Reflections on super powers

I go back and forth between enjoying my super powers and wishing I didn’t have them. I assume Superman felt the same way. I mean – just because you CAN save the train dangling from a broken bridge, seems to always mean you HAVE to, even if you’re just not in the mood.

superIn a whirlwind of activity this morning after being up at 2 a.m., 4 a.m. and 6 a.m. with a “threenager” who was being “pulled out of bed by a butterfly” I convinced him to sleep a little longer while I showered (miracle upon miracles), dressed (lookin’ goooood!) packed lunch (healthy), made oatmeal for the 4th grader (the real stuff, too! Made in a pan on the stove! …going for bonus points here) and everyone was dressed and ready for their day by 7 a.m. After buzzing the little tot to the babysitter’s I flew (with my super powers of flight) back home in time to hug, kiss and compliment the 4th grader on her fashion sense  before she got on the bus.

Now came the fun stuff. Wound care. With the help of my trusty super friend (Hi, Mom! We come from a long line of super heroes) we performed a delicate medical procedure on my ailing husband (a couple days out from a week-long hospital stay and major intestinal surgery, the incision was infected). Tweezers! 4X4! Gauze! Tape! Scissors! STAT! And that was just to make a decent cup of coffee. After the wounds were properly unpacked, irrigated, repacked and dressed – it was time to resume my normal, everyday persona and head into rush hour for my commute to work.

I think I have finally embraced my super powers. Whatever planet I came from must be blessed with witty, smart, kind, strong, fun and good-looking people like myself. The burden of all these talents used to make me angry and resentful. I guess that’s where bad guys come from. My nemesis is moody, she’s dark and scary and doesn’t let the kids have fruit snacks for breakfast (the evil bitch). She actually folds all the clothes real nicely but then makes everyone feel bad for not helping with the laundry.

I was chosen to come to this planet and raise this family so that’s what I’ll do, without a chip on my shoulder.

I was contemplating these things on my run last Sunday (yes, I do in fact slow down on purpose so that no one suspects my true identity) and my running partner and I discussed the finer points of how sometimes being willing and capable is a real bummer. How a broad and varied perspective on life can make you feel isolated at times. I began to suspect that he too was hiding a truer identity than that which he projects to the world: mild- mannered newspaper reporter. We were interrupted by the appearance of a man out for a Sunday morning stroll. He was wearing socks, shoes, a hat and nothing else. He carried a thoughtfully positioned gym bag. Without breaking stride or conversational pattern, we exchanged glances and continued on. I guess sometimes it’s really not our job to save the world (from naked strangers) and knowing that –  is a super power all its own.

Be awesome, everyday my Super Friends.



TLDR (I finally looked this up…yes this is too long but you should read it anyway, I dare you)


Fuzzy Fandango 25K – November 2015

I run a lot. Like, with my feet, on purpose, through the woods and on the roads. And I enjoy it. I never thought of myself as a “runner” which I hear as a common issue from other people – mostly women. We have a hard time defining ourselves as things like athlete and runner I think because we are not “elite” in those categories and definitions. I ran 100 miles in November. I ran a couple weeks in a row at or just below 40 miles total. I am running a 50K (yes… 5-0-K…have Google do the conversion for you) this weekend and I still falter at times when saying I am a runner, but I’m more and more often putting it before other monikers when asked “what do you do” or “what are you?” (Does anyone really ask what ARE you? I don’t know, I probably made that up).

I read a lot about running. I love race reports and books about running, even if they are just vanity press jobs. I’m not going to call this my feminist, girl power awakening of any kind – I’ve always been of the mind that my gender doesn’t matter in the endeavors I take on in life (I realize that’s not true, I’ve just always been kind of oblivious, either through desire to remain so or just “had the blinders on” because I wanted to believe it didn’t matter). Amazing what having a daughter will do for you in that regard – but that’s probably for another post.

A book I read recently called Daughters of Distance by Vanessa Runs, has really brought some interesting things to light for me during a time when I realized it’s really quite acceptable to quit apologizing for being good at something, or for juggling a lot of things – you know…for being a badass.

