Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Introducing: The Loquacious little Moppet

This is Jd. He is the most recent demon to have clawed his way out of my uterus, and has been blessed with the gift of being a (funny) little shit. I've decided that his little words of wisdom, funnies, and his randomness should be shared with more than just those on my Facebook page. Thus I present to you a new segment to be featured on my blog at least once a week: The Loquacious little Moppet; snippets of sass. These are transcripts of the thoughts and conversations of my five year old. 

This is his "I'm getting really tired of your shit woman" look.

First Edition. August 1-6, 2014

At the cabin campsite, right before bed:

Jd: Mom, are there spiders here?
Me: Probably, we are near the woods. But they won't bother you.
Jd: Oh yeah, I know that. They like to go on YOUR face when you sleep. 
Me: Wha....wha....what?!
Jd: Yup. I see them sometimes when I am in your room at night. 
Me: O.o *shivers*

For the record, he has his own room. I have no idea if he actually does come into my room at night, but now I'm kind of terrified that he might actually do that, and may really have watched spiders crawl on me. Even if he doesn't, that's a real asshole thing to say right before I go to sleep. 

Random exclamation: 

Jd: Mom! I love you so much my heart is exploding like Lego bombs are in there.

Asking questions:

Jd: How long is an hour?
Me: 60 minutes.
Jd: How long is 60 minutes?
Me: It's an hour Jd, I don't know. Like the length of two t.v. shows.
Jd: Which show?
Me: I don't know, two Spiderman episodes
Jd: Woooooooooooow. That show stinks mom! 
Me: YOU ASKED HOW LONG AN HOUR WAS. Who cares what show it is?
Jd: You should say My Little Pony. That's better. It's fancier. 
Me: Sigh. It's a T.V. show. How is it "fancy"?
Jd: Because they have CAKE. Seriously. 
Me: Yeah....seriously...*eyeroll* 

Jd is happily and peacefully playing with a fire truck Lego set that I purchased in hopes of gaining a few hours of quiet. All was well, until he started thinking. 

Jd: Mom...Mom....MOM!
Me: What?!
Jd: Do you like to call 911?
Me: No, we only call 911 if there is an emergency. 
Jd: I like to call 911
Me: Why would you call 911?
Jd; Because I'm FIRE ON THE DANCE FLOOR! (Followed by him making firetruck siren sounds)
Me: O.o

On the Airplane:

Jd: Mom, what if we crashed into Mt. Fuji?
Me: Well, we'd probably die
Jd: Yeah but the fireball would be so HUGE. We could see it from space!
Me: Yes, but *we'd* be dead so we couldn't see it
Jd: Well, you'd be dead because your leg is broke and you can't run away from fire. I'll be okay because I'm awesome. Hey mom, can you sit in a speedboat?
Me: *Blinking at the abrupt topic change* Yes...yeah I can sit in a speedboat.  Why?
Jd: Because if I had a speedboat, I'd put you in it and glue you to the seat. Because your leg is old and broken and you will fall off and die.
Me: Um, thank you?
Jd: Yeah. But you'll have to make me pretzels to pay for the glue.

As a special gift to you, may I present "Special Man". This is my child, and I love him despite the heebie jeebies he sometimes gives me.


So as some of you may have read on the GaijinCracker Facebook page, I have some personal stuff happening in my life and a few big changes looming on the horizon for me. Which is why I've woefully neglected my poor blog, although I suspect a few people are glad I finally shut up about it. Until I figure out what and where my life is going, posting is going to be a bit infrequent, so please be gentle and don't abandon me just yet! To help stay on track at least a little bit, I've decided to introduce what I hope will be a fun once a week rant day. I'm calling it Nakigotowoiu (whiny, in Japanese).

How this is going to work: This upcoming Friday I am going to rant and whine about whatever damn topic I choose (how out of character, right?!). It might be about the time I mixed up the Ranch Dressing and chocolate syrup (really, those bottle shapes are too similar for my liking), the public school system, an Anime that let me down, how much I despise Kix cereal, or just a random encounter in my day to day life. After that first post, I am opening my blog to you, my darling, wonderfully devoted, slightly psychotic readers. Feel free to send me a message on the Facebook page letting me know what your rant would be about. You can go ahead and start messaging me really go do it. I feed on your adulation in order to stay young and keep my chest firm and bouncy. Anyways, I'll choose one person a week and feature them! No topic is off limits, although I will say that pictures must be PG13-ish. I will leave your rant unedited (unless you ask for assistance), and post a short introduction at the top of your post leaving track backs/links/whatever to your page or blog. The absolute only time I will not post your rant is if you TyPe LiKe ThIs, or spellz lik dis. Grammar is a moot point as long as it reads well. If you fail to have a post materialize on time rest assured I will ridicule you and call you lazy in a rant I will devote just to you and you will not be allowed to submit future posts.

