Tag: children

I am Only a Penguin

I am Only a Penguin

I know I’m very behind. I’m hard at work on the stories, I just can’t post them as soon as they happen, for the most part. But this one was just too cute to share, I think. In my personal opinion.

100 Writings in 100 Days

Writing # 2

October 17, 2014

The room was dark as she carefully climbed into bed, tucking herself in under her blankets. She eyed the dark suspiciously for only a moment before finally reaching over for her stuffed animal. Most people had teddy bears, but she had me, a Penguin. I recognize that my job is very important, having to protect my human from the scary things that go bump in the night. And trust me, it is quite scary.

As she gathered me up into her arms, I could tell she’d had a very bad day because of how tightly she held me. Her bad days were getting worse and worse, with less spacing in between. I tried to tell her that everything was going to be okay, but I am only a penguin. My mouth does not move, and I cannot even hug her back. I do my best to stay on the bed so she can always find me, but sometimes I fall off. Anyway, the point is I do all that I can to let her know I’m there for her.

She tosses and turns for a bit, her body twitching with the first signs of slumber. This is when the job of a stuffed animal really matters. As our humans fall asleep, lots of things come out to try and take advantage of the now vulnerable humans. It is our job to protect them from the dark and grotesque that bumps and thumps in the dark. I prepared myself for epic battle.

Carefully I slid from her arms, once her breathing evened out and she snored quietly. I surveyed my surroundings. So far, so good. Nothing to be afraid of thus far. All of a sudden, I heard it. A very low, very quiet moan. The monster in the closet was back, and I launched myself over to it, closing the door and locking it inside. No monsters will attack my human, no matter how hard they try. In my haste to close the closet door, a few ghosts hovered above her. I waddled as fast as I could over to the bed, climbing up and standing over her.

“Back, you ghosts! Back! You are not allowed to touch her! She is protected!”

The power of love is a strong thing, never underestimate that. I knew she loved me, because a little guy such as myself should not be intimidating at all. But I have a very strong aura about me that deters monsters, ghosts, and ghouls. Until that love fades, I’ll always be stronger than the creepy crawlies. The ghosts fled from me, disappearing into the walls and out of sight. I heard the quiet tinkling of a bell, and turned to see some fairies buzzing around her head. Most of the damage had already been done as they sprinkled their dust over her hair. It stood up, tangling in some areas. I sighed. I hate fairies.

I managed to chase them away, and spent most of the night doing this. Each time she stirred I moved back to my spot, or as close to it as I could manage, so she would be none the wiser of my escape. It is against the Stuffed Toy Handbook for our humans to discover us.

Finally as the sun begins to rise, and she begins to wake, I climb back into her arms and hold her as close as a stuffed penguin can. As soon as her eyes open and she looks back into mine, she smiles. Good. Already beginning to feel better. I try to smile back at her, but remember that I can’t. I’m only a penguin.

Innocence of a Child

Hello, everyone!! Look at me go, two blog posts in one month. I’m getting better at this already! At least I think it’s been in one month… Close enough for government work, anyway. Since converting to nightshift, my days are so thrown off it’s a little unbelievable. I couldn’t remember what day it was yesterday, and was genuinely panicked for a few minutes. Was it Tuesday, or Friday? Maybe it was Saturday? This was triggered by the fact that someone forgot to turn Sonic’s lights out (on the weekends they stay open until 11, weekdays at 10).

But, you didn’t come here to read about that did you oh loyal readers of mine. So we’ll move on to talk about my daughter. Now, in the past I’ve talked about her a little, but I’m not sure that I’ve gone into great detail about her. My daughter is absolutely brilliant. Brilliant, and a bit of a smarty pants. Every day is a new adventure, and now that I’m working I’ve learned how to take advantage of what time we do have together, rather than take it for granted like I did before. Which brings me to today.

