Posted in Editorials, Writing

Be The Voice: Part One

I sit at my computer, coffee by my side, as Aurora still sleeps. My screen may be blank, but my mind is not devoid of thoughts. Rather, thoughts have been swirling in my head for a few days now and I have been wondering how to let the demons out. The frustrating thing is, I cannot just outright say what I want to say at the moment, as there is a pending prosecution for what is on my mind. Believe me you, as soon as all this dirt is brought to light and justice is served, I WILL be exposing all of that dirt, because it should not be swept under the rug. 

What I am referring to is child abuse. The numbers of reported cases of child abuse a year are alarming, and that’s just the ones that are reported. 

You can read more about the American Society for the Positive Care of Children here and be forewarned, the statistics are quite alarming, at least to me. 

Part of the reason why child abuse happens is because of it not being reported, for whatever crazy reason people have. Perhaps they are afraid of the perpetrator, after all, one who would beat a child, nothing would stop them from beating on anyone to report it. Another thing that perpetuates abuse are those around the victim that lie about it, or just don’t say anything about it, even if it’s been brought to their attention.

I was once that child, being abused and no one being held accountable for it. I was afraid to report it, for fear of being beaten worse. I know there were a few that were aware of it, and still said nothing. I urge you, to be the voice for the victims you may know. Do not be afraid to stand up to the abuser and do what’s right! Be the voice that you would want if it were you in that child’s shoes! I for one, will be a voice, and being a writer gives me a positive platform to do so. Like I said, when all is said and done, things will be exposed and brought to light, and all the ugliness that comes with it! I have the perpetrator(s) in my crosshairs and I’m ready to fire back at this abuse! I have warned people that if they are not with me, they’d better duck, because I will NOT be silent to protect the abuser! NOT ONE BIT! I know how that felt to not have a voice, and that’s helpless, lost and lonely, not to mention, scared for my life at times!

The right thing to do if you are aware of abuse is to REPORT it. The child abuse hotline is 1-800-4-A-Child or 1-800-422-4453 Assault on another is a criminal offense. Call the local authorities where the abuse happened so that the abuser will be held accountable for their actions. Child Protection Services cannot initiate an arrest, they just investigate the abuse part of the report, the police need to make the arrest and they can’t if they don’t know what is going on. Be the voice for the voiceless, be the strength they need during tough times, and whatever you do, DO NOT REMAIN SILENT! 

Part 2 of this post shall ensue when all is said and done and I can be free to totally speak my mind! It was actually very hard for me to “bite my tongue” to write this post, but I promise you, my readers, that I am in the process of shaking out that rug from everyone’s feet and exposing all the dirt that has been being swept under it! 


Posted in Writing

Rescue and Rejection

Yesterday was a good day overall, despite the skin melting weather we’ve had for a week straight now. I know, I know, stop complaining Jenn, it’s hotter in other places (though maybe not so much) and others don’t want to hear it. Ya ya ya I get it, you like the dry heat where you live ( I can’t understand, this “dry heat thing”) but I just don’t get how people can love the heat. It gets humid here, close to 100% humidity at times in my neck of the woods. I have always been of the mind that in the winter you can put more clothes on if you’re cold, but in the summer, you can only take off so much and still be sweating to death! If I could have peeled my skin off to be cooler in the past week, I probably would have! Or, been arrested for indecent exposure! I sunburn easily, which also makes being outdoors miserable for me, and the bugs, don’t even get me started on THEM! The few months that we have decent weather up here commandeered by biting bugs of every sort- No See Ums, black flies, deer flies, horse flies, flies that bug the shit out of you that I can’t even name, ticks and let’s not forget good ol’ mosquitos! 

I had three of my four brood with me yesterday which is rare (story maybe to pour my heart about another time) and a nice time was had by all. Games were played, laughter rang in the air and a bug dodging walk was had. Let’s just say that all of us were cursing the bugs, especially by my eldest. A walk down the street in blistering heat was taken afterwards on a quest for some ice-cream at the local stand in attempt to cool off a bit. 

