tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4865989984013713232024-03-05T09:11:52.397-05:00Self-Evident SupermomI don't believe a mom needs anyone but herself to believe she's doing a fantastic job. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-23806090450646342732014-04-28T23:41:00.000-04:002014-04-28T23:45:56.214-04:0031 for 31Happy Monday!<br />
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I turned 31 on Friday. Please don't sing "Happy Birthday." The only reason I don't post my birthday on Facebook is because I avoid that song like the plague. I hate it. HATE IT. Have you ever noticed the more people involved in singing it, the more out of tune everyone is? What is that about?<br />
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Anyway, as much as I would have loved to do a second year of <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/04/thirty-good-deeds-to-celebrate-turning.html" target="_blank">good deeds to match my age</a>, I was working (saving days off for my honeymoon) and really did not have the budget. However, I did come up with an idea to celebrate my 31 years of age and, um, wisdom.<br />
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So, here you go. Thirty-one of my personal tips and tricks I've collected throughout the years.<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
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<b>Purse essentials</b><br />
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1. Baby wipes. Even if a child is no where in sight, they come in handy all the time for me. From spills to going to a BBQ restaurant to department store sample mishaps to the obvious needs that arise when a toddler is in tow.<br />
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2. Hair ties. I never have enough. And my habit of taking them off when I go to bed and putting them on the nightstand only hinders me more when I wake up and find the cats have taken them as their personal toy and hidden them. Because of this, I've had to make do with what I have on hand to keep my hair out of my face, as I'll go into more about below.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmSnAf9mz5owAD6r2LUB90j9xk7jNcDUjAW5ejJjGGNK6vVm9p3gUJNAV5T872prBDW0tduhgaAjyoFkLAryNw2Z3UEjYBNLh_zMGMcsGZViEIjmd8o1DEXDCfHx7RLqbtBBW_fAGEeUR_/s1600/Purse.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmSnAf9mz5owAD6r2LUB90j9xk7jNcDUjAW5ejJjGGNK6vVm9p3gUJNAV5T872prBDW0tduhgaAjyoFkLAryNw2Z3UEjYBNLh_zMGMcsGZViEIjmd8o1DEXDCfHx7RLqbtBBW_fAGEeUR_/s1600/Purse.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Believe it or not, I even made the purse more<br />
presentable before taking this photo.</td></tr>
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3. Pockets. If I purse doesn't have little pockets, I don't buy it. I need at least some form of organization to my purse, despite its current condition as a jumbled heap of this and that. But at least I know there's a pocket for my concealer and lipstick, tampons, pens, and a special pocket just for my keys so I'm not going through my monstrous bag for five minutes.I even keep diapers and changing supplies in a zippered pocket so they are concealed easily when I'm using my purse for non-Mom things, without fear of having a diaper fall out in public. I've been sporting Martha Stewart's (yes, I groan too) small tote from Staples, which, unfortunately, looks like it's no longer available. I was planning on buying another color with my tax refund, but now it looks like I'll be duct taping this baby when the time comes because I haven't found anything remotely as wonderful.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd_PO1-lJAqAuq0owqqc_sR9WUE6gvKLk-ViVNsRu-xGNAo-t6SCiDPOEyXy_Diy8Tam0GRW8fhHOdXJsQoCQSYQfU-F_Tff_7xEJpn0YYfsevo7rITEX2Q_EoHW_IHiwNbb3oUDvOzVPc/s1600/Wallet.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd_PO1-lJAqAuq0owqqc_sR9WUE6gvKLk-ViVNsRu-xGNAo-t6SCiDPOEyXy_Diy8Tam0GRW8fhHOdXJsQoCQSYQfU-F_Tff_7xEJpn0YYfsevo7rITEX2Q_EoHW_IHiwNbb3oUDvOzVPc/s1600/Wallet.JPG" height="132" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKUTW11KnH8ygsuGErY_nVQb8ZwWqSX49tqopzm0vTcPrLL9A9WeLGk8FwcfLlBOIASdH1FsGy_O68jn4qTtwrSoevfOg0o1C5NBnz5BX2Omz22D9HTzAb5EVhmE4M0yVVVGrFtKt3ZCh9/s1600/Wallet2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKUTW11KnH8ygsuGErY_nVQb8ZwWqSX49tqopzm0vTcPrLL9A9WeLGk8FwcfLlBOIASdH1FsGy_O68jn4qTtwrSoevfOg0o1C5NBnz5BX2Omz22D9HTzAb5EVhmE4M0yVVVGrFtKt3ZCh9/s1600/Wallet2.JPG" height="132" width="200" /></a>4. A good wallet. I also have the matching wallet to my purse, which has another little pocket in it. I can carry my cards and my phone in it, as well as a tampon in the small descrete pocket, and since it's a wristlet, sometimes I just grab that and go when I don't need the rest of the bundle.<br />
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5. Pouches. I got pencil pouches at the dollar store in different colors and separated items into these categories: First Aid, Snacks and Miscellaneous. Because of this simple trick, I've been able to find my allergy pills as soon as the first sneeze hits or a quick pick-me-up when I'm starting to feel hangry (angry resulting from being hungry) or just a USB charging cable when I realize my battery's low. I also recently got a portable purse charger from Amazon, which are cheap enough and small enough to carry around for quick charging needs. I've also seen them on the discount shopping Apps like Groupon and Living Social. I even use glasses cases I got at the dollar store for my headphones and another one for plastic bags (more on those later).<br />
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<b>Home</b><br />
<b><br /></b>6. Wipes. As much as I would love to go crunchy and have a paper-free kitchen, I just can't. I've tried. I just hate anything that adds to my already accumulating laundry pile. Plus, I hate seeing fabric, even fabric specifically made for these kinds of jobs, get soiled and stained. Maybe one day, but until that day comes, the disinfecting wipes that come in three-packs have kept my kitchen and bathroom looking good since doing some spring cleaning last week.<br />
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7. A hole drilled in the garbage can. I saw it on Pinterest and immediately had the fiancee do it to our garbage can. It's a small hole for air to go through so putting the bag in doesn't create a huge air pocket, and taking it out doesn't involve a crane.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJhNZ9NhfrIIxY7MXLwQSPkJIbdyB-rUM-2r4GmnkNGLecexpKn9XirhIhkFTgPJTSK8QHUDut5g-rffoUG-uk3tGx7kZuwiTN4gWoI5XObpnfjYSpGkLegvCNXJbrFnDTPJjPU82mTVT_/s1600/FabricDrawers.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJhNZ9NhfrIIxY7MXLwQSPkJIbdyB-rUM-2r4GmnkNGLecexpKn9XirhIhkFTgPJTSK8QHUDut5g-rffoUG-uk3tGx7kZuwiTN4gWoI5XObpnfjYSpGkLegvCNXJbrFnDTPJjPU82mTVT_/s1600/FabricDrawers.JPG" height="211" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Record: Temples. Filling the psychodelic <br />
retro rock hole I didn't know I had.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
8. The fabric shelf drawers from IKEA. Look, I've seen decorators use shelves for a lovely display. And, if I had the room, I would gladly do it. But, I need my shelves to serve their intended purpose: shelving things. So, with the abundance of toys and, ahem, clutter invading my living room, I invested in the fabric shelve drawers that go with our shelving units, similar to <a href="http://www.ikea.com/us/en/catalog/products/30219281/" target="_blank">these</a> (not sure why the ones I have aren't on the IKEA site). I use them for puzzles, craft supplies and hats and scarves. And I can still maintain an adult-ish appearance.<br />
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9. Ottoman with storage. Believe it or not, in this chic $15 Target storage ottoman are diapers and diaper supplies. When I realized we didn't have room for a full-blown changing table, I took to changing my daughter on the couch or on her bed. In three years, I'm pretty good about keeping the diaper contents off the furniture -- a skill I hope every parent has the chance to possess. Once potty-training (ugh) is complete, I will gladly retain that storage for something else and it sadly excites me to daydream about what that would be.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpjxILesJR5nqp_X_TUKYvCY0MQH0anXJbpoW5Jb6D7eANtImtoiY3HOmMg95LqDCU8LcfwcEEzkXnich8K5bZQztLDUq2zNQsiTL9EKrmyBQa5sQOqaQEmKNDfAQsQAX4-_n_shstlUrT/s1600/LittleOttoman.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpjxILesJR5nqp_X_TUKYvCY0MQH0anXJbpoW5Jb6D7eANtImtoiY3HOmMg95LqDCU8LcfwcEEzkXnich8K5bZQztLDUq2zNQsiTL9EKrmyBQa5sQOqaQEmKNDfAQsQAX4-_n_shstlUrT/s1600/LittleOttoman.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This also doubles as Little Man's favorite perch.<br />
Yes, that is a leaf on my floor I'm too lazy to crop out.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMG_RNW956ZNyZaZ6qZLBNrkX_m3_w1lhmTgciwxyzdQvttTXzocVuJVqHMYFul_bmXKKVNJVZocCSotZ8nljBQN9t8FzDq0jKBkOfnk6AfEcUCizerW5pX1li5n1VKSvdgdyRdvWrba6_/s1600/StagingareaChalkboard.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMG_RNW956ZNyZaZ6qZLBNrkX_m3_w1lhmTgciwxyzdQvttTXzocVuJVqHMYFul_bmXKKVNJVZocCSotZ8nljBQN9t8FzDq0jKBkOfnk6AfEcUCizerW5pX1li5n1VKSvdgdyRdvWrba6_/s1600/StagingareaChalkboard.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The staging area for many of the photos taken.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
10. Chalkboard paint. I got a coffee table from the side of the road years ago, thinking I would repurpose it. After moving, I finally got down to work (three years later) and covered the top with chalkboard paint and put a basket of chalk underneath. It's served as fun for L., an easy way to keep score when we play games and fun places to put messages to one another. Even L.'s room has a wall that has chalkboard paint on the bottom for her to draw on.<br />
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11. Tennis balls. One of my ultimate pet peeves about laundry (the list also includes doing it) is waiting for something to dry, like a comforter so I can go to bed, only to discover at the end of the cycle, it's still damp. I've noticed that putting tennis balls helps speed the process a bit by keeping it from mashing together and helping to fluff it while drying. It makes me hate laundry 4 percent less. But I still hate it.<br />
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12. Pool noodles. L. is no longer at the age where every single pointy object seems to be at eye height, and I no longer have nightmares about her falling smack dab into tables. We used the easily obtainable bumpers for those things, but I recently saw that pool noodles cut apart could also be used as fun, colorful bumpers. So, when faced with the problem of having people bump their heads when going down our basement stairs, I cut on open and had the fiancee nail it up.<br />
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13. Separate blankets. This is a weird one, and when I tell people, I get skeptical looks. But, both my fiancee and I like to maintain our burrito status when we're in bed. We both hog the covers and, with out different schedules, it sucks to have the covers moved when the other is getting into bed or leaving the bed in the morning. So, we each have our own blankets. In the winter, we have one big one that we share that goes over us or we use it as a covering when we have to clean the house for guests, but, in general, we have our two separate bed ecosystems, as we call them. We've also never had an argument. I would like to attribute this to our very compatible personalities, but also our bedding arrangement.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxl6dyFtf2Bow4v58EQljufAlAJPQZy0Ip7jSayTmXNUU9-vJ9WWD965_ZFH46S1p3CTiNmcJMAfwOL1hIqx-EOPeKbR8GTmQ5UpMi-wMJOzV1cCtZ7QqbC3iDPfnofpwVH0ZXnNOmyW7L/s1600/Showerclean.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxl6dyFtf2Bow4v58EQljufAlAJPQZy0Ip7jSayTmXNUU9-vJ9WWD965_ZFH46S1p3CTiNmcJMAfwOL1hIqx-EOPeKbR8GTmQ5UpMi-wMJOzV1cCtZ7QqbC3iDPfnofpwVH0ZXnNOmyW7L/s1600/Showerclean.JPG" height="132" width="200" /></a></div>
14. Cleaning supplies in the shower. Let's be honest. I'm not going to notice a dirty shower unless I'm in it. So, I have my bottle and brush already in the shower with me so I can spend a few extra minutes while I'm showering cleaning the tub. Plus, it's out of L.'s reach so there's no worry about her finding cleaning chemicals under the sink. FYI - The spray bottle is filled with Dawn dish soap, peroxide, baking soda and water. Best thing I've found to get the grout cleaned.<br />
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15. Bins, bins, bins. I was brought up with "A place for everything and everything in its place." That's great when you're an adult and you don't need an abundance of toys at your disposal. But for a toddler (and my sanity), I've found that bins are the be-all-end-all of toy cleanup. Just toss everything in the bins and let the toddler rediscover toys when they decide to empty them all over the floor. We have a shelf she uses for books, but as far as toys go, bins are key!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxCyaa47Hiz8JQWX5vbIAwH8n2NUj_pPa6u28gciHu6LaM7kDCIAMuo4G5ygE7KRVdElINT2KxV6-LKReY1giUQTU5gXiKiXvFSCQhy_fPbBb8hVuNMZhU-tBQmx8MGIs6EZvfcOf2YlML/s1600/Ikeabag.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxCyaa47Hiz8JQWX5vbIAwH8n2NUj_pPa6u28gciHu6LaM7kDCIAMuo4G5ygE7KRVdElINT2KxV6-LKReY1giUQTU5gXiKiXvFSCQhy_fPbBb8hVuNMZhU-tBQmx8MGIs6EZvfcOf2YlML/s1600/Ikeabag.JPG" /></a>16. <a href="http://www.ikea.com/us/en/catalog/products/17228340/" target="_blank">IKEA bags</a>. I almost want to put an exclamation point on this one because they can be used for EVERYTHING! I keep a few in my car to put all my bags of groceries in to carry them into the house (no, I don't bring my own bags, but I'll get to that in a minute); they are the perfect size to lug a load of laundry up and down the stairs; they're great for the beach because they're plastic; I can do a house-sweep by taking one around to all the rooms and pick up toys left here and there; they're good to put wet clothing and shoes in when we're traveling ... the list goes on! Next time you're at IKEA and think you can easily carry your things to the car, just pay the $.59 or whatever for the bag. Trust me, you'll use it.<br />
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17. Plastic bags. I never registered for a Diaper Genie, but I wanted one. Instead, I started saving my plastic bags from the store (right now, most of my collection have Target logos all over them ... oops!). I use them for used diapers so the smell doesn't get out, for cleaning out the cat box, for putting leftovers from the fridge in when I realize I'm not going to eat them, etc.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS3Rl8LWEIpWABpqAd1z_Tk54OF7s4CDxD8pV4uoIsihx63mxvM5Y3Y_ATGOvHZmjXnRbJh2us2Yb6F2SwqLhXVIOAseh7IFAZ-VUQLWB1JTSLm3SwMINkBv8lkKi6BzgsR0hC__ReYa8B/s640/blogger-image-1139228322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS3Rl8LWEIpWABpqAd1z_Tk54OF7s4CDxD8pV4uoIsihx63mxvM5Y3Y_ATGOvHZmjXnRbJh2us2Yb6F2SwqLhXVIOAseh7IFAZ-VUQLWB1JTSLm3SwMINkBv8lkKi6BzgsR0hC__ReYa8B/s200/blogger-image-1139228322.jpg" width="133" /></a>18. Charging station. When the fiancee said he wanted one, I groaned, thinking how excessive a charging station is and how we won't use it. Well, when I found one on clearance at Target, I got it to make him happy. Sure, we had an abundance of wires tripping us up all the time, but I was used to it. Then I set it up and realized it really did streamline all the wires and cables we had going on in our living room. Plus, the tiny drawer at the bottom was perfect for extra wires. (Don't tell him he was right, though. Wouldn't want it to get to his head. If anyone asks, since I bought it, I'm taking the credit for it.)<br />
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<b>Work</b><br />
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19. Hiding spots. Whenever I start a new job, I scout out the bathroom for tampon hiding spots. Since pregnancy (thanks, L.!), I no longer have a predictable schedule so my period catches me by surprise almost every month. Oh, I can guess roughly when it'll be, but there's a good chance I'll go to the bathroom unprepared, or I'll bring a tampon only to realize I don't need it. So, I find a hiding spot for it so I know it'll be easily accessible when I need it. Currently, there is a little lip on the metal toilet seat cover holder, which doesn't actually have toilet seat covers in it. When I went to hide my tampon in that, I found someone else's, so I know it's not just me who does this! In the past, I've used a hing that held the stall to the wall or inside a lampshade. I'm pretty sure at the place I worked four years ago, there is still a tampon hidden in the first stall inside the lip of a might covering (you're welcome, former employees).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG15MPxyhejNh0i4G9ARleeZOyqjNUWv1OAD-MTSa_EwCjepl80MhbtabF2BcuTJ5Jo-gSpp-Jk9x3u4sVqm19bC9T1_PUwrw_tDtfm6pLqr7vQDhap6zmxLnvAci1iiPiR5CqeFL-LmL_/s640/blogger-image--290239130.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG15MPxyhejNh0i4G9ARleeZOyqjNUWv1OAD-MTSa_EwCjepl80MhbtabF2BcuTJ5Jo-gSpp-Jk9x3u4sVqm19bC9T1_PUwrw_tDtfm6pLqr7vQDhap6zmxLnvAci1iiPiR5CqeFL-LmL_/s200/blogger-image--290239130.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
20. Snack drawer or bin. Some people try not to keep snacks at work, but I find if I let my hunger get out of control, I'll just regret it later when I go nuts filling my face with whatever I can cheaply get. Or, I'll make my way to the snack machine and convince myself I can justify 300 calories of chocolate. So I keep a drawer of snacks at my disposal. Currently, I have two drawers at my desk and I need them for work-related things, so I keep a little fabric bin (more bins!) under my desk for when cravings hit.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZa0rMm7_RLxs0Pc92NcLZzPOyHnGDyu7JsqsqX_LPNa77IBWKHEJJ9sZkj53FiCh4Yhhsp3ksaRwcAMqKomiVJp9KePWKjCkpTVbIN2AaKlEto37m4Xz9tjOGwKzZPAhWF04gZN3z1Rw_/s1600/WaterBottle.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZa0rMm7_RLxs0Pc92NcLZzPOyHnGDyu7JsqsqX_LPNa77IBWKHEJJ9sZkj53FiCh4Yhhsp3ksaRwcAMqKomiVJp9KePWKjCkpTVbIN2AaKlEto37m4Xz9tjOGwKzZPAhWF04gZN3z1Rw_/s1600/WaterBottle.JPG" height="132" width="200" /></a></div>
21. Water container. Once I realized last summer the reason I was waking up feeling like I had a hangover every single day, despite not drinking, was because I wasn't getting enough water, I had to find a way to make water available to me all the time. I usually carry around a water bottle -- or, a "hydration bottle," as Target labeled it, but there are times I forget it in the car or at home. So I make sure I have my plastic tumbler with a top and straw, which I know is exactly two glasses. I have to fill it more often than my usual bottle, but at least I know I won't have to worry about using the little paper cups that barely hold 4 ounces. The more water containers you have at your disposal, the better.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7GX82-dxV_puGqca6KFp8Ib4zxmZrvpJmC3lXut5Tux0dhpsFw-cqRRIJ1P8JdIve46ptY5bWTJ0mgYtHYDrbqD5Mz1Hl06Wsybo-5qTBK9eIIfonHbFVRxK0Ligp76z4OLfVaS0jvJyy/s1600/PenStrip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7GX82-dxV_puGqca6KFp8Ib4zxmZrvpJmC3lXut5Tux0dhpsFw-cqRRIJ1P8JdIve46ptY5bWTJ0mgYtHYDrbqD5Mz1Hl06Wsybo-5qTBK9eIIfonHbFVRxK0Ligp76z4OLfVaS0jvJyy/s1600/PenStrip.jpg" height="640" width="185" /></a>22. Putting up your hair with a pen. As I've said, hair ties, despite buying them in bulk and putting them everywhere I might need them, tend to disappear on me. (Little Man, I'm looking at you!) So, back in middle school, when I was probably supposed to be paying attention in class, I decided to teach myself to put my hair up with a pen, which I usually keep readily available more often.<br />
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<ol>
<li>Gather your hair in a ponytail.</li>
<li>Twist it tightly into a bun.</li>
<li>Insert the pen straight down through the hair at the side of the bun.</li>
<li>Twist it so it's facing the bun and stick it through.</li>
<li>Grab some hair on the other side of the bun and put it over the pen. To keep the rest in place.</li>
<li>Tuck in any loose ends.</li>
<li>Ta-da! Instant librarian look! (But, I get a lot of compliments and "how did you do that so quickly?" comments that I think in the 2/3rd of my life I've been doing it, I've successfully OWNED the look.)</li>
</ol>
<div>
When I didn't have a pen one day, I was able to do it with a pair of sunglasses, despite the weird looks from other parents on the playground at having sunglasses in the back of my head, but I told them it was for the extra set of eyes parents have back there.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
23. A sweater on the back of my chair. Yes, yes, it seems obvious to have that there when the office thermostat is off limits and you never know what to expect, but I've also used it as a mini-alibi for when I might be coming in a few minutes late and had to use the excuse, "No, I was here, didn't you see my sweater?" Hint: If you have a coworker who will put it on your chair, you can hide it somewhere in your desk when you're not late for it to be more convincing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Personal</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6CFLGp-VT_GMvfFwKbAAaCdo02x2gtEGbBgzKhQnK4anX3tvOhG25-sH63_k_8oXEusNb4xC_g7cOfIzBhzFxccbMx8dPaOWwt2rmJW0qzJQazifz0piqovkLrNb3OhxmbnGG37GPG0xe/s1600/YogaPants.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6CFLGp-VT_GMvfFwKbAAaCdo02x2gtEGbBgzKhQnK4anX3tvOhG25-sH63_k_8oXEusNb4xC_g7cOfIzBhzFxccbMx8dPaOWwt2rmJW0qzJQazifz0piqovkLrNb3OhxmbnGG37GPG0xe/s1600/YogaPants.JPG" height="132" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three hours working on this blog<br />
post and not one bit of yoga was<br />
done in these yoga pants.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
24. Two words: Yoga. Pants. Sometimes, I get home from work and want a bath, but I can never get myself to sit down long enough to enjoy one. There's always something to do, even if it's simply finding a way to procrastinate something else. ("Oh! My Keurig cups need organizing right this second! Laundry will have to wait!") I have to say, the next best thing to being able to slip into a relaxing bath would be being able to slip into a nice pair of yoga pants. Preferably clean, but, hey, they're black. Who knows what stains have accumulated on these bad boys.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaXJiJvLT5A-wX_s8yqKyQnFIIh4EuNDBi9jMXKli075ooGl6HG30skz_2SdglqS4_d5b27uIF8M_IIGLBIR3rhVZ7hS6TwXEZ_tIxiwH0N3xWJY1vmcChNNys0zQxQIfdujMkUyvKhWE3/s1600/Prenatal.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaXJiJvLT5A-wX_s8yqKyQnFIIh4EuNDBi9jMXKli075ooGl6HG30skz_2SdglqS4_d5b27uIF8M_IIGLBIR3rhVZ7hS6TwXEZ_tIxiwH0N3xWJY1vmcChNNys0zQxQIfdujMkUyvKhWE3/s1600/Prenatal.JPG" height="211" width="320" /></a>25. Multivitamins. Sure, some people will say you don't need one if you're eating right. Well, I can guarantee you, I am not getting my daily recommended dose of most vitamins in my diet, especially on busy days. On non-busy days, I probably get my recommended amount of vitamins, nutrients, sugar, high-fructose corn syrup, saturated fats, gummy bears, sprinkles, cheese, more cheese, etc. Actually, I probably get enough of all of those things for two people. But, on most days, I try to remember to take my vitamins. I still take prenatal ones. Ever since the jolt of energy they gave me in that first trimester, I haven't been able to give them up. And I really do notice a difference if I stop taking them for a few days. So, it's just easier to continue with them. I take a few more supplements here and there as needed, like my current obsession with magnesium, but, for the most part, I stick with my non-fancy, non-expensive bottle of prenatals.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
26. Looking more awake. What says "No, I didn't wake up late -- this is how I <i>want</i> to look!" better than a face that doesn't droop and sag? I learned this trick on QVC years ago when they were pushing some book on natural techniques you can do to make your face look younger without surgery. </div>
<div>
<ol>
<li>Take your first two fingers and put them right under the end of your eyebrow.</li>
<li>Push up and hold for 10-15 seconds.</li>
<li>Repeat on the other side. Or you could have done both at once, if you felt so inclined. But I like seeing the difference.</li>
</ol>
<div>
That's it. Probably not worth the numbering I was convinced I would need for these in-depth instructions, but I'll keep them. Sometimes it just gives my face a little freshening. I can't seem to find the product or book QVC was pushing in the '90s when I learned this trick, but I do like the instant effect (which of course fades within 30 minutes and I end up doing it again), but it's a nice trick to keep in your pocket for first impressions so people don't see the perma-scowl associated with being a mom to a toddler.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Note: I took pictures, but, let me tell you, they were scary. I have a nice zit on my chin (it's not fair that, at 31, I have wrinkles beginning to form AND acne that hasn't gone away since I was 13!) and I realized as I was demonstrating that my eyebrows are unevenly shaped so they just looked bizarre. You're just going to have to try it for yourself.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.motherstyles.com/images/0738210455.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.motherstyles.com/images/0738210455.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the best books<br />
to combine Myers-Briggs with<br />
parenting styles.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
27. Know yourself. I don't just mean know your phone number and address and preference of white or red wine. I mean, take some time to see what makes you tick. Before I got into <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2014/01/why-i-like-myers-briggs.html" target="_blank">Myers-Briggs</a>, I was convinced the quizzes I had taken and answered all B's to in Seventeen magazine in middle school gave me everything I needed to know about being a middle-of-the-road kind of girl. I didn't realize I was actually an introvert who gained my strength and energy when I took time to be by myself; or why I felt drained instantly when I had to make small talk; or why I couldn't just get to the point instead of following what, in my head, are ridiculous social norms of skirting issues so I wouldn't seem too blunt or insensitive. INTJ much? Once I started reading into it and assessing myself, it was actually easier for me to interact with others of different personality types who I would have normally dismissed because they just didn't "get" me, including my ISFJ daughter, who I have trouble remembering how emotional she is. (I categorize her as ISFJ, but as a toddler, of course she's more Sensing than iNtuitive and Feeling than she is Thinking, so it's still tough to pinpoint her personality exactly.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JfzMflhC877OidVwGV6HQX6uuvYxsi8BOQ83Ido5N0et1EANlKqosqJ-1ZpJMvvwr_ayIcBX0GsNoPG2vejKiUp4GxUjO1FSELLPTxZhgfovo-f9FD6pDQvL6ptO-ptZCOMAp5pfRccu/s400/blogger-image--1207734820.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JfzMflhC877OidVwGV6HQX6uuvYxsi8BOQ83Ido5N0et1EANlKqosqJ-1ZpJMvvwr_ayIcBX0GsNoPG2vejKiUp4GxUjO1FSELLPTxZhgfovo-f9FD6pDQvL6ptO-ptZCOMAp5pfRccu/s400/blogger-image--1207734820.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first "running" injury and, boy, am I proud!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
28. Think of it as movement, not exercise. I never liked to exercise. I never found the appeal. Sweat is annoying. Soreness just sucks the life out of me. Running out of breath was not fun. But once I heard someone suggest thinking of it as movement instead of exercise, I realized I could do it daily. As long as I was moving, I could get some physical activity into every day. Last year around this time, I was 30 pounds heavier. I thought about dieting again, but I had already lost so much baby weight and I was going through a divorce, I let myself take a break. When the summer hit and talk of engagement was happening, I decided to get back on the wagon. I used the <a href="http://www.myfitnesspal.com/" target="_blank">MyFitnessPal </a>App on my phone to track my food, but I also started just getting more active. I started doing <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/08/why-i-like-yoga.html" target="_blank">yoga</a> again, which helped with stress. When it got warmer and I was taking L. to the park almost every day I had her, I "invented" <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/09/parkercise-how-i-finally-lost-rest-of.html" target="_blank">Parkercise</a>. And, after stalling for the holidays, I joined the gym and I got back on track again. Then I upped my game even more and got a <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2014/03/why-i-like-my-fitbit.html" target="_blank">Fitbit</a>. Now I'm pre-pregnancy weight, minus some more and I'm still going. All of my clothes fit. ALL OF THEM. EVEN THE SKINNY JEANS. I can finally run a mile! (OK, OK, it's on the treadmill. But, it's still a mile I couldn't have run before!) Even though losing weight is 80 percent diet and only 20 percent exercise, er, I mean "movement," I find that if I do one of those things, the other one usually happens on its own. I'm not going to ruin all the chocolate I said no to by laying on the couch all day, and I'm not going to stuff my face after going to the gym.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
