I never thought of myself as having a type when it comes to men. The boys (and I do call them boys for a reason) I dated as a teenager were very different in many ways. They looked different and most had very different personalities.

There was the shy hippie boy, the jock, the bad boy, the older man, the outgoing hippie boy, and the philosopher. They were of varying shapes and sizes as well-short, tall, average, blonde, brunette, scruffy, long-haired, and well-groomed.

When I was 20 years old I met a guy that was unlike anyone else I’d ever dated. He was funny, nine years older and a red head. He had curly hair longer than mine, a tattoo and a scruffy goatee. He was so cool, so witty, so clever. He was also my boss at the crappy video store that I worked at.

All my dating life I was a serial monogamist and I often wondered if I could survive on my own, without a boyfriend. Then I met this guy, this man and it was all over. I fell hard and fast but he didn’t take me seriously. He thought it wasn’t going anywhere and that we should just be friends. I was persistent.

Eight short months after our first date (and I use the word date loosely, it was more like a hookup) I moved into his crappy little apartment and we lived there for three years. Eventually we purchased a home of our own together. Marriage was discussed and in the early days we agreed that neither of us needed it.

As most women seem to do, I changed my mind on that decision. I so wanted to get married for many years before it actually happened. Before we bought the house I struggled with the decision of whether or not to leave. I tried and I tried to decide if the “piece of paper” was that important to me. We are not religious people so the marriage with just that, a civil union. Did we really need the government’s sanction of our relationship?

I decided that it was the man that I wanted and I didn’t need the marriage to be with the man so we bought a house. Six months later he proposed. We were married five months after that. When we got married we had been together for five and a half years. The rest of the story is pretty typical. After a year of marriage we started trying to get pregnant and had minor difficulties. After a year we succeeded and now we have a 9-month old red headed little boy.

I look around and I am surrounded by these orange haired men. One big and one small. They both have all the typical traits of red heads-pale skin, freckles and a serious temper. And I love them both immensely.

My husband is a funny guy. He jokes a lot and I am less charmed by his sense of humor the longer we are together. He can push my buttons and make me madder, faster than anyone else on this planet. But the times when I relax and don’t let the worries and burdens of family life overcome me, he is a source of great joy in my life. He’s silly and goofy and a wonderful father. He loves me despite my generally grumpy demeanor.

I see my husband in my son, both in how he looks and his own silly little personality and I can’t imagine my life surrounded by any other color.

ImpostorMom is a 29 year old new mother, wife and professional. A long time lurker on many popular blogs, she recently plucked up the courage to start her own blog. She writes about the trials of new motherhood and life in a college town. You can read her blog at ImpostorMom.

This has been brought to you by the October Blog Exchange! This month, our theme was “ORANGE or BLACK.”

Make sure you come see Chelle over at ImpostorMom, you never know what you might learn over there

I would think that one of the toughest things about being President of the United States, is being the leader of your party. It isn’t like you don’t have enough to do running the country… you also have to ride heard on a bunch of elected official as well as office seekers who try to use you or your office to help them get elected.

In normal times this would be difficult, but considering what is going in in this country these days, it really must be awful!

It’s been a rough couple of weeks for you, hasn’t it?

I mean, first, your main political advisor, Karl Rove…
… is forced from office resigned under a cloud for his roles in the exposure of an active CIA operative, and for his involvement in the questionable firing of eight U.S. Attorneys for political reasons.

Next, you had to fire your Attorney General…

…resigns because he lies every time he opens his mouth, and got caught doing it.

Then the most recent National Intelligence Estimate tells us that, despite your claims of success for the troop surge in Iraq, the country’s government will become more precarious over the next six months.

Next on the hit-parade is a soprano-singing, staunch conservative GOP Senator…

…who gets caught trying to do the nasty with an undercover cop in an airport men’s room, forcing him to announce his resignation (nice mug shot, Senator).

As if all of these things weren’t bad enough, John Warner, a well-respected moderate GOP Senator (from my own Commonwealth of Virginia) has decided not to seek re-election, severely jeopardizing the chances of your party holding on to that Senate seat next year.

I’ll bet you are sure glad that August is over.

Now for the good news: The General Accounting office will be putting out it’s estimate of the situation in Iraq soon. Rumor has it that the picture that they paint will be none too Rosie. even before the military report that is expected from General Petraeus.

I’ll bet months like this make you look forward to getting out of the White House.

I know that I am looking forward to that happy day a lot more than you.

Sincerely,

Your pal,

Gunfighter

I hope you enjoyed the trip.

Gunfighter lives with his family in Washington, DC’s northern Virginia suburbs. When he isn’t coaching soccer, teaching sunday school, singing in the choir, or working in the yard, he makes a living as a tactical firearms instructor for a federal law enforcement agency. When he grows up, he wants to be a novelist… or hand out balloons at Disney World. You can read his blog at The View From Here, where he can be founding on a number of subjects.