With that being said, go forth and spread the message! I understand that my blog is small and not yet fruitful, but one day it will be. I will rule the internet with my Golden Vaginal Muscles of Fury, and you will be able to say "Yeah, I had a guest post on GaijinCracker before it was big" like a true internet hipster.

Life's hard. Let's pout about it.

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy.....but here's an outlet, so fuck me maybe?

There seems to be a reoccurring theme in my last few blog posts, if you haven't noticed by now I broke my leg. In a previous post I mentioned that I've been suffering from the dreaded blue clit, thanks to my ginormous full leg cast. Well I am happy to announce that I've been cast free for a few months now, although my leg is still totally screwed up. *Quick side note: finally had my case sent to Tripler in Hawaii. We're waiting on approval to fly me over for surgery! Yay!* Ahem, anyways, between the pain of a freshly broken leg, the pangs of boredom, and my overall frustration at lack of access to my vagina, I decided that enough was enough. I was overloaded with stress and I had to find a way to slip in some sexual relief. 

I'm not sure if it's actually funny. I'm conflicted.
I am not shy about sharing my habit of visiting porn shops and collecting toys. What you may not know is how hard it actually is to please me. While toys are fun, they rarely get the job done. I know I'm not alone out there, a lot of women have trouble achieving orgasm, and some never do at all. I had it in my head that it was my job to please my man, and therefore I had to make him feel like he was #1 in all things regarding sex, including masturbation. I was very young when I married at seventeen years old. My spouse, apparently high on the vows of matrimony, asked me to masturbate in front of him. No biggie. I hadn't really masturbated before but I understood the gist of it. You get into a comfortable position, and work it until you either get too tired (which happened a lot for me when I'd previous try. I'd get bored and quit), or until you're done. I did a sexy strip tease, laid down, and went to work...and that's where things went bad. I was just trying to enjoy myself, to let go. He interrupted me, told me that it was boring just watching me lay there, and asked me if I could do something more. After I got over my embarrassment for boring him with my naked body, I decided to try it his way. I tried to rub myself doggy style, made sexy faces, threw my ass up in the air, played with my hair, moaned loudly and often, sucked on my fingers...yadda yadda yadda. I never came. He did. Again, I was there to perform, not enjoy, or at least that is what I had in my head. There are a lot of different reasons that I thought that way, reasons that I am exploring with my therapist. I have a long and sexually .... confusing, sometimes difficult history with sex, masturbation, and self image. All of which played a role in my thinking and reasoning toward "getting off". Way too many to delve into right now, but I wanted to make it clear that I am not blaming my spouse for my issues. Well, not all of them at least, but again, that's a convo for another day.

Anyway, so I just figured that I was one of those people who would just endure sex. Oh, I was so stupid. You should never have to endure anything, and certainly never sex. If I could go back in time and smack younger me in the face, I'd do it in a heartbeat. Then I'd hand her what I have since deemed worthy of the title; "The Holy Grail of Masturbation", the goddamn Hitachi Magic Wand.

Hell yeah I added in sparkles.

I was hesitant as I pulled my wand out of the box. This thing is roughly the size of my forearm, and sounds like a small fan when it's plugged in and vibrating at the lowest setting. I won't lie, I was pretty unimpressed with the design. How "magical" could it be to put a giant vibrating tennis ball on your vagina? I had purchased the Hitachi based on reviews saying that the vibrations were strong. Regular vibrators do not give me enough stimulation. A lot of the time I find myself grinding on them, and have even bruised myself trying to cum with them. So I overlooked the design and decided to just give it a go. I read reviews saying not to put the head directly on your vag, because it could irritate your skin. I threw a towel between my legs, kept my underwear on and flipped the switch to low. 

