Don't go changing to try and please me...

Miss Understood is 12. She is in middle school. She is a social child. She has many friends.

One of her friends is a 13 year old boy, Brody. Brody is gay. Brody has a boyfriend. They are both in middle school. What does this mean at their age? Pretty much the same thing it means when a boy and a girl "go together" or are boyfriend and girlfriend at that age.

I'm profoundly astonished on a regular basis by my children and their friends. In awe of these open and accepting souls who aren't afraid to be true to themselves and who aren't afraid to accept others who are true to themselves. When I was in middle school, 20 years ago, it would have been absurd to even consider a 13 year old boy being open about his "alternative" sexuality. It was an insult to be gay, god forbid someone want to take a member of the same sex to the prom a little further down the road.

Every day I'm stunned by how far we've come...

...and how far we haven't.

Miss Understood shared with me tonight that her friend Brody came out to his mother over the weekend. This kid had the balls to sit down with his mother and be honest with her about who he believes he is way deep down in his soul and his quest to understand that person. Did she embrace her child and vow her unconditional love and support, without regard to who he was or was not attracted to? Did she tell him she had always known this about him and was just waiting for him to be ready to talk to her about it?

No.

She did not.

Instead, she flipped the fuck out. Locked him in his room. Refused to allow him to go to school on Monday. Spent three days preaching to him about how homosexuality was a sin and how he'd better get better or he was going to burn in hell.

No, mom didn't wrap her arms around her brave boy and tell him she would love him to the moon and back, whether was gay or purple or bisexual or one-legged.

She only told him how wrong he was. How bad he was.

My heart breaks for this kid tonight, and there is nothing I can do except be supportive of my daughter who is supportive of her friend. I can't pick up the phone and call this boy's parents. I can't send an email to the lady offering quiet compassion for a person who has just undergone a dramatic shock and gentle guidance on how to cope with her own feelings while honoring her child. I don't know this woman. I don't even really know this boy.

I just know that my heart is breaking for him and I wish I knew what else to do.

Bwahahahahaha!!!!!

I know I shouldn't laugh, but I can't help myself.

I was checking out the most recent key word searches that have led to my blog, and I couldn't help but giggle uncontrollably to myself when I see that some poor Christmas-shopping grandma accidentally stumbled into my lair by searching for "Max and Ruby snuggle pillow."

Poor, poor Granny...

'Cause you got to have faith, faith, faith-ah!

Let me begin this by saying that I have a problem with girls being sexualized at such an early age. I am a firm believer that our media and culture places entirely too much value on looking sexy and meeting this unattainable ideal of what is beautiful. I believe that we are sending the wrong message to little girls and young women that their merit and worth is directly related to where they rate on a beauty scale of 1 to 10.

So normally, I would be in great support of a program such as Pure Faith, a program to encourage young women and girls to dress more modestly. Except that, as I usually do with any faith-based, religiously-motivated initiative, I find their logic flawed.

• "The idea with Pure Fashion is very countercultural," said Brenda Sharman, a life-long model, former Miss Georgia and creator of Pure Fashion. "It takes a girl who is brave and gutsy. ... This is not for the weak and wimpy girl ... to say, 'I'm different, and I'm going to preserve my innocence and virginity,' that's a girl who's radical!"

• Hoping to steer her daughter from overexposed to elegant, Tina signed Amanda up for a Pure Fashion conference in Atlanta. "I don't want her to be distracted by men. So I kind of don't want men to look at her at all, not notice her," Tina said. "But I recognize that they will, so I just want to make sure they look at her in the way that I see her, which is pure and beautiful and innocent."

The trouble, as I see it, with this program is that, once again, the overall message is that men and sexuality are bad, bad, bad. The web site goes on to further imply that women who dress skimpily or provocatively are somehow asking for it or at least setting themselves up for something bad -- like a reputation, sexual activity, sexual assault and so on and on.

Given the discussion int he blogosphere recently about "all men" being predators or potential rapists, the tone of this "movement" really jumped out at me. The tactic they seem to be using is one of equating clothing with morality. Rather than teaching girls they can be elegant and sexy without having to have their asses exposed for the world to judge, the message here seems to be about girls maintaining purity and innocence and not tempting boys and men into viewing them as sexual objects by their manner of dress.

