Foxy Wine Pocket

Me, uncensored.

My Serious Side: The Two Missing Kids

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Foxy Wine Pocket is a humor blog, but I also write serious stories. Usually, I publish those pieces elsewhere. Today, I’m honored to be at Scary Mommy sharing one such story about explaining miscarriage to my children. I hope you’ll follow me there. 

Here’s a snippet to get you started:

The Two Missing Kids: Explaining Miscarriage to Children

My husband, our two kids, and I were at a social gathering this past Mother’s Day when we encountered a family with four children. My 8-year-old son, who is my youngest child, stopped near to them and looked at them longingly. He then pointed them out to me.

“That could have been our family,” he said quietly.

As my chest tightened and I fought back tears, I hugged him and kissed his head. I knew what he meant, but there wasn’t much I could say in response. Because he just doesn’t understand. He doesn’t comprehend that we never would have been a family with four children.

But, in his mind, there are two missing kids in our family. They are the pregnancies that I lost…

Please read the rest of the piece on Scary Mommy. Grab a tissue because this one even made Sarah at est.1975 cry. 


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Facebook Killed My Friendship

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Foxy Wine Pocket is a humor blog, but I also write serious shit. Today I’m over on BLUNTmoms talking about friendship loss. Here’s a teaser to get you started:

The first time I met Gwen* was our freshman year in college. I ran into her in a neighboring dormitory. She was waving her arms around wildly, screaming obscenities at her boyfriend, and basically ripping him a new asshole. I couldn’t quite figure out what he had done, but I could tell it was really bad. Her verbal assault on him was even worse. I turned to my roommate and said, “Remind me to never piss her off.”

Over the next two decades, I would tell that story dozens of times. It was always greeted with laughter, and, from those who knew Gwen, knowing looks. Gwen had passion—that was for sure. I always thought it was such a funny story of how I met my best friend. I never realized how ironic the story would become in our own relationship.

Please go read the rest on BLUNTmoms. Say something nice and/or share the piece too. But most of all, learn from my mistakes.


Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)

Knock, Knock. Who’s There? PTSD. Oh Shit.

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Today I’m over on Megsanity. Women, psychology and expletives. If you’re not familiar with this blog, you should fix that today. Meg is one of the smartest and funniest people I know. She takes complex topics, presents them in a way everyone can understand, and throws in a dick joke (or two).

“Megsanity aims to provide an educational base for understanding the human psyche, using a variety of different theories and viewpoints. The goal is to promote normalcy and an understanding of female psychology through recent and anthropological research, girl power, expletives, sarcasm, sexual innuendo and chocolate.”

So I was honored when Meg asked me to share my personal story with depression and PTSD in the hopes of reaching out to and helping other people. It was a very difficult piece to write, but I found the writing process to be therapeutic for me as well. Here’s a teaser to get you started:

I have dealt with depression my entire adult life.

For the most part, I can manage it on my own. I recognize the signs, feeling in a very physical way the oppressive, sinking sensation that comes over me. It weighs down my body and makes me heavy… weary… tired. I’m drowning in a slow-moving eddy, and the spinning paralyzes me and makes my vision fuzzy. People talk, but I don’t hear them. I can’t concentrate on what they are saying or what I am doing. My life is happening around me, but a glass wall surrounds me and prevents me from participating…

Please read the rest on Megsanity. Women, psychology and expletives. And while you’re there, check out what else Meg has to say. And follow her on Facebook and Twitter. She’s amazing. 

 


Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)

How Do You Celebrate Father’s Day When Your Father Is No Longer a Man?

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So, normally, I’m rather ridiculous and inappropriate and irreverent and sweary. But today, I’m showing you my serious side. I’m incredibly honored to be over on BLUNTmoms, discussing my complex feelings about Father’s Day. I hope you’ll follow me there. Here’s a teaser to get you started:

How Do You Celebrate Father’s Day When Your Father Is No Longer a Man?

Spoiler Alert: You don’t. You can’t celebrate Father’s Day when your father is no longer a man. Not in the same way anyhow.

For the past 15 years, Father’s Day has been a difficult day for me—a day of stress, hair loss, and conflicting emotions. My father isn’t dead. No, my biological father is still very much alive. But my biological father is now a woman.

You can read that last sentence again if need be. I fully understand that it takes a bit to sink in.

Please read the rest of my post at BLUNTmoms. And maybe say something nice? And share? 


Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)