Modern Mom's Sexy Reading List

Best 50 Shades of Grey-like Series:

The Crossfire Series, Sylvia Day

Same hot young billionaire entrepreneur and a doe-eyed newbie but Gideon Cross has dark hair with piercing blue eyes (my very favorite combination) and there is no red room of pain.

Runner up: Stark Trilogy, J.Kenner

Best Book Boyfriend:

Thoughtless Series, S.C. Stephens

Kellan Kyle. Swoon.  He is by far my favorite book boyfriend. Hot, charismatic, sexy, loyal and in a band! Rawr. I have read the series at least twice and was not ready to let him go. My sister-in-law totally agrees- KK FOREVER!

 

Best BDSM:

Sweet Series, Maya Banks

This is probably pretty tame stuff but each book has a couple (or couples) involved in a consensual dom/sub relationship. Not particularly my cup of tea, but then again, I did read all of the series. A good beginning author if 50 Shades left you curious. A good intro course series.

Runner Up: Breathless Series, Maya Banks

 

Best Rock Star Series:

Sinners on Tour, Olivia Cumming

Truthfully, this is the only rock star series I have read, but it was pretty entertaining. Hot, sweaty rock stars, tour buses and late night sexcapades.

 

 

 

 

Best Young Adult/College Romance:

Vincent Boys Series, Abbi Glines

This is one of my favorite genres and I LOVED both of these series. Teenage love triangles, angst, first loves, sweet sex…its like 90210 in a book. Oh, did I love those Vincent Boys.

Runner Up: Brenna Blixon Series, Liz Reinhardt

Best Sweet Romance: 

Slammed Series, Colleen Hoover

No explicit sex. In fact, I don’t think there was any actual sex at all, just a really good love story. You fall in love with the characters in the purest way. Excellent to read in between really smutty series, gives you a little break.

Runner up: The Fault in our Stars, John Green

Living in the Mother-hood

I didn’t want kids. I didn’t want to get married either. Kids gave me this chest tightening anxiety and it seemed as though everyone in my family had gotten a divorce- many after 30 years of marriage. I didn’t want any part of it. I assumed that I would have enough ammo to thoroughly fuck up my own children, let alone navigate the shark infested waters of holy matrimony.

I was 20 years old, what did I know? I was a radio, tv, film major and wanted to travel the globe making women’s studies documentaries. I thought I could learn the craft and help the plight of women around the world…I was optimistic and yet lacked any drive to actually pursue my dream. So, what did I do? I waited tables, went to parties, cultivated a great group of friends and became settled into an ordinary life in a college town. I have never been on a humanitarian mission or stood behind the camera.

 

I met my now-husband when I was 19 years old. He was cocky and self-assured and I hated him, we did not get along. At all. I was bitchy, he was cocky. We were both far too stubborn for our own good, so we started dating, obviously. Four years later we got married. He wanted kids and I wasn’t necessarily opposed to children at this point. For some weird reason that I still don’t fully understand, I knew, like I have never known anything so certain in my life, that he would be the father of my children. I couldn’t picture having kids with anyone else. No one. I could picture dating or marrying someone different- but not to be the father of my children. I call this the Neanderthal theory- we are still primitive beings. We seek the best partner for procreation. He was so good looking. He had that self-assured strut to his walk and had this wink that would make your knees weak. He had thick dark hair that always looked effortless and perfectly bed-head messy, and still does all these many years later. He took pride in his appearance and his wardrobe. The first time we really hung out alone was a J Crew sale at the local hotel. (We both still have the coats we bought from that event) He was attractive, funny, smart and driven to succeed.

You hunt. I gather. You provide. I take care of children.

I suppose it could be that simple.

After graduating college with a degree in Sociology, I dipped a tiny little pinky toe into the “real world” and decided that I could make more money and have a more flexible schedule if I continued to bartend. Honestly, I could make $10k more slinging some drinks than I could advocating for children lost in the system. Two years later, we got married and two years after that we had our first child. I took six months off from work and went back part-time, 3 nights a week. I would head off to work in the evenings and Jeff would stay home with the baby, no paid child care necessary. It was a win-win! I made some extra income, we didn’t have to pay for child care and all was good. I didn’t have a career, per se, but that was ok. I couldn’t think of any career that would make me drop off my precious baby to daycare. NOTHING.