Why the focus on "dressing in accordance with the dignity of being one of God's children," and not simply dressing with the dignity of one's own character and one's own moral values? I have no problem with teaching our children to respect themselves and their bodies. But I think it is important to teach our children to have a healthy respect for sexuality, too, and the implication that one's dress is indicative for one's character is false and insulting to women. The implication that men are animals who can't control themselves and therefore must be protected from the Jezebels dressed in whorish clothing, lest they (the men) can't keep from pulling their dicks out of their pants and obtaining mindless sexual gratification.

The concept that modesty equals virtue and personal dress informs personal choices is laughable. This idea is prevalent even among less fundamental circles. It seems that the catch phrase is "Modest is hottest," and I'm wondering if this is the best they can do? I don't know. The whole concept just frustrates me.

My 12-year old daughter has a healthy knowledge of sexuality, an understanding of what is good for her and what isn't, the power of the hemline and all that jazz...and she chooses to wear jeans and t-shirts and hoodies and Converse. She doesn't fight me for tank tops and short skirts, but her intelligence and attitude would have her labeled "fresh" and "fast" among any of the "virtuous" circles attending these 8-month long seminars.

I guess a big part of my problem, too, is this never ending quest to control girls bodies. And the continuing implication that women are responsible for some mens' inability to control their lust or that men, in general, are all just raging hard-ons walking around on two feet, ready to leap at the first sight of skin above the knee...

You can learn more about the program at their web site, www.purefaith.com

When I think about you, I touch myself

My nipples ache to be pinched, tugged and pulled deeply into a wet mouth with a satisfying suck. My breasts ache to be cupped, caressed, full and heavy, warm and soft.

Between my legs, my pulse throbs in my pussy. Squeezing my muscles tight and rhythmically feels good, soothing. A tingle plays across my clit. Heat grows inside of me and I resist touching myself for as long as I can stand it.

Reaching between my legs, I lightly graze the short growth of hair, prickly and fun to touch. I swirl my fingers around the puffy lips that hide my clit, thinking that I should shave tomorrow. I softly pet the outter mound of my pussy as if it were truly a cat.

Everything hot and wet tucked sweetly inside, I burrow my middle finger into my soft flesh, gently seeking the steamy button hiding there. Splaying my fingers to spread my expose the tender pink parts, I circled my finger quickly, flicking my clit as it swelled. I dipped my finger down into my hole, lubricating it with the juices that simmered there, threatening to spill out of me and onto the sheet. I gripped that finger for just a moment with my pelvic muscles and imagined for a second what it must feel like to a cock when I hold it tight inside of me.

Relaxing again, I brought my glistening finger back to my clit. The smooth slickness sparked against my most sensitive spot, and I began to rock against my hand as I teased my clit. I closed my eyes and thought about a hot mouth sucking me, fucking me, fingers and hands all over my body, lips on my neck, tongues in my ear.

I rolled over onto my stomach, my fingers now buried deep inside my aching cunt, and the heel of my hand pressed against my clit. I plunged my fingers into me and rode my hand, thinking about a throbbing cock pushing its way into my body, hips and balls slamming against my ass and a strong hand grasping my hair tightly while the lithe body of a woman lay beneath me, mouth eating hungrily from my pussy, my face buried in hers, swimming in the heady scent of her sweet, wet pussy, her juices smeared all over my face...and as my lovers came inside of me and beneath me in my imagination, my own juices flooded my hand, and I lay there, spent and smiling.

Pink is my favorite color...

It's been a busy week, so I haven't had a whole lot of time to play with the camera. Greg has been working a lot. We've basically been falling into bed at night, holding each other tightly, grabbing a little action, and doing our best to get some sleep.

I've been awake since 10:30 last night -- so going on 24 hours -- and Greg has to get up early in the morning to head out to work. So this week's HNT pictures might look a little familiar, but they are a couple that I haven't shared yet, for a few weeks ago.

Enjoy. I certainly did. And I've got the pictures to prove it!


Be sure to check out Osbasso's blog to see who else is playing this week.

Happy HNT!!

Stupid, stupid, stupid boy

I just don't even know what to do.

My 16-year old son is just simply beyond my comprehension, beyond my reach.

