I am a control freak. I have always been a control. Type-A personality doesn’t even begin to describe the control freak I am. I feel the need to control every single aspect of my life and when something is out of place, I seek out control like a heat seeking missile. (more…)
What constitutes a rape? Apparently, some politicians are confused about this term.
During an interview the congressman and U.S. Senate candidate, Todd Akin, was asked whether abortion should be allowed in the case of rape.
Akin’s response was that it was his understanding from doctors that it’s rare for someone to become pregnant from rape. He said, “The female body has ways to try and shut that whole thing down.”
He went on to say that punishment should be on the rapist and not the child.
How about the punishment be on the rapist and NOT on the victim of his rape? How about that Mr. Akin?
‘But I believe deeply in the protection of all life and I do not believe that harming another innocent victim is the right course of action.’
“Governor Romney and Congressman Ryan disagree with Mr. Akin’s statement,” the campaign said. “A Romney-Ryan administration would not oppose abortion in instances of rape.”
You know what I hear? Blah, blah, blah let’s backpedal ourselves away from this one as fast as we can. Are we changing our way of thinking? Hell no! Are we stupid enough to say we support this now? Hell no! We’ll put those bitches in their place after we are elected.
What gives a politician the right to pass judgment and decide when a woman can or cannot get an abortion? It’s legal. We don’t need your fucking permission. Good for you that you don’t openly oppose it but it’s not your business to oppose. I think it’s ridiculous that a bunch of old, fat, white men get the power to determine what all the women of the country get to do with their bodies.
When did it become government’s business to differentiate whether or not a rape is “legitimate” or not? “Forcible” or not? What the fuck does that even mean? Rape is rape, you asshole.
A criminal offense defined in most states as forcible sexual relations with a person against that person’s will.
That means someone had sex with a woman (I know it happens to men too but for the sake of this argument, I am going to refer to the victim as a woman) and she didn’t consent. She could have screamed bloody murder and yelled no as loud as her voice would allow. She could have fought and scratched and gouged his eyes out. Or she could have been on a date with a cute boy that she liked and said no but her date decided to go on any ways. She could be married and told her drunk husband no and he forcibly had sex with her. She could have been at a frat party for the first time, drank too much and been left behind by her friends, passed out and been taken advantage of. Or she could have been with her boyfriend of 5 years and said she didn’t want to have sex and he tied her up and did it anyways. She could have been in her home, minding her own business when an intruder broke in, grabbed her walking up the stairs, walking to the university library or on her way to class and forcibly had sexual relations with her. She could be a little girl who has a perverted uncle. If a man forces a woman to have sex against her will…that is rape.
Rape is not love. Rape is not sex. Rape is not something that she asked for. Rape is not something that she deserves. Rape is a weak person doing an angry thing to hurt an innocent person. I don’t give a shit if she was dancing on tables, walking around with her vagina hanging out of the bottom of her skirt, her breasts exposed and she was flirting with you. If we say no, it means no and if you have sex with us anyways, you have just committed rape.
Apparently, the male politicians in this country have taken it upon themselves to declare war on women’s reproductive rights.
Do they really believe that women can will their bodies to not be pregnant or be pregnant? What are we sorcerers? This isn’t a movie. Take a damn biology class boys. If that were a true statement, then we would not have so many women who desperately want children but can’t have them and we certainly wouldn’t have the multitudes of women who are destroyed by the loss of their babies. But apparently if it’s a “Legitimate” rape our body knows to shut it down. Fuck you Mr. Akin!
I know Romney and Ryan are distancing themselves from Akin but the problem is that his opinion is not the minority in the Republican house. He just happens to be the moron who said it out loud in an interview. The government, democrat and republicans alike, have made it their mission to tell us women what we can and cannot do with our bodies.
Need I remind you of the trans-vaginal ultrasounds in the case of all abortions, Georgia State Representative Terry England comparing women to farm animals and trying to pass legislation that is a baby dies in utero women should have to carry it to term or let it pass on its own, NYC’s Mayor Bloomberg mandating that women get a “talking to” before they can choose formula over breastfeeding because obviously we need the guidance of a man to teach us what is best for us.
