Even Mommies Have Loveys, or, The Other Man (a.k.a. Swine) in My Life

Piggie, meet BlogLand. BlogLand, meet Piggie.

My name is Erin and I have a lovey. Yes, I know I am 33 years old. Piggie is currently about 10. My previous lovey was a small bear I affectionally called "Oatmeal," and I stupidly gave him to a boyfriend as a meaningful parting gift when I graduated from college. I don't remember the transient lovey between Oatmeal and Piggie, so he must've been rather insignificant.

Perhaps I was so traumatized during childhood my adolescence left me slightly scarred and insecure and this is why I require a lovey to fall asleep. Even now, if I've had a rough day, one snuggle session with Piggie and the world is right again. When those bastards at Continental Airlines lost my luggage in January there was a debacle during my trip to Houston in January, I thought Piggie was lost forever. I had two long sleepless nights until he was returned to me. I was also stressed because I'd dumbly packed my diamond earrings in the same bag, but if we're being completely honest, I was more worried about losing my lovey.

One day when I was about five, my parents had a long talk with me and walked me out to the garbage can with "Kiki," my first lovey, a soft pink blanket. They explained that it was time for KiKi to take a trip to the local landfill take a powder because I was a big girl. I cried hysterically and begged them for a reprieve. I think they begrudgingly let me keep Kiki, but the thought of losing her was terrifying. Maybe that's why I can't get rid of Piggie. I've tried using a pillow, but it's just not the same.

Time to 'fess up. Do you still have a lovey? What is it? How old is it? Do you keep it a secret? C'mon now, don't let me look like the only freak!


Me in my Bumpits, Peeps to Follow (Round II) & Link to SNARKLER VLOG!

(This is me in all my BUMPITS glory during Snarkler. Sadly this vlog was too boring to air)

I don't do "awards" posts anymore. It's not that I don't love and appreciate them, it is simply that I am quite disorganized. I forget who awarded me what and what the rules are, and who I passed awards onto the last time. So in the future, I will simply be doing basic lists like these---passing along links to those bloggers I adore. I expect you to at the very least check them out, say hello, and leave a comment. If you like what you see, click on that "Follow" button. Spread the bloggy love!

Here they are, in no particular order:

Tami  @ 29 & Holding

MiMi from Living in France

Peeling An Orange With a Screwdriver

Maven @ A Fabulously Good Life

Sarah @ The Stroller Ballet

The Boob Nazi @ How Could You Not?!

Salt @ The Wife Diaries


June @ 3! A Charm

That One Mom @ The Only Parent Chronicles

Joey @ Big Teeth & Clouds

Polly @ 5th Sister

****And without further adieu, please go visit Lee over at Headaches, Hormones & Hotflashes. During Snarkler weekend, she, Daffy at Batcrap Crazy, Tracie at Stir-Fry Awesomeness and I did a vlog.Thanks to Daffy for all her hard work editing! View at your own risk here!

This is one of those shots where I agree I could use a little makeup. I look tired. Snarkler wore me out!

Lee needed some beer to get over her HOTFLASH!

What's Snarkler without goodies from my favorite nearby bakery, Dolce?


Memoir Monday: Shrinking to Fit, or Finally Growing a Nice Pair of Cojones.

If you'd like to participate, please go visit Travis over at I Like to Fish!

After my college graduation ceremony, my mom and her sister came back to my dorm room to help me finish packing in order to move me back home. My Auntie Maureen had a fabulous idea: she took the purple sheets off of my bed, spread them out on the floor, and began tossing my clothes, shoes, notebooks, cd's, and whatever else she could find on top of them. Then we wrapped the sheets up, twisted the ends and hauled the bulging Santa-like sacks out to the parking lot.

My ornery grandfather and one of my brothers were already waiting for us there in my car, a Nissan Altima. Mom and Auntie Maureen sat in the front, and I sat in the back in the middle (I was in no shape to drive, having just said a tearful goodbye to my boyfriend), flanked by Grandpa on one side and my brother, Kevin, on the other. As soon as Mom careened the car onto I-55 South, Grandpa started jabbing me with his bony elbow.

"Move over," he grumbled at me.

"Grandpa, there's not a ton of room back here, I'm doing the best I can," I assured him, as I scrunched myself up smaller to appease him. Annie Altima wasn't a large car to begin with.

After more grunting and grumbling, he says it, words I can't forget:

"Well maybe if your shoulders weren't so broad and you weren't so big," he barked.

My mom's eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror. Don't listen to him, they said. Yet it was too late.

I had never noticed my broad shoulders before, but ever since I catch myself---hunching, shrinking to fit, trying to make myself smaller. More agreeable. Passive. Invisible. All because of a thoughtless comment uttered 12 years ago.

I won't do it anymore. For anyone. You see, I am cultivating a nice pair of cojones. You can't step on me anymore. You can't whittle me down and force me to fit into the space you've provided.

This is the end of an era. It's been a long time coming.

I will not shrink to fit.

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