PooBou.com

I don’t usually bother with getting all political on here, because I figure that that most of the people who read my blog have the same general beliefs that I do. And if you don’t, what’s the point of arguing about it? You’ll never change my mind and I’ll never change yours, so it’s really all just a waste of breath. It’s like when they have the Aryan nation guys on talk shows, and the audience just boos and hollers at them until the skinheads “sieg heil” and storm offstage. You’ll never manage to convince them that racism is a bad thing, so why bother?

So, I have been genuinely trying to let this go since I read it last week, but I cannot get it out of my head because it astounds me that people like this even exist in our so-called modern society. I first heard a reference to something called “Prairie Muffins” over on flea’s blog (that post, btw, is totally mind-blowing and worth reading in its own right), and clicking a couple of links blog-hopped me over to the blog of a Prairie Muffin. (Apologies if you’ve already read all about this.)

What is a Prairie Muffin, you ask? In this case, it’s a woman who calls herself a “reformed Christian” (I grew up in the Bible Belt, and I had never heard that term before; google it if you like, they might even be scarier than southern Baptists), she homeschools her ten (10!) children, and she lives in California (of all places).

Ok, so it seems a little fundamentalist Christian-y, but no harm so far, right? She’s just doing her thing, whatever. Then, a whole big slew of controversy got stirred up on her site because of this post, which is just a regular ol’ standard blog meme. But then this question came up:

If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt and politics, what would you do?

Now, if you’re a fundamentalist Christian, there are about a million possible responses to this question. I would imagine that converting the world to Christianity is way up at the top of the list. But even if it isn’t, what about things like putting an end to war, world hunger, child abuse, or disease? No, the Prairie Muffin cannot be bothered with such trifles. This is her response to that question.

Hoo-boy, this is where I get in trouble, and that starts with “T” and that rhymes with “P” and that stands for “pool.” I’d like to jump in a pool right now. Some may tell me to jump in a river for this one: I would remove women’s suffrage, and I might even consider making voting rights tied to property ownership.

Really? Of all the things in the world that you could potentially change, taking away a woman’s right to vote is the one thing that you’d pick?

(I have to stop here and give some credit: this site makes some truly excellent remarks on the whole subject, and if you have time to read through it and all the comments, it’s well worth it.)

So after my initial “blu-bu-whaaa???” reaction, I read through her comments, and it seems like there are an awful lot of people on her site who agree with her. Oddly, they’re all women. How much hatred must these women have for their own gender, that they don’t even believe themselves worthy of the right to vote?

Oh, except they all do vote. Because their husbands want them to. Ooooo-kay.

More digging around led me to the Prairie Muffin Manifesto (yes, they have a manifesto). You absolutely have to click that link, but you should probably first put a pillow on your desk because otherwise, it might hurt when your jaw hits it. Here are a few of my favorite items on the list:

3) Prairie Muffins are aware that God is in control of their ability to conceive and bear children, and they are content to allow Him to bless them as He chooses in this area.

Easily said by a woman with ten children. I wonder what the infertility bloggers would think of that statement.

9) Prairie Muffins do not reflect badly on their husbands by neglecting their appearance; they work with the clay God has given, molding it into an attractive package for the pleasure of their husbands.

Dave thought this was hilarious. I was somewhat disturbed by it, because I thought the reason that I never left the house without mascara was because I’m southern and vain. Turns out, I’m apparently a Prairie Muffin. Funny how I never thought that my make-up (or lack of ) was a reflection on Dave, though.

Here are two in a row that make me want to scream:

17) Prairie Muffins place their husbands’ needs and desires above other obligations, arranging their schedules and responsibilities so that they do not neglect the one who provides for and protects them and their children.

18) Prairie Muffins are fiercely submissive to God and to their husbands.

Right. I don’t need a life or any sense of self-awareness, I’ll just devote myself to my husband. And then he’ll leave me because I’ll be boring as all get-out. And I’m sorry, #18 is just flat-out kinky. (So is #29, if you go read that site.)