29. Have a good support network. I know some of these are pretty obvious, but I have always been one of those people who didn't want to "bother" other people when I needed help. I still do it at work, as the new person, and then I end up making mistakes, all because I don't want to bother people with question after question. But, when it comes to being a parent, you need at least one person in your life who knows what you're going through and who will listen to be supportive without judgment. I'm lucky to have a few of those people. Last night, in fact, I took a bottle of wine to my friend's house and we talked about how we question pretty much every single thing we do as parents and wonder if we're screwing our kids up for life. We, of course, know this isn't true, but it was nice to have someone else who worries about the same thing so we could both heave a sigh of relief and say, "Oh, thank goodness, it's not just me!" You don't need a reason like a play date or some oh-so-interesting-and-learning-intense activity to use as an excuse to talk to another mom about things like how we used to watch marathons of shows like "Law & Order: SVU" and now we're afraid to turn on the TV for fear of seeing even fictional portrayals of situations we would never want our kids to go through. It's amazing what can come from just a text of, "Hey, are you busy tonight? Can we hang out? I'll bring wine!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBvE28sS6NZp8__DWyb1G0-a6cOfhjh-ZgF4_1lwuQdm2IPt9T6k67xdJPy2xbu7qoxj1TC4mxV3okt01FDJP9ZME7dnWuJdHCj4ym8UGliZaYjM_61z8hoegD_Da4cQj7end3ip8eZ6Gc/s1600/Podcasts.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBvE28sS6NZp8__DWyb1G0-a6cOfhjh-ZgF4_1lwuQdm2IPt9T6k67xdJPy2xbu7qoxj1TC4mxV3okt01FDJP9ZME7dnWuJdHCj4ym8UGliZaYjM_61z8hoegD_Da4cQj7end3ip8eZ6Gc/s1600/Podcasts.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not sure why The Art of Simple podcast doesn't<br />
have a logo right now. But these are my top 4 faves.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
30. Keep learning. If you can't take a class, read a book. If you can't read a book, watch a documentary. If you can't watch a documentary, listen to a podcast. Those first few months of motherhood, I'll admit my brain turned to absolute mush. There was something huge going on in the world and I couldn't get my head around it. And I was a journalism major and I felt awful for not being able to follow the news anymore. Finally, I started reading more when I was <strike>stuck</strike> blessed to be breastfeeding for hours a day. I felt my brain coming back. Then I got into podcasts, including ones like <a href="http://www.goodjobbrain.com/" target="_blank">Good Job Brain</a>, <a href="http://www.missedinhistory.com/" target="_blank">Stuff You Missed in History Class</a>, <a href="http://www.stuffmomnevertoldyou.com/" target="_blank">Stuff Mom Never Told You</a> and <a href="http://homefries.com/shows/the-simple-mom-podcast/" target="_blank">The Art of Simple Podcast</a>. And the fog was gone. (Once L. was sleeping through the night, that helped too.) If nothing else, being able to talk about something else other than the consistency of L.'s diaper contents and how great fiber is or how terrible Calliou is was rewarding, in and of itself.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
31. Go guiltless. Oh, sure, I'm having little pangs from my birthday weekend of forgoing counting calories and the scale, but in general, I've tried so hard for the past year to stop guilt in its tracks so it doesn't build up and act like a poison. Sometimes, I <i>deserve</i> me-time. Sometimes, I <i>can</i> say, "no" when I don't want to do something. Sometimes, people aren't going to like what I say or do or act. I'm not here to please everyone. I'd love to be able to give everybody what they want. It's human nature, I think. But if you base your life around that, you'll have no time for yourself or to make <i>you</i> happy. When that little pimple of an emotion comes along, it's best to just ignore it, instead of letting it control your life. (I'm obsessed with this thing on my chin today! Why, combination skin, oh, why must you taunt me!?)<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyj-90loHiW9cyT1rcGx6V9CerwIgJNM7BYpZfXCrdYmDxVfIIawADBpdD9u14tX9JO4fWWBDelyRvtd5uE34F6c5mMof-P4N41qwmFEBycJ-KNmoSJUSHutc_pBLnJcaV-fkhtixwcS2o/s1600/10155976_10100527209639907_5350274766024808129_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyj-90loHiW9cyT1rcGx6V9CerwIgJNM7BYpZfXCrdYmDxVfIIawADBpdD9u14tX9JO4fWWBDelyRvtd5uE34F6c5mMof-P4N41qwmFEBycJ-KNmoSJUSHutc_pBLnJcaV-fkhtixwcS2o/s1600/10155976_10100527209639907_5350274766024808129_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, in fact, I am rejoicing in L. taking a nap after<br />
a day of tantrums! And I don't feel guilty!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-20859269686073361852014-04-12T12:34:00.001-04:002014-04-12T12:34:52.184-04:00Let It Go ...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/9a/Target_logo.svg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/9a/Target_logo.svg" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry there aren't more<br />
photos in the post.<br />
I was busy doing mom<br />
things at Target.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
No, I am not referring to the newest song terrorizing parents and Facebook feeds. I'm using that title to refer to the feeling a parent must get when they can't say exactly what's on their mind when others are observing either them or their children. But, for anyone who just wants a glimpse into the mind of a parent whose child is currently doing her thing and being 3, this is what we're really thinking. And how we wish to respond, but can't because we're trying to set an example.<br />
<br />
<b>To the woman who is "helping" me locate my child who is currently running through the store because she didn't want to sit in the cart.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Believe it or not, I recognize my daughter's footsteps. They haunt me. I hear them at ungodly hours on weekends, creeping slowly to my bed to wake me up. I hear them chasing the cat around the house. I can hear them running in an opposite direction or coming toward me. I know as soon as I unwrap any sort of food for myself, those footsteps will soon follow. I can hear them stop and know, after about two minutes of silence, to see what she's up to.<br />
<br />
She's not a light stepper. And I'm OK with that.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLsbM1k4dSdxbO7ShVbRyuO4eO3FYozjVkxcKE9NNkHN9rmS6aE8mmvmyR1ry_hEDMGpa5z1LQr3N_5pRT5INp2ogekjvZrPsYO_Y5I1keIU2dkuxvNa8obs_yvPxA0u1hq-W7crRv3kAa/s640/blogger-image-131412363.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLsbM1k4dSdxbO7ShVbRyuO4eO3FYozjVkxcKE9NNkHN9rmS6aE8mmvmyR1ry_hEDMGpa5z1LQr3N_5pRT5INp2ogekjvZrPsYO_Y5I1keIU2dkuxvNa8obs_yvPxA0u1hq-W7crRv3kAa/s200/blogger-image-131412363.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's no place like anywhere<br />else but where L. is currently<br />having a meltdown.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
She wants to wear either her favorite yellow shoes or her sparkly red shoes every day, all day. And they have hard soles so I can hear the pitter-patter of her galloping steps pretty well. I am hoping tap shoes will not find their way into our house any time soon.<br />
<br />
So, I know you're just trying to help but, really, you're just getting in the way of me trying to maneuver my clumsy red cart. She can't go far. And, seriously, she'll get distracted by something soon enough that she'll stop and I can catch up.<br />
<br />
Oh, oh, you found her. And you're triumphantly waving me over. Yes, I knew she was in the aisle with the fruit snacks. It wasn't her bright red coat that gave her away. It was hearing those footsteps stop and hear her exclaim, "Oh! It's fruit snacks!"<br />
<br />
Look, lady, I've got this. Thanks, but no thanks.<br />
<br />
<b>The teenage employee who sees two feet sticking out from under the cart and looks at me and says, "Uh ..."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Listen, junior, a minute ago, she was running through the store, probably pulling down merchandise you're just going to have to put back in a little while because I couldn't be bothered to stop to do it. Yes, in a perfect world, I would gladly make L. do it to show her right from wrong, but for today, we came into this store for three things: cat food, deodorant and yogurt. There are currently 10 things in the cart. None of which were on the original list. This is a matter of getting out of here in a timely fashion. I'm sure you understand.<br />
<br />
As for the matter of my daughter climbing under the cart and deciding to "help" move the cart along with her feet, I now have full control of where we go, despite going at a turtle's pace. I can easily get the things we need and get out before any more havoc is wreaked. Yes, I do see that little picture of the child under the cart with the big "NO" symbol on it. I get it. You have a right to judge me. But, just keep it to yourself.<br />
<br />
<b>The man in the card aisle giving me dirty looks, annoyed he can't read whatever amusing anecdote Maxine, the grumpy old lady, has to say about getting older or whatever.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
OK, so she's fascinated by all the cards with bunnies on them. All the cards with fuzzy ducks and dogs and cats and beavers and what have you. She wants to open all the cards that make sounds. You clearly haven't heard Kool & the Gang's "Celebration" correctly if it's not played by about 20 cards, all open and displayed on the floor of the store. You can imagine that cards are about one of the most awesome things in the universe. As for me, paying $4 for some folded cardstock still blows my mind, but I do it now and then when necessary.<br />
<br />
But, all the same, I'm trying my best to pick up the cards she's thrown on the floor and forgotten about and put them back in the correct spots, so I'm a little too busy here to tell my daughter, "Sorry, honey, Mr. I-Probably-Forgot-My-Mom's-Birthday-Until-Today doesn't want us around him while he finds just the right card that says, 'I swear, I bought this card weeks ago."<br />
<br />
Yeah, that's right, I'll make up a story about what I think your life is like, since I know you've probably already concocted some backstory about me in your head, considering the look of, "that mom is hopeless" you're giving me.<br />
<br />
<b>The older woman watching me wrestle my SCREAMING 3-year-old into the cart at the registers who says, "Looks like <i>somebody's</i> not happy."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Oh! OH REALLY?! Good lord, you're the most observant person I've ever met. You shouldn't be at Target with us lowly commoners; you should be writing for NCIS or some other late-night crime-solving show I can't watch anymore because it's past my bedtime! You've cracked this case wide open!<br />
<br />
I never would have thought, in my three years of mothering, that if my daughter is screaming she must be UNHAPPY. Someone get this woman on Dr. Phil, pronto! She's unlocked the secret to parenting!<br />
<br />
Oh, and for your information, she is not happy for the moment. I'M the one who's actually not happy. I haven't been happy since I realized I was really out of cat food to the point at which I had to take my daughter to Target after I knew she didn't get enough sleep the night before and this tantrum was inevitable. I'm the unhappy one here. Let's discuss that one, shall we?<br />
<br />
Oh. Actually I guess I'm not the only unhappy one ...<br />
<br />
<b>The cashier who scans and bags my items, doesn't miss a beat when I rip the tag off the stupid plastic flower my daughter won't let go of to scan, and bags my items in complete silence and clear hatred of me and probably her job at that moment.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Thank you.<br />
<br />
I realize you've braved the worst of this trip to Target with my daughter, aside from myself. You've listened to her scream since we were three people back. You knew our cart was getting closer and the screams were getting louder. You didn't greet me. You didn't tell me my total. You didn't even make eye contact.<br />
<br />
But, you are, by far, my favorite person right now.<br />
<br />
You didn't greet me -- I don't have time for small talk. I am fully engaged in making sure my daughter stays put and doesn't jump out of the cart. Not to mention the fact that I have to move out of her way quickly enough as I'm grabbing items and placing them on the belt because she's at the point of winding up her fists to hit me in the head. Trust me, we'll deal with that one later.<br />
<br />
You didn't tell me my total -- I'm no novice to how buying things works. There is a nice big display on the register of my total. And, by the looks of the $1-bin crap on the belt that were clearly impulse buys, you can probably tell I kind of don't care what the total is right now. I just want to swipe my card and leave the store.<br />
<br />
You didn't make eye contact -- I am perfectly happy not having to look at someone else's face who is annoyed because I was too tired last night after L. was in bed to get cat food then. Trust me, I, too, am kicking myself for this decision to go to Target now, when I knew full-well she didn't sleep long enough and was a ticking time-bomb from the moment she woke me up at 6:30 this morning.<br />
<br />
You didn't say a word. You just did your job and got me out of the store as soon as possible.<br />
<br />
For that, I thank you.<br />
<br />
<b>Bonus: The fiance who informs me for the first time we're out of his precious Gatorade after I've gotten home.</b><br />
Oh, the look of indignation that came across my face when he said that was pretty amazing.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*****</div>
<br />
I don't know about other kids, but for me, trips out in public that doesn't end in tears or frustration are few and far between. I've told myself, "It's this age," "It's the lack of consistency that comes with having divorced parents and two sets of rules," "It's just a bad day," "It's because I'm not firm enough," "It's because I'm too structured," "I give in too easily," "I'm too strict and have such high expectations," "People just don't understand," "I must be a terrible mom," and even secretly, shamefully thought "Is there something wrong with L. I'm not seeing?"<br />
<br />
It's hard to take myself out of those situations and realize this is NOT what it's like all the time. This is a small fraction that seems to scare the living crap out of me and rule the rest of my day somehow -- just waiting for what, in my mind, will be an inevitable meltdown. But, for about 85 percent of the trip to Target, L. was happy. I'm sure this post is brimming with instances child experts and know-it-all moms will gladly point to and call mistakes. But, sometimes, despite the snarky comments I wish I could make to those who judge and point and condescend, I just have to let it go.<br />
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTkUJki_aoy_zV43q8QeJB51kS_MieIHrPvCwIfbkp0K6cG2y9ctaQcgVe-wh4V5npDEDpIBBWtjRpl_lh96Xt6lyYiVhVyVJ-DNh3LgN58HUu7uTL-TUI4cPwaEiTQU3ymYZaWxYOPMWK/s640/blogger-image--1806365016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTkUJki_aoy_zV43q8QeJB51kS_MieIHrPvCwIfbkp0K6cG2y9ctaQcgVe-wh4V5npDEDpIBBWtjRpl_lh96Xt6lyYiVhVyVJ-DNh3LgN58HUu7uTL-TUI4cPwaEiTQU3ymYZaWxYOPMWK/s640/blogger-image--1806365016.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Following our infamous Target trip, I took L. right to her room where I had<br />
her lie down while I stroked her hair and lulled her into a much needed nap.<br />
Sorry, Kool & the Gang, but THIS is a true Celebration!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-62659538477112999142014-03-31T19:23:00.002-04:002014-03-31T19:23:33.318-04:00Why I Like My FitbitThis post has been loooong overdue. Basically, any post I write has been overdue. But, here's the reason. It's small. Clips to my bra. Has helped in me losing about 10 pounds. (Well, 15, if you count some of the weight I put on over the holidays that I considered temporary padding for the winter months.)<br />
<br />
It's the Fitbit.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZYuy9ugZMjOyPmED5Bpc67N156vJpXew7FV7_S8jyuGw-cysspmvQRwBQfCCEXjLQ9NMEhXRwejV0uA4cq6DHh8d2Nd2gyL6fwu9RpmZd2PvDpjJYTUf9kI_gtwJtMr_Ll6fUKbKaMqd0/s640/blogger-image-1319283429.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZYuy9ugZMjOyPmED5Bpc67N156vJpXew7FV7_S8jyuGw-cysspmvQRwBQfCCEXjLQ9NMEhXRwejV0uA4cq6DHh8d2Nd2gyL6fwu9RpmZd2PvDpjJYTUf9kI_gtwJtMr_Ll6fUKbKaMqd0/s320/blogger-image-1319283429.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
This little Tamagotchi-looking thing is probably the best thing to happen to keeping up motivation since warm weather and bikini-season scare tactics.<br />
<br />
Since joining the gym in December, I was getting my workouts in and tracking my calories through <a href="http://www.myfitnesspal.com/" target="_blank">MyFitnessPal</a>. But I knew the motivation wouldn't last. Especially since buying a wedding dress in a size I could already fit into -- call me crazy, but I never believed in fearing I'd look like an overstuffed sausage in wedding photos.<br />
<br />
So, my friend and gym buddy suggested we get the Fitbit. We could track our steps, compete against each other and whoever else we knew who had one, track our weight loss and hopefully keep up the motivation.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxmO81lT-KRzWuwi7qN4wuBg71IFbjBTPnmCzWV1S6J-QR8YenrM5Nf0N5x230QP-CPCdxvkKdOkmHPwENJ_gQE9bEKdAJeZB7l840xAi3MdCYXZvaIw1sA_fMITu_o2LCHzGejsdj_ELi/s1600/blogger-image--1936034797.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxmO81lT-KRzWuwi7qN4wuBg71IFbjBTPnmCzWV1S6J-QR8YenrM5Nf0N5x230QP-CPCdxvkKdOkmHPwENJ_gQE9bEKdAJeZB7l840xAi3MdCYXZvaIw1sA_fMITu_o2LCHzGejsdj_ELi/s200/blogger-image--1936034797.jpg" width="200" /></a>Once it came in the mail (a Valentine's Day from the fiance after I promised he wouldn't get in trouble for buying me a "weight loss tool"), I snapped it on and kept the default goal of 10,000 steps per day. The first day, I nailed it. Well, not so much nailed it as I was on the treadmill for a long time, fearing I wouldn't even get close. The next day, I decided to see how many steps I was regularly getting. Turned out, I was getting about 5,000. There was a lot of time spent sitting on my butt when I could have been walking or running in place or just moving in general.<br />
<br />
Fast forward a month and a half later: My daily goal is 12,000 and I almost always nail it or surpass it. I've even gotten badges (another fun perk of the Fitbit) for 15,000, 20,000 and 25,000 in one day a few times. I run in place while I brush my teeth. I run in place in the bathroom stall at work as I'm zipping up my pants, which are at least a size too big now, and buckling my much-needed belt, which has gone from the second hole to the fourth hole.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfQ-vL2E7_rVPOfYLGBp3LTKTmsgl545CHLdQSjZxwFoT0usrMQ8tYgFoFTE_m1Gi7BkAzNyPdDkEJygb8h6XfhDrEKQcVex4IwePAAE8cv81EL3fQZ_vlUXe_Ex8gQ96gBXStZ99O0KeI/s1600/blogger-image-1933452196.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfQ-vL2E7_rVPOfYLGBp3LTKTmsgl545CHLdQSjZxwFoT0usrMQ8tYgFoFTE_m1Gi7BkAzNyPdDkEJygb8h6XfhDrEKQcVex4IwePAAE8cv81EL3fQZ_vlUXe_Ex8gQ96gBXStZ99O0KeI/s320/blogger-image-1933452196.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love getting this message.<br />
If I'm with friends who "get it,"<br />
I'll pump my fist in the air and yell,<br />
Nailed it!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've run in place while making copies, filling my water bottle, waiting in line, doing dishes, stuffing envelopes with Save the Dates. It's amazing how much movement you can get in here and there and slowly add those up to meet your goal. The fiance thinks I'm crazy sometimes when he comes into the room and I'm just running in place.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiUJ6gY9CFtLtkbkOO6msG6yrVPP0SJfT7F8S-X53T94Wl1OrvEYxiPPIqATNtDk7wtUIKVwdy8E8zur5DaXH5MKCas2WqT_-Z4_5VtaAGHwyeunzsOEQYM9r5cWzLYPFwTeEwb2uiZkgp/s1600/blogger-image-1085405508.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiUJ6gY9CFtLtkbkOO6msG6yrVPP0SJfT7F8S-X53T94Wl1OrvEYxiPPIqATNtDk7wtUIKVwdy8E8zur5DaXH5MKCas2WqT_-Z4_5VtaAGHwyeunzsOEQYM9r5cWzLYPFwTeEwb2uiZkgp/s200/blogger-image-1085405508.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Step count before and after<br />
dancing to<br />
"Yo Gabba Gabba Live!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
L.'s even gotten annoyed and said, "No ess-ser-cize, Mommy!" when I'm running in place while she's doing something else. Although, she never minds when I get my steps in while dancing along with her "Yo Gabba Gabba Live!" DVD.<br />
<br />
In fact, the only reason I've been able to sit still long enough to write a blog post was today's "achievement" of getting a sore hip and needing to put some ice on it, in the form of a bag of frozen corn. You see, it all started last week when I was on the treadmill and I decided to see how long I could "run" for. And, I use the term loosely since I think I "run" at a very fast walking pace, just with some more bouncing to it. I ended up running a whole mile, just because I kept pushing myself to see if I could go longer.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7gxneCg7omqOU6qa-c9ValGcQm8tISoQaH7WkAOlSyat-xBr4n-cwQbJSC-lygvS93yFo2P7q4bcAtGTKaChb3PbkR_5VsP2MaAX4rO774NhX8v172BmTa-MBR12tkZP3WnKcf4mUwFYv/s1600/blogger-image-915110749.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7gxneCg7omqOU6qa-c9ValGcQm8tISoQaH7WkAOlSyat-xBr4n-cwQbJSC-lygvS93yFo2P7q4bcAtGTKaChb3PbkR_5VsP2MaAX4rO774NhX8v172BmTa-MBR12tkZP3WnKcf4mUwFYv/s320/blogger-image-915110749.jpg" width="213" /></a>This was a personal victory for me. I had only ever run a mile once before in my life, and it was a few weeks after I decided to try running every day. I got to a mile one day and pretty much stopped, thinking, "OK, did that. I'm bored."<br />
<br />
Well, after the treadmill run last Wednesday, I decided to attempt it again on Sunday and, lo and behold, I could do it again! I was still at 4 miles an hour, but I made a 15-minute mile! Back in high school, I faked a back injury that got me out of the statewide physical fitness test just because I *knew* I would never be able to run a 15-minute mile. But I did it on the treadmill at 30 years old!<br />
<br />
Well, then I got cocky. And here I am on the couch with my frozen corn after getting a half mile around my neighborhood when a sharp pain started in my hip and got progressively worse. I walked another mile or so, to get my steps in, of course, and called it quits. And here I am, writing the blogpost I've written in my head dozens on times while on the treadmill or elliptical, thinking, "how can I write this while still getting steps in? If it can't be done, I'm giving up my blog. That's just going to be it. No one reads it anyway."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JfzMflhC877OidVwGV6HQX6uuvYxsi8BOQ83Ido5N0et1EANlKqosqJ-1ZpJMvvwr_ayIcBX0GsNoPG2vejKiUp4GxUjO1FSELLPTxZhgfovo-f9FD6pDQvL6ptO-ptZCOMAp5pfRccu/s1600/blogger-image--1207734820.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JfzMflhC877OidVwGV6HQX6uuvYxsi8BOQ83Ido5N0et1EANlKqosqJ-1ZpJMvvwr_ayIcBX0GsNoPG2vejKiUp4GxUjO1FSELLPTxZhgfovo-f9FD6pDQvL6ptO-ptZCOMAp5pfRccu/s400/blogger-image--1207734820.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Although, I hope people do read this post, if nothing else. I hope they are wondering, "Should I get a Fitbit? Or will it just be another exercise thing that gathers dust in a few weeks or months?" Well, I can't tell you what you will do, personally. I can only tell you I get motivation every single day I see my name at the top of my leaderboard with the most steps for the week out of all of my friends -- including real runners who do half-marathons and races and stuff!<br />
<br />
And, sure, exercise is only 20 percent of losing weight and the other 80 percent is diet, but I've found that the more I exercise and want to exercise, the easier it is for me to make healthy choices when it comes to what I put on my plate so I don't ruin all the hard work I've done.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-83285949347998849062014-02-09T21:58:00.002-05:002014-02-09T21:58:44.420-05:00It's her party, and I'll cry if I want to<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://static1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20091222011524/theoffice/images/4/4c/PartyPlanningCommittee1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://static1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20091222011524/theoffice/images/4/4c/PartyPlanningCommittee1.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even this party planning committee would be in<br />
hell trying to find a space for a 3-year-old's party.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I am currently in the throes of planning L.'s third birthday party. It's kind of awful. When the fiance set out to finish the basement, I was told there was a good chance it would be done by the end of February, early March at the latest. Well, there was a snag when the guy who was supposed to hook up the heat had to get surgery on his hand and we now have no idea when it will be done.<br />
<br />
Our upstairs is way too small for 15 adults and 5 children. Heck, when we have a simple playdate, it seems crowded!<br />
<br />
We recently went to a birthday party for one of Layla's friends and the condo had a nice open floorplan, perfect for kettling little ones, while keeping the parents on the sidelines to act as ropes in a wrestling ring and bounce them back in.<br />
<br />
So, last night, about four hours were spent on Google looking for a space to hold L.'s "The Lorax" themed birthday. Holy. Moly. First off, let's put some things into perspective:<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<a href="" name="more"></a><br />
<ul>
<li>She's 3. There's a very small chance she will remember this party. And, if she does, it'll most likely be based on the pictures she sees later in life.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSlTQObRkFgJ1MxGXOZaTXgHnGR8vGISqU1QBq0cN3UHbaRMSEgrXNTtWrvewJq3_lDPu4EPcIALGxlOS0mqdriDTQadstXReK32vZa_34Hwc8GMJTMLSfzEBbA0j1Gog5KCZA-19C37ko/s640/blogger-image-161954861.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSlTQObRkFgJ1MxGXOZaTXgHnGR8vGISqU1QBq0cN3UHbaRMSEgrXNTtWrvewJq3_lDPu4EPcIALGxlOS0mqdriDTQadstXReK32vZa_34Hwc8GMJTMLSfzEBbA0j1Gog5KCZA-19C37ko/s320/blogger-image-161954861.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four hours on Google last night.<br />So many ideas to incorporate "The Lorax"<br />into her party, but where to have it?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</li>
<li>I already have the theme picked out and most of the decorations and prep done. I just need to buy the food and the plates and set everything up. </li>
<li>I do not, and I'll repeat this so I don't get so flustered and forget, I DO NOT have $200-$300 to spend on a two-hour (TWO-HOUR) party at an indoor playscape or kid's gym or science center (yes, science and nature centers have the same price as your average Chuck E. Cheese's) or museum. Not to mention, two of the kids included in this party are younger than 1 and can't even participate in the toddler stuff.</li>
<li>I'm tempted to go to Michael's, since they just require a $50 deposit on a room and then you pay for craft supplies, but the website says the craft parties are really geared toward 5-12-year-olds. But, it is something to keep in mind for the future.</li>
<li>Basically, I just need a space. Just a simple space I can decorate, put food out, have some seating for the adults, have a place for the kids to play, and basically serve pizza, juice and "The Lorax"-themed snacks and call it a day.</li>
<li>L. couldn't care less about what's going on. She will also be having a party with her dad and his family. This little girls gets two parties!</li>
</ul>
<div>
