This is how it is. PERIOD.

Its getting close to that time, when the inevitable "birds and bees" discussion will be warranted with my girls. But for now, I will stick with stage one. The "period".

Based on the almost unnaturally close relationship I have with my daughters, it surprises even ME that I am so unnerved by the entire subject matter. Today was the puberty talk in health class, where the boys and girls are separated and each explained how their bodies will be "changing" and working in the next year or so.

Luckily for me, Santa brought her a book about the girls body and puberty this past Christmas. Creepy and inappropriate, I know, but even HE know my uncomfortableness over the situation.

Actually, that is not entirely true. I don't have that much of an issue talking to them about the monthly "issue". I realized I would have to broach that subject when I found them in my room one day (Liza, 3 and Ave, 5.5) wearing my heels and walking awkwardly to try and keep the maxi pad in between their legs, whilst twirling tampons in the air.

I let it be, and didn't jump on it instantaneously. I wanted to think long and hard as to what I would say and how I would say it. They were fairly young, after all.

I thought I could avoid the egg/fertilization deal for a couple of years, so decided to come up with a more understandable explanation.

"Just like babies and really really old people, mommies sometimes need diapers too. Because I carried you in my body, my tinkle tummy is broken. Mommy sometimes likes to wear tight pants, so a whole diaper would look weird and it would embarrass daddy. So, they make skinny little diapers. The tinkle comes out when mommy sneezes or laughs too hard. Oh, and sometimes it bleeds because your nails were too long and you left a big scratch in there". (Lucky for me, that was confusing enough that they didn't even THINK to ask about the tampon)

This seemed to suffice....for a couple of years. I then decided to be a responsible mother of daughters. And I told most of the truth.

There is an egg. Your body makes an egg and it sits in your body and waits. If God wants you to have a baby, the egg turns INTO a baby. If not, then your body has to get rid of it. That's what a period is. I even went so far as to tell them what a tampon was. I just couldn't watch them pretend to "smoke" them anymore. And when I told them where it went, the look on their face was priceless (especially since I told them when they were sticking out of their mouths)

Unfortunately, I think that if you have daughters fairly close in age, the younger one will undoubtedly know things before her time. So I need to keep that in mind.

Up until recently, Liza stopped believing that I purchased her on the black market in Africa after she was being raised my hyenas...similar to Mowgli in "The Jungle Book". She finally put two and two together with the pregnant pictures and all. (i must admit...I am glad. I was beginning to think that she may have a learning disability)

I am satisfied that for now, the period discussion is handled. Well, half of it anyway. I cannot for the life of me get to the mans role in the continuation of the human race.

After all, Liza still firmly believes that Emma was created by her deceased Nana...who wanted so badly to have one last grandchild. (Emma was, however, conceived miraculously...almost "Mary-ish" just months after Nana's passing)

Ava, I am sure knows more. I just haven't been able to figure out what exactly she DOES know...without directly asking.

During all of this, television has become my nemesis. With commercials such as his and her fire and ice condoms being aired in early eventing, and teen mom (which I tell them is not a real show because teenagers cannot have babies) my moment is coming....quickly.

However, with woman such as Angelina, Madonna, and Sandra, I can at least keep the "some babies are purchased in other countries (like you, Liza)", and the Duggars who preach out loud that children are a blessing by God (enforcing my above explanation) I figure I have at least another year before I need to tell them anything close to reality. Lets hope I get to them before HBO.

Hooker Jen - THIS BLOG IS RATED R

HORNY: adjective
definition: (vulgar slang); desirous of sexual activity


Ok, although this may be wildly inappropriate, it is nothing that anyone who reads this, or who BREATHES, has not thought of, discussed with friends, or thinks about. I'm just putting pen to paper here.

The cliche has always been men wanting sex, and their wives have a headache. Or, husbands creeping up on their wives, who then pretend to be asleep.

I attended the Movie "HALL PASS" the other night. Besides the fact that it was incredibly funny, I couldn't help but think that I related more to the men than the woman....at least as of late.

The premise of the film is that the wives inevitable catch their husbands leering at beautiful, young woman as they pass by, inevitably, leaving them to feel badly about themselves. They then decide, at the suggestion of a therapist friend, to give their men a "hall pass" from marriage for one week....you know, to get it out of their systems.

Let me insert a disclaimer here....its only fair:

My husband works hard all day, takes care of the kids at night, does homework duty, does dishes and laundry and keeps after the animal menagerie I have forced upon him.