I submitted a story for an anthology contest last month, one that actually pays if your story is accepted and I have been waiting with bated breath for results. The pessimist in me expected rejection because that’s just how it goes in the writing world. I felt like maybe my story had a chance, because it’s a powerful story (at least to me) and they were looking for stories about women being strong. 

Yesterday afternoon I finally got an email that I have been waiting for. Excitedly, I gathered my kids around so I could read them what I received. I wanted them to share the excitement of the moment, being that I am trying to inspire them to pursue their dreams.

I burst into tears, right in front of my kids. I was crushed and even though I expected rejection, it hurt nonetheless. I am trying to lead by example to follow your dreams and I felt like I failed. How could they want to pursue their dreams if they see me failing at it? Why would they even want to bother if they know that there is rejection out there wherever you go? 

I tried not to let it get to me much and after my older two kids left, Aurora and I braved a buggy walk to take a video for a sick friend of mine who has been in the hospital. I can’t be there with her being that she is a state away, but she likes my shitty photography. Well, my videos are shit but mostly because YouTube compresses the hell out of videos and I only have a cell phone to shoot with. My photos make her smile and I wanted to cheer her up. I came across this hummingbird hawk moth in search of monarchs. He was stuck, by a spider web I suspect (there was an entangled ant right next to him) so I helped free him. It made me smile to be able to get so close and my rejection was soon in the background of my mind. Whatever I was feeling about that letter could not have been as bad as how scared that moth must have been being entangled by a web.

Thankfully, the heat seems to have let up a bit, being that it was 70 when we got up this morning. Normally that is the temp of a typical summer day around here but we are not having typical weather lately. Aurora is giving me Play-Doh treats of cake and tea while I write and that makes me smile. She sees me writing my blog, plugging away at the keyboard, practicing my writing and I hope that inspires her to work hard. Yes, there is a lot of rejection out there, but that only sweetens the success when it finally happens. I shall keep at it with the tenacity that rears up in me from time to time. I got my first rejection letter but you know what, you can’t get the rejection letters if you don’t at least try!

I wish you all a lovely (cool) day, and whatever you are doing, I hope you are pursuing your dreams! 

Posted in Writing

Chasing Rainbows

Ever since I can remember, rainbows have had a special place in my heart. Their beauty has always fascinated me. I have always chased rainbows my whole life, searching for that imperviable pot of gold. If I would be having a bad day and look up and see a rainbow, everything would be all right, if even just in my head. I have never lost that enthusiasm when I see a rainbow and I geek out just as much now as a 45 year old as I did as a ten year old. 

rainbow is defined as: An arch of colors visible in the sky, caused by the refraction and dispersion of the sun’s light by rain or other water droplets in the atmosphere. The colors of the rainbow are generally said to be red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet.

A couple of years ago, a friend shared a post on Facebook of a rainbow phenomenon in my town, a horizontal rainbow on a clear day. It immediately sparked my curiosity and I put that on my photo bucket list. I have often looked up at the sky during the same time of day to see one but had not…until a couple of days ago. 

The other day, my friend Bill sent me sent me a message that said, “Just a heads up Wayne passed this morning.” Though I was not close with Wayne, a mutual friend of ours that died last September was really close to him. As a matter of fact, our friend’s funeral was the last time I had seen Wayne. We had a bit of a stupid falling out years ago and never spoke again. I found out this news just as I was getting my youngest to bed. A few minutes after laying her down, she yelled to me from upstairs, something about a rainbow. You wanna get me moving? Just shout out “Rainbow!” and tell me to get my camera. I raced upstairs to see what my youngest was calling me for, and see this out of the window:


Not only was it a horizontal rainbow, but a 22 degree halo, of which I’ve had the pleasure of shooting a few times in my life. I stood outside, admiring the rainbows and thinking of my old acquaintance, and feeling bad that we stopped talking years ago. It made me realize that life really is too short, as now I say good-bye to yet another person that is younger than me. As I watched the rainbow starting to fade, I also thought about our friend AJ that passed in September, and I imagined that the disappearing rainbow was Wayne’s soul drifting on to its next adventure, wherever it is that our souls go on to. 


