On the Verge of Understanding Ladies Running Fashion

As a person who has been running for about a year now I can tell you my times have improved and my endurance has increased exponentially but there is one area that still confuses me. Running fashion. I'm always crossing paths with all kinds of people in all kinds of outfits with all sorts of accessories. It makes me wonder am I doing this wrong? Do I look like an impostor? Should my clothes have more mesh and neon? How have I made it a year without all of those fancy gadgets? Do they really help? Here is what I have figured out so far.

Sweat bands. I don't think these are a necessities because I don't see too many people wearing them but for me its a must. There have been a few too many sweat and mascara cocktails in my eye to not start being proactive about head sweat. It's difficult to run with sweat in your eye, it makes you run with that pre-sneeze face. You know the one, eyes pinched closed and face all distorted in anticipation of your immediate future. It doesn't take long running with my eyes closed to end up on your face believe me I speak from experience. The only difficult question is, which way do you go 70's NBA player or biker bandanna style? I'm usually a biker myself but that's because the elastic on the other ones leave lines across my forehead and frankly age has graced me with enough lines there already.

Bra and underwear. These are obvious necessities for women, but which ones?  A bra for me is a crucial part of my run because A. I really don't enjoy nearly knocking myself out and B. If I don't have a good bra my chest would feel like it did a few rounds in a prize fight with Evander Holyfield. The bra matters. A good bra makes all the difference on long runs. I don't think this is for fashion, this is function all the way. If you can't afford the fancy running bras just do what I do, keep it classy and wear two cheap ones. No one can see this fashion hack so do it up. The underwear. *gasp* Yes I'm about to talk about underwear. There is such a thing as running underwear. I foolishly thought it was some kind of bionic stuff that when worn would run my race for me. Sadly this is not the case. I would imagine you do not want your undies running up your rear as fast as you are running towards the finish line but hey to each their own. Can you imagine trying to keep a pace and pick a wedgie all at once? It will throw off your gate mess with your stride and you could injury yourself. Then there you are in ER explaining to doctors that you have a wedgie related injury. Nobody wants to have that conversation. So spend the money and get yourself some fancy running undies this is not for style points this is for the well being of your tush and your pretty face.

Running leggings. Did you know that running pants aren't actually called running pants? Neither did I, they are called running leggings. Fancy huh? To me running leggings felt like I had to be wearing a running dress or running tunic but that's not the case. I didn't know a lot of things when getting my first running leggings. I went with the cheapest and blackest. I was banking on black being slimming. I didn't get it quit right though I made the mistake of buying cotton leggings. Picture yourself working in the yard all day in a cotton t-shirt, do you ever get "pit stains" under your arms or a ring around the collar from sweat? Well that will happen to your pants. It's horrifying I had no idea how much my rear end sweated until after a run in cotton leggings. These are things I can't unsee people. Sweaty behind and sweaty thighs in cotton pants all add up to you looking like you've peed your pants. As I was running up to someone I felt I should scream "it's not pee it's sweat! Don't judge me!" and keep on trucking. So now I spend the extra money and buy the amazingly absorbent, partially plastic, shiny running leggings. Turns out that fancy material is not fashion it's totally function. Plus there's a bonus, the material is really slick so it reduces the drag between your legs as you run. No more feeling like you're  going to start a fire between your thighs as you go ladies. Every little bit helps. The other thing to remember about your leggings is, do not buy your leggings so they are comfortable. I bought mine in my size and then while running I was constantly having to hold my pants up. It's hard to run and hold your pants at the same time. If your trying to hold your pants up on each side of your hip it looks like you're doing a chicken impersonation as you ran. Always buy them one size too small so they cling when you run, unless you want to be showing off those new running undies.

Shirts. I don't know that shirts really matter. Well, I mean they matter a little I wouldn't go running topless but that's your purgative. As long as you have your fancy running bra go wild. I will do you all a favor and be sure to run with a top on.  I think most of the running tops are just fashion. Some have little pockets in them and some claim to breath better then others but I say, whatever. I wear all kinds of tops as long as it doesn't have sleeves. I have my running like Phoebe Buffay moments and in that case sleeves only hold me back. The longest run I have done in my quest to achieve 13.1 is 7 miles. By the time I hit 5.69 miles I understood how it felt to be Phoebe. There was flailing and  thrashing all over the place I just needed to finish, I didn't say it had to be pretty. Sleeves would have only exacerbate my pain.

Shoes. Oh yes the bane of my existence. Running shoes are ridiculously expensive and very necessary. The right shoe really does make the difference in a lot of ways. The biggest difference it makes to me is to my wallet. It's the difference between having a hundred dollars and not having a hundred dollars. So many running shoes these days are all about fashion though. They are neon colors and have designs that look like they were designed by Picasso. I think they are all cute enough but I will take the cheap pair that are one step above those solid colored shoes that all restaurant employees must wear. I run for fitness not fashion. I have a better place to spend a hundred bucks, like saving for a fancy bra. I began running because I didn't want to invest in exercise/sports equipment. I thought running would be the cheapest sport to try but it turns out it's badminton.

