My Husband Is Willing to Sell My Soul

I'm not a spring lover. Of all the seasons, spring is my least favorite. In my neck of the woods, it is an ugly time of the year. The trees are still dormant, resembling twigs, the grass is brown, the roads are muddy and you never know if it is going to rain or snow. (My sympathies to those who are experiencing Mother Nature's wrath out east.)

There is one part of spring, however, that I enjoy. Soccer. Yes. I am indeed a soccer mom. Minus the minivan. I love getting out there with my latte in one hand and camera in the other and watching my children race all over the field trying to maim avoid the opponents who stand between them and the goal. And yes, you haven't really lived until you stand nose to nose with a power hungry 16 year old referee (who keeps looking at your tits and blows the call), yelling about his lame ass skills as a referee until he takes one last glance at your chest and ejects you from the game.

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And you have to do the walk of shame. In front of thirty or more moms and dads. Who are either rolling their eyes at you or cheering you on. As the 16 year old ref checks out your ass as you slink away, with a smirk on his face. Not that I'd have any experience in that area or anything. Not me. Snicker.

I'm fairly competitive. Strike that. I'm insanely competitive. And so is my darling husband. We have likely passed that trait on to our offspring, but I don't feel bad about it. Sure we are the annoying people who yell at televised sports, as if the people in the little box can actually hear us, but dammit we are having fun.

I have managed to curb my competitive streak to sports. I learned a long time ago that it does NOT pay to be a competimommy, always comparing your child with another. Having a handicapped kid will beat that right out of you. So will having 11 nieces and nephew all the same age as your children.

I, in fact, find it hard to get riled up and feel competitive about anything other than sports. Oh, you make more money than God? Good for you. You're being nominated for a Pulitzer award? Kudos to you. You are going away on your third tropical vacation this year without your children...all expenses paid by your company? Fabulous. You just bought a pair of skinny jeans in size 0 and you have no muffin top? Well, fuck you. (Okay, maybe that last one gets me a little teeny-weeny bit jealous.)

Blog stats and awards are another thing that don't turn my crank. Sure, I love my comments, and every time I check my email I am hoping for an inbox that actually contains something other than the latest ploy to increase my penis size, but my day isn't wrecked if nobody comments. Or if my site meter remains remarkably unused.

I realized many moons ago that I am blogging for my own mental health, not to rule the world. (No matter what I write on the About Me page.) I am thrilled when I get positive feedback, or a private email, especially if someone tells me that I made their day, or they just lost a child and wondered if they were going to lose their minds too. Those emails, and comments are the ones that help me get through the moments that creep upon me every day when I realize my son is gone. Permanently. And there is no amount of wishing that will bring him back. Those emails and comments help dull that throbbing pain that threaten to topple me over every damn day.

The google perverts help too. At least I know that my words aren't fruitless. There are thousands of hairy-palmed men looking lick their own ears, while reading about mom boobs and fantasizing about having redneck sex, or ripping out some man's liver while using redneck lingo, who find me and my words and the relief I offer. In ways I'd rather not imagine.

My husband however, is not as passive about my blog. He has taken a keen interest in it, following my site meter and comment count more closely than the growth and development of his own children. This of course, surprises me to no end because I really didn't think the man could read. Who knew?

So when he found out I was nominated for not one, but two useless blog awards, he was over the moon. Apparently, all my hard work and creative juices have paid off for him. I have been validated in his eyes. Suddenly, it is no longer a sore spot if I spend my days blogging. Because somebody out there thinks I deserved a nod. (Other than him.)

But now he has developed a new obsession. Instead of monitoring my site meter he is stalking the blog awards page, keeping tabs on if I am moving up or down in the ranks. And he is taking it personally that I am not winning. He just doesn't understand that I don't have a shot in hell against the Dooces of the world.

I've tried explaining that my readership is significantly lower than those Queens of the blogging world, but he won't hear anything of it. (Got to love a man blinded by love.)

So he asked if he could post on my blog. Again. To which I responded with a big fat NO! Get your own damn blog. But in the interest of marital harmony, I did promise to pass along his words.

After checking out the contenders in the Hottest Mommy contest (queue eye rolling now), he has decided that the front runners have nothing on me. (He really doesn't give two shits about my nomination for Best Parenting Blog. He's not blind to the fact that I regularly let my children play unattended in the streets while forgetting to feed them.)

But Hottest Mommy Blogger feeds his ego. It reinforces the fact that he believes he made a good marital choice when he bent his knee and tethered his manparts to one woman for eternity. He could care less if I won a serious writing award or was offered a lucrative book deal (which I'm completely open to, hint, hint.) Just as long as the world thinks I'm hot.

I love the fact that he is so deep. Makes life so entertaining.

So he is taking it personally that the world hasn't fallen into line with his reasoning and voted me Hottest Mommy Blogger. (I can't stop rolling my eyes when I type that! Sheesh!) He would like to offer a challenge to all you google pervs, and men who unwittingly stumble upon my site, looking for um, parenting tips.

He has a bribe for you all. And because I am so confident in the ridiculous nature of said bribe, and because I know there are just NO way my numbers stack up against my contenders, I feel assured in passing along his challenge.

Because this, my dear friends, is a sure thing for me. There just aren't enough google pervs out there to make my husband's fantasy of having his wife win some meaningless blog award where I am crowned the Hottest Mommy Blogger (again with the eye rolling) come true.

But because I love him, and because I like to be proved right, and because this has now turned into a competition between the two of us, I will post his challenge.

My darling Boo, would like all of you to know that IF I win the Hottest Mommy Blogger bling, he will personally post the naked pictures I took for him a few months ago, so that the world can see just how "hot" I really am. Snicker.

And because I am so sure, SO ABSOLUTELY CONFIDENT that my husband, as sweet as he may be, is completely delusional, I have agreed to hand over the blog keys to make his dream come true.

Now, help a sister out and prove him wrong. Because I really don't want to see my naked white ass posted all over the net. For my brother and brother-in-law to see. Oh GAWD. And my Piano Man. He'll never cook for me again if he sees what's actually underneath my clothing.


I'm not sweating too terribly though. After all, there aren't too many people out there who want to see this aging, dimpled ass naked on the net.