I sat there a few moments on the edge of my neighbor’s front yard, gazing at the rainbows in wonderment. I was sad, but also a bit at peace. It’s hard to articulate into words, the thoughts I was thinking as I was chasing these rainbows. I saw the rainbows as a sign, that somewhere, there IS peace and comfort to those who are suffering. I am sad that the day I got to cross off this rainbow on my bucket list was a day that a friend died, but I am happy that my youngest saw it and alerted me to it, for if she hadn’t, it would have been missed by me. 

Life can be trying at times, we all know this. All of us have problems and struggles in one way or another here on Earth. You only need to look up now and then to see the beauty you may be missing while you have your head down in sadness. Life is short and should not be filled with petty arguments that make people never speak again. One day, those arguments will not matter at all, as we face our time to go. As I watched this rainbow fade, it gave me hope that our souls may go somewhere after here, and that Life does not just end when Death happens. 

Posted in Photography, Writing

Butterfly with a Broken Wing

I was inspired by a comment on my post yesterday which said, “Suicide is never an intelligent answer. One can find beauty in life without looking very far.” and I headed out to my yard to find some beauty.

I needn’t have strayed any farther than the lilac bush in my yard in search of any beauty, for it was teeming with life. I came across a couple hummingbird moths and yellow swallowtail butterflies and snapped some pics. My neighbor found this beauty on the porch that had landed there sometime during my photo mission and beckoned me over in excitement.


I immediately jumped at the chance to get a good photo of such a magnificent creature. I took a few pics and was wondering why it was just sitting there, letting me snap away. I thought that maybe it had just come out of its cocoon and couldn’t quite fly yet, but then, how would it have gotten on my porch? The spiders are big enough to eat small children around here (ok, that’s an embellishment, but I HAVE seen spiders big enough to make grown men scream like little girls around here, and they will eat a butterfly if given the chance) so I doubted that it had cocooned on the porch. Upon further inspection, I noticed a little hole in its right wing:


In all its beauty, this butterfly was flawed with an injury, rendering it unable to fly, much like some of those around us that suffer from depression. On the outside, they may look like a flawless beauty of perfection, but still have injury that may not be noticeable, if seen at all. I did not know the story of this butterfly, how it got to where we found it on the porch, stranded, unable to fly to safety, only that I wanted to help save it from a predator that would happily chomp this butterfly for a meal. We did what I deemed best to do with this butterfly, we moved it to a safe place in our flowerbed, where it could blend in in hopes of not becoming dinner, until it could fly away. I hoped that it would fly away…


The problem with those that suffer from depression is, it’s often difficult to see the beauty all around them, no matter if it is right in front of them. Depression numbs their senses, making them null to feeling joy where others would. All seems bleak and colors of brightness are faded into shades of gray as they face that darkness of their melancholy. I have been there, and it is not a bright picture to paint.

Beauty IS all around us and we only need to open our eyes and hearts to see it and appreciate it. Nature is full of inspiration. Take the time to stop and look at the bright flowers, to smell their sweet scent, and watch the beings at work around them. Take a deep breath and take it in. Let that breath refresh you as you exhale and relax. Be in the beauty of the moment as you breathe. Take a moment to be thankful for that peaceful moment…breathe and repeat. 


Posted in Flower photography, gardening, Photography, Writing

Yellow for Thankfulness


“Good morning jungle!” I exclaim as I open the kitchen window this morning. I looked outside to check on our flower bed and lo and behold, there was our first flower bloom, a yellow day lily. “WE HAVE OUR FIRST FLOWER!” I exclaim to my youngest as I grab my camera and dash out the door to take a pic. 

She too, is jumping up and down with excitement at our first flower. What a bright, cheerful, beautiful thing to greet the day with as I wait for my coffee to brew! I am overjoyed as I take a few pics and then dash back in to share it with the world. I now have my blog post for the day. 

I edit my pic with glee and turn on my laptop to sign into WordPress. My usual routine is to read a few blogs before I start my own and in my reading, I find out from a fellow blogger that Anthony Bourdain is dead from an apparent suicide, and my mood immediately darkens. 