Accessories. There are arm straps that hold your phone, GPS watches to track your distances. There are running lights and water bottles that strap to your body. There are running socks and special running sunglasses.  It's endless the amount of things that are marketed to "help" you run. I think the first thing I will try is a belt that holds water bottles. Right now I just run with a bottle of water in my hand. The problem with that is, I get half way through my run and half way though my water at the same time. So now the water is loudly sloshing back and forth in the bottle all the way through the second part of my run. It constantly reminds me there is nowhere to pee. It will keep you focused on finishing your run in a speedy fashion though. You have to take the good with the bad.  I'm thinking those belt bottles are more function than fashion. I am training for a half marathon so I will keep you posted on what I think is just for fashion and what really helps. I have always wanted a fanny pack so hopefully in the near future I will scratch that off the bucket list.

What do you get when you add all of these fancy clothes and accessories together? A streamline super runner who obviously knows what she's doing and you should always mimic her because she obviously knows what she's doing? Nope, not if you are talking about it on me. I can buy all the fancy clothes and gadgets but I still don't know what I'm doing. With me you get a chunky biker who's well supported and lifted, with non-thug, non- pee pants, and ugly fancy shoes. I run like Phoebe Buffay with flailing arms and an awesome shirt with no sleeves, while carrying a water bottle and have a "gotta finish so I can pee" look on my face. You don't have to be like me or anyone else out there. You are not an impostor. If I can pull off this whole running thing certainly you can because I haven't a clue what I'm doing but I love it.  So the moral here is who cares what you look like when you run just get out and do it. We all look crazy while running it's an understanding among runners. The ones that look like models when they run aren't human anyway. At least that's what I tell myself.

On the Verge of screening play dates

 I feared this day would come but I had no idea it would come at only 6 years of age. Why did it have to happen to my daughter? I just never thought it could happen to a family like ours. It's just too awful. Lord help me, my daughter has discovered the joys of gymnastics. She has perfected the art of the cart wheel and it's been all down hill ever since.

She now spends more time with her head on the floor then her feet. I walked into her room the other day to find her doing a "wall stand" that's all well and good but she was also breaking her mini blinds in the process. She doesn't care who is hit on her quest for the perfect hand stand. Wherever she is and whomever she is around are all in danger of having a wayward leg come crashing down. All the pictures on the wall and knickknacks on the shelves are clinging to life as she slams down on the floor working on her round off. She wakes up in the morning toes pointed, cheesy grin on her face and her arms raised above her head in some glories "stuck the landing" victory pose and it remains all day. I just don't have the heart to tell the poor child she has my sense of balance which is comparable to Humpty Dumpty and only delusions of grace. I thought I was the next Dominique Dawes when I was that age but my God given athletic ability alluded me. I spent more time in casts and splints then a Hollywood stunt woman. Let me paint you a picture. I once broke both of my feet at the same time while snow sledding down a hill in my church parking lot. Both feet. Same time. Done. In my defense it was a particularly icy hill and I really had no choice in doing it or not because it was a Double Dog Dare and as we all know you cannot back out of the double dog dare. I was coming off an ugly lose at kick the can (anything athletic was not my strong suit) and I had to make up for it. I had to reinstate my street cred so to speak. Getting a better picture of what my daughter is up against? Genetics are not working in her favor here. This phase is going to benefit the ER only, and the phrase "ass over tea kettle" rolls through my mind on a regular basis. I've started stockpiling ice packs and ace bandages and hunkering down until this is all over. Let this be a warning to my friends to be very careful who you let your little ladies befriend. 

My daughter has become friends with the sweetest, nicest, little girl around and I love her to pieces. The thing is, this little girl is a gymnast and has been for a long while. She can lay on her belly and bend into a triangle so her toes touch her nose. Take that mental picture in for a moment...Yeah. She can bend in any way imaginable and has the balance of a cat. She has taught my daughter some of her moves and lets just say I think I should start screening these play dates better. I've been looking for obvious dangers but I need to start figuring out their extracurricular activities and their family line too. Question one: Are you now or have you ever been in gymnastics? If yes, Move on! Gymnastics appears to be contagious and this is for my child's safety. (and for insurance purposes)  Question two: Does your family line include Viking warriors?  If yes, Move on! You're family is obviously stronger then mine, we're Irish we don't exert ourselves unless we absolutely have to and tend to fall over for no good reason. Question three: Do you listen to today's pop music? If yes, Move on! I know that doesn't have anything to do with my daughter being as graceful as a baby giraffe but I figure if we are screening we should probably cover all the bases. If I hear my sweet child sing the words to One Directions “Beautiful” one more time I'm making her move out. Yes, One Direction I get it you like girls who don't know they're beautiful, Mine is not for you then, she spends more time in front of the mirror then the evil queen in Snow White. The rest of the questions will be a work in progress as my sweet babe gets older and starts hanging out with new kids. What's next the kid who secretly raises exotic poisonous animals, or how about the kid who rides BMX and has X-games aspirations? Maybe I will get lucky and she will find the little girl who wants to teach her how to knit and encourages her to join 4-H...I'm doomed.I will begin thinking of all my screening questions as of this moment. I will then compile the questions into a book named "50 questions to ask a perspective play date for your child to ensure they do not encourage your child to participate in activities that are beyond their abilities" (The title needs work) and market it to mothers with young daughters and become a millionaire. Then I will finally be able to pay off the medical bills I am about to accrue from my daughter thinking she's an Olympic gymnast. It's not a fool proof plan but it's the best I've got so far. Wish me luck, when I laid my sweet angel down to bed tonight she asked me if we could get uneven bars for the back yard. The adorable sweet and well behaved friend is no longer welcome in this house.

