On the Eve of Becoming Me

Becoming a mom has been one of the most significant life changing event that has shaped who I have become today.  Motherhood has changed how I feel about myself, how I react to the people around me, and how I view the world.

Today, while enjoying a rare quite moment, I stumbled upon the video below.  Essentially, the video asks women, if they could go back in time, right before they became a mom, what would they want to tell their former self?



I've watched the video a few times, and I think it's beautiful and real.  I definitely can relate to many of the women.  (and I might have even recognized a friend from the video, Amy, you are awesome!)

So what would I want to tell my scared 26 year old self?  Right before I gave birth for the first time?  Two things specifically come to mind:

1.  It's OK to ask for help.

2.  Lower your expectations.

I'm relieved that I've finally come to a point where I've realized asking for help doesn't mean failure.  And that lowering my every expectation can alleviate so much stress. 

It took some time for me, because I'm just an everyday ordinary mom, but I'm slowly figuring it out.

How about you?  What do you wish you could tell yourself on the Eve of Motherhood?

Busy with this thing called living.

I haven't written a new post in over a week.  I didn't even realize it until today, but it's been a week.   Actually, I've spent very little time at all on-line in the last 7 days. And I think it's kinda awesome.

Life, it just gets busy, ya know? I have a months worth of funny stories and blog worthy events I could write about.  But it probably will never happen.

I've decided that it's ok to put down the camera, every once in a while.  To consciously forget to photograph an event, so you can fully enjoy the moment, without worrying about if you've capture it perfectly.  

I've decided the memory will be just as sweet if it's never seen on my Facebook wall, or tweeted out on my Twitter stream in play-by-play action, or uploaded to my Flickr account.

Did you know, that contrary to popular belief, a tree can still fall even if nobody actually Flickr'sMyTweetFaceoff about it?  Yes, it's true, the tree can still successfully fall even if I forget to blog or text you about it.

This past week, I've been busy.  Busy living life uninterrupted.

I've made meals for friends, and have had meals made for me.

I've watched other peoples kids, and had the favor returned to me.

I've held new life, and gotten giddy about life on the way.

I've taken time to celebrate new opportunities, and the dream of a brighter future.

I've been on the giving and receiving end of long road trips to visit loved ones.

I've laughed so hard I've cried, and watched others cry so hard they laughed. 

I've lived life, and lived it abundantly.

And have very little physical evidence to show for it.

And while the internet is one of my most favorite things ever, this little girl ranks higher than any of  it ever will.  Summer is almost over, and she wants me to play outside with her in the pool.  I'm sure I'll have something real to write soon, but for today, I'm going out to play with my babies.

So what have you been up to this past week?  Anything totally blog worthy going on in your life that you just don't have time to blog about?

I just need to get this off my chest

So there is something I need to vent to a friend.  So let's pretend that you're my friend, and I'm gonna call you on the phone just to whine and complain for a few minutes.

Ok. Awesome.  Here it goes:

*ring, ring*

YOU:  Hello!

ME:  Oh hey, how was your weekend?  Mine?  Pretty Good.  Just kinda hung out and stuff.

ME:  Guess what?  Someone in my house was doing yardwork last weekend and got Poison Ivy pretty much all over his body.  Especially his arms, and apparently his finger.  But he said it was cool, Poison Ivy isn't contagious.

ME:  Oh, and guess what?  This someone touched my b00bs, because this someone likes to touch them. Even with Poison Ivy fingers.


ME:  Oh, and guess what?  Now my b00bs itch. And one place on my upper theigh itches too.  Yeah, I know.  I can't even leave the house without looking like a pervert. It's like 99 degrees out, and itchy sweaty b00bs make me want to touch myself.  No, not in that way.

YOU:  (this is where you leave me a smart comment on how you would treat the itch, and how you might react if someone gave you Poison Ivy on your boobas.)

ME:  Thanks friend, I knew you would cheer me up.

A change, will do me good?

We've almost completed the first week of the rest of our middle-aged lives. You know, being a parent of a school aged child, who goes to school.

I didn't think it would be a big deal, but it is.  It's already changed the whole family's daily schedule.  Getting all 5 of us out of the house before 8 am, on a daily basis, is no small task. (This is also where I applaud those of you moms that work outside of the house, and have been doing this from the beginning.)