Thoughts of suicide have always had a special home in some of the dark crevices in my mind, since I attempted it when I was 19. Now and then I visit those dark hallways and  wallow in that lost sadness. They say once the suicide bug bites you, it infests your mind with poisonous thoughts that are often inescapable. 

I pause, lost in thought and trying not to cry in front of my 4 year old who is parked at her desk next to me and practicing her letters. I snap out of it and become curious as to the meaning of a yellow lily. It symbolizes thankfulness and desire for enjoyment. 

Gardening brings me enjoyment and I post about it to bring joy to others, to brighten their day if they happen to be having a bad one. I wish to share my joy with others through my pictures and words, which is why I take pictures and write. It’s a way that I vent, to deal with things or just to strike up a conversation. It keeps me distracted from those dark corners of my mind that creep up on me at times. I guess you could say that plants help keep me sane. 

My thoughts drift back to Anthony Bourdain, and the sadness that his family must be feeling today and I tear again. Once upon a time, that was me, listening to those dark thoughts, but thankfully, I did not succeed at succumbing to them. I may not have felt it at the time, but there would have been people that would have bee sad if I had succeeded. 

People suffer silently, all around you. Those people may be lost in their mind, afraid to reach out for help. Pay attention to the humans around you, reach out to them. If you find yourself wallowing in sadness, talk about it with someone. Call the suicide hotline at 1-800-273-8255 if you are uncomfortable talking with those that you know. I am always here to be an ear, whether I know you personally or not. I don’t judge, for I empathize how it feels to feel lost and not feel like there is anyone out there that cares. 

In closing, I wish to remind everyone to be thankful for every day that you wake up. Hug your loved ones and let them know that they are loved. Be sympathetic to your fellow humans, for you know not the struggles they may be facing, all the while having a smile on their face. Share the joys in your life to make others smile for you never know when you have the chance to brighten someone’s day if you don’t try. 

Posted in Writing

Where the Sidewalk Ends


It’s Memorial Weekend and garage sales are starting out summer in full swing! I love riding around hunting for a good bargain, and finding free things on the curb after a garage sale is even a better score. I admit, I am guilty of purposely waiting til the end of the day to find free stuff!

This was not a free find, but it was found for $1 at one garage sale that we stopped at. I hadn’t wanted to stop initially, but I spotted a rack of dresses that showed prospect.I picked out several items from the rack and spotted a little box of various books.

Right in the front was this Shel Silverstein book that I remember reading as a kid and in new condition, Where the Sidewalk Ends, like new condition like no one ever even picked it up to give it a read. The only thing about getting a new book is getting a new book for a buck, a hardcover at that!


My neighborhood is full of sidewalks that just end, and some of the roads are a bit busy, so when I am out walking with my youngest, I always tell her that we will walk until the sidewalk ends and then turn around. Every single time I have said that, I have thought about this book. Just a few days ago on a walk, I mentioned that we should get that book to read and lo and behold it made its way to us at a very affordable price!

To make this book even more special, it’s the 30th anniversary special edition, printed in 2004, which makes this book now 44 years old. It was printed 2 years after I was born and realizing that right now makes me feel old! I enjoyed Shel Siverstein’s books a lot as a child because they made me smile and helped me escape this world for a while. They are written in a style that I always imagined my own to be like.

Now this book that I always mention is in our library and I can’t wait to share it with my youngest who loves to be read to. Between finding the fossil and this book in the past week, I feel like I have hit the jackpot and that things find their way to us for a reason. Whether it’s the fates stepping in to help out giving us a nudge of encouragement when it’s needed, or pure coincidence, we never truly know why things happen. Sometimes a simple thing like finding a thrifty new book for a buck brings back a few positive memories of childhood, is enough to makeone feel rich. Now I have a book to share with my own daughter, to share with her the joy of reading, and who knows, maybe inspire her to want to write her own books someday!