Holy. Shit. I had left the wand head resting on my vagina before I turned on the switch. I felt the vibrations rock through my hips and I swear all the way up to my ribcage. I flung the wand across the bed out of sheer shock. Lesson #1: don't ever put a toy on your junk before it's turned on. That's how you give yourself a heart attack. I should have known better. I picked it up, still vibrating, with my hope slowly building. I snuggled back into my stack of pillows, propped my broken leg off to the side on my body pillow and got ready for what I now thought would be a promising, yet arduous, journey to gettin' my rocks off.

Ten minutes. 

It took ten minutes until I was literally choking on my own spit as I tried to moan and stop my eyes from rolling into the back of my head. One minute I remember thinking "hmm, this is nice", and the next I was cross eyed and drooling. I will not longer besmirch the size of the head of the Hitachi. I think that is what made the difference for me. The power of the vibration was strong and equally spread across the top, which means no matter which way I rolled it, or if I stood it straight up, maximum coverage of my nether regions was achieved. And it was glorious. So. Fucking. Glorious. My hands went numb. This baby is powerful, and not to be trifled with (story coming up). I love it. This is a post I made on Facebook, after using this beast for the first time on March 21st:

"USPS finally delivered my Hitachi today. It took me less than five minutes to tear it open and put it to work. OH MY GOD. Seriously, OH MY GOD. I thought I'd pissed the bed when I finished, no joke it was a damn puddle! Where has this been all my life?! Good freakin' hot damn Lord. I'm never putting this thing down. EVER."

Yup. I totally thought I had pissed myself. I knew about female ejaculation, but I had never, ever experienced it. On the advice of a friend, after my next round also resulted in me sitting in a puddle, (I used that baby four times the first day I got it) I gave it a sniff test to see if I was actually orgasming, or if all these eye-rolling, pleasurable feelings were just my urethra being knocked loose. Which, for the record, I totally would have been cool with, it felt *that* good. I gave the towel a whiff, and it smelled nothing like pee. It was sweet, and super sticky. Holy shitballs. I had came, and I came hard. I had no idea that my body could do that, could feel that. It's now April 10th, and I've been walking around looking like this, every day since getting my new lover: 

Only with more chin hairs.

I've gone from never having experienced an orgasm, to having at least one a day. Yes, even on spring break. I sent my kids outside, locked my bedroom door, and happily went to town with my Hitachi. It's only taken me ten years and some change, but I finally found something that will vibrate my socks off, and makes me feel amazing.

Are you wondering why I waited so long to make this purchase? Yes, it's slightly expensive, but I've spent more money on stupider Japanese sex toys. My theory is that a part of me knew that 
I couldn't be trusted with powerful tools created to fulfill sexual desire. Are you ready for the stupid? Because here comes a truck load.

We've established I love my Hitachi, and that I use it daily now. The magic wands has two settings, normal, and what I like to call "Goddamn Zeus's dick sandblasting through your uterine walls". I have only turned the second setting on once, while holding the wand in my hand, and the sound alone scared me. Not to mention how fast it was going, or how quickly my hand was going numb. At the time I decided I never needed to try that setting. Zeus has fucked enough people/animal/things, he didn't need to get all up in my business too. I was going to stick to the normal setting.

Please note the use of the word was, in the last sentence.

I was feeling incredibly horny last week. I was fresh off of my period, and wanted it hard. So I laid my Hitachi on the bed and kind of straddled it, the best I could with a crippled leg. It was kind of just hanging off of the side of the bed, while I kneeled with my good leg bent like a frogs. I figured straddling it would put more pressure, and avoid the numb hands issue. So I get it adjusted just right, and because I am a fucking moron, I flip the switch straight to Zeus. Much like the first time I used the Hitachi, I straight freak the hell out. I am pretty sure this is what it'd feel like to be fucked by The Flash if he had a roll of sandpaper for a dick. Genius me, in full freak out mode, decides that the best course of action is not to turn off the Hitachi, but rather to not-so-eloquently flop forward onto the bed, full force, putting all of my weight onto that orgasm addicting piece of evil, motherfucking Hitachi wand. The worst part? I couldn't get back up. In hindsight, I'm sure it was hilarious. I can't put weight on the knee of my broken leg, I had one arm flopping to the side trying to push myself up, the other between my leg trying to yank onto the wand, while my broken leg dangled off the bed and was twitching with my manic movements. My other leg was stuck in "frog" position because I somehow managed to get it tangled in my comforter. I'm pretty damn sure my struggle was close to what a fish being anally violated would look like. It probably only took me seconds to pull the Hitachi out from under me, but it felt like hours. When all was said and done, my pubic area was bright red and achy for over an hour, and I had what looked like freakin' rug burn on the skin to the side of my clit.