He has spent the majority of this school year on restriction because he was failing 3 of his 4 classes and had been caught skipping school. He brought his grades up, but then was caught skipping school again.

We started counseling. His grades came up even higher. He was really honest with me about a situation he would have normally lied to me about. With the input from the counselor, his restriction was lifted at the end of the last grading period. He's been given a decent range of freedom and privileges.

I thought he was on the right track, finally.

Today, I got an email from one of his teachers whom I'd emailed yesterday about a project grade. In her email, she mentioned that my son had missed some test prep and final notes in her class today. Red flags went up for me, obviously. He was supposed to be in school, no reason for him to have missed her class.

I called the school, and wouldn't you know it? He'd checked in late for first block, then was reported absent for the rest of his classes. I called his phone, but of course he didn't answer. So I sent him a text message telling him to come home immediately. And so he did...reluctantly, of course.

The thing is, this boy is not an idiot. He knew before he even pulled into the driveway what the consequences of his choice would be. But honestly, at this point I don't even know what to do with him. He's grounded, obviously. No phone, no computer, no outside privileges, no socializing. He is required to get up and take the bus to school in the morning and ride the bus home in the afternoon. He will have extra chores to do around the house.

But beyond that, I just don't know what else to do. And I don't mean that I'm looking for suggestions. I mean, I'm at the end of my rope. Nothing makes a difference with this kid. Nothing. I'm so exhausted with fighting with him about school. I home schooled him for the last half of sixth grade and all of seventh because he was failing in mainstream school, and since he was already a grade behind, I didn't want him to fall even farther behind by failing sixth (which is what was happening). It was hard work, homeschooling. And all of the progress he made went right out the window because he spent his first year in high school dicking around.

He's been tested. He has no learning disabilities. He's just lazy and apathetic.

And I'm just tired.

Tired, tired, tired of fighting the same goddamned fight.

Morning has broken...

I've been awake since midnight, out of bed since 2 a.m. I decided this morning/last night would be the night I reworked my stupid body clock and tried to get back to some sort of semblance of normal.

I gave up yesterday afternoon. The big kids got home around 4 p.m., and as usual, Miss Understood got Little Miss Polka Dot dressed to go outside and play. I took advantage of this down time and crawled into bed for a nap. Then I slept all night...from about 4 p.m. until about 11 p.m. Hadn't been my intention, but I guess I needed the sleep, huh?

I woke up a few times, rolling over, repositioning. Saw Greg sitting in the overstuffed chair in the corner with the laptop in the dark. He didn't try to wake me, just let me sleep. The kids left me alone. The Ex, apparently, took care of Little Miss PD, and I didn't see her until she came crashing into my room, on the run from Daddy, to give me a kiss good-night.

I talked to my brother on the phone for the first time since he left for Arizona. It was fantastic to hear his voice, especially since he sounded genuinely thrilled and happy and at peace. His stories about Phoenix made him sound like a giddy school girl talking about the new boy in her class. He is truly in love with the area. Frankly, I'm ready to pack up and move. Honestly, if it weren't for Little Miss PD and the fact that I know The Ex would fight me if I tried to move away with her, Greg and I would both be game for packing up and heading out west right now.

I was telling my brother how Greg and I had talked the other night about moving out to Nevada (you know, once the big kids were grown and out of the house, etc) and opening a brothel. His response?

"Dharma, I think the simple act of you crossing the state line into Nevada would be considered opening a brothel."

He made me laugh. I wonder if I'd have to pay the $100,000 business license fee?

In short, I've been up all night. After Greg fell asleep, I decided to get up and busy myself with the things I should have been doing had I been awake last night. And then some...

I painted the front bathroom cabinets, trim and doors.

I packed Greg a lunch to take to work today.

I ground the beans and made a fresh pot of coffee for Greg's early morning commute.

Took out the trash.

Swept the floors.

Scrubbed the toilet.

Tried to make muffins -- but someone has stolen my muffin tin.

Little Miss PD won't be awake for another few hours, so now I'm going to go do some real work. Then we'll bake her daddy a cake for his birthday (today) and spend the day rolling around on the floor, building with blocks and watching "Max and Ruby" and "Yo Gabba Gabba."

Fun times, today. And I'm in a fantastic mood.

Happy Hump Day, indeed.