BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl


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You Can’t Always Get What You Want

Okay, admit it, if you’re of a certain age you probably started singing “…but if you try sometimes, you get what you need.”

I’m right, aren’t I?

Well today I didn’t get something I needed, but I did get something I wanted. Funny thing about it is that I didn’t realize I wanted it until yesterday. Let me explain.

My actual real card from my sweet son.

My actual real card from my sweet son.

I was married for a long time. At the beginning of that relationship, things were not good between me and the ex’s parents (father and step-mother, his birth mother was deceased). They took issue with certain things about me, like the fact that I didn’t share their son’s religion. Over time, though, they got to know me, and after a while, we developed a fairy decent relationship. The fact that I bore them a grandson helped too, I think.

Anyway, they retired and relocated to our state, which was especially nice for my son. When he was younger we would all get together at their house for swimming, barbeques, and various celebrations. It was fun, really fun. Just yesterday when I was out by our pool I told my sweetheart that I sort of missed those times. Of course he wasn’t part of them, and I wouldn’t turn back the hands of time for anything, but those afternoons by their pool were really wonderful. Alas, time and tide waits for no man, and that ship has sailed. Time to let it go.

Then today my son showed up for Mother’s Day. His father accompanied him to the door with a request. Could we please go over to his parents’ house to retrieve son’s math assignment that he left behind last night? I hadn’t seen or spoken with my former in-laws in almost two years. How strange.

My son called his grandparents and they told us to come on over, which we did. They had house-guests (whom my son had met the day before) but that didn’t make any difference. We were ushered into the backyard, poolside, for a visit. It was great. I felt like it had been weeks, not years, since we had visited.

I guess I need to spend a little more time identifying the things that I want in my life, so the universe knows which opportunities to throw my way. This time, at least, I got exactly what I wanted.


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The Back Butt

Today I got brave and got into the swimming pool for the first time this season. Usually that milestone occurs in late April, but the weather has been a little odd this year (in a wonderful way, I wouldn’t change it!).

This is not actually me. I'm not a redhead.

This is not actually me. I’m not a redhead.

I really should have waited just a bit longer. My pool doesn’t have a heater, and it was COLD. I’m not sure how cold, because I didn’t feel like retrieving the thermometer to find out, since it wasn’t conveniently located next to the edge of the pool. Trust me, though, it was cold.

Usually when you get into a pool you wait to “get used to” the water temperature. Today I just waited to get numb.

Needless to say, I didn’t last long in the water, but I did go in up to my waist, so that’s an accomplishment. I’m looking forward to warmer water and the chance to start walking my laps again. I enjoy walking in the pool, in fact water exercise is about the only exercise I actually like.

I desperately need that exercise, too, as I realized when I was changing out of my swimsuit. I have the bathroom of a thousand mirrors, so no matter how hard I try NOT to see myself in there, I can’t help it. Not only that, but I get the weirdest views. Today it was of my back as I slid my arms through my bra straps. Oh my. I glanced up to be greeted by the sight of what appeared to be a whole second butt, right between my bra straps. My back has gotten so fat that the ridge along my spine looks just like a butt crack, surrounded by fleshy cheeks. Ew. I was at once horrified and strangely fascinated by this turn of events. When did it happen? Can I make it stop? Is it visible through my clothes? And ew again.

So there you have it, the revolting discovery of the day along with the realization that while swimsuit season is a nightmare for me, I need it more than ever.


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Don’t Tell Me I Can’t Love This Book

I recently read a book that really spoke to me. Actually, that’s not strong enough. I fell in love with it. I hated to leave it when I had to, and I kept thinking about picking it back up in my free moments. It was beautiful.91VE2fSH9iL._SL1500_

That book took me places I had never been, yet it made those places familiar and comfortable. As I read, the book transported my heart too, and I felt as though I were living someone else’s life, at least for a little while.

It sounds magical, doesn’t it? It was. In fact it was an almost spiritual experience. I read and read and read and didn’t want the story to end. Sadly, though, like all books, it eventually came to a close. A lovely, satisfying close, but a close all the same. How unfortunate.

So why would anyone tell me that I couldn’t love this book?

Well, there are a few reasons that come to mind. First off, it’s technically not a story for adults.  It’s not my story. It’s not my life. It’s not my history or my culture or my race or my religion. But does that matter?

As a writer, I hope that my readers can find some connection to the stories I tell. I hope that something on the page resonates with them. As I writer I don’t care that your history and mine are different. I want you to immerse yourself in mine, and see if any of it feels familiar. If it does, great, we may share some sort of connection. If it doesn’t, that’s fine too. We compare our experiences and make note of their similarities and differences.

I was a young girl growing up during the same era as the author. I chewed Bubble Yum. I listened to the O’Jays on the radio. I remember hearing about babies suffering the damaging effects of eating lead paint. I wondered why a baby would eat paint. I loved my grandparents and I made friends in school. My life was not so different in so many ways, but our paths were light-years apart. I thank her for showing me her world, and doing it so beautifully.

Don’t tell me I can’t love this book. I already do.

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The book, of course, is Jacqueline Woodson’s Brown Girl Dreaming, and it is stunning.