But, my stupid mom-mind is in Pinterest-mode and trying to live up to last year's "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" party.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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<div>
<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/whylimewhynot/baby-ting-turns-2/" target="_blank">My Very Hungry Caterpillar Party board on Pinterest</a><br />
<a href="http://www.polkadotsandpuppies.com/2011/04/grants-1st-birthday-party.html" target="_blank">Printouts for Caterpillar-themed food</a> -- I just got them printed at Staples, then glued them to clothes pins and stuck them on the plates of food.<br />
<br />
The shirt was basically a glue gun and some felt. I didn't really want the hassle of an iron-on, since I usually have poor results with those. The back came off in the wash, but she still wears the shirt and loves the caterpillar on the front. We always get comments on it whenever we wear it out.</div>
<br />
As you can see, I went all out. And she loved it. I even hung the Hungry Caterpillar wall pictures up in her room when we moved, since we kept it up for the rest of the year. Not sure what I'll do this year, or even if I have a place to do it.<br />
<br />
I could do just a family party now and do a barbecue later in the year when it's warmer for her friends, but then there's the mom guilt of not being able to do a full balls-to-the-wall party for her actual birthday.<br />
<br />
I always have so much fun planning these things, but when it comes to executing them, my anxiety levels kick into high gear. I'm dreading when I get down to the nitty-gritty details of wedding planning ...<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-29804313843918190362014-02-03T19:26:00.001-05:002014-02-03T21:44:00.550-05:00Kicking buttI recently took a new job, hence the lack of posts in the past month.<br />
<br />
I've learned with myself that if there's a big change in my life, I need to give myself time to adjust. Maybe it's my <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2014/01/why-i-like-myers-briggs.html" target="_blank">INTJ personality</a>, or maybe I've just learned that I adjust better when I can focus all of my energy on something, rather than just trying to get it to "fit in" with everything else I have going on.<br />
<br />
But, enough of the reasoning/excuses.<br />
<br />
I want to talk about another recent change. And, to be honest, I can see it being controversial, at best. Especially since the change I made impacted something I was very private about to begin with. Something I don't like to admit, but feel I should.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf4SVfFoFBGOvFJXt1qPcxz53eW2Ks1sMN8tarao9IgxLJcjLDoClCcDyKVyruPOP6LCX5czGbAbvc7CpZYOM1xvrRedfALnWhugUY4YYyYLbSiomWX-F5VGdcFIHyLWacpO1pPGKCdxFD/s1600/CancerStick4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf4SVfFoFBGOvFJXt1qPcxz53eW2Ks1sMN8tarao9IgxLJcjLDoClCcDyKVyruPOP6LCX5czGbAbvc7CpZYOM1xvrRedfALnWhugUY4YYyYLbSiomWX-F5VGdcFIHyLWacpO1pPGKCdxFD/s1600/CancerStick4.jpg" height="200" width="170" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only in the '80s could parents<br />
take a photo like this and have<br />
it be considered "funny."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I <strike>am</strike> <b>was</b> a smoker.<br />
<br />
Let's start way back ...<br />
<br />
Well, not that far back.<br />
<br />
Back when I was in college. My freshman year. I was on my winter break and I had $5 to my name. I could either use that to get something to eat and worry about starving for the rest of the week and mooching off my parents for food, or, as a friend put it, I could buy a pack of cigarettes and the hunger would go away.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic3sElDAueUWV3szvI5FzXyeQ6TuCstLhCn_KtVXmpic6DePK-z5X6DKyaYiJXxs5ZsvuhljokUQfheher0zeInL8sBi6-F7j835hhLBU6r4hWDrGFHgblYTMM6oAE6fN1Ax1NZsVEJPvS/s1600/CancerStick2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic3sElDAueUWV3szvI5FzXyeQ6TuCstLhCn_KtVXmpic6DePK-z5X6DKyaYiJXxs5ZsvuhljokUQfheher0zeInL8sBi6-F7j835hhLBU6r4hWDrGFHgblYTMM6oAE6fN1Ax1NZsVEJPvS/s1600/CancerStick2.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Besides, I knew I looked "cool" doing it.<br />
I was basically the epitome of "Absolutely Fabulous"<br />
in my college and post-college years.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
She convinced me to pick up smoking as simple as that. Appetite suppressant, you say? Only $5? For 20 cigarettes? If I replaced one meal a day with one cigarette, that could save me so much money!, my 18-year-old mind reasoned. Sure, it's unhealthy, but I'd rather be thin and die sooner. Yes, that was my mentality.<br />
<br />
Granted, I lost about 40 pounds after starting smoking, but it gradually got put back on over the years.<br />
<br />
At 18, stupid decisions like that were the norm, unfortunately. All my friends smoked. They would do cool tricks like make smoke rings. And they were mostly artsy types and it seemed almost unnatural that I, with two parents who also smoked, was a nonsmoker.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmDO_6-X71N4YasidU-0n-C8EyKuxiv-uTEmuvAF7v5bp1uIBww48ZgcUrCMJPUhMHaFzUECI0y1DYrpOUmKIiGWzDClo7Nabr5jy_D3Qyp-GFp5HbHrQPNEVeLIRpAcBgphLzWLgKiH5_/s1600/CancerStick3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmDO_6-X71N4YasidU-0n-C8EyKuxiv-uTEmuvAF7v5bp1uIBww48ZgcUrCMJPUhMHaFzUECI0y1DYrpOUmKIiGWzDClo7Nabr5jy_D3Qyp-GFp5HbHrQPNEVeLIRpAcBgphLzWLgKiH5_/s1600/CancerStick3.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smoking became my way to make new friends at bars.<br />
As a mom now, I'm scared to death of my daughter even<br />
talking to any character she might meet when she starts<br />
going to bars.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So, I took my friend's advice and bought a pack of Marlboro Lights. It took me two weeks to go through that pack. Maybe more. I figured I wasn't a real smoker, since I had one or two a day.<br />
<br />
Fast forward almost 10 years later. I was a pack-a-day smoker. I had quit here and there, but usually returned back to it. My husband, at the time, smoked even more than I did. We smoked the same brand. We didn't smoke in the house, but in the warmer months, it was common for us to be out on the porch chain smoking.<br />
<br />
Then, I got that positive confirmation on my pregnancy test and quit cold turkey that night. My last cigarette, in fact, was after peeing on the stick and was promptly put out as soon as the five minutes were up and I could go see the result.<br />
<br />
A year-and-a-half passed. I had my daughter and didn't return to smoking until I started working again and the stress was just too much. Between having a child on the brink of toddlerhood, a job that came with a lot of stress, and a marriage that I could see was starting to deteriorate, I bought an "emergency pack," which I even knew would be my vice for even little stressors I would then consider an "emergency," just so I could enjoy my cancer sticks again.<br />
<br />
Fast forward another year and I had "quit" when I began dating my now-fiance. But I didn't really. I just stopped for a few weeks, only to pick up a pack to keep in my car and smoke every few days when I knew he wouldn't catch me. He caught me a few times and, although disappointed, forgave me because he knew I was under a lot of stress. But that didn't stop me.<br />
<br />
I would come home from work and jump right in the shower and brush my teeth, trying to hide it. I wouldn't kiss him right away, and even put sticky lip balm on knowing he wouldn't kiss me if he saw I had used it. Sometimes, that didn't stop him, but he was nice enough not to say anything, even though I knew full well he knew I smoked.<br />
<br />
When I started my new job, I was up to two packs a week. And I ended up working in an office where I have yet to see someone outside smoking. I was still new so I only smoked on my lunch break.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8wUb8B-nH2K5V_gh3qhi_LOvgjrIYHs-m0gqW9sMMEwqWkhZTlMq6HsaeWzrJmAmqVD6TmHksfAlp6vR5mrCZAKnpo2EFZpKevm32a2jRQTtKiWas3TuyZZdaI-63vOj5rKFNFghdglqZ/s1600/CancerStick1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8wUb8B-nH2K5V_gh3qhi_LOvgjrIYHs-m0gqW9sMMEwqWkhZTlMq6HsaeWzrJmAmqVD6TmHksfAlp6vR5mrCZAKnpo2EFZpKevm32a2jRQTtKiWas3TuyZZdaI-63vOj5rKFNFghdglqZ/s1600/CancerStick1.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Circa 2007. If you were to ask me the most<br />
disgusting part of this picture,<br />
I think I would have to say the<br />
high-heeled loafers, unfortunately.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One day I came back and one woman who worked near me had just gotten a pile of papers from a woman who apparently smoked and she was complaining about the smell, saying the pile smelled like an ashtray mixed with strong perfume. I had smoked a cigarette on my break and had, coincidentally, sprayed body spray on me before coming back in. I was convinced she could smell me and thought it was the pile of papers and I felt awful. I didn't want my new coworkers to smell the smoke on me. I felt ashamed and I hated smoking. But, of course, I chained smoked on the ride home, trying to figure out when would be a good time to quit.<br />
<br />
I loved going to the gym, but because I'm not on an insurance plan yet since I just started, I couldn't get a refill for my inhaler, which I needed after a strenuous workout (and bedroom things, as well, to be honest). I was sick of colds lasting way longer than they should, just because the stress of having a cold, of course, prompted me to smoke. I was sick of waiting for L. to take a nap or fall asleep before bringing the monitor outside with me so I could smoke, go back inside, take a shower, brush my teeth and resume "momming."<br />
<br />
I should take this moment here to say my daughter has NEVER been around me when I smoked. She's never seen me smoke. I make every effort to take a shower and brush my teeth after smoking when she's around.<br />
<br />
But, that said, I was still her mom who smoked. Her dad never did give it up. And, as far as I know, he doesn't smoke in the car when she's in it, but his car does stink of it. And I know my car did, too, no matter how aired out it was by the time I got her in it. Thinking of her one day picking up a cigarette when she's in her teens scared me. I made this tiny little body of hers, and I hated the idea she would put something so disgusting in it. I'm sure my parents felt the same way when I started, although they knew they couldn't say anything, being smokers since teens, themselves.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4-ps.googleusercontent.com/x/www.trendhunter.com/cdn.trendhunterstatic.com/thumbs/xshocking-packaging-new-gross-images-on-uk-cigarette-packs-today-update.jpeg.pagespeed.ic.S0Mh_aaUXa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4-ps.googleusercontent.com/x/www.trendhunter.com/cdn.trendhunterstatic.com/thumbs/xshocking-packaging-new-gross-images-on-uk-cigarette-packs-today-update.jpeg.pagespeed.ic.S0Mh_aaUXa.jpg" height="252" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think the gross facial hair is one of the most<br />
disturbing things about this ad, to be honest.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The disgusting ads didn't make me quit. The patch didn't make me quit. The gum didn't make me quit. The fact that I was shortening my life and, at the same time, the amount of time I would be with my daughter, didn't make me quit.<br />
<br />
Finally, my friend, who 12 years ago said, "Buy a pack of cigarettes," said to me, "You should try e-cigarettes," when I told her about my coworker that day. She has been "vaping" for months now. She went from being a pack-a-day to being completely smoke-free for about eight months, I think. When I got into her car that night, it smelled different. It was sweet-smelling, not smoky. She told me how when she bought her new car, she wanted to keep it smoke-free and she decided to try e-cigarettes. The ones they sell in gas stations and pharmacies were great, but she was going through them so quickly and the expense added up, so she began learning about Mid-Size and APVs and Mods. (<a href="http://www.cigbuyer.com/types-of-e-cigarettes/" target="_blank">Here is a good, quick guide to see the pros and cons of each.</a>) Soon, she gave up "analog" cigarettes (the nasty, tobacco-filled regular cigarettes we all hate) completely.<br />
<br />
She took me to an e-cigarette shop and I got to try the different flavors of juices. Nothing, in my mind, would be able to compare to the taste of a cigarette. That marvelous taste of a Marlboro Mild. Or, what I had, in my mind, decided was the better alternative -- a Marlboro Ultra Light.<br />
<br />
Then I tried fruity flavors, musky flavors, sweet flavors, menthol flavors. I spent about $30 on a mid-size eGo and a juice that reminded me of Newports and tried it. I didn't get any nicotine in it, thinking I wasn't addicted to nicotine, but just the reflex of smoking.<br />
<br />
I liked it, to a point, but I still had more than half a pack of cigarettes left. So, the next day, I tried having only one cigarette instead of my usual two on the way to work, and I "vaped" the rest of the way. One my lunch break, same thing. On the ride home, I didn't even have a cigarette. But I did drive back to the e-cigarette store and buy another flavor, but with the smallest amount of nicotine available, realizing maybe I was a nicotine junkie afterall.<br />
<br />
I went through the rest of my pack, cutting back so that by the end of the week, I had one analog cigarette left and I was perfectly happy with vaping.<br />
<br />
Two weeks later, I was cleaning my car and saw the pack and threw it away, only realizing after that I had left myself one cigarette, but I wasn't disappointed.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg58tqk6dXqJR0yfwvV7aR9UaP8ByGqP1gmASXZ8wzPmFDMjxjOJbdXMUtBqy03ORE9CJfPtWqKIoURJZcQYQw7M6jPrI-6PjCCJGxCKGIkDWDOU6TiqREUdtxfWDNNlX-mqLTXYYQ3y8-V/s640/blogger-image-316496582.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg58tqk6dXqJR0yfwvV7aR9UaP8ByGqP1gmASXZ8wzPmFDMjxjOJbdXMUtBqy03ORE9CJfPtWqKIoURJZcQYQw7M6jPrI-6PjCCJGxCKGIkDWDOU6TiqREUdtxfWDNNlX-mqLTXYYQ3y8-V/s320/blogger-image-316496582.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My current personal vaporizer I'm using while<br />
writing this post. This is the first time in years I've gotten<br />
the enjoyment smoking used to bring me while writing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I had done a lot of research in those two weeks, saw a lot of success stories from former smokers, read the studies -- good and bad -- about e-cigarettes, watched videos ranging from product reviews from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/jeneefowler?feature=watch" target="_blank">Jenee Fowler a.k.a. Vape Girl</a> to celebrities using e-cigarettes, like <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7fcOE5TCfAI" target="_blank">Katherine Heigl showing David Letterman her e-cigarette</a>.<br />
<br />
From doing my own research, I decided using an e-cigarette was exponentially better for me than smoking ever was or will be. From personal experience, not being a slave to cigarettes has been freeing. Being able to breathe is fanastic. Not needing an inhaler is even better. The cold I had two weeks ago was gone in about three days -- half the time it normally takes for me to get over a cold! I don't worry about the effects of third-hand smoke on my clothes. I don't have to shower as often ... well, that could be construed weirdly, but since becoming a mom, showering becomes one of those things that turns into an optional activity in the day.<br />
<br />
A few points to consider:<br />
<br />
<b>Don't start vaping if you don't smoke already</b><br />
Smoking is gross. Any cigarette smoker, no matter how addicted, will probably say the same thing. And, being a smoker for 1/3rd of my life, I became an expert at rolling my eyes at nonsmokers who would inform me of this fact, since I knew damn well it was gross and disgusting.<br />
The fact that my car doesn't smell like stale smoke anymore, my clothes and jackets don't have to be FeBrezed every time after smoking, the tips of my index and middle fingers don't smell like a used cigarette filter, and hair still smells like my shampoo at the end of the day just reinforces the fact that I'm not doing something disgusting anymore.<br />
Although there have been numerous tests, there isn't enough widespread information that's mainstream enough for the government to get fully behind marketing e-cigarettes as a "safer" alternative. But, I can personally attest that it is better for me than cigarettes and I would rather put something in my body that typically has <a href="http://www.cigbuyer.com/inside-e-cigarette-liquids-and-vapor/" target="_blank">four ingredients</a> in it, which, by the way, are all part of consumer products we eat and use daily.<br />
<br />
<b>I'm exhaling vapor, not smoke</b><br />
When I accidentally left my e-cigarette charger plugged into my laptop, the fiance asked what it was and not only did I have to admit that I was using an e-cigarette, but I had to justify that by admitting how often I was smoking cigarettes behind his back before that. Once I had explained to him what I was doing and told him about my research, he said, "Oh, well, if you want to do that in the house, I guess it's OK." I then admitted to him I was doing that already, and he was a little surprised he couldn't smell it at all. Even if you don't do any other research on your own comparing analog cigarettes to e-cigarettes, watching this video is probably the most straight-forward example:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/9UqcDrkIsjw" width="560"></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<b>No, I'm not doing this in front of L.</b><br />
My e-cigarette has a button that even toddler hands can easily press. I own one that is a pearly shade of pink that looks similar to something that could be used as a pretend magic wand, in the eyes of a 2-year-old. Even though I agree with statements saying the vapor isn't hazardous second-hand, I'm still not going to take that chance with her. She doesn't need to see her mom look like the dragon she sometimes feels like when it comes to being dependent on nicotine.<br />
<br />
Speaking of which ...<br />
<br />
<b>Nicotine, itself, is not the (worst) enemy</b><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
When people hear the word, "nicotine," it's assumed nicotine is the nasty, disgusting substance in analog cigarettes that poisons your lungs and heart and kills you. No, no, no. You're thinking of tobacco, tar, acetone, butane, arsenic, paint, etc. that go into analog cigarettes. Nicotine, itself, is a stimulant. Some even compare nicotine to caffeine, as far as having similar effect neurologically and biologically. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Look, I'll say it a million times -- I'm no expert, but I know I'm getting that hand-to-mouth fix from vaping that smoking cessation products such as patches (containing nicotine), gum (containing nicotine) and chewing tobacco (containing nicotine) never gave me. And I've kicked those extra 4,000 chemicals in cigarettes to the curb in favor of something that many doctors are backing as an alternative.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/cAEjWfeIcVw" width="560"></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<b>The flavors</b><br />
E-cigarettes have receives a lot of flak about offering delicious flavors, ranging from fruity to sweet to minty to even some that taste like popular beverages. Many have said this just entices those who don't smoke, especially kids, to try e-cigarettes. But, I have to say, the shops I go to will not sell to anyone younger than 18. I hope more e-cigarette retailers adhere to this fact, as well. Believe it or not, adults like fun flavors too! If I were to pick up a package of Sweet Tarts in the store, I wouldn't expect a cashier to tell me I couldn't purchase or consume them because I was older than 8. And, to be honest, the variety of flavors is probably what kept me off of going back to analog cigarettes, since I'm not getting my tastebuds back and can enjoy flavors again!<br />
<br />
I could go on, but I wouldn't be saying anything other people haven't said better (and with more information to better prove the points I would be writing circles around trying to justify my point).<br />
<br />
So, I'll leave you with this infographic (I love infographics!):<br />
<br />
<div class="visually_embed">
<img alt="E-cigarette Vs Tobacco Cigarettes" class="visually_embed_infographic" src="http://thumbnails.visually.netdna-cdn.com/ecigarette-infographic--ecigarette-vs-tobacco-cigarettes_50bf3487507cd_w540.jpg" /><br />
<div class="visually_embed_cycle">
Explore more <a href="http://visual.ly/">infographics</a> like this one on the web's largest information design community - <a href="http://visual.ly/">Visually</a>.</div>
<script class="visually_embed_script" id="visually_embed_script_58649" src="http://a.visual.ly/api/embed/58649?width=540" type="text/javascript"></script></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-926521152926092572014-01-04T17:21:00.002-05:002014-01-04T17:21:38.789-05:00Thoughts for my future high schooler<div>
Having L. as a toddler right now, she's very happy with the world in general, I think. It's difficult to understand tantrums that come from things like not wanting to get dressed or not being able to fit a toy potato into a toy tea kettle because, in my head, if that's the worst part of your day, life's pretty damn good.</div>
<div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSwH8bSMQGux3KbdrseKb56h2N76gk4GMUVL03lxFqvHdNdx70GZcmS5-remwvQarnU6zI-D4kANI8i4lRs1a4v6n4rBjblC_sGdNsRB8tS5Cz2Y0Igaw8Vp0ncLOB7tlzt9E4HHxVYkr/s640/blogger-image--460202820.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSwH8bSMQGux3KbdrseKb56h2N76gk4GMUVL03lxFqvHdNdx70GZcmS5-remwvQarnU6zI-D4kANI8i4lRs1a4v6n4rBjblC_sGdNsRB8tS5Cz2Y0Igaw8Vp0ncLOB7tlzt9E4HHxVYkr/s200/blogger-image--460202820.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me circa 1999 before our Sadie<br />Hawkins dance. Oh, the extreme<br />awkwardness of having to<br />ask a boy out!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's difficult to imagine this child getting older and becoming immersed in a world of technology and dealing with social pressures that come with it. I can't imagine that added to the stress and anxiety that happens during the awkward high school years.<br />
<br />
Even though it was more than 10 years ago, I still cringe a bit when I think of how every little thing that happened was so extreme within my own mind back then.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I wish I could impart to her what I wish I could have told my high school self. I'm pretty sure most, if not all of these, will still be relevant when L. is old enough to have to worry about such things:<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Nobody is paying as much attention to what you're wearing or how you do your hair as you think. (However, if the photo above is any indication, just know you'll question what you were thinking later in life while looking through old photographs.)</li>
<li>Wearing baggy clothes does not hide your body. Wearing tight clothes doesn't make you a size smaller than you are. And if your butt crack or nipples show, you are not leaving the house.</li>
<li>Smile more.</li>
<li>Teachers are smarter than you give them credit for.</li>
<li>Not everybody is having sex, drinking, doing drugs, partying.</li>
<li>Saying "no" to things you aren't ready for doesn't make you a bad friend.</li>
<li>Sometimes you need to disengage so you can realign your priorities.</li>
<li>You're allowed to be wrong. And you should be big enough to admit mistakes.</li>
<li>Keep your promises. People remember, despite them not saying anything.</li>
<li>There's nothing wrong with being a late bloomer. Those in your grade who look much older and perfect have already peaked, believe it or not. </li>
<li>You will not believe the last piece of advice until your high school reunions, which you should go to because they are a lot of fun.</li>
<li>Don't hold grudges. They're not worth it.</li>
<li>Don't be afraid to try new things. You never know what may really grab you and fascinate you.</li>
<li><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKiBy_4uzhlBJd8O5Nmvid6eMIm6PzCEiLyg_RL-W3HHjq8QDoRcZHUqG_ycypFLNJc4oi3urB0MulAfOx6rLVl61OsIEFrs-XckJgsts8Fn9RpVjaCo3UAgTFrQdp2nfWkqprpHFOCypZ/s640/blogger-image-305072707.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKiBy_4uzhlBJd8O5Nmvid6eMIm6PzCEiLyg_RL-W3HHjq8QDoRcZHUqG_ycypFLNJc4oi3urB0MulAfOx6rLVl61OsIEFrs-XckJgsts8Fn9RpVjaCo3UAgTFrQdp2nfWkqprpHFOCypZ/s320/blogger-image-305072707.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My friend Rachel and I knew each other since our<br />
freshman year, when this weird photo was taken.<br />
Like all friendships, we had disagreements and even<br />
periods in which we weren't on speaking terms.<br />
We remained friends after high school and college,<br />
then became pregnant within weeks of each other.<br />
She is not my maid of honor and I can't imagine<br />
my life without her.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Focus on those who like you, as opposed to wasting energy on those who don't.</li>
<li>Have a healthy outlet. Something creative, something physical, something mental, anything. Between all the hormones and the stress, keeping everything inside is a recipe for disaster.</li>
<li>My expectations are only that you put in your best effort.</li>
<li>Don't become a walking billboard for brand names and cheaply-made clothing.</li>
<li>I will stay up waiting for you, I will worry about you, I will ask you questions about your life. It's not because I want to judge, it's because I care about you.</li>
<li>You're going to have to fight a lot of your own battles. You're going to win some and you're going to lose some. That's not always as important as how you handle yourself in those battles.</li>
<li>If it wasn't said to you, if it didn't happen to you, if you weren't involved in it, it's not your problem. You can still be a good friend and a sympathetic listener, but once you involve yourself in matters that don't pertain to you, you're only making it worse.</li>
<li>An online or phone conversation cannot take the place of a real face-to-face interaction.</li>
<li>You won't need to remember every single thing you learn in high school, but having a working knowledge of a lot of things does help out in the future in ways you might not think.</li>
<li>You can always use me as an excuse if you don't want to do something your friends are doing. I don't mind being the "bad guy," as long as you feel you're making the right decision for you.</li>
<li>If you must succumb to using trendy slang, whatever the 2020s-versions of "totes," "feels," "OMG," "lol," "jk," "syke," and using "like" after, like, every other, like, word, be cognizant of when the right times are to use this vernacular and, more importantly, when it is not the right time. Your slang is not, for example, appropriate for professional emails, school work, thank you cards to your family or when you're trying to win an argument with your copy editor mother.</li>
</ul>
<div>
I saw a Pinterest post a few days ago with the phrase, "parent your child today with the person she's going to be in the future in mind." So, if I can keep these lessons I want her to know before even setting foot in the door on her first day of high school, I would consider that an accomplishment.</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-32778606289533790932014-01-04T11:27:00.002-05:002014-01-04T11:27:33.149-05:00Why I like Myers-Briggs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.reettaraitanen.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/SeverusSnapeINTJ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://www.reettaraitanen.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/SeverusSnapeINTJ.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Last year, as part of my <strike>obsession with</strike> immersion into all things <a href="http://theartofsimple.net/" target="_blank">The Art of Simple</a> (formerly Simple Mom), I listened to Tsh's <a href="http://homefries.com/shows/the-simple-mom-podcast/" target="_blank">podcasts</a> on my commute to and from work. One of the topics she talked about was Myers-Briggs personalities.<br />
<br />
I took a little psychology in high school, but I had never heard of Myers-Briggs. I decided to take a test to find out what my type was. I assumed the personalities wouldn't be that much different and it was possible this was another pop-psychology personality test. Like those quizzes in magazines in which I would usually find myself answering with all Bs and the answer key would tell me I am smack-dab in the middle of everything. Yawn. Oh, but I was wrong. And learning about Myers-Briggs and my personality type has actually helped me dramatically in finding out more about how I function, as well as how I thrive in certain environments and feel uncomfortable in others.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
