Le Freak

So far this morning my daughter has told me that good girls get money, good girls get cars, and good girls get smarties.

It's enough to make me hang my head, cry, and then suck it up and tell her how she can get more if she "works" it just right while maintaining dignity and respect. Hey, if you can't beat it, might as well do it well.

I kid.

Kinda.

This is all coming from a lady who has a whorish looking travel mug. So take that for what you will.

Anyhow, many have asked "where you be motherbumper?" so I'm here to answer that exact question. Okay, no one has actually asked me where I've been - but in the big party in my head that never EVER turns off, I've imagined one or two of you have asked where the hell I have been.

I think I know why no has really asked because I'm beginning to think we are all in the same place. Seasonal transition reeks havoc on parental units regardless of stage of offspring development.

So let's see if I can account for myself before I strike out and find out what you've been doing. OK, here it goes:

I've been freaking out over in my Toronto Savvy Source spot about nursery school and the preparing for said nursery school adventure. I've woken up every morning for the past few days, just freaking out. I repeat: FREAKING OUT.

I've also been stalking my bathroom cupboard. My crazy cat has me convinced something is living in the back - in the very back where I shove lots of stuff and it strikes me as a damp, possibly some evil Narnia-like entrance to a place where slimey, yucky things live and emerge from their underworld homes. I get shivers just thinking about it.

Anyhow, the cat keeps freaking out in the bathroom and then ripping open the cupboard with his strong little paw (cat has an awesome one two punch - and his upper cut is killer - just ask our other cat). AND THEN, he gets up into the cupboard and starts howling, and pawing around the plethora of stuff I have shoved under there. OMG it's freaking me out so much. I WISH HE WOULD STOP.

Gigi on the other hand doesn't give a crap about anything. She just wants her damn smarties.

I think she's on to something and chocolate may solve some of my problems.

I've also been looking at home floor plans like a demon. We gave up looking for a place to live a while ago but it was renewed again recently so I'm like a fiend and trying to create a new list of "what we want", "what we need", "what we can live with", "what we can live without", "where we can do this thang" so I can start stalking real estate thingys.

I'm really rusty at the real estate stuff since I gave it up a while back but I'm getting back into it with renewed energy. Of course we have no plans to move soon, but it's fun getting back into dreaming of homes - again. *big sigh*

To review: I'm freaking out because my baby is going to school for the first time, I'm freaking out because something is living in my bathroom cupboard, and I'm freaking out because I have a phobia about committment and homes are so much of a committment. Yup, I'm a freak.

So what's freaking out today? Freaks love company.

Portrait of a Truthiness as a Youngish Woman

Updated: with more linky love - right around the bottom, the links, not the love.

Sorry 'bout that James Joyce.

Anyhow, not many know this but I silently stalk this big time blogger that you probably all know named Sweetney (I will not share a picture of the shrine I built to her and her dog) and only recently did I start leaving the odd (trust me:odd - like start a police file odd) comment on her site.

Blog stalking is so immature but whatever, I never said I was all lady-like and growed-up. Oh no I didn't.

Focus motherbumper, get back on track and stop giving the prosecution any more ammo.

So today over at Her Bad Mother's lair, she is talking all about Sweetney's invitation to reveal yourself and all about truthiness. And I thought: motherbumper, you can do this. It's ballsy, balls which I don't possess, but ballsy nonetheless. And I like ballsy. Let's just leave it at that.

Isn't that a great word, truthiness?

It's a state I perpetually live in. Truthiness to me is not black, not white, just the way things are in my mind. Sometimes I forget that motherhood has kicked the last remnants of [media-defined] hotness I once possessed out the door. SB still sees it, I still feel it, but when I walk outside and catch glimpses of my reflection, I literally stop short.

I never thought that I'd be one of those people that (cue sinister dun dun dun duh music) LET THEMSELVES GO (*crash of cymbals*).

But you know, I haven't really let myself go. I still bathe. And I've just prioritized differently. Make-up, non-yoga pant outfits, and the other trappings of superficial beauty are low down on the list, and truthfully (or should I say, truthinessly) I do it just for the ladies now. When I get together with my friends, I'll slap on the war paint.

Kinda reminds me of a story I once read about Saudi women who appear fully veiled in public but underneath wore bright, borderline gaudy, super sexy outfits and full make-up. All for other woman, who were the only ones to see their peacock greatness besides family. Crazy but I get it. But that isn't really related to what I'm saying.

I'm avoiding the dare of truthiness.

Deep breath and here it goes. This is what 38 in the AM with no make-up, combined with motherhood looks like (sorry 'bout the flash, motherbumper is no Karsh):
Come on now, I dare you to do the same.

Update:
There is a Flickr group for Self-Portrait Truthiness set up by Sweetney and here are some other nekkid faces of the morning:
HBM
Sweetney
Breed 'Em & Weep
Missus Mamalogues
Mrs. Flinger
Ms. MotherBumper
Izzy
OTJ
Blog Chocolate


(if you do this, paste the other bloggers in your post - if you dare - post that is, not link - duh)