Ok, now that Mr. Wonderful has been outed (hence making me look like a slacker) I will continue.

Back to me thinking like a man.

I have always taken a more masculine role, or what society may think is a more masculine role. I love athletics, I always thought I could beat people up, I really am not very maternal, and I thrive on being a tough guy.

Lately, the "man" in me has reared its ugly head in a new way. It is probably the fact that I lost the 800 lbs I put on over the winter and am feeling better about myself. Or maybe the fact that nature is setting in by way of the spring season being around the corner.

A friend suggested that It may be an increase in testosterone levels from building muscle? I don't know....but whatever it is, has turned me into a housewife version of Stifler.

Unfortunately, my husband and I are like two ships passing in the night. He comes home from work, I run out shortly thereafter. I come home and he is sleeping like a baby...with the baby. And honestly, you could throw a grenade down his pants, and if its between the hours of 10pm and 2am, he would not budge.

This has resulting in me taking my sexual frustration out on one of my girlfriends. (ha...not like that...I "sext" her my woes")

She is a good friend to "listen" and I think in some way finds it amusing. Actually offering to booty call my husband for me to tell him to wake up and go to bed. (this, after my texting to him was falling on deaf ears) Sometimes, Internet porn just doesn't cut it.

I have to resort to middle of night/ post 2am sexual assaults. This is all fine and dandy, except while he goes back to sleep within 30 seconds, (shocking) I am left wide awake for at least an hour.....thinking back to the reality that in a few short hours, I will no longer be hooker jen, but nursing, poop wiping, lunch packing mommy jen.

My husband should feel lucky, I think. However, I don't think he has caught on yet. The hanging out at home my tight workout pants (the cheap/thin ones) that show my thong isn't doing it. He is just too tired, has a headache, or pretends (actually is) to be asleep. I even went so far as to take an innapropriate camera phone picture...and ALMOST sent it to him. (it was very blurry hence making my ass look pretty good) This is NOT something that would have even occur to me in the past!

Moreover, going to the gym for me, is like him hanging at the Foxy Lady. I get to look at sweaty young muscle boys, and he gets to reap the benefits. At least he SHOULD (another reason I think I am more masculine.....they say woman are more into romance, sweet talk, yadda yadda. hell no....keep all that BS away from me. Its a total turnoff)

I think I am going to have to resort to a more direct approach. I may have to dig into the back of the drawer. Or the shoebox that has been collecting dust up in the closet. I may have to kill the children.

All I know, or that I pray, is that this is not some sort of sick joke bestowed upon me by the powers that be to get me pregnant.

(PS. In completing this entry, I am already longing for the fall of darkness...somebody get my the anti viagra...please)

COUNTDOWN TO "BAM"..1 week Down.

Today marks one week since I began my new exercise regimen.

The first day I awoke excited to don my new workout apparel. I was, for the first time in two years, up and dressed before the kids. I wore black yoga pants, and a black workout tank, which I covered with a black hoodie. (i figured if it didn't go well, I could hold up the Mcdonalds across the parking lot for a crispy chicken value meal..supersized, of course)

As I walked into the gym, I felt a bit self conscious and out of place. I scanned the room and felt as if I were the only novice in the building. Everyone looked as if they new exactly what they were doing, and where they were supposed to be.

I made my way to the back of the gym and tried to remember where the entrance to the woman's locker room was. It only took me two tries to find it. I was already dressed, however had to put my coat away and put my sneakers on. Something about this made me reminisce about Mr. Rogers. That was until an oddly shaped NAKED woman came around the corner. I was a bit taken aback as it has been some time since I last saw a naked woman in real life. I was glad she was in worse shape than I was, because I would have obsessed about it if she hadn't been. (although later, I would learn that I would obsess about her unmanicured lawn)

I walked back into the gym area. I scoped out the cardio equipment and carefully picked out he one I thought would work best for my first time. I stepped up onto it...and after a few awkward seconds, realized there was no "on" button. Luckily, there was a nice old man on the machine next to me. He was slightly overweight and bald, and very unintimidating. I had no problem asking him for direction. Not missing a step of his own, he directed me as to how to use the machine. He told me I had to input my age and weight. (Thank God he was a bald old man...otherwise I would've had to lie on both fronts, thereby fucking up my entire first day workout)

At approximately 3 minutes in, my legs began to hurt and I wanted to stop. I couldn't believe that I was THAT out of shape. I mean, how did my "mom and baby/pig at home pilates" not have given me at least enough stamina to make it three minutes on an eliptical machine?

