Nothin' some penis can't fix

I am pretty sure, judging from the tiny amount of pee that came out (Ease UP, you guys, I said TINY AMOUNT!!!  I *AM* aware that you all know about my past sharting episode, but rest assured, I am not incontinent. Yet.) that I laughed harder last night than I have in quite some time.  Here's why...

OK, so part of the reason I've been slightly MIA lately is because our hard drive crashed (I am sooooo thanking 8 lb. 6 oz. newborn infant Jesus for Carbonite about now!!!) & also because of THIS...

Meet Cash (AKA Butters), 10 weeks old, our new, furry whippet son

What'd I doooooo?!?!?!
(Ummmm, for starters, you chewed the shit out of our weed guard under the deck steps where no one can get to you, shit on the exposed dirt, then ate your own semi-soft/watery-from-transitioning-dog-foods turds, buddy.  I am soooo submitting this pooch to that website, Dog Shaming.  OMFG!)

Despite my trash talkin', I LOVE THIS DOG!  He is not only incredibly charming, flat-out GORGEOUS, and very smart, but he also already has us wrapped around his little finger paw!  We are in full-on potty training mode mixed with some serious teething hoopla.  He is affectionately called "Gator" due to his lightning-fast, chomping jaws.  Hard to stay mad at him too long though... he's too damn cute!  

We finally remembered last night that we had an old Bully Stick laying around from Romeo's horrific teething days, and we decided to bust out that big boy to see if Cash wanted a piece of that action.

(Side Note:  For those of you unfamiliar with Bully Sticks, you NEED to get on it (pun intended!).  The first time I saw them was in a local, upscale pet shop.  It was meaty and irregular-looking, and I just assumed that it was some type of dehydrated beef or something.  Not quite.  Bully Stick = dehydrated bull penis.  NO LIE!  And TRUST ME when I tell you that all dogs LOOOOOVE them some bull schlong!!!  HA!)

Cash was no exception.  He seriously went to town on good ol' Mr. Knish.  Observe...

Truly the John Holmes of bulls here

Double-pawin' that baby-maker!

Ignore the apparent vein on the underside of this love rod... slightly too graphic for my blog.
Wait, who am I kidding?!?!

Doggie porn!  Butters has a new BFF!
Fun fact for ya'... bull penises range in length from 30-40" when erect.  Lucky cows!  That's a long bratwurst!  HA!

Hey-oooooooo!!!

Cal said, "This pic is hilarious -- that penis is highlighted on Dad's face!"
God, I love that boy o' mine.

Notice Romeo's not-so-subtle interest in Cash's Magic Stick

Drop that shaft & no one gets hurt!!!
Poor Pocket is mortified!

PENIS ENVY!!!  Straight up.
(And HANDS DOWN, this is my favorite pic of the bunch!)
Check out the mayhem that is this whole scene... Baby Puppy gettin' jiggy with his bull junk (which Scott happens to be holding for him to chew right over his own package!), big doggie brother attempting to steal said pecker, old dog sniffing his younger brother's crank, the girls refusing to make eye contact, Cal/Scott/Me laughing uncontrollably off-camera.  It's a wonder this pic isn't blurry from the camera shaking due to my hysterics!
HOT MESS!!!!!!!

This manhood is MINE!  All miiiiiiine.

Mr. Happy is a bit hard (to handle)!

So, as we watch this scene unfold, I get to wondering about the Bully Sticks & whether they contain any additional hormones/testosterone/etc.  Here's our dialogue:

Me:  So, is it safe for a 10 week old puppy to chew on bull winkies?!

Scott:  I don't know -- probably?!  He seems happy!

Me:  Should I be concerned that Cash will get hooked on the skin flute & get too much testosterone & be all aggressive & grow too much & his balls will shrivel up & he'll be all muscled out & shit?

Scott:  I doubt it.

Me:  I mean, he already appears to be larger than Romeo was at this same age... what if this makes him grow to like 45 pounds or something?!  Too much penis could be a bad thing?!  (I whisper to Scott, "Neverrrrrrr!!!!!" HA!)

It was then that our darling, precious, 13 year old son chimes in with, "We need to give Pocket some penis."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me, between laughs:  WHAT?!?!?  HAHAHAHAHA!  WHYYYYY, CAL?!?!?!  HAHAHAHHAAAA!!!

Cal:  TO GET HER TO GROW!!!  We need to grind that penis up & put it in her bottle!

----- MORE LAUGHS/SILENT LAUGHS/TEARS!!!!! -----

Scott, after finally catching his breath:  Why don't you Google it & see if it's safe?!

Me, post Google action:  Says online it's a safe, healthy, high-protein treat that all dogs REALLY enjoy.  That peen's a keeper!

Post-phallus exhaustion/afterglow at its finest.  I love my family!!!

"I nicknamed my penis 'The Truth' because bitches can't handle it." ~ Unknown cocky bull

PS ~ You're welcome for the 19 slang penis references throughout this post.  And you're also welcome that I didn't use more.  I am ashamed that I only exhausted approximately one third of my wanker synonym list.  (Make that an even 20!)

xoxo

Thank God for angels & waterproof mascara!

If you missed the first half of this post, click HERE to read how my morning began... WOW.