From Daughters of Distance: “David Brooks, an op-ed columnist at The New York Times, wrote about a study in the journal Emotion by Jessica Tracy and Alex Beall. The study showed that men were rated as more attractive when they showed pride, whereas women were rated as less attractive when they displayed the same emotion. However, when women expressed shame, they were rated as attractive. There is a reason men tend to be much more overconfident than women,” reported Brooks. “Overconfidence (pride) wins mates. For women, it doesn’t.”

I would note that I think overconfidence and pride are two very different things…..but…… another from the book:

“Not all acts of confidence need to be loud and aggressive. The best ones are quiet actions, barely noticeable choices in our daily lives.”

That’s a lot to soak in, the whole book is a lot to contemplate and I highly recommend it (general topic being women in endurance sports including running, triathlons, cycling and swimming…).

We are constantly told that we should teach our children to have confidence. That instilling confidence in our girl children is really, really important. The quote above kind of packs this nasty punch though, huh? Yes, darling, be confident but be lonely because your confidence is not a turn on, really and well, as a woman you should be attractive in all things and be confident but don’t be a bitch about it. I don’t necessarily agree with the study findings, but of course I am biased as a confident over-achiever who happens to be female and has successfully partnered off in life and feels loved (ugh…talk about being a bitch, right?).

If I am honest with myself I know that confident women are not perceived the same as confident men. It’s the way it is – and I don’t mean that in a way that sounds accepting and defeated. I’d like to think then that would mean more women would say: “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn” and continue to be confident in their lives until someone appreciates that confidence, loves that confidence, supports it and finds it desirable….IF partnering up with someone is ultimately a priority. If not, than just rock on with your bad self!

So all this to say, I posted something in a Mom’s running group on Facebook recently regarding “badassery.” I’m still thinking about it and the response was overwhelmingly pretty positive. Or those who didn’t like it, kindly just talked about me behind my back.

I think it’s OK and sometimes necessary for us to tell ourselves and others of our tribes that it’s totally OK to be proud, to be boastful even! Who is going to toot my horn about the totally mundane shit I pull off amidst all of life that is happening around me…but ME! (YOU KNOW

Fuzzy Fandango 25K - November 2015

Fuzzy Fandango 25K – November 2015

you feel totally bad ass when you successfully make, bake, clean, accomplish ANYTHING while a 2-year old is securely wrapped around your leg the entire time repeating “LICORICE NOW PLEASE” for 30 solid minutes). Hopefully this doesn’t come across as pompous (because God knows I don’t want you all to find me less attractive) but I just realized how much apologizing I felt the need to do for being competent and for kicking ass, occasionally. If you do this too –  stop it. Own your awesome  (All subsequent bumper stickers, t-shirts or novelty items heralding this “own your awesome” sentiment shall be owned by me, henceforth and always. The end.)

Previously posted elsewhere by me with some edits: Something I contemplate often as I dwell on the feats of amazingness I accomplish in a day (I mean, really…we all know that moms can and do bend space and time to get shit done! Supportive families and husbands are greatly appreciated and so very needed, but really I doubt they can keep up with me, I literally run in circles, sometimes around them) is that uncomfortable moment when someone says “how DO you do it all!!” or “I don’t know how you do it all!” That uncomfortable moment when you laugh and say “oh I don’t know…” Or sarcastically quip the comment away with “There’s REALLY 6 of me!” and cry inside about the fact that all six of you are FREAKING EXHAUSTED. So I was contemplating this again last night as I made dinner while simultaneously getting my daughter ready for opening night of a play, while simultaneously showering and keeping the toddler from destroying stuff or turning his spaghetti (with no sauce, I’m not an idiot) into hair while also making sure his blankie was clean and dried for bedtime, while simultaneously mentally packing my gear for the weekend’s out of town race — ALL after a full day of work — I decided from now on, I’m going to be ready with a response about how badass I am. Maybe you can relate, maybe you can’t. Maybe you already embrace how badass you are (because we all are in our own right) but I think I’m still getting there. I want a response that encapsulates this feeling without being a jerk (although, sometimes…I don’t care) because dammit, most days we just do. it. ALL. And I think it’s OK to take the “how DO you do it all” comment and embrace it and recognize it and say “Because I’m a freakin’ badass, that’s how…” I realize no one specifically asked me to have a plate that’s this full – what can I say, the buffet of life is too tempting not to pile it on –  but since it is quite full, I’m going to ROCK IT. I guess, I am encouraging all momma’s to embrace their badassery and not feel bad or be made to feel bad for being able to do it all, to cover the miles, to care for your family, to work, to keep a home, to cook meals and wipe butts and rock babies … you have a super power, your super power is badassery. Go embrace it and don’t feel bad about it. Run, laugh and save the world.” 