I tried to lower the resistance, only to find out it was already set at the lowest. Drats.

I pressed on. At minute 5 it occurred to me that the reason I was having so much difficulty was that I neglected to bring music. Once I realized this, it made the session even more boring and horrific. At 10 minutes, my friend had left his machine. I was also beginning to sweat enough that I remove my hoodie. Doing this while NOT stopping proved to be difficult and awkward. As I nearly fell off the machine, I whipped off one arm, then the other, getting it caught on the moving handle bars. I was thankful I didn't drop it in the mechanical parts.

Now that my sweatshirt was off, I could think of nothing else except the fat that I knew was protruding from the racer back tank. I wondered who was behind me....and if they were thinking I was new...or just terribly out of shape. (as I think back, they were probably neither...and it was just my gym virgin paranoia).

I finished my 20 minutes and proudly walked out of the gym. I went immediately to Walmart to purchase an ipod, whereas I came home and loaded up on the most fun 1980's tunes I could think of!

Day two, I decided to take a pilates class, since the schedule said it was only a half hour...which is about my maximum attention span given this type of arena. I chose a cute black and pink ensemble for this class. My problem today was that I had no underwear that was appropriate as each pair caused fat spillage and panty lines under my yoga pants. And, as I would later regret, I chose to go commando.

I walked into the class, this time with a little less hesitance. There was a good mix of ages in there, and I felt confident given my last few weeks of home pilates. The instructor asked that we get a weighted ball, and an elastic band. Hmm...I thought. She then apologized for the error on the schedule and told us the class was, in fact, an hour long. God damnit...I couldn't even leave at that point.

Class started and I was fairing well. My abs are strong under the layer of fat. All was well, until my mind started getting the better of me. As I lay on my back, legs open and in the air, I began to get classic camel toe paranoia. Why hadn't I just worn underwear. What is the lesser of two evils? Panty lines or camel toe. For I did not know the answer, but at that moment, panty lines. I focused on almost nothing else as I pulled at the crotch of my pants for the remainder of the class. I am almost certain that the class thought I had crabs.

That night, I headed to the GAP and bought 5 pairs of thong underwear. Contrary to my earlier protest regarding thongs, I figured I could bare it for 1 or 2 hours a day.

Two days later, I decided I might want to expand my horizons and attempt a Zumba class. I have rhythm and I like to dance. I was pleasantly surprised to see my old cardio kickboxing instructor was the Zumba teacher. Even more pleasantly surprising was the old lady that took the spot next to me. I was sure to look ok next to her (right). As we got started, I realized this was going to be more difficult than originally anticipated. I could mostly get my feet to do the right thing, but as soon as I attempted to add my arms, it all went to shit. Ten minutes of dancing and I literally thought I was going to go into cardiac arrest. Then, I noticed "her" . She was in the corner of the room. With a wild bandanna, stark white cat eye glasses, and Pippy Longstocking braids, she could nearly keep a beat. I found her most amusing, and staring at her tripped me up even more. All of a sudden, it occurred to me that my boobs were hurting more than anything else. As I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror it hit me that the built in tank top bra was doing little more good than a tightly pulled, single plied, piece of toilet paper would have. I frequently tried to hoist and separate as nonchalantly as I could until the much anticipated end of the class. I will NOT be "Zumba'ing" in the near future. (I did however, go to Walmart and purchased a few Dansko fully cupped sports bras that, if I do say so myself, make my pre-silicone boobs look fantastic.)

Up until this point, I had been to the gym EVERY day, however, with the exception of the painful use of bands, I had not done any upper body work. I had been focusing on the lower, rounder half. I was waiting for professional guidance. This I would get for Hew, my assigned personal trainer (yes...I got TWO whole free personal training sessions)

Hew had an adorable accent..he is from Wales. He sat me in his office and began to assess the situation. "What are your goals"? That's easy "I want the body I had in 1999. Next." He chuckled. "No really, that's what I want. I want to be able to bench my body weight (not my current body weight), and I want to have 10% body fat. Thank you." Clearly he recognized I have early onset dementia.