The school we chose for PK does not have much of a bus system, so I've become the bus.  Incidentally, this driving my kid to and fro also collides with the same time my other 2 kids like to sleep. It pains me to the core to have to wake them up just to get in the car for a few minutes around 7:30am and 2:30pm.  But what's a bus driver to do?

I'm working on a few carpooling options, so hopefully that will pan out soon. 

Also, at this school, you don't just drop your kids off at the curb.  You park your proverbial bus and escort them into their classroom.  On one hand, this is great because you get to see your kids teacher every day.

On the other hand?  I need to go into public (with my 3 kids) at 7:30 in the morning.  Call me lazy, but I haven't been in public at 7:30 in the morning for a really LOOOOONG time.  My current goal is to figure out what's an acceptable appearance at this ungodly time of the day.  I'm thinking proper undergarments and real footwear for starts.

Ugh, I never thought this school thing would whip us into a routine and change us so quickly.  But according to my husband, a change will do me good.

I could just smack him for that.
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 In other exciting news...

My little urban garden is going bonkers, and I need to act fast.  I scored a pressure cooker off Craigslist last week but am too intimidated and afraid to use it. Any advice and/or encouragement is welcomed.  I really don't want to blow my house up on account of a few jars of salsa.

The love af(Fair) continues.

Growing up, my mom convinced me that the County Fair was "dirty and expensive", and we never went.

The Michigan State Fair was on the other side of the state, so we never went to that either, it was probably "dirty and expensive" also.

Then I moved to Indiana, and my love affair began.  Who ever knew "dirty and expensive" was so much fun?

First, it was all about eating.

Then, it was all about "being made" into a true Carnie.

Then it became completely about the obscure food.

This year, 2010, it was again all about the food, and one particular photograph.

 Back to the food.

To put it mildly, the Indiana State Fair is 3am gut rot waiting to happen.  Devour your hearts out people, because that food baby will come to haunt you.  Don't think it won't!  Foods such as fried cookie dough, fried candy bars and fried oreos. Garbage burgers, turkey legs and tomato balls galore. Wash it down with a deep fried Pepsi or deep fried latte, it's all available at the state fair.

Want a piece of meat slapped between a Krispy Kreme doughnut?  Coming right up, you naughty fair eater, you.

Always wanting to "take one for the team", last night I went ahead and tried out the Deep Fried Butter.  That's right folks, it doesn't get any more honkytonk ghetto than this.Only in Indiana I say...

If throwing a stick of butter in fatter batter and poking a toothpick in it sound delish, then get in line. Seriously, a line. A 15 minute line, for fried butter, on a Tuesday night.

 4 deep fried butter balls. Almost as big as Birdies head.  The damage? $5 on my wallet, and the verdicts still out on my arteries.

 Ok, I sampled.  Taking a big ole' unsuspecting bite.

I anticipated a solid.  Instead, it dripped burning hot liquid butter all over Gage and me.  Note to self: Next time, do not eat deep fried butter while babywearing. (look close, you can see the ooze.) (also, no baby was harmed, just greased and buttered.)

And I laughed, really hard.

(photos of me: Katy)

My other taste testing colleagues included my husband Michael, Katy (food blogger!) and Nathan.  My conclusion?  Not bad, but not necessarily good (for you).  It really was like a cinamoney gooey monkey bread thingy that your mama used to make, only in a gross liquid bomb form.

This will not be something I will ever crave.

Dough. Butter. Cinnamon. Sugar. Deep fried and shoved on a stick. You're welcome.

7 hours. 5 days a week. Year round. For the next 13 years.

We just dropped you off for your first day of Kindergarten.  More specifically, we walked you to the door where you quickly waved us off.

You walked ahead of the rest of us, full of confidence and so grown up.

I know you've been waiting for this day for a long time. Every evening, after dinner, you've crossed off  another day on your calendar.

I asked if you were nervous, you said no.  I think I had enough nerves for the both of us.

Last night?  I didn't sleep well. I kept having dreams about this first day.

This school thing?  It's going to be a good fit for you.  Eventually, it will be good for me too.

Birdie is going to miss you terribly, you play so good together all day long.  But we will get by without you, we must.

I am so proud to be your Mom.  I cannot wait to pick you up this afternoon and hear all about it.  I'm going to take you out for ice cream to celebrate this day. 

Today marks a new chapter for you.  A new chapter for me.

I love you so much.

~Mom

Spinning.

My life is spinning.  And I want it to stop, or at least slow down to a manageable pace.
Thing, events, people, have been set in motion; and there is not much I can do to stop it.

