The Bearded Iris

A Recalcitrant Wife and Mother Tells All

Tag: vagina (page 1 of 2)

She tried to kill him with her WHAT?

So, it’s Valentine’s Day.

And to celebrate, I wrote a little something about a news story that piqued my interest the other day. It’s a story about marriage, sex, and foul play—emphasis on the foul

She tried to kill him with her WHAT by The Bearded Iris In The Powder Room

I had a hard time coming up with a suitable title.

Here are some of the ones that didn’t make the cut:

International food recall scares vagitarians

Tainted Love – Are you gonna eat that?

Murderous Mustache Rider remains silent…her lips are sealed.

Connie Lingus, that murderous c*nt!

You can read the whole story at my other home, In The Powder Room. I think you’ll get a kick out of it. At the very least, you’ll probably learn some new euphemisms…my Valentine gift to you.

Go now and love each other. Love each other long and hard—today, and everyday. And try not to murder anyone with your poisoned apple (pie).

Most affectionately yours,
-Leslie

How to break the ice at a blog conference.

I’m on my way into the big city today for my second day of the Haven Conference. It’s a blog conference specifically geared at DIY/Home blogs and it’s been an absolute HOOT so far. These women are incredible. For such a creative group, they sure have great business minds. I have met so many warm and engaging ladies who are beyond generous with sharing their knowledge and talents.

This has been a great conference for me…nice and small, local so I can sleep at home, and very inspiring. I’m so glad my friends, Kerry of HouseTalkN’ and Kristy of Living Life (Un) Simply, talked me into going with them! {Love love love!} They are even more fun in person than they are on Twitter, if you can even imagine.

Kerry texted me the day before the conference and said “You are in charge of keeping me from making an ass of myself, btw…”

Surely she must have meant to send that to someone else. I’m more of an ass-enabler than an ass-preventer, as you can probably tell.

Kerry is a HOOT.

Yep. That’s Kerry. And that’s just how she greets Internet friends. Can you imagine what her family reunions look like?

Kerry’s also a former teacher, and she gladly conducts impromptu workshops on things like ambush dancing, unconventional greeting phrases like “You’re so cute, I just want to breast-feed you,” and all the latest gang symbols.

That there little gesture can mean a variety of things…like “form a diamond defense” in basketball,” or “does this dress accentuate my flesh belt?” According to one gal Kerry knows, it is also the international sign for vagina. Hey, the more you know. So ladies, if you ever find yourself in a setting where it would be considered uncouth to use anatomically correct Latin-based terminology, like, oh I don’t know, the Michigan House of Representatives, you can always just flash this hand signal instead.

Or just do what I do and try to work the word vagina into as many conversations as possible.

“Hi, I’m Leslie! No, I’m not really a DIY blogger, unless you include the DIY tips I share about vaginas. Oooh, I love your bag! Did you sew that?! Do you sell those? I used to sew, but then I had kids. Now I can’t even find a pair a scissors when I need them. Sometimes I fix stuff around my house like refrigerators. What’s your blog about?”

See? It’s easy. And totally not offensive. It’s just a body part like any other…knee, eye, vagina. I honestly do not understand what the big whoop is. Vagina, vagina, vagina.

Vagina.

Okay, gotta go. Don’t want to be late for day two! Vagina.

your friend,
Leslie

PS – my comments are closed for the summer, but you can chat me up on Twitter and Facebook, and please do! I miss you guys. Vagina.

Another Spectacular Dinner Conversation

As I’ve told you before, we tend to have pretty hilarious and/or bizarre dinner conversations at my house (depending on your perspective).

My sweet husband, “The Gatekeeper,” is all about order and peace at the table. He really hates it when the kids and I get silly or inappropriate. And the man has a point there, really, I get it. But sometimes, we truly just can’t help ourselves.

The other night we were talking about ethnicity. My husband is 100% Italian; I’m more of a mutt. The kids absolutely despise that I ruined their chances of being purebred Italians.

So Mini-Me, desperately trying to find a way to be more than 50% Italian, pleaded, “Mom? Do you have any Italian in you?”

Those were her exact words.

I mean, come on.

In baseball, that’s what they call a “meatball” (ahem, speaking of Italians)…a perfect pitch right down the middle of the plate.

Look, I just don’t have it in me to not square up and knock that sucker out of the ballpark, even in front of children.

“Not at the moment.” I countered with a straight face, followed by a We-Make-Sexytime double eyebrow raise in my husband’s general direction (which on me, actually looks more like Groucho Marx having a petit mal.)

“Nice,” The Gatekeeper replied with an undertone of this is why our kids are like this. (He may or may not have been referring to various troublesome behaviors including a child who will not be named allegedly dropping trou on the playground the other day and getting sent to the preschool principal’s office on charges of indecent exposure.)

pic of bucket head preparing for trouble and in mismatched socks

...in trouble with more than just the Fashion Police.

Don’t worry, my joke went right over the kids’ heads, as I knew it would. They are way more interested in poop and fart talk than they are with the whole P-in-the-V concept…so far. Which is why it came as a big surprise that a few minutes later Mini-Me revealed that she was learning various gynecological terms at school. 

“We’re learning SPEC words in spelling.”

“SPEC words? What does that mean?” I asked.

