The Night I Gave My Husband a Free Pass

Thursday, May 21, 2015

This essay originally appeared on Scary Mommy on May 19, 2015.

The solution to our sexual problems seemed clear.  Our libidos aren’t matching anymore.  They haven’t since I had kids.  I’m not a fake it ‘til I make it gal.  I hate sex if I’m not in the mood. My husband’s favorite line is, “I just want to have sex with my wife.  You’re my wife.” 

You want mind-blowing sex?  Fine, go out and get it.  I’ll give you a FREE PASS.  A “hall pass” to pound.  A roundtrip, rump ride – with someone else.

I’d been stewing the idea abstractly for years.  It started when I began to feel guilty for not screwing my husband after the birth of our two babies that are 16 months apart.

I thought in my mind – we have a good marriage, we get along great, our kids are happy, I’m happy – why screw it up, by not screwing him?  If sex is that important – he can go somewhere else to get it. 

It just seemed so unfair though, to me, to us.  Why is a sexless marriage an automatic precursor to divorce?  How can not having sex, negate all of the other wonderful things about our marriage?  Why was it sex, or nothing?

At this point, psychologists and shrinks would be telling me to “do it anyway.”  That a healthy relationship is “all about intimacy.”  They’d urge me to “try harder, even if you don’t feel like it – you’ll get in the mood.”  I need to “schedule sex.”

I tried all that.  I’ve shagged my husband plenty of times when I wasn’t in the mood.  And you know what, it’s repulsive.  It’s a disgusting feeling.  With wine, it feels tolerable.  I even initiated some nights.  I broke out my sexy lingerie and pounced on him like a porn star.  I was pretending to be horny.  I was faking a libido.  I was acting just so my husband – and the world wouldn’t tell me that I’m doomed for divorce.

Pause.  In case you’re thinking that my husband is a bad bone, let me put that argument to bed right now.  When we do have sex, and we're both mur
 – it’s off the charts.  So don’t go there.

As much as our sexual Sahara bothers my husband, it bothers me too.  Why can’t I be super sexual again?  Why don’t I ever feel like doin’ it?  Why can’t I pull out the wild pony tricks of my past?  How can having a baby ruin my libido like this?

I even had my hormones tested – maybe I could blame those.

Nope, the tests came back normal.

I refuse to believe that romantics wholly make up a marriage. I know there is great stuff here.  There is more than enough good stuff to sustain us, as a couple, as a family, while the romantics of our relationship takes a rendezvous.  If our marriage goes on a hot-and-heavy-hiatus, does that mean we’re going to hell in a hand basket?  That we’re destined for the big “D”? 

One night, while enjoying a lovely cocktail hour with my husband – I blurted it out.

“I just wish you’d fuck someone else.  Have a free pass.  Don’t let me know – just do it.  I can’t fuck you like you need.  Just be safe, and don’t fall in love.”

My husband looked shocked and hurt.

“You don’t love me anymore,” he said, lowering his voice.

My eyes swelled up, but no tears.  I looked down at the ground.  Didn’t he understand? I offered, because I DO love him.

He looked genuinely crushed.

“Have you even considered the possible consequences of me fucking someone else?”

I find my voice after getting choked up, it’s hard for me too.

“Yes, I’ve run it over and over through my mind, I feel like it’s the only option to make you – and me, happy.  I just feel all of this pressure.  Pressure to be a good, hot, skinny sexy wife who knows how to bone you like a freaky prostitute, and put dinner on the table – and ask you how your day was, and be this loving mother to my kids – oh, and kick ass at my job.  It’s too much. I just can’t take the pressure anymore.”

“I don’t make you feel pressured.  I never make you feel pressured to cook or clean.”

This is true.  He doesn’t.  He’d wouldn’t flinch if I hired a cleaning company.  If I ordered take-out every night.  If I was never successful in my career.  But, my husband does drop hints when he’s horny (which is constant), that if I really loved him, I’d want to have sex with him. 

I don’t think you can equate the two.  Love and sex.  I don’t care how much pyscho-babble you’ve been shoved down your throat.  This is real life.  It’s really hard raising human beings.

I love my husband, but the sex switch is sometimes stuck.  And for long periods of time.  I don’t heat up under the hood as much as I used to.

My story is no different than anyone else with young kids.  I’m exhausted.  I’m drained.  I don’t need the added pressure of givin’ up the almighty (pristine and groomed) pussy every night.  I don’t need the pressure of trying to act like a sex fiend, when really I’m just jonesin’ for some good zzzzzzzz’s.   I don’t have the bandwidth for mind-blowing sex every week.