Posted in Writing



I am still in awe, shock and disblief about finding this fossil the other day in our garden. I have yet to take it to anyone to identify and date it, but to both those who have seen it in person and through social media through documentation have conceded that it is most definately not man made and is a fossil of some kind. 

I am obsessed with this fossil and haven’t let it out of my sight since finding it. I have slept with it next to my pillow the past two nights. I have taken numerous shitty pictures of it trying to document my find just to be able to zoom in to see details in it and try to determine if it is in fact something man made. I am having trouble wrapping my mind around the fact of how old this specimen may be if it is an annonite like several have said, which became extinct when the dinasaurs became extinct 65 million years ago. It may be impossible to tell just how old this fossil is but we know that fossils take about 10,000 years to form, so it’s at least that old. 

Rocks call to me and this one calls to me for sure! It has got me more inquisitive that anything else before and it is by far the most interesting rock I’ve ever pickd up before! People go huntil for fossils on purpose and don’t find them and I found mine just pulling up a clump of dandelions. What are the odds of that?

This fossil has raised so many questions, like how did it get to where I found it and how had it gone unnoticed before me, just sitting on top of the dirt how it was under that clump? How old is it? Where did it origionate? What is the creature? What minerals are in it?

It baffles me how old this fossil may be, and reminds me of a poem that I wrote years ago about man’s concept of time:



 Is time a concept? 

a made up thing, 

for man to manage how long he’s aged? 

“What time was she born?” 

“How old was he when he died?” 

“Do you remember the first time that you cried?” 

“How are you today?” 

“Fine, thanks a bunch. 

What time shall we meet for lunch?” 

Has time always been? 

When did it begin? 

Will it end? 

We plunge onward through time, 

never getting another yesterday. 

Only tomorrow, only tomorrow comes, 

knocking at the beginning of today. 

Yesterday goes dashing out the back door 

with tomorrow chasing at its heels, 

and somewhere in the midst of all the commotion, 

today is caught in between. 


 JKulo 10/2004 

Posted in gardening, Photography, Writing

Garden Surprise: Fossil?


It’s 20 to 9 on a Friday night, I just laid my 4 year old down to sleep and put water on for tea. I probably shouldn’t be having any sort of caffeine at this time of night, being that I was ready to punch out for the day a few hours ago. I should probably be winding down for the day but instead, my mind is racing and I want to write more, even after already writing a 1400 something word post today. I’m excited and had a great end to a not so great day, so I feel the need to get it out instead of procrastinating and putting it off till tomorrow. 

I found myself I in a melancholic mood after the emotional post I blogged this morning. Bringing demons to light after harboring them for so long can tend to have an effect on one’s soul. It put me in a kinda funk for the rest of the day and sent me to some of those dark corners of my mind. 

Gardening is often my solace. Something about feeling the dirt tumbling through my fingers and smelling the air around me as I am digging away in my garden gives me some comfort in life, even if outdoor is a newfound comfort. What was even better while digging away in my garden this evening, contemplating on things, I came across this archaic looking rock that has somehow gone unnoticed the past couple garden seasons. (Here in the Adirondacks that’s about 3 good months of the year, the rest it basically snows and is like tundra at times with obnoxious below zero weather!)


At first when I pulled up weeds and noticed it right alongside of our cement step, I thought it was a garden decoration or the top of a post or something because of the what I thought was an engraving on it. It didn’t look like a normal rock to me. My youngest was next to me, playing with a bunch of toys in a bucket of water, so we washed it off a bit. After turning it over to inspect it, I realized that it WAS a rock, because you can see a bit of what looks like quartz in it.


A wave of amazement washed over as it dawned on me that this may be a fossil! When I realized that I may be the first human to ever touch this fossil, all the melancholy that was felt throughout the day was replaced by wonderment. I need to research it further, but this just may be a fossil from a creature that lived and became extinct 65 million years ago, and that blows my mind that it was found in my garden here in the Adirondacks. I’m thankful for this find, and the affect it had on my mood. I’m still geeking out about it a few hours later, giddy with anticipation to find out more.

Life may put us in some dark places at times, and sometimes even something as simple as a rock can cast some light to blur out that darkness. The rock just may be found in the most unlikely of places, but somehow, it found its way to me!

