I miss my husband.

I know they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and in some part that is true, but it also makes the heart ache. It makes my arms ache too when I have to go for too long without hugging him. Distance between partners sucks.

Maybe I should explain why we are apart right now. We had a cute little apartment in Monrovia, California. An adorable little one bedroom place in one of the greatest towns I have ever seen. Only problems were that we are a family of four and paying what we were for such a small place was ludicrous. So when it came down to it, we decided to move rather then keep paying so much. We had been looking for somewhere bigger since I found out I was pregnant way back in September 2002. We just had no luck, so when it came time to move, we had to part ways. I took the kids and just about everything we had up here to Bakersfield with my parents, while 7 moved into a room with a couple of his friends down in Garden Grove so he could continue working. For anyone who doesn't know where either place is, it's about a 2 1/2 hour drive to get from one to the other.

That was back at the end of May. So here it is approaching the end of September and we're still apart. I'm getting to the point where I'm tired of putting on a brave face when people ask me how we do it. "It just had to be done" I say with a shrug and a wan smile. Yeah, it had to be done, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. 7 and I started out our relationship long distance, so I guess I'm more used to it maybe than other people. He was in Texas and I was here in California for 3 years. We got to see each other every few months, at one point it was 6 months between visits. It gets to a point where you start to hate the distance like it is a person. You want to just kick and punch at it because it's keeping your love away from you. It takes a lot of dedication and love to even be able to consider a relationship like that, let alone maintain one.

I've also found that it takes a certain amount of forced detachment. I have to keep myself somewhat detached from the situation or it'll just make me crazy. If I let all the loneliness and longing be at the front of my brain for very long, I turn into a weepy puddle and can't get anything done. If I let myself think about how long it's been since I got to wake up in the morning next to him, wrap my arms around him, or just do something as stupid and ordinary as hold his hand while watching tv without checking the clock to figure out how quickly my time with him is running out, I'd realize what a big chunk of my life was missing. And that is never a pleasant thought. It's a day ruining, energy sucking, happiness devouring thought. He's my best friend in the world in addition to being my husband and to not be able to be with him is torture. Therefore, I distance myself a little. Not that this works perfectly... I often feel kind of like a stranger for a bit when we do see each other. It's hard to let my emotions off the leash to run free again, knowing that I'll have to shut them up again real soon.

So I spend my days trying to keep busy and avoid thinking about it. I have two little ones to raise, so I guess I'm lucky I don't have much free time to myself. You don't get to mope much when you're too busy to remember to eat. I just pray that God smiles on us again soon and we can find a place big enough and cheap enough for us to move into and be a family in again.

I wanna to go home.

Model update: If you wanna check out the pics I had taken for the modeling thingy, look them up at

http://photos.yahoo.com/kaykaybates

in the SUPERMODEL folder

Yeah, I'm afraid of the dark. You wanna make sumpin' of it??

I can't deny it. I'm 26 years old and still afraid of the dark. Well, not so much the dark itself, but the things hiding in it. Things that are ususally a figment of my imagination, but seem real enough to make me still run down the hall at night like the hounds from hell are nipping at my heels. I do indeed sleep with a nightlight, though I can say now that I can get up to take care of the babies without stubbing my toes. You know, in case anyone who thinks like a rational adult happens to see it and ask.

I suppose my problem started when I was very little. To begin with, I have a very active imagination. While it is a great help in my career as a teacher and as a mother, I have been the victim of it more times than I can count once night has fallen. When we moved to the house I am staying at now I was about four years old. It was after a neighbor kid burned down our house, so we had no furniture or anything to speak of. So to keep us entertained in this big empty house, my dad would turn off the lights and go hide. Our job was to then go find him. Talk about screaming! I'm surprised no one ever called the police to come find out who was being bludgeoned to death. I still can't walk down the hall in the dark. My mom used to babysit a little fella and my dad was playing the same lovely game with him. He asked me to help him find my dad, so I picked him up and started to walk down the dark hall. After about 3 seconds, my irrational mind kicked in and I bolted back the way I came. I also realized that should my dad happen to jump out at us, I would probably throw the kid at him and run to save myself. I know.... pathetic.

The reason I bring up this topic is that my folks are gone for about a week. They bought a big ass RV and are off on their maiden voyage to the central coast. After staying the past two nights down in LA with 7, the kids and I are here alone. I don't mind it so much during the day, but nights get to me. I realize I have to be brave since I am the adult now. I have to set a good example for Oliver, who has been having his own issues with scary things lately. I do believe his problem is also an overactive imagination. He was scared horses were going to come into a restaurant patio area and eat his food and him the other day. He actually worked himself up to tears.