I can’t get down with scheduled sexcapades, sexpectations, the obligatory date nights, or cliché marriage counseling that shrinks suggest to every couple struggling with sexual intimacy.

I’ll be sure to put that advice on my how-NOT-to-save-my-marriage list.  Because, adding more items to my current To-DO List – will cause me to go clinically insane.  

I can’t be physically and emotionally available to my husband like I used to be.  There are a bazillion reasons why being romantically available can’t happen as often as I’d like – kids, work, travel, activities, etc.  We’re all plagued by various family life logistics.  Then enter in my post-baby body issues. (Which I could cry about that for another 5 lines, but I’ll spare you).

And I didn’t need therapy to come to any of these conclusions.

Our marriage isn’t fucked.  We’re not getting divorced.  And apparently, my husband’s not taking my FREE PASS offer.  Can we just take the romantics out of the relationship for a moment?  Can we just focus on raising these, tiny, needy, helpless human beings for one moment and leave our relationship ideals and romantics out of it?

For gawd sakes, the sex will come.  The dates will come.  The courtship.  The passion.  And if they don’t for a year…..or two or five.  That’s okay. 

I just want to be friends, partners and to be a family.  And he does too.

I wish the psychologists and sexperts of the world would stop feeding me lines about how to get my marriage back on track after a baby – with these X number of simple steps.  Or how to get my body back.  How to get my job back.

I’ll never get any of those things back.  I am not the same person.  Growing and raising a human changes you deeply and permanently.

My body will never come back.  My brain will never return to its pre-baby state.  And I definitely don’t want my old job back.

My marriage will never be on the same track.  My marriage track has been severed and re-bonded by a baby.  We’re on a new track. 

The big picture is the friendship I’ll have with my partner in the long term.  Can I be friends with this person 15 or so years from now?  Do I want my husband by my side at soccer games? Dance recitals? High School graduation?  Yes, I want to share these moments with him, and only him.  At the moment, I may not have the hottest sex life, the most full social schedule, the most deep feelings of romantic love….towards my husband, or anything really.  However, when that all changes, my husband will be ready when I am, with his free pass in hand, for me.

Can you relate?  How has your libido changed or not changed since having children?

Share in the comments section below.

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Confessions of a Snack Slut Addicted to Goldfish

Thursday, May 14, 2015

I need to stop eating my kids' goldfish.

I gobble up half a bag of goldfish, and immediately my stomach is swimming with regret.

The mom munchies marathon starts, just as it does, EVERY. NIGHT.

I eat too little at dinner – because A) I don’t have time to sit and eat in between my kids’ five-million demands during dinner. B) I’m eating my kids scraps  C) I’m “trying” to lose weight (um, that’d be “baby weight”, although technically my “baby” is almost 4-years old.)

Either way, I’m starving after dinner usually.

My tummy growls through bath time and bedtime stories.

Like clockwork, when I sit down on the couch, the cheesy crackers call me.

It's romantic really, the way Goldfish bait me from the pantry.  Under the seductive soft-lit luminary glow in my living room.  In the thick of sleeping-children silence.

I make my move.  I scurry to the pantry, and open the door.

Those flippin’ fin fuckers were right in front.  In their bright orange bag.  They were puckering their cute, wittle, wips.  Their eyes were wide with hunger.  They wanted to be swimming in my belly, I just knew it.  They demanded me to devour them.

My love affair with goldfish started when I was a kid.  Ya know, when Goldfish, were just cheesy?  They weren’t rainbow colored, fudge and vanilla cupcake flavored, and triple cheese blasted.  I mean seriously, there are fifteen fucking varieties to choose from now.

As the regular, cheddar cheese flavor stared me in the face, I decided on a few handfuls.  Like an addict, just a couple can’t hurt.
I plopped back down on the couch with the bag in hand.
Well, as they say, one thing led to another, and soon, I was eating out the bag, fisting it, and swallowing like a snacky-slut.  I had to wipe the salt off the side of my lips when I finished.

I felt disgusting.  Worthless.  I gave my body to those empty, senseless calories.  And I was sure to get an STD.  Sodium Tuberosity Distention.  AKA – too much salt makes me bloated.

I sleep off the sad, salty, carb induced coma – and wake up with a puffed up pouch.  I decide to only eat fruits and vegetables all day long. 

Only to be starved by sunset.


I go for the goldfish.  Only a few handfuls.  This night will be different.  Because I want a Flinstone push pop tonight too.

What kid snacks are you addicted to?