Lesson #2: Buy a Hitachi. But don't use the goddamn Zeus setting. If you do use the God Mode setting, don't fucking flop full weight on top of it, and ALWAYS have an exit plan.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, I have decided to name my Hitachi Zeus. I'm a slow learner.

Friday, February 7, 2014

The indignity of a broken leg.

I'm still rocking a broken leg. It's been several months and no healing has happened yet. Aside from the normal doom and gloom that this situation tends to produce, all has been well...until the last week.

I've been working on being more mobile, and since I'm in a boot now that means not only is there less weight on my leg, but I can wear pants! I'm still bouncing around on the crutches though, with the occasional wheelchair accessory. Since I can wear pants, of course I am taking every opportunity to do so. I had a scheduled appointment last week, which was pretty awesome because I was getting a CT scan to see if we can find out why I'm not healing. I hobbled over to radiology, where they decided to surprise me and tell me that I also needed to get an x-ray taken of my knee. Normally that's not a big deal because I've spent the last four months in starting-to-get-a-little-too-tight yoga pants, but today, of course, I wore jeans. They fit over the boot and made my ass look spectacular and I was full of joy. Turns out, it doesn't matter how much joy your pants fill you with, for knee x-rays they need you to remove your pants and sit in a cold  hallway for twenty minutes wearing these:

Yup. Paper pants camel toe. You're welcome. 

Best part? I ripped a huge hole in the butt-cheek of these stupid paper shorts. I hadn't shaved my legs, and had just finished my first physical therapy appointment for my knee, so I was tired and achy.

Indignity #1: paper shorts that rip easily when slid over massive butt-cheeks.

I bet you're wondering about that amazing looking tentacle-thingy I have my knee, aren't you? It's KT tape, and I swear it is just an amazeballs coincidence that the physical therapist placed it like that. She had no knowledge of my love for tentacles until after she finished and looked at me like I was crazy for giggling so hard. 

It just needs some googly eyes and it'd be perfect!
Sorry, no indignity there, just awesome.

February 5th was my birthday. I spent the day with my kids and had a blast wheelin' around Sea Paradise Japan. Japan is not exactly wheelchair friendly, but they try really hard! Some places are more accessible than others. We caught the dolphin show at the Aquarium in Sea Paradise, and while my family was able to score front row seats, I was waaaay up top, wedged in between the stroller parking. But hey, I could prop my foot up on top of the divider...even though it meant showing the world my spandex clad asscrack. I spent the day wedging my foot wherever I could to keep it up.  

Indignity #2: having to find places to elevate your foot to help relieve swelling and pain while sitting in a wheelchair that was built for a child. Seriously, the tires FLATTENED while I was sitting in it, and had my thighs spilling out all over the seat. My skinny 9 year old sat in it and barely had room for his butt. I imagine I resembled a can of popped biscuits sitting in this thing.
Propping up my foot. I wound up sitting my foot on top of the divider halfway through the show, before realizing that I was probably flashing everyone my bright orange granny panties through my thin tights (I was wearing a long tunic sweater, but that does no good when seated).

Crammed my leg up under the bars on the rotating tower ride, one of the few I could go on aside from the merry go round...where I had to sit in the lame none moving seat. 

Again, no shame here, just me and my amazingly sweet 9 year old. Happy Birthday to me!

I've thought long and hard about including this next anecdote, because it is beyond my normal range of embarrassing. However, after going back through my blog and posts I realized I really don't have a sense of shame, so why start pretending now. I was too embarrassed to take any pictures, so you'll just have to stick it out with me. It's worth it if you enjoy crude humor, and let's face're reading my blog so you must like it at least a little bit.