He then told me to step on the scale. I told him I would rather not. He insisted. I stepped on backwards as I felt this legit scale would not coincide with my $10 one I got at Walgreens. He began to slide the thing...I stopped him. I took of my sweatshirt. He proceeded. "WAIT!". I flung my glasses on the chair...and took off my wedding ring. I definitely would've taken off my pants if I felt he wouldn't have kicked me out of his office. Much to my pleasant surprise...he informed me that my weight was exactly what I told him it was at home. ( I somewhat think he lied since I never turned to look myself. At any rate, it kept me sane) Next, he said he was going to take my % body fat. I DEFINITELY was not cool with that....but I conceded. Imagine my dismay to learn that I was almost in the obese category. This test was most definitely skewed.

He brought me to a new elliptical. I began to "pedal" only to realize that for some reason, I 100% could not get my feet to work in a "running" fashion. No matter how hard he tried to make me do it, my feet just couldn't. I don't know why...it was totally embarrassing. I matter of factly told him to pick something else, it wasn't happening.

We went to the free weight area...what I have been longing for. Although what mostly bothered me was that I was not "buff". I was walking in there with flabby arms, untoned back, shoulders, etc. I had been thinking about this and had previously decided that I would NEVER be without a long sleeve, covered up shirt/sweatshirt while in the weight area. My master plan here included dressing like this until I was well on my way to Ms. Fit America...than, without warning BAM...I would unzip my sweatshirt and emerge like David Banner during a temper tantrum. (The Incredible Hulk, circa 1978)

Hew had me do, chest and back and shoulders, finishing with squats. For this, he had me hold a 45 lb bar across my chest while I complete two sets of 12. It was challenging, but I did it. This completed my first week.

Later that day, as I reveled in the fact that I had done it...familiarized myself with the facility, almost learned how to use the equipment, and not missed one day, I sat to enjoy a diet coke and magazine. I stood to get a snack, a felt a stinging pain in the ass. After all the hard work I endured, my very last endeavor, the "squat" left me later running to the store before the anticipated snow storm for..not milk, but Preparation H. (clearly, God misunderstood my prayers for a little bulge...I SAID BICEPS....BI...CEPS....).

My new thongs will just have to wait. The camel toe cometh. BAM.

PS: Someone said I looked skinny today......10 lbs and a week of neurosis has paid off.....

GTL....Well, G, anyway.

It has been approximately 12 years since I last stepped foot in a gym. I am a living cliche, in that since my wedding, I have not paid any mind to keeping my body in shape. Yes, in between super fat pregnancy years I was thin, but that didn't count....I was stressed out and lived on coffee and cigarettes...hardly a model of good health.

About a month ago, someone commented that I "looked like i packed on a few". While annoying as it was, it actually turned out to be the kick in the ass I needed. I decided right then that I was going to stop eating like a stoned frat boy, and get back to when I didn't feel like a dowdy mother walking around with a 5 year old hanging off her boob.

The plan started off better than I could have imagined. By the good grace of God (and possibly a toddler at The Little Gym), I contracted the stomach flu. It was a long one, but a tolerable one. And in less than two weeks, I figured I lost about 40% of the weight I had intended.

Next....keep on a healthy food regimen and work out. My exercise of choice was a Pilate's video I used to do years ago. I found it used on Amazon.com and it arrived in only a few days. I was a bit dissapointed that it didnt come with leg warmers.

I purchased a yoga mat and was very excited to begin. I had originally planned to sneak to the finished basement, where the giant TV is located. However, due to technical difficulties, I was unable to do so.

As such, I was forced to use the family room TV. This would not normally be a problem, except I cant really "hide" there. I didn't take into account just how difficult trying to do a half hour of floor exercises with a crackhead nursing toddler, and a trouble making piglet would be. Not to mention the 10 and 7 year old wanting to get down on the floor and partake.

My routine is simple...I basically do the same thing each day. And each day I run into the same issues.

As I set up on the floor, Olivia immediately begins trying to eat my mat. There are currently 4 holes in the mat.

I am on my right side...my right hand supporting my head, my left firmly on the mat in from of me. Kicks to the front and back come first. Never can I thrust my leg forward without kicking either Olivia or Emma.

Sometimes Olivia thinks I am rubbing her and falls to the floor. Other times she tries to bite my toes off. Emma usually thinks its a game where she must outrun my legs. She doesn't. And I usually knock her down and she cries. But do I stop...no. If I disrupt the "burn" it will all be a waste.

Next, she tries to belly up to the bar (emma, not olivia). With my legs in the air, she begins to lift my shirt. If this were 1991, and she were a college boy, it might be the highlight of my weekend. But alas, this is not the case. I am trying to loose the love handles and saddlebags so lovingly bestowed upon my body by my offspring. (and yes, they are fully to blame) I can only imagine how horrible and Mommy and Me Yoga class would be. Would the instructor encourage me to nurse this kid while I do my leg lifts?