<a href="" name="more"></a><br />
The <a href="http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/jtypes2.asp" target="_blank">online test</a> I found was a little jarring, since there was no "sometimes" or "maybes." But once I found out my personality type and did some reading, I realized I enjoyed the test and the knowledge that came from it. The test indicated I was an INTJ, which stands for Introvert, iNtuition, Thinking and Judgment.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
From Wikipedia:<br />
<ul style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px; list-style-image: url(data:image/png; margin: 0.3em 0px 0px 1.6em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.1em;"><b>Introversion</b> preferred to extraversion: INTJs tend to be quiet and reserved. They generally prefer interacting with a few close friends rather than a wide circle of acquaintances, and they <i>expend</i> energy in social situations (whereas extraverts gain energy).<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-8" style="line-height: 1em; unicode-bidi: -webkit-isolate;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/INTJ#cite_note-8" style="background-image: none; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[8]</a></sup></li>
</ul>
<ul style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px; list-style-image: url(data:image/png; margin: 0.3em 0px 0px 1.6em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.1em;"><b>N – Intuition</b> preferred to sensing: INTJs tend to be more abstract than concrete. They focus their attention on the big picture rather than the details and on future possibilities rather than immediate realities.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-9" style="line-height: 1em; unicode-bidi: -webkit-isolate;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/INTJ#cite_note-9" style="background-image: none; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[9]</a></sup></li>
</ul>
<ul style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px; list-style-image: url(data:image/png; margin: 0.3em 0px 0px 1.6em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.1em;"><b>T – Thinking</b> preferred to feeling: INTJs tend to value objective criteria above personal preference or sentiment. When making decisions they generally give more weight to logic than to social considerations.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-10" style="line-height: 1em; unicode-bidi: -webkit-isolate;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/INTJ#cite_note-10" style="background-image: none; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[10]</a></sup></li>
</ul>
<ul style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px; list-style-image: url(data:image/png; margin: 0.3em 0px 0px 1.6em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.1em;"><b>J – Judgment</b> preferred to perception: INTJs tend to plan their activities and make decisions early. They derive a sense of control through predictability, which to perceptive types may seem limiting.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-11" style="line-height: 1em; unicode-bidi: -webkit-isolate;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/INTJ#cite_note-11" style="background-image: none; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[11]</a></sup></li>
</ul>
</blockquote>
Once I read more about my personality, I realized I related so much to other INTJs and, since it's one of the rarest personalities, especially for women, I couldn't believe how just seeing statistics like that made me feel better and even more comfortable in situations in which I normally wouldn't feel comfortable, just because I was aware that certain situations made me uncomfortable and I could prepare for them more.<br />
<br />
One thing about being an Introvert is most people don't think I am, since I do have an outgoing personality. Fake, I tell you, it's all fake. I can act extroverted because my mom was an extrovert and she would try to make me one and I hated it. But, being an INTJ, I was able to observe and mimic it -- much like the common sociopath, so that's always a good comparison ...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/513xPAZAyVL._SX258_PJlook-inside-v2,TopRight,1,0_SH20_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/513xPAZAyVL._SX258_PJlook-inside-v2,TopRight,1,0_SH20_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" width="258" /></a></div>
As recommended by Tsh, I got a used copy of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0738210455" target="_blank">MotherStyles</a> from Amazon and realized how my personality affected my relationship with not only my mother, who's an Extrovert, but also L., who is an introvert like me, but she has some opposite traits that I don't understand sometimes.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, I have to appeal to L. on a level that seems completely foreign to me. Although, I assume a lot of that has to do with the theory that toddlers and children up to the age of 5 don't really have impulse control, which is difficult for me to grasp anyway.<br />
<br />
The book was really an eye-opener and I even lent it to my mom, basically as a way to tell her, "See?! This is why we used to fight for hours in high school! This is why I can't pick up the phone and have a 20-minute conversation with small talk! I just can't!"<br />
<br />
One thing that's helpful with the book, as well as the <a href="http://www.motherstyles.com/" target="_blank">website</a>, is it gives suggestions for how different personality types can take care of themselves. For example, since I'm an INTJ, the suggestion in a parenting book to make time for me was much appreciated. I never noticed that I do, in fact, need just time to sit quietly, especially after large social gatherings. I gain energy from just being by myself. I enjoy things like going to the grocery store by myself or my commute because it was time with myself where I could properly analyze and organize the thoughts in my head. And one thing the book helped me with is I stopped feeling guilty because I needed that time to myself, when I felt I should be spending every moment, every second with L. when I had her, even though by naptime, I would be exhausted and I couldn't figure out why.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZQqkTfNAlcCwgnOc5w98zGrA7q2CeJZYDB9McnVt01ORCAPBIcFas10C5hTSAFKQ-WTB5X6SFXiGSe2BpWJpjmBzDh15qtwyaJMB93zDdeNPrlNaVgUvd8xtJ_nZcFpDrBg4L-SMTR-2/s640/blogger-image-912560692.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZQqkTfNAlcCwgnOc5w98zGrA7q2CeJZYDB9McnVt01ORCAPBIcFas10C5hTSAFKQ-WTB5X6SFXiGSe2BpWJpjmBzDh15qtwyaJMB93zDdeNPrlNaVgUvd8xtJ_nZcFpDrBg4L-SMTR-2/s200/blogger-image-912560692.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Portrait of my INTJ train<br /> of thought being<br /> rudely interrupted at<br />the gym by someone<br />wearing strong cotton <br />candy body spray.<br />Oh, the contempt!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Because of that, I began relying on the fiancee more (who also happens to be an INTJ, which means we can be perfectly happy in separate rooms, doing separate things, without feeling like one is abandoning the other). He started watching her while I would go on an errand or go to the gym for an hour. And, despite doing those things, I would come back refreshed and make it through the rest of the day.<br />
<br />
Even now, I appreciate the fact that I woke up early (mostly to try to set my internal alarm for changing over to a job with a day shift in a few days) and I now have the living room to myself to have a cup of coffee and blog.<br />
<br />
I use my personality type to explain a lot of things in my life I didn't have the words for in the past. I won't go into too much detail because, as is part of my personality, I'd sound like a know-it-all supervillain if I did. (INTJs are basically the ideal villain in pop culture. Personally, I think they're just misunderstood.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://rdcltci.files.wordpress.com/2010/11/intj-villain.jpg?w=400&h=320" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://rdcltci.files.wordpress.com/2010/11/intj-villain.jpg?w=400&h=320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
That said, I highly recommend taking the Myers-Briggs test, if for nothing else than to look at all the fun pop culture references and images are out there that correlate with each type. I even started a <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/whylimewhynot/myers-briggs-obsession-intj/" target="_blank">board on Pinterest </a>for fun INTJ pictures I've found. In a weird way, it's nice to have that "I know, right?" moment when I see something that totally resonates with me.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-59739365162258888752013-12-31T20:47:00.001-05:002013-12-31T20:47:34.364-05:00Happy New Year!From the Self-Evident Supermom household to yours, have a very happy new year!<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhui-CwwzLAJcMGcbXeZUm2ueBq7qF6DU4h8Xaz2lzYs_0-Vr6LrK0cDcsTopDFaq6Bdlho5Ukm9Zf-7Dwy_8YqF2TZZPhJxDaIRH19kStUwEVRertrb9IRWO2af9A3DVTZcaTMackqkz3J/s1600/blogger-image-1685949486.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhui-CwwzLAJcMGcbXeZUm2ueBq7qF6DU4h8Xaz2lzYs_0-Vr6LrK0cDcsTopDFaq6Bdlho5Ukm9Zf-7Dwy_8YqF2TZZPhJxDaIRH19kStUwEVRertrb9IRWO2af9A3DVTZcaTMackqkz3J/s200/blogger-image-1685949486.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's as if she's mocking me,<br />saying, "Oh, you fool,<br />you think 2 is bad? Wait."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This year will bring a new job (surprise, surprise!), a new schedule for both me and L., the dreaded Terrible 3s (3 is the new 2, <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/susannah-lewis/three-is-the-new-two_b_4505898.html" target="_blank">have you heard</a>?), potty training (ugh, eventually), a wedding, L. starting school and, hopefully, more topics to write on and more productivity, all while trying to maintain simplicity.<br />
<br />
Every year, I make 10 resolutions. I figure I have chance to keep at least one.<br />
<br />
Before I set my goals for 2014, I'd like to just take a minute to list my accomplishments of 2013. Not for bragging purposes, but as inspiration that sometimes, despite what my inner critic thinks, I can do it!<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
<ul>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJRN82Ro9ICWfZlM7lFU2qhDBRq9JbTNPdKlaME-vLbDWzrblY_kPG0vLoEXHiCFRzZ2mnCNt5ZJK8nNmoMagf1bMcWRDGh0YzCAB51bVTBl7uQHn2T2pHmQg4IWFB7x3yGojo4V11mjvd/s1600/blogger-image--2099433338.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>
<li>I dealt with divorce. I came out alive. Maybe for the better, definitely not for the worse, but changed in a way that I never expected.</li>
<li>I was successful at a job I love. I'll be sad to be leaving for the routine Monday-Friday, 9-5 schedule again, but when L. starts school next year, it will be better for us.</li>
<li>I made new blogger friends. They don't know it, most likely, but I enjoyed being privy to their lives and having them inspire me to keep going and to make potentially scary changes.</li>
<li>I made an effort to get healthier. I drank more water and really noticed the difference that made. I learned to use the term "movement" instead of the almost-pejorative "exercise." I reached my pre-pregnancy weight, which I'm still hovering around and proud to say haven't strayed far from, despite holiday gatherings and temptations of all the candy around. And, I came up with the mantra, "<a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/08/why-i-like-yoga.html" target="_blank">People working out don't look stupid. They just don't.</a>" That is constantly in my head as I get my daily dose of "movement."</li>
<li>I met my challenge of reading more. And not just parenting books, either! I always make this resolution and, I'm told, once L. is a bit older, I will be able to keep it easier.</li>
<li>I lost people in my life. Not to death, but to divorce. It hurt when friends I thought I was so close to stopped calling or texting. Because they didn't know which side to picked, I can only assume they decided to ignore us both. That said, however, I became closer with friends who were there for me. As with every year of getting older, I learned about true friendship and I appreciate those close to me so much more.</li>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJRN82Ro9ICWfZlM7lFU2qhDBRq9JbTNPdKlaME-vLbDWzrblY_kPG0vLoEXHiCFRzZ2mnCNt5ZJK8nNmoMagf1bMcWRDGh0YzCAB51bVTBl7uQHn2T2pHmQg4IWFB7x3yGojo4V11mjvd/s200/blogger-image--2099433338.jpg" width="150" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Despite having a lot of photos<br /> of L. on my phone, <br />a good chunk of memory<br />is taken up my cats.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<li>I took pictures. At least every other month, I have to upload the pictures on my phone to make room for new ones. I haven't organized them, but at least I have them. Because of different Apps available, I take better photos I will one day thank myself for. Not just posed portraits, but random, everyday little things with L.</li>
<li>I <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/10/failure-to-laugh.html" target="_blank">failed at something</a>. Even though it's not an accomplishment, I feel I should acknowledge not completing my <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/09/31-days-does-anybody-remember-laughter.html" target="_blank">30 Days of Laughter Challenge</a> because I learned I can fail at something and move on with my life.</li>
<li>I gave back. For my 30th birthday, I celebrated by bring L. with me to accomplish <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/04/thirty-good-deeds-to-celebrate-turning.html" target="_blank">30 good deeds</a>. It was my favorite birthday I've ever had.</li>
<li>I learned to appreciate coffee. I was not a coffee drinker really until this year. But, thanks to a recipe found on Pinterest for iced coffee, I began enjoying it in the summer. And, when my soon-to-be sister-in-law got us (me) a Keurig for Christmas, I realized the early, early mornings L. wakes me up can be tolerable.</li>
</ul>
As for 2014, I don't want to put the pressure on myself to be as productive as I was in 2013. In fact, I wasn't expecting much from 2013, so it was a nice surprise to have the motivation to change as many things as I did. So, I'll give myself some realistic expectations, rather than lofty resolutions.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrxgRm_Cy7LrhIaj9Zc62CnUI93F5v_cjVwHcT39DLNQUG_X-IYXQgTxXNhlCGG_g79FiStCjudyTTAH9Yr7YxVNUGQEFxwNnc4U4K1T1TfaahSUsSXXKoHwv6LBaJ_lFB7budroEUJrob/s200/blogger-image-2048014242.jpg" width="150" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Multitasking: Reading<br /> "Pride & Prejudice"<br />at the gym. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li>Read even more. As stated above, I surprised myself when I found time to read a few books that weren't parenting-related. I even challenged myself to read Jane Austen's novels in 2014 as part of Gidget Goes Home's "<a href="http://gidgetgoeshome.com/motherhood-jane-austen-book-club/" target="_blank">Motherhood and Jane Austen Book Club</a>." The fact that I'm 1/3 through "Pride and Prejudice" blows my mind, especially since I've picked up Jane Austen numerous times, only to get tripped up by the dialogue and put it down. Thanks to the Kindle and it's handy-dandy dictionary feature, I'm having an easier time with it and truly enjoying this classic.</li>
<li>Stay true to who I am and what I want. This not only goes for the wedding planning, but in general. I like the person I've become in the past year. I'd like to continue getting to know her and listen to her more. She's actually pretty surprising.</li>
<li>Continue my health effort. I don't expect the same push I gave myself last year. I fit into all my clothes again, which was part of the reason I lost weight -- I saved too many clothes I couldn't justify shopping for the next size up anymore. But, because the new house doesn't really have a space right now for yoga, I joined the gym last week because my body was craving movement again. And, as a working mom, I no longer view the gym as a chore; I see it as Me-Time. And, I have to remember, I never leave the gym unhappy or worse than when I go in.</li>
<li>Give back more. I don't know if I'd be able to have the same cooperation from L. this year to attempt 31 deeds on April 25, but I do enjoy when I can help others and I love setting the example for L.</li>
<li>Cook more. As of right now, I'm in a sad cycle of fast food and take out, especially at work. I hope with the new schedule, I'll be able to make time to really use my kitchen.</li>
<li>Work toward healing more. I still get anxiety when I think about my previous marriage. I still feel like I'm judged for everything I do, even if it's not true at all. I have hangups that the fiance has been patient about and I realize there are things I'm still getting over. It hurts not seeing L. every single day and it doesn't seem to get any easier. I don't know the steps I need to take, but I know that as time goes by, even if I don't consciously notice it, I am slowly healing.</li>
<li>Face challenges with positivity. I'm nervous about starting my new job next week. I have anxiety about leaving my current position. There is a lot of uncertainty bustling through my head right now. But, one thing I keep reminding myself is I can't control time. I will start the new job and I can't predict my first few days of being the new person again. I can't control what happens what happens at my current job after I leave. It's scary, but it's also an opportunity to learn and grow.</li>
<li>Organize. We're still moving in, it feels like. We're finishing the basement and, when that happens, I'll be able to move a lot of clutter upstairs downstairs to have more room. Not only do I need to organize the photos in my archives, but I need to declutter, donate and give away things I've been holding onto.</li>
<li>Build and maintain strong friendships. I really appreciate my friends and I love them tremendously. I don't know why I'm so guarded in letting them know that, but I hope this year to become closer with those in my life who I don't know what I'd do without.</li>
<li>I will keep an army of tools at my disposal to combat the dreaded Mom Guilt that seems to follow me like a shadow. Online communities (I'm looking at you, <a href="http://ctworkingmoms.com/" target="_blank">CTWorkingMoms</a>!), my lovely mom friends, my fiancee and the smile on L.'s face are among the many I'll have to help me maintain the idea that I don't need anyone else to tell me I'm doing a good job. I am a Self-Evident Supermom! </li>
</ul>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJVo9jZBxfMazeHcf5fO0uT0YmrnW4odud7NZH4c3Sd_0wa6kDmPPQO7HUb78rd3MHdN5eYOK9wjHBEmYdTpE2kE9f024r7P2xtkugBo05PpXp9v9gzOfCoT4960Ct5nxdgW8w8s31rECE/s200/blogger-image--9346824.jpg" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nothing to see here.<br />Just watching TV with<br />butterfly antennae.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZxz6SPhcYXw_a1beNJcuKryw0hSiJiCU0B5cy0MPh6aftH-NeBbjKL5C19Y3h_KYZ3csuDanTRyLLeW8L_X52sUFhJue5dk5jiE9mQwWAjnKjZJWiYh-KTi58-pBW07dLZFkRs5s9j7xR/s200/blogger-image-260571929.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halloween 2013<br />Penny Lane & William Miller<br />from "Almost Famous,"<br />our favorite movie.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Hope all of you have a happy and healthy new year! </span></span></i></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-42752253323106371592013-12-25T00:08:00.000-05:002013-12-25T00:08:43.600-05:00Christmas Eve thoughts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD-a2LZJhAM08RAc0jiD-SUI7WqRw2jCRN_1gD8_NAVq9WVhFKltJ-OqqMx_zVa9UOyumNU7hxD-a6qxgb2gTnqEGUVY4bb8BGog0gg5m0OWjJL6cXpDzkEJAQtT65J7zVgu9rOTFhuD6_/s1600/LaylaChristmas2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD-a2LZJhAM08RAc0jiD-SUI7WqRw2jCRN_1gD8_NAVq9WVhFKltJ-OqqMx_zVa9UOyumNU7hxD-a6qxgb2gTnqEGUVY4bb8BGog0gg5m0OWjJL6cXpDzkEJAQtT65J7zVgu9rOTFhuD6_/s320/LaylaChristmas2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Right now, I'm currently without my daughter on Christmas Eve. It's sad. I don't have cookies and milk out, although I know Santa will come. (The photo shown at the right was taken a few weeks ago.) <div>
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Our Elf, Banjo, has already flown back to the North Pole until next year. L.'s presents are packed in a bag and about to be put into the car to be carted around tomorrow instead of under the tree.<div>
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This is the sucky side of Christmas for a child of divorce. SO much travel between all the houses of parents and grandparents and soon-to-be step-grandparents.</div>
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But, instead of the few paragraphs I wrote then deleted complaining about how much divorce is affecting our plans tomorrow and how inconvenient all the traveling will be for L., I'm just going to count my blessings instead of sheep tonight because even Santa Supermom has her nights of the "Bah! Humbugs!" But that doesn't stop tomorrow from coming, as the Grinch learned. And it won't stop Christmas from being magical for L., as well as all those who love her. And that's the most important part of Christmas.</div>
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Happy Holidays to all!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-68981696586445329222013-12-22T13:39:00.001-05:002013-12-22T13:39:59.541-05:00Simply listening to a wonderful Christmas song (Why I Like "Wonderful Christmastime")<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/2/29/62331wct.jpg/220px-62331wct.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/2/29/62331wct.jpg/220px-62331wct.jpg" /></a></div>
Something happened between last year and this one. I don't know what the sociological shift was, but it made everyone decide they *hate* Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Chirstmastime." Maybe they already hated it, though. But it was this year it seemed those people decided to post about it on social media. At least once a week, a status would pop in my feed about hating the song. Even my beloved <a href="http://theartofsimple.net/" target="_blank">Simple Mom</a> posted about it. It was as if my friends realized, "OK, YOLO (or some other Carpe Diem-esque statement), I can now admit that I don't like something one of The Beatles did without looking like an ignorant child saying I hate mommy and daddy's music generation."<br />
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To those people, all I can say is, "Come on! <i>That's</i> your least favorite Christmas song? Really? Of everything out there?"<br />
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I'm normally not so bold in my posts to prescribe a thought I believe all people should have, but here are five reasons "Wonderful Christmastime" is a good, nay, FANTASTIC song:<br />
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<b>1. Sir Paul McCartney</b><br />
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<a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/d/df/Paul_McCartney_black_and_white_2010.jpg/220px-Paul_McCartney_black_and_white_2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/d/df/Paul_McCartney_black_and_white_2010.jpg/220px-Paul_McCartney_black_and_white_2010.jpg" /></a></div>
Despite what <a href="http://books.google.com/books?id=ogTOR_bfXXkC&pg=PA191&lpg=PA191&dq=Robert+Rodriguez,+Fab+Four+FAQ+2.0:+The+Beatles'+Solo+Years,+1970%E2%88%921980+wonderful+christmastime&source=bl&ots=yOzlx_nfA9&sig=8eC5tYKg_QGjCf6cbw8EOIHNxzk&hl=en&sa=X&ei=KR63UqrkDeipsATnpIH4Bw&ved=0CDYQ6AEwAQ#v=onepage&q=Robert%20Rodriguez%2C%20Fab%20Four%20FAQ%202.0%3A%20The%20Beatles'%20Solo%20Years%2C%201970%E2%88%921980%20wonderful%20christmastime&f=false" target="_blank">critics</a> may say, you can't deny that one man writing, producing, recording and playing everything you hear in the song isn't impressive. We're not talking a voice and a guitar, we're talking vocals, bass, guitar, keyboard, drums and percussion, according to the song's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wonderful_Christmastime" target="_blank">Wikipedia page</a>. From those synthesized notes that begin and play throughout to the harmonies only a Beatle, a Beach Boy, a Simon or a Garfunkel could write.<br />
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Also, I am going to throw the parents' generation card in there: It's Paul Mc-freakin'-Carthy!<br />
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<b>2. The lyrics</b><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: #474747; line-height: 30px;">Some of my favorites:</span></span><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: #474747; line-height: 30px;">We're here tonight, </span></i><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: #474747; line-height: 30px;">And that's enough</span></i><br />
Paul's not setting the scene, expecting the perfect Christmas every Pinterest Mom is after. He's making a simple request for people to be with those they love and present in the moment. Not focused on decking the halls, what sale is going on, if they paid too much for an electronic device or if they're going to have enough time to bake all the cookies they intend to.<br />
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(Chorus)<br />
The best part of the song, but I'll get to that.<br />
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<span style="color: #474747; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 30px;"><i>The feelin's here, That only comes, This time of year</i></span></span><br />
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Let's be honest, who hasn't felt more of an inclination to party around the holidays? It may even be why some people party a little too much around Christmas. There's something about holidays and letting down one's guard to overindulge in everything from food to drink to even overspending. Maybe it's the promise of resolutions in January to get us back on the right track, so why not stray? But I think what Paul Mc-charming-Carthy is saying is that inclination to have a good time is here, why not take advantage of it?</div>
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<i>Lift a glass, Ah, don't look down</i></div>
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Basically, when we stand back and look at the crowds, we're not seeing holiday-like smiles. We're seeing, well, crowds. And the reactions to the crowds. But, when you're with friends, you can just enjoy your crowd, so why not toast to it?</div>
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<b>3. Ear worm-ability</b><br />
I can only surmise the reason so many of my friends are against the song is its infectious power to be heard at 9 a.m. and one still find finds themselves humming the familiar chorus at 4 p.m. One <a href="http://science.howstuffworks.com/life/songs-stuck-in-head1.htm" target="_blank">theory</a> about ear worms is that people are who neurotic, tired or stressed are more susceptible to ear worms.<br />
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Hmm, it's December, a big holiday is coming -- with which the potential for family, screaming kids, crazy cleaning, cooking huge meals, traveling or a combination of all of them above. Who <i>doesn't</i> get a neurotic, tired and/or stressed? And here's Paul Mc-amazing-Carthy synthesizing the season and trying to force this saccarine-y tune down our throats!<br />
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Of course it'll get stuck in your head. Paul, if you're reading this, I don't think the song is saccarine-y, nor are you trying to shove anything down our throats -- I think you are lovely and I was hyperbolizing what I can only imagine is the thought process of those who don't enjoy your song, for whatever reason. I will admit I used to be among the haters. And somehow, it became an ear worm for me for a few days one year. Then something magical happened, almost like a Christmas miracle ...<br />
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<b>4. The choreography</b><br />
What's that you say? You didn't know there was a dance to go along with "Wonderful Christmastime?" Well, aren't you in luck for finding my blog so I can tell you all about it! First off, there isn't. There's only some motions to go along with the chorus that seems to repeat often in the song. And it's one I came up with when I was at the point of an ear worm where it consumed me and I heard it so many times in my head, I went a <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/07/progression-of-kids-song-ear-worm.html" target="_blank">little nuts</a>. I believe that's the key.<br />