The evil lump in my throat, is back. It left momentarily, and it felt so good to be rid of it. I'm desperately trying to get back to that place.  The place where I don't pace around the room.  The place where my brain isn't shaking around in my head.  A place where I feel calm, in control, and at peace with change.

A place where I don't feel like I'm on a broken carnival ride.  You know, the spinning kind that never stops.

My everyday coping mechanisms feel a bit broken, and I'm not sure how to deal. 

Sleep more.  Sleep less.

Eat more.  No, eat less.

Run away.  Just stay still.

Drink more.  No, don't do that.

Pray more.  It isn't working.

Talk it out.  Keep your mouth shut.

Ignore it.  Confront it.

Spend more.  No, save it.

Say yes.  Stop taking it all on.

Block it out.  Deal with it, you coward.

Take a freakin' chill pill. 

 Don't get me wrong, my life is full of good.  Loaded with blessings too numerous to count.  I know it.  And this is why it's killing me that I'm feel this way.

That Big Apple? I devoured it.

I've spun this post 100 different ways in my head.  I actually feel more like skipping it all together, but I know I probably should document it some way.  You know, so I can prove I was there and all.

BlogHER 2010.  I went.  I saw.  I hugged.  I learned. And then I came back home, to reality.

I should be telling you how much techie stuff I learned from the sessions, how I found a renewed sense of blogging purpose, and became inspired to become a better writer. 

I don't believe any of these things happened.

The things that did happen in NYC?  Were beyond amazing.
The things that I did in NYC?  I shared with the most inspiring women I've ever meet.

It had nothing and everything in the world to do with blogging.

So without making you too envious of my trip, here are a few quick highlights that I'll be forever thankful for:

NYC sightseeing from the front seat of a double-decker bus.  

With one of my best friends next to me.

The experience provided by Kodak, the beautiful necklace loaned to me by my talented friend Shannon, photos stolen from Casey's Flickr, and the smile on my face all mine.

Hanging out with friends, both old and new.  In places that were far too swanky for this Hoosier.

Relishing in the genuine person behind the blog.

Jessica.  Gorgeous, kind, and more lovely than I could have ever imagined.

Adam.  Sweet, caring, and incredibly genuine.

Heather.  Strong and beautiful.  Her spirit is magnetic.

Sam.  My favorite Canadian, hands down.  She is funny, compassionate, and just plain fun to be around.

Dinner in Little Italy

With the best roommates a girl could ask for.

Attending too many parties, probably making a fool out of myself 1000 different times.

Does this bag on my head make me look fat?

My one regret of the weekend, which is a reoccurring theme in my life, is that I didn't take many pictures.  I mostly blame Casey for this, because she literally took like 1700 pictures.  I just figure that I'll stick close to her, and do as much photo-bombing as possible, I'll have something to show at the end of the day.

If I would have dug my camera out of my purse, I could show you pictures from:

The MOMA

Chelsea Market

The Ralph Lauren Reading Room

Street Meat

The Naked Cowboy

Shopping designer studios in the Garment District
Running a 5K, through Central Park, in a tutu.

And so, so, much more....

And probably the biggest thing I learned about myself is:

I cannot live off just cake and vodka.

I don't know how you New Yorkers do it, but I've determined all you guys live off is sweets and alcohol, with an occasional Starbucks thrown in.  To put it mildly: cake + vodka + cab rides = a super sick DesignHER Momma.  I'm more of a meat and potatoes girl, washed down with a Diet Coke.  Next year, I'm bringing a cooler full of home cookin'!

Overall, it was a trip not to be topped.  I'll be forever grateful to my husband for calming all my nerves and taking stellar care of our children.  Less than 24 hours before the trip, I almost canceled it.  He talked me out of it and I'm glad he did.

Shoooooze.

“A pair of shoes can change your life. Just ask Cinderella.”

-Anonymous

Shoes.  An essential part of the daily wardrobe. I mean, it's totally conceivable that you might decide to skip wearing a bra, or even your underwear. Sure, you might sag a little, or pull a "Britney", but  really, what's the harm?  Right?

I've worn some really ugly crap on my feet in the past.  And since I'm kinda a minimalist, I've gotten rid of the really bad stuff (which means I can't take pictures of them and slap em' on the blog).  But I can assure you it looked exactly like this:

I know, right?  Are you embarrassed for me?  At one point in my life I was totally ok with going out in public with this thing on my foot. Can we still be friends?