Let me tell you what, I don’t even go to a male gynecologist because I believe that unless your legs have been in those cold stirrups and you’ve had the experience of a speculum being shoved uncomfortably into your cervix then you have no idea what that feels like. I don’t care how many damn books you’ve read about giving birth or how many babies you’ve delivered, if you have not pushed a 15-inch head from your uterus through the birth canal and out of your vagina then you don’t know what it feels like. Stop pretending you do. I don’t know what it feels like to be kicked in the balls and I don’t pretend to. I would never pass legislation that required men to suck it up, rub some dirt on it and carry on. Why? Because I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about because I don’t have a penis and balls.
It seems the United States government is making it’s disdain for abortions and those women who get them, for whatever reason, very clear. I am in no way pro-abortion. I could never get one myself, especially since having children but I am pro-choice. Every woman has the right to choose what is best for her and her body. We are not animals. We are not children. We don’t need your advice. We don’t need your punishment and we certainly do not need your permission.
Where does this stop? Today it’s abortions in the case of rape, next they will take D & C’s and D & E’s off the table. These are medically necessary extractions of fetal tissue from women who have lost their pregnancies but what’s to stop some random male politician who isn’t a doctor from deeming it unethical or immoral? Then what happens? Then women start dying in droves because contrary to Akin we can not dictate what our uterus will do with a pregnancy.
Women, this is your call to action. We have to vote to preserve our rights over our own bodies. We deserve the right to choose what happens with our own reproduction. Stand up and vote in November. Get up early before you take the kids to school. Do it while they are there. Do it on your lunch hour. Hire a babysitter. Do whatever you need to but vote because the alternative is to give your reproductive rights over to the Akin’s of the world. To not vote is to allow rape to be quantified.
Also, I am guest posting at Scary Mommy today and would love if you would go check out Some Things Change Your Forever. You will understand why women’s reproductive rights are so very close to my heart.
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Talk about your body image being crushed. My daughter thinks I’m ugly. She told me that I’m prettier on the “inside” than I am on the outside. She even qualified it by saying, “Mommy, I’ve lived on the inside, so I should know.” She told me this last week.
I won’t lie; I wasn’t looking particularly pretty on that day. If I remember correctly, I was wearing yoga pants, a tank top and my hair was pulled back in a disheveled ponytail. You know, the same thing I wore yesterday and the day before and probably today. Isn’t that the standard new Mommy uniform? It is in my house. Or maybe I’m just too tired to care lately. It’s been a hectic summer with lots of changes and little sleep.
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I’ve been moving and trying not to die. I’ve disappeared off the face of the earth once again. Seems like I’ve been doing that a lot lately. I told you all awhile back that our house sold and that we were closing on a house. It’s all been a cluster, as everything we ever do always is. Long story short, there were foundation issues. So on to the next house. We found another house, made an offer and closed last Friday. We are ecstatic, except for the fact that I have a tradition that I’d love to quit.
This is so sad but true. Just one more verse to what seems like the longest summer and saddest country song ever. I thought “and my dog died” was the end. I mean, isn’t that the punch line? But no, there is more. We do everything the hard way around here, apparently. On the day of closing, I woke up so sick that I, quite seriously, thought I would cry. Mind you, this was after a week of a raging case of the stomach flu.
It felt like I had swallowed razor blades. I had gotten no sleep and the pressure and pain in my head was only second to the unrelenting snot that was blocking every possible air passage that I have. I couldn’t breathe people. Just to add an element of surprise, I began randomly vomiting pure foaming snot. Yes, beautiful visual. Think morning sickness with quadruplets and a tequila hangover. It was not pretty folks.
This is not conducive to moving weekend. Did I mention that the last time we moved, I had to do it in the rain, by myself (my husband was out of town) and in the rain? I did.
This time, thank God, I hired long distance movers that will provide professional moving services on Friday, but we didn’t close until 6 pm on Friday night and by the time we got the truck (because it was the last truck available in the history of the universe) it was almost 8 pm and pouring rain. The truck had to be back by 9 am. You can guess what happened next? Yes, we moved in the rain (again) into the wee hours of the night.
By this point, I couldn’t breathe and I look like a drowned rat. My eyes were sore; my head was aching. I was sure that I had west Nile, the Ebola virus or the freaking bubonic plague. You all know that I seem to catch the most outrageous diseases; whooping cough, herpangina and scarlet fever…all kids diseases, and I have caught them all as an adult since having children. So, it would be perfectly normal for me to assume that I had caught the plague from one of my carrier children via the elementary school aka cootie central. Damn it.