(Note about exhaustion: Don’t kill yourself – know your limits. That’s all).

As I look back on this – a few things to note. I’m not shaming people for not being super human. I’m saying you should totally just own who you are. I am not perfect, I don’t look like any certain ideal because subscribing to an ideal is a total bummer, man. If you totally did not clean the house today – so what – maybe you did something else instead or maybe, just maybe – you took care of yourself. I worried that this might cross into self-righteous preaching – that it might be too “I’m entitled to be important” kind of thing but really, it’s just me owning my awesomeness and saying that whatever your awesome is, you should own it too. (Basically, here I am, apologizing for being confident…damn it!) Rock a messy ponytail, LOOK like you have kids, run, walk, skip, whatever it is and don’t apologize for being pretty great (just don’t be lazy or dismissive of life and miss out on all this fun, ain’t no body got time for that….).

So, two more quotes I want to highlight from Daughters of Distance…First – regarding being a girl:

“I think the whole world has essentially been brought up not to be a girl. How do we bring up boys? What does it mean to be a boy? To be a boy really means not to be a girl. To be a man means not to be a girl. To be a woman means not to be a girl. To be strong means not to be a girl. To be a leader means not to be a girl. I actually think that being a girl is so powerful that we’ve had to train everyone not to be that.”

There is nothing I fear more than my 8-year old GIRL. She is powerful and I can’t wait until she realizes it. I hope she does everything “like a girl.”

And finally:

“Can you imagine the liberation if we could just appreciate ourselves right now? Who we are, where we are, what we look like? If we could just look in the mirror long enough for a basic once-over and a smile-wink and be done with it? If we were too content and confident to critique?”

Go on about your business and thanks for listening.

A life worth putting on chicken salad…..

As I may have mentioned before, I tend to overload my plate at the buffet of life. I mean, everything just looks SO GOOD! How can I not volunteer for this thing, or cook something for that person, or take just a SMIDGE of that evening with friends with just a dollop of work, school and kids? I mean…YUM. Right? Ugh…but then I get the side effects of a life too piled high and that’s never good. I have not been blogging for quite awhile but felt the tug to come back. I like this place, it’s nice here and I didn’t want to waste the awesome graphics a lovely, talented friend made for me. So here I am.

The KidsThe children are bigger. That tends to happen over time, whether we want it to or not. They’re still cute and I’m still keeping them alive. Mostly.

Girl Child is 8, and terrifying. The Boy Child is 2 and terrifying in a completely different way. They are funny and smart and hate having their picture taken. I prefer to film them being “bad.” Don’t want to give the impression that things are always smooth and easy, ya know?

So, speaking of smooth and easy, let’s get to the point of why I’m here today. What brought me back to ye olde blogge. (What?)

