bathroom talk

I am in the shower and my hair swirls across the walls like ink pen illustrations. I put the hair there after it comes out in my hands. I am a mother of four. I am a wife. I think about things like: clogged drains. I clearly see a beautiful nude, her arms raised, breasts curved, head turned backward to look for someone. Around the water sounds escape like baby coos- there is Lola's laughter, the dogs barking, Mr. Curry's bass trombone for Ever.  I stare at the hair on the wall and wonder if I photographed it and put it on Tumblr I could make a famous site: Maggie's Hair Illustrations- The Art of The Mundane. Everyone would come and view the masterpieces of my hair, the brown and blonde and grey pieces delicately curving, making surprisingly poignant sketches that sometimes move in a surprise splash of water. A whole new art form. I also had the million dollar idea of ' Soapy Pussies! ' which is simply an entire website full of shots of ... you guessed it. This probably already exists and is making some other shameless housewife rich. I wish I didn't have so much shame. Guilt. Neurosis. Who would it hurt? We could buy health insurance. We could pay our rent without spending the entire 30 days beforehand in a horrible and gut wrenching countdown of budgeting, seeing if we will actually have enough money to pay for where we live. My life becoming like so many artists lives I have read. Without the drinking problem. Without the cigarettes, a habit I gave up at 30. Without drugs. With the kids, though. With Mr. Curry. Not alone on the boat. I also had the idea of Naked Movers, but that's already been done.  We googled that last week. Mr. Curry assured me that must be gay men moving for gay men and apparently it is so. No woman wants a bunch of naked sweaty balls and buttcrack moving all her precious things, he pointed out. True. It's like when Charlotte's fiance sat down naked on her white couch. Ball sweat on a white couch? Not good. I guess I'll have to go back to brainstorming.

domestic triumph

i am going to wake in this morning
inside of it, in the slip water over my face
the duckling pout of the children's faces
sourball eyes, a smear of recollection still
puckering their expression- in dreams,
they were close to the thing, they flew.
i will do what mothers do and i will be
found lacking: minus eggs. minus bacon.
the car will start and there will be one
moment when i will feel i cannot do this
the pain sits like a cat on my chest,
flicking its tail. licking its chops.
my marriage is straining, groaning,
coming apart in sparkplugs and silence-
i am being wounded internally. in the liver
that cannot filter debris of this size,
the gut with it's long ugly cry, that will not
let me eat, and the heart! of course, the heart.
my lover is all gone away. he throws his
demons at me like startled cats, they claw
my face and hands, i move quickly and think fast
but no one can escape the home they live in.
no one can escape the heart they live for.
all the poems in the world can't save me
now, i will think, but then the phrase
' you must change your life '
is spoken sternly into my ear,
and i am in tears as the children
argue about gum chewing and breathing,
because i know that i have found these
things, and no one can take them away.
i know that i have found these
things, and no one can take them away.

maggie may ethridge 

in spite of my rage i am still just a rat in a cage

you used to say 

x

you were a tomboy

genius a

calligraphy major.

now you ?

change is managed

by the broken 

hearted.

collect it

at cost.

a headache a backache a stomach ache a pulled muscle in the left upper shoulder follow the wave of tendon to the wall of neck. my stress goes. where does it come? on your tits! the tsunami of stress is foul mouthed. illiterate. ignorant. small. meta. 

until i release myself from believing my own bullshit this will continue.

to bad for me i'm so persuasive.

my book says 'You can transcend all negative when you realize that the only power it has over you is your belief in it. As you experience this truth about yourself you are set free.' -eileen caddy

few words are as beautiful.  you are set free

few words.

all the answers are already there. if only i will read them, believe them, enact them, and live in them.

!!!!!!

i'm laughing weakly.

but still laughing.

raver baby

People In Your Neighborhood

take a seat and read!

Rage Against The Minivan < Kristen is a brave woman. A liberal Democrat, she went on Fox news to discuss the controversy over Ann Romney's remarks about stay at home mothers. and the hate response, while predictable, is still so suck. She responds, with intelligence and humor.

At Huffington Post < Jessica Ashley writes about why divorced parents are always reconciling in the movies. 

The Happiest Mom < Meagan writes about her own spring cleaning- a financial tune up. I'm so there.

The Feminist Breeder < ' Judging Moms May Be Good For Your Traffic But It's Bad For Your Feminism ' LOVE this post.

Family Matters

Family Matters List

of things that matter ( to my family ) ( which also, naturally, includes myself ) *

there are things going on and i HATE reading there are things going on because this isn't a jane austen novel i realize but that is all i can really and truly write online, here, so i have to leave at that, at things going on, and they are Things We Do Not Like, and In Fact, Hate Their Guts. i'm scared right now. mr. curry is too. we could use prayers. please direct your good and strong energies to 

maggie may ethridge

midland road, san diego

the little blue and white condo on the corner with the wrap around porch full of kid toys

(and dog hair)

(thank you) (this is not medical) (this is not about our marriage)

if you could use prayers, please try to use the comments to tell me, and i'll pray for you. i say try, because according to your emails and FB messages, my comments are sometimes working, but if they have a headache and can't stop thinking about the blizzard of '93, they don't work, or don't even show up at all. 