At no time can I stop. Come hell or high water, I must get through my routine. Now mind you, the entire thing takes maybe 30 minutes. It would be hard to imagine how many things are required by me when it comes to my children in these 30 minutes.

It never fails that Emma has to poop during this time. This has been the most annoying of the requirements thus far. As she has only been potty trained for a short time, and requires assistance in getting on the potty, I had, in the past couple of weeks, had to pause my tape and attend to her needs.

That is, until, It came to me during yesterdays "session". As I was in the middle of an intense bun and thigh routine she began "poop...poop..poop.." Now, with Emma, this can go on for an hour before she actually produces any sort of bowel movement.

I was not about to stop.....and I am knowledgeable enough about the routine to be able to press on AND hold a lucid conversation. I direct her to the corner of the room, where there is a small rectangle bin filled approximately 3inches deep with shaved pine. (If I am being honest, its a litter box) I tell her to go poop in the box. She looks at me oddly, and says "no, libia's".

I lie...and tell her that is "Emma's potty" when mommy is doing Pilate's. She looks confused....but I think she may be buying it. (I mean really, I knew she wasn't ACTUALLY going to poop within the short time I had left on the video...but I wanted her to have an option because I also did not want to stop to clean feces off the carpet)

She finally bought it....and went over to the box (in case you re wondering...it was clean and hadn't been used by anybody yet) She went over several times. She never DID actually poop in it, and I was able to finish the video. (its times like these that make me realize I really AM the person you want to be stranded on a deserted island with)

It was after this, however, that I told Dave I needed to go somewhere and work out. I just couldn't do it at home anymore...I needed time, and space.

So, today, I went to the Gym. I took a tour. I stuck Emma in the daycare and told her it was her new school. I was a bit put off by the number of housewives on the cardio equipment. Then i realized these were now my peers. I walked back to the free weights, where I plan on spending a good amount of my time. There were no woman there. Mostly Vinnys, Mikes and Ronnies.

I left excited at the prospect of getting out of the doldrums of my day to day routine, and getting a little bit of "myself" back.

Of course, I left there and drove right to the store where I spent $200 on workout clothes. (one must look the part)

Putting my socially awkwardness aside, I will begin construction on the new me. Tomorrow, I replace FML with GTL.

Olivia-2 months in

It has come to my attention, that I often have as much to say about my four legged roommates as I do my two legged ones. Moreover, they may be a tad more work that I originally anticipate. (I think that if I were to bring all of my animal hoarding to the attention of a therapist, coupled with the day to day child rearing issues, he or she might see the animals as a representation OF my children. However, the animal children...I can dispose of at will. Something that I may subconsciously, may want to do to the ones I've actually bore.)

Many of you who know me, I know, were in some sick way, disappointed that Olivia turned out NOT to be pregnant. I know this, because some of you have told me so. You are sick enough to admit the hilarity you would have found knowing I was going to assist in birthing piglets in my bathtub.

Although the Dr. could not officially say that she was NOT pregnant when I brought her in, he was fairly certain that she was too young. This made me very happy, and the ride to the vet which included her shitting all over my car, and me throwing up out the window, well worth it.

Approximately a week after the visit, something I had not anticipated, nor expected occurred with my darling piglet. She got the evil in her....chewing on everything, opening drawers, biting....it was like she had been possessed. In fact, she was, in a way.

She was in heat. and with each day it got worse. I like to think I educate people every now and again...and my lesson for today is: FEMALE PIGS HUMP.

Yes, they hump legs...and violently. She would chase whomever caught her eye....charge forward and grab onto the leg...feverishly biting at your kneecap. It was frightening....and we mostly had to stay in a different floor than she. It didn't take Emma to learn the word "HUMP", either...and she used it as a warning call whenever she saw Olivia coming.

By the second day of this disturbing sexual assault, I had made an appointment to get her spayed. The sooner the better, as I learned that this would occur every 21 days.

The operation went off without a hitch.....one day in the hospital, and $300 later and she was good to go. We picked her up, and she was well enough to once again, shit all over my car and cause me to vomit.

She had a swollen little belly decorated with 10 "black stitches. Emma was very concerned about her booboo. It took Ava and Liza three days before it occurred to them to question what it was that Olivia actually had surgery for. I all too quickly answer before thinking. "She got her lady parts out". Quiet fell over the room before Ava blurted "oh, so she cant poop or pee?"
"No, it means she cant have babies" "Oh" she said, "so now she's a boy?"
( I told her she needed to read the Girls Life "MY BOD" book she got for Christmas immediately....cover to cover.)