It probably started with the “food experiment.” It was not a diet it was an attempt to get back to feeling human. Many of you have probably heard of the “Whole30” food plan? Maybe not. It’s pretty awesome, now that I’ve made it through unscathed, I can say that. I did the extreme (EXTREME!) autoimmune elimination variety of the plan in an attempt to cut the inflammation in my body, banish my arthritis pain, shed some pounds and some fatigue and get back to some kind of starting point from 10, maybe 15 years ago when I maybe can remember feeling even moderately human. Story of your life, right? Long story short, I did it and it worked (for me). I feel oodles better and it also yanked me out of a cooking rut where a can of Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup poured over anything and cooked was good enough to call “dinner.” Bonus points if I could put it in a tortilla (to fill diversity requirements). So, of course, being me…my newfound energy and better health had me piling things back on my plate. I’m running more (we loves the running) but I’ve moved into the woods and stick to more trails than pavement. It’s quiet and soft there. But that also means I’ve put my toe in the world of ultra running – anything longer than a marathon distance. What’s that you say? I need meds? Maybe. I’ve never even run a marathon? Maybe not. I’m not worried. I’ll let you know how that all turns out in February (yes, February who wants to run in the HEAT, bleh).

So, again, what’s the point? Why am I blogging today? Emotions. That’s why. Another thing I learned through doing my food experiment (not a diet, that food was delicious and plentiful!) Was the emotional hold I let food have, that we all pretty much let food have on us. It’s so strong! Anytime I had to write a paper or stress-grade a pile of papers or finish a big project on deadline, I made sure I had a GIANT ASS bag of Halloween candy beside me and I made sure I ATE THE WHOLE DAMN THING. Yes – all of it. IT’S MIIIIIIIINE!!!! I’d hide it from the kids, I’d raid their old Halloween

I don't care how bad they are, they're goooood.

I don’t care how bad they are, they’re goooood.

stashes because they never eat it (because they are smart, good little children and Momma puts the buckets on top of the fridge to be forgotten by tiny people). So, today upon receiving the news that my dissertation data collection had failed for the SECOND TIME and my light at the end of the tunnel was promptly stomped out and blown to bits, I wistfully looked out my office window toward the nearby Starbucks and imagined myself in the alley behind the cute little tudor-style building, guzzling pumpkin spice lattes (they’re out TODAY – all you PSL haters just SHUSH UP) and devouring their Frappuccino sugar cookies like a coked out Cookie-Monster-Golem-beast. MY PREEEEECIOUS!

But think about it. When something goes wrong I typically react with “I need a beer/wine/cookie/SUGAR.” Whoa, did I just create a new thing? Beerwinesugarcookies? Ok, that’s for another post. Let’s get back to the matter at hand. I don’t think it’s wrong to want to comfort with food, but I am definitely seeing the downsides to

Pretty Food

Pretty Food

it. For me (not for everyone) it means I can’t control the inflammation in my body and I have to rely more on things like steroids and other medicines to control my autoimmune disorders. Again, this is not the case for all. I found that picturing myself as the Cookie-Monster-Golem-Beast helped to dissuade myself from giving in. And really, isn’t this food so much prettier?!

Made some mayo.

Made some mayo.

The moral of the story. Make your own mayonnaise. Because even if it’s gross, it was fun and you can take selfies. And now for the “whoa” moment. Why mayo? Because mayo is all about balance as should life. You have to have the right amount of everything, you have pour slowly and everything has to blend. Emulsify your life! Go slow and blend well – if balanced you will have a life worth putting on chicken salad. 🙂

Women for the win in collective intelligence

I’m reading about collective intelligence and I come across this passage as a researcher discusses their recent findings:

“Finally, and most surprisingly to us, we found that the collective intelligence of the group was significantly correlated with the percentage of women in the group. More women were correlated with a more intelligent group. Interestingly, this last result is not just a diversity result. It’s not just saying that you need groups with some men and some women. It looks like that it’s a more or less linear trend. That is, more women are better all the way up to all women.”

The researcher goes on to explain that this is largely due to the level of social perceptiveness in the study group and that by and large women have a higher social perceptiveness and so the more women in the group, the higher the social perceptiveness which leads to higher collective intelligence – as determined by their study parameters.

So let’s talk about this.