Two years after that we had our son and I took another 9 months off. I headed back to work and Jeff had the babies in the evening. I still had no career, but the tradeoff was well worth the lack of 401k. I couldn’t, and still can’t, imagine dropping my babes off every morning. No. No. No.

We became involved in our fabulous cooperative preschool. I became school treasurer and then spent a year and a half as President. We created fundraisers and held garage sales, we had weekly play dates and mom nights out. We would go for ice cream on the square and a picnic lunch on the courthouse lawn. I wouldn’t give those moments up for anything. My eyes get watery just thinking about it. It just never made sense to go find a “real job”.  The money was too good, the schedule was flexible and I loved the company and my co-workers. It became hard to justify going to work full time and neither Jeff nor I found it necessary. He never called it “his money”, I never felt guilty for staying home with the kids. He didn’t demand dinner every night or question the daily household chores. We had a good respect and rhythm in the house.

Of course there have been times I blew up and completely lose my shit. I would cry out of frustration that he just doesn't understand how difficult being a SAHM is and he reminds me that he works his ass off all day to support his family. This is still a regular discussion. I won’t say there is resentment, but definite tension. He has often told me that I am more than welcome to pursue a career and he will stay at home- if I could make as much money as him. Right. We all know that will not happen. So, Monday comes back around and Jeff goes to work and I start a load of laundry. Truthfully, he would go crazy staying at home and I don’t want to be in the  grind of the workplace.

I need my babies with me, but I also need a good babysitter.

I need date nights and adult conversation. I need strong margaritas and a good reason to get out of yoga pants. I need to exercise my brain in interesting and challenging ways that have nothing to do with child rearing. I need reminders that I am more than “just a mom”. Yes, there are days that I want to start taking shots of whiskey before 9am. There are days I wonder what by life would be like without the constant pressure of children, days  I wonder what I could have done should I have married someone that didn’t want children. There are days when a simple trip to Target ends up in flailing fits and screaming matches. There are days I want to cry alone in my closet and hope that no one comes to find me, but even in the depths of despair and frustration, I cannot hand my children over to someone else’s care every day.

Someday the kids will grow up and spread their wings, god willing, and I don’t want to look back and wish we had spent more precious moments together. They only get one childhood and I want it to be full of adventure and fun. I want to take too many pictures and hover too closely. I want to be there and present all the time. I don't want to relegate my million daily kisses to before 8am and after 5pm. I brought these sweet beings into this world and I want to explore it with them. I want to have lazy mornings cuddling on the couch and fun afternoons at the museum. I don’t want to wait for the weekends. I am selfish like that. I don’t want to prioritize anything above my duties to my family and I don’t think I could balance work/home. It’s just that simple. I want to be home with the kids and it works for our family.

 

xoxo

 

School Dance

Ah, the 8^th grade dance; a coming of age ritual bidding farewell to our adolescence and hello to the debauchery and minute depravity of high school. Of course, I had no date. At the time I had no idea that this streak of datelessness would last well into senior prom, but I was young and hopeful. I assumed that high school would bring a chance to practice my relationship training wheels. It did not.

I wore a white dress. I am not sure what would bring me to conclude that the white just-above-the-knee (probably leftover from the Easter sale) dress would be perfect for my first in the gym dance. I even remember picking out hose with a slight sparkle to them and white two strap mary janes. Yes, mary janes. Kurt Cobain had committed suicide two years prior and plaid, Dr. Martens and mary janes were still in fashion.

I used a curling iron on my just-below-the-shoulder hair, which I had died at some point and desperately needed to re-color. I am not a hair whiz. This was not a good look for me, but I sprayed a ton of generic hairspray on my curled hair and went off into the wild world of 14 year olds. Honestly, I have no idea what happened at that dance. I don’t know if I did dance. Knowing me, I just hung out on the sidelines chatting,  equally afraid that someone would or would not ask me to dance that afternoon. I assume no one did. I think I would remember, but then again, maybe not.

