I Killed Her. She’s Dead.

20160315_152311.jpgI stood above her: breath bated, fingers itching. I stood, staring, anxiously waiting for her once again to shine her light upon me.

I swear I tried to revive her. I pounded my fists upon her, once, twice, a hundred times. I screamed to her come back to me… please come back to me. I bowed my head towards her to whisper softly how I regretted my actions. How I wished I could take it all back. If I could rewind time, just the last forty five minutes. That small measure of time is all I needed back. I would have never shoved her hastily in that grey bag, sealing it up shut. Never would I have tossed her in the back of my car, buried beneath bags and bags of stuff, concealing her. As I screeched out of the driveway, I relived our moments together. The years we shared. How connected we were. Those intimate moments when my fingers tips were upon her, my eyes locked in gaze upon her light. She was always there for me just waiting idioly until I wanted her. Casually I’d slide back into the couch and place her on my lap, feeling her warmth against my thighs. Together in these moments we’d create magic. Our own world. We’d explore together. Learn together. Create together.

All of that was over now. I knew it but wasn’t ready to accept it. I unzipped the bag and yanked her out. I knew instantly something was wrong. She wasn’t the same. She was too hot to the touch. She’d always been sensitive to temperature. But please no… I need her. Please come back to life. I thought to myself in those panicked moments waiting for her to respond. But there was nothing, only black. She made one last groan and I knew she was gone. Gone. My haste has cost me. My carelessness. I thought she’d make the short car trip. I thought she’d be okay.

R.I.P. my beautiful Sony Vaio. So many stories, poems, blogs we have shared. All the late night hours creating my website, the secret stalking on Facebook and endless pinning on Pinterest. All of that is over now. I never thought to power her down before I quickly stuffed her into my laptop bag. It was just a quick drive. No big deal. But she was suffocated on that fateful car trip. Ugh!!! Fickle computers one minute you’re there typing away and the next they give you the black screen of death.

I haven’t replaced her yet. I’m not ready to move on. Secretly I think if I try one more time maybe by some miracle she’ll turn on. But I know deep down this won’t come true. She’s gone for good. Her hard drive filled with my work she’s keeping locked up… for now anyways. I’ve scheduled an autopsy for her soon. We’ll get the information I need from her then.

And I had to write this blog from my phone. It stinks. Sorry if it’s not up to standard. My options for posting are limited on my phone app. Better limited than not at all. Anyone interested in a laptop shaped paper weight? In good used condition. Ha, ha. Oh boy…. time to search for a new laptop. A new chapter.

Until next time, with a heavy heart and empty laptop bag,

❤ Melissa

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Confessions Of A Hot Housewife

By hot I actually mean because I have an iron in my hand. Hot iron. Ha ha! Get it? Just before I sat down at my laptop to write this blog, I was admiring the fruits of my labour today: my staggering pile of freshly ironed laundry. I should mention 99% of it belongs to my husband. All his work shirts and work pants, crisply pressed by yours truly. As I stood above my beige ironing board with my hot pink iron in hand (yes it really is hot pink), my mind wondered, wondered way back to the 1950’s. Somehow in this moment I imagined myself to be a 1950’s housewife. Here I was with my two sweet boys peacefully adrift in dreamworld during their naps, laundry eagerly awaiting my hot iron touch and my scratch made spaghetti sauce simmering slowly on the stove top. None of my work clothes are in the pile to be ironed because I am not working. My current work gear so to speak consists of jeans (on a good day), a t-shirt (preferably one without baby puke on it) and a cardigan (usually lying in a pile of wrinkled dirty clothes on my bedroom floor). Back in the day housewives work wear was far more glamorous: girly, full-skirted dresses, white gloves, fuzzy high-heeled slippers, a string of elegant pearls draped around their necks. Indeed I have always been a fan of the 50’s fashion. I have been wearing pearl necklaces most of my life; accumulated quite the collection of pearl jewelry as well as an impressive collection of vintage brooches. A few years ago, my girlfriends and I got together for a 50’s themed party where we all dressed up and spent hours drinking wine and taking photos of us. Taking photos, that’s kind of a thing for us on girls night. That party was by far one of my favorites. I felt so pretty, ravishingly ladylike even. 420849_10151355350460398_2092417510_n