1. Awesome…but we knew that, right ladies?

2. “most surprisingly to us…” why is it so surprising? I’m a feminist in the sense that I am female, a la Caitlin Moran and “How to be a Woman” so I’m not going to go all “men are dumb and women are smart” or anything, but I did find this interesting. We all have our strengths, we all have our not-so-strengths (that female brilliance shining here….).

3. Social perceptiveness is important. We’re social creatures. We live in a society, not in isolation (well most of us anyway). More and more the social aspects of “things” are being emphasized such as in education and learning. While technology can be scolded for isolating us from each other as we sit glued to our phones during social outings with friends, texting rather than talking….it shouldn’t be forgotten that those text messages are communication and communication is social.

4. I wasn’t going to get political here, but as I wrote this, news came that a pay equity bill was blocked in the Senate that would have created some rules and laws that would bring transparency to payday and require that women receive equal pay, among other things. Beyond the fact that it’s just sad that a bill like that has to be proposed in the first place, let’s just think about the findings of this collective intelligence study….let’s just look at the number of women in government (growing but still low, obviously) and draw your own conclusions. This is not an invitation to gender bash, it’s just a point of discussion, one among many.

The researcher explains how they define intelligence – basically when someone can do a lot of mental things well most of the time. That’s broad but I get it. Think about how most women you know operate. We do A LOT of things, most of them requiring mental capacity, all at once all of the time. When I work at home, I change a diaper while answering email. I conduct a conference call while answering emails and planning dinner. I write reports while creating surveys and put out fires (figuratively, not often literally) and fold laundry. Not all of these tasks require the same mental capacity, but I am willing to bet that the female mind, if we want to use a physical analogy, gets much more of a work out in a day than the average male mind. And if I were to make very broad generalizations about the genders, I’d say women are more social creatures and if social perceptiveness is important in collective intelligence – pair that with a healthy dose of multitasking (which has been shown to indicate good working memory capacity which in turn has been shown to be an indicator of overall intelligence) and I’d have to agree with the researcher – but I’d ask again….why is it so surprising? I’d be more surprised if it had turned out the other way around.

Lame “link to something on the web” post

So, it’s been awhile. I am not giving up or quitting, but things have been a little “busy” around here. So, I am going to make a lame post where I link you to something I would have written myself if I had the time. I think you’ll enjoy.


Keep it real, folks. Spring is coming, seriously, there are green things growing in front of my house and while they may be killed in a day or so when we get a last dose of white stuff, they are there now and that’s all that matters.

A Tribute to Grandmothers

Let’s just take a moment to pay tribute to grandmothers. As our mothers, we maybe didn’t like them so much.

The ultimate in grandmothers, the GREAT grandmother and my daughter throwing in the bunny ears

The ultimate in grandmothers, the GREAT grandmother and my daughter throwing in the bunny ears

We argued and disputed and tried real hard to do whatever it was they didn’t want us to do (yes, we knew it then, too but wouldn’t admit it…what?! We get that from YOU) BUT, as grandmothers, these are the women who come through for us.

Who else would go to the store for you for one banana?

Who else would offer to wash baby clothes for you (even though you have a perfectly acceptable washer and dryer)?

Who else would let your children finger paint (certainly not you in your dining room…)?

Who else makes Halloween costumes the day before Halloween?

Who else bakes cakes when you forget?

Who else can show up at a moment’s  notice with a fully cooked pot roast when you lamented to only having frozen pizza because you forgot to plug in the crockpot…again.

Who else makes silly putty from glue and Borax?

Who else can pick up your kid from school early for a doctor’s appointment you forgot about?

And who else will accept an overtired baby for the day when you have to go to work?


Grammas let granddaughters help make perogies.

Grammas let granddaughters help make perogies.