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What Life is Like with a Traveling Husband (a raunch rhyme)

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

I’m the wife that stays domestic.
Gets the kids fed, off to school, it really gets, quite hectic.

My husband travels to hither, thither and yon.
For work, he arrives at the airport before dawn.

We say bon voyage for weeks at a time
Sometimes, I could really use, ten tequilas with lime.

I'm no single mother.
No aloneness could amount
to the fact, that I still have a joint bank account.

Mostly I love the absent husband.
I’ve learned the art of being apart.

No time being wasted making dinner or talking
No energy expelled nagging or humping.

My work flourishes, when he's outta town
like this poem, I just had to write down.

You, know, I've been thinking, I really ought to have a crown.

My kids sometimes get the same meal for days on end,
Sometimes I give them rules to bend.

I spoil them rotten to make up for his absence
Striking, what I call, a Balance.

When he comes back home, I hand over a list
Fix the toilet, the sink, the printer – you get the gist.

Once he's checked them all, we finally fall…
Into bed, for an overdue booty call.

On the days he's here, the kids suck his energy dry
Knowing, again, he’ll soon have to fly

And we’ll say goodbye.

What do you like or dislike about your spouse traveling for business?  Any tips?

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Does Being a Mom Turn You On?

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

I’m gonna let you in on a little secret.  Shhhhh, come closer.  I need to whisper it, otherwise someone will think I'm crazy.

Here it is....

It’s sexy to be a mom.  It's fuuuccckkkiinnn' hot.

Wait, wait, don’t write this off some positive Peggy, super-smiley, rainbows and unicorns statement.
We’re about to get down and dirty.

There’s men and women gettin’ off on this whole mothering thing.

Oh yeah, you haven’t heard??? They’re jizzin’ and ejaculatin’ just thinkin’ about changin’ a diaper.

I’m not talking about pedophilia fuckers. 
I’m talkin’ fetish.

Let’s talk about sex, baby.  You and me.
Maybe you’ve heard of it?  Mothering fetish, or to be pornographically prim and proper, the term is “Paraphilic Infantilism.” It’s a sexual fetish that involves role-playing in an infant like state.

And you thought you weren’t sexy after having a baby?!

Let me paint the pornographic picture for you, we’re all adults here.

Some adults like to defecate into a diaper and have another adult change it.  Sometimes, the person changing the diaper (presumably the woman), will “baby talk” to the other person during said “diaper change.”

Others, like to go for the boobs.  The obvious nipple route.  Mothering participants mimic breastfeeding, in a highly sexualized way.  So much so, that the “mother” will cradle her partner’s head – like she’s actually breast-feeding.
They sometimes use baby bottles.  It’s like they’ve never heard of nipple confusion.

Foreplay sometimes includes cutting up food into tiny little pieces – and feeding the food to the other person.
Or crawling around on the floor.  Or spanking the baby.

You get the idea.  Your life, fetishsized. 

When I first heard of the mothering fetish – I was fucking floored.  It sounded ridiculous.  The only part that made remotely any sexual sense to me was some tit-sucking.  Other than that, I was dumbfounded.
How could acting like a mom, feel sexy?

Becoming a mother, felt like I shed every sexual molecule in my body.  After having two babies back to back, it took a while to build my libido back up.  As in, YEARS.

When I’m having sex, the last thing I want to do is search tirelessly for my partner’s pacifier.  Or coddle him to cum.  When we go to Funky Town, it’s our time to act like fucking adults….for once, for once dammit!  I can’t get to funky town if I’m pushin’ a stroller.

There’s no way wearin’ mom jeans is gonna make my husband whack off.  It’s like an oxymoron.

The only way someone could honestly wanna fuck like this – is someone who fantasizes about motherhood.  As in, someone who doesn’t have a child.  Someone who hasn't had every moment of their life stolen from them, by a whiney, shitting, puking, needy, small human being.  There’s no way in hell someone who’s actually a mom, could think being a “mom” in the bed is a turn on. 

Let’s confess a bit.  We probably fantasized about motherhood a bit – back in the day.  We fantasized about being beautifully, glowy and perfectly pregnant.  No morning sickness, no swollen limbs and joints, no hemorrhoids.  We fantasized about our “birth plan”, our labor, our delivery.  We were going to be in a fancy restaurant in our best clothes in make-up, our water would break, and it would be a drama-filled (but dreamy), ride to the hospital – our husbands frantically running red lights.  We’d arrive too late to the hospital for an epidural, we’d push for 5 minutes – and out would pop the most perfect little person.  Healthy and strong.  We’d be sweaty for selfies, but our make-up would still be immaculate.