So we're here alone and my folks will just have to deal with the electric bill being a little higher this month since I plan to leave every light in the place on all night!

SEX ROCKS!!!!

I got to see my wonderful husband this past weekend. We left the kids with grandma and headed off to the local jacuzzi suite motel. On the way we picked up some of my new favorite aphrodesiac, rum and coke, and then, after a relaxing hot sudsy slippery dip in the jacuzzi tub, proceeded to be all kinds of naughty. I tell ya, after being together over 6 years he still can curl my toes like no ones business. That boy is gifted!!

I wanna be a supermodel.

Yes, this is my latest goal. It all started on a day when I really felt like a mommy on the edge. I happened to look at the clock and realized it had gotten to be 3 o'clock in the afternoon and I hadn't gotten dressed yet. My hair was crazy looking since my almost 2 yr. old was nice enough to brush it for me as I sat on the toilet that morning. He always whacks me in the head with the brush and then brushes all my hair forward and to the right so it stands out in a strange point. I had also been playing with the baby and she had been giving me kisses. Big wet messy drooly baby kisses. I actually had spit running down the side of my face and dripping onto my neck. Sounds lovely no?

Anyways, I'm not a bad looking gal. I'm about 5'10", short dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin. I'm part Hungarian so I'm pretty sturdy. I like to say I've got an hourglass figure... with a little extra time on my ass. Now, it's taken a lot of work to get to the point where I can say I'm not bad looking. If you'd met me in high school I would have rather believed that Liberace was straight than to believe I was attractive. In fact I remember one conversation where I compared myself to a baboon. I actually asked my big high school crush "I'm not ugly, am I??" Yeah so, my self esteem needed a little work.

Eventually I met the fella I ended up marrying. My darling 7. At first I thought he had a few screws loose. I mean, this guy actually claimed to prefer chunky girls! What a riot right? I figured he probably liked them enough to get some, and then moved on, as had been my short and disappointing dating experience before he came along. So I went along with his exclamations of my beauty and charm, all the while thinking he was sweet, but obviously needed glasses. We've been together over 6 years now and the only change in his tune has been to declare me to be even more beautiful than before. They say that it takes hearing a good thing about yourself fifty times or so before you believe it, but it only takes once to believe a bad thing. I'd heard a lot of bad things growing up from the asses I went to school with here in Bakoville. The wall surrounding my inner self was really high and thick. It's amazing how well being put on a pedestal and ardently and unwaveringly admired works at tearing down that wall.

Back to my desire to strut my stuff on the catwalk. About a year and a half ago I was shopping with my sister in Fashion Bug (one of my very favorite stores in case you were wanting to get me something) when we saw a sign asking for models for the yearly community fashion show. I pointed it out and we both laughed a little at the thought of ourselves as models. By the time we were done shopping however, we had both thought about it enough to realize that we would probably have fun doing it and gathered up our courage to volunteer. I was so nervous the day of the event. I was worried I wouldn't be able to walk down the "runway", let alone manage two twirls and a coy look over my shoulder. My turn came and I did great. The crowd was really nice and I felt like I was something.

A while later, 7 began bouncing a club that hosted a BBW group (big beautiful woman for those of you not in the know) on the weekends. I went and was amazed to see these women, many of whom were significantly larger than I, shakin their groove things in less than I usually wore to bed!
And they had men all over them!! For the first time in my life I got asked to dance by a total stranger. After finding out more about these gals I learned that some were models, some had their own fan websites, some were porn stars, most were just there to have fun and enjoy life in the body God gave them. It really made me realize that being fat wasn't opposite of being considered pretty.

So after having my last baby about 4 1/2 months ago, I've been feeling a little down about how gooshy my tummy is, how much muscle tone I've lost, how I sometimes look like I was dragged behind a horse for a few miles after escaping a rehab clinic... stuff like that. A friend of ours has started her own website where fellas are willing to pay a nice sum each month for the privilege of seeing her naked. I had a look at her pics, and was stunned to see that she and I aren't too much different figure wise. Got me to thinking. I don't want to get naked for anyone, but I can put some clothes on and get paid for it, by gosh.

So my opportunity presented itself a few days ago. I'm getting head and body shots taken soon and will submit them for a modeling job I heard about from a friend. Even my husband was surprised that I wanted to do it. I'm going to give it my best and see what happens. Wish me luck!

So I think I'm a stalker.