At first, I thought becoming a grandparent made these people who I used to know as my parents a little crazy (ok I still believe that…ahem, mother-in-law feeding granddaughter cereal while she sat ON the potty…) but it also makes them wholly devoted to a new little human in a very special way. My husband often retorts: “this is not the woman who raised me” when he sees his mother allowing her grandchildren to do things HE was NEVER allowed to do as a kid. But becoming a grandparent probably means something went right along the way. You managed to see your own children through enough of their life that they were able to go out and reward you with….more children. It’s a strange cycle. Is it that you get to send them home again? That they love you no matter what and it’s OK if you feed them Happy Meals every day for a week because ultimately it’s not your fault if they’re messed up when they get older?  Is it because you get to see your own children flounder aimless and at times, humorously, through parenthood?

Grammas rock babies like it's their job...wait, it kind of is.

Grammas rock babies like it’s their job…wait, it kind of is.

Regardless of the reason, being a grandparent looks like a pretty awesome gig. I’m sure I will become one, someday. My daughter informed me awhile ago she’d have 6 children, but no husband because “that would be TOO much to take care of, so no husband for me…” I refrained from commenting.

“Want me to get the pliers?”

So, the ultimate daddy threat or joke has to be the “I can get my pliers” threat when a child has a loose tooth. I don’t know how many times I have heard it over the years so of course I was so mad I missed seeing it actually happen,  in my own home.  While putting my son to bed my daughter got out of bed because her loose tooth became a dangler and a fair amount of blood was involved.  According to Dad she twisted and pulled but to no avail. He offered to employ the pliers from his Swiss Army knife and she accepted.Twice! Even after the pliers slipped once she let him go in a second time. “She’s tough” he said later and he admitted he had to not let on it was grossing him out when she was twisting and pulling on it.
I received a text while still upstairs putting my son to bed. I had suspected my daughter had yanked her tooth out but the text (yes we text each other from different rooms of the house) just said “you better check on her.” She was ridiculously excited to tell me about the pliers.
Sometimes it’s just best to let Daddys and Daughters muck about with a Swiss Army knife while Momma’s not looking.



So, I felt the need to make a confession.

I use cloth diapers. Sometimes my baby’s butt is so fluffy it’s ridiculous.

There, I said it. It’s out there now. I use cloth diapers. The long and short of it is, they’re really cute. I figure, if you have to deal with diapers for approximately two years (or longer if you are as horrible at potty training as I am) you might as well have some fun with it, right? I mean look at that cute little baby butt! And the diapers have names this one is “Tour de Pants!”


Tour de Pants!

Tour de Pants!


Hey, you get your kicks where you can, right?

So, do I do it for environmental reasons? Somewhat, but I will be completely honest, that’s kind of lower on the list of “Why?”

I just like them. They present a larger up front investment, but I have already recouped a lot of that by selling the diapers I don’t use anymore, didn’t like that much or that he outgrew. Even with the occasional splurge on a

Known as "fluffy mail"

Known as “fluffy mail”

more expensive diaper that is just really fun and colorful, I still will come out ahead in the diaper dollars game. With my daughter, I was always running out of disposables and I could NEVER remember to get a pack when I knew I would need them. Even when I got the GIANT box at Sam’s Club, I seemed to always run out at terrible times. And WIPES. I felt like all I ever bought at any store was WIPES. More and more and more wipes. WHY does it take 25 wipes to clean up such a small butt? So, I went to cloth wipes for use at home this time and I have to say, they’re awesome. Container, water, cut up wash clothes = SHAZAAM! Best way to clean up a butt with just one or two wipes. Ever. With cloth, even if EVERY SINGLE DIAPER I own is in the wash, I can seriously fold up a receiving blanket and put a cover on it until the wash is done. Old t-shirts or kitchen towels would work, too. And don’t give me the “EEEEWWWW” story. You have a baby? Everything is gross, babies are gross. Think about it, you put poop in the trash when you have a baby, I think that’s gross because I would never dream of putting my own poop in our trash can. I would probably have had to pay for extra trash pick up at our house if we had used disposables full time, so yet another money saving aspect of my cloth adventure.