Posted in Writing



A 17 year old girl sits in a chair, plastic coke bottle in hand, giving an officer her statement. She had been molested by her step-father over the course of a few years before running away from home to protect herself.  The officer was making her ill at ease with his questions, but after all, they needed as many details as possible to put in their statement. The more questions they asked, the more uncomfortable she felt, especially trying to tell a strange man she didn’t know. The more uncomfortable she felt, the more shredded the label on her Coke became and the tears of embarrassment streamed down her face. Some of the details the officer was asking her, had been blocked from her mind in an attempt at self preservation of sanity. She finally could take the embarrassment no more, for he was making her feel guilty like it was her fault and that he didn’t believe her, so she got up to leave without finishing her statement. The officer assured her that no further action would be taken until she finished her statement. She was fine with that, she just wanted to forget the nightmare that had been her childhood, and get on with her adulthood, with those memories far behind her. 

That 17 year old was me, many many moons ago. I had suffered from abuse from this so called man from the time I was 4 when he got together with my egg donor (I refuse to call her my Mom, she doesn’t deserve that loving term) that started out as physical abuse, masked as “discipline”. I remember being that young, and him beating me with a belt on my bare ass for “misbehaving” (i.e. being a CHILD) My egg donor was well aware of this abuse, as she was witness to it, but never stepped in to help me and stop him. This went on throughout my childhood.

One summer, when I was 8 years old, I tried to run away. I had enough of the abuse and feeling unwanted and unloved. I threw my mattress out of my second story window onto the cement below, and jumped. I didn’t go far, I went to my neighbor’s house, The Mays, whom I adored. I was best friends with their grandson, Jonathan that lived with them. Mrs. May called my “parents” to tell them I was there. My step-father came to retrieve me from their house, taking his belt off in their yard, and proceeding to beat me with it all the way home into our house, up the stairs and back to my bedroom.

I was left cowering on my bed, bloodied and black and blue, drowning in my tears. I felt unwanted, scared, hopeless and very alone. I felt worthless, I wanted to die if it meant that I could escape the hell I was being forced to live. That spark that a child is supposed to have had long been snuffed. I was an empty shell of a human being.

My egg donor came into my room a little later and simply asked, “Why did you do that?” I felt like telling her to take a good look at my bloodied face from the nosebleed I had, and the welts all over my body, but even if she could see, she was blind. I sat there sobbing and didn’t say a word. It should have been glaringly obvious to her, standing in front of her sobbing and battered 8 year old daughter, but she was oblivious to my pain apparently.

The beatings turned into molestation when I was about the age of 14 and this abuse was secret, only happening when my egg donor was not home. I was afraid to tell anyone about it. I was scared that no one would believe me. I felt like I had no one to tell, because I didn’t really. Sometimes I would wish that I would get pregnant, just so there would have been proof of what he had been doing to me. I was trapped in my own head, in my own hell, that I had no capability of escaping. I just wanted out, one way or another. I was even deader inside than my 8 year old self. My egg donor was always threatening me that when I turned 18 that I was going to be out of the house. Ya, that threat really scared me, as if I didn’t look forward to my escape from that hellhole! I always told her that as soon as I turned 18 in November of my senior year, I was outta there, to which she would retort, “Not until you graduate!” I wasn’t going to wait that long, and I didn’t!

A week before my 17th birthday, I went to school one Friday and never returned home. Thankfully I had a friend to stay with, who’s family was very kind to me, eventhough they had not known yet what I had been through. My egg donor had tried to call the police on me to make them take me home, but they pretty much told her that they couldn’t do anything about it as long as I was safe. Thank God for that, for my nightmare was finally over and I could leave it behind me…so I thought.

I worked at a restaurant at the time and my creepy old Greek boss was trying to hit on me all the time, trying to get me in to do oddball work when the restaurant was closed, and he had started trying to grope me. I was certainly not going to put up with that, so I just quit one day. My friend’s younger sister asked me why I was not at work that day and I answered, “You know that song, Janie’s Got a Gun by Aerosmith?” That’s all I needed to say for her to understand, and I could tell that she had put 2 and 2 together as to why I had run away from home. She told me that I needed to tell her parents, because they would be wondering why I quit my job.

