All posts by kirizar

About kirizar

I am all things to all people. As long as people are looking for a mom with diverse interests and a homebound tendency to look through the window of life and wish (or imagine) something just a little bit different. I am like the Tardis on Doctor Who. I am much bigger on the inside.

In the Blink…

Between moments…a breath.

In seconds, gone.

In hearts forever.

Good-bye, David. Good-bye.

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I’ll write again…just as soon as it stops hurting to breathe.

 

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Mud Wrestling in Middle Age

This has to be the most click-baity (not to mention misleading) title ever.

If you were looking for pictures of yours truly in a bikini throwing down with other middle-aged women in a pay-per-view mud rink, brace yourself for disappointment.*

Continue reading Mud Wrestling in Middle Age

Childhood Crushes: Forbidden, Foreboding, and Formative Fictions

In conversation with a friend recently, we mused on literary and televised influences that informed our subconscious desires. (Some giggling may have been involved. Sue me.)

Listen in if you dare… Continue reading Childhood Crushes: Forbidden, Foreboding, and Formative Fictions

Divisible by Love

As my favorite tv show—The Big Bang Theory—comes to an end, it wrestled recently with a surprisingly feminist sub-plot: whether or not a woman should want to have children and what it means if she doesn’t. The series frequently pokes fun at parenting including the ambivalence surrounding having kids. Perhaps I have laughed a little too hard at some of these jokes, or maybe I appreciate that someone had raised a question that bothers me in my own struggles with motherhood*.

Continue reading Divisible by Love

A Letter to a Friend

I began writing and was interrupted by life. This is an expansion of a letter I wrote in the time that came before and the inspiration that followed…

To my friend K____, who lies bored in a hospital bed waiting for things to happen. May the butterflies find you.

Continue reading A Letter to a Friend

Stupid Entropy

I have always wanted to be a smart person.  Or, at least, to feel like I was a smart person.

I have also been suffering lately from the certainty that I am not getting any smarter. In fact, there is evidence to suggest I may be regressing and losing my faculties altogether.

In other words, I am getting dumber.

How do I know this? I tried recently to be clever and failed.

I attempted to write a post. I wanted to be witty and erudite, to create a mathematical equation quantifying the values of parenting–like something you might see on a white board on The Big Bang Theory set. I wrote for hours. I struggled. I waffled. I flailed in my efforts to write what my brain kept telling me what should be a funny post.

At the same time, I have been trying to research what kind of cell phone or carrier to switch before my iPhone dies for good. The more I read on the topic, the less sure I am that I am capable of making a rational, informed decision.

To stave off complete digital death, I switched off as many features of my ‘smart’ phone so as to conserve the battery life past a nano-second. I turned off so many functions, my phone stopped receiving voicemails and texts. As a result, my ‘smart’ phone is now a dumb phone which is holding my information hostage until I turn my data back on.

Didn’t phones used to just work before ‘data’ was invented?*

Why is a phone designed to use data to send a message anyway?** 

*shouts into the abyss*

WHHHHHHHHHHYYYYYYY?

In my efforts to keep my phone running while not plugged into a recharger, I even deleted Facebook from my apps.

The entire next day I learned exactly how often I have been checking Facebook. Like, every fricking time I had a break…or had to wait in line…or stopped at a red light for more than two seconds. I wish I were kidding.

So, I’ve learned two things this week: I am not getting smarter and my phone is possibly making me dumber.

In my research for ‘smart’ terminology, I found a physics term that I feel describes my mental state:

En·tro·py, noun

/ˈentrəpē/

PHYSICS

  1. a thermodynamic quantity representing the unavailability of a system’s thermal energy for conversion into mechanical work, often interpreted as the degree of disorder or randomness in the system.
  2. lack of order or predictability; gradual decline into disorder.

Apparently I am suffering from a terminal case of entropy.***

Let’s just hope it’s not stupidly fatal.

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnote:

*C’mon conspiracy theory junkies, give me your best explanation for why phones cost ten times as much to do half as well for less years than you’d like. And then tell me why we fall for it?

**GROUP BREAK-OUT SESSION: What exactly is DATA and why is it the new gold standard for the inequalities between the haves and the have-nots? Discuss.