32) Though we abhor the idea of women being involved in the military and fighting battles which men are commanded to fight, Prairie Muffins recognize that there is a real battle in which they are on the front lines: the battle of the seed of the woman against the seed of the serpent. In this most-important conflict, we gratefully serve King Jesus in the capacity He has given us, waving our wooden spoons and rallying our children to stand alongside us in the battle, training them to be mighty warriors in the defense and furthering of God’s kingdom.

The waving of wooden spoons almost made me fall out of my chair laughing.

36) Prairie Muffins are happy to be girls—they rejoice in the distinctives which God sovereignly bestowed on them which make them feminine. They are also happy that their husbands are masculine, and they do not diminish that masculinity by harping on habits which emanate from the fact that boys will be boys, even when they grow up. In addition, Prairie Muffins are careful not to use their feminine, hormotional weaknesses to excuse sinful attitudes and actions, but learn to depend more and more on God’s grace and strength in the midst of any monthly trials.

Ah, the hybrid word. I get that they were trying to combine hormonal and emotional, but… “hormotional”? I honestly thought she made that word up, and I was shocked that Dave had actually heard it before. I think his church back in the UK was a bit more “fundie” than where I grew up.

Also, I am totally going to start referring to my period as my “monthly trial.” I love that.

There’s a million other things I could quote from that site that just generally give me the heebie-jeebies, but I think y’all probably get the idea. What’s amazing is that the few commenters she got who disagreed with her were very polite in their objections, and it didn’t turn into an all-out flame war. Still, she said in a later post that she’ll be praying for all of her dissenters. I wonder how the liberal feminist agnostics feel about that.

These types of people make me ashamed to call myself a Christian.

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Even though I’m 5’5″, I am what one might call a short-waisted girl. I remember, several years ago, when low-rise jeans first became available in stores. I still praise that day because it was the first time in my life that I was able to buy jeans and wear them off the rack.

Before that sacred, blessed day, every time I bought a pair of “regular” jeans, I had to get my mom to alter them, because either: (a) the waist of the jeans came up to about 2 inches below my bra line (sexay!), or (b) if I pushed them down so they were actually on my waist, it created this weird bulge in the crotch that made me look like I had a package. Not a good look, to say the least.

Because of that, I knew before I got pregnant that I would probably start to show a little earlier than some people. When there isn’t much up-and-down room for the baby to grow, it tends to go straight out in front of you. I know that’s something that my cousin is dealing with right now. Also, when I was in college, I worked with a woman who was about 5 feet tall, and by the time she was 4 months along, people were looking at her sideways, going, “Um…. are you sure you aren’t having twins?” (And even though I thought I understood at the time, I really understand now why those sorts of questions infuriated her.)

But still, I had this delusion that I wouldn’t start to show until my third or fourth month. I don’t know where I came up with that. I think I was basing it on the fact that Madonna was something like 3 months pregnant when she was filming “Evita,” and you couldn’t really tell except for that one scene where she danced with Antonio Banderas. Remember? She was wearing that white satin-y dress and if you looked closely, you could see that she had a little bit of a tummy.

Um, yeah. Comparing my pregnancy to Madonna’s. I’m clearly totally sane.

The point of all this is that I feel like I’m already starting to show, and I’m not even 9 weeks along. Is it possible for me to be showing this early? Or have I just taken up temporary residence in Bloatville? Because I don’t feel like I have a “baby bump,” I feel like I’m just carrying an extra spare tire around my middle. But I’ve actually lost two pounds since I found out I was pregnant a month ago. (Hooray for being too nauseated to eat, although I don’t think that’s a diet plan that I want to stick to.)

My mom keeps insisting that she was in maternity clothes by the time she was ten weeks along. She also has a memory like swiss cheese, so I don’t know how much I believe that. I’m not at the point of wearing maternity clothes yet, but I keep eyeing the few maternity tops that I’ve bought, and thinking that they look really comfortable right about now. My choice of summer clothes is pretty slim since I’ll only wear shirts that are loose around my waist. And my jeans (even my baggy ones that I always had to wear a belt with) are so tight that they’re starting to leave little denim imprints on my flesh, which isn’t too comfortable. Getting dressed for work the past few mornings has not been fun for me.