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Something crossed in my brain to associated the chorus with body movement. I will try my best to break it down for you:<br />
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"We're Simp-" -- Sway left<br />
"-ly" -- Sway right<br />
"Hav-" -- Sway left<br />
"-ing" -- Sway right<br />
"a" -- Duck down<br />
"Wonderful Christmastime" -- bounce up and down<br />
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It's so simple, as in "Simply dancing-to a wonderful Christmas song."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://b3ta.hnldesign.nl/beta198.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://b3ta.hnldesign.nl/beta198.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I didn't know cats dancing with headphones <br />on in a record store was a meme, <br />but apparently it is.</td></tr>
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Look, if you do this dance to the chorus and don't end up in a better mood somehow, I can only assume you're some sort of Dickens character or completely done with Christmas and just focusing on getting to Dec. 26. Sometimes, my better mood with this song is just from wondering what the person in the car behind me is thinking when they see the driver in front of them bobbing up and down.<br />
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The choreography is what makes the song, I'm telling you.<br />
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<b>5. It's temporary</b><br />
Look, if my last four compelling arguments weren't enough to convince you "Wonderful Christmastime" isn't the worst Christmas song out there (yes, I'm looking at you, "Little Drummer Boy," "The Christmas Shoes," and "All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth"), just know by the time I post this, you'll have a few more days of hearing the synthesizer intro and quickly jamming your finger onto the radio buttons to change the station. Then, it'll be another 10 or 11 months until you have to fear accidentally hearing it again. It's not like how half of the stations (at least here in Connecticut) seem to have the same rotation of about 500 songs and, before the full album even comes out, you're sick of Miley Cyrus' or Jay Z's new songs. But that doesn't stop the radio stations from playing it at least once an hour it seems.<br />
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But, OK, if the computerized 1979 music is just too much for you, I present you with Straight No Chaser's version. A cappella, in my opinion, makes everything better.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-88215265341615566972013-12-10T02:27:00.002-05:002013-12-10T02:36:38.628-05:00Never would I ever ...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2e-F8377IEdKRuE3QxN7XLsClE2cQoCuPZuQ9dkBrw000tvvxAOyiLjB_NOtQYLJga4PaYHbQN8_vu0FLB-iutDS6nkPfGPyUb-8hyphenhyphen-VLY470vQcJnvGTGGBec8RQeWTS0YsTH1vJvtFZ/s1600/183054_664920756767_3183225_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2e-F8377IEdKRuE3QxN7XLsClE2cQoCuPZuQ9dkBrw000tvvxAOyiLjB_NOtQYLJga4PaYHbQN8_vu0FLB-iutDS6nkPfGPyUb-8hyphenhyphen-VLY470vQcJnvGTGGBec8RQeWTS0YsTH1vJvtFZ/s320/183054_664920756767_3183225_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't let the smile fool you, there is FEAR in those eyes.</td></tr>
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"When I'm a parent ... "<br />
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Let me stop you right there, oh childless ones who say these words. You think you're so wise. Well, I hate to speak in terms of absolutes, but you're not. Despite how many kids you've babysat for or how many younger siblings you've taken care of, you have no idea how your mind somehow changes and, dare I say it, warps when you have a child of your very own. A child you're responsible for shaping and turning into a decent human being. Not to mention, you have to keep this child alive! And, though a lofty goal, at the very least, you picture these happy, heartfelt moments with your children 24/7.<br />
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I won't spoil the surprise for when you find out in the first 48 hours at home with your new child that these heartfelt moments are hard to come by when you're not even sure what you're supposed to do with this little one and you're sleep deprived and you're questioning every single thing you're doing and wondering if you're doing them all wrong.<br />
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And, as soon as you find the answer you're looking for and something "works," the next day, you'll be searching for a new answer to a new question and/or the answer you just found that worked will no longer work.<br />
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Here are a list of "When I'm a parent" phrases I (stupidly) said:<br />
<br />
<b>1. I will not give my daughter formula</b><br />
My ex-mother-in-law worked in a pediatrician's office (lucky, I know) and they were given endless supplies of formula they weren't allowed to give out. So, it would accumulate. When I was pregnant, she collected it for me and we had a good four-month's worth by the time L. was born. Yet, I read in the books and drank the Breast is Best Kool-Aid online and in mommy forums and I was committed to breast feeding. All the time. I made it through college, I told myself, I could make it through a few months of sleep deprivation.<br />
<br />
After a rocky start, finding out I needed a nipple shield so L. would know to feed, and reading a book a week with all the sitting time I had, I began craving my freedom.<br />
<br />
Yes, I loved the closeness to my daughter and the time only we shared, but I think the INTJ in me was screaming for at least a little freedom. I pumped and froze that, but it was still about 20 minutes of me feeling like I was going to moo any second just so I could get a break later when someone else fed L. Finally, I hit the 6-month mark and I made peace with myself that I could wean her onto formula and give my breasts a rest.<br />
<br />
All this said, I understand the pain moms must feel when they have their heart set on breastfeeding and it doesn't work out. And I would never say, "It's not all it's cracked up to be" to anyone. It's just a personal preference that changed for me.<br />
<br />
<b>2. I will not let her watch TV until she is exactly 2-years-old.</b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFOQRUPxryOIu5sf61w94EQavWmbx-bGEAVqb9oglQxnJ1HzLf3MNyu3QWcKks-lTiacusDtTMe2YDyLWX2bYrZ3uXwsHTdoelgGUvR2rSWpB2ewQGPCLAa_NJgk6OgHRiWJ00771Ts3bq/s1600/1236596_10100364211080327_1634374760_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFOQRUPxryOIu5sf61w94EQavWmbx-bGEAVqb9oglQxnJ1HzLf3MNyu3QWcKks-lTiacusDtTMe2YDyLWX2bYrZ3uXwsHTdoelgGUvR2rSWpB2ewQGPCLAa_NJgk6OgHRiWJ00771Ts3bq/s320/1236596_10100364211080327_1634374760_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Curious George" is well-loved in our home.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After the first three days keeping her away from any screen at all, that meant no screen time for me either.<br />
<br />
"What if I'm watching it and she turns her head to the TV and accidentally gets some?! I'm a terrible mom!" Please, feel free to insert those weird water drops they draw around Cathy's head in the '90s comic as you picture me saying these things to myself.<br />
<br />
By the end of the third day, I lost touch with the world, it seemed. It was before the days of everyone having a smartphone and I still had just a basic cell phone that barely had internet access. I could check Facebook, Twitter and my email and that would be about it. And I was still petrified L. would turn her head and see the screen when I did so.<br />
<br />
I slowly began to give myself excuses to watch TV. "She's still only seeing things all blurry." "She sleeps all day, sounds won't hurt if she hears the TV." "The voices in my head are not as entertaining as they used to be when I was getting the right amount of sleep." "The days are just so. Damn. Long!"<br />
<br />
Soon, I found myself re-watching my DVDs of "Friends" and "The Office" as I was falling asleep and putting them on repeat so throughout the night, I would be up so often and for so long, I would end up watching a disk a night, even if the episodes I saw ended up out of order.<br />
<br />
Then, I gave in and realized if I didn't distract myself with something, I would go crazy listening to this part of my brain that I apparently also birthed that didn't think I was doing anything right and was screwing everything up. In a way, TV saved me.<br />
<br />
And, for the record, when she was slow to talk, it was a DVD that finally got her to learn basic words because she would pay more attention to it than she would me when I would try to teach her. So, Brainy Baby English, thanks. You may not get to tout that you contribute to genius, but hearing my daughter finally repeat words was worth the $3 I paid in a desperate attempt at Goodwill for you.<br />
<br />
<b>3. I will not post excessive photos of my daughter on social media.</b><br />
I've heard tons of friends who are not parents complain that their feeds are being completely overrun with baby pictures. Some even have the nerve to complain to me about it. Look, I dealt with your repetative photos of you holding a red cup, making a duck face almost every weekend. You can deal with a few baby pictures.<br />
<br />
And, if you can't, feel free to ignore me on Facebook. I won't be offended. I've probably hidden you and your selfies or you attention-seeking vague statuses already. I'm pretty ruthless when it comes to hiding people on Facebook I don't have things in common with anymore.<br />
<br />
I happen to follow my friends on Facebook who have had children and I "Like" the Facebook pages of mommy blogs I enjoy reading about parenting. I feel I can have conversations with these people and having kids has helped me reconnect with friends I've even lost touch with over the years.<br />
<br />
Even though I know I try not to blame too much of my little anti-social quirks on my INTJ personality, I do get annoyed when people ask me in real life about what L.'s is up to and I just want to say, "Have you not seen my Facebook page?" OK, that's a little extreme. It's maybe about 40 percent true, though.<br />
<br />
<b>4. I will be the crafty mom!</b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh75EDLbc0AcbBqboAQEhYH3S7btJy1HjxkwpHimdZzQrEqp0kYJINPuk8wLIerHwApwuAbvBCEvf2jEleBHeGaJAN8HzJLubhctChT7q-Pbz2MrfpQT6O0j20MqtddXSRYIFKrnSFL79H1/s1600/1391549_10100387640128327_54569958_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh75EDLbc0AcbBqboAQEhYH3S7btJy1HjxkwpHimdZzQrEqp0kYJINPuk8wLIerHwApwuAbvBCEvf2jEleBHeGaJAN8HzJLubhctChT7q-Pbz2MrfpQT6O0j20MqtddXSRYIFKrnSFL79H1/s320/1391549_10100387640128327_54569958_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The wall in L.'s room, made by taping off triangles.<br />
I especially enjoy chalkboard paint just because of it's<br />
use as a temporary display for art.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
To a point, I'm pretty crafty when it comes to L. But, I'm not as crafty as I wanted to be before having her. I wanted to do a craft a day. Then I realized, that would mean a mess a day. That would mean a craft I have to keep for a really long time. A sentimental decoration collecting dust. And, in essence, I would be displaying a cardboard tube or egg carton I would have been quite happy just throwing away.<br />
<br />
As much as I love being creative, I love creativity when it serves a real purpose. I know my daughter's talented. I have the photos to prove it. Photos that exist in a Photobucket album or on Facebook (which may contribute to No. 3), but I don't necessarily want to save every piece of art that gets made.<br />
<br />
Don't take this as me being a heartless mom. Those popsicle stick ornaments will gladly accumulate on my Christmas tree. And whatever Mother's Day present I receive made with macaroni glued on cardboard will be cherished. I'll appreciate whatever my daughter puts her talent and heart into. But, I will probably follow my mom's footsteps and save the most prized and quietly dispose of the less important pieces.<br />
<br />
<b>5. I will effectively discipline and be able to say, "No!"</b><br />
If this were the case, I wouldn't be reading an average of three parenting books a year, mostly having to deal with discipline because, the fact is, L.'s reaction to discipline changes every time. Sometimes, I can calmly say no and quietly not budge and she'll get the idea. Sometimes, I have to count to three then pick her up and bring her to time out. Sometimes, when I realize it's not a big enough deal to fight about, I'll give in and realize it's more of an inconvenience to me than it is actually "wrong."<br />
<br />
There are times (usually when she's at her father's and I have some post-L. time perspective) when I can look back on my reaction to a situation and take from it what worked and what didn't. And I'm slowly collecting those observations so discipline can remain effective and consistent. But, she's 2. Things change from week to week, it seems. The only thing I can do is keep the rules simple and let her know what they are.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>*****</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
At least there are a few things I was actually right about before I had L.:</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>I will learn something new every single day.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Whether it's from a book I'm reading about parenting or whether it's finding out a new food L. will eat, I'm constantly gathering information throughout the day about this little life.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>I spend too much time analyzing everything I do and not living in the moment.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Having a child, you don't have time to do that. Even in bed, when I would usually do most of my reflecting on the day, I'm too tired now and I just want to sleep. Maybe I'll try to think of a thing or two, but, for the most part, I think about the good things and fall asleep.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>I will remain my own person. Not just someone's mom.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I love my daughter, but she's just as much her own person as I am mine. If you don't believe me, ask her. I have also gone so far as to not use her picture as my profile picture on Facebook or Twitter. She's most likely in my profile pictures, but I'm always in the photo too. I don't judge parents who have their child as their profile photo, it's just not my personal preference.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>I will learn to speak up.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Believe it or not, this was a big transformation that seemed to happen overnight. All of a sudden, once I had to be the voice for someone who couldn't speak yet, I found the strength to make phone calls I didn't think I could. And, if I had weak moments where I couldn't make the call, I could at least write emails to the people I needed to talk with. Something clicked within me where I wasn't this shy person anymore around strangers.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I wasn't all of a sudden this assertive person my mom was. Believe me, I heard quite a lot about that "squeaky wheel," and I was also well aware of how her "squeaky wheel" probably resulted in our food being spit in at restaurants. But I do know to ask for what I want, to say what I need to say, and when I don't have to let something pass just because it would be inconvenient to bring it up. It's a good skill to have and I'm glad to have gained it.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>I have no idea what I'm doing.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Every day before having L., no matter how many books or blogs I read, no matter how many moms I talked to, I knew I was unprepared. And, until my doctor finally diagnosed me with <a href="http://news.psu.edu/story/269398/2013/03/20/research/postpartum-anxiety-more-common-less-recognized-postpartum" target="_blank">Postpartum Anxiety</a>, I felt like I was barely keeping my head above water. I was so overwhelmed with the feeling I didn't know what I was doing. I finally saw the doctor and told her I felt like I had PMS all the time, I was constantly biting the inside of my cheeks until they were raw out of frustration and anxiety, and I basically felt like I was running a race and the finish line kept moving just out of reach.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The thing is, I don't know if I'll ever get over this feeling, but at least I have tools to keep my anxiety to a minimum. And, as much as it's against my personality, I can always ask for help.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-84854850334728159262013-12-07T11:10:00.000-05:002013-12-07T11:55:45.650-05:00A toddler and her stomach bug<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38ttWI2h-_kQy1bpLuHl0zO6UJvEpjOFtzKKSMY22rZCiesTcBOES9EltkICWMmIfUyuGKfBjwyMP0abqEMfONCFt882UlsJ04404nLzaH6RJ8EWv8fVR_FdbCnAiIMCxH975QjHamm24/s640/blogger-image--1952166316.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38ttWI2h-_kQy1bpLuHl0zO6UJvEpjOFtzKKSMY22rZCiesTcBOES9EltkICWMmIfUyuGKfBjwyMP0abqEMfONCFt882UlsJ04404nLzaH6RJ8EWv8fVR_FdbCnAiIMCxH975QjHamm24/s320/blogger-image--1952166316.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Banjo recovers quickly from losing her magic <br />
on her first day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As I <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/12/holidays-dont-have-to-equal-stress.html" target="_blank">previously mentioned</a>, L. got her Elf on the Shelf and promptly began hugging, kissing and dancing with her. While the fiance and I were away, we sent Banjo to the North Pole to get her magic back. Santa sent us a photo of her progress and she came back, fully recovered. Now, that was an easy-peasy thing to remedy.</span><br />
<br />
When it comes to your own children, however, not only do you learn there is nothing you won't do for your child, but you also take on this inner strength you might not regularly know you have. It's not the inner strength that shows itself when they're having a meltdown in the grocery store. It's not the inner strength that could come in handy when prompted to "all fall down" at the end of "Ring Around the Rosey" for the 40th time and you're not sure you will have the energy to stand up again. It's the inner strength that comes when you've reached what you perceive to be your limit and just keep going. Similar to the phrase mouthed by mothers to children, "Because I said so," when faced with a challenge, mothers subsequently tell ourselves, "Because I have to."<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I never thought there would be an emotion that could be a cross between grossed out and your heart breaking until I saw my little girl throw up for the first time. But there is. I shall call it bl'e<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;">â</span>, pronounced as a portmanteau of "Blegh" and "Aww," but French sounding. Example, "Watching my little girl get her first stomach bug was not fun for any of us. I've never experienced such bl'e<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;">â</span> before in my life."</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It happened on the night we were having some friends and family over to celebrate the fiance's birthday. All day, L. had been her usual self. But, as company started to arrive, she started to become quiet and shy. She hugged the fiance's family, but then would run and hug me and ask for a diaper change, even though I knew she didn't need one. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><b>Red flag No. 1:</b> She wanted and asked for multiple diaper changes. She hates having to put aside her agenda for a diaper change. And here she was asking for one. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />As I was getting last minute prepping done, she wanted little to do with people who were trying to play with her and kept pulling me into the bedroom and climbing on my back for a piggy back ride. I would bring her back into the kitchen and set her down and try to have her interact with people, but she wasn't having it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><b>Red flag No. 2:</b> Being anti-social. She normally loves guests, but she wanted nothing to do with the crowd that was slowly forming in our living room.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />When I finally got a chance to sit among the guests, she came right over and sat in my lap and put her head on my chest. I felt her forehead and it was a little warm, but the house was starting to heat up so I didn't think much of it. She had a nap earlier, but she was acting like she was starting to wind down for the night. I decided we would wait until the pizza got there, give her a few slices, then put her in the bath and get her to bed. She had also started coughing a bit and I didn't like the sounds of them. I gave her a throat soothing lollipop, but she wasn't really eating it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Red flag No. 3:</b> Aversion to food. This girl can eat, let me tell you. She's not a sprinting eater, but she's a marathoner. She likes to graze all day. I've started leaving edamame or popcorn out so she can graze to her heart's content without really ruining her appetite. But here she was, barely touching a lollipop of all things. One of her favorite things!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Once I had to get up again to get something out of the oven, our guests watched her walk to her room and lay down on her bed. The fiance's father had the direct view of her and said, "She's just laying there, staring at the ceiling."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><b>Red flag No. 4: </b>Lack of energy. Just staring at the ceiling? I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see it with my own eyes, which I didn't because as I was just about to get something to drink, I heard the fiance's dad say, "Oh! She's throwing up!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />It goes without saying that last part was the final red flag that got my attention. I quickly grabbed her from her sitting position on the bed, head down, throwing up on her carpet and brought her into the bathroom and quickly gave her a lesson in throwing up in the toilet, which, surprisingly, she understood. Then, I started to run the bath and clean her up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Her new state of having little energy meant she was also a willing patient and actually listened to me. The fiance and his family helped out as much as they could. I was surprised the fiance even touched her clothes with vomit on them and brought them down to wash them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Once she was bathed, we got jammies on and went into my room to lay down for a bit. The fiance provided waste buckets and the next time L. threw up, she learned to use the bucket. Oh, but not before throwing up on my shirt and jeans when she held onto me right before doing so. Yup, there was plenty of bl'e<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;">â</span> there.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The fiance sat with her (yes, during <i>his</i> party) while I cleaned up the vomit in her room. I would text him throughout the evening with things I wanted, but for the most part, while the party was going on, L. sat between my legs, head resting on my chest, as we watched "Mary Poppins," sipping Pedialyte here and there.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Guests stopped by the doorway every so often to check on us or to say goodnight. By the end of the night, L. had moved to her side and I was behind her, stroking her back as I heard her fall asleep. She hadn't thrown up in a while so I moved her to her own bed and turned up the monitor extra loud because I had a feeling I was in for a long night.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkp9uMW_v41zoYCQ_2qiMeAnKvP4Qga3R0O2MZpE08-jTHESmV_A4aspnwAEA2GVPReE-JH_3c8SrZGDWdrniM3ugUAhy1HSQqiWkwKIt1FFYrocNuMQQZVkcLTmF9n2-08gKCWvIe7vqn/s1600/Sick+Elf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkp9uMW_v41zoYCQ_2qiMeAnKvP4Qga3R0O2MZpE08-jTHESmV_A4aspnwAEA2GVPReE-JH_3c8SrZGDWdrniM3ugUAhy1HSQqiWkwKIt1FFYrocNuMQQZVkcLTmF9n2-08gKCWvIe7vqn/s400/Sick+Elf.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our elf Banjo was so quick to get back from<br />
the North Pole just to cheer L. up that night.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">An hour later, I heard her moving (yes, the monitor was turned up that much) and I went to check on her. I got to her just in time as she started sounding like she was going to throw up. She ran with me to the bathroom and stood over the toilet until everything came up. That was my breaking point of bl'e<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;">â. As I was stroking her hair and holding her back, the sounds of her throwing up in between cries not quite </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: inherit; line-height: 16px;">understanding what was happening was too much and I started crying as I was saying, "I know, sweetie, it hurts, you'll feel better when you're done, I promise, it'll be OK ... "</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;">Just then, I felt a hand on my back and it was the fiance, who knew I needed just as much support as L. at that moment.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;">Once she was finished, I held her in my arms and the fiance told me we would take shifts with her if this continued all night.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;">Luckily, that was last time, but she still wanted me with her so I got comfy on the little foldout foam couch on the floor of her room and held her hand as we fell asleep to "Mary Poppins" again. (Listen, I'm all about finding alternatives to the TV, but when my little girl is sick, all mom guilt and screen time warnings are out the window. <i>Unless I am ignoring the fact she's sick, I am not a bad mom. </i>There's something freeing about being able to shut off that part of my brain for a little while.)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;">During the night, she was up a few more times, not to throw up though. Just general stomach ickiness and I would cuddle her back to sleep and alternate between my bed and the foam couch in her room. At 8 a.m., L. got me up and we watched "Mary Poppins" again then snuggled on the couch until her dad got out of work to pick her up.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijo1BlbtP2NzZoB11OphHC1dwys_ZdeLffUsTyEbSzzKqFR1yLZiVJKaCt49UFBUejbsns2Upbl-W4TBWLntG3xw7Lk0PdTQPIymrKBrvjeZthSClrPBbBGWrnOnJ1F0JEbKeJAu6AKXyY/s640/blogger-image--1140207954.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijo1BlbtP2NzZoB11OphHC1dwys_ZdeLffUsTyEbSzzKqFR1yLZiVJKaCt49UFBUejbsns2Upbl-W4TBWLntG3xw7Lk0PdTQPIymrKBrvjeZthSClrPBbBGWrnOnJ1F0JEbKeJAu6AKXyY/s320/blogger-image--1140207954.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The little patient, probably on her fourth or <br />
fifth viewing of "Mary Poppins."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;">She didn't throw up again, but she was tired and pretty low on energy for the next few days, slowly regaining her appetite. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;">I can't even imagine how scary that was for her, even on a relative scale to how scary it was for me. I've started telling myself some nights when I get to hold her in my arms as she's falling asleep, <b>"You won't remember this, but I will." </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 16px;">Now, that phrase made me feel even better, since I knew she wouldn't remember this particular night or what happened or how much pain she was in. But I would remember how I was there for her, how after learning to throw up in the bucket, she turned her head, gave a weak smile and said, 'All better!" How her hand held mine tightly, then released gradually each time as she fell asleep during the night. And how the fiance held me and told me what a great mom I was as I got into bed that afternoon to take a nap before work.</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-8154375679002727532013-12-01T10:43:00.001-05:002014-02-03T21:43:34.973-05:00Holidays don't have to equal stressSome tips I've accumulated over the years to cut down the holiday stress. Some are wholesome, some not so much ...<br />
<br />