These days, I am trying to avoid the ugly at all cost, but whatever goes on my feet need to be comfortable and practical.  I've tried to chase after my kids in beautiful high heels, but it's proved to be dangerous for everyone involved. 

On any given day, you will see me sporting these around the city:

Chacos. Yep, not the most beautiful pieces of footwear on the planet.  But, Whoa Nelly, don't knock 'em till you try 'em.  I love them because you can adjust them 100 different ways, and they can be re-strapped and/or re-soled if they get damaged or you wear them out.  And yes, if you look closely, you can see a war wound I acquired on the weekend trip to NYC right under my left big toe.  Ouch!

And these little numbers?  Ballet flats from BCBG.  Comfy, practical, and stylish. I also wore these around the Big Apple this past weekend, and I *might* have gotten yet another blister.  But they are pretty much cute, right?

And on the horizon: A pair of Farylrobin's for the fall season.  I'm thinking the Millie's are a must have.  I mean, a girl must have a good pair of boots to keep her feet dry, right?

(picture these on my feet, they would look great, I know it)

And, and, AND!  I kinda think these would look overly fantastic on my toes.  Frye's.  Yep, I've never had a pair, but I bet they would really look great on me.  They would pretty much go with everything I have in my wardrobe.  A girl can dream...

So yeah, what's on your feet? Are you a flip flop kind of girl, or do you run around in stilettos all day long?  And at the end of the day, it doesn't really matter.  It's just fun to window shop.  Or at least that's what I keep telling my wallet...

****This post is dedicated to one of the best sisters a girl could ever ask for.  My youngest sister. 

You are awesome.  You are beautiful.  And you deserve the best.

And I love you very much. Knock em' dead.****

Guest Post: What has twitter done for you lately?

*Hey guys! While I'm recovering from a crazy weekend at the "writing conference", I ask my friend Katie of Sluiter Nation to guest post over here on how social media (ie blogging, twitter, ect) has made an impact on her life.  She's relatively new to both motherhood and the blogging community.  Enjoy!*

GUEST POST:
I’m Katie!  Emily asked me to guest post for her while she is at BlogHer. 

This. Is. Exciting!  Emily…DesignHerMomma…specifically ASKED ME to be here!!  Yes, this calls for capital letters and exclamation points.  It’s that kind of cool to me.

So when she asked me to talk about what social media has done for me while she cavorts all over NYC celebrating social media, I didn’t even think about it.  I just said, YES! And then I realized what a big topic social media is and how much it has changed my life in just two little months.  So let’s get down to it, shall we?

About three years ago I started a little blog called Sluiter Nation (pronounced “Sly-ter” by the way).  All I wanted to do was keep m y friends and family updated on our lives.  In fact, the only other blog I had ever read was my friend, Trisha’s, and she was doing the same thing.  I had no idea that there was a whole Blog Culture out there.  So I went on for almost three years just updating my blog and emailing my family and friends to tell them to check said blog.

This May that all changed.  This May I decided to open up and tell about my battle with Postpartum Depression.  Emily and Casey (of MooshinIndy fame) were a couple of my biggest cheerleaders.  They left me lovely comments.  They tweeted about my post (before this I followed them and like 10 other people and that was it.  I had no idea most bloggers also tweeted and you could TALK with them!).

All of a sudden other mommas with PPD started connecting with me.  It’s been just over two months and I suddenly went from 7 followers on my blog to over 200.  I went from 10 people following me on twitter to almost 550 people.  I don’t look at this as a big accomplishment on my part.  I’m not doing a whole lot different on the blog.  And the life I tweet about?  Certainly did NOT get more interesting.

What has changed is all of YOU.  You have found me and supported me.  You have celebrated my son’s first birthday with me and held my hand as he became a toddler.  You pray for my husband when he has a job interview.  You listen to my concerns about going back to work this fall.

I don’t have a ton of girl friends that live near me.  All of my high school friends moved away and none of them are mommas.   I don’t have many people I can talk to who understand.  But Social media has given me an army of mommas and friends right in my living room.  All I have to do is open my computer and reach out.

(Sidenote: As I am writing this, I also have my tweetdeck open and am having a conversation with two mommas about how twitter and blogging have been HUGE factors in our recovery from PPD.  We are not alone.  Even those who have never had it are there to listen and support us.  Because that’s what moms need to do.)