For her birthday, my daughter got a sandbox. She absolutely loves it, because it combines her three favorite things: Being outside, playing pretend, and getting filthy beyond all imagination. She asked if I wanted to play with her, and I did just that. We made sandcastles and moats, walls and bridges. I taught her how to make a wall to protect the kings and queens inside the castle. She looked up from her castle and said “Yeah, we have to protect the queens in the castle!” “Queens?” “Yeah! Two queens live in that castle, mama, and they’re married!” A bit later she finished another castle, and informed me that two kings lived in that castle, and they were also married. They also wore yellow dresses to match the flag on top of the castle.

While all of this was incredibly cute, and very sweet, I felt a strange sense of sadness and confusion. I’ll start with the confusion. My daughter is way too young to understand that what she just said is considered taboo and “wrong” to so many people in society. She doesn’t understand what she’s doing, or why she’s marrying two queens and two kings together. She doesn’t understand the bible, or know who Jesus is. Yet here she is with two queens and two kings in drag (I guess this would make them drag queen kings) (Badum tsh). How, if homosexuality is a choice, can a four year old girl pair them together without so much as a hesitation?

The sadness is a bit more obvious. As I looked on at my daughter’s innocent game of pretend, I realized that I needed to cherish this as much as I possibly could. One day, someone is going to try and beat that out of her, and shove religion down her throat. One day someone is going to try and tell her that marriage between two women, and two men, is wrong. One day, she’s going to understand bullying, and hatred, and bigotry. I’m going to try my best to make sure she’s on the right side of that line, but at the end of the day, she’ll make her own decisions and walk her own paths. That hurts more than anything else. As a parent, I want to protect her from the world, and shield her from the hatred and the negativity that awaits her. I want to hold on to that childish innocence, and paint a picture of a perfect world for her. I never want to lose the way her eyes light up over something small to us, but is magical to her. Inevitably, however, it will happen. My daughter’s heart will become hardened to the world around her, and she’ll be expected to conform to the status quo, or face a life of being picked on.

I remember being a kid, and there was a woman wrestler on television. She was absolutely gorgeous. They were showing nude pictures of her on the screen, but her breasts and genitals were covered by a black stripe. I stated “Why don’t they just uncover her?” My mother immediately dragged me to my room to ask me why I’d said that. I remember panicking, because I didn’t want to get in trouble. I remember thinking that I wanted to see her beauty in its entirety (except way more simple because I was a kid), but that clearly wasn’t the answer she was looking for. So, instead, I said “Mom, I’m not gay.” Growing up, any time a reference to me being a lesbian came up, my mother would respond “Please, don’t.” or something such as.

So, of course, when I start finding women attractive, I began to hate myself. I remember experimenting with a female friend of mine, and feeling so disgusting and ashamed of myself afterwards. I hated myself more and more each day, because I was becoming the one thing my mother practically begged me never to become, what society had told me was wrong. I was becoming what kids had been bullied or killed over, what major debates were being fought over… It got to the point where I cut, because I wanted my outside to look as ugly as I felt on the inside. How could I disappoint everyone around me so much?

Then I woke up and realized… Fuck them. Fuck society. What has society ever done for me except cause me pain, and cause me to hate myself? How does that make me a better person when I am filled with just as much hatred as they are? How does this benefit me? It doesn’t. Instead, my pain gave society a different way to laugh, to mock, and to kick me while I was down. I wasn’t a child in pain, I was an attention seeker. I wasn’t taking off from school because I was sick, I was taking off from school because I was gothic and it happened to be the anniversary of Columbine, so clearly I was planning something. My suicidal thoughts weren’t real, they were a way to get everyone to look at me and pay attention to me. All of the above is shit that was actually said to me at one point or another, by various people.

So it makes sense that I would want to protect my daughter from this world, but I know that isn’t fair. Because it doesn’t matter what the world thinks of you, or what society tells you is right or wrong. It doesn’t matter how many times my mother, or the world, begged me, I still grew up to embrace my bisexuality. No matter how many times I went to a Baptist church, I still converted to Paganism.

The only thing I regret is losing my child like innocence. What I mean by that is sometimes I envy my daughter for how she looks at the world around her. It’s all simple, beautiful, and magical. I wish I could see the world like that again. I wish I hadn’t been tainted by hatred and evilness.