My friend’s parents were appalled at what I told them, and encouraged me to go make a statement with the police so that he would be arrested for what he had done to me over the years.

Well guess what? The police lied to me about not pursuing my statement more until I finished it, because the next day, they went to school where my 3 younger half sisters attended to questions them about things. That’s how my egg donor found out what I had been through, and instead of being the mother she should have been, she denied my claims and outright said I was lying and that she didn’t want to talk to me until I told her the truth about what had happened. I told her that I will not ever lie and tell her what she wants to hear, because what happened, DID happen!

I have not talked to her in about 30 years now, nor my 3 half sisters, because they all think that I am a liar, that their Dad would have never done anything like that. Secretly, I had hoped that he would have molested them, so that they too would believe what I went through. But, he never beat them or abused them like he did to me, because they were his own children.

In February of 2012, my step-father finally died. I didn’t find out until a few months later when I was visiting my parents and my Dad had told me he read the obituary. As horrible of a human being that this may sound, I rejoiced that he died! I was sincerely happy to learn that he had finally been buried 6 feet under to rot! I celebrated with a bottle of tequila. Do I feel guilty? Absolutely NOT! I feel relieved, that I can actually bury my past now, knowing that he will never be able to hurt another human ever again! I’ll celebrate the same when my egg donor kicks the bucket and another cause of my childhood hell is rotting 6 feet under!

Posted in Editorials, Writing


Let’s take a moment to discuss a controversial topic-breasts, of the human kind. That’s right, I wrote it, BREASTS! Boobs. Boobies. Ta-tas. Titties. Tits. Knockers. Jugs. Melons. Hooters. The list goes on, referring to the female anatomy, even though men have them too (when they have noticeable ones that we call moobs).

Men and women both have breasts and nipples, (men can even have mammary ducts, though those stop developing when puberty hits) the difference being that with the onset of puberty, a women’s breasts develop to be able to lactate to feed their offspring. They are not sexual organs in a woman, but rather, a secondary sexual characteristic, being that they are not used in conceiving a child.

The definition of indecent exposure is defined as exposure of one’s genitals, which does not include breasts. It’s legal for men to go topless in public and yet in some states, a woman can still get arrested for indecent exposure. Why is that, I wonder? It’s because we live in a sexist society, that applauds men for showing off their pectorals and shame women for a natural thing like breastfeeding. Moreover, it’s mostly men that sexualize those breasts and then make the laws that penalize a women for exposing hers in public! 

breastfeed pic that go reported

The above picture was taken in August of 2014, when my youngest child was about 8 months old. We often are outdoors in nature, and this day was no exception. It was a beautiful day and my baby girl and I went for a hike. Along the way she got hungry, so we stopped by this serene spot so she could nurse.

I am one to err on the side of prude rather than being an exhibitionist, and was always very discreet when feeding my babies in public, or, even in nature as you can see in this picture. There were times I’d be right in the store feeding my baby, walking around, and people would take no notice, until they would walk up to say hi and saw what I was doing. 

Apparently, someone got offended about my picture on Facebook when I posted it, and reported it for nudity.

reported photo 

It’s obvious that the person did not even pay attention to my photo and was under the assumption that I have some giant breasts! (I wish) The only nudity in this picture is the top of my baby’s naked head!!!!

Please, people, let’s stop this breastism (I word I proudly made up just for this post!) Stop sexualizing a woman’s breasts, because they are not sexual organs. They are not play things or boy toys for guys to gawk at! They are organs meant to sustain a baby with their mama’s milk, and a woman should not be chastised about it, if she happens to show them off. After all, men proudly parade around shirtless, showing off their 6-pack pectorals (or not in some cases, which is fine too, not everyone has an Apollo body!) so why can’t a woman go topless, should she choose to? 

What’s your opinion about breastism, and, do you like my word I made up today?