I just knew I was going to die. There was one point Saturday where I was so dizzy and my fever was so high that I swore I saw Jesus, right there in my living room. I’d assumed he’d come to take me and put me out of my misery. No such luck, it was just the appliance deliveryman. Too bad there was nowhere to deliver the appliances, as the kitchen has to be redone. But they are beautiful and shiny, stainless steel. I just wanted to lie against the appliances to cool down before I had a febrile seizure. But I couldn’t because on Saturday, I had to unload two pallets of wood flooring into the house. Never mind, that I was so sick that I could pass out at any moment and my eyes were rolling back into my head. Who cares if I were hacking and yakking on everything in sight? The house has no flooring right now so that took priority.
I received no sympathy from anyone while moving, until Sunday when I could barely get mobile. Then I was told to stay home (because home is still my in laws because we couldn’t move into a house with no functioning kitchen or floors with small children) but it was said with the definite look of “you should stay home if you are too much of a pussy to work. No problem, we will all work at YOUR house while you sleep in a plague-induced coma”. So, I did what any self –respecting woman would do, I got up, rubbed some dirt on it and took my daughter to the Nutcracker auditions, then picked up lunch for everyone helping with the moving and worked until I literally couldn’t breathe anymore. So for those who’s thinking of moving to a new house or thinking of an office relocation (kontorflytting Oslo), you should leave the tedious workload of packing and moving to the professionals, if you are having trouble storing your stuff in your new home, learn more about One Stop Self Storage.
Monday, I woke up determined to go to the doctor, the emergency room, anywhere that could prevent my untimely demise. My plan was to go get meds and then sleep until pick up. No such luck. The Big Guy woke up and said he too was sick. I made him go to the doctor. We’re both sick. He has Strep throat (but you’d think he was dying) and I have acute sinusitis with a side of ear infections because I am special. His comment to me on our half-dead ride home, “Man, you really were sick. I don’t feel like moving, just sleeping.”
“Yeah, me too asshole. All three days that I had to move in the rain while trying not to vomit on myself from the snot in my belly and the excruciating pain in my head.”
Next time we move, he’s paying professional movers or doing it himself. It’s too hard on my health. But as soon as these antibiotics kick in, I’m moving into my new old house and finally, after 3 years, we will be a normal family again. The kids are ecstatic.
Letting go. Who am I now? Have you ever asked yourself this question? I think I have asked it of myself a thousand times since I’ve gone to college but today, I asked myself the question and I have no idea. How do I define myself?
I’ve spent the last 8 years of my life, either pregnant or holding a little one in my arms or my lap. For the last 8 years, I have been a mommy to the point that I have, quite literally, forgotten my life before them. It all seems like some story that I read about someone else. Above all else, I define myself as a mommy. It’s not just what I do. It is who I am. I am Bella and Gabi’s mommy. And I am blessed. I sometimes take that for granted.
I catch glimpses of the person I used to be in my daughters from time to time; in their fiery spirit and outrageous sense of humor and style. I see all the potential that I used to have and all the freedom of the future. I took that for granted too.
This morning, as I sat here alone with my thoughts, for the first time since school has started. Alone in our new home where we have started our new life surrounded by unfamiliarity, I felt profoundly alone. I miss my children.
They are only gone for 7 hours a day but with so much changing in our lives, I long for the comfortable familiarity in their little kitty cat voices, the shuffle of their feet beneath my own as we walk through the house, their laughter at the silliest of notions that carries through the air like the sweet smell of bread baking.
I miss their too-tight, never-gonna-le-me-go hugs and their delightfully slobbery kisses. I even miss the sibling rivalry fueled by pure love and devotion that just recently drove me to near insanity.
I miss the sweet smell of tops of heads, as their tiny, waif-like bodies cuddle beneath my arm and draw themselves nearer to me than I even knew possible. I miss the not knowing where I ended and they began.
I used to think that all the time was too much. That event he best mommy needs at least a few minutes to herself but when my arms are empty and the house is quiet, I’d give back every golden minute of silence for just a sliver of their crazy. I am lonely. I miss my children. I am a mother with no children to feel the empty space and time.
Who am I? I am still a mommy. I worry every morning that I send them out the door that I will miss something. But that is part of letting go and growing up. It sucks big balls and I hate it with a passion but I am sure this means that I am evolving. No one stays the same, ever.
I used to be a girl full of spirit and dreams and potential and then I became a Mommy and all my dreams and hopes, all of my passion was focused on raising my daughters. It still is but now I have 7 hours a day to remember who I am. This is the time for me to have it all.