On day 10, I added another bullet to my resume as I successfully removed all 10 stiches from Olivias gut. Impressive, I know.

Earlier today I picked Sadie (the dog) after surgery for a hematoma on her ear. (her head is wrapped in blue dressing and I have the kids convinced that she had an ear amputation...its quite humorous). Between the pig and dog, it has occurred to me that my pet/vet expenses this month have severely cut into my boob job fund, and for today, I am thinking someone needs to be cut from the budget. I am sure Spooky, the elder cat will require the next medical visit....making him a likely target. hmmm.......stay tuned.

A Little Pep in my Step with some Junk in my Trunk

(please be advised that the inserted photo is not one of my own ass...OK, read on.)

It should come to no surprise that I have no shame, and there are not many things that embarrass me.....if there were, half my stories would never be told.

The evolution of my underwear drawer has gone a step further. A new, most delightful undergarment has made its way into my repertoire of unflattering wares.

I was recently in North Conway. Although the main reason of the trip was to take the kids on holiday adventures, the outlets were just a hop, skip and a jump away.

During one of the twice daily trips, whereas I spent the majority of my money in Gap, Banana Republic and Coach, I ended up in an underwear store. (If It weren't for a friend of mine, Cathy, whom i was meeting, my new found undergarment and I would've never met..she was bra shopping and asked that I meet her). Unfortunately for our husbands, were were not in Victoria's Secret or Frederick's of Hollywood. Nope, we were in Maidenform. (which, by the way, might as well be called "Old Maidenform" ) I had absolutely no intention of buying anything (however, my drawers were not paved with no intentions)

Let me start by saying that I have never been a fan of "Spanks". Don't get me wrong...the concept is great, however I am a bigger fan of comfort...and breathing than I am of having skinny thighs...at least most of the time.

Back to Old Maidenform. As I was making my way to the back of the store in search of my friend, Ava was a head of me. I heard her giggling and when I approached her, found her holding onto a pair of padded underwear. Yes, padded underwear. It was similar in shape to spanks without the thigh portion, however with a nice little shapely padding in the rear. My chuckles were swiftly halted by the light bulb that now invisible encircled my head.

I wont lie, I am 36, have had 4 children and wildly fluctuating weight over the years. Couple those facts with the lack of physical activity in my life, and well, my ass hath no fury.

I held them up, and thought...really...is this any different that the under wire, cupped and mostly padded bras I have been wearing since I hit puberty? No. No its not. It a padded butt bra. Period. In true girlfriend mode, Cathy was all for them. Not like my daughter who BEGGED me not to try it on as she had been making fun of them.

"OK, I need to get a true "before" visual. Turn around and let me see your ass" Cathy said. I did as I was told. "You really DON'T have an ass". Thanks Cat.

OK, into the dressing room I went. I pride myself in being a super speed dressing room girl. If I were a super hero, that's what my catch phrase.... "SUPER SPEED UNDRESSER" (that would also be my name if I were a stripper....or in porn)

I whipped off my jeans and began pulling up the butt bra (hereinafter referred to as "the BB). I got just above my knee before the problems began. I already started feeling numb in my upper thigh.....and I was having flashbacks to when I accidentally pulled the undies from the back of my underwear drawer. Finally, the BB was in place. It looked good and I was somewhat wishing it had the thigh aspect. Ava was cracking up so I slapped her in the face. (just kidding)

I pulled on my jeans. I hadn't taken into account the difficulty I would now have zipping and buttoning the jeans with the new, larger rear end.

It took a couple of minutes of me sounding as if I were giving birth before I got the whole package together. I turned to look in the mirror and couldn't believe it. There was actually a definition between my ass and thigh! It was a miracle. I looked like I could have been Kim Kardashian (when she was 9).

I proudly walked out of the dressing room, turned to Cathy and lifted my sweater. She concurred. She said everything I was thinking about my wonderfully shaped derriere. I could tell she wanted to touch it...but she refrained. She could've. I purchased 2 pairs, and in hindsight, wish I had gotten more. On the way to the register, I grabbed a pair of shaping tights for good measure. (this, I would later learned, was a big mistake)

When we got back to the room, I was anxious to try them on with other types of pants. First, wide legged, semi loose fitting pants. Unbelievable. I wanted to NEVER take them off. Next, a pair of black leggings I normally wear with long sweaters or cardigans. Again, marvelous.