On the Verge of Attaching a Bell

I'm like a lot of people that really don't want to deal with anyone or anything until they have had their coffee. This is especially true after dealing with a whole nights worth of shenanigans from a two year old.  The good news is no one got hurt and I eventually had my coffee. My son is feeling under the weather so when he showed up in my room in the middle of the night I felt bad turning him away. I thought I would be gracious and allow a one night cuddle-fest. That's got to make him recover faster right? All it did was raise my odds of catching his cold after he coughed directly into my mouth all night and made me sure he's never bunking with me again. How that kid keeps cold feet under a comforter is beyond me. Those cold little piggies between my legs all night makes me think he has a circulation problem. My little angel is a 2 year old ginger wrecking ball, full of curiosity and doom. I've blogged before about how I know this boy is my last child but today has taken things to a new level and I'm thinking maybe I need to put a bell on him or something. Let's dive right in shall we? Keep in mind all of these events have happened to me before 12p.m. today.

I spent my night with a child coughing in my face and wedging his freezing little feet in between my thighs for warmth. He got snot on my pillowcase and around 3 a.m. I woke up feeling wet. Yep, he peed on me. Needless to say I was up at 3:01 a.m. stripping my entire bed, changing my clothes and quietly muttering "Have kids they said, Just one more they said, it'll be fun they said..." Then at 6:30 a.m. I was woken up yet again to the feeling of being wet. I was delirious from lack of sleep but I was pretty sure I hadn't peed. Thank goodness I was right and it was actually my son with my water from my night stand. He was sitting at my feet "drinking it" which means dumping it on my bed and all over himself. So I changed my sheets yet again all before I had one drop of coffee. No one had better tell me I'm just not a morning person ever again. You don't know my struggle. So we get up and he goes down for breakfast before me. It only took me a few minutes to get down stairs because I'm not exactly dolling up for the day after the night I had. Shorts and a T-shirt, hair in a pony tail, Go. I get down stairs and he has already dumped a fist full of fish food into the fish tank which means I have to remove all of the fish and clean out all of the mess, Again. Older brothers and sisters are how 2 year olds get into so much. I know this because as "baby proof" as you make things are an older sibling will leave things right out at eye level for the 2 year old and then it's a free for all. My oldest son left his fish food out again and so here comes the two year old to "help" Grr. He had also dumped half a bottle of Elmer's glue on my older sons desk. I swear that was premeditated from the night before. No one acts that fast on a whim. He had a 5 minute window from the time he got down stairs until I arrived, that child planned this all out. After that mess was sorted out I finally had time to make myself some breakfast and coffee, thank God. Just when I had sat down to enjoy my breakfast I notice my 2 year old next to me looking like he is trying to poop in his pull-up. Nothing spurs my appetite like a kid taking a dump right next to me. So I scoop him up and off we go to the big boy potty. We've been working on potty training for about 2 weeks. It's not going so great. I spent an hour and a half in the bathroom waiting for that child to put the poopy in the potty. I played Candy Crush, I surfed the web, I answered a few e-mails, I bribed him with everything just short of a new luxury SUV, then I prayed for God to give me strength I did it all and I still cracked first. Keep in mind I still hadn't had coffee or my breakfast, I was weak with fatigue, he won that round. Insult to injury 2 minutes in his pull-up and he pooped. ...I..could...have...lost...it. I didn't,  instead I sent him upstairs to go take a nap. I knew he hadn't had much sleep last night after all I was there. It was also a good idea to have him away from me for a little while. So I finally sat down and drink my, now cold, coffee and I had comfort in knowing the little one was fast asleep. After about an hour he comes down, seemingly a little too alert for having just woken up but, hey no big deal. I can deal with a happy child. Time for lunch. I get everyone's food on the table including my 2 year olds special gluten free meal and we are off and running. Kids are eating, things are good. I was walking around the table when I noticed my son had emptied a full pencil sharpener onto the carpet. Awesome. I walked into the living room to get the vacuum when I notice he has taken a box of 100+ crayons and thrown them everywhere while I was cooking lunch. Not only are there 100+ crayons on the floor but a lot of them are broken and most of them have been stripped of there paper wrappers. So broken crayons, pencil shavings,  and tiny scraps of paper Everywhere. I vacuumed it up quickly, turned around and headed back to the dining room to find he had fed his special gluten free lunch to the dog. This child is so destructive I can't even keep up. I'd need two heads, 8 arms and the power of Jesus to stay ahead of this wrecking ball. I'm not about to make him more lunch so I get him down from the table and the first thing he does is wipe his hands and face (snot and all) on my clothes. That's motherhood of a two year old, is it not? Giant walking dish towel. I clear the table and prepare for after lunch quiet time. The two year old is obviously still misbehaving so he's going down for nap #2. I take him upstairs to lay him down and find crushed cookie all over his bed. It turns out he was't sleeping for nap #1 after all. That would explain why he "woke up" so chipper. He had slithered downstairs and stolen cookies from the kitchen and managed to get back upstairs, loot in hand, undetected. The worst part is that the cookies aren't gluten free, So he's Defiantly not sleeping with me tonight because being peed on is one thing, diarrhea is a whole other issue. The good news is that tomorrows potty training should be much easier. There will be no hour and half hold out on the pot tomorrow. The gluten shall rule in my favor and I will win that round. Sweet revenge for a morning spent terrorizing me. So now as I wrap up this blog and I know my two years olds nap will soon be over I think to myself. Am I ready for round two? I better make more coffee and get to work on that bell.

