The 100-things meme seems to be making the rounds again, but I don’t particularly care for it. However, it underscored the realization that I don’t have an “about me” page (outside of my day-to-day blog entries) so without further ado, here it is.
The name “Tinklebelle” stems from my former involvement in Amtgard, a LARP. Specifically, my garb/character was that of a faerie that wore a LOT of bells (get it? Tinkle bell. Yeah, well – it was cute and funny at the time 
) Unfortunately, I was pregnant and/or nursing during the largest part of my involvement with them, so I spent a LOT of time on the sidelines doing crochet. At the time I didn’t know how to knit. I very much miss getting garbed up and spending time with other Rennies.
I have prehensile toes. This means I can pick things up with them. It is for this reason that I absolutely *despise* wearing shoes. If I’m wearing lace-up shoes, I’m incredibly uncomfortable. Ditto for pantyhose – can’t stand them.
My husband left me for another woman. I didn’t mind the affair (I’m of a poly mindset), but I *did* mind his attitude toward me – specifically, his lack of consideration for my well-being. I carry a permanent reminder of this lack of consideration. Because he took his own sweet time getting the divorce (he wanted it, he could pay for the damn thing), my toddler is in a legal sense a child of that marriage. My toddler is also the only child with a name on the “father” line of his birth certificate.
I was never legally married to his father. We joked that we didn’t want him tainted by legitimacy. I’m very glad we didn’t get married. After I had Daniel, I realized that I very much wanted to be married again…..just not to him.
I’ve never been drunk. I go straight from sober to snoring with no in-between time. I’ve also never been hungover. I don’t drink anymore for this reason. Been craving a clove cig and a beer for months now. I don’t really know why.
From age 10 to age 15, I was the pianist for a fundamental/pentecostal church. From age 16 until now I haven’t attended a church on a regular basis. My parents are STILL trying to figure that one out (since I wasn’t “raised that way”). Although I don’t ascribe to any particular religion anymore, I still INSISTED on getting married in a church.
I love reading, and would still rather read a good book than socialize. This has interfered with well-meaning friends’ attempts to set me up on more than one occasion. They no longer suggest I meet someone for coffee at a bookstore.
I am the only member of my family (on both sides) to have a number of non-military-related moves out of state. Although they complimented me on “having the balls to leave”, they really didn’t understand why I felt the need to move OR to come back. This lack of understanding is more thorough than that, though. They honestly and truly don’t know me. I want to keep it that way.
I’ve mentioned before that my cousin calls me a hippy. He calls me this because I: cloth diaper my boys, allow them to sleep in my bed, breastfeed them when they are hungry (as opposed to having them on a schedule), and allow Daniel to go naked to facilitate potty training. There are other things, but those come to mind. According to this cousin, my children are “a discipline problem”.
As much as I’d like to have another relationship, the idea of starting again is daunting and terrifying.
I don’t know if I’m through having children. Mom rolls her eyes every time I say that. She thought I should have quit with two. She also forgets that I lost two babies. If I hadn’t lost those pregnancies, I would have five children – not three. The loss of the second baby figured significantly in my decision to leave Daniel’s father. He was infuriated that I was pregnant again, but too damn lazy to buy and wear condoms. I can’t take hormonal birth control – it makes me psycho. No, not mood swing psycho. Auditory hallucination psycho. Danger to myself and the people around me psycho. I learned about this the hard way.
My sex life has been one of feast or famine. The current “famine” has gone on for 18 months with no end in sight. It didn’t bother me much during the first year, but I’m starting to miss intimacy more and more. I haven’t been able thus far to find a man who can “handle” me.
My first husband taught me that there is a definite difference between a Dom and a butt-reaming asshole. He also taught me that there are worse things than being alone.
I am happier being an at-home mom than any other “career” I’ve tried. I am not looking forward to having to find a job in December when Mom retires.
That’s everything I can think of right now.
I got lucky this last trip to the library, and have enough reading material for at least the next week.