I am blessed. I have the pleasure and honor of being mommy to these two amazing little girls. I am married to my best friend and I finally have the time to appreciate it all and realize my own dreams as well, without feeling like I am ignoring my family or shirking my mommy duties. I should be ecstatic for the time to breathe finally but I am too busy feeling the pains of letting go, while trying to hold on.
It’s time to figure out who I am again and show my daughters that they can be everything they want to be in life, maybe just not all at the same time but right now, I miss my daughters and I am counting the minutes until pick up so I can see their adorable little faces as they light up when they see me…as I know mine will be when I see them. Letting go is so bittersweet.
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| I fully realize this picture is fuzzy but there is something ethereal about & it is very reminiscent of how the weekend felt. |
The house lights went down & I was overcome with emotion.I sat there, my 3 year old to my right and her father on the other side of her.We held our breaths.Tchaikovsky started to swell from the orchestra pit and my heart began to swell with pride, as my eyes swelled with tears in anticipation of my little girl’s debut performance on the stage as a ballerina.
We know the story of the Nutcracker well.We’ve been reading it to Bella since she was 3, the year that she started taking ballet.It is a big part of our holiday tradition.This year was different, this year it wasn’t just about sitting in the audience and basking in the holiday spirit .This year was momentous.This year, the Nutcracker was one of my Bella’s milestones; like first steps, first words, first day of school. Like so many before it and so many that are yet to come, it is that moment that parents find themselves reluctantly and pridefully letting go…just a little, just enough to give you a great big lump in your heart.
So, there I sat with my great big giant lump in my heart, trying to hold it together.Waiting, hoping, not breathing in anticipation of the end of the first act;the moment that my little snowflake would enter stage left. Then it happened, there she was with her white leotard and tutu, wrapped in the glow of the stage light, floating gracefully above the floor like a vision in tulle loveliness. I realize that everyone else was focusing their attentions on the “big” snowflakes ( the more seasoned ballerinas) but my every attention was devoted solely to my little snowflake.Every plies, leap, pirouette that she did, I watched her face to see that she was enjoying every moment of it.After all, isn’t that what we live for..those moments of sheer happiness in our child’s face. The 5 minutes that she was on stage felt like a lifetime, as I sat there holding my breath and trying to suppress the lump in my heart. Then, it was over. Four months of rehearsals, weeks of anticipation, countless dollars and a few moments of graceful beauty under falling snow; priceless!
We met her backstage with roses, gifts, and enough praise to last her a lifetime but no words could amply convey the pride I felt in my heart. Family and friends came from all over to see our little girl take the stage.I just tried not to cry…too much.I held it together pretty well until the ride home from the theater and then the lump in my heart gave way and burst, overflowing and escaping through my eyes. There I sat, silently, ugly crying feeling the pride and momentum of what had just transpired.The Big Guy sat next to me, pretending not to notice how swept away I was by this occasion. He’s learned after 13 years to just be, any interaction or conversation can induce hysterics;hyperventilating, noisy, body shaking ugly crying.
It was a moment she will never forget and neither will the Big Guy and I. It was the first moment our little girl became a real ballerina. It is emblazoned in my mind like the image on my digital camera with the waltz of the snowflakes accompanying it on a never ending loop. What is a moment of overwhelming pride that you have felt for your child? How did you handle the lump in your heart?
Mommy sex and the man cold don’t mix. If you thought pregnancy and crabs was the worst things you could catch from unprotected sex, you’ve never caught the man cold. And when I say protected, I’m not just talking about wearing a condom, I’m talking about sporting some sexy hazmat suit from head to toe. I learned the hard way that mommy sex and the man cold are a bad combination.
I woke up this morning feeling like I had been run over, backed up and run over again by a mac truck full of cattle. That’s almost how bad I felt, but actually…I feel worse than that. I blame myself, really. Apparently, there are no “poor girls not gotten laid in awhile” pass clause when it comes to your husband being sick. Girl, if you back that truck up and let him cough on you…hey, sex at your own risk; proceed with caution.
See, normally I’m all, “Don’t kiss me on the mouth” all hooker style when he’s sick. But being with the way things are lately ( the whole living situation, limited time together) once we hit the conjagulorium all bets were off. In the heat of the moment, I didn’t care where he kissed me I was more focused on the fact that he was home to kiss me at all. Desperate times, desperate measures.