I sort of went off on an entirely different tangent there, and I’m sorry for that. The message, I suppose, I’m trying to deliver to you now is be careful what you say, how you say it, and who you say it in front of. The phrase “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” is untrue. Words have power. Words have more strength than anything else. Wounds will heal, but words will forever haunt you, and cut you with each time you remember them.

I know I’m going to make my own fair share of mistakes, and I know that I will create scenarios that will haunt my daughter just as mine haunt me. All I can really hope is, in the end, I will do right by her.

That’s it for today, folks. Sorry that went in a different direction that I thought it was, but apparently it needed to be said.

Ways to Tell You are a Parent

Parenthood is a gloriously frustrating time period that is both rewarding and disgusting. We have our  days and our bad, our ups and our downs. But nothing, and I mean nothing, can compare to having children.

In light of the fact that Mother’s Day just passed, and Father’s Day is right around the corner, I have decided to dedicate this blog to all the hard working mom’s, dad’s, stepparent’s, godparent’s, and grandparent’s out there.

How to tell you are a parent:

1). You appreciate your own parents more, and begin to realize maybe they weren’t as stupid as you used to think.

2). You’ve ever apologized to your parents/written a letter of apology because your child just did something you used to do.

3). You’ve muttered the phrase “I hope you have one just like you one day.”

4). You’ve tiptoed out of a room after tucking in every stuffed animal your child owns, and your child insists that you be quiet because said animals are sleeping.
5). It’s strange to you when you can hold a conversation that doesn’t involve frequent interruptions like “get that out of your mouth”, “get down before you break something”, or “no, you cannot bring your sand into the house.”

6). You’ve said phrases you swore you would never say because they annoyed you as a kid. I.E: Because I said so.

7). The idea of being pooped on, peed on, or vomited on doesn’t bother you nearly as much as it used to.

8). It looks like you’re packing for a week long vacation just to make a simple trip.

9). You make for a great jungle gym, which is a skill you didn’t realize you possessed.

10). You judge what you listen to/watch based on what you want to hear repeated back to you later.  “Oh yes, she has the entire bible memorized!”

11). You do the strangest things in public without even thinking about the fact that you are surrounded by people thinking you belong in a but house. Such as: sniffing your child’s butt, dancing, singing, making silly noises, etc.

12). You’ve cheered about bodily functions like you were at a sports event.

13). Partying every weekend is a thing of the past. In fact, the real party is if you can have a shower/eat/do chores in one day.

14). You have at least one kid’s book memorized.

15). You have the theme, characters, and catch phrases of at least three kid’s shows memorized.

16). You’ve cut down on your sugar intake on the basis of “if I open this, I’ll have to give it to the kid too…..”

17). You realized that the whole “poisoned candy” thing at Halloween was a way for your parents to eat your candy, and you have since used it.

18). Instead of being awake 24+ hours because of partying, you’ve been up for 24+ hours because of baby.

19). You’ve picked your child’s nose, pulled out a huge booger, and it didn’t phase you.

20). You’ve had to stop at least once in the course of reading this blog to say something to said child.

21). You’ve ever watched kid’s shows, and you were all alone.

22). You buy toys with the thought in mind “How bad is this going to hurt when I step on it?”

23). Most of your conversations with friends or family involve something your little one did.

24). You’ve said very strange things that you never thought belonged in a sentence together, let alone would ever come out of your mouth. Example: No, you may not shove a crayon up the dog’s butt,that’s rude.

25). You can now communicate efficiently with a single look or gesture.

26). Peeing alone, and with the door shut, is a luxury, not a right.

27). Your bathroom has looked like someone tried to wash a whale with the amount of water on the floor.

28). The flowers in your yard are segregated by which ones you don’t mind your child picking.

29). You despise the word “why?” and feel pieces of your sanity slip away each time you hear it.

30). You can relate to this list in any way, shape, or form.

Being a parent is challenging, but nothing is more reading than baby kisses and hugs. I’m sure there are thousands more items that could be added to this list, but I must try to convince my child that running around outside with no clothes on is indecent. I hope you’ve enjoyed this!