So, any of you who read this who either are pregnant, have been pregnant, or are close to someone who’s been through it – when is it “normal” to start to show? Is this what the early stages are supposed to feel like, or do I just need to pop a Gas-X and chill out?

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I know y’all have just been dying to see before and after pictures of my new haircut, haven’t you? HAVEN’T YOU??

Ok then.

Here’s what it looked like a couple of weeks ago, when Kris and I met up with the girls for a little night out on the town. We were ridiculously overdressed, considering that we ended up in a sketchy techno club downtown. But hey, whatever. We felt purty, and that’s all that matters.

Please ignore the fact that I’ve got some kinda crazy-eyed thing going on there.

I honestly kind of liked my hair really long like that, but there were so many layers around the bottom, it took forever to style. And I really prefer it if my morning hair routine takes less than 10 minutes. I’m just low-maintenance like that. (Yes, I’m being sarcastic. I do realize there are people in the world who run their fingers through their hair and call it good. I will probably never be one of those people.)

Anyway, I went to my stylist and told her that I wanted to get rid of the layers – I had her cut it just blunt and straight across the bottom. She said afterward that she had been worried it would look too “heavy” that way, but she was pleased with how it turned out.

I’m pretty pleased with it myself.

Oh, and the next time I think it’s ok to allow a photo to be taken of me squatting like that? Someone please slap some sense into me. God. Hello, thighs!

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Not a whole lot happened this weekend. Dave and I got haircuts on Friday, we went to some friends’ wedding on Saturday (which was lovely), and we chilled out most of the day on Sunday. Actually, Dave chilled out, and I apparently went into hyper nesting mode or something. I don’t know where this came from – I got up on Sunday and made chocolate chip muffins for breakfast. Then, since I had already established a theme of healthy and nutritious eating for the day, I spent about an hour in our yard picking blackberries so I could make a cobbler. I’ve never attempted to make a cobbler before (I consider myself sort of mediocre on the whole baking thing), so I had no idea how many blackberries I needed. I think I ended up with something like half a gallon. I only needed 2-1/2 cups for the recipe. Oops. I hope blackberries freeze well, but I guess we’ll find out for ourselves in the near future.

Oh, and for the record? I didn’t even begin to make a dent in the overall blackberry population of our yard. They are everywhere. Which is sort of a mixed blessing – I love blackberries, but the bushes here grow like kudzu and will take over the whole yard if we don’t keep them trimmed back. And what with the thorns, it’s almost impossible to trim them ourselves without getting sliced to ribbons. So we actually have a landscaping service that’s supposed to come sometime in the next couple of weeks to cut them back. Which is probably why this is the first time all year that it suddenly occurred to me that, hey! Our blackberries are going to go away! I should go retrieve as many as possible and make fattening desserts with them! (Well, that, and the fact that August is really the first time of year that they’re ripe enough to eat.)

I meant to take pictures of the before and after – the huuuuge bowl of fresh blackberries that I picked, and the really pretty cobbler after it came out of the oven – but the camera was upstairs and I am lazy, so alas, I have no pretty food photos to share. Maybe next time. Meanwhile, here’s the recipe that I used for blackberry cobbler, which is awesome and super-easy (thanks Google, and bettycrocker.com).

Blackberry Cobbler
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup milk (I used the lactose-free kind & it still tastes great)
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, melted
2 1/2 cups blackberries – fresh or frozen (thawed & drained)
1 cup sugar

1. Heat oven to 375 degrees.
2. Mix flour, baking powder, salt & milk in an ungreased 8-inch square baking pan or skillet. Stir in butter until blended.
3. Mix blackberries & sugar, let stand about 20 minutes until fruit syrup forms. Spoon over batter.
4. Bake 45-55 minutes until dough rises and is golden.
5. Serve warm with cream, whipped cream or ice cream. (Again, no lactose for me, so we used cool whip, which is non-dairy. Still awesome.)

During the time that the cobbler was baking and then cooling, Dave and I watched the latest episode of “Six Feet Under”, which made me cry. A lot. Honestly, I thought of the cobbler as my reward for such an emotionally harrowing hour of television. Lordy.