On the Verge of Gangster

Some may say I'm just an average Minnesotan mother of three but I was laying in bed at 9:30 p.m. one night and I got to thinking, I'm kind of gangster. Allow me to explain:

1.  Tattoos can be pretty gangster- I don't have prison tattoos or anything and mine were all done in nice, clean, upscale shops not at a buddies house but I do have tattoos so that makes me tough. Right? Maybe I should go out and get "QUEENSLAND" tattooed across my back. I should be representing my family. I might as well do the Norwegian flag and giant picture of sauerkraut while I'm at it. I don't have a tear drop tattoo either but I have had marker and countless other art supplies all over my face does that count?

2.  The gangster walk- You know the walk, the one that makes them look like they have a 2x4 down one pant leg. Yeah I have that walk sometimes but mine is usually because I've had three children and my sciatic nerve is shot. Sometimes I can't help but walk that way until the feeling comes back.

3. Bling is super gangster- I guess here we differ a bit because the only jewelry I have is usually handmade and it's mostly yarn and macaroni. I think it gives me swagger though...that's a thing right?

4. Drinking Hennessy- I've never had Hennessy so I guess I'm not really sure if I compare but if It's anything like wine coolers I can hold my own. Sometimes I can get three whole wine coolers in me before I  fall asleep...I'm gonna say that I win this round. #YOLO

5.Traveling with an entourage- I've seen the MTV video awards. Now granted this was in MC Hammers hay day but I've still seen it and I think the gangster rap stars are the ones that have about 12 people with them at all times. I am the exact same. Why do you think I drive a minivan? I always have a ton of people with me at all time. Shoot, Sunday morning on the way to church I usually have so many people with me we have to take 2 cars. Now that's gangster. Going to the grocery store I usually have 4 or 5 kids with me I rarely travel alone. It may not be people that can watch my back, or whatever purpose an entourage serves but it's still an entourage. No one said my crew couldn't all be under the age of 10.

6. Sagging jeans- Gangsters wear their pants around their knees or thereabouts and I guess I am the opposite of that. I have been accused a few times of rocking some "mom jeans." You know the kind of jeans that come up past the hip and button above the belly button with that 9 inch zipper? They are so comfy but they give you the mom ass to match the jeans. It looks like each pocket is trying to run away from the other on your back side. No shame here, those suckers are comfy. If I habitually look like I'm on my way to my kids soccer game to deliver pretzels and juice boxes, so be it.

7. Having a luxury car with an awesome paint job is gangster. My van is far from luxury. As I've discussed in an earlier blog my minivan sort of hates me and it dings for no reason. The sliding doors just open and close at random. I have torn interior on most of my seats and most of them also have gum stuck to them. All of the carpet is no longer the color it was in 2008 when I got it. My glove box is held closed by a bungee cord, a mouse chewed through my back windshield wiper wire so my back window is always filthy. I have two mismatched running lights on the front because I didn't know they had to be orange and not clear. I have a dent in the side that someone did while I was in the grocery store. I have wood stain on the back by one wheel that won't come off. That's sort of awesome though because now it permanently looks like I've just taken my minivan mudding. I've given up on air freshers because no amount of air freshener can cover up the smell of sippy cup hidden under the seat. Or better yet diapers that had to be quickly changed in the back of the van but then were forgotten about until the next morning when you are rudely reminded. Hey, I've learned the smell of pee will wake you up much faster then coffee. So this isn't so much gangster as it is a little ghetto.