This has been brought to you by the September Blog Exchange! This month, our theme was “Dear Mr President…” I want to thank Gunfighter for coming over and remind you to pop over to his place and see what my thoughts were on the subject  

When I got engaged, I wanted kids. At the time, however, those kids were a passing thought, a future project, something to think about… someday. When our Pastor asked us if, when and how many children we might want, my husband and I agreed: two kids after we were married for two years.

It was my husband that brought the subject up 6 months into our marriage. We were a little bit “older” when we got married and decided that if we really wanted children it might be prudent to try for them sooner, rather than later.

I was confident that my husband would make a great Daddy. I’d watched him with his nephews and with our friends’ babies. He spent most of our wedding reception holding babies and dancing with toddlers. His love for children was plain to see.

I was less confident of myself. Although I was in my late 20s, I felt like a kid in many ways. I didn’t know if I could be someone’s Mommy yet. Still, my husband’s grandfather would ask every time he saw me: “You got a bun in the oven yet?”

I found out I was pregnant less than one month after his grandfather died.

During my pregnancy, my husband was already confirming my suspicions that he would be a great Daddy. He indulged my cravings for chocolate mini donuts and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Blizzards. He grilled brats for supper at least once a week. He was willing to run to the store in the wee hours of the morning and scour the shelves for a pregnancy-safe cold medication. He procured a chair at every gathering. He walked with me when the baby refused to emerge at the due date. He gave me a Mother and Child pendant when I was less than 12 weeks pregnant and not showing except in my head… he knew I was already a Mommy.

When our daughter arrived via emergent c-section he pretended he wasn’t terrified.

From the day our kids were born, he’s changed their diapers, given them baths and read bedtime stories. He gets up with the kids on the weekends so I can sleep in. He goes to work every day (even though he’d rather stay with his kids) so that I can stay home with our children full-time.

He puts up with my crap. (both the “things” that I tend to keep and my weird habits and ornery attitude.)

He is in this parenthood and husband-thing for the long haul. He puts the effort into it that is needed (that many seem to think is unnecessary these days.)

Oh, and he’s MINE…so back off!

Heather is Mom to 2 children, M who is 4, and K who is 2. Heather’s mind contains random thoughts and she feels compelled to share them with strangers via her blog. Her husband, Craig, has the best dimples and he’s a great Daddy too.  Thanks to Chelle for letting me crash her blog today.

This post is part of the June Blog Exchange. This month we’re writing about Dads. You can find me at Heather’s site today, and the full list of participants can be found by clicking here.

My daughter is two years old and this Mother’s Day will be my third but I only just recently feel like I’m finally making this parenting thing work. I’m finally starting to feel like a real mom and not some woman simply acting the part until the real one comes along. So now I wonder - how much longer until Mother’s Day starts feeling like my day?

I know that may sound selfish - Mother’s Day is a day for all mothers, after all, not just me - but this year like years past (the fourth one without a mother of my own to share it with) Mother’s Day just doesn’t seem like a time to celebrate. And I wonder when I’ll stop feeling sorrow and longing for what I have lost and instead feel joy and gratitude for what I’ve been given.

However, you might be able to help me.

This may seem like a total downer during a time when we should be celebrating all things maternal, and I’m sorry for that, but this motherless mother gig is tough. My mom died a year before I had my daughter, a time when I desperately needed her and at the same time wanted to thank her, to kiss her feet and pledge my devotion for everything she had done for me because I finally, truly understood the sacrifices she had made. I don’t have that opportunity - and that stinks - but you might.

(Here’s where you come in.)

I really believe that a woman can never really, one hundred percent, understand and appreciate the woman who bore and raised her until she has a child of her own and never do I feel that raw feeling as much as I do on Mother’s Day. So I’ll take this opportunity to ask, nay beg you, if you have a woman in your life that you call Mom, whether she’s biological or adoptee, to tell that woman that you love her. And not just on May 13, but every day you can. Call her for no reason. Take her out for lunch. Give her a big hug when she’s not expecting it. Make her feel special.

The way I see it, I’d want my daughter to do any of those things for me as she gets older. Right now she’s young enough for me to kiss and hug any time I want but she’ll grow, both older and away, and I won’t be able to shower her with love and affection forever. She’ll reach a phase when she’ll probably resent me, as I resented my mom when I was a teenager, and we might say awful things to each other, but I hope we’ll be able to forgive each other for them. I dream that she’ll have a child of her own one day and I’ll be able to take all my affection for my daughter, that woman who came from my body but by then will be separate from me, and shower my grandchild with it. And together she and I, my daughter and me, will be closer for it.