I don’t know what kind of mom I would be without social media.  I don’t know if I would even know that I have PPD.  I could still by screaming and crying and wishing I was not here.  My husband could have gotten fed up and left (though I doubt it.  He’s tough and wonderful that way).  But none of that happened.  The ladies and fellas of the bloggy and twitter world…and even the facebook world…came through for me.

So to answer Emily’s Question: “What has twitter done for you lately?”

If it’s possible for text on a screen to make me feel even more loved and normal and Ok about my crazy life? That is what twitter has done.  It has brought me around the world and found me friends.

So two bloghers walk into a bar...

She has told her friends & family she's going to a "writing conference" for the weekend.

It's the first time she's left her family (and her new son) since last years "writing conference".

She an introvert, that's why she expresses her feelings through the written word. She's self-conscious, running away and shielding her eyes every time she hit "publish".  Large groups scare her, that's why she feels most secure writing in the dark of the night. The idea of people judging her based on appearance gives her hives.

Why is she going to this conference? She will surely be exposed. *fear*

This weekend alone?  She's not sure it was such a hot idea after all.

Below are random insecure thoughts that run through her mind (over and over again) while talking to others during the course of the "writing conference" weekend.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Regarding status:
Does she have any idea who I am?  Has she ever hear of DesignHER Momma? Probably not.  That's ok.

Is she pretending to know me?  Because I have no idea who she is. Should I know who she is?  Probably.

Regarding first impressions: 
Will I have value to her if the shoes I'm wearing have a rounded toe, when pointy toes are the latest fashion? (I hope she doesn't notice the scuff marks.)

What if she realizes that I'm wearing the same jean skirt that I wore the yesterday? (but it's cute, and I wanted to travel light, she understands that, right?)
 
Do you think we can we still hang out if I'm 20 pounds heavier and 6 inches shorter that she envisioned me?

I get hives in awkward situations.  Hope she doesn't notice the redness.  Because it's embarrassing.

Regarding motivations:
Will she question my intentions when she realizes I don't care about book deals, reality tv gigs, ads or syndications?  That I realize my post are filled with typos that I'm too lazy to correct?

Will she quickly move on when she realizes that I'm not sponsored by a major company?  That I have no swag to hand out.  That the only thing in this big oversized purse is a breast pump and a few granola bars?

Regarding techie smechie stuff I know nothing about:
What will she  think of me when she  realize that my only camera is a cheap point n shoot, and I edit my pictures on *gasp* picassa.

And what about when she finally visits my site, and  realize it's a free blogger blog.  Will she question my dedication?

I hope she doesn't start talking to me about HTML, SEO, and Google rank stuff.  Because frankly, I don't get it. And I really don't care.  

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

At the end of the day, I'm not sure why I'm going to this conference.  Will it make my writing any better? probably not.  Will I leave with more "contacts" than I had before? maybe.

I'm hoping I have a story to tell.  That other woman will find me interesting, maybe even relateable. That we might have something in common.

Last year, somebody stopped me in the expo hall and told me I looked much younger online than I do in person.  Compliment?  I think not.

I'm excited.  I have high expectations.  I've invested alot.

To me, it's not about what you wear, how cute your shoes are, who you hang with, or the traffic your blog brings in.

It's way more important than that.  It's about who you are, as a living, breathing person. And I understand if you're awkward, I'm awkward too.

I realize that behind every good blog is a real person.  And I want to meet her.

xoxoxo-
me.  emily.
aka DesignHERmomma

That was, random.

I was told by more than one person that my "Spam" post was funny, but very random.

Why did you feel the need to talk about your dead pot-bellied pig? 

What brought that on?

You need a reason?  I just can't write about random crap without an explanation? I'll give you a reason.

I've had the worst case of "bloggers block" in history (not to be confused with "bloggers butt", which I'm actively trying to rid myself of).

Most days, I love sitting down to the computer during nap time and letting my thoughts spill - but lately there's been nothing to spill.

I'll admit it.  I'm boring.  I'm just a mom, raising her kids in Central Indiana, doing normal midwestern thing just like you.  Everyday is Groundhogs Day. Or so it feels.

Want random?  This is me.  Sitting in the backyard, letting PK play with my camera. She claimed she wanted to take pictures of the flowers.  Come to realize later that she was more interested in capturing my "mean mom" face. Isn't it adorable?