8. Flashy rims on your car. Yeah, would you put rims on the van I just described? That's like putting lip stick on a pig, it just doesn't make sense. Unless you're into that.

9 Loud/Good systems in their cars are a requirement to be gangster I think. Now this is a bit of a stretch but I can relate. Funny story. I was crus'in down my favorite road with the windows down and the wind in my hair. I had my music full blast rocking out to my favorite Christian rock. I get to a stop light and I'm nodding to my music and feeling Awesome. I was just waiting for the green light of freedom, when my song ended and a Progressive commercial came on. The one with the camel on hump day. The person in the car next to me started to snicker. My CD player was on the fritz, like most of my van, so I was jamming out to the radio, nothing says I'm a free spirit like a camel on hump day What What?

10. Croaked or backwards hats. Yeah that won't work, I'm the weird mom lady who wants to walk up to those boys and explain that the stickers are supposed to come off the hat not stay on, the tags need to be cut off, and you need to bend the bill of your hat so that it shields your face from the sun. It should also actually go on your head not perched right at the top or hanging off the back. What is with hats these days?

11. Smoking Newports or weed. I have to admit that while I typed that last sentence I had to edit myself because I wrote "The weed." Nothing says I'm gangster like referring to street drugs like a grandmother from Fargo who knits caps and warns her grandchildren of The Marijuana and that dangerous caffeine that's in everything nowadays. Oh for Petesakes. Moving on! I can't get within a hundred feet of smoke with out my allergies making my eyes itch and my throat close. Nothing says I'm from the streets like popping a Zyrtec and pulling tissues out of your sleeve like a magician at a circus.

Ok fine so maybe I'm not as gangster as I had originally thought, but to be fair it was 9:30 at night and when I stay up that late I get a little delirious. Ya, heard? I'm out.....see what I did there? Ended on a gangster note. Booya.

On the verge of Mother's day

I was blessed with a sweet little baby boy about 30 months ago. I prayed for this little babe to be given to me and my husband day in and day out. I wanted a third little blessing to possibly complete our family. I was blessed for sure but not in the way I had expected. This boy came into the world the sweetest little bundle of pale skin and red hair that I had ever seen, he was like a cuddly little Irish vampire. He slept through the night, he hardly ever fussed he was a God sent for sure. I was so thankful that I had been blessed with such a sweet boy considering I already had 2 kids and I was wondering how on earth I would have enough time for all of them. I was deceived, he was just storing up his energy for the first 16 months to prepare for the chaos that would start shortly. I have been told that red headed children had a special flair to them. I think that is an understatement or "flair" is code for evil.  I have since changed my idea about what God had given me. I was blessed with a son that solidified for me that he was to be my last. I received a clear sign that baby fever would never strike me again, and that it was officially OK to donate all of my baby equipment after he had no use for it.  I see babies these days they are so sweet, and they have that sweet new baby smell, but thanks to my blessing of a son all I see is a sweet smelling, doe eyed hand grenade about to go off in about 2 years. Your house, your car, your wardrobe, and your entire life are about to be exploded upon by that sweet little baby as soon as it hits "The twos."

Now it may seem like I am picking on my dear little ginger son  let me assure you I won't even pen the things that rattle through my brain on a daily basis about this boy that is my cross to bare not yours but let me just tell you a few things this boy has done to warrant his place as, my last child. My son bites the dog. You read that correctly my son bites the dog and not the other way around. They wrestle constantly and when my son is losing he reverts to his Mike Tyson mode and bites the dog. A few months back we moved into a new house with beautiful tan carpeting. As we are unloading boxes from the truck my son found the box that was full of art supplies, he muscled it open and dumps bright red paint all over the living room carpet and bright yellow paint up and down our stairs. We hadn't even gotten all the way into the house yet and we had lost our deposit. Recently I heard a rustling in our breezeway that leads to our back yard, I knew it couldn't be my son because he was peacefully asleep upstairs in his room. Well, turns out he had woken up, stripped out of his clothes, slithered down the stairs, acquired a full container of Nesquik and took it to the breezeway to eat it/cover the room with. He was basically making stark naked Nesquik snow angels on the floor when I found him. Now that is an image you can't unsee.

