of it. There. I said it. No rainbows, no unicorns. Just that sticky residue of unnamed, unreasonable emotions that remain unexpressed due to the lack of funds req'd to do the rock star therapy thing. So to the writing class I go for the therapy that I need. And to you, dear interweb therapists, I guess I'm a- bringin' it to you. Thank you in advance for your sage advice and wisdom. Thank you for your virtual ear.

Tonight I'm all jacked up on ideas and Pinkberry. If you're not in LA - let me just say this. You're lucky. This Pinkberry stuff is totally delicious, totally useless, likely completely toxic and open until 11pm on weekdays. I go through phases with this fancy fro-yo stuff. I really only eat it when I'm full of self-loathing. So there you go.

I mean, it's pretty awesome how perfectly rotten it makes me feel. I eat it, I check my watch and then wait for the headache to show up between :22 and :28 minutes later. Tonight it came on in a quick :12 minutes, but likely that was due to the fact that I ran through the rain thusly accelerating it through my system.

So what does all of this have to do with milk? (the title of my post). Well I'm doubtful that there is any actual milk in the product of which I've been rambling, so that isn't it.

No, it's about me. About the fact that I am still serving it 3-4 times a day and while deep down I'm a stinky, stinky hippy who would be probably be willing to nurse through toddlerhood and beyond I've had some recent experiences that are threatening to end my run of being a walking dairy dispenser for the little baby with a big head.

Well, you can't see them in this picture - but there are top teeth as well in that little cartoon mouth.

And like anyone with new tools that they'd like to try out, he's been checking out his chomping skills.

And like anyone who is learning their way around emotional states, lately he's been taking his anger out for a test drive.

Ok. I've said enough. Y'all are smart.

Although I will say this, I'm proud to say that while much harm as come to me, no harm has come to anyone else in this family. When the little bite n' pull showdown went down the other night I calmly put him in the highchair while I calmly went to warm up the lentils and rice mush and I calmly served it and while he was not so calm I was quite. It was almost eerie. Perhaps being emotionally shut down has it's place.

And since I left the boy and his Dad before the final milk session tonight in order to go deep into Hollywood for my class, now I've got the surplus and the accompanying pain. Of course there is no serving it anyway because it's laced with Pinkberry toxins.

So while my milkmaid status is potentially precarious, I offer this math. 20 months ago, in June of 2008 my body got taken over by the production of a person. 11 months ago in April of 2009 it became the diary farm that it is today. Here in March of 2010, I'm about ready to take it back for my own uses, even if they are not noble or good. Anyone want to back me up on this decision?

Your organic farmer,

PS - It's probably obvious if you're read this far, but I could use some encouragement. Life is kinda kicking my ass right now, so if you've got any - please do share.

**EDIT, 3/4** - I just found out that when the boy was getting his last song last night he starting looking around wildly for me. Watching the door and pushing the sweet singing daddy aside, he was clearly wondering when the usual milk delivery was coming. When it didn't come he finally wailed 'Mom!' and collapsed into an inconsolable wail.

So he has been saying Momma and Dad -dad-dad-dad it's a little non-specific, we're not sure if he's placing it with us. So that was a first, and it's pretty damn touching. I am twisting my hair into dreads right now so that I can merge with my image of a long-term breastfeeding momma (you know I say stinky hippy only with complete love, right?) and see if I can keep this party going. I"ll keep you posted.