I admire women back then for their fashion. Though most people talk about how life was so much more simple back then; how it must have been easier for families because they could afford for the wives to stay home to raise the children and care for the home. I’m not sure I fully agree with that statement. Yes I am proud that I can iron clothes with the best of them and that usually four out of five work days I have dinner on or almost on the table by the time my husband comes home, but all the while I am always exceedingly aware I have far more opportunities and options for my modern housewife life. I am capable of anything and everything. I run my house well; I continue my passion as a writer; I, when not on maternity leave, work to bring income into this house to help provide the lifestyle my family has become accustom to. I am always looking for opportunities to better myself be it taking a course to further my education or spending time searching Pinterest to find the perfect DIY project or dinner recipe. It’s not frowned upon in this era for a woman to be everything she wants. Though being a housewife is more than enough of a job most of the time, I just want to say it is a great feeling to have choices. So yes I would raid the closet of a 1950’s housewife any day and maybe I should wear red lipstick a little more often, but I am thankful for being a modern day housewife with all its glorious potential.

Oh! Baby crying… snap back from my 50’s day dream… time for Mommy duty. But where oh where did I leave that tube of red lipstick… Que Sera Sera!

Until next time, 

Melissa

Having Baby Two: My Revelation

2016-03-03 16.02.11Hello lovely people, thanks once again for coming back this week. Another blog post, I’m impressed with myself. Funny though, talking about parenthood is easy as breathing for me right now. I am in the thick of it; treading water hard to keep my head afloat. I have yet another confession, well let me call it more of a revelation actually. This is something I discovered about myself as my little one was turning three months old. Now, only now, I can I officially say I know what busy is. With one child, I felt like I never had time to do things and even felt like I never had time to myself. I remember when my first was three months old, I had come to my breaking point. I cried to my husband that I felt like I was drowning, never having a spare moment to just be by myself. I was breastfeeding my son exclusively and was desperately starting to feel suffocated by it, so we agreed that every night at bedtime he would give our son a bottle and put him to bed while I had an hour to myself. Just to myself. That moment changed everything for me. It was amazing. The boys had time to bond together and I got my sanity back. Now, I look back and laugh at myself. No freedom… honey you had lots of freedom! Today I struggle for ten minutes to shower (though let me tell you when I get those ten minutes it… is… pure… heaven).

Nowadays I let my newborn son breastfeed for an hour on and off at night to keep him quiet while my husband puts our older son to bed. Yeah that’s right I have my son sleeping on me with my boob out and should he wake up again he quietly goes back to nursing and I get a chance to sit and watch MOMMY’S TV shows instead of bloody Paw Patrol for the millionth time. Now I’m sure there are plenty of people out there judging me or wanting to lecture me on how bad it is that I let my son nurse on demand like that at night, but honestly I don’t care what anyone thinks or says. That is my sanity time, though I might not be alone; it is quiet. My husband and older son are happily reading stories upstairs; the toys are still spilled all over the floor to which I choose to ignore and I sit down on the goldfish crumb filled couch to watch my recorded episode of “The Bachelor” or “Long Island Medium” or whatever I choose because it is my time. Sure it would be nice to sit down without having my boob out, but for now I like to say having children is only about survival. Yours. Theirs. So I do what I need to do at the time to ensure everyone’s survival. If that means I rent out my boobs at night time, they are all his!

There you have it… my revelation. Having your first baby turns your life upside down, inside out over again and it’s rough to adjust at first, but having your second is so much easier given that you are now a practiced parent; however, there is no time. No time. No time. No time. I have never been so overwhelmed, so tired and so happy. I, we, are surviving the best we can and that is enough for now. 

So I am throwing my hand up in the air and high-fiving any of you parents out there with one, two, three… ten kids. You are doing a great job! You are doing the best you can! None of us hear that enough. Awesome job day after day doing what you need to do to give your kids the best of yourself. Keep it up!!!!

Until next time,

❤ Melissa