This boy is the King of giving you mean looks. If you catch him in the act of doing something he isn't allowed to do he will actually scold You and give You the mean face as if You are the one in trouble for catching him. How dare you show up and foil is plot of pulling a dining room chair up to the counter and rooting through the cabinets like a pig looking for a truffles. The day he discovered he could open the fridge was one of the worst days of my life. I caught him once with half a stick of butter in his hand and the other sticks laying around him like terrified prey. I can only assume the other half to that stick of butter was long gone in his belly before I got there. I don't think he realizes it yet but when he gives you the mean face it is a clear sign he has just done something wrong. If you see him with the mean face you had better check to see what's in his mouth, pat him down and check all of his pockets. If you find nothing take a deep breath and go check your house for damages. I have found a whole package of bobby pins in the humidified, an entire bottle of fish food in the fish tank more then once, a large bottle of glitter sprinkled all over the room and a few times I've caught him putting all of the dogs food in the dogs water and that makes some kind of terrible smelly dog food pudding that would make anyone want to throw up. It was OK the first couple of times he covered himself in permanent marker because boys will be boys but after awhile I just think, I'm leaving him that way. I consider it the Scarlet letter of two year olds. You see a child at the park covered in permanent marker you know to tell your kids to stay away. I could handle it the first few times the child covered his feet in nail polish I brushed it off as, trying to be like mommy, but after a few times I figure there is no safe place in the house for nail polish and it is all banished from my home until he's a teenager. Go ahead and ask me why my toes never look nice. I'll give you a full run down on the Nam that is nail polish in my home.

Sometimes I think other mothers see me in the store and even if my son isn't with me they know I have a two year old. I don't wear earrings because my son tries to pull them from my ears. I don't wear expensive glasses because my son pulls the arms off of them. I don't wear dresses or skirts because he will crawl under my skirt and lift it for all the world to see. I don't usually wear my hair down because I spend so much time hunched over reprimanding my 2 year old that it's always in my face. I wear running shoes a lot and it is because my 2 year old is determined to run into the street or towards strange dogs or into immediate peril all the time. I don't wear make-up usually because A. most of the time it's missing and B. a lot of the time it's all used up because my son takes it upon himself to dig his fingers into my lipstick or eye shadow and then smear his face with it. It used to make me furiously mad but now it seems sort of appropriate like a little Aborigine kid with tribal paint running around my house like a wild child. Seems fitting really. The last clear cut sign I'm a mother of a really awful two year old is one of two looks. If he is with me at the store I have the " I'm just trying to get milk and get out of here without a tantrum, No you can't have candy, stop unbuckling your belt, sit down before you break your neck, stop kicking me, where are you brother and sister?" In other words a general appearance of "Help me." Now the second look is much more pleasant if I don't have my kids with me I have this look of walking on air, I feel like I am flying through the store on the wings of a unicorn, soaring towards laundry detergent and dipping down to grab cheez-its with no interruptions and no begging for crap we don't need. I think mothers can read these looks on each other. For the "help" look there is a nod. It's like when motor cyclists pass each other you see them drop their hand and give each other the wave. It's a comradery thing. It says from one mom to another, hang in there sister. They can also read the other look too though, your unicorn riding look will get your tires slashed from jealousy, oh don't act like it's just me. You've thought it.

I've been to the ER and called poison control more times then I can count and he still doesn't learn. Or maybe he does learn and doesn't care either way this child will either make me the strongest mother on earth or he will put me an early grave. I absolutely love this pain in my side and sometimes I think it's the only reason I don't make him live outside with the dog.  I watch that sweet babe sleep and as I look at his little face I think, well first I think, I wonder if that's eye shadow or another black eye, and then I think God made him really cute so that I couldn't stay mad at him for too long. It's a 2 year olds defense mechanism to prevent mothers from just walking off and abandoning them at a store somewhere. It's to prevent the law of the jungle from penetrating everyday mothers. I love the little stinker and no matter what he does I will support him. Who knows maybe I have the next Evel Knievel on my hands or the next David Bowie with as much as he seems to love my make-up. Either way someday there will come a time when he will have to take care of his mother and believe me I will not be an easy woman to deal with. I dealt with this child's terrible twos and that's got nothing on what I have planned for my terrible 80's. Happy Mother's Day especially to the mothers of children in there "Terrible Twos." Hang in there sister.

On the verge of maturity

As the past few years have gone by and I've moved, had children, and joined a church I've realized how different my life is now compared to 8 years ago. I guess in other words I had no idea how lame, boring and awesome I have become. I thought I was awesome before but in retrospect, yeah not so awesome. I like me now. I sound like Stuart Smalley from SNL, "people like me." But it's true. I've matured a lot and although that makes me pretty lame and rather boring it's kinda awesome. I recently went out with a friend to see an 80's hair band. Yow! Reliving the glory days. Well not really Axl Rose was more my dads glory days but it was fun nonetheless. It was an interesting evening to say the least.