<b>Beating SADD</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj37plSUnVhsA7RtmvINq0h2bBsb6s_p4jfrhXDIz5GtE8NE8wQxshG9uBAZvfbEDGBOAO2Gaw0adhFqLOEXmcORboqKBrKJ4dB523tVu3EmNOQyctXxGZacOGoZX5nj18hZHj3T6R4iNdK/s1600/Lights1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj37plSUnVhsA7RtmvINq0h2bBsb6s_p4jfrhXDIz5GtE8NE8wQxshG9uBAZvfbEDGBOAO2Gaw0adhFqLOEXmcORboqKBrKJ4dB523tVu3EmNOQyctXxGZacOGoZX5nj18hZHj3T6R4iNdK/s320/Lights1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Lights at Virginia Beach, where the fiance and I <br />went for Thanksgiving.</td></tr>
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I felt my seasonal grumpies start in October, of all things. There's been a lot of stress at work and at home while we slowly moved into our house. I lost about 40 minutes a day in the car because my commute is longer. I was pretty busy when November hit and I kind of took it one day at a time to try to make myself happy anyway I could (Read: Goodbye, diet. Hello comfort food.)<br />
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Once the end of November hit, while most people complained about how early people were pushing Christmas, I was happy to see decorations up. I had remembered my trick last year to staying positive.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSzsrdOVQ2U1w25ZgLdgeKQMQf6lq9arvDYvvjF5hBBF2huSSwwDqDZLCPRpffDLKn85EtjBRrAWwmwtZ_UsfRtHJBIWVLp6AmnBSwO984dmlkZwV9S6sX7b9ZGZWIRcBa2DrDsWitzPuU/s1600/Lights2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSzsrdOVQ2U1w25ZgLdgeKQMQf6lq9arvDYvvjF5hBBF2huSSwwDqDZLCPRpffDLKn85EtjBRrAWwmwtZ_UsfRtHJBIWVLp6AmnBSwO984dmlkZwV9S6sX7b9ZGZWIRcBa2DrDsWitzPuU/s320/Lights2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<u>Smile every time you see Christmas lights.</u> I don't remember what prompted me to do this, but as I drove home from work, I would see houses with their Christmas lights on and I would make myself smile. (Thank you for people who leave the timer up until midnight so us late commuters can appreciate them!) Whatever chemicals are released with smiling seemed to do just the trick to push my grumpy mood to the wayside for at least a little while. And by the end of December, I was excited for Christmas and of all the lights people had up.<br />
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Last year, it was difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel of divorce. But seeing those tiny Christmas lights would remind me there was an end, even if it wasn't in sight.<br />
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<b>Cutting down the clutter</b><br />
I stress when there's clutter around me. I went into a full-on pout a few weeks ago when we set up our new kitchen table and there was too much clutter around the kitchen for me to enjoy it fully. The fiance let me sit and sulk while I watched it quickly remove the flotsam and jetsam strewn over the kitchen and my mood brightened and I was able to appreciate the table.<br />
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This is going for Christmas gifts as well. L. gets to have two Christmases so I know she'll have plenty of things to open. Especially since, with me, she now has three different grandparents' houses to visit. On top of that, she has her father's house and his parents'. That's five Christmases. FIVE.<br />
<br />
So I wanted simple. Of course, I turned to Simple Mom (now <a href="http://theartofsimple.net/" target="_blank">The Art of Simple</a>) of course, and found an article keeping the gift-giving priorities to <a href="http://simplekids.net/want-need-wear-read/" target="_blank">something you want, something you need, something you wear, something you read</a>. I fell in love. It was great! It cut down on crap (yes, a lot of it is crap) L. will play with for a few minutes, then forget about it.<br />
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When I think about it, I don't make a lot of money. I feel like most of it is spent on gas, in all honesty. If I got L. a toy that cost $60, over the course of a year, she would have to play with it for something like five hours for it to equal the amount of time I put into earning that $60. I can't think of a single toy she would accumulate five hours on that could cost $60. Maybe a Little People set, but we have plenty of those.<br />
<br />
I'm not saying that's my philosophy for buying her toys in general, but it is something to think about.<br />
<br />
I've been telling others about it when they ask what she wants for Christmas and I've been emphasizing the something to read part, since I would love to build her library up more. Books don't equal clutter in my mind.<br />
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And that's it! Simple.<br />
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<b>Stay home</b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What was I saying about avoiding craziness?<br />
I'm pretty sure craziness is unavoidable with us.</td></tr>
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As I write this, I'm down on vacation in Virginia Beach visiting the fiance's family for Thanksgiving. But, in general, I'm planning on doing my shopping from the comfort of my computer (mostly done, thankfully), and avoiding the craziness of stores and shopping. I've learned if I need to go to a store for shopping, during the work day is great, as well as late at night because of the later hours stores keep around the holidays.<br />
<br />
Adding L. to the mix, I hope I don't need to take her to a crowded store during this time because if there's one thing I think (know) I passed down to her, it's my negative reaction to crowds. I get even worse when it involves her because I notice it's not the general tendency to look down and see her.<br />
<br />
<b>Give back</b><br />
Despite wanting to stay in the house, going out shopping will be inevitable for basics for the house. With all the Salvation Army bell ringers and stores sponsoring donations, it's easy enough to donate a dollar here and there to help someone in need. Now, I'm stretching every dollar it seems, but there's always spare change in pockets of my coat I can throw in a bucket or have L. throw in to help someone not as fortunate.<br />
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<b>Stay organized</b><br />
It's probably time again for me to print out more of The Art of Simple's <a href="http://theartofsimple.net/downloads/" target="_blank">Daily Dockets</a>. They've fallen by the wayside once I was able to get my new work schedule memorized. But, I think with all the stuff I want to get done around the house and holiday-themed things with L. (visit Santa, take photographs, send out cards, etc.), I'll need to stay organized to fit it all in.<br />
<br />
And, by fit it all in, I mean prioritize which traditional Christmas things are optional enough to put off until next year and which ones I really do want to keep doing annually. Some things we'll be putting on the If There's Time List:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Make a snowman (we'll have all of January and February and probably some of March for that.)</li>
<li>Bake cookies (we <i>just</i> got rid of the last of the Halloween cookies I make every year.)</li>
<li>Get in the car and look at lights (we'll end up doing that anyway. No need to carve out time for it. Especially for someone who can't really look out the window all the way.)</li>
</ul>
<div>
Some things I'll be putting on my Absolute Must list:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Annual viewings of holiday favorites: National Lampoon's "Christmas Vacation," "Elf," and, of course, 24 hours of "A Christmas Story." Even though we don't have cable, I'm having the fiance download "A Christmas Story" so he can play it on loop.</li>
<li>Elf on the Shelf. Despite many blogs offering the idea to keep the elf stationary on the shelf, our elf, Banjo, came early before Mommy left for vacation. Banjo's pretty excited about getting into mischief so who am I to deny her the pleasures?*</li>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">* I learned the hard way to keep the #elfontheshelf hashtag to a minimum on pictures. When we got Banjo, L. loved her so much, we went through two time outs before I realized I had impossible expectations she wouldn't touch the elf. When I posted pictures of her dancing with and kissing Banjo, I got comments from strangers yelling at me for letting L. touch Banjo. Here's the thing, and this is coming from a long texting session with Santa. If the child is 2, her little hands won't be enough to take all of Banjo's magic away.</span></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-91307398783609211932013-11-16T11:35:00.001-05:002013-11-16T11:35:51.326-05:00The stuff I used to judge ...Before I was a mom, well, let's just say I wish I could go back and slap myself in the face for judging any other parent ever in the history of the world. Except when I judged "Mommie Dearest." I think that was the only one that was OK to have an opinion on.<br />
<br />
The truth is, parents are doing the best we can. As much as I thought to my "wiser" (read: wiseass) self, "Oh, when <i>I'm</i> a mom, I won't _____<u>(fill in the blank)</u>___ like that mom over there," I had no right to even have an opinion. Even if it was a positive one. Because you don't know until you are a parent.<br />
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That said, I do a lot of things pre-mom Emily would judge. And as much as that was a burden to me, I'm also starting to learn to remember how naive I was so I can ignore some judgment I may feel from others. Even if there aren't any signs of judgment, I make a decision and feel like my decision will be judged by every single person I encounter.<br />
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"You let her pick out her own outfits? How is she supposed to learn style?"<br />
My mom let me pick my own outfits. On not one, but two occasions in fifth grade, I wore a white button up shirt with teal polka dots tucked into a pair of black parachute pants with huge neon flowers all over them. My mom let me out of the house like that. I don't blame her, I think I deserved any ridicule I received and I needed that life lesson that I am not fashion forward. I don't have the eye for it. And it's OK. I'm OK with sticking with classics and maybe accessorizing with something I saw on Pinterest or a magazine. It works with who I am, my lifestyle and my budget.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfrHlkC9iA2lULzxwNAMlat4Jg_Sp_B6Rmz5UZT5dL5aGItjh6zLUfw6er_XTO2HWfnqYQnGex8VwTuFcBcX3iMLdE7fKjbvkwYTTs6XWp-1BdzJ-FVpfLicc9sSlGvmIssAv5qf7Hmpuf/s640/blogger-image--479479087.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfrHlkC9iA2lULzxwNAMlat4Jg_Sp_B6Rmz5UZT5dL5aGItjh6zLUfw6er_XTO2HWfnqYQnGex8VwTuFcBcX3iMLdE7fKjbvkwYTTs6XWp-1BdzJ-FVpfLicc9sSlGvmIssAv5qf7Hmpuf/s320/blogger-image--479479087.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She not only picked out her shirt, but mine as well that day.<br />
She has a thing for pink stripes, I guess.</td></tr>
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<br />
"You let her snack whenever she wants?"<br />
I had a bad relationship with food because I secretly chose to stuff my face with snacks that weren't healthy. And, to hide from my mom that I was snacking so much, I would still eat a full dinner. It wasn't good. I hid my eating habits so much, it really had a lasting effect on my eating habits. With L., I've noticed she eats for fuel and sometimes because she just wants something that tastes good in her mouth. She has the option of fruits, yogurt and, our recent favorite, popcorn, which I keep pretty plain and just leave out and she grazes on it throughout the afternoon. And, when we're in public, sometimes just to get through the checkout line without a meltdown, there is a pouch of snacks in my purse at my disposal. Another thing she knows that I didn't was sometimes, she's just thirsty. I've gotten her to drink more water by means of filling up MY plastic cup with a straw and letting her think she's "stealing it." Somehow, stolen food and drink just tastes so much better.<br />
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"You're divorced? You should have stayed together for your daughter."<br />
This judgment isn't said out loud. But I know it's there. Especially when people find out how young L. was when her father and I separated. I don't take these judgments too much to heart since the circumstances that led to this decision ultimately made divorce the only option. When we realized the marriage was not salvageable, we both had to put L.'s needs first. Soon, lifestyle changes, family pressures and emotions snuck their way in, but thanks to a mediator, we've gotten to a place where we can communicate and keep L. as our No. 1 priority. If we had stayed together because of L., we wouldn't be able to be ourselves. We would be living a lie and, ultimately, we would be unhappy. I lived with parents who prolonged their unhappy marriage for me and once they finally got a divorce, they were both much better people.<br />
<br />
The list of judgments will always go on. I'll always hear them in my mind, whether they are spoken or not. And, frankly, with my personality, I'll always make up probably the majority of things I worry about because I hold myself to an unreasonably high standard, of which I usually fall short.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhL9yix4OLcKcKL8SBznEj8bSUmLJjzmWa_N53OB3QXbuO7s_1WepYUJN5QHL7I4F4OSctNi-wdnyTWTArUkJuFE0uKTs6Ap6UTMgi4k_vL1P82ULnS0VfKS13x14Jyg54sOYD96LjfPRU/s1600/MarkTwain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhL9yix4OLcKcKL8SBznEj8bSUmLJjzmWa_N53OB3QXbuO7s_1WepYUJN5QHL7I4F4OSctNi-wdnyTWTArUkJuFE0uKTs6Ap6UTMgi4k_vL1P82ULnS0VfKS13x14Jyg54sOYD96LjfPRU/s400/MarkTwain.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mark Twain statue/bench in downtown Fairfield<br />almost two years ago. I think it's time to revisit our old friend soon.</td></tr>
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<br />
I finally started to realize how much judgment shouldn't affect me when I needed to go to Target for groceries and diapers and L. had her usual fit when I tried to put her in the seat of the cart. She does not like those seats. The only way I've gotten her to sit in a cart is by getting the cart made for FOUR kids and having her facing away from me as I steered this lunking thing around. This thing, if you've never used one, is probably equivalent to pushing around a small elephant on rollerskates. My other option is to shop and put her in her stroller while awkwardly carrying an overflowing basket.<br />
<br />
Finally one day, I had it. It was probably in my one week a month where the filter on my mouth is gone and I instinctively seek out any solution that makes life that much more bearable. I had to go to Target and I wanted to actually enjoy my trip there.<br />
<br />
Target, to me, is like church to others: I may not know what I'm going for, but I always feel like I've accomplished something when I leave. Insulated travel cup for $2 you say? Why, yes, in fact I completely forgot I've been looking for one for the past few months!<br />
<br />
When I rolled the cart to the car door to get L. into it, she took one look and the screaming began. "No cart, no cart, no cart, no cart!" She clung to me like I was trying to put her in bubbling lava. I looked at the basket in the front. I knew she could sit still when told to. I grabbed some toys from the backseat to keep her occupied and had her sit in the basket of the cart. She thought it was awesome. A little pen all for herself. She had her toys, she was being wheeled around, when she tried to stand up, I would stop the cart and remind her to sit on her butt and she would. Are you reading that correctly? MY 2-YEAR-OLD WAS LISTENING TO ME! It was amazing! I didn't notice any dirty looks (I was too preoccupied having my hawk-like mom eyes on her anyway) and no one said anything. I got to put my clunky bag in the seat and L. had fun looking at everything I was placing in the cart.<br />
<br />
Now we go to Target and I feel I get stronger every time. She sits in the cart and I usually find something in the $1 bins as we walk in that keeps her occupied the entire time. When she gets antsy at the end when we're waiting in line, I can hand her my phone or a snack and she sits down and waits patiently.<br />
<br />
Before I had L. and probably even when I had L. and she was small enough to remain in her carseat safely harnessed within a cart, I judged parents who let their kids ride in the basket of the cart. But I had no idea the extent to which a 2-year-old's screaming would drive someone to give up casual experiences such as a trip to Target. And sometimes the giving up the idea of perfection is the only way to actually accomplish what needs to be done.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfoxpvAmZmtnZmeUd4qVIMA6UbrlBTez8WsYvHyO9-qaLkv4ynNq0Zg8vHD9AKU3uKJDIFTDrrEhH4dDEaiIhy84_0A_4ZvkivH_QYld9otlwMLHPobqd0BJyJ9hDIlLv5qY0KArJ-FL8C/s640/blogger-image-484811394.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfoxpvAmZmtnZmeUd4qVIMA6UbrlBTez8WsYvHyO9-qaLkv4ynNq0Zg8vHD9AKU3uKJDIFTDrrEhH4dDEaiIhy84_0A_4ZvkivH_QYld9otlwMLHPobqd0BJyJ9hDIlLv5qY0KArJ-FL8C/s320/blogger-image-484811394.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not one but TWO happy Target shoppers!<br />
The dream I didn't know I had<br />
finally came true.</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-86063180237489293622013-11-06T22:36:00.000-05:002013-11-06T22:36:14.866-05:00Reminder: You're only humanI've heard that phrase plenty of times. I don't know what it is about me, and maybe women in general, but I've noticed we try to do it all. Commercials in the '80s pushed the idea when moms were going back to the workplace and advertisers were marketing things like pumps you could also play basketball in. And I'm sure the intentions were good, despite slightly sexist undertones. Regardless, it seems to be universally known that women try to take everything on.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEJRQNrzoH-Ye1ucdhfT1haBXE0edd2SNpbODmh4bDEGhlQ3Lz3Pr-z1vCMPKCkeuomhhTCRzEFw9MYRRq7y7aei_jwPzEtrBOM6TAb28mI4jhT8pt-1CbmFODrhUISKDkYQO0js_FzssS/s640/blogger-image-2041242903.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEJRQNrzoH-Ye1ucdhfT1haBXE0edd2SNpbODmh4bDEGhlQ3Lz3Pr-z1vCMPKCkeuomhhTCRzEFw9MYRRq7y7aei_jwPzEtrBOM6TAb28mI4jhT8pt-1CbmFODrhUISKDkYQO0js_FzssS/s200/blogger-image-2041242903.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2:30 in the morning the day<br /> before Halloween, I was<br /> hot gluing L.'s hat for her<br /> costume. Sleep was not even<br /> an option in my mind.</td></tr>
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It's difficult to say no. No one likes disappointing others. In my case, I try to be as good of a mother as possible, which means avoiding any form of mom guilt. I work a full-time job in which the last month, I was working six-day weeks. And, when it comes to the house, after moving in, sleep was such a back-burner priority, it was a source of guilt when there were boxes still left unpacked, yet I was tucking in for the night.<br />
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This mindset had to stop. First of all, I can't change the fact that there aren't enough hours in the day to do everything I should do or want to do. Secondly, I don't think anyone was expecting me to accomplish everything as quickly as I set myself up to in my mind.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjYv1xTcpuK7JbWeHEyIqVC0yTu-gbieimpUEnY-tgS2XUGRs-X81TRDwz26GNdOTAIZN9DGvx-YAgZBFYD1W1HZN0HMw-sb1eK35HrFHH8uC-AiyDmSLL-gAMArgEy1NVCVUMy2QCjRuN/s1600/Are+You+There+God.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjYv1xTcpuK7JbWeHEyIqVC0yTu-gbieimpUEnY-tgS2XUGRs-X81TRDwz26GNdOTAIZN9DGvx-YAgZBFYD1W1HZN0HMw-sb1eK35HrFHH8uC-AiyDmSLL-gAMArgEy1NVCVUMy2QCjRuN/s200/Are+You+There+God.jpg" width="136" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moral: Preteens have<br />it pretty damn<br />tough.</td></tr>
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That's when I got my reminder. My monthly visitor. The only thing every girl who reads <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Are-You-There-God-Margaret/dp/0440404193" target="_blank">"Are You There God? It's me, Margaret"</a> really remembers about the book. (My mom could tell you the story of how I read the book when I was too young to really understand what was going on and wore a belt with a dishtowel awkwardly placed over my '80s stirrup pants after reading it. I've heard they've since changed that reference.)<br />
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Despite being agnostic, I went to a private Christian school for eight years. But I do remember stories from the bible, including learning during the sixth grade girls-in-one-room, boys-in-the-other session that, No. 1, if you got your period, you could no longer be an orphan in the Broadway production of "Annie" according to a short film we watched about our changing bodies; and, No. 2, Original Sin was the reason women get their periods. Thanks, Eve.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigIGhUNIelHWY_Icele1izqUt0hzi6K-h0faEY2T3R8soaOrK6_1nFtXg5tJVyz7DQb3-f7Z4T5CO25TZpP8YVPHmj2JogCfoSZKVU6FmPWuOyBupp5Ef5fI7rJXpVMKX91yADk_DrDjA_/s1600/Original+Sin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigIGhUNIelHWY_Icele1izqUt0hzi6K-h0faEY2T3R8soaOrK6_1nFtXg5tJVyz7DQb3-f7Z4T5CO25TZpP8YVPHmj2JogCfoSZKVU6FmPWuOyBupp5Ef5fI7rJXpVMKX91yADk_DrDjA_/s320/Original+Sin.jpg" width="98" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't do it, Eve!<br />Do you even<br />know how awkward<br />it is to stifle a<br />cramp-induced<br />wince of pain<br />at work?</td></tr>
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Hoping not to get too much into a religious discussion, I do have to ask: What the hell is that crap about? I'd like to go with the whole science thing as an answer to why for one week a month, I'm as close as one can get to being a loose cannon, followed by a week of whining about the pain of someone wringing my uterus as if it were a wet dishtowel.<br />
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Further in the book of Genesis, we read about God sending a rainbow after reacting to something in, oh, the same way one with PMS and the power to control the weather would react and sending a flood to kill everyone. I've thought about it, too. People who hold me up in traffic -- flood 'em! People who can't get off their cell phones long enough to order at the counter in front of me -- flood 'em! People who give me dirty looks in stores when I hand my child a cell phone while waiting in line so she doesn't scream her head off -- flood, fire, whatever smiting actually means, all of the above!<br />
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Anyway, God sent a rainbow after that PMS-like overreaction. A rainbow! What do <strike>humans</strike> women get after Eve makes one tiny mistake? A monthly visitor that ruins nice underwear when we lose track of the date (or can't get our bodies on a schedule to begin with), gives us (and our immediate families) two weeks of hell, and pretty much makes life inconvenient, as if bathroom breaks weren't already a nuisance for moms.<br />
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But, I had a Midol-inspired moment when I got said visitor the other day. I felt it happen and ran to Target to get supplies I knew I wouldn't be able to find right away when I got home. As I used the restroom following my purchase, I thought to myself, "Well, look at that. I DO bleed! I am human after all!"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTYCjMRcthL6uRbBT_uF10EqFfqeYDPUduMlACLLsrMLHHMdXGOLKO3wZ8zn5aMVRjhjr3T4Q-em4PeZtH6BtpXI9F2qaRX9Y_USmFMvF7umMh_xu61HZAuQ__iiCKSRHH128hJ2yS1THv/s640/blogger-image--1661424013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTYCjMRcthL6uRbBT_uF10EqFfqeYDPUduMlACLLsrMLHHMdXGOLKO3wZ8zn5aMVRjhjr3T4Q-em4PeZtH6BtpXI9F2qaRX9Y_USmFMvF7umMh_xu61HZAuQ__iiCKSRHH128hJ2yS1THv/s200/blogger-image--1661424013.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you order Bottomless chips to go<br />at Chili's, it's worth it. Especially<br />during the week of your period, FYI.</td></tr>
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It was a reminder to me that I'm only human. In the midst of running around for Halloween, trying (and failing) to accomplish my <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/09/31-days-does-anybody-remember-laughter.html" target="_blank">31 Days challenge</a>, eating like a fiend to combat stress/hormones, moving, working crazy hours and trying to make everyone happy, I had forgotten this. I bleed just like everyone else. I have flaws. I can only expect the best I can do, not the best, period (no pun intended). In a way, it was my own rainbow-reminder. I instantly calmed down. Again, the Midol may have had something to do with it. But, nonetheless, I relaxed. I consciously took pressure off myself to hold everything I do to this unattainable high standard for perfection.<br />
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So, next time you women get your monthly visitor, Aunt Flo, the Crimson Tide, the mensies or your interobang (look it up, it's a much more appropriate punctuation mark to describe a period), look at the situation as a reminder to slow down.<br />
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As Billy Joel put it, "You're only human, you're allowed to make your share of mistakes."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYdZFfwDy2VSdgBinuWE8dk8vMJOhSAoibcsteLefVBgGsUr5FkXBX4LeQ3B0AKEucuUPICTlPV70Bu_6H6QC9bROpRCH1zrzW9VkY3Hof-FtrmnesCgKtU_zjudMeUzDRCa43R1dS6w74/s640/blogger-image-2108792990.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYdZFfwDy2VSdgBinuWE8dk8vMJOhSAoibcsteLefVBgGsUr5FkXBX4LeQ3B0AKEucuUPICTlPV70Bu_6H6QC9bROpRCH1zrzW9VkY3Hof-FtrmnesCgKtU_zjudMeUzDRCa43R1dS6w74/s640/blogger-image-2108792990.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fiance (who earned major points for letting me dress him up), L. and myself<br />at Halloween paying tribute to our favorite movie, "Mary Poppins."</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-2042809880797683762013-10-28T22:04:00.000-04:002013-10-28T22:05:17.431-04:00Failure to Laugh<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSXA5uuDYXX53GbcFH2PLVpwrmlHkiGAGqaygXUtVevRJJqAgriYePA_uMg7YlipIfdy8U6JsDPmFIeb9hYiRRxVKwuJhJUCRmT2hAZ1Herm4jSUA7urns7sxLt0HbozTRAcJj3wKsgY9L/s640/blogger-image-2003770115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s1600/31DaysButton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s1600/31DaysButton.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a>So, if you've seen my blog in the past week and a half, you've noticed I haven't posted anything. Unfortunately, when it came down to it, I picked the wrong year to try to participate in the 31 Days challenge. All week, I've had Kirsten Dunst's voice running through my head from "Elizabethtown" -- coincidentally another Cameron Crowe movie, the writer/director of "Almost Famous" from where the photo used in my 31 Days button comes from.</div>
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"You failed! You failed, you failed, you failed, you failed, you failed, you failed ..." </div>
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BUT, in lieu of daily posts on laughter, may I offer you some excuses? No? Well, that's too bad because I already have them prepared.</div>
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<li>I had to get the house ready we're moving into.</li>
<li>Then we had to move.</li>
<li>And I was working six-day weeks after a coworker left.</li>
<li>On top of that, my commute is now 20 minutes longer each way.</li>
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I know excuses are a sad way to justify not doing something I promised myself I would and, trust me, I'm very disappointed in myself. But, really, when I think about the stress I saved myself, I have to say it was worth it.</div>
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But, when it comes down to it, here's the lesson I learned: Sometimes 24 hours just isn't enough. Sometimes, you have to look at your life when you're stressed and see what you can cut from it. As much as I love writing, I needed to get my house painted. I needed to pack everything from our 900-square-foot apartment, then unpack everything in our 900-square-foot house (even though we have a basement to add to the square footage, it's in the process of being finished so we can't really use it.)</div>
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I only see L. two days a week before work and my one day off overnight and that's tough as hell. This schedule has been affecting her too. We're pretty sure it's a combination of not seeing me as often and also finally going into the Terrible 2s at full-speed.</div>