Next, I decided to go for the double threat. I opened the control leggings. I scrunched each leg and began sliding them on...one leg at a time. When I got over the knee, the loss of circulation kicked in. I forced them up, figuring the ends justifies the means. Like it wasn't hard enough, I know had to pull them over my C Cup buttocks. It was hard. I yelled to the girls "this isn't working....the leggings are working against my ass bra!! They were trying to suck THEM in too! I was not having any of that, and as slowly as I got them up, I just as QUICKLY yanked them off.

After the trip, and back home to reality, I spent the first two days cleaning and doing laundry. I had almost forgot about my new BB. Until I unpacked looking for a new pair of jeans. I had to go to Home Depot. What better place to show off my new ass then a store geared towards sweaty contractors, right? Yes, I wore them. But honestly, I just wanted to break them in for when I REALLY wanted to wear them.

As a rule, I generally wear longer cardigans to cover what parts I deem not so attractive. My lower half, mostly. However, on this day, i found myself shaking my booty just a little extra as I walked down the hardware isle. Instead of pulling my sweating down in the back every 10 seconds, I was nonchalantly tucking in a tiny corner. The only downside, was that i wasn't able to squeeze my cell phone in my back pocket. A sacrifice I was willing to make.

So thank you Old Maidenform , thank you. Thank you for changing my life. (OK, maybe not my life, but the way my ass looks in pants).

Olivia (Animal Hoarding, Part 23)

Its been a while, although I don't know why...my life certainly hasn't let up any. If anything, it has gotten a bit more hectic of late.

I am sitting here in a dark room, lit only by the lights that adorn my fake Christmas tree. Well, three quarters worth of lights, anyway. You see, the bottom half was destroyed..eaten actually, by Olivia.

As many of you may have heard, there is a new member in my family. Her name is Olivia...a name that took two days to come up with. Olivia (a/k/a Liv, Livers, Baby)is a wonderfully mischievous little 6 month old piglet that I adopted (ok, spent a negotiated $850 on) nine days ago.

Whom you ask, in their right mind, would bring a pig home (hello??????) Ava (10) asked for nothing more than a puppy for Christmas. I came dangerously close to purchasing a long haired Chihuahua a couple of weeks ago during Emma and my weekly field trip to the pet store. It was there that a couple was standing next to us and we began talking. Not caring that they would think me gross, I explained how I had been wanting a mini pig for some time. They mentioned that they had seen an ad on craigslist several months ago, however, it had been gone for a while.

The super sleuth in me took about 5 minutes before I located who would ultimately be my pig broker. Her name was Erin and she owned a little pet store. She had limited information for me except that she could have the piglets in her possession in three days if I wanted to come and take a look see. Are you kidding? The plans to make the 30 minute drive were being made in my head before I hit the end button on my cell phone. More importantly, what and how would I tell Dave. (Eh...I pretty much bought a house before telling him, so in all actuality, this wouldn't really be that bad)

I made the decision to tell him that i was just going to "look" at piglets. For 2 days he asked the same questions....where do they go to the bathroom, where do they sleep, how do they act...etc. Regardless of how many times he asked the same questions, I simply kept my cool and answered "Dave...it is just like a dog or cat...except its a pig" A concept he could simply not grasp. This is what I convinced Ava of as well, as her dreams of a puppy had been crushed by my own pig dreams. (in my defense, since the day I got married, I had made NO secret about my eventual pig ownership)

The day arrived. In one way I wanted Dave to come so that he could understand... on the other hand, I knew he would be a negative energy, so when he got a better offer for the afternoon, I was secretly relieved.

I packed the rest of the family in the car, including my friend (as I needed another adult to confer with). It took approximately 35 minutes before we arrived at the location. We all jumped out of the car with anticipation.

As we entered the store, three piglets went running across the room...they were smaller than Spooky (my cat). They were grunting and running...and skiddish. I flashed back to my teen years when I loved Olivia, my first piglet whom I loved. I had forgotten how cute they were and how much I really liked them.

We spent a good half hour there, however, it only took 30 seconds before I knew one would be mine. There was a plumpy black girl with a white blaze on her nose, a pink boy who did nothing but feverishly hump the store owners leg, and Olivia...who was the smallest...black with white legs. (sort of like me in the summer)
(I wont lie, I chose the girl with the white blaze...however, her price was less negotiable.)

