The subtle smiles.
The sneaking glances.
The suggestive remarks.
Of course, my hot hubby and I are the parents of two kids. Our Rocker Chick is a teenager, and hence, she sequesters herself in her sanctum voluntarily...but our 9-year-old? Ms. Drama Queen? We are wholly convinced that her inborn superpower is to sense the minute we're getting snuggly and barge the bedroom in a single bound.
Side note: I tried to find a picture of kids barging in on parents or in between, and this is the kind of bull crap noise I found.
Comfortable clothes from Old Navy and Eileen Fisher.
An ass spread twice the size of my shoulder width.
A perennially haggard look.
A penchant for high-waisted, control top underwear.
But don't let appearances fool you. Inside, I'm a manx hell cat. A dirty girl who wants to be punished. A woman who longs to call out loud into the night with ecstasy...without worrying about waking up the kids. Or having to squeeze it in between play-dates or before we both pass out from exhaustion. And sorry, but sex-free vampires or 50 shades of bullshit doesn't do it for me. They're such sad, poor excuses for heart-wrenching, primal passion. And most porn acts as if every woman lives to live on her knees - and the women-centric stuff is a sappy sack of poopy.
I bring this up because while I really enjoy so many of the mom-blogs online, so few address women in a multi-dimensional, complex way. We are well-rounded beings, even if our American culture wants to relegate us into the Madonna-Whore paradigm...even if our kids seem to drain every last sexual urge out of us, like an overused, tired teat on a dried up milk cow.
Don't worry - I won't be starting any erotica-friendly writing workshops or switch my blog's focus. I just wanted to put this tirade out there.