I didn’t get a chance to do much of that with my mom, which is why I’ll always feel like Mother’s Day is my mom’s day and not mine, but my hope is that some of you will. For me, Mother’s Day will always be bittersweet and I’ll learn to deal with that. You, however, have the chance to make that day very special for the woman in your life that responded whenever you cried, watched over you as you slept, worried over every sneeze or sniffle, and a million and one other little things that makes a woman a mother. Not to mention all that labor and delivery stuff.

That is my Mother’s Day wish for you, for you to love your mom and to make sure she knows she’s loved. That wish is for you but it’s also for me. If I can give you the benefit of my unfortunate wisdom then that would make Mother’s Day easier for me.

Besides, it’s for your own good. Listen to me, I know what I’m talking about.

I’m a mother.

—-

Mrs. C, wife, mother and motherless mom, isn’t always such a wet blanket. Sometimes she’s even funny. When she’s not blog hopping and wallowing in her own misery you can find her at Chicky Chicky Baby, where she only occasionally wallows when the spirit moves her. But, more importantly, it’s where you’ll find the wonderful Chelle today as part of the Blog Exchange.

Please Welcome Damselfly this month for the Blog Exchange … This month we exchanged our favorite blog posts … Once you read hers, go check out which one I picked

Dear Belly Bean,

How do you do it?

You haven’t even been born yet, and I’m already amazed by your abilities.

First of all, surviving inside my body. Not just surviving, but growing. Maybe even thriving. I can’t imagine you’re too comfortable in there. Heaven knows I’m uncomfortable with you in there. You have made yourself right at home. You’ve even remodeled the place and made it your own.

But still, I’m amazed at what you’ve had to put up with. I have tried to be good and healthy and not send a lot of chemicals down your way. I mean, I didn’t smoke or drink, and I’ve foregone OTC medicines except antacids. (Except for that unfortunate cellulitis  incident, when I had to take antibiotics so you wouldn’t get infected, too.) I took good vitamins for you. But life is what it is, and every once in a while, I just had to have some caffeine. I had my (greatly reduced) share of artificial sweeteners. I’m pretty sure I ate trans fats, and enjoyed it. Someday, I hope you’ll understand….

Also, the sleeping positions. My sitting and bending positions. That time I moved all those rocks in the garden. That time in the Bahamas when I got overheated. All those times I forgot just how far you were making my stomach stick out, and I accidentally bumped into something — or your dad bumped into you/me. I tried to make it easy on you, but sometimes it just wasn’t possible. I hope you aren’t worse for the wear.

And let’s not forget all those strange people spying on you. The numerous ultrasounds. Listening to your little heart beating. Now people are reaching in every week and touching your head. Doesn’t it drive you crazy?! A doctor told me you act as though you don’t like that kind of thing, and I’m sorry. It’s just one of those things you have to put up with in life. I won’t tell you about some of the things that are yet to come, like rectal thermometers. It’s all for your own good, and I’ll be right there with you. So don’t worry.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ve tried to be good to you. But things happen. And you’re still alive and kicking, and I hope you’re doing OK in there. I know it won’t be long before you realize that you need more space, and you go looking for a new apartment.

Speaking of which, your dad and I have the perfect place for you. We’re like your real estate agents. We spent a lot of time making it just right for you. So when you decide to move out of my body, all you have to do is move right into the new pad. You don’t even need to pack anything. Everything’s taken care of. Sweet deal, eh? The new place should be just fine for the next 17 to 25 years, depending on your, uh, personality.

And that leads me to another thing that’s amazing about you. There are already so many people who want to meet you! Some of them are even googly-eyed over the idea of seeing you for the first time. (Those would be your grandparents, whom you’ll meet soon.) So many people have helped your dad and me set up your new place for you. Isn’t it nice to know people are happy just thinking about your existence? It will probably take several years until you can fully grasp that concept, but anyway…. I’m amazed you have this je ne sais quoi, this natural charisma, that people respond to. Not just people, but your dad and me, too!

As soon as we found out about you, we started thinking about you. We started planning for you. We started loving you! Your dad keeps wondering if you will like him. And I tell him of course you will. He is going to show you all about making and fixing things. If you ever have a problem you can’t solve, he’ll help. He’s also going to take lots of photos and videos of you with all his cameras. And me, I’m going to take you out and show you the real world: the forests, the rivers, the marshes, the reefs. We’ll have a great time exploring nature. Then we’ll come home, cook up a snack, and play some songs or read books. The three of us will have a great time together.

So when you’re ready, just let us know.

It will be amazing.

Love,

Your mom

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Damselfly at Growing A Life wrote this post Wednesday, Aug. 30 (two days before due date, a week before her Flybaby was born) and is sharing it again for the monthly blog exchange. Please read Chelle’s post over there today.