Erin informed me it was a cash deal. I told her I had to get to the bank, get some stuff together, and call her with a time I would be back for her. It seriously felt as if I were buying an illegal child on the black market. Obviously, with my personality, I wasn't halfway home before I knew I was going to get to the bank and go back immediately. I dropped the girls off. Dave was not home. I told them I had to run to the market. Matt and I grabbed a cat carrier, a blanket and a withdrawal slip and off we went.

While in the store, I was getting the necessities. Food, a crate, pee pee pads. The little pink boy was being overly rambunctious. Before I knew it, he was violating my new baby. Matt and I literally watched a rape...an incestuous one at that. I yelled at Matt to do something...he chased the boy off her and Erin apologized. Really? I was seriously pissed....and felt like I needed to take her to my feelings doctor...or pop a xanax in her feed.

We drove home...and I could hardly believe that I had a pig in the car. Next, was getting her in the house as inconspicuously as possible. I somewhat wanted Dave to miss the fact that there was a pig in the house. Moreover, I was afraid my parents would find out. What had I gotten myself into. Either my parents or my husband was going to kill me. Then I remembered that I am a grown woman and I can do what I want. (right?)

I got the crate with Liv in it, up the porch stairs and plopped her in the living room. The girls were hysterical. "Is Daddy home?" I asked. Yup.

I heard the footsteps coming. All I heard was "You're kidding right....there is not a pig in here...right?". Ummm......I opened the cage and out she flew like a bat out of hell. Her little hooves slipping and sliding on the hardwood floors. Not anticipated was the fact that Dave, in addition to being a bit pissed, would be scared of her. This just added the cherry on top of the ice cream in MY eyes. It was like a funny little bonus. By the end of the night, he loved her too.

The first night was hairy (no pun intended). Although we could not pet her, she had made her safe place under the kitchen table and as night came, it was apparent she wanted a warm body to sleep next to. Being the loving person I am, I curled up on the blanket to lay with her until she was asleep (this was after I had nursed Emma to bed) Matt's girlfriend passed and thought it odd that I was not with Emma. As she asked "are you still breastfeeding Emma", my tired brain thought she was suggesting that I nurse the pig. Lines, Ashley, I have lines. (not many...but some)

It took several days for Olivia and I to get accustomed to one another. I quickly learned that she was not pee pee pad trained, as otherwise told to me. However, unlike the rest of the animals in the house, I have to clean up after her given the circumstances of her arrival here. In doing so, I nonchalantly vomit behind every pig shit I pick up and dispose of. While disgusting as it sounds, I have learned to accept that if anything, I may shed a few pounds until I get her outside trained.
I quickly learned that in addition to being highly intelligent (4th in the animal world) and clean, naughty and busy were also on the top of the list. I immediately felt as if I had cloned Emma...I now have two toddlers to contend with. Both Emma and Olivia get into similar trouble, and both loiter at my feet like hookers at the free clinic. Cupboards are overturned, plugs pulled from walls, paper shredded..... and than the xanax kicks in and I can deal with the two of them like a reasonable adult.

Unfortunately, we only had her for 6 days before we were to leave on a 4 day vacation. A pig sitter was needed and a good friend kindly offered. I gave instructions to the best of my ability. Although I don't think the terrorizing nature of Liv was anticipated. With every check in call Olivia had gotten into some new, and damaging trouble. I couldn't apologize more.

During the last check in call, my friend informed my that she had a nurse friend of her come for a visit. This woman explained that she suspected that Olivia was with piglets. Are you fucking kidding me? (response #1). Hmm....If I got a $1000 a pop, I could make cake (response #2) Wait, will the piglets be special needs considering there dad is there uncle? (response #3)

I had 3 hours to ponder the situation during which time the kids were excited, Dave was SUPER pissed (even though I told him I could birth the piglets in my bathtub and it would be fine) and I had called and made an appointment with a vet ASAP.

I texted a couple of friends in a panic...one of which said she was going to send the "I think my pig is pregnant" text to " textfromlastnight.com". I called my dad in a panic...he hung up on me. I am thinking of buying an EPT and holding it in her urine stream tomorrow. I don't know if it will work though. So, this could either be the end of the story or a the beginning of the TLC/Animal Planet segment of the blog.

In closing, I feel I can only grow from this experience. I can now imagine how Sara Palin felt. And as one person said, I can now add "pig farmer/breeder" to my resume. ( I needed some diversity, anyway) Stay tuned.