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I did, however, take my daily moments to enjoy the laughs I got, despite the stressful schedule. Here a few photos in my phone of moments I've laughed at throughout the past few days since last posting.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBBFFDao6N1E-epMyfLUyoJCjDiCMt_N1OnmSyxdsFCzKgdTxM8m4jqz90q7soCnS6SFojz-rGjZDc2AMzkadZPiWyHKQUctHEoG_qYIltxvGRyk2Iq2vTJrdE5SvOCT_J8d5xLfTMX_H_/s1600/blogger-image--997713437.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBBFFDao6N1E-epMyfLUyoJCjDiCMt_N1OnmSyxdsFCzKgdTxM8m4jqz90q7soCnS6SFojz-rGjZDc2AMzkadZPiWyHKQUctHEoG_qYIltxvGRyk2Iq2vTJrdE5SvOCT_J8d5xLfTMX_H_/s320/blogger-image--997713437.jpg" width="320" /></a>I kept procrastinating taking L. to Bishop's Orchard in Guilford to pick out a pumpkin (it's still undetermined whether said pumpkin will actually be carved ...). While there, I got some great photos of her enjoying a shed full of corn. Corn was coming out of every crevice of ours all day, which was embarrassing for me at work, of course.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi826M_GdtfG72Wsth8kK_fbIYrmYDoOtzjarpbfEFDCdZGCS0jCe3YhXmurFlk-umGGKAMYMAJrS8TrVvTJlC9t4HyNxpWiq6fD7eF6ruwmLhupW4Q0UFIa2L7ftEvEduM5gvHjQAOG_iG/s1600/blogger-image-218789986.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi826M_GdtfG72Wsth8kK_fbIYrmYDoOtzjarpbfEFDCdZGCS0jCe3YhXmurFlk-umGGKAMYMAJrS8TrVvTJlC9t4HyNxpWiq6fD7eF6ruwmLhupW4Q0UFIa2L7ftEvEduM5gvHjQAOG_iG/s320/blogger-image-218789986.jpg" width="320" /></a>One thing the fiance did the third day we had access to our house was build his firepit, which he had always wanted. A few days later, despite not having furniture in the house, we built a fire after a stressful day of work and gave ourselves the night off. It was awesome.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZtA_32AZm90lphilnN__JTm3ov1rVTxN0aEui5rroOEw6Ad43OMraT62SC3oSpVhOmyWwfOIEl36I9ka1VlpXhquurSnaIxbSc8bz1aQFAMFP_Q_Pwq0mVLY4lEwS_5k-wz1gq07fImF5/s1600/blogger-image-231853230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZtA_32AZm90lphilnN__JTm3ov1rVTxN0aEui5rroOEw6Ad43OMraT62SC3oSpVhOmyWwfOIEl36I9ka1VlpXhquurSnaIxbSc8bz1aQFAMFP_Q_Pwq0mVLY4lEwS_5k-wz1gq07fImF5/s320/blogger-image-231853230.jpg" width="320" /></a>When we moved the cats to the house, they were scared at first. We had been merely visiting our old apartment to feed them and pack some more things and staying in the house for a few days prior. We were so happy to finally get them and bring them to our new home. Little Man, however, was a scaredy cat and could be found under our blankets for the first 24 hours.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuZfpfqMrc9oiqUHa_i3hfhdvxJmgjuVkiwtYzqzGMGlr-h2n5sHkRTjKD12wXFFQAaYooIZte4_wYGiSZZm__Jnb7JB8gg14UR6afcJmeeNSAaN7Z6ZkRkQIP_pLBNBsAU6xKYkLeCuk0/s1600/blogger-image-1587546997.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuZfpfqMrc9oiqUHa_i3hfhdvxJmgjuVkiwtYzqzGMGlr-h2n5sHkRTjKD12wXFFQAaYooIZte4_wYGiSZZm__Jnb7JB8gg14UR6afcJmeeNSAaN7Z6ZkRkQIP_pLBNBsAU6xKYkLeCuk0/s320/blogger-image-1587546997.jpg" width="240" /></a>In what I think can only be described as one of my rare moments of, "Well, what's the worst that could happen?", I took L. to the craft store with me sans stroller. She, surprisingly, was amazing! Even waiting in line, she did as well as I could have hoped for, despite the few floor tantrums. But the nice thing about the craft store were the older ladies who just adored her and could take those tantrums in stride. One even let me ahead of her in line because L. was getting restless. The only time we really were delayed was when she found a nutcracker dressed as a ballerina. About five minutes was spent with her making the nutcracker spin. It was pretty adorable, though.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Fp3u1-qqhv-DmaZE8t-e-oo1DU2BJiNGF-CL7NZKqI2edIXi9_OkVSNMMeT-XBPTdWvQe7mRceoJi7zq1qjbpsPCmGqt-CaS4DotY9PRunxKzBiNVvOyp0oba2HSL0DSrs90keGB-cwP/s1600/blogger-image-1055759886.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Fp3u1-qqhv-DmaZE8t-e-oo1DU2BJiNGF-CL7NZKqI2edIXi9_OkVSNMMeT-XBPTdWvQe7mRceoJi7zq1qjbpsPCmGqt-CaS4DotY9PRunxKzBiNVvOyp0oba2HSL0DSrs90keGB-cwP/s320/blogger-image-1055759886.jpg" width="320" /></a>I finally took a night off to go to a Franz Ferdinand concert with the fiance in New York. It was heavenly and the concert was amazing. We had so much fun, I couldn't help becoming one of those people who Instagrams everything. But because of the low light, most of the photos turned out pretty poorly. So the fiance said on this one, "Use the filter that makes us look the crappiest." It's one of my favorite photos, regardless.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLDrasues0RFFJ-1fgLDvklcNw2Turx6xDYmGxgQ_Ttl58c_5N0cDOpALcrGEoFKBuF7WzaMIl_V_rO4Hb9CjyIemYPmpcocR4Ohhyphenhyphenp93kjgr6Jnro8_tGcY5BgS4aYs7jhGUJId4afk4Z/s1600/blogger-image--1572060890.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLDrasues0RFFJ-1fgLDvklcNw2Turx6xDYmGxgQ_Ttl58c_5N0cDOpALcrGEoFKBuF7WzaMIl_V_rO4Hb9CjyIemYPmpcocR4Ohhyphenhyphenp93kjgr6Jnro8_tGcY5BgS4aYs7jhGUJId4afk4Z/s320/blogger-image--1572060890.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Also that night, we had some time to kill before the train so we took some shameless tourist selfies on the balcony at Grand Central. The goofy faces in this one kills me, especially now that this is the fiance's profile photo on Facebook. There is a small-but-getting-bigger-by-the-day chance this will be the location where we get married. This from the girl who hated all things NYC until going with the fiance. Now, I go through withdrawal every few months.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqAhUnpUqfWHxltqkJiMOYraE3jrDI0RxpruDMoahmge6e6khxWyiDPOdkF5xQo36eYZi2bcHrNBTUMp77R3F7Ho4WY-H2uwEyWAUSnrYE7XRzDj7GF_eEszCFAJf4OXmnXpv_9F_tVEzK/s1600/blogger-image--719698845.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqAhUnpUqfWHxltqkJiMOYraE3jrDI0RxpruDMoahmge6e6khxWyiDPOdkF5xQo36eYZi2bcHrNBTUMp77R3F7Ho4WY-H2uwEyWAUSnrYE7XRzDj7GF_eEszCFAJf4OXmnXpv_9F_tVEzK/s320/blogger-image--719698845.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
In this crazy month, I also had to worry about Halloween and the costumes for me, the fiance and L. The fiance and I needed one set of costumes for a party we were attending, but I wanted a different one for me and L. to go out trick or treating Thursday. After getting an idea and breaking out the glue gun for the costumes, I did an experiment to see if L. would be able to incorporate lipstick into her look. Spoiler alert: No. Lipstick will NOT be a part of L.'s Halloween costume. <br />
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This is the text exchange between me and the fiance because I had to get a photo of L. before wiping it off. I didn't even need to rush since she thought she looked fabulous in her lipstick.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSXA5uuDYXX53GbcFH2PLVpwrmlHkiGAGqaygXUtVevRJJqAgriYePA_uMg7YlipIfdy8U6JsDPmFIeb9hYiRRxVKwuJhJUCRmT2hAZ1Herm4jSUA7urns7sxLt0HbozTRAcJj3wKsgY9L/s1600/blogger-image-2003770115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSXA5uuDYXX53GbcFH2PLVpwrmlHkiGAGqaygXUtVevRJJqAgriYePA_uMg7YlipIfdy8U6JsDPmFIeb9hYiRRxVKwuJhJUCRmT2hAZ1Herm4jSUA7urns7sxLt0HbozTRAcJj3wKsgY9L/s320/blogger-image-2003770115.jpg" width="320" /></a> Finally, it was moving day for the big furniture. We rented a U-Haul and, with the help of movers, were able to get all the big things down to the house in one trip. Including our basil plant we affectionately named Biff. The fiance was pretty pumped Biff fit in the cupholder of the truck.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGsalIRxeDo6QB8BkkoRxSVjc8hAjzhYeV9CSQ2E1aIAjbAFMO3uvGcpc7SHwdmzq9X-3544EgHir5R5HIL20-SJwkfUQbQQ5QbF_Czg40_0477gy3_b40OOhhyRZY7ci4EoP4mVvwwyj8/s1600/blogger-image-1605017079.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGsalIRxeDo6QB8BkkoRxSVjc8hAjzhYeV9CSQ2E1aIAjbAFMO3uvGcpc7SHwdmzq9X-3544EgHir5R5HIL20-SJwkfUQbQQ5QbF_Czg40_0477gy3_b40OOhhyRZY7ci4EoP4mVvwwyj8/s320/blogger-image-1605017079.jpg" width="320" /></a>Despite our crazy work schedules, which include nights and weekends, we were able to pull together costumes for our friends' Halloween party and we had a great time as Penny Lane and William Miller from "Almost Famous," which is our favorite movie, one of the reasons I incorporated it into my button for the failed attempt at my 31 Days Challenge.</div>
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(Special shout out to Cara from <a href="http://hereslookingatshoeskid.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Here's Looking at Shoes, Kid</a> for the helpful post and reply to my comment asking about her own <a href="http://hereslookingatshoeskid.wordpress.com/2010/09/18/playing-penny-lane/" target="_blank">Penny Lane costume</a>!)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-57874681163715635562013-10-17T10:30:00.000-04:002013-10-18T10:21:35.166-04:00Day 17: Making the connection<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s1600/31DaysButton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s200/31DaysButton.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<b><i>Today, I laughed at: the fiance telling me about the washer and dryer he bought us.</i></b><br />
<i>He apparently saw a sticker on it for WiFi and he just assumed it meant the washer and dryer would send up a text or maybe even Tweet at us when it was done.</i><br />
<i>Now, he had researched this washer and dryer through his tech-loving websites. He found this one that dried clothes in, get ready, 30 minutes. He was in love. </i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Kenmore Elite Steam<br />
Washer and Dryer will <br />
not text you when<br />
the laundry's done.</td></tr>
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<i>There were even settings on the washer so if you were to leave clothes in overnight, it would intermittently circulate fresh air in as it tossed the clothes around. Same with the dryer so clothes wouldn't wrinkle.</i><br />
<i>This is a high tech washer and dryer he decided to buy from an outlet, after a discount for being a returned item. Watching him read the owner's manual online was almost uncomfortable, like he was watching adult entertainment. That's how excited he was about this washer and dryer.</i><br />
<i>When he got to the part about the WiFi sticker, though, he found out the washer and dryer would not be texting us when our clothes were ready. However, when we call for maintenance, the WiFi would transmit signals over our phones to the computer for diagnostic ... um ... things. I don't actually know exactly what it does, now that I think of it. I think I was laughing too hard at the disappointment he had mixed with the excitement over all the cool things our new gadgets could do.</i><i> I love him and his gadgets.</i><br />
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I think it's easier to find humor in things when you can make connections in your mind. I wouldn't necessarily think the word, "milk" was funny, for example. But, I heard the word and automatically thought of the scene in "Anchorman" Will Ferrell says, "Milk was a bad choice." And I might smile a bit. Or I might say the quote out loud, hoping someone else will understand the connection and laugh.<br />
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I think the unexpected connections are what make us laugh the most. Especially when it comes to what kids say and do. Sure, we don't want them to make the connection between something bad happening and swearing, but sometimes they will stub their toe and say, "damn it!" And, really, it's a little funny, even if you have to admonish them while trying to stifle giggles.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYxOdA2GKh_yo3PUFlsdkF4BMyTn3_i8cwxlhgWs4-iEN6Z93fRXZUZ7yEtVEa1ayJH0a_cwiZXepxWqmH6xrVXb1pS9bjwKEDlf1PT0JOYug2dWEapD_RkOmsod7WudJdQ_4x5-WBB3hH/s640/blogger-image--570791877.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYxOdA2GKh_yo3PUFlsdkF4BMyTn3_i8cwxlhgWs4-iEN6Z93fRXZUZ7yEtVEa1ayJH0a_cwiZXepxWqmH6xrVXb1pS9bjwKEDlf1PT0JOYug2dWEapD_RkOmsod7WudJdQ_4x5-WBB3hH/s320/blogger-image--570791877.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Great reuse of paint swatches!</td></tr>
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The other day, L. was working on a project of gluing stars to a piece of paper and I didn't even think of singing, "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" while doing it. So I was very pleased she made the connection on her own. And we sang it while making our masterpiece. It wasn't necessarily funny, but I always enjoy seeing her make connections.</div>
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My friend Kitty and I crack up over seemingly ordinary words, but they remind us of a joke from our cumulative years of laughing at nearly everything we encountered.</div>
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Being able to have those connections can make the world a whole lot funnier.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-77494115156966088602013-10-16T22:42:00.000-04:002013-10-18T10:27:17.615-04:00Day 16: Top 5 Underrated Movies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s1600/31DaysButton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s200/31DaysButton.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<b><i>Today, I laughed at: the fiance referencing "The Big Lebowski" while rug shopping at Ikea today.</i></b><br />
<i>L. was looking at rugs with us when she decided to climb on one. The fiance looked at the rug and said, "That rug really ties the room together."</i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaT4KWuOLzZNUYvdCbUKhAw2jRnAL69BRwq2dRUVzcRPpQaZElxwPY-keJaroY-o6tsg8cxPUNrgCRfBOBv_ekCWfTJdfbbftsay0Gv-VlR1UZRDw-re96DFNI3vl_eIAUdyvBu471Xxoi/s640/blogger-image-516065580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaT4KWuOLzZNUYvdCbUKhAw2jRnAL69BRwq2dRUVzcRPpQaZElxwPY-keJaroY-o6tsg8cxPUNrgCRfBOBv_ekCWfTJdfbbftsay0Gv-VlR1UZRDw-re96DFNI3vl_eIAUdyvBu471Xxoi/s200/blogger-image-516065580.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
<i>"The Big Lebowski" is probably the fiance's favorite movie and, I have to agree, while I didn't laugh out loud when I saw it, I do appreciate its humor and I will still say it's a funny movie.</i><br />
<i>Most movies I consider funny aren't actually "laugh out loud movies," now that I think about them. But few of them had me holding my stomach the first time I saw them.</i><br />
<i>And that brings me to the topic of the post I originally wrote yesterday but, ugh, got deleted. </i><i>(I won't even link to yesterday's sad excuse for a post).</i><br />
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=486598998401371323" name="more"></a> With no delay and awkward opening paragraph, I will now list my personal top five underrated movies, order alphabetically. And, in no way am I an expert. These are just personal preferences.<br />
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<b>Better Off Dead </b> <br />
<a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51E88RWHEFL._SY300_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51E88RWHEFL._SY300_.jpg" width="131" /></a>It's an '80s movie with John Cusack. If that weren't enough, it had me rolling with laughter the first time I watched it. I caught even more jokes in subsequent viewings. It's not intelligent humor all the time. It's just wacky characters and the viewing is most likely wondering "WTF" along with David Ogden Stiers' character.<br />
Speaking of DOS, most people would associate him with "MASH" or even as Cogsworth from "Beauty and the Beast," but I associate him with this movie.<br />
One of the great things about the '80s was Hollywood's ability to somehow find a way to make light of a teenager constantly trying to commit suicide repeatedly. I wouldn't think it was funny now, for sure. But when I originally saw it in the '90s, it didn't faze me at all that this wasn't a good topic for a movie.<br />
Nonetheless, this movie cracked me up then and it continues to crack me up. And maybe because I know he's not actually going to succeed in committing suicide.<br />
In the book, "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sex-Drugs-Cocoa-Puffs-Manifesto/dp/0743236017" target="_blank">Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs</a>," Chuck Klosterman blames '80s John Cusack for women's unrealistic expectations of men. Between this movie and "Say Anything," all men who are not John Cusack circa 1986 basically don't stand a chance.<br />
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<b>Bridget Jones's Diary</b><br />
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Despite the British style of the S-apostrophe S, which bothers my copy editor self, I adore this movie. it used to be my go-to after every breakup. Even though I was in my early 20s when I fell in love with it, I felt I could relate to everything about Bridget. And, it was great to see a protagonist who was not perfect looking or always graceful. In fact, the plump Jones was pretty much what I assumed I would turn into. And that wouldn't be a bad thing at all.<br />
I make it a point to watch this movie every New Year's Day. Usually, though, if I reread the book (I think I've read it four or five times now), I end up writing everything in the voice of Bridget Jones, which is not always goof when it comes to writing emails. But, it does get me around to writing, in general.<br />
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<b>Clue</b><br />
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What a great movie. It's not, actually. But, at the same time, it is! I can't describe why it's so great. Maybe it's the predictable jokes and punchlines. Maybe it's the thrill of finding out what happens next. Either way, this oft overlooked movie is a classic, and full of amazing actors who make the movie far more interesting than the board game, itself.<br />
Whenever someone starts quoting it, I instantly have more respect for that person.<br />
"I ... hated her! There were flames. Flames! On the sides of my face ... heaving .. breathing ... !"<br />
Classic.<br />
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<b>Mean Girls</b><br />
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If you think it's not another high school comedy, you would be wrong. Tina Fey wrote a damn good movie for both teenagers and adults. The book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Queen-Bees-Wannabes-Boyfriends-Realities/dp/0307454444" target="_blank">"Queen Bees and Wannabes</a>," was actually on my go-to for a few weeks when I was breastfeeding L. (This was before I had an iPhone and I did a lot more reading while feeding her every three hours.)<br />
The movie, although funny, really does shed good light on how the social hierarchy in high school really worked. Even the exaggeration presented in the movie accurately portrays exactly how teenagers think at the time. I can honestly say I don't know how my parents dealt with my mood swings and over-dramatization of everything. I wish I knew to get my hormones in check because they were probably most of the cause for any extreme emotion I was feeling.<br />
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<b>Steel Magnolias</b><br />
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I got sick of this movie. In fact, I still am sick of this movie. I won't watch it, even if it's on TV. I know the plot all too well and (mini-spoiler alert) who dies. And I don't care anymore. My ex-husband loved this movie. I think he must have watched it once a month, if not more. He was the type to fall asleep to movies and I can't even count how many times I would try to block out Sally Field forcing Julia Roberts to get some orange juice down her throat.<br />
So why is the movie on here? Two words: Shirley MacLaine.<br />
Her portrayal of Ouiser was probably the only reason that DVD didn't "accidentally" end up in the garbage or scratched. And, honestly, the first few times I saw it, I did love the movie, mostly because of Ouiser's character. It's a good movie. Just don't oversee it. I'd like to compare it to Cadbury Creme Eggs in that if they were available all year, everyone would be sick of them. But they are really good. Just not all the time.<br />
Also, I keep meaning to look for a reason to use one of my quotes, as said by Dolly Parton's character: "Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion." That's what the fiance gives me all the time when I'm upset.<br />
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<a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/10/day-17-making-connection.html" target="_blank">Next: Day 17</a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-10174880217378689602013-10-15T23:30:00.000-04:002013-10-18T10:26:24.673-04:00Day 15: Hmph!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s1600/31DaysButton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s200/31DaysButton.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<b><i>Today, I laughed at: hmph.</i></b><br />
<i>Yes, that is what I meant to type for this post.</i><br />
<i>Originally, I had a post all written before midnight last night. Then, in trying to add a photo from my phone, the entire entry was deleted. So, I gave up. It was midnight, I was an hour from home, and I needed to be in bed.</i><br />
<i>And I was not in a good mood.</i><br />
<i>So, I got home, got in bed with the fiance and he stroked my hair and said, "It's OOOOO-K. Caaaaaalm dooooown. I'll taaaaalk with looooong syllibleeeeh. I can't eeeeeven saaaay 'syllables.'"</i><br />
<i>OK, that did make me laugh. And that is the point, after all.</i><br />
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<i><a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/10/day-16-top-5-underrated-movies.html" target="_blank">Next: Day 16 (Day 15 redux)</a></i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-70881876821070160832013-10-14T22:53:00.000-04:002013-10-14T22:53:59.026-04:00Day 14: Retiring a joke<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s1600/31DaysButton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s200/31DaysButton.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<b><i>Today, I laughed at: nothing I can really describe.</i></b><br />
<i>I don't really know how to explain the laughter I had today (late, late last night/early morning). I got home from work and when the fiance met me at the door of the house we're moving into, he said, "Do we </i>have<i> to paint tonight? I'm sorry, I'm just not in the mood."</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwr2MQvnTfYhNCGM3FYxEJmMO6CeMePZ76T2HJ6ll2nrG97voa11LdZfk8mieQoYl_PO2pN0ymbLR8xxYYkFsBvX0J9QeT-IU2bKnKHr70rMgPIr5Cvqi7E_zLa8yKtzQ1RYsBQfZ4vK6u/s640/blogger-image-1696640041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwr2MQvnTfYhNCGM3FYxEJmMO6CeMePZ76T2HJ6ll2nrG97voa11LdZfk8mieQoYl_PO2pN0ymbLR8xxYYkFsBvX0J9QeT-IU2bKnKHr70rMgPIr5Cvqi7E_zLa8yKtzQ1RYsBQfZ4vK6u/s200/blogger-image-1696640041.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fiance as we were brainstorming <br />the future location of the bar <br />in our basement.</td></tr>
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<i>I was so relieved because I felt the same way. I had been rushed all day and I really wanted to just sit.</i><br />
<i>I knew I had the energy if I needed it, but I did not really have the motivation to do a good job.</i><br />
<br />
<i>So, instead, we grabbed a few beers and went downstairs to the basement to look at how the walls were coming along. We're hoping to finish the basement so we'll have it as a big play room, initially for L., but I'm guessing the fiance will have more toys down there.</i><br />
<i>Anyway, as we planned out things for the future, I began to get that feeling in my stomach like when you're about to go over a rollercoaster hill. I started laughing and I couldn't even describe to the fiance what was so funny. </i><br />
<i>It wasn't so much that it was funny, but I was so excited about spending my life with him in this home we're putting together, the only expression my body could release was laughter. And so I laughed. I smiled until my face hurt.</i><br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Yesterday I was at a gathering of friends I hadn't seen again and I ended up becoming the comedian as I was catching people up on my life.<br />
<br />
I threw out the anecdotes of L.'s adventures and exaggerated the extent of which I will bribe her by any means just to get a laugh. I had my friend and her mom laughing at my stories and I loved it.<br />
<br />
The more they laughed, the more I kept talking, coming up with more stories for their amusement. I went into a routine and I wasn't even aware of it. I could have had a mic and a brick wall behind me at that point.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie7pJ4wqIpDY2U2x2pucbRm-8BEOdCVRoFBIywGey3ZN9jvH9slt5wjxuN1m-CKBHGhsD2SUxkxNtfCjfrIszLNEXaeJSretpTyvslt0AeZWBt7dVM-6mpbaWqbd1eXTwNLIQiz7GkCdcd/s1600/199_513894664267_2388_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie7pJ4wqIpDY2U2x2pucbRm-8BEOdCVRoFBIywGey3ZN9jvH9slt5wjxuN1m-CKBHGhsD2SUxkxNtfCjfrIszLNEXaeJSretpTyvslt0AeZWBt7dVM-6mpbaWqbd1eXTwNLIQiz7GkCdcd/s1600/199_513894664267_2388_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Labels can be fun(ny).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've been labeled "The Funny One" within a few groups of friends throughout the years. I've always been OK with this label, actually. It sucked sometimes when I found it difficult to be taken seriously because of it, but otherwise, I enjoyed it. Who doesn't love making people laugh?<br />
<br />
The only time I don't enjoy being funny is when I'm forced. Especially when I'm forced to do a joke I've done so many times it's lost its appeal.<br />
<br />
I used to do an impression I won't go into too much detail about since it was middle school humor of mocking someone. I'll refer to it as Miss Universe. Unfortunately, it followed me through school and even college. Once someone saw it, they would make me do it for someone else and someone else. I would go to parties and someone would say, "Emily! Do your Miss Universe impression!"<br />
<br />
It was a whole bit with a fake voice and hand gestures, mocking of a commercial from 1994 no one remembers now, except me probably. Even when my castmates of a play I was in did superlatives for everyone at the cast party, I got "Best Miss Universe." I don't even remember doing it for most of the people in that cast, but apparently it became infamous and synonymous with me.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8JFlvhD-iKbtUBjW0DTXa0LOpWPN7QdC3ITX_NJGcbEleuJmR5piTCal8FPwGniedABNB6Fp3JpUfxm-U4hz9t04xk0yrIcn_yyK8DxavgYw1h9e2gK84EJgMvljsFp3bNWU7UX9IhZTR/s1600/199030_504803692647_5796_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8JFlvhD-iKbtUBjW0DTXa0LOpWPN7QdC3ITX_NJGcbEleuJmR5piTCal8FPwGniedABNB6Fp3JpUfxm-U4hz9t04xk0yrIcn_yyK8DxavgYw1h9e2gK84EJgMvljsFp3bNWU7UX9IhZTR/s1600/199030_504803692647_5796_n.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting "boxed in" by the label of "The Funny One."<br />
(Photo circa 2005. I cannot be held responsible for<br />
photos taken during college.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As I grew older, I hated it. I hated having to do it when I no longer found it funny. I hated doing it because it wasn't my style of humor anymore. Even though it made people laugh, I'll be honest, I judged them a little bit for even finding it funny.<br />
<br />
I'm glad in the past few years, between my ridiculous work schedule and friends losing touch because the divorce affected their friendships with me and my ex-husband (no, I don't understand it either), I have not been asked to do the impression anymore. I'm glad to finally put that joke to bed, where it belonged back when I graduated middle school.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-87566635640335142522013-10-13T23:26:00.001-04:002013-10-14T22:56:28.326-04:00Day 13: Write what you know (or what you pretend to know)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s1600/31DaysButton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s200/31DaysButton.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<b><i>Today, I laughed at: "Friends."</i></b><br />
<i>At work, we have to get the lottery numbers and they're usually aired on the channel with the news. But when sports games are on, they're aired on the channel that airs "Friends" reruns.</i><br />
<i>And those are some of my favorite nights!</i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzWFN_oVMlVPP_ALvba9SI7dFnV2mzD5lyKpwW9cYvA5_8g2eWbYM8WVGx4u6850SgpCRGeXBREvP1SYyl4elkfTMHHlHLdx0HLQjBbshaq23UisAbVLScDD-07zcuG4JKTCu-3hqqQgOK/s1600/Friends_building.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzWFN_oVMlVPP_ALvba9SI7dFnV2mzD5lyKpwW9cYvA5_8g2eWbYM8WVGx4u6850SgpCRGeXBREvP1SYyl4elkfTMHHlHLdx0HLQjBbshaq23UisAbVLScDD-07zcuG4JKTCu-3hqqQgOK/s1600/Friends_building.jpg" height="200" width="151" /></a><i>The show never gets old for me. I watch the entire series once a year. I even got the fiance into it. I got to enjoy it all over again while watching it with someone new who got to experience it for the first time.</i><br />