Let this be a lesson- your first experience with a tragic situation can color your opinion on the dreaded ritual for the rest of your life. I never went to homecoming, I skipped the day we were all supposed to wear mums to school (google it, mums are a Texas thing) and I had to have some random friend of a friend take me to prom. He was a sophomore. No one should ever have to take some sophomore to their senior prom.

I know this all sounds terribly pathetic and tragic, but it wasn’t as damaging as it could have been. I found my way.  I fostered great friendships that I still have today over 18 years later. I had lots of extra curriculars, just no suitors. No first love or butterflies in the stomach while making out in the back of the car. Perhaps I was a bit stunted in the relationship department, maybe that is why I am a little behind the curve now. I didn’t have all those experimental years of “dating” and “falling in love” and “heartbreak”. Oh, well. I rocked those white mary janes, even if I never did get to take them for a spin on the rubbery gym floor.

Go Mustangs!

I couldn't find the 8th grade dance picture- but apparently I wore the dress again to some family function that year. So, I added the picture on the left from a drama competition. Who wouldn't want to take that sassy girl to the dance??

 

 

365 Days Later

I downloaded the Timehop app a couple months ago. It logs into your Facebook/Instagram/Twitter account and lets you know what you posted on that day a year ago, two years ago, 7 years ago…it will show your pictures, status updates, links, anything you posted in the past. I will admit it is pretty cool. I love seeing old pics of the kids or rambling updates about my day- but lately it hasn’t been as fun. In fact, some days I dread the little push notification reminding me that Timehop Abe wants to share my past with me. I especially dreaded today.

One year ago today I posted my blog: Divorce.

Yikes. 365 days ago I was tired of smiling, tired of pretending and tired of answering questions. Instead, in an act of complete insanity with a small moment of bravery- I threw my business out into the universe. I had no idea what the reception would be. I assumed there would be some criticism. I mean, who announces they are getting a divorce on Facebook? Me.

The support was overwhelming and thankfully the haters kept their criticism to themselves. I got over 100 hits in the first couple hours and by the end of the day I had almost 200. Currently I have over 320 page views for my post, which doesn’t sound like a lot, but was about 300 more than I was used to getting. I kept writing. It became my therapy; I began writing at least once a day, sometimes two or three. I had to write, I had to get it out of my brain. I needed a constructive outlet rather than the destructive path I could have so easily explored.

One year ago today I wrote: Some fairytales don’t have a happy ending.

This is still true. Fairytales take a shit ton of work and a whole lot of forgiveness and communication. We are still working on communication. I feel like we don’t speak the same language sometimes. We don’t finish each other’s…sandwiches.  It is fantastically frustrating.

So here we are, just one year, 365 days later and I wish I had some grand profound message gleaned from the past 12 months, but I don’t. I have learned some smaller lessons about myself and how I thought the world worked. I am easier on myself and certainly less judgmental of others. I used to be so sure that life is easier than we made it, but I don’t know if that is true anymore.

 Life can be hard. Life can be messy and complicated. Life can be all fucked up and leave you in a heap after being thrown around and spit out. But, thankfully, you hope to gain some perspective and grow from your situations. I know that everyone is fighting their own battles that we may never know about. I know that we need to give each other a break- we are just doing the best we can.

I guess that is my new life motto: Be good to people and start with you.

xoxo

 

 

Houston

Well, my friends, it has been a crazy month. Jeff casually texts me a couple weeks ago:

Jeff: Wanna move to Houston?

Me: Uh, what?

…

Me: (what seems like hours later) HELLO??!

Me: Are you serious? Is this something I actually need to consider?

Jeff: Maybe. Just wanted to know your thoughts.

Me: Is this an actual offer? Call me.

 

Woah. Moving? I love Denton. I love my friends. I love my preschool. I love my neighbors. I love my job.