Now, I’m sneezing so much that I’ve already had to change my panties twice this morning and its only 1 pm. I’m coughing non-stop. My throat hurts like I swallowed razor blades and then took a shot of Drano and my voice is crackling. I have a runny nose that keeps producing the most unladylike green substance that I have ever seen in the entire of my whole life.
That’s not even mentioning my chapped red nose, my chapped lips, my deafness and lack of smell. Plus I pretty much feel like I am walking around in a big giant bubble of sickness.
Guess what? A 3 and 5-year-old, don’t care. They don’t give even one fuck that I caught daddy’s man cold. One’s yelling at me because I won’t take them to Healthworks science museum, the other one is pissed off because she wants me to bring up her winter clothes from the basement and all I really want to do is curl up and try not to die. Why won’t these tiny people let me be sick in peace?
So, you can just imagine what happened when I saw the dirty dishes in the sink this morning. You know, the dirty dishes that I asked the Big Guy to do before he left back out of town. I believe my exact words were,
“Please do the dishes before you leave. I’ve done them for three months straight and I think I might blow my head off if I have to do them again!”
Really, does he want me to blow my head off? Because sure as I am standing here with a red nose and a pocket full of green riddled used Kleenex, he left those damn dishes for ME! It wasn’t too big of a deal until I was on my way to pick up Bella from school and realized on top of everything else…I have to NOW do those damn dishes.
I texted him.Something to the effect, “I am dying over here. Are you fucking kidding me!!!!Thanks a LOT!!!”
His response….”I shouldn’t have taken that nap you FORCED me to take” ( yeah, he was sick so I was being nice but it wasn’t like I put a gun to his head and FORCED him into bed).
Next, as if he wanted me to murder him, he said: “Leave them until next weekend. I’ll do them then!”
Really, seriously, as if I am going to leave dirty nasty dishes in the sink until the weekend. I’m NOT and I’m pretty sure he knows that.
But I am really sick and don’t feel like doing the dishes. In fact, it’s probably the last thing that I want to do right now. I may, however, throw them all in the garbage.
Anybody else have these kinds of days? Just me then? So, to recap, thanks honey for the literal kiss of death you shared with me and the dirty dishes that you left me, as well. Anything else that you want to give me? Maybe a hefty case of gonorrhea? lice? The Bubonic plague? Dysentery? 5 loads of laundry? Throw up in the bathrooms? See you this weekend, the dishes may or may not be waiting too.I guess it depends whether or not they sprout legs and walk away on their own.
I know that news is so Monday but I have had a crazy week. You may be asking yourself, why does Debi care so much about whether or not Princess Kate is pregnant? I care because Princess Kate is something that my own two princesses and I share. What I mean is, we watched the royal wedding together. Yes, I am that mother. I woke my 5-year-old up at 4:30 am on the morning of the royal wedding. I let her sister sleep in. She was only 3, what am I a monster?
I kept her home from school and we wore tiaras and ate a fancy breakfast while drinking English tea and cheered as Kate Middleton married her prince and became Princess Kate. We love her in this house and we love a good romance, especially of grand fairytale types. We don’t see too many of those these days. It was magical and I will remember it always, just like I remember watching Princess Di marry Prince Charles with my own mother.
We are over the moon excited for Princess Kate and Prince William. Not so excited for the hyperemesis gravidarum because I have so been there. 5 almost 6 months of non stop vomiting with my second child has left me with a large sympathy for any mother -to-be who has to go through that. But as I am bombarded with Princess Kate in the news, I can’t help but feel sorry for her.
I remember that time between finding out I was pregnant and telling my husband and the time we announced it formally. That time is sacred and special and reserved for the parents. It’s that time when you get to walk around the world knowing and keeping the worlds happiest secret. It is magical.
We women wait to announce our pregnancies for many reasons, the number one reason being that if something were to go wrong with the pregnancy, we don’t want to have to see all of those sad, disappointed faces pitying us. It’s true. We’ve all been there. So, I think it is crap that poor Princess Kate and Prince William had their first pregnancy force outed because of the media. I mean, my God, she can’t sneeze without a thousand photos being taken of it so there was no way that she could quietly and peacefully slip into hospital for a few days of recuperation without the rumor mill working over time churning out tall tales of alien babies and plastic surgery. They had to reveal the pregnancy. The public has stole their special time, the biggest and best secret they will ever share as a couple.