And then there's the Motherhood fantasy we see on Facebook.  We moms post our best pics of our happy little families with our happy little kids.  Then, behind the scenes - we bitch and moan about motherhood in our mommy Facebook groups, our blogs and Twitter.  (If you wanna let all your mommy dirty laundry hang out – Twitter is the place to do that).  Or, get a group of moms out together for drinks - that's when you'll rrreeeaaalllllyyy hear the ugly, filthy bitching.

Gawd – Facebook motherhood looks amazing!  I actually fantasize about Facebook motherhood right now.  No wonder people are fetishsizing motherhood - maybe it's Facebook's fault?

What do you think, is Motherhood and “Mothering” a turn on, or a turn off?  

And has anyone heard of this fetish? Can you admit to having this fetish?

Share in the comments section below.

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11 Reasons American Kids Need to Speak Spanish

Monday, May 4, 2015

Every year, my kids and I celebrate Cinco de Mayo.  We get a pinata.  I make tacos with rice and beans.  I make the most memorable (or unmemorable by the time you drink a few) Margaritas.  We are not Mexican, but it's a great excuse to party and eat tacos (like I need an excuse to eat tacos).  It also exposes the kids to other cultural holidays.

We can't celebrate every single holiday in the whole world - that would be a full-time job and get really expensive.  But I made a point with Cinco de Mayo because the Mexican and Hispanic influence in our country is so great, and it's growing exponentially.

Teaching your kids compassion for other cultures comes from you.  It is modeled by you.  They are exposed, through you.  You can't just turn on Dora the Explorer and expect your kids to learn compassion and culture.
Although it's a very good start - parents should be thinking beyond Dora.

Learning the Spanish language is extremely important, and will prove to be more so, as the Spanish-speaking population grows in the United States.

With more than 37 million speakers, Spanish is by far the most spoken non-English language in the US today among people ages 5 and older. It is also one of the fastest-growing, with the number of speakers up 233% since 1980, according to the Pew Research Center.

When you have a multi-ethnic, multi-cultural family the expectation is that you'll teach your kids the language of your heritage.  Some kids simply pick it up by listening to the parents speak in the home.  However, it's harder when the parents are ethnically different, or from two different cultural backgrounds.  The chances of both languages being spoken in the house are slim.

My children are half Persian.  Half of their family speaks Farsi.  They should learn Farsi first, right? It will be easier to talk to their family?  They'll connect with their heritage?  All of that is true.  They will learn Farsi - later.

But, teaching them Spanish first is a smarter move.

Here are 11 Reasons Your Kid Should be Speaking Spanish

1. Making friends.  Your kids probably go to school with several Spanish-speaking students.  The US has the 2nd largest Hispanic population worldwide.  Only Mexico, has a larger Hispanic population, according to the US Census Bureau.

2. It will help their English.  Spanish is derived from Latin.  Learning Spanish will only boost their English vocabulary.

3. Learning a language like Spanish (which is a fairly simple language to learn), helps children learn a third language.

4. It makes your kids smarter.  There are so many cognitive benefits  (even unrelated to language) to your child being bilingual.

5. They can watch Dora on the Spanish networks.  Or any other Spanish movie or foreign film- without reading subtitles.

6. They can become better salsa dancers.  A dance teacher once told me, if I know what the lyrics of the song are - and translate it - it will help me move to the music better and count my steps.

7. Increases the dating pool.  Your child can expand his or her friend circle just by speaking Spanish.  It boosts the amount of potential friends - and later down the road, mates.

8. Getting a job.  Growing Hispanic population - means more jobs will be available for Spanish-speaking workers.  Some industries require it.

9. Being competitive in an ever-growing, global world.  Being bilingual opens up the door to several business opportunities across the world.  Your child will be more competitive in educational and occupational opportunities abroad.

10. Traveling to nearby countries.  Spanish is the second most commonly spoken language in the world.  We live right next to our Latin American friends.  So, let's get to know our neighbors.

11. Reduces risk for Alzheimer's.  Fluency in two language reduces the risk of this awful disease.

Are your kids bilingual?  What are the benefits you've seen?  Any disadvantages?

Share in the comments section below.

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Please, Don't Make me go to Brunch on Mother's Day

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Does this sound like your brunch?

Moooommmm I don't want fruit first.

Why do I have to eat eggggggggsssss???

I jussssttt wannnttt a baaaaageeelll mommmmyyyyy!!!

She's hiiitttttiiinnnngggg mmmeeeee!!!

Yeah, no thanks.  I'd rather stab myself with a fork....repeatedly.  And no thanks on the flowers.  Cuz you know, those die right?