BUT…

I love the idea of being near my family. I love the idea of being near my old high school friends. I love the idea of selling our home for a bit of a profit and paying off some debt. I love the idea of being closer to my family in Austin. I love the idea of starting a new adventure, and I really love the amazing career opportunity Jeff has with his company.

Where to go? Me and Zillow, along with HAR and a realtor friend, have recently become besties. My parents want us to move into Houston- not the suburbs. They are in Houston now and want the grandkids to be as close as possible. You know, right in the action, the street festivals, the museums, the weird opportunities that present themselves in the city. The city is expensive.

Our baby girl starts kindergarten this fall and along with that new beginning follow all the big questions: What school should she attend? What neighborhoods are a good fit for our family? What area is close enough to Jeff’s job not to require a hellish commute? Where do I want  to put down roots and join in the community life? Is there a cooperative school for my littlest?

My head is swimming.

It is all so exciting and so daunting. I have called North Texas my home for 14 years. We went to college here, got married here, built a house here and our beautiful babies were born here. This is home. This is our home. But, the idea of moving to Houston sounds so right…like going home again.

Last weekend we took a trip down to Houston for the Crawfish Festival, met up with my Dad, some friends and sat out on the lawn listening to Bob Schneider. It was pretty great. We ate some fabulous Mexican food, hung out at an urban garden, went to a Cinco de Mayo block party, drank wine in a funky bohemian garden and let the kids run wild at the children’s museum. My mom graciously put us up for the weekend and watched the grandkids while Jeff and I took some time to explore. It was awesome. I felt very welcomed by my new city.

Jeff officially accepted the position and we are putting the house on the market in the next couple weeks. Crazy.

Good bye Denton, its been fun. Houston, welcome back old friend.

 

 

 

 

Passionate

I have had an epiphany. I haven’t been to my therapist in over 4 months, so this one is all my own…I have found my passion.

Life.

Super fucking corny, right?

I blah-blah-blahed all about this “lack of passion” for the past two years. Wah wah wah…I have no sense of self, no definition, no hobby. Well, guess what? I am done. I am over it. I have come to a slow coming realization that perhaps life is my passion.

That sounds weird, doesn’t it?

I stay home with the kids, do laundry, occasionally clean, grocery shop, help out at school and bartend for some extra cash. It’s not glamorous. It’s not even noteworthy, but it’s ok. I like piece-working my life together with lots of different scraps. My kaleidoscopic quilt of collected fabrics held together by some rickrack and embroidery thread. It is funky and fun and kind of obnoxious. The pieces don’t quite fit together perfectly, there are a couple loose seams, a few errant threads, maybe a worn spot or two, but there is room to grow, improve, and add on. My quilt is infinite and always available for possible revisions. My quilt is forgiving and perfect in its imperfections.

So, maybe I didn’t have to find a passion. Maybe it wasn’t a hobby that I was searching for. It was simply a passion for life that was missing, not a job or a career path. I wasn’t looking for a music lesson or a painting class…

I needed a passion to live my own life. I was missing a zest for living.

 

WILD, by Cheryl Strayed

I can be a fairly voracious reader, mostly of crap books. In efforts to broaden my reading horizons (ie; read something other than smut) I have been yearning to start a book club for a least a year or two. However, anyone who knows me understands that I am more of an “idea person”, and not so much a “follow through” kind of lady. This drives my husband INSANE, as he refuses to start a project with me unless he gets a signed promise of completion in advance. It really is that bad. I lose focus, I lose energy and I usually just want a nap.

BUT last month, I STARTED A BOOK CLUB! For real. We have a name (Boozy Bookworms), members, a book and even deadlines! You gotta love Facebook. There is a button that says “Start a Group”. It could literally not get any easier. Click to add some friends, find an appropriately irreverent yet classy picture, welcome everyone, and pick a group name. Voila! Book Club started. Now, for the arduous task of picking a likeable, yet thought provoking book that not everyone has read, but that has come highly recommended…

WILD, by Cheryl Strayed.

These are the actual Facebook reviews for WILD from real-life friends:

“Wild was really good. A little different because it wasn't fiction.”