Did I mention blow outs? If you have ever been charged with caring for an infant for more than a couple hours you have probably experienced THE BLOW OUT phenomenon. Up the back, out the sides…everywhere. Poop. Everywhere. With cloth, you can contain the most nuclear of blowouts. I have had to do an outfit change due to poop explodes maybe 3 times with my son versus a bajillzillion with my daughter.

So, let’s see – save money? Check. (I am not good at this in general, so if buying cute butt covers for my baby means I save money in the long run, I’m game.)

Reduce the number of times I have to wad up a pooped on article of clothing? Check.

Don’t put poop in the trash can. Check.

Save the environment? Check.

But am I “crunchy?” This term is ridiculous. I am quite soft and squishy thank you. I do like granola, I do use cloth diapers but I am just me. I buy things with corn syrup in it sometimes…GASP. I buy things for convenience and better believe I buy Happy Meals for me and my kids (sometimes I just want the toy). I just really like cloth diapers. We justified the purchase of an awesome RV to do family camping trips in because I am breastfeeding and using cloth. The money we are saving on those two things alone really amounts to what we paid for the RV. Think about it!? Crunchy or not, that’s just smart living. AND I work so it’s not just something that stay at home mom’s do successfully.

I won’t preach or push things on people, but I will go on endlessly about stuff that I have found enjoyable, easy to use, fun to use, helpful or awesome…so you may hear from me again about this (You all know how I am about Crabbies Ginger Beer, Cadbury mini eggs and yoga pants). The laundry is not that hard, the folding has a meditative quality to it and they are just ridiculously addictive to purchase. And I don’t judge you for using disposables, let’s make that clear. I keep them on hand, too. I guess that’s why I am making a “confession.” I don’t want to be put in a box because I use cloth – don’t judge me or label me. You know me, I’m just me. I think I lean toward keeping it a secret for that reason and that I also don’t want people to think that I will look down upon them for using disposables. I could care less…other than you’re totally missing out on some seriously stylish poop catchers here!

Who knew something that catches your kid’s excrement would turn into a hobby?

Interested? Feel free to ask me any questions. I’ve guest blogged on an actual cloth diapering web site – I mean, that makes me super legit, right? Diaper changes are just more fun when you get to pick out something other than what Pampers decided to put on their diapers.


Ode to the Hoodie


Without you I am pocketless

I am cold and insecure

You hold my phone and wallet

When a purse I can not procure

I pull out your strings

They only get in the way

Sometimes I alter your neck

But you seem to love me anyway

You are amazing and comforting

Clothing so versatile

Your reputation, timeless

Even Floridians could not defile.

A few of my favorite things

A few of my favorite things

Long sleeve t-shirts come in a very close second – both being trumped by long sleeve HOODED t-shirts, just in case you were wondering the hierarchy during your next round of Mom Like a Boss Clothing Poker.


The Love Expert

My daughter is in first grade. She has been obsessively (like I’m going to cook your rabbit) in love with a little boy in her class since they were in preschool three years previous. Devastated when they were separated in Kindergarten, they have been rejoined in first grade and even were assigned to sit next to each other. I always thought this was one sided, that my daughter was just going to pine for this little boy all her life and he was never to return this affection. Lo and behold, he asked her to be her “Valentime” (my daughter’s version of the holiday). She says her friend Payton “the love expert” says this is a BIG deal, like marriage and stuff. It’s cute, I love it. While we spent all of her boyfriend crazy kindergarten days reminding her that it’s best to just be friends with everyone, I have to admit, I like hearing her stories and I think it’s cute. Tommy’s dad and grandfather are or were police officers so I do often feel the need to apologize in advance for the day she tries to climb a tree and sneak into Tommy’s room because that’s how it will happen, I’m sure of it. But it reminded me of this picture from a couple months ago:

I like this boy, he looks infinitely optimistic about life.

I like this boy, he looks infinitely optimistic about life.


Not long after this, my daughter asked me what states were the ones where you can marry women. I asked her why she wanted to know and she said women are just more interesting and she thinks she would rather marry one of them. She’s right about that, women ARE interesting.