No really, I do. But I'm not sure if I truly qualify for the title. Maybe I should say I have a really annoying habit of "checking up" on people I used to know. I use Google to see if I can find any juicy tidbits of their online life that they carelessly left lying around cyberspace. Digging for dirt on their current situation to see if I had a profound effect upon their lives. So profound that they had to write a 20 page document and post it for all the world to see about how wonderful I am. Mostly I'm just bored and nosy.

Recently I have been finding myself a bit obsessed with looking up the only other guy besides my husband that I can say I really dated. We dated briefly way back in 1997 and he was a nice enough guy. He was really smart, had a nice car, great job, live in San Diego, one of my favorite cities, and was a lot of fun to be around. One of the things I found interesting about him was that he really identified with animals. More so than people really. And he never wanted to eat in any type of franchise restaurant. This was fun at first. We always had to find some cute little mom and pop place to go. After a while though, a girl gets to craving some Taco Bell, ya know?

So I was online the other night and decided to indulge in one of my little searches. I found many things right away about his ideas and projects regarding artificial intelligence and other such lofty subjects. Being an engineer, he likes that sort of stuff. Then I struck gold. I found an online journal he's been keeping for over a year. "Self," I said, "here we will find out if he still pines away for us. He will have to have posted his deepest thoughts about what a pit of despair his life has been since we quit dating." Ok, I exaggerate. I thought it'd be a good way for my nosy self to see what he'd been up to.

So I spent a few hours reading every single one of his entries, each and every juicy detail or his life. Some of the scintillating stuff I found out was he's living up north with friends and having a pretty good time. Work is decent. He really likes his local coffee shop. His mother knits. The kittens he had bought shortly before I met him are both still alive and doing well. He has a lot of odd dreams. And he sure has been getting it on with the ladies. He talked about at least at least 5 girls he's dated since me. All the glory of love and woe of loss were graphically covered. But not a damn word about me. How rude! Not that I really expected to find anything, but it's nice to know of people even remember you.

So now I don't know if I should email him that I found it or not. Maybe I should just keep on reading it day by day, like some weird personal soap opera. Or maybe I shouldn't and let him live his life privately... or as privately as one can with an online journal. I have no right really to read it, but it's just so interesting to me. I get to be a peeping tom without really doing anything wrong.

I'll probably keep reading it. It's been driving me nuts since he hasn't posted anything since the day I found it. Three whole days!!! Maybe I'll write him and say hi, then see if he mentions me. You know, I just realized something. I'm not a stalker after all. I'm just narcissistic.

Man do I miss sleeping alone.

I don't mean like I did before I was married, because that type of sleeping alone really bites. I mean sleeping in a bed using all 4 of my pillows without sharing with Elmo, Baby Elmo, and Mickey Mouse and waking to someone sticking a finger up my nose while he chants "Boogie", and another small being frantically clawing at my shirt and drooling all over my boob. As far as I can remember, my hubby has never sat on my head and announced he was poopy.

Yes, I admit it. I'm a mommy. One of the legions of sleep deprived, spit soaked, stained shirted, kiddie show song singing ladies responsible for rearing the next generation of great Americans. I am one of those women who dance and make faces in the grocery store aisle to keep the baby from crying, nurse a secret crush on Joe from "Blue's Clues", and think that a really good day is one in which I actually get to go to the bathroom without an audience and remember to brush my teeth.

Back to the sleep thing. My son wakes up every hour on the hour after about 2 a.m. to ask in the most piteous voice ever if he can lay down on mommy's pillows. I tell him that it is still time for him to be sleeping and that he has to stay in his bed. He waits just long enough for me to start falling back asleep before he shrieks HELP! So as any good mommy does, I jump out of bed and run to his crib with the image of him dangling over the rail about to land on his head in my mind, only to find he needs to have his blanket smoothed out over him again. Fix and repeat till I get tired of it around 6 a.m. and let him into my bed.

The wiggly drooler is another matter all together. My daughter is 4 months old and seems to have the idea in her head that she is entitled to nurse everytime she wakes up in the night. I've had a hell of a time explaining to her that she can make it to morning without chowing down on mom all night. I think I'd probably do better if she actually understood anything I said. The whole time I'm talking to her she is doing her best imitation of a pig who knows there are some truffles hidden under my shirt. The best part is that while my brain is trying to logically ignore her whimpers and snuffles, my boobs have a mind of their own. I usually end up soaked regardless. So she comes to bed with us too. And so I spend the night with my boobs out for all to see, a sweaty little person kneeing me in the butt and trying to steal my last pillow, and an industrial strength shop vac stuck to my front.

God I love my kids..... but boy do i miss sleeping alone.