I wanted a night out of the house and away from the kids. I love my kids but a night out makes us all much happier. I picked just the right place but then I needed a friend to go with me. I really didn't want to be "that girl." Just sitting all alone at the table, teary eyed and mouthing the words to November Rain.  I found just the right friend and we hit the town. I say we hit the town, but really we more like strolled into it. We were 45 minutes late due to feeding all of our children, bathing them and tucking them all into their beds. Truthfully though, I think a large part of that 45 minutes was me trying to shimmy and shake into a pair of Spanx. That was at least 20 minutes that I'm not getting back. So we arrive and I got carded. Woo! I wanted to thank the girl for carding me and get my picture taken with her so I could put it in my scrap book, oh yeah, you bet I scrapbook. I'm a maniac with a pair of scalloped scissors. Anyway, I kept my glee to myself and played it cool, or as cool as I get. It's 8:45 at this point and the band starts at 9. There aren't too many people there and it's not very loud. All good stuff in my eyes. My friend and I are doing some people watching and exchanging some giggles it's all wonderful. Well 9:30 rolls around and the band finally starts. 30 minutes late in true rock star fashion I guess. Didn't their mothers ever tell them it's rude to keep people waiting? If you know you have to Aqua Net your hair and put on ripped fishnet sleeves each night, plan ahead for petesakes. So it wasn't long before the men and women that were huge Montley Crue fans back in the 80's start popping out of the wood work. I saw so many butterfly boob tattoos I thought I was going to faint. There were ripped up jeans and leather jackets everywhere. The 40 somethings were reliving the good ol' days. I say more power to ya, but it makes me wonder when I'm in my 40's and there is a Nirvana cover band somewhere will I show up with unwashed hair and my hoodie with holes in sleeves for my thumbs? So it was good fun and lots of laughs. I knew the words to most of the songs and the giant hair do's and spandex on stage were priceless. But then as the night went on and the drinks were flowing for everyone around me my maturity kicked in and I started being more annoyed then entertained. At some point the crowd went from having a good time to just trying to get laid. It was actually pretty gross and sad. I saw women there that were probably pushing 50 and they were acting like some drunk college girl. They were practically throwing themselves at anyone who would light their cigarette. Even high five guy took a turn for the worst. Oh! I didn't tell you about high five guy. When we first arrived there was a guy going around Woo'ing and high fiving everyone. WOO! *high five* walk away strutting like  peacock. He was hilarious. Well at some point high five guy must have taken a turn for the worst because after a couple hours I saw high five guy still trying to high five as his girlfriend was dragging him to the car begging him to stop Wooing in her face. Poor high five guy's girl friend. I've been that girl, it's no fun.

I was struggling with my annoyance as the night went on and my Spanx didn't help. I had to pee about 50 times and getting in and out of those suckers is not pretty. I was drenched in sweat every time I came out of the bathroom stalls. I caught the eye of another big girl like me and we nodded at each other I think she understood my pain. Next time I'm using the handicapped stall, there's more room to kick my legs around wildly. How's that for a mental picture? Anyway, due to my countless trips to the restroom I over heard a ton of lovely conversations like the girls who argued over who would hold who's hair back first. I also heard a woman complain that her G-string was cutting into her because she had to pull it up so high so that it stuck out of her jeans. Now I didn't say it but I'm thinking to myself, woman you aren't supposed to wear your undies on the outside of your pants. That stuff is for super heroes and based on the way you look the only thing you are super at is...well never mind you get where I was going. It was no better outside of the bathroom either. There were lots of girls who were rubbing there barely covered buns on anyone who would look at them. There was a poor girl there who showed up in what looked like a prom dress and 5 inch stilettos. I can't even imagine how badly her feet must have hurt after going to a rock concert in that high of a shoe. I was in flip flops and my feet hurt after 3 hours. It may seem like I'm picking on the girls but trust me there were plenty of guys to observe as well. There was the gym rat dude that couldn't put his arms all the way down to the side who just kept moving his ball cap frontwards then backwards then back again and readjusted his junk about 40 times. I don't know what's going on down there but he must have worn his cup to the concert. There was the fresh out of the pen crazy eyes guy that I kept standing as far away from as possible. He licked his lips every time a cute girl walked past him. What is that? It's like watching Sylvester the cat salivate over Tweety bird. Is referencing Looney Toons weird? I have small children it's all I have to work with these days.  There was also the guy who came by himself dressed to the nines and just hangs out by the bar. That guy seemed nice, he didn't do anything gross but he just looked kinda sad and it made me think that he wasn't there for music but more for some attention and he didn't get any. Nice guys don't seem to get much attention in these types of situations. The guys who treat women like garbage are racking up the phone numbers and having trashed girls twerk for them. Who Twerks at a heavy metal concert!? You're 40 you can't Twerk knock it off!