Why my Daughter doesn’t Care that I’m Fat

In the age we live in, it’s hard to be a fat person. We’re taught early on that we’re not as good as our skinnier, more attractive classmates, we’re judged by the clothes we can, or can’t, fit into, and so forth. Though this sounds like normal school antics, they don’t stop once you graduate. We’re pumped full of diet commercials, modeling catalogs, as if the media is just screaming “Look what you’ll never be.” Most of the times if you see a fat person in a movie, they are the butt of the joke.

It’s not always been this way, however. Back in the 50’s and 60’s they pushed advertisements stating how horrible of an insult it was to be called “skinny”. Skinny meant poor, unhealthy, etc. All the things you did not want to be in the 50’s.

Don’t believe me?

Image

We see so many beautiful women from that particular era, it makes you almost miss it. Especially if you’re a fat person.

Sometimes it still bothers me that I’m not thin, and I never will be. Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and think “Wow… No wonder everyone thinks I’m ugly.” And believe me, you can call a fat person whatever you’d like, but no one can insult us like ourselves. We’ve called ourselves every name in the book.

I’m so envious of these bigger women that are so comfortable in their own skin. They believe they are the most beautiful, and sexiest, women to ever grace the earth, and they are sometimes upwards of 300 lbs or better. I wish I had that confidence, that high self esteem. I don’t think I ever will. I’m always conscious about how I walk, how I breathe, and–sadly–people’s opinions of me.

I’ve always been a big girl, and when I became pregnant with my daughter I got even bigger. Like most moms, I’m struggling to get the weight back off and it seems like no matter what I do I cannot make it go away.

Today, however, is mother’s day. I was outside pushing my daughter on her swing and she was just laughing and having a great time. In the midst of her giggles, I started thinking to myself…You know…. My daughter has never judged me. In her eyes, I am her mother, and to quote a well known saying “Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children.” She doesn’t know such prejudices, she doesn’t understand the differences between fat and skinny. She sees me for me.

Hell, in her mind, she probably prefers me fat. And here’s why:

  • Way more mommy to snuggle:

I’m soft, cuddly, and squishy. Just what all babies adore!

  • When she’s swinging, she can kick a very soft belly instead of a pair of hands to help her learn how to swing properly
  • When she blows raspberries on my tummy, she gets more pffbbfbgbfbfbffbfbft for her buck!
  • She’ll always be able to outrun me. Lol!

My daughter loves me for who I am, and what I do for her, not the size of my trousers. I think I draw more strength from that than I do anything else. It’s time for me to push the negativity that surrounds me from the people who do not know me, or hardly know me, and focus purely on her opinion. At least, for the time being.

As a side note, I’d like to wish all the mothers out there a Happy Mother’s Day!!

 

It’s Just a Silly Fairy Tale.

I used to believe in fairy tales, when I was a child. Some might argue that this is time when we’re all “naive”. I beg to differ. I do not believe children are naive, I think they have the right idea. Of course, as children, we rarely appreciate what we have until we can no longer have it for whatever reason. “You can’t watch that television show, you’re an adult.” “Get off the playground equipment, you’re a grown woman!” “Hello! Quit daydreaming, you’ve got work to do.” And to think, when we were kids, all we wanted to do was grow up!

What was it about adulthood that seemed so brilliant to us as children? We didn’t have to listen to others, we could do whatever we wanted. We could go places, drive cars, Eat take out, candy, and ice cream whenever we so desired it. We wanted to be noticed, we wanted to make our own choices! But most importantly we wanted the freedom.

Growing up is a trap. It is the ultimate Bait and Switch. When you become an adult, you start listening to your parents even more. Unfortunately for some of us, by the time we are ready to listen, our parents aren’t around to give advice. You also have to listen to, and obey, whoever your employer is. Unlike your parents, however, they aren’t looking to make you better as a person. They’re looking to make you a better employee for that company. They don’t care about the day you’ve had, or the crap you have to put up with on a daily basis, as long as you get your work done.