To stimulate my writers block (and for the record, I hate calling it "writers block", because that alludes I'm a writer, which I am not), I've been flipping through an old box of pictures from my childhood.  Hence the post about the pig and the one about prom. 

So here's the deal.  I do this about once a year, ironically always in the summer, when my brain has been split open and fried in the hot summer sun.  I open it up to you.  Got anything you want to know about me?

Or do you just want me to shut my TMI hole of a mouth up for once?  Because I could be talked into that too.

Leave me a question.  I'll answer the ones I like.

Enjoy your weekend, and try to keep your "mean mom" face to a minimum.  Ok?

Leaving him. Or not...

One week from today, I'm getting on a plane and traveling all by myself.  I'll be gone 4 whole days.  That's 4 whole days longer than I've ever been away from him.  We've never been apart for longer than a few hours.

I committed to this trip about a year ago.  I really wanted to go.  On paper, this weekend looks amazing.  But oh, the anxiety of leaving him is intense.

You see, we're still nursing, alot.  Gage?  He really likes me, and I like him too.  We've developed a rhythm, and it's working well.

I've never nursed the girls this long.  For various circumstances, nursing has always lasted around 6 months.  With Gage, we're going on 8 months, and I can count on my fingers how many bottles he's had in his life. I never thought I would still be exclusively breastfeeding him at this point.

But next week?  I'm leaving him.

What kind of mother am I?  How could I be doing this to him?  What will he think of me? Will he nurse when I get back?  I'm terrified.

I don't want to take him with me on this trip, it wouldn't be fair to him.

I shouldn't go.  I'm needed at home.

My husband, bless his heart, isn't really helping the situation.  He's already stated that his expectations for the long weekend are low.  He's told me he's just going to try and keep everyone out of the hospital.  What? Really? That's comforting.

But a small voice in my head tells me I should go.  That my husband can handle it.  That there is pleanty of momma's milk in the freezer, and Gage will be fine.

The voice encourages me that a brief change in scenery might be good. That stretching my wings for a few days is healthy for my soul.  I will come back home with a renewed sense of purpose. I will be refreshed. 

But honestly?  The only voice I hear right.this.very.second is a voice that's silently screaming at me that this is a really bad idea.

Go ahead, put my head on a stick and dance it around the fire.  Torch me for being a bad mom.  Tell me that this trip is entirely selfish and self-serving.  Tell me there's still time to back out, and that's what I should do.  Tell me a "good mom" would never leave her son when he needs her the most.

It's nothing I haven't been telling myself.

SPAM. Rest in peace, ugly girl.

When I think of SPAM:

I don't instantly think of my emails junk folder announcing that I've won 1 million dollar!

And I don't immediately think about that  nasty canned meat product.  Meat that is ready to eat, hot or cold, today or ten years from now.

I think of a pet from my childhood.  Yes, we were the family that had an (indoor) pet pig. We lovingly named her SPAM, because we had a sense of humor like that.  She slept in my sisters room.

SPAM, circa 1994.
  (When she was cute, before gaining 150 lbs. Not that gaining 150 pounds isn't adorable)

SPAM was an amazing pet at first, with her little snout nose and ability to be litter boxed trained. When we initially got her, my parents were told she was 100% purebred, Pot-bellied pig.  Meaning, she would stay effortlessly domesticated her whole life.

Liars!  Not true!  She turned on us!

Despite portion control, she ended up weighing like 150% lbs, not the 25 lbs that was promised.

She went blind very quickly, developing a huge fat roll that covered her eyes, therefore impairing her sight.

Her nose ended up super deformed, literally rotating  90 degrees on her face. This deformity meant to us that her snoring and grunting could be heard a mile away.

And don't even get me started on her crooked bucked teeth filled mouth or the incurable and nasty skin condition she had.

This pig was the neighborhood freak show. And my house was the circus.

The story goes...

One day, we left for a family vacation and told SPAM we would be back in two weeks.  When we returned, SPAM did not greet us.

The details are fuzzy at best, but we believe my dad took it amongst himself to find SPAM a new home.  She wasn't safe to be around.  Someone was literally going to lose a finger. And nobody wants to lose a digit via sow bit.

My best guess is she was turned into breakfast meat (but not necessarily our breakfast meat).  See, we lived less than a mile away from a huge hog farmer.  Not a cute little "organically happy" farmer either, but like an industrial hog farmer. I suspect they "took care" of her for my dad.

But then again, I'm not really sure.

RIP ugly girl.