our dogs are out of control. due to being Highly Neurotic and inbred and sent by the devil with two horns, they are- despite sleeping in our bedroom every night, having each other for company, getting walked and having daytime company often these days- pooping and sometimes peeing all over. mostly pooping. they get taken out a billion times to poo. they get brushed, and fed, and watered, and yes, made fun of, but so does everyone else in our family. our next Family Meeting is this weekend and The Thing With The Dogs is going to be addressed. 

you know that thing where you were like, twenty, and your ass was high and and your stomach flat and you were thinking, for like two seconds, about how stripping really is some kind of feminist statement anyway, and the money is awesome and besides how else can you pay for school? when you have those same desperate thoughts about money, it's not quite as convincing at 37. 

mr. curry and i were thinking he might go On The Road (thanks JK for the lifetime of not being able to say that without thinking of you) and make Much More Money but after going over the negatives of this in my mind and with a girlfriend at coffee (shoutout Stephanie!) i realized that my husband would be living off of soda, water, burgers and tacos, in addition to sleeping in strange hours for odd amounts of time, and then two weeks of this later come home to me and four kids. no. not so much. next idea.

recent Facebook exchange between Dakota and myself:

Dakota posted: " that awkward time when you just have to slap a hoe "

I commented: " that even more awkward time when your mother reminded you that not only is 'slap a hoe' so 1995 but is also spelled 'ho', unless you are talking about abusing gardening tools, in which case, carry on "

He replied: " awww mom letta playa do his thing " ( from Dakota, this is very 'wink wink' with a smile )

I got like eight likes from his friends. Score mom!!!

( i have to point out to detract the haters, that this is a joke between my son and his best girl friend, and in no way does he support or agree with violence toward women )

Welcome SPONSOR: Rhoadworks

Please welcome and visit Flux Capacitor's new sponsor, Rhoadworks 

As you can see, she makes the most adorable baby onsies and tees...including my favorite below.

As Harry Potter fanatics, we must see Ever in this!!

Many of her onsies are a riff on the below theme: My Brother is a Poodle, My Sister is a Calico Cat, etc. For animal lovers whose animals are truly part of their family, this is perfect. Also: SERIOUSLY AFFORDABLE

There are other sweet and funny onsies to browse, including this one which is my second favorite. As a Southern girl, this makes me smile. Check all her baby onsies out here!

Unconditional

Dakota comes home whispering that he is ten minutes late and sorry. He stands behind me in the glow of the computer screen and I look at his six foot frame, clean shaven head and face, wide eyes and tucked down baseball hat and fill with the same effortless, endless love that has been in me for him since the day I felt his foot kick the inside of my belly. I was nineteen, lost, lying on my mother's couch. Up until then, all I knew was that I hated quitting smoking for this baby, I was going to do the right thing for him no matter what, and that I had no idea what I was doing.  At the moment I felt his small foot, I knew that I loved him more than my own life and that this love would change me forever. As is has. As it did. Unconditional. Without condition. Without condition of reason, even. Without having reason or explanation for the presence of a profound love for an unseen, unborn child, it existed. I have read more than a few times that the happiest marriages are where the partners do not see each other as others do, where each person idealizes the other, in some amount. John Travolta said in an interview once that he has a hard time caring when he gains weight, because he doesn't notice and his wife doesn't notice either. We don't see each other that way, he said, and I knew exactly what he meant. Unconditional love is like this. It sees, but not without the filter of love. It knows, but not without the filter of love. I see my husband. I see my oldest son. Perhaps you would believe I see them less clearly than you. But I know better. I know that for every flaw you might notice and assume I ignore, I see that flaw and notice what you do not, or cannot. Perhaps loving someone so deeply is not a flaw of insight, but an illumination. In Dakota I see not only his actions, but the accumulation of his choices and actions since birth. I see the events that led to his decisions, the emotions that he went through to arrive at a choice, the attempts unobserved by the outside world, the growth, the small and soft layers of texture that are invisible to all but those who looked most carefully. Without context we cannot judge. Without love we do not have human context. 

I watch three boys riding home on their bikes. They are thirteen, awkward, over eager, mocking voiced, arrogant, trash throwing and ignoring the cars around them. I watch them closely, with context. I see they are vulnerable, beloved, neglected, desperate, joyful, exuberant, afraid, young and testing, testing, testing. I am overwhelmed with love for them. Be careful, sweetheart!, I yell out at the boy in the bright yellow shirt. He looks at me, astonished, and then before he can stop it, a grin breaks out over his face.

Dishwasher!

Why do you think we had children? Is is the love, the cuddles, the naked baby bellies, the laughter?

Obviously not. Following these two on their mode of transportation into the kitchen,

you will see the un-unionized children hard at work.

Lola's first word, at seven months old, was DISHWASHER. Clear as day, in her tiny high voice. My mom, Dakota and I all heard it. She never said it again, but it still counts. And as you can see, there was a reason for it.

Lola teaches Ever about keeping the butter knives toward the back, where Mommy can't get ahold of them and cut herself.

Ever has learned her duty well. Here, she clearly disapproves of the state of this 'clean' fork.

And like a good employee daughter, takes care of the problem herself. The next time you come to dinner, inspect your fork and spoon closely before you eat. I'll poke my own eye if you can't see your own reflection. ' Licked Clean ' is our motto.