My throat punch goes to the media for outing Princess Kate and Prince William’s pregnancy and to that nasty case of hyperemesis gravidarum because it truly is a bitch to suffer. As for whether or not she is having twins? Who knows. I just wish the Princess and Prince a healthy baby, an uneventful pregnancy and the privacy to enjoy this time together without the scrutiny of the press.
I know you are excited people but everyone deserves to have that special time to enjoy their pregnancy. I know I wouldn’t have wanted people all up in my business the first trimester of my pregnancies; I felt horrible, I looked run over by a truck and I was still trying to process the miracle that was about to change my life forever.
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Yesterday’s Be a Better Parent Challenge – Day 9 – Find your triggers
was an easy one. I already knew most of my triggers but had forgotten to lost one very important one. When Mommy’s monthly friend is visiting ( Mommy is extra tired, crampy, moody, migraney) that is certainly a trigger fro me. I have no tolerance for anything or anybody. Even when I try to step away from the situation and be aware, I can’t. I just want to be left alone in my misery. How do I remedy this? I try to be tolerant, work it so the kids can got o bed earlier and I think if I plan ahead and fill the it me that keeps them occupied and relieves me of the need to think spontaneously on those occasions, it might help. I’m trying it today! How did it work for you?
Today’s Be a Better Parent Challenge – Day 10 – Be the fun one I am so ready for this one.Usually Daddy gets to bet he fun one. With my husband being out of town a lot, I have to be the enforcer and the one to keep the schedule.He gets to come home and have fun. After having to do everything and be the schedule nazi/ punishment enforcer, it gets hard for me to be the fun one because I am so use to being regimented and so tired from having to exert all of that energy being the tyrant Mommy. Not today, Today, Grandma ChaCha is visiting and I have planed a day of fun with Grandma….shopping, lunch, ( oh, its supposed to be fun for them?)….park, pool, splash pad and a whole lotta Grandma ChaCha. School starts next week so this is the day we make a bang. I am going to try and make an effort to do more spontaneous ( because you don’t want to tell them beforehand or you will be asked about it 1000 times a day until it happens) fun things. I have been known to do the spontaneous ice cream cone but I will get more creative.
Remember that I wouldn’t just drop a fantastic trip to the zoo if the kids have been terrorizing Mommy for the last few days. That’s not the message you want to send and its reinforcing bad behavior. But if you can find a reason to do something fun, then I say do it! Choose something you’ll all enjoy together.
You don’t need to spend a lot of money, or even any money – whether it’s an ice cream treat after dinner, a trip to the zoo, a fun picnic lunch, a game of Wii, spontaneous trip to the local splash pad, just do something that’s FUN. And enjoy it yourself too.
Louboutin, I heart you~Yes, I realize that I already posted these gorgeous Louboutin shoes in my If there were any such thing as a perfect day post but Ladies, these babies warrant a post of their own! They say everything in moderation but there is no way that this rule can apply when you are talking about Louboutin shoes or Prada Bags, right? OMG, I think I have a teenie tiny humongous crush on these Louboutins! I can just see me standing a towering 6″1 in these babies, looking like legs for days..probably twisting my ankle a few times but surely with a smile. I’m in the midst of brokering a deal with the Big Guy (my husband..not begging God for Louboutins..that would surely be wrong..right?) I’ve taken to using my favorite things as my screen saver. My husband walks in and subliminally is coaxed into buying me the absolute perfect gifts. Well, I thought it was working until he saw the Louboutins and asked me if I thought the Mac was a wishing window? To which he answered, it’s not unless you have planted a money tree in the back yard that I don’t know about. Damn Money tree, wish it would grow already! I’m thinking, in regards to my The only cure is ice cream post, these Louboutin heels may be the antidote to what ails me, and in the very least..they have got to be worth some weight loss inspiration, right?
On the Louboutin website, Christian Louboutin is portrayed as a magician. Mr. Louboutin, won’t you do some magic and make your awesome shoes affordable enough for Mommies who have to put kids through college and feed and clothe babies? Maybe resistant to baby spit up? I don’t mind paying for quality but I can not justify not paying for parochial school so that I can sport these Louboutin Perdue Platforms. That would be wrong? Right? Hey Louboutin..I’m always game to do a review. Just saying. Not to sway you in any way Mr. Louboutin but I’m pretty sure that I could vacuum, do dishes and diaper in these Louboutin Perdue Platforms.What is your fantasy fashion piece? If you had a million dollars would you buy a pair of Louboutin heels or something else?