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Warning: Girly talk about skin care and cosmetics ahead.
The antibiotic from my dermatologist appears to be working. I hardly have any new pimples, and the ones that I do have are little and near the hairline on my forehead, which is where I usually get them. But then last weekend, I started to notice that I was getting some dry skin around my eyes. Which presented a problem, since I don’t own any type of moisturizer that one would use on one’s face. Don’t yell at me for this, I know it’s a major girl no-no, but come on. Why does an already oily-faced person need more moisture? I just never saw the point, so I never used the stuff. To be honest, I tried using it a few times in high school and college (I don’t remember the brands I tried, I’m pretty sure it was usually cheap drug store stuff), but it always made me break out more, so I dropped it. I’ve just never seen the point.

But then, I got the dry eye thing, and it hurt, and it was ugly, and I didn’t like it. I heard really good things about Clarins, and how it doesn’t cause breakouts like other (cheaper) cosmetics do, so I decided to check them out. I made Dave come with me because I am totally intimidated by department store cosmetics saleswomen. I can’t explain it, but they scare the shit out of me. It could be the lab coats. And maybe it was because my husband was with me, or maybe I just lucked out and got an unusually nice saleslady, but she didn’t try to tell me that I was a horrible person for not using moisturizer every day since I was 13 years old, and she didn’t try to push an entire line of crap on me. That last part was almost definitely because of Dave, who was looking bored and fidgety the whole time, exactly as I had instructed him ahead of time to do because I wanted to get the hell out of there fast. The nice saleslady did lose points by telling me that after my face gets used to their sensitive skin formula, I might want to move on to the anti-aging products (bitch), but she made up for it by giving Dave some free samples from their men’s line.

So I bought a very nice eye balm, which I have now used for 3 days and oh, how I love it. No more dry skin around my eyes, and it seems like the shadows under my eyes are fading too. Awesome. I also got a day cream for sensitive skin, which… ok, now I understand why you’re supposed to put on moisturizer under your make-up. Yes, it makes everything go on smoother. And it seems like I’m using less make-up because it’s easier to make it all look even. Why didn’t my mother tell me that when I was in junior high? All this time, I had no idea.

Now, if it turns out that even this Clarins stuff makes me break out after I have experienced the bliss that is smooth make-up application, I am going to be one unhappy camper. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.

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I’ve been having this issue with my skin lately, and I have decided to share this information with the world. Here’s the deal: a couple of weeks before the wedding, I started getting zits on my forehead. Not surprising, I figured it was stress-related, and my body somehow knew that I was about to be the subject of a hundred or so photographs, so it decided to screw up my face. Fine, whatever. Good thing we sprang for the make-up artist on our wedding day. A few weeks after the wedding, I started getting bumps all over my chest. They didn’t appear to be pimples exactly, they were just little red bumps. But they didn’t itch. After I had those for a couple of weeks, the bumps on my chest started to spread up the sides of my neck and onto my jawline. Ok, fine, time to call the dermatologist. (I should mention that I already have a dermatologist because I had a particularly horrible breakout a couple of years ago, and this is the same doctor who helped me with that.) Meanwhile, Dave and I have taken to referring to it as The Plague (said in overly dramatic voice), which is basically what it feels/looks like.

I saw the dermatologist yesterday. She said that all the red bumps are indeed a form of acne, and by the way God, do I need to remind you that I am almost 30 freakin’ years old and this phase of my life is supposed to be over? Ok, thanks. So she put me on an antibiotic that’s supposed to help acne, although this is one of the drugs that I tried two years ago that did absolutely nothing for me, so I’m not terribly optimistic. If it doesn’t work, it may mean that I have to take the drug that fixed my acne two years ago, which is a rather controversial medication called Accutane. Now, while it will absolutely 100% kick my acne’s ass, here’s what I don’t like about Accutane:

1) It dries out all of my skin, not just what’s on my face, so I end up having to basically rub myself down with cocoa butter every day.
2) It makes my lips so dry that they peel, crack and bleed on a daily basis. (And I’m a lip balm addict, so that’s saying a lot.)
3) It causes such severe birth defects that the legal restrictions on this drug are insane. Each pill comes pre-wrapped in a package with a little icon of a pregnant woman with a red Ghostbusters “NO!” slash across her. I have to sign an affidavit stating that I will use 2 forms of birth control while I’m on it. I have to go for monthly pregnancy tests. (A nurse once told me that they even make post-menopausal women go for the pregnancy tests too, just to cover their asses.) I’m supposed to have monthly “pregnancy avoidance counseling” (ha!) with my doctor. Because if I get pregnant, God will murder ten kittens. No seriously, if I were to get pregnant, I would most likely have to get an abortion, and that would not be fun. Honestly, as tedious as all the hoops are that I have to jump through, mostly it just makes me paranoid. So obviously, I’m trying to avoid taking this particular drug.

Meanwhile, I have this antibiotic, and my dermatologist recommended that I also consider using one of those zit creams with benzoyl peroxide in them. I know I’ve used those types of things back in high school, and I knew I had a bad reaction to them, but the main thing I remembered was waking up with my eyes swollen shut, which is pretty horrible. So I thought, well maybe I’ll try it just on the bumps on my neck and chest – that’s far enough away from my eyes that it shouldn’t make them puff up. So when I was at the drug store, I grabbed some stuff with benzoyl peroxide in it, and I put it on before I went to bed last night.

This morning, my eyes were neither swollen nor puffy, but my neck and chest… oh my god. The redness. The itching. The color that’s been bleached out of the pillowcase (WTF?!). But mostly, it’s the Red that bothers me. Y’all, I am literally a red neck. Holy hell, what do I do with this? Make-up doesn’t cover it. I just put tons of blush on my face, so it looks like a sunburn. Which, you know, combined with the pre-existing pimples, is really super attractive.

Tonight I’m giving myself a soothing, pore-clarifying masque made from avocado and all kinds of other organic stuff. Because it was on sale at the drug store. And because I am no longer using that benzoyl peroxide crap that wants to eat my damn face off. I don’t know if there is any such things as clear-skin vibes, but if there are, please send them my way. This is getting ridiculous. Thanks.

P.S. I can’t wait to see what kind of Google hits I get from this post. Itchy red chest bumps, woo-hoo!
P.S.S. If anyone gets the song reference in the title, I will be duly impressed.

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My future brother-in-law (aka Dave’s brother), Steve, is coming here from the UK to live with us for about 3 months. He wants to start his own landscaping business, and since we live on 2 acres that’s pretty much completely un-landscaped (calling it a mess would be far too kind), this seems like as good a place as any for him to start building a portfolio. We’re going to do before & after pictures and everything. I’m reallly excited to see what he has in store for us. I know that he’s going to extend the deck around the side of the house – so the French doors in the dining room will no longer open up to a 3-foot drop to the ground – but other than that, I have no idea what else he has planned. It’s a weird thing about having this much space, it seems overwhelming to gardening novices such as myself, so I can’t really envision how it’s going to look, but I’m sure it’ll be great.

Anyway, since Steve is going to be arriving on Wednesday, I am in hyper-housecleaning mode. Not that he really cares how it looks – I mean, the reason he’s coming here is to help us out with our home improvements – this is just my reaction to any visitor’s arrival. (I think I inherited this “Oh crap, people are coming! Quick, tidy up the house!” gene from my mother.) Today, I vacuumed the stairs. I even used the hose attachment to get in all of the little corners where cat hair tends to accumulate. Has anyone actually tried to vacuum a flight of stairs? It’s no easy task, I assure you. That was quite an impromptu little cardio workout that I gave myself. I also rearranged the furniture in the living room – which probably would’ve been easier if I had waited for Dave to get home to help me, but I was determined to do it myself so he’ll be surprised when he gets back. Cleaning is also the primary item on the weekend agenda. If we’re efficient enough, we might even get around to painting my soon-to-be office so I can start putting furniture in there. (It’s sort of a puke green right now. No thank you.)

So yeah, that’s about all that’s going on right now. Monday is my last day at my current (old) job. I don’t start at the Big Software Company until March 14th, so it’ll suck to have no income for 2 weeks, but we’ll catch up. Hope everyone has a great weekend.

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