Lately I have had this feeling that somehow I am drawing many deeply emotional experiences to myself, and it has been rather difficult to understand why or make sense of so many of these encounters.  It is happening many times weekly, and I would never avoid going out in public because of it, but I definitely think there must be some reason I'm meant to cry on strangers' shoulders in public and expose my soul for the world to see.  I am hoping that by talking these feelings out that I am able to grow from them and possibly help others in similar situations along the way.

Incident #2 -- After my encounter with my Asian angel, I gathered myself, wiped away a few tears, grabbed the last few items I needed, and headed to check out. I had kind of forgotten about the whole bawling-and-hugging-in-the-aisle thing when a mother and daughter filed in behind me at the check-out line.  We discussed the muffins they were buying, making small talk while I waited for my receipt.  Just as I was leaving, the mother said, "I'm not sure why I feel compelled to give this to you, but I just do."  She reached into her purse and pulled out a beautiful bookmark with a picture of a little girl as well as contact information and, handing it to me, she said, "My daughter died in 2004.  I have written a book about it, and I just wanted you to have this.  Feel free to look me up online.  Take care..."  (At least I think that is what she said...she lost me after "My daughter died in 2004.")  I am speechless.  The first thing that came to my mind was that I wanted her to know about my girls.  I didn't have one of their flyers with me, no pen to even write down my blog URL, and so, sounding like a complete dumbass, I reply, "OK, ummm, thanks.  I'm so sorry about your daughter... bye..." 

I then push my cart toward the door, stopping halfway to the exit when I realize I left my groceries sitting on the check-out stand.  I go back, grab them while also finagling the shopping cart with Lola inside, see this woman again, stammer "Mmmkay, thanks again!  Take care..." like I am suddenly 12 again and awkwardly trying to find the perfect words to say to that hot guy I'm in lust with but only jumbled bullshit comes out instead.  I am a complete disaster.

I finally get to my car & hurriedly grab the bookmark.  Just then, I see them exit the store, and I watch in my rear view mirror to see that she and her daughter are now in their car but still parked as well.  I wonder if I should go talk to them, maybe tell the woman how touched I am she reached out to me.  Perhaps delve deeper into WHY she felt compelled.  Ask to hear her story.  But I decide against it... I will contact her online where I can process my thoughts more clearly.  Yes.  That is what I will do.  

The bookmark reads at the top... "Sometimes we call for help.  Sometimes help calls us."  Hmmmm...

More tears… It's only 10:00 AM, and I've already cried three times. Fucking PMS.  I won't even go there regarding the earlier incident, as the tears didn't actually exit my eyelid vector quadrants.  So basically that doesn't really count, right?!  

I arrive home, get online, and I find this woman's blog, only to discover that she has lost not one, not two, but three children, one of whom was a son with anencephaly.  I wonder if she reached out to me because she noticed the similar look that my Lola has in relation to the dear son that she lost.  I wonder if she just sensed that I needed to hear her story.  Did she somehow pick up on these deep-seated emotions within my heart which encircle the whole death/dying issue -- my own losses of loved ones, my inability to fully understand why this occurs to those "before their time," and the literal soul-crushing fear which I continually push away regarding possibly losing my own girls someday?  Does she know that every penny tossed in a fountain, every candle blown out, every shooting star witnessed signifies a bazillion wishes for MORE TIME with these beautiful souls?  I would literally take years off my own life if it meant that I wouldn't have to voyage down that dark path for MANY more years to come.  They mean THAT.  MUCH.

Maybe that's just it... the intensity of this life, this love, these relationships... it is felt by ALL.  

I wish I knew what it is about me that seems to draw these emotional experiences to myself time and time again. Maybe just thinking that thought alone allows it to occur repeatedly?  And why I am meant to encounter such emotionally difficult situations?  Am I meant to grow from these experiences?  Are they?  Is it chance?  Is it possible it's NOT?  All I know is that I've got to get better at dealing with these moments... maybe prepare myself better somehow.  I need to pack some of the girls' informational flyers into my purse or have some prepared-ahead-of-time, cry-proof responses lined out in advance.  Because for fuck's sake, I can't keep crying in grocery stores and hugging complete strangers. (And sadly, this was not the first time!!!) Or can I? Or maybe I am supposed to?!

I just feel like I am thrust into this bright-ass spotlight on an almost daily basis with the girls.  I am approached, questioned, and our family is dissected over and over again by complete strangers.  I am honored they ask me questions vs. pointing and whispering from afar.  Many times I have deeper conversations with these strangers than with those close to me.  Often I DO cry, and so do they.  These discussions are powerful, deep, life-changing... just wish I understood.  Maybe -- even though I'm 11+ years down this road -- I still wonder WHY?

I pray for clarity regarding my role as the girls' mother -- why or how I am meant to teach/boohoo with/influence/scar for life/reach out to so many people without necessarily wanting that to be my responsibility 24/7.  I think there is a very real possibility that I'm just not emotionally strong enough to shoulder my own fears as well as everybody else's fears for my children.  Though maybe my gift is my ability to reverse their sadness for what they perceive my life really entails -- to show them that happiness is a choice no matter what your situation.  

Regardless, I am PRIVILEGED to be Cal, Claire & Lola's mother, the most precious, important "job" I have ever known.

xo

“There are too many people praying for the mountains of difficulty to be removed, when what they really need is the courage to climb them.” ~Raili A. Jeffery