“I read Wild and it was really good. Definitely a must read!”

I am sure there were a couple more reviews, but I can’t seem to find them. Anyways, the point: The response was overwhelmingly in favor for WILD. Hell, even Oprah recommend this book.

OK! Let’s get our read on!

Yikes. A few days in and a couple BB’s have already given up, citing Cheryl as “whiney and annoying”. A couple more ladies are still reading but not entirely enjoying our first selection. At this point I have yet to read it, but to my credit, it had been downloaded onto my Nook. Don’t worry; I am not bailing on my own group. I will read the damn book, it was sort of my suggestion.

2 days until book club, I am about a quarter of the way through and decide its go time:

Man, this book is seriously all about hiking. I don’t care about hiking. If I had a mental break down, heroin and hiking would not be my solution. I don’t think I can relate at all. Wait, she legally changed her last name to Strayed? I wonder what I would change my last name to. We had considered Awesome. (Have you met the Awesomes? I still think that would have been cool) She brought a dozen condoms with her on the trail…that’s a lot of (literally) dirty sex. Oh, shit, she got rid of the condoms; they were unnecessary and weighing down her backpack. I guess there will be no love story. More hiking. Damn, if my feet hurt that bad, I think I would quit. I don’t want to lose 6 toenails. Another night with no dinner? I guess dried tuna flakes would lose their appeal pretty quickly, but I am pretty confident that I could eat ramen for a while. I would have to carry Tabasco with me in my pack. That could be heavy, I would have to omit something else…maybe a couple books? But then she burned the parts she had read and made a little fire every night. I wish they had had Nooks in the early nineties; she would have saved some serious weight. But, then she would have had to carry solar chargers and such. Oh, well, then she could have tweeted about it or Instagramed the sunsets. I wonder if there is cell reception out there? I wonder if I could have hiked 1100 miles without a cell phone? Kind of makes hikers now sound like wimps with their GPS and fancy devices. Can anyone even follow a guidebook map anymore? I don’t think I could. That damn bear would have eaten me, only if I didn’t die of fright first when hundreds of black frogs attacked me while I was sleeping by the pond. That might have done me in. Fucking frogs. She sure hitchhikes a lot. When do we get to the part where someone kidnaps her? Or assaults her? I don’t wish her harm, but she is alone in the middle of nowhere…anything can happen. She doesn’t have a gun. I am not really pro-gun, but by myself in the wilderness? I think I would reconsider my stance on firearms. Is she going to sleep with Doug? A handsome young lad hiking along the PCT? Sounds like a love affair under the stars…she saved one condom. Is it for him? No? Never? Oh, ok. I really thought that was going to happen. More hiking. More hiking. Finally has sex with some dude that she just met at a bar…after he takes her back to his tent on an organic farm that he helps at in exchange for a free place to live. Makes sense. At least he doesn’t do heroin. More hiking. Reaches destination and sums up the rest of her life in 3 sentences. Seriously?? That’s it? I get 200 pages of hiking information, and just three sentences about what happens after her 4 month spirit quest in the middle of nowhere? Alright. The end.

A friend offered to host our first Boozy Bookworms discussion group and cocktail gathering. Damn, this woman out did herself. We had wine glass shaped cookies, a charcuterie spread, and even a gorgeous aqua-blue vodka cocktail, reminiscent of the Crater Lake in the book with the crystal clear blue water. Her husband had even set out little bottles of tequila and Jack just in case we were into shots that evening. Maybe next time! That’s an interesting idea; a book club drinking game…then it would need to become a book club and sleep over.

The verdict: None of us where overwhelmed with WILD. We found it interesting, but not earth shattering. It did open up a great dialogue about what we would do or where we would go to start over- no husbands, no kids, and very little money. I said Europe. A friend said Maine, and then reconsidered the fact that she doesn’t like seafood. One woman said England, and another said a cabin in the woods somewhere. All decent ideas…but no one said “Hike the Pacific Crest Trail”. No one. That was intense.

Until next month, happy reading!

xoxo

CHEERS!