Oh, dear Lord baby Jesus, or as our brothers in the south call you, “Jesuz”…

Sorry. I’m not Ricky Bobby saying his prayers. I’m Mocha Momma. Let me begin again.

Oh, dear sweet baby Jesus. You have sent me the cutest dang stories through the readers of this blog. It was a tough decision. It was funny because I let out a snort or two. It was enlightening because I heard about using a French Press and having a smoke. It was nostalgic because of reading about having a cuppa with a grandma.

But I must choose two winners (and they must e-mail me their addresses). Those were the rules. I should know. I made them. The two postcards with the coffee fudge recipes will be making their way to Australia to Dragon_Mum (known to me personally as Yvonne or “Von” as I shorten it) and to wherever Mommela lives and only because I can’t help myself, I shall lick both postcards first.

Dear tiny baby Jesus. You must help me with the licking obsession. It’s all that licking of coffee lids I do.

If you haven’t done so, go read about Yvonne showing her entire post-partum arse to the nurses at the hospital as well as several (hundred? thousand?) passersby as she shuffled home just to get a decent cuppa. Read, with vivid imagery, as Mommela tells about her first heaven-sent cuppa cappuccino with the love of her life and envision yourself at an Italian cafe.

Dear 8 pounds 6 ounces baby Jesus… I might have to do another contest soon. This was hella fun to do.

*My sincere apologies to Will Farrell and Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. I just couldn’t stop laughing every time Ricky Bobby starts praying and had to pay homage to it.

This morning I was going to write some really funny stuff (involving shampoo and the burning of sensitive areas) or finally publish a piece about my father (terribly sentimental, but still questionable since he doesn’t know I write online and I’m dealing with that whole “where do I draw the line?” thing) or possibly show pictures of myself with yet another new pair of glasses (the words Versace were involved and so was a little bling, but I dunno, maybe I’m trying too hard here). I can’t even get involved in this whole Britney shaving her head thing except to say that now we all know the curtains match the carpet. So, sure, I could write about a lot of those things.

Not today, though.

Today, I need you to do something. Go visit Karoli and lend support. She’s making donations today for a substitute teacher’s defense fund and I’d rather you go there to comment. She’s rather passionate about it and do you even KNOW what it’s like to know a passionate person who is also totally artistic? That’s how she is. Would you go see her and comment today? Y’all are nice.

Oh, and the porn part. Yeah, let me not forget that. Her post has to do with porn. Umm. That’s it.

How about I promise to post silly pictures of myself with my glasses this week? Come back tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do.

Hilly had another great idea. She’s good like that what with being creative and artistic and extremely cute. Maybe that’s more annoying than anything else, but she asked that we participate in A New Kind Of Valentine’s Day.

It’s not that I hate V-Day. I just don’t put stock into it because as I sit here typing there is something on the news about Valentine’s Day so Kennimus turns to me as he’s putting on his socks and mumbles, “Happy Valentine’s Day“. See? It means so very much to us. It’s the pressure that gets everyone. The same thing goes for New Year’s Eve. It’s as if we need to have the MOST. FUN. EVER or else we’re losers for some reason. Thanks, but I add enough pressure to myself on a regular basis anyway.

What I Like About Myself

Even though it can turn around to bite me in the butt, I like the fact that I’m good at apologizing. When I’ve offended someone or hurt them I don’t hold on to the fact that I’M RIGHT and YOU’RE WRONG. Most times I am quick to realize how what I’ve done is hurtful and then tell the person I’ve displeased that I’m sorry. It’s not an empty apology either because I tell them what I’m sorry for so that they know I’m sincere.

There are times when this turns around on me and bothers me because I expect the same from other people. For example, the times when people apologize like this: I’m sorry you feel that way. If Kennimus is anywhere in vicinity he will bellow “Oh, hell no. Take cover! That was the dumbest thing you could have said! Beware the Wrath of Kelly when you make a lame ass apology!”

On the other hand, I’ve been known to yell, “You owe me an apology!” to people when they continue to tell me WHY they’ve done something instead of acknowledge the fact that I’m wounded by them. Making excuses as to why we’ve hurt other people isn’t acceptable though I’m learning to allow people to apologize on their own. Hard as it is to admit, but this is a lesson for ME and not them so I must continue to make amends when I’ve been hurtful. I like this about myself because it means I practice humility and care for others.

Now, I’m supposed to ask you to leave me a comment on what you like about me and try not to get the song “What I Like About You” by The Romantics stuck in your head. Oh, dear. I think I just did that and you’re going to end up singing it all day. I’m so sorry for doing that to you just now, but look at it this way: you’ll irk everyone around you with your cheery singing!

Like how I practiced apologizing just now? Told ya I was good at it.

Good God, but it was freezing today. I can’t feel my toes anymore. It was worth it entirely to see history being made and to share it with my children. One of them can vote and the other will vote for President Obama in his second term.

He spoke to my heart today about “reclaiming the meaning of citizenship” as an educator, a mother, a woman. It was a good day.

It isn’t often that I happen upon a new blog and fall head over heels in love with the writing immediately. The first time I started seriously reading them and realizing the power of the words of normal regular people like me who were out there practicing their writing was a joyous day indeed. There was no snooty English teacher telling me that these writers weren’t published or that it wasn’t good writing or that the patriarchcal deconstruction negated the thesis statement blahbity blah blah blah. No. They were just writing and reaching out to people through this phenomenal medium.

Jenn of Breed Em And Weep has won me over. She’s no secret being kept because just recently she won a blogging award. Her writing is just so… how do I say this?… umm… it’s really good. Better adjectives escape me at this moment, but there was something about this post that led me to spill my own guts to her (and get a sweet and kind private e-mail back from her and for a moment, I swooned and murmured awwww and how nice). Do you know what was really clever about the comments of that post? Everyone started describing their coffee cups to her and I clunked myself on the head and yelled aloud to no one in particular: Why haven’t I ever thought of that? Duh! I’m all about the CUPPA!

Because of her brilliance I am nominating Jenn for a Perfect Post Award (begun by Lucinda of Suburban Turmoil and MommaK at Petroville) for this post because it was a remarkable follow up to the thread of comments she was getting for the first one. It’s entitled “Breaking Up With Wanting” and she clearly has her finger on the pulse of what binds us human beings to such destructive behavior.

Was I vulnerable and tender when I read it? Absolutely. Did she describe me so well that I was scared? No doubt. Because of that, I have no choice but to offer her something in return:

Dear Jenn,

I’m trying to break up with Wanting. It’s grip is so very tight and sometimes I try to pry it off of me and then I realize that it’s hands are warm. They’re comforting. They feel good. So I relax my clasp on it and let it take me over. Then, my Wish List begins and it’s long and selfish and turns into something I never expected: a pity party. For one. It’s just me and a tedious recital of all the “woulda’s” and “coulda’s” in my life that follow the “if only’s”.

Wanting wants me. It calls to me and never in a loud voice, but a silent, nagging one that tells me everyone else has it better than me. It whispers “You never get what YOU want. You’re just a pawn in the trade called Deal With What You’ve Got and you try to make good decisions out of all those poor choices you make.” It’s then that I realize it’s seizing me again. Yet, I never seem to tell it to get lost. It needs a proper goodbye because it seems to think it can get comfortable in the core of my soul, and let me tell you: that just makes me tired all over again. I’m going to send it on its way, but I know it will try to come back. Wanting always does. This time, I hope it’s not very often.

I certainly hope I can shoo it away when it does.

Love,

Kelly

Thanks for the inspiration, Jenn.