<i>"Friends" is one of those shows I hope to watch with L. and have her enjoy it as much as I do. Even if I have to explain to her why coffee houses were so great even before the free WiFi. Even when I have to hold my tongue when she gets upset when Ross and Rachel are "on a break." I hope she'll be able to quote the show just as much as I can. That's the dream!</i><br />
<i></i><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="more"></a>Someone asked me today if I was still writing. I said, "Not really. I have a blog I write in occasionally."<br />
<i> </i><br />
They were disappointed since they wished I had more of a chance to be funny.<br />
<br />
Why did I downplay my blog?<br />
<br />
Well, for one thing, I don't always write funny. Especially during this challenge of writing every day. This post, in fact, has no real point in my head yet.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqtABe2xOyP6I-aDIWVEJCXsxCxekmPu4WgOtpvBhM3XAo1_2kI8-67TtxeJjb6Cuge0BhxBKwW4rcC6GgGwiUCp-lrCgWi1jkBc07UzYk2AqMTOpyUdTnMIZj_OzR_xvE6uI45RVlskm/s1600/mom-blogger-pay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqtABe2xOyP6I-aDIWVEJCXsxCxekmPu4WgOtpvBhM3XAo1_2kI8-67TtxeJjb6Cuge0BhxBKwW4rcC6GgGwiUCp-lrCgWi1jkBc07UzYk2AqMTOpyUdTnMIZj_OzR_xvE6uI45RVlskm/s1600/mom-blogger-pay.jpg" height="320" width="273" /></a></div>
Another reason I downplayed it is because I'm not public about my blog to my friends. As much as I'd love to be associated with "Mommy Bloggers," I don't think I'm quite there yet, to be honest.<br />
<br />
I once heard a comedian say that comedians are just actors whose parents couldn't afford orthodontia. Well, in my quest to be a funny writer, I'm proud to say my parents definitely couldn't afford orthodontia so I've got that going for me. And I went to school for journalism so I could call myself a writer, but I wouldn't because no one who writes ever feels comfortable saying they're a writer.<br />
<br />
Not to mention my <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/04/we-hold-these-truths.html" target="_blank">aversion to anything resembling a label</a> for myself.<br />
<br />
It's so much easier to be myself while writing when I picture faceless strangers reading my blog. I realize you, dear readers, are not faceless. And I appreciate the hits you've given to my humble little creative outlet here.<br />
<br />
But it's weird to write knowing your audience.<br />
<br />
As I've said with jokes, you need to <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/10/day-9-diagramming-joke-part-1.html" target="_blank">know your audience</a>. You need to tailor your jokes to that audience.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja6Ab5bB2-Ko0ZJOTex9o2JqGHkroYJvJczwtyXsikN768BRpRZCzLXDGjug8aVwTyw_y_ftXwjjrNZ8UXfnPqYKWdj5ozcMX-IbBAHPAZ5kcVstjUNG-Pe0b5vzu8p7Pov5fFpjzKHr2x/s640/blogger-image-1585347062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja6Ab5bB2-Ko0ZJOTex9o2JqGHkroYJvJczwtyXsikN768BRpRZCzLXDGjug8aVwTyw_y_ftXwjjrNZ8UXfnPqYKWdj5ozcMX-IbBAHPAZ5kcVstjUNG-Pe0b5vzu8p7Pov5fFpjzKHr2x/s320/blogger-image-1585347062.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Possible Mommy Blogger in the making. Or tired mom<br />
who's blogging at work after finishing her shift.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But with writing, even writing where I don't have a point, I can't proclaim myself an expert on really anything (unless there's a niche for kick ass copy editing and laying out a newspaper). So I'm not really writing for other people.<br />
<br />
The first rule you learn about writing is "Write what you know." Well, in the case of this blog, I'm kind of writing what works for me, what I'm learning, and somewhat writing out the process of learning it, since being a parent is pretty much a lifetime enrollment in the craziest and most unpredictable class of your life.<br />
<br />
I've also learned if I have an audience in mind, I tend to write for that audience. And I like having a blog as a chance to write what I feel and not get sucked into writing on a specific topic, despite the 31 Day Challenge.<br />
<br />
I do, however, post my blogs on Pinterest and know a few friends who catch it there. And that makes me happy. That's my gateway to more social media for Self-Evident Supermom perhaps. <br />
<br />
Will I open up more about my blog? Maybe someday. But for now, I kind of keep this blog as an inside joke with myself. And with you, dear readers.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/10/day-14-retiring-joke.html" target="_blank">Next: Day 14</a> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-26944365429122953612013-10-12T23:00:00.000-04:002013-10-14T22:56:00.412-04:00Day 12: You're never fully dressed without a smile (and yoga pants)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s1600/31DaysButton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s200/31DaysButton.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<b><i>Today, I laughed at: the fiance pulling me onto the air mattress we've been sleeping on in the new house and saying, "Hey, let's cuddle."</i></b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7kN-gDbpyNEpMTIEjB42597W5Mn9wVoL7YHiaspIc5b-s2BZJ5ltqNX2VdyEjzq0JCCo381Dqje6xnb1MQfkvV_q62yAwL5hE2J6NNc4S4nyT5EfO7QogTQJIGHH1q5zq1Szfmyme1wRc/s640/blogger-image-882311821.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7kN-gDbpyNEpMTIEjB42597W5Mn9wVoL7YHiaspIc5b-s2BZJ5ltqNX2VdyEjzq0JCCo381Dqje6xnb1MQfkvV_q62yAwL5hE2J6NNc4S4nyT5EfO7QogTQJIGHH1q5zq1Szfmyme1wRc/s200/blogger-image-882311821.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's my future husband, TSPing<br />
the walls in L.'s new room.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>Between having a new house and the officialism of the engagement ring that's given us this crazy sense of "Wow! We have a lot ahead of us!"</i><br />
<i>Not only do we have a house we can basically make our own, despite renting (best landlords = future in-laws), but while we're doing mundane things like TSPing the walls, we can talk about wedding planning.</i><br />
<br />
<i>It's just a nice feeling to have a great relationship and a lot to look forward to.</i><br />
<i>(Am I making you sick with how cute we are? Trust me, we constantly comment on how sickly sweet we are, too.)</i><br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
I used to think I was a pessimist. Actually, I think I would actively try to be a pessimist.<br />
<i> </i><br />
I liked the idea that if you were a pessimist, you wouldn't be as disappointed. But, as a pessimist, I realized you're also setting yourself up for not being as happy when things do go right.<br />
<br />
That said, it's very difficult for me to find something to laugh at if I'm in a bad mood. And it's even more difficult to snap myself out of that bad mood the longer I'm in it.<br />
<br />
One night last week, I had finished a draining night at work. I drive him with a scowl on my face. As I pulled in the driveway, though, I realized I wanted to be happy to come home to the fiance. I made myself smile.<br />
<br />
You know how they say it takes more muscles to frown than smile? I find that hard to believe when you're trying to force yourself to smile. It felt like it was stretching my face in a way it was not meant to be stretched.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/buZZyUBwymA" width="560"></iframe>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
Yeah. That pretty much sums it up. That's how I felt. (By the way, "Addams Family 2: Family Values" is one of those sequels that far surpasses the original. It's the perfect time to watch it, if you haven't already.)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But, I forced that smile. I forced it until I pulled into my space and started walking to the door. I felt, eh, better I guess. So then I mentally listed five things to smile about.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Maybe that would have made it easier.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I was happy to be coming home to the boyfriend (at the time, this is before the ring). I was going to see L. the next day, even if it was for a short time. I was coming home to my cats. I barely had anything leftover from my cold by this point. The boyfriend had done laundry, including my yoga pants, which would be warm out of the dryer. Yoga pants! My yoga pants were clean! There was my reason to smile right at that second!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
By the time I had gotten upstairs and greeted the boyfriend, that scary smile had seeped into my brain and I think he was scared of the crazy smile I had going on. After about five minutes, I was downright giddy. I couldn't figure out what happened, and the boyfriend asked if I had a good day.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Oh goodness, no! I'm just happy to see you!" I answered, not sure if I was talking to him or my yoga pants I was about to put on.</div>
<br />
I found myself more prone to laughter that night, which is always a good thing. Maybe I'm not supposed to be a pessimist. I don't think anyone is really meant to be a pessimist. I think it's just too easy to focus on the bad things that already happened rather than the good potential of the future. (Or a good pair of a yoga pants.)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/10/day-13-write-what-you-know-or-what-you.html" target="_blank">Next: Day 13</a> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-62791160764982514402013-10-11T23:00:00.000-04:002013-10-14T22:55:29.347-04:00Day 11: This, too, shall pass and become funny<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s1600/31DaysButton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s200/31DaysButton.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<b><i>Today, I laughed at: an imitation my coworker did of me.</i></b><br />
<i>At work, we've been waiting for the new restaurant down the block to open up, since we've gotten tired of the same take out all the time. When we tried the food, unfortunately, none of the orders were right. I would have quietly eaten my veggie wrap, which was completely different from what the menu promised, but once other coworkers started hovering around, wondering what the new food was like, I snapped. The combination of others' curiosity and watching me eat, along with a cold side salad in a wrap instead of a grilled mushroom, pepper and cheese veggie wrap I was promised was too much and I flipped out, grabbed a coworker and brought my food back.</i><br />
<i>Later that night, we were recounting the story and another coworker did an impression of my face and said in a high voice, "This veggie wrap is just wrong! Please, oh pretty please, fix it!"</i><br />
<i></i><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<i> </i>You know how I wrote about how <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/10/day-4-like-crappy-wine-jokes-do-not-age.html" target="_blank">jokes don't always age well</a>? Well, sometimes awful situations have a way of becoming funnier.<br />
<br />
When I tell the <strike>boyfriend</strike> <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/10/day-10-diagramming-joke-part-2.html" target="_blank">fiancee </a>about my horrible day, I end up finding something to laugh at. Or, he'll point out something I said and make me laugh about it later.<br />
<br />
Last night I was looking through some old diaries as I was packing, including one from eighth grade. Everything was <i>sooooo </i>overdramatic back then. I laughed about how I would go from loving my best friends one day to thinking they were all against me the next day. And a few pages later, I would talk about my weekend plans with them and how I couldn't wait. And how they would all be in my future wedding. But I found it funny the tiny details of my little middle school like and how monumental it all used to feel.<br />
<br />
I can even laugh about my annoyance at work hours ago, but now that I'm not in the thick of it, I can find the funny parts.<br />
<br />
It's very much like how I don't remember the mood L. was in today and I only remember when she woke me up with "Oh! Good morning, Mom!" and I smile, despite being woken up at 6:30 a.m. and tricking her into giving me a hug so I could snuggle with her in bed half-asleep, hoping to get another 20 minutes of sleep in. Then she got up, took my blanket and said, "We get dressed?"<br />
<br />
It's all funny now. At 6:47 a.m., though, I was pretty miserable.<br />
<br />
I think this is a good quality.<br />
<br />
Life isn't so bad, once you have the chance to slow down and laugh at it.<br />
<br />
It's so easy to remember the bad parts, but why? There is a lot of good in the day. And even if it doesn't go as planned, I think one of the best ways of coping is to be able to laugh at it.<br />
<br />
After all, that's what this challenge is supposed to inspire me to do more, right?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/10/day-12-youre-never-fully-dressed.html" target="_blank">Next: Day 12</a> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-3480262662158535412013-10-10T15:10:00.001-04:002013-10-14T22:55:01.144-04:00Day 10: Diagramming a joke, Part 2<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s1600/31DaysButton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s200/31DaysButton.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a><b><i>Today, I laughed as: I said "yes" when the boyfriend proposed!</i></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ORGOIlHK20tGrXKa37aP-zcX71c9GZ3YbzPyE1h1XFK0mu1c0o7Tfdv5aVS5vGZQhB73L7ZIcmgTkxKGxnsZcvTrP8aC15TmkF-tTLlNP8GX8zCyTcKmP-t1X796YTrjD803RqFXhJN0/s1600/Engagement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ORGOIlHK20tGrXKa37aP-zcX71c9GZ3YbzPyE1h1XFK0mu1c0o7Tfdv5aVS5vGZQhB73L7ZIcmgTkxKGxnsZcvTrP8aC15TmkF-tTLlNP8GX8zCyTcKmP-t1X796YTrjD803RqFXhJN0/s200/Engagement.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a><i>I also cried. I was also so happy, I didn't know what to do, so I laughed, and cried and, of course, said yes.</i><br />
<i>I was in the kitchen packing some things for our move when I heard L. come running in, leave something on the counter and run away. I heard the boyfriend say, "I think you should see what she brought you."</i><br />
<i>From this, I assumed it was cat poop or something gross. But when I looked down, it was a black velvet box. I opened it and saw the ring and turned around and saw the boyfriend on his knee. And I was so full of emotions, I laughed while crying.</i><br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Yesterday, I talked about the <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/10/day-9-diagramming-joke-part-1.html" target="_blank">setup</a>, which really makes up about 80 percent of how funny a joke actually is. Part 2, of course, is the punchline.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1c/Punch_judy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1c/Punch_judy.jpg" height="135" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "Itchy and Scratchy"<br />
of past generations.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I tried to find the etymology behind the word, hoping it would be something worth talking about, but etymologists are apparently baffled by it. I thought maybe it came from the old timey puppet show, "Punch and Judy," which I had seen in an old black and white movie we had. I did, however, think it was pretty funny. It was the original Itchy and Scratchy, let's be honest.<br />
<br />
All I can figure is the punchline should be delivered like a punch: quick and to the point!<br />
<br />
Punchlines, like the setup, shouldn't take a lot of explanation. If there are a sequence of punchlines, e.g. telling a funny story with multiple humorous points, it makes sense to increase the funniness with each punchline.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, when I'm thinking of something funny to say, I end up coming up with the punchline first, even though it's the last thing I say. Then I build the rest of the joke around it. I don't know how stand-up comedians work, but I feel like if I were one, I would work that way.<br />
<br />
Being an editor for a living, I then take the punchline, work a setup around it, then edit it in my head so I can get the gist of the setup without excessively talking about it.<br />
<br />
I don't have as many hard and fast rules, I think, for punchlines, other than make it funny. And, if it's not funny, make sure it's at least intelligent and makes sense with the rest of the joke.<br />
<br />
I had a friend in high school who was really smart. He probably could have been like those internet company people who dropped out of high school because he was so smart. Because of this, he would have to explain his humor every so often to us because he would tell us jokes we just wouldn't get. But we knew he was funny regardless.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/56/Saran_wrapped_(2936352265).jpg/800px-Saran_wrapped_(2936352265).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/56/Saran_wrapped_(2936352265).jpg/800px-Saran_wrapped_(2936352265).jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wikimedia Commons surprises me with some<br />
of the images they actually have, this being<br />
a classic example.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
He began a joke one day with, "A man walks into a psychiatrist's office naked except for Saran Wrap around himself. The psychiatrist looks at him and says, 'I can clearly see you're insane.'"<br />
<br />
My group of friends and I didn't get it and gave each other quick looks of, "We don't get it, but we need to laugh so he doesn't think we're idiots." So we laughed.<br />
<br />
A little while later, he says, "Wait! I told that joke wrong! The psychiatrist says, 'I can clearly see your/you're nuts!' Why did you guys laugh?"<br />
<br />
We didn't really have an answer. The story then became infamous in our group of friends. And it made our friend, the joketeller, feel smart even though he messed up the joke. And the rest of us, well, from there, we had our friend explain the jokes to us and learned not to pretend we got them if we didn't.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/10/day-11-this-too-shall-pass-and-become.html" target="_blank">Next: Day 11</a> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12964781252262777865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-486598998401371323.post-15721734414529515312013-10-10T01:11:00.001-04:002013-10-14T22:57:38.665-04:00Day 9: Diagramming a joke, Part 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s1600/31DaysButton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh-AH_XFxR4mh_E9LoKCCiZTZ5sDbDrvzltId4dRnoEimnGEVh0meJVe7nZsGZ6p2ezxDygrexW4Gp_5-l-JEcYNX-URppXLyOyR0UYno_EvmKwmy1PP2FAuUiIdB3fQF-o2UKLHP8BGC/s200/31DaysButton.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<b><i>Today, I laughed at: the boyfriend imitating a horse while he played with L.</i></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJ-yUYmXncElqYIOwvKdyZZbS2E2Ci5gMDhgSe5LxyIhom9X1hSxY8cSCtxrdAyaAhdJKhmcdxjTNONkX-NRjOOaa3HiJfI9Z3SAbqS8D1CA-9JNP5P5MEPB1SpyGOLZ_k6SRBKKshD9w/s640/blogger-image-1160304529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJ-yUYmXncElqYIOwvKdyZZbS2E2Ci5gMDhgSe5LxyIhom9X1hSxY8cSCtxrdAyaAhdJKhmcdxjTNONkX-NRjOOaa3HiJfI9Z3SAbqS8D1CA-9JNP5P5MEPB1SpyGOLZ_k6SRBKKshD9w/s200/blogger-image-1160304529.jpg" width="200" /></a><i>At Target (where I'll go for three things and come out with three bags, somehow), L. was fascinated with a dinosaur from the dollar section. Hey, as long as it was only a dollar and it wasn't princess/Disney related, I was fine buying it for her. When she brought it home, she introduced him to her toy horse and the Yo Gabba Gabba gang figures she has.</i><br />
<i>When the boyfriend woke up, she handed him the horse and began having a babble-speak conversation with the dinosaur. The boyfriend joined with the horse and "neighed" his portion of the conversation. "He-e-e-ey, ho-o-o-ow a-a-a-a-a-are yo-o-o-o-o-ou?"</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<i></i></div>
<br />
<i></i><i> L. got a kick out of it and so did I. Have I mentioned how much I love the boyfriend? Well, it's a lo-o-o-o-ot.</i><br />
<i></i><br />
<a name='more'></a>Hopefully the antici-(Say it!)-pation you dear readers felt with my delay in writing today (it's still before midnight as I type this sentence so I feel I've fulfilled my duty of writing every day) was the perfect introduction of sorts to my topic: The setup of a joke.<br />
<br />
A joke, despite how funny the punchline may be, can be completely ruined if the setup doesn't work. It's probably the most important part of the joke, in fact. The punchline is probably about 20 percent of what makes a joke funny. Here are some factors I believe are essential to a joke*:<br />
<br />
<b>Know your audience</b><br />
Timing is everything, as I mentioned in a <a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/10/day-1-lessons-in-laughter-from-my-dad.html" target="_blank">previous post</a>. Part of knowing timing is to gauge your audience for the joke. Knowing your audience could mean knowing what kind of humor they enjoy, knowing the references they would understand, their likes, their dislikes. A joke about politics would go over the heads of toddlers, unless maybe you called the President of Naptime a Poopyhead. A joke about poop might go over the heads of ... well, who am I kidding? Poop is usually always funny, let's face it. But, then again, if you told a poop joke in a workplace, it would probably be considered inappropriate.<br />
<br />
<b>K.I.S.S.</b><br />
Keep it simple, silly. (Last letter changed for humor-related purposes.) Too much explanation in the setup causes the listener to become bored. In the movie, "Finding Nemo," Marlin tries to tell a joke throughout the movie, since he's a clown fish and is expected to be funny. Unfortunately, he doesn't really understand the qualities of a setup and he's explaining how sea cucumbers don't really talk but in a joke, they do. He has already lost his audience. Even if you realized you've screwed up the setup, try to correct the situation and talk your way around it seamlessly, if possible. The other tactic is continue telling the joke, finish with the punchline and when the audience doesn't get it, play dumb and casually say, "Oh, did I forget to tell you this detail? Oops! Silly me!" That way, even if they don't laugh at the joke, there's a chance they'll laugh, even if it's at you.<br />
<br />
<b>Be excited about your joke</b><br />
Even if it's not really funny, which a lot of my jokes aren't, they fact that I am so excited to even tell my joke usually adds a little more humor to my joke. Sometimes, I tell horrible jokes, but I'm so excited about how horrible it is, especially my puns I've come up with, that others end up laughing mostly at me. And I'm OK with this. Even if you're telling a completely self-deprecating joke, you don't have to be enthusiastic about it, but there should be some level of energy when you're telling it. This is just my personal preference. Even Rachel Dratch's Debbie Downer character on "Saturday Night Live" has energy behind her earnest tales of dispair, not to mention the closeup of the face she makes.<br />
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<iframe frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.nbc.com/assets/video/widget/widget.html?vid=n11825" width="560"></iframe></div>
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<b>It's not really funny if it's racist, sexist, homophobic, etc.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
If you have to look around to see if anyone within earshot might be offended before you tell a joke, it's probably not that great of a joke. If you can't tell the joke in mixed company, don't tell it at all. I especially hate when the joke teller says, "It's OK, telling this joke doesn't make me a racist; I have a black friend" or something of that nature. You never know who will be in earshot who will overhear you and not take it as a joke. Laughing at such a joke will encourage these jokes to continue, which I would also advise against.</div>
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I would compare the setup of a joke to the beginning of a rollercoaster. You slowly go up this steep hill and you have no idea what you're about to get when you reach the top. Some jokes could be the quick decent into funny. Or, there could be a little tease decline you go down, make a turn and <i>then</i> go down the big hill, which you were not prepared for at all. And, of course, those punchlines hit the hardest.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
If that analogy didn't do it for you, maybe comparing the setup to food will work. OK, so say the setup is like the chowder of the clam chowder. There's the butter, the cream, the potatoes, the, um, hotness (?), the salt, the, uh, hold on let me look up the recipe for clam chowder. Also, I'm talking the white clam chowder, (the best clam chowder) New England. OK, flour! There's also flour in it. So, yeah, let's say the setup is all of those things, and the clams are the punchline. You need all those other ingredients in just the right proportion to make it a really good <strike>soup</strike> <strike>stew</strike> (what is it? Oh right.) chowder. Not just the clams.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Here's a joke I will admit to learning from "Lamb Chop's Play Along" and the setup actually <i>is</i> the joke:</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJNED5sa2FFY42j1eZ6ZENG2AEJ7ooeyKXugmHLBFCIPs0ZPnxBgovkpZUNMQmWo1TlVAV2xZZXHyXOFoG3uHuCtjWEjphYsIsdoW9eAlMfMVb-C96ezVw85mbM8vUAWQzkzFyUtS2jR0W/s1600/PetePete.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJNED5sa2FFY42j1eZ6ZENG2AEJ7ooeyKXugmHLBFCIPs0ZPnxBgovkpZUNMQmWo1TlVAV2xZZXHyXOFoG3uHuCtjWEjphYsIsdoW9eAlMfMVb-C96ezVw85mbM8vUAWQzkzFyUtS2jR0W/s1600/PetePete.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty much the only appropriate<br />
image to go along with this joke,<br />
I believe.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
"Pete and Repeat go for a boat ride. Pete falls out. Who's left?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The audience says, "Repeat."<br />
So you repeat the joke.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Pete and Repeat go for a boat ride. Pete falls out. Who's left?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Again, the response would be "Repeat." And so you do.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
If you tell this joke to a 6-year-old, this joke will continue for hours, if you let it. You will be a hero in this 6-year-old's eyes. Therefore, don't tell it to a 6-year-old. You will hate the joke by the end of that hour. You will hate that joke after the third time you have to go through it. Pretty soon, you'll start omitting words and it won't make a damn difference.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Pete and Repeat go for a boat ride. Who's left?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
6-year-old: "Repeat!" (Laughter and giggles)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Pete and Repeat go for a ride."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
6-year-old: "Repeat!" (Laughter, giggles, holding their stomach)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Pete and Repeat go."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
6-year-old: "Re-hahahaha-peat! Hahahaha!"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Pete falls out."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
By this time, the 6-year-old is crying with laughter, unable to breathe, thinking you are the absolute best at telling jokes. They'll try to retell the joke to their friends, only to laugh too hard and, instead, summon you to tell the joke for them. And the joke will be never-ending. (This actually happened to me, which is why I can tell this story with first-hand knowledge of the consequences.)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
That said, I actually realized the best setup would to be to tell all your jokes to a 6-year-old. Yup. There's the secret to the perfect joke. And, if they don't quite understand the joke, throw the word "poop" into it. They'll love it. Poop.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">* Sometimes I write like I'm an expert on a topic. I'm not. But do I sound convincing yet?</span></i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://selfevidentsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/10/day-10-diagramming-joke-part-2.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: small;">Next: Day 10</span></a><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></i></div>
</div>
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