***Additional proof of my stupidification is denoted by the fact that I have to use the second definition of Entropy to understand the meaning of the word.

*—*—*

The Image Stolen for this header comes from a site that did a much better job of actually explaining entropy–in case any of you are smarter and want to read up on it.

 

 

Mulan-ing It Up and Deciphering Pernicious Plumbing Portents

Mulan on Rooftop
Definitely Stolen Image…Come on Disney, let me have this one!

In science fiction/fantasy stories, when the heroine has pissed off the gods or broken the ancient talisman of her people, she can go on a quest to redeem her honor. Sure, she may have to crop her hair and dress like a boy to defeat the Hun army…but in the end, it’s worth it.

She returns with the seal of the emperor and is held up as an example of once-in-a-lifetime courage and fortitude. At the very least, she is welcomed back home with cries of “Huzzah” or a marriage proposal.

At what point does our heroine realize that she is in an epic battle for her existence?* Maybe to her it just seemed like a lot of bad luck rolled up on her at once?

I ask this question, in truth, because I think I missed a giant clue along the way.

Or I’ve defiled a temple somewhere and the gods are angry.

I’m not entirely sure when it happened.

But I think it started with the toilet. Continue reading Mulan-ing It Up and Deciphering Pernicious Plumbing Portents

Happy Lousy Valentine

Pick on You to Be Valentine
Pinterest: home of the most disgusting things you can Google.

We were introduced by a friend.

She didn’t know you would be so clingy, so demanding.

Such a total leech.

Sucking the life out of me.

But when you started in on my kid, that was it.

It was time for you to go.

It wasn’t easy.

You didn’t want to leave.

It was clear.

You had to die.

Stuck home on a snow day, I’m Googling ways to end you.

It wasn’t enough to get rid of you.

I had to totally erase your existence.

Clean anything you’d touched like a literal plague.

Boiling all the sheets was easy enough.

But trying to get a kid to sit still, while I tore your influence away one painstaking strand at a time?

Just awful.

Everything had to be examined.

All the lies and denials.

It was a total nit-picking nightmare.

Kiri Louse 2

I went to a specialist.

We went over everything.

Talked about how you wouldn’t let go.

How I just wanted to cut you out of my life so badly I was willing to get rid of anything you held dear.

“Just do it.” I told her. “Quick, like a band-aid. I’ll close my eyes and think of Sinead, Sean, and Shaquille. They’ve made it work for them.”

She talked me down from the nuclear option.

Getting your hair done is usually a calm, soothing experience.*

But getting rid of you was not.

With every stroke, it felt like I was being pulled in two.

As she scorched my tresses in thirty-second blasts, I visualized you frying until your little head popped.

I imagined your tiny death rattle.

And then I went home and cleaned like a woman possessed.

If you’d touched it, into the garbage, laundry, or freezer it went.

And then, I tackled my child.

It wasn’t pretty.

It wasn’t fun.

But it had to be done.

And if you ever come back into my life, I will totally do it again.

Breaking up is hard to do.

But in eleven days, after a repeat cathartic cleansing, it’ll be over.

I’ll finally be rid of you.**

Happy Lousy Valentine’s Day, you creep.

 

Lice Check

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnote:

*I’ve never paid so much to have my hair done only to leave a ‘stylist’ looking more like a train wreck. Except for the time I went to high-end salon and they gave me (without my permission) some godawful cut called a ‘Rachel.’ Looking back, even this experience wasn’t that bad!

**Don’t visit us for at least two weeks to be safe.

Kiri Louse
The price we pay for hugging people.  Maybe my son had the right idea all along.

 

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You read this far bonus:

I found a weirdly appropriate book in French while searching for Google images to accompany this post. I couldn’t quite fit it into the above text but wanted to share it with you.

Here is: The Terrible Adventures of Valentine and Her 118 Lice.

Valentine and her 118 Lice

Yes, I’m giving you lice for Valentines.

It truly is the gift that keeps on giving.

 

Featured image available at: https://www.toilette-humor.com/valentines/valentines_heart_rejects.shtml