It started with the squat potty. You should all be familiar with that term by now, given my drunken squat potty antics, and from my earlier posts. Sea Paradise has many, many, many bathrooms, a mix of squat and regular potties. Some even have a handicapped stall with a sliding door that is amazing. This story begins at 7 pm, as we were leaving the park. The wheelchair had to be turned in to the center house so I was crutching it all the way back across the park, across a bridge, and four blocks to a parking structure. The boys needed to go to the bathroom, and so did I...really badly since I had drank four hot cocoa's and a hot lemonade in less than an hour (it was freezing out!). We had made it almost all the way out of the park, and there was only one bathroom in our immediate vicinity. The boys ran in to do their thing, and I hobbled in and started checking out the stalls. There were six doors, and as I pushed each door open a slow, sinking, feeling of despair started to fill me. Every single stall had a squat potty. I need to stress to you that turning around was not an option. I was tired, have blisters on my palms from the crutches, my leg was throbbing and my bladder was going to burst. We had a 45 minute drive home ahead of us, and in Japan stopping at a convenience store to pee there is a 50/50 shot that a bathroom is available. 

General idea of where things are, how much distance I had to cover on crutches.

I had no choice, I was going to have to try to use a squat potty, with a broken leg, or risk pissing my pants.

I am still non weight bearing on my leg, which means I can have absolutely zero pressure put on my foot/leg. I hopped into the stall, closed the door behind me and put a crutch on each side of the hole and gently hovered over the hole. The plan *was* to put my right crutch against the wall, and carry the weight on my left (my right leg is broken, so I'd shift my weight over to the left for more stability), pull down my pants then gently lower myself down with my back against the wall to pee, sort of like in this crappy picture I drew for you:

If I were an artist, I'd starve to death.

It seemed feasible, I figured after so many months I'd have the balance to do this, even if it was a little hard. I was wrong. I greatly underestimated how much I needed to pee, and how hard it is to squat in a knee boot, where your pants won't go down past your knees (because again, knee boot), while balancing on one foot. I got my pants down, and started to slide down against the wall, when my pants started sliding back up, right as the pressure of me sitting down hit my bladder...and long story short:

This was the floor:
I did not draw this. I found it on google image search, looking for "pee image". I suggest you do NOT do that search with safe filters off. 

These were my pants, since my pee trickled up along my leg, then fell down onto the ground/toilet area like a giant waterfall spray of gross:

At least, the back side of my pants. 

How I felt during this giant shame spiral of a failed pee attempt: 

I just wanted it to stop, but I couldn't. 

Finally, after my gushing geyser of hot lemonade (literally, I drank hot lemonade), I struggled back to my feet, surveyed the damage, and just...

Yup. That happened. 

Luckily I had worn a really long black coat, so most of the damage was hidden..but not before both my children noticed and told Casey about it. If you think my family is the type of family to comfort and not shame you for committing an already shameful act that you didn't intend to do, well you're so wrong. It's two days later, and this morning my five year old son brought me his pee pee timer (we set a timer to remind him to go to the bathroom once an hour, otherwise he gets absorbed in playing and pee's himself) and set it next to me, already ticking. He told me not be careful to not pee myself while he was at school. 

Indignity #3,4, 5 and 6:

Can't pull down pants past knees
Pee'd on a floor
Pee'd on myself
My five year old is giving me a bathroom break timer.

So, in case you guys didn't already know, having a broken leg sucks and side effects could include you accidentally peeing yourself because you don't want to backtrack to find a handicap/western toilet. 

Sunday, January 5, 2014

Still sittin' on my arse

 It's been a while since I posted an update about my leg, for those of you who don't follow me on Facebook. So I thought I'd pop in and share what I've been up to with you. Nothing. Seriously, I've done nothing. I watch a lot of Netflix, dick around on Tumblr, and whine about missing everyone and everything. It's been a tiring couple of months, not in a physical sense but a mental one. I've found out people I thought were friends have abandoned me, and those I did not consider friends stepped up. I'm fighting through some depression right now. After the first two casts had pretty bad issues, I was given three more, for a total of five casts and one splint. Awesome. That's four more casts than I should have needed. A purple one, an all pink one, and a light blue one (*I found a partial shot of it!* alas, no picture of this one. It was cut off a day later because it was wrapped to tight and blood flow to my leg was cut off) were bestowed upon me. All I need is a green and yellow cast and I'll be scarily close to having a great photo collage that looks like it was sponsored by Skittles. I had to have so many because the pressure sores, numbness and my sensitive skin was causing some pretty serious problems. Good news is that at my appointment on December 16th I was put into a soft boot instead of a cast. Bad news is that my big break, my tibia, still has not healed at all. I was put into the boot because I was experiencing skin decay and pretty severe pressure sores. It's now January 5th and I'm pleased to report that my skin is doing much better. I have spent the last few weeks paranoid as hell about accidentally injuring my leg. I am under strict orders to put absolutely no weight on this leg, for fear of moving my bone out of alignment. January 13th I am going back to see if there has been ANY healing at all. If not, odds are good I'm heading right back into a cast, which will kill me. I was injured October 1st and was denied surgery. At the time I was relieved, but I've since learned that if I had been given that option instead of being made to wait, I would already be walking. Instead I am sitting here with a still broken leg. *Sigh*.