“You know, words with SPEC in them. It’s a Latin root. It means see or look.”

“You’re learning Latin roots in 3rd grade? How cool is that?! You are going to rock your SATs, girl. What are some of the words on your list?”

“Inspect. Respect. Spectacle. Speculum…” she replied.

Hold up. Did you just say speculum?”

“Uh-huh. Speculum.”

Speculum is one of your spelling words? In third grade? Are you sure?”

“Yes. Also, perspective, spectator…”

“No. Really. You must be mistaken. There is NO way in Sam Hill that speculum is one of your spelling words. Get me that list.”

Meanwhile, The Gatekeeper and the boys were silently chewing their food, watching our dialogue like a tennis match. Mini-Me got up from the table, rooted through her backpack, and produced this:

my daughter's spelling list of words including the Latin root SPEC

 Quickly, I scanned the page.

“There’s no speculum on this list, Miss Thang.”

She leaned over to see it again and prove to me that I’m wrong.

Suddenly realizing her mistake, “Oh, I meant to say speculate.”

“Big diff, honey.”

“Well what is a speculum then? And why isn’t it on my list since it starts with SPEC?”

This would have been the ideal moment for me to be circumspect before answering.

“Oh. Well. Okay. A speculum is a special scope that doctors use to look inside your vagina.”

“WHAT?!”

“Don’t worry. Only grown-up women need to have those kind of exams.”

“Like a telescope? That goes into your vagina? And a doctor looks up in there? That is disgusting! Ew! I am never going to let anyone stick anything in my vagina!”

“AMEN sister. Let’s make t-shirts that say that,” I approved.

“Can we please change the conversation?” The Gatekeeper pleaded.

“Da-ji-na.” Bucket Head chimed in, better late than never.

The kids and I all started to giggle, nervously glancing at the head of the table.

“See? See what just happened?” The Gatekeeper admonished.

In retrospect, yes, yes I do. Maybe I need more Italian in me to win him over.

 

The Truth about Motherhood

read me in the powder room
I’m over In The Powder Room today telling my truth about Motherhood.

It’s a little bit of everything…kind of like those three freeloaders who came out of my vagina.

See you over there, m’kay? I’ll bring the hand sanitizer, you bring the air freshener.

-Leslie (aka Iris)

And that’s how I cope with jealousy.

Well it’s Tuesday, so you know what that means: I’m over In The Powder Room over-sharing about something vapid like the approximate muscle tone of other women’s nut crackers.

It’s not much, but it’s what I do.

Also, I may have coined another fabulous new word for vaginas, so go check it out.

But see you back here tomorrow for Wordless WTF Where’s My Kid? Watusi Wednesday. I’m obviously on a roll. Just go with it, m’kay?

expressing pent up feelings so you don’t have to,

-Iris

And the battle continues.

It’s her least favorite time of the day: the preschool pickup.

She’s not sure why. Is it the ear-splitting din of all those clucking moms and nannies lining the hallways, comparing toddler milestones and extra-curricular schedules? Sometimes she hears snippets and it makes her blood pressure rise. “Did you register Tyler for T-Ball yet?” “All the best summer camps filled up weeks ago.” “Oh, I’ve heard terrible things about that teacher.” “Are y’all doing Swim Team again?”

She always tries to time it so she’s the last one to arrive and won’t have to wait in line with the other women. She knows this is wrong, and it makes her feel even worse about it.

Yesterday she decided to put on her big girl panties and try to be social.

She went early, got in line, said hello. The woman ahead of her wouldn’t even turn around to make eye contact.

The rejection made her feel bad.

Her mind went right to the dark place. “Is it my breath? Did I say something offensive at the Christmas party? OHMYGOD, does she know about my blog?”

So she pulled out her phone, pretending to look busy.

A random Facebook status catches her eye:

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

And she realizes…you never know.

Maybe that lady’s dog just died.

Maybe she’s suffering from a horrible bout of IBS, or alcohol withdrawal, or mild to moderate vaginal itching.

Maybe she just found out that her husband is cheating on her.

Or maybe she was sexually assaulted by someone she trusted.

Maybe she has a sick parent or a child on her third round of chemotherapy.

Or maybe she hasn’t slept well in 12 years because her husband snores like a fucking freight train.

Maybe deep down inside she thinks she’s ugly and is extremely self-conscious about her facial hair.

Or perhaps she has social anxiety and trust issues stemming from her parents’ hideous divorce decades ago.

Who knows? She might just be having a bad day… an overslept, burned the toast, forgot the coupons, stubbed a toe, got poop on her tampon string kind of day. That could explain the vaginal itching, at least.

And most likely, that split-second lack of courtesy has absolutely nothing to do with her.

She has three choices:

1. Just ignore Ms. Nasty Pants.

2. Mirror the negative energy right back in her bitchy face.

3. Be kind.

So she puts her phone away and smiles. And maybe, just maybe, her smile will remind the other women in line that there is good in the world. And even if that woman did accidentally put her thong on sideways, a smile might just be the lifeline she needs to get through another shitty day.

Yes, she will hold her head high and smile anyway.

And that’s when she notices: the woman in front of her is wearing hearing aids.

Maybe tomorrow she’ll tap her on the shoulder before she says hello.

Originally published by In the Powder Room, January 24, 2012. 

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