It is true that, as adults, we can do and go wherever we want. So long as the budget permits. Don’t have enough money to go to that party? Too bad. Maybe next time. Don’t have enough money to buy that new game? Too bad. Maybe next paycheck.

We can even drive cars if we want to! After we save up our money to buy it, buy the necessary insurance, keep the license, tags, and inspection up to date, fill it up with gas, etc. Once you have a car, and all the necessities, can you really afford to go anywhere other than work? It is true that many places do not have to worry about this sort of thing, they have public transportation. I commend you for that, but in small towns such as where I live, public transportation is a joke. Everyone drives.

Yes, you can eat take out, candy, and ice cream whenever you want it. However, you also have to go to the doctor. “That’s not healthy for you.” “Look at your teeth, we’re going to have to pull that one out.” “Your cholesterol is too high.” “My god how much weight are you going to gain?” Not to mention the toll it takes on your budget.

You want to be noticed? The chances of that happening are slim and none. You’ve got to work super hard at it and even then, your net may not stretch that far. Even if it does, there are people all over the internet who are ready to tear you back down and stomp you into the ground. Why? Because people just don’t care. Everyone is trying to be something, and it is truly a dog eat dog world filled with people ripping the competition apart.

Make your own choices? Ha! Don’t even get me started on that. Sure, you can make your own choices to a certain extent. But your bills, and your responsibilities, come first. If you have a child? Those aren’t your choices anymore. Everything you do is for them. If it isn’t that way, then it should be.

Freedom. It doesn’t exist, not really. Not when you’re an adult. In fact, we are most free when we are children. We have way more freedom than we truly realize. Why? Because everything you do as a child is great. Pooping in a potty? WOO HOO!!! Learning the alphabet? AMAZING!! You can count to five? WAY TO GO!!!

As a child, you’re learning. As an adult, you’re supposed to have all of this figured out already. Everything you do is supposed to have purpose and meaning. I remember when I first started this blog, and people would tell me “You’ve got to find something interesting to write about. It’s got to have purpose. What audience are you going to try to get the attention of? You need high numbers.” I want to touch as many as I can, I don’t want it singled down to a particular age group. I can’t create something and gear it towards a particular group at all. As a child, we learned color for a reason: Because the world is not black and white. There shouldn’t be a limit on our imaginations, there shouldn’t be a “what you can and can’t” list everywhere you go. This is YOUR WORLD, damn it, make the most of it. Life is too short for this.

I remember being younger and writing blogs on Myspace all the time. Yeah, they weren’t very serious, but I really thought I was making a difference. I didn’t care about the low numbers. If two people read my work, I was happy as a pig in mud. Two people! My words were read by two people! TWO PEOPLE were inspired by something that I wrote! I wasn’t worried about criteria, I wasn’t worried about “fitting in”. Now, however? “That’s good but.” Or my favorite. “That’s not good enough, you can do better.” 

“You wrote a book? That’s good! You can do better though.”
“Awesome blog! You can do better though. It needs something else, something that will draw people in.”

Well I hate to break it to you guys, but I don’t stick to just one subject. As you may have noticed.

Then there is the subject of love. Ohh bloody hell. As a kid, we all believe that our prince charming will one day ride into town, sweep us off our feet, and we will have the perfect, fairy tale ending. We all, at some point, believe that our “special someone” is out there. After two failed marriages, I’m not sure I believe in that concept anymore. I think love is a confusing bundle of emotions that can be brought on–and satisfied!–by artificial means (chocolate, cocaine, etc). There is no such thing as perfect.

I miss being a child. I miss the freedom of expression, the joy, the mysteries…. I miss being able to be me, and not having to worry much about fitting in. I want the freedom of being able to ask for help and not being criticized for it, I want every little thing I do to be special again.

And I don’t want to be alone. I’m tired of being alone.

At least as a child, I could invent playmates and no one thought differently of me. Try that now and you’re automatically escorted to the nearest mental health facility. “But I’m not crazy, I’m just lonely!”

I used to believe in fairy tales. I used to believe in perfection. But now all I have are my dreams, my imagination, and the hope that one day I’ll be proven wrong.