Newest X ray. still no healing, which is BAD. 

Disgusting bruising
Still working on fading away!

THE BEAST! My first restraint was a splint made out of concrete and demon shit. Oct. 1 2013

My first cast! Go Sushi's! Oct. 11 2013

Franken-Cast! Vented because of swelling. Oct. 15 2013
Awesome zebra pink and black cast! Oct. 25 2013. 
Light blue cast! Oct. 31 
Pink cast! Nov. 8 2013

Purple cast! Dec. 2, 2013
Eeek! Check out that hair!

Boot! It's so much lighter and very scary to wear. Dec. 16, 2013

Remember my pressure sores? Finally healing! This is my leg as of  Jan. 22, 2013. Pretty color huh?

I've had a lot of time on my hands, and I've had the opportunity to meet a young Japanese woman who was injured in a motorcycle accident in September. She broke her leg in three places (same as me, but also cracked her heel). She's still recovering, and it's nice to have someone to talk to. I'm sure that at this point in time everyone I know is tired of hearing me bitch about my damn leg!

That's all for now. I wish I had more to update you with, but until I'm mobile things are pretty freakin' boring in my world.

Thursday, November 21, 2013


I'm still slowly going insane rotting away on this damn couch. I'm quite sad I'll be missing all the illuminations and fun that is going to be going on in Yokohama and Tokyo this season. I need to drum up some adventure...and fast! Since I was so active before my accident, this is taking an ever harder toll on me than I expected. It might seem awesome to sit on your arse all day watching T.V or playing games...but I promise you it's not, especially during the holiday season. Some people don't see my time on the couch as me missing out on anything. Their reasoning is that I can still go places (with difficulty and dependence on others), and can sit in the living room to be a part of the family. What they don't see is what I'm missing.

I couldn't take my kids out trick or treating, for the first time in their lives. I am unable to cook Thanksgiving dinner, tuck them into their bunk beds, wash my son's hair, or go on bike rides with them. I cannot take them out with me anywhere in Japan right now, I'm fully dependent on others to even help me pee.
Those people don't see that for the first time in eight years I will not be lifting my son up to put the star on top of the Christmas tree. I won't be baking cookies when they come home from school, with Christmas music on and ready to dance and swing them around. I'm not going to be able to hang snowflakes from the ceiling, or put up any decor at all (and their father is very anti-Christmas, so if it weren't for the kindness of my friends offering to help I doubt we'd get any decorations at all this year). I can't sneak up behind my children in their rooms and tickle them until they want to pee their pants. I can't, wrestle, jump, or play any game that isn't a board game (and those get old fast...even for kids). I won't be hosting our annual New Years sleep over for my boys and their friends, because I can't chase around the kids, go shopping, cook, or run any fun activities like last years ceiling balloon pop.

I'm not saying that my situation is the worst in the world. I'm saying that for those of you who are messaging me telling me that I shouldn't feel sorry for're right. I shouldn't feel sorry for myself, I should feel sorry for my kids. So please, take into consideration what I've said, put yourself in my shoes...and then shove them up your ass.

Friday, November 15, 2013

A domestic type of Christmas

My father is not a kind, gentle or good man. I haven't seen or spoke to him in eleven years, but I know with a certainty I can say that and it still be true. Men like him do not change, they do not grow, they do not admit fault.