Brunch and flowers can't negate the other 364 days of shitty diapers, constant complaining, loads of laundry, piles of dishes and chauffeuring to extracurricular activities.  Brunch can't perk up my saggy boobs.  Or my spit-up on spirits.  Flowers can't fix how fucking annoying it is to make dinner for my kids every night, only to have them complain and say, "I'm not hungry anymore."  Flowers can't make the fact that you request snacks every second, suck any less.

But, I do have some gifts in mind that can temporarily numb the nagging.  No, not drugs silly!  (But, that is a good idea).

Here's my Top 10 List of Mother's Day Gifts that don't involve the obligatory brunch.

1. A night on the town with girlfriends.  The babysitter should arrive early so I can get a blow out, maybe a spray tan and pick out an outfit.  Basically, I want to look and feel like a real human being.  The babysitter needs to spend the night, cuz mama's drinkin' and wakin' up hung a HOTEL.

2. A spa day.  Six solid hours at the spa.  If the spa has an outdoor pool - mama will require 8 hours of relaxation.  Babysitter needed.  If that's too much, a mani-pedi down the street at the quickie salon is always accepted.

3. Tickets to a musical or theatre performance.  Disney on Ice and the circus do NOT count.  Babysitter needed.  I have no problem, going ALONE.

4. A bottle of expensive wine - and a babysitter.

5. A kick ass handbag.  Preferably one that has been pinned on my personal Pinterest board or inconspicuously torn out of last month's Vogue magazine. 

6. Shoes.  See directions above.

7. A cleaning company visit to make our house sparkle and shine.

8. A book you think I'd like.

9. Something hand-made from the children.  I'm a sucka for kiddie art.

10. Okay, okay, fine, brunch.  I love brunch!  I love bacon, frittatas, pancakes and seas of syrup.  But, grown-up brunch.  Babysitter, champagne and Uber required.

What do you want for Mother's Day?  If money and babysitters grew on trees - what would your dream Mother's Day look like?

Share in the comments section below.

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Black Mothers and Their Sons

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

What if fear influenced your parenting approach?

Can you imagine parenting through a constant prism of panic?

The mother in Baltimore caught on tape beating her son’s ass is hailed a hero.  I don’t know what she was yelling to her son, but I can imagine her thoughts were something like....

I didn’t raise you like this.

I didn’t teach you violence.

You’re scaring me.

You’re going to get killed out here.

Please, please, please come home safe. 

I don’t want to bury my son.

I don't want you to die.

Black moms with sons have the hardest task in the world.  They want their kids to be kids.  The moment their son is born they have pure bliss.  Just like every other parent - they envision a childhood where their kid runs carelessly through wide open spaces, swings gently in the breeze, and plays superheroes with other boys.  Except, when black sons use toy guns to play superheroes – it becomes lethal. 

Slowly those sacred childhood moments, that unbridled boyhood time is tainted and tested.

Mothers have to take the toy guns away at a certain age.  They have to somehow explain to their doe-eyed, naïve little boy why they can’t play with toy guns, but their white friends can.  The boys have their freedom stripped from a young age.  They start to have a restricted childhood.  At the time in your life when you should be most adventurous, most curious, most imaginative, most a kid– black boys are stifled by their skin color. 

When the little black boy becomes a teenager he’s instructed on how to act around police officers.  He’s told to keep his arms where they can be seen at all times.  They’re told to cooperate.  They’re told to not let their white friends stick up for them if they are questioned in a group.  The less attention, the better.  The less fight, the better.  What white family do you know – has had to put a burden like that on their boys?  What white parents have had to instruct their sons on how to act around law enforcement? 

What white parents have had to tell their children – if you don’t cooperate, even when it’s unfair – you could die?

As a culture, we’re taught to stand up for what we believe in.   This is America after all – the most tolerant country in the world.  Stand up in the face of injustice.  Rise up against hatred.  Easy for the majority to say.  Easy for the majority to believe in.  Black sons, will end up bleeding for it.  Black sons, will stop breathing for it.

We’ve seen unarmed black boys and men, killed for their color.  Law enforcement, the protectors of our people – murdering our black men all in the name of public safety.  I say “our” here, even though I’m not black because we’re all citizens of this planet.  Every race, every human.  Those men killed, are OUR black men.  They are OUR humanity.  If those officers feared OUR people less –and I mean all of OUR people, this would not be happening.  The bias against black men would not be there if the majority stopped fearing.  The bloodshed against black men would cease.  Black boys could be boys.  Black mothers would stop burying their sons.

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