Drowning Doesn't Look Like Drowning

Ah, blogosphere, I am a fickle friend.

I know I haven't been around. You probably didn't notice. I'm not sure who's here anymore since I stopped looking at my analytics a long time ago.

I've actually written a handful of half-baked blog posts but they sucked pond water, so they were never posted.

About 10 years ago I went through a fitness craze. I was at the gym, hammering away at the treadmill, weight machines, and classes several times a week. Then, one day, in the middle of  my kickboxing class a switch got flipped. I didn't want to be there anymore.  There I was, standing in the center of the room, surrounded by people kicking and punching the air.  And I walked out.

WTF is wrong with me? 

Did you know that when somebody is drowning, it doesn't look like they're drowning?

It's quiet. It doesn't have a lot of drama. You just try to survive and then you go under.  Chances are, people might not even notice.

I don't know if I'm drowning or going under.  Frankly, these days, I'm so intent on keeping my head above water that the blog simply doesn't register. 

I'm trying not to walk out on my blog.

Send bloggy mojo. Or uppers.

Until then, friends, I'm gonna fake it til I make it.

It's Not Over Until The Fat Lady Projectile Vomits

Tomorrow I'm "running" my first ever race.

I say "running" with a heavy dose of tongue in the cheek because you could probably walk beside me while I pant and huff away next to you at a snail's pace of jogging.

My first race? It's the Bolder Boulder.  It's a 10k. In Boulder where oxygen is doled out rare stones.

You know it's bad when their tag line is "Sea Level if for Sissies"

Oxygen? Whatever, it's highly overrated when it comes to running/jogging/walking/crawling.

And it's a 10K!

So, I'm dying a little bit from anxiety over here. I've been obsessively googling things like "runner's trots" (because, trust, 1 almost-incident is all it takes to be fanatical about not eating Fiber One bars before a leisurely morning jog).


After weeks of not running at all due to spring snow storms, never ending colds, working long hours, and hatred of the treadmill I finally started hitting the ground again in a belated attempt to prep for this thing. The results haven't been confidence-inspiring.

So tomorrow- It won't be pretty but it's getting done. There might be public vomiting. There will likely be boob sweat. But at least I won't be this guy (God willing):

Sweet Mercy....

Nobody Wants to See My Britney

Listen to Your Mother is tomorrow, y'all!

Which means my inner vain princess has been triggered.  While I typically schlep around in a mom pony and wrinkled clothes (I know, I know, I'm like the poster child for Sad Non-Fashion Mom Stereotypes everywhere), people are actually going to see me tomorrow night.

Like, they'll be looking at me.

And there will be cameras.

And they'll be LOOKING! AT! ME!

This is the part where I start chewing on my hair and rocking back and forth.

My moms is coming into town for the show (holla!) and she is my most favorite clothes shopping partner in the universe, so we are going to go shopping for a new outfit. Because

1. My dressy clothes are all super old and non-fitty to a post baby body
2. This calls for Spanx. I don't own Spanx. Must have Spanx. Maybe I need 2 Spanx?
3. My only appropriate clothes are dresses and I cannot wear a dress or skirt.

Why no skirt? We'll be sitting on stage facing the audience throughout the show. My luck?  I would totally end up flashing my britney. Or I'd be obsessed with the thought of flashing my britney.

And I'm already obsessed enough with the idea of falling in my high heels. This brain can only tolerate so much self-awareness.

ps. How does one go about buying Spanx? Any pointers for a Spanx newb?

pps. Are you coming to see me? Come see me! I might fall on my face, stumble over my words, spontaneously break out into song, or have anxiety-induced urination but I promise not to flash you.  Go here to buy your tickets!

http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/364530

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How Do I Look?

I don't know if you saw the Dove Ad making the rounds of the interwebs this week. Maybe you have a life and don't spend all your time like some people (*cough*).

Anyway, here's the original:

I saw it and was all, "Yes! Amazing!"

And then my brother posted a link to this article about the problems with this video.

Which, as a white woman who benefits from the unearned privilege of her skin color, I was all, "Oh yeah...Wow."

Quick run-down of that article:

* It predominately shows white ladies
* Even the women of color have light skin
* "Ugly" traits are traits associated with age and weight

And, finally, This Video. Which is ah-may-zing.

Happy Friday, Folks. Have a good weekend. Watch out for rapey-eyed men.

Me Too

We had our first Listen To Your Mother rehearsal a couple weeks ago. I'm so honored to be in the company of some amazing writers for this show. In no particular order, we got up and read our pieces.

There were pieces about mommy guilt. I thought, "Me too."

A piece about losing your temper with your child. I thought, "Me too."

A piece about a toddler meltdown in public. I thought, "Me too."

A piece about infertility. I thought, "Me too."

After I read my piece, I sat down. The woman next to me leaned over and whispered, "Me too."

There's something about the solidarity that comes with having a shared experience with strangers. So much of what we grapple with, berate ourselves over, and play on repeat in our heads ties us together as people.

Come see us on May 7. (You know you're not busy on a Tuesday night. There's nothing good on tv)

And if you're not in the Denver area, check out the list of LTYM shows. There will be 24 this year so there might be one in your hood.

Come see us and know you're not alone.

Smashing Cake is So Last Year. Give Me a Nilla Wafer.

Bridget turned 1 on Saturday. I was very excited to grab some cake smashing pictures with her.

I searched online for inspiration.
I got a tutu.
I got a hairbow.
I made a healthyish cake for smashing to smitherings.
I made a 2nd healthyish cake for eating.
I bought a sheet of plexiglass for keeping the floor clean.
I grabbed towels.

Me? I was more prepared than a boyscout for this cake smash business.

Bridget? She wanted none of it.

In fact, the crying was so out of control we delayed the whole cake smashing for another day.

And then? She still was not feeling the cake. Or the smashing. But she sure looked cute.

If parenting has taught me anything, it's that you ultimately can't control these things. So we bribed her with nilla wafers and I shot away.  The nilla wafers were a big hit.

The cake? We ate it later. (So now I've eaten 2 cakes- Food math is ugly)


And because I'm incapable of self-editing. Here's a photo bomb. Boom.

If my day job doesn't work out, I can always become the Nilla whisperer.

What have you (are you doing) for your baby's first birthday?

Also, if you know the secret to my pictures not looking like pixelated caca on my blog, it would be much appreciated.

One Year

A year and a day ago my water broke in the splash heard round the world!
4.5 hours later Bridget was born.

The last 12 months, 14 hours, and 44 minutes have been pure magic.  Okay, maybe not pure magic. Mix a little crazy in there with the magic.

I'm looking forward to spending the next 11 months, 9 hours, and 10 minutes with you, Sweet Girl.