A few of my posts have spoken of the memories of him that are forever seared into my mind. I sometimes needed to write a bit about him to help you understand certain points or feelings I have now as an adult. I can go months and months without ever having him cross my mind, and that's fine with me. I do not want him in my life, my children know that he is alive and that he is a very bad, bad man. While he's never shown stalking or interest in my life since my mother left him all those years ago, I still take the precautions to warn the school and keep him on the no pick up list with the phrase "contact police immediately" written underneath. Although he could not access my children's school anyway, since they are military children on a base with great security...that is the type of fear he has so gratefully bestowed upon me during my childhood. It lingers and haunts me, and it does even more so during the holiday season.

I could write of the beatings, emotional scarring, terror, sexual abuse, and general asshole-iness he loved to dole out to his family on a near daily basis. I could retell any number of situations from my childhood that would make you cringe, tear up, or feel pity for my family. I don't say this with pride or expectation; I say this because I want you to fully understand that even through that haze of hate my sisters and I were still children, and despite him we held fast to our imaginations and hopes, and we tried so desperately to believe in the simple magic of Christmas. It will probably come as no surprise that with a father like him, those fragile dreams didn't last.

I remember my mother crying one morning, shortly before Christmas. I was a pre-teen, and knew instantly that it had something to do with my father. I felt my heart slamming in my chest as I secretly prayed that he had finally been shot, overdosed or died. He'd gone on a bender and had been missing for three days. Certainly not his longest one, but normally our mother didn't cry in front of us about his being gone. Instead she'd howl, threaten, and we'd help her pack his belongings in trash bags and throw them out onto our lawn in front of our house to await his return. My sisters and I would taunt him, scream that we hate him from behind the safety of our screen door when he returned hung over and strung out. We felt strong, even brave at those times...until he came back inside and we paid the price. However, this time mom was upset because he had stolen our only car. It was a beater, old and ugly. My mother wasn't crying because of this, we'd lost many a car, radio, name it and the odds are good he had sold it at some point over the years for drugs. No, she was crying because she had just the day before gone and picked up a donation of toys to give to her four children for Christmas, and she had left them in the trunk of that car.

He came home a day later. The car was gone, and he claimed that he was "mugged". The only signs of distress was the disgusting odor surrounding him, the red in his eyes and the greasiness of his hair. My father was easily six foot, if not larger. I cannot honestly say, but in my memories he was a towering giant, a devil made of hellfire and brutality. He's always been larger than life and I recall wondering how exactly a man of my fathers size and bulkiness always manages to get mugged, because this certainly wasn't the first time he had told that story to  us.

With just days before Christmas, my mother was frantic. My sisters were all younger than me and still held some belief in Santa and the magic of the holiday. Say what you will about it being a commercial holiday, that does not change the fact that most children fall asleep dreaming of the bounty of gifts and candy that waits for them in the morning under a glittering tree. Somehow, my mother managed to pull something together that Christmas. There were a few gifts for each of the children under our small tree, although several were used, not boxed or tagged, and obviously not purchased from a store, she had managed to save Christmas for her children. Looking back now I feel incredibly ashamed of myself, standing there clutching a slightly dingy unwrapped stuffed sheep and thinking about how much that Christmas sucked. My siblings were happy, they were young and did not notice the things I did. I was a pre-teen. I wanted lip gloss, perfume, or roller skates. I felt envious of the gifts my younger siblings had because I had only gotten a few, and they had more than I did, used or not I was still jealous. While I was conscious of the actions of my father, I wasn't able to rationalize or fully understand how hard that was on my mother. To see her daughter standing there disappointed and to be honest, probably looking a little bitchy (I was a pre-teen after all) probably crushed her. As a parent now, with children of my own, seeing that sight would shred my insides. I know that somewhere down the line it's going to happen. As parents we are going to disappoint our children, or fail to provide for them in some way. No matter the amount of money, somehow we are going to fail somewhere. That feeling for my mother was made even worse, knowing that she had done what she could to get us nice things, and that he had once again fucked it up.

That Christmas paints a normal picture of our holidays. My mother  would work hard to try to provide for us, while he'd steal, takes off and sell/destroys our things. I remember one birthday when I was very young, I mean I had to have been in K or first grade, I was given the game Mouse Trap for my birthday. I wanted so badly to play that game with my father that I set it up on the table. I don't recall clearly if he had just come home from work or the bar, but he was drunk and he was angry. He destroyed my game.

