Posts tagged ‘romance’

June 21, 2013

wham, bam, thank you ‘glam’: secrets of a top 30 mommy blogger

i’m not one to kiss and tell but the rumours are true: i, trusted friends, have taken a lover.

first, i was showered with attention. then, i was courted both with flattery and the promise of good things to come. finally, i was taken out for a night on the town.

believe it or not, this momma’s still got game. i got gussied up, made my way to a sexy venue, and just like any first date i felt it all: the anticipation, the awkwardness, the curiosity, the pressure, the romance, the hope. the unknown, the unfamiliar, the possibilities… i was reeling.

the date was a GLAM one, a party to celebrate the top 30 mommy bloggers of 2013, and was hosted by christine pilkington, ceo of crisp media and founder of vancouvermom.ca. i was wined and dined, made to feel special, showered with chocolate, accessories, and swag.  it was many things among them it was loud, fast, hot.

admittedly, i was overwhelmed and left confused, not knowing quite where i stood and questioning what it all meant. but, like any good relationship tale, the meat of the matter is in the morning after. and let me tell you, it’s been good.

i can tell it’s going to be a keeper, this new relationship with blog land. good thing too, i’m head over heels.

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April 29, 2013

it’s business time

i’ve recently conducted some (very) informal research and have generously decided to share the findings with my male readers. don’t say i never did anything for ya.

p.s.- the fact that this is largely autobiographical should not sway you from the path to enlightenment.

10 phrases that’ll get your (baby raisin’) woman down to her (cotton) skivvies:

10. babe, you meal plan like a boss.

9. budgeting me so little spending money really reinforces just how much you priorize our financial health. i love that about you.

8. you look bangin’ in those yoga pants.

7. your stretch marks are so amazing. (optional: and they remind me of how beautiful you were when you were pregnant and all the sacrifices your body made for our family).

6. your voice sounds so pretty when you sing ‘the wheels on the bus’.

5.  thanks for reminding me about all the stuff that needs to get done. you make me a better man.

4. i love it when i come home from work and you haven’t showered yet. it says so much about how you put our children and home first.

3. the smell of breast milk really complements your b.o. (see above).

2. i brought home some wine. if i was you, holding it all down, i know i’d want some.

1. tell me about your day. please describe what the kids did and said in detail. how was it for you? don’t leave anything out, i’m dying to know.

in all truth, what we really need to hear is quite simple. no, really. there is no need for games, smoke, or mirrors.  it’s no secret that what we want to be told (and everyday would be nice). it goes a little something like this: you’re amazing. you’re the best. i’m the luckiest man in the world. i am so fortunate to have you as the mother of my children.

got it? it’s not eff’n rocket science boys. now, for gawd sakes, open your mouth, use some words, say it like you mean it, and (rumour has it) ye shall receive.

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December 2, 2012

little lover

“mommy, you’re the best girl in the world. daddy loves you, i love you, and baby loves you. you’re our best friend.”

true story.

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July 30, 2012

rain washed histories

The Cinnamon Peeler’s Wife

If I were a cinnamon peeler I would ride your bed and leave the yellow bark dust on your pillow.

Your breasts and shoulders would reek                                                                                                                                                                                                  you could never walk through markets without the profession of my fingers floating over you.

The blind would stumble certain of whom they approached though you might bathe under rain gutters, monsoon.

Here on the upper thigh at this smooth pasture neighbor to your hair or the crease that cuts your back. This ankle. You will be known among strangers as the cinnamon peeler’s wife.

I could hardly glance at you before marriage never touch you – your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers. I buried my hands in saffron, disguised them over smoking tar, helped the honey gatherers…

When we swam once I touched you in water and our bodies remained free, you could hold me and be blind of smell. You climbed the bank and said

this is how you touch other women the grasscutter’s wife, the lime burner’s daughter. And you searched your arms for the missing perfume. and knew what good is it to be the lime burner’s daughter left with no trace as if not spoken to in an act of love as if wounded without the pleasure of scar.

You touched your belly to my hands in the dry air and said I am the cinnamon peeler’s wife. Smell me.

– Michael Ondaatje

when i was young, i loved a man whose smell captivated me. most things about him captivated me, and because i was young i didn’t yet appreciate that to be captured does not correlate with anything love or life sustaining. his smell though… a haunting and seductive aroma, rich with oil, grease, and inaccessibility owned me for a long time…  i found this poem when he was my love, and the words of being marked,  stories told by the aroma of a man got me deep.

i thought of myself as some kind of a mermaid then, for reasons i can’t relate to now, and i used to think that the sexiest thing was that even water could not erase our acquaintance without effort. truth be known, the reality of time eventually could erase anything that did once connect us, including his smell on my skin, and even in my heart, but the poem remained a favorite, and still grabs at my romantic self and asks me to answer who it is that i am marked by.

but i don’t have to think about it. i have no questions about whose smell i am associated with, or will be for moons. the traces themselves are not always present, but i am reminded in seasons where his story is more pronounced then others, like when the summer brings us plenty and we are blessed with wealth in resources and he and his family work hard to provide for us. or in the winter, when i prepare warm food for our family that his hands made ready for use and our whole home tells the story of him being from the west coast.

it’s the rich smell of salt and sea… and when the direct evidence is gone, there is another smell that lingers. it’s the aroma of a healthy love. it’s the smell of a good man. it’s the smell of my man, and in the shadows, of his family, and his roots.

it’s the smell of me. i am the west coaster’s wife.

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June 4, 2012

bringing sexy back

this upcoming saturday is premeditated date day / night. you know, the kind of date that parents have quarterly where they spend most of the time talking about the kids they are so desperate to have some alone time from, or their budget (barf), and then come home around 10, wiped because they pretended to have a life? maybe i’m projecting. ahem.

anyhow, given this, is it wrong that i want to use my child free time to clean the whole house top to bottom and then just sit back and admire it for 24 hrs? maybe i could have a long, uninterrupted, morning soak, get redressed in my pj’s, and lounge with the paper, a stack of unread magazines and maybe even a movie, mid day?

it’s come to this, this is my dream date. this is my definition of steamy. this is what i fantasize about: time, silence, clean, early bed times, late wake times. maybe i could even shave my legs. don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?

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