Even when our holidays were decent, he was still a dick. There were some Christmas's when our grandparents and mother would pull together and give us nice gifts, stockings and we felt like a real long as we stayed quiet until eleven or twelve in the afternoon staring all morning longingly at the tree because our father drunk himself into a stupor and refused to get out of bed...but God forgive us if we open those gifts without him. My sisters and I battled with our longing to open the shiny gifts, and our desperate fear of our father beating us senseless for bothering him again. Once he woke up the attention needed to be on him. We had to thank him regardless of who gave us the gift, we had to shower appreciation on him for managing not to steal, drink, or destroy our gifts that year. Even though I was small, I remember the resentment I carried toward him.

I want to say that while my mother isn't a saint, she's far from a sinner. She's human and she worked her ass off through our childhood to celebrate the holidays she celebrated as a child, and to protect us the best she could from him. She was not above asking for help, working ninety hours a week (provided my father had not gotten her fired from another job), or scrimping and saving to buy us even the cheapest toys to open. She was a strong woman who had been beaten down, shamed, and felt that she had nowhere in the world to turn to. Whether or not that is true, the emotional and mental hell my father put her through had destroyed any and all confidence and beliefs she once held. In her mind, she was alone, she was stuck. Eventually she found her voice and her strength. She left him, in the middle of yet another one of his benders, she borrowed a truck, called her sister and before we could blink we were being relocated far, far away from him. It came several years later than any of us wished it would, but at least it came before we were killed by him.

I don't feel the need to write any more about my past, in fact I am pretty sure I over shared more than some people would have wanted me too. I'm sorry to those that my post brings up poor memories for, but I wanted to make sure that the next words I type have an impact, and hopefully will shame those who would take advantage of the season into clicking elsewhere to run their scams.

You see, November 28th marks my 10th year of marriage. My husband asked me what I wanted for our anniversary and after thinking long and hard I still could not come up with one material item that I wanted. I have everything I need, more than I want and it's such a huge change from my childhood that when I went to bed last night the memories of our past holidays came screeching into my mind. I woke up this morning knowing what I want for my anniversary. I want to reach out to the woman my mother was. I want to help the woman who is sitting on the other side of this screen, torn inside because she can barely feed her children, much less purchase toys for Christmas. The woman who has born bruises inside and out, who still may be concealing them. I want to stop the shredding of your heart Christmas morning. While I am content in my life, we are still just a military family. I cannot and will not purchase high end electronics or send you any money. Not because I don't trust's because I don't trust him. If you're a woman (or a man, I want to make it clear that I know domestic abuse goes both personal story just is one where the man is the perpetrator) and considering entering then I know you have a demon of your own. I will not encourage you to leave him, I understand better than most just how hard and impossible that can seem. I do want you to know that, no matter how dark the road is there is always a light ahead of you...even if you can't see it.

I cannot help everyone, but I will do my best. If I find I can help more than one person, I will continue to use rafflecopter to generate the numbers. Of course I might not have any response at all to this and will donate more to Toys for Tots (which I am donating to anyways), but I want to put it out there. If you have five, three or even one gift for your child I am asking that you do not enter. One gift is still one gift more than my mother has had to offer to us many years. One gift is one gift that you have worked for and should be proud of, regardless of price or if it's home made. I will not be giving out a huge bag of presents, but I can promise that I will do my very best to get the most I can for your child, be it one, three or more gifts. My husband has given me the okay to work my coupon magic to try to send to you something for your child, because he's soothed my tears in the night. He's dealt with the mental issues for the last ten years (twelve if you count our dating) left by my father. He's met my mother and my sister, he's seen first hand how something as simple as just being able to safely hide a gift from a drunk, drugged out asshole can make a difference in your life, and keep the magic alive in your child's eyes.

So please, share this post. When I was stateside, I'd comb Craiglist, meeting with people and helping when I could. I'm sure I got scammed and ripped off a few times, but all I can do is hope that won't happen again.

This will go on until November 28th, to give me time to shop. I will most likely have the items sent directly to you from the store (unless I purchase the gifts here), and hope that you are able to keep them safe. I will also try to send a stocking for your child/children. I know this is considered early since Thanksgiving isn't even here yet, but for those of you who do not know, I live in Japan. Shopping, stuffing, and shipping will make it a close call to get stateside in time for Christmas (especially since I am in a full leg cast and venture out rarely to shop). So please save all of your "oh my God it's not even December" bitching for my next post about how I terrorize my children with elves.