 I wasn't trying to be the stick in the mud at the concert but I only made it till 11:30. I saw a guy put his hands down the front of his wife's pants and I said "I'm Out! This stuff just got weird." It's unfortunate that these concerts are held in bars because the music itself was a lot of fun but I just couldn't be around that much bad decision making. I came home just sort of sad for those people and grateful that I am no longer one of them. I'm happy with who I am, I'm happy with my decisions, I'm happy to be boring. It kind of suits me. I reference cartoons and have a crush on the blue Wiggle, if you don't know who that is look him up. I would rather curl up in peace with a good book and a hot cider then have to deal with, who gets to throw up first girls. Those days are over for me and I'm cool with that. The best part of my night was walking in the door with What-a-Burger in my hand and being greeted by a freshly awoke 2 year old. He had sleep in his eyes, cute little jammies and was dragging his blankie behind him. He sees me and just lifts his arms to be picked up. Now that is the way to end your night, well that and sitting in your bed with your 2 year old munching on french fries, snuggling and watching the Golden Girls Now THAT is the perfect way to end a crazy night.

On the verge of aging

Yesterday was the day I had feared for my entire adult life, the day I knew would be the end of my life. The day the world cashed in it's dues and collected all that I had. The day I turned *gulp* 30! I was determined to not turn this terrible number and I did my best to hide this birthday from my friends.  I had convinced myself that if I willed it strongly enough that the day would simply pass me by there by giving me one more year to be 29. Ya know, like a do over year. That could happen right? Well no apparently it doesn't and the day came and went and I was in deed..that age. I don't want to say it again.The major reason I have such an issue with this birthday is not because I feel like as soon as I turn 30 I'm old. In all reality I've felt old for quit awhile. I wake up in the morning and every bone in my body cracks and pops. My body sounds like popping bubble wrap as soon as my feet hit the floor. I'm not the girl who cares about grey hair or wrinkles so that aspect is lost on me. My problem is, I thought I would be in a different place at 30. Allow me to explain. I always thought 30 was the life stability finish line. I thought at 30 you should be rocking a Cleaver's style life and all would be right in the world. I should own a home, I had a home and lost it. I should be married. I was, twice, and now I'm not anymore. I should have well mannered, sweet, angel eyed children. I do not. I have wild, crazy, often times disobedient children.  I should have a good job. I do not. I used to have a great job, I had a wonderfully successful daycare that I loved very much and planned to do until I was to old to open a baby food jar. I should at least have a nice car. I do not. I have a minivan with body damage and a strange smell that just never goes away so I've quit trying to find it. I don't have the things and have not met the milestones that I thought I would by 30. So I had a choice come birthday time, A. stew about getting older and throw myself a pity party or B. go see Thor 2 and eat cheesecake. Thanks to my roommate and friend who refused to let me sulk I chose Thor 2 and cheese cake and it was the best decision ever. 

It's hard to believe that one movie going experience can change my whole perspective on 30. You would think that at 30 it's not still exciting and hilarious to sneak candy into the movie theater, turns out it's still awesome. I felt so dangerous, like a candy sneaking ninja or something. Now does the movie theater know people sneak in candy? Of course they do. Did I feel any less like James Bond? Nope. I was so stealth that even if they would have made me show the contents of my purse they wouldn't figure it out. Although that wasn't entirely on purpose. The contents of my purse confuse me and I know why things are in there, so to an outsider it would have been mass confusion. Last time I checked in there I had a WWE wrestler figurine, a fortune cookie, a bottle of acrylic paint and a Barbie head and that was just the high points not to mention the mounds of receipts,  tissues and loose change. So anyway, I snuck in my Hot Tamales and licorice and I was very amused with myself. I did not however sneak in the popcorn, not that I haven't in the past but I didn't bring the big purse this time. So my friend and I get into the concession line and what do I see? Novelty Thor 2 collector cups! Like manna from heaven God blessed me with the cup to hold enough Coca Cola to make me stay awake for the rest of my life. This cup was ridiculously large and flashy and so not my style, I needed one. So we giggled like little school girls and my friend and I each grabbed one. I love my Thor cup and I will cherish it always. On a side note, I'm very grateful that the action figure pops off the top of that cup because I had that little bugger in my mouth while searching for my straw way more then I'm comfortable with. So now my little Thor sits righteously on my night stand and greets me every morning with his hammer in the air and love in his eyes. Well truthfully my figure is a little cross eyed but I see love nonetheless. I'm off track, so we go into our movie with our giant Thor cups, our popcorn that could feed an army and my law breaking candy and we prepare for the movie. I probably should have scoped out our seats a little better though because I found that people get very uncomfortable in their chairs when you are lusting over a shirtless Thor on the big screen. Don't judge me, that man is gorgeous. I'm just saying that next time I need to sit near more single women and less older couples because even though it was dark I could feel the cutting stares and hear the uncomfortable shuffling in their chairs. I couldn't help it every time he slammed that hammer down or landed on the ground forcefully a grunt or a sigh just came flying out of my mouth and I had no power to stop it. Thor is my dream man what is so wrong with that? Guys like Thor are into chubby, 30 year olds, with 3 kids and a mini van right? I thought so. 

So the movie is done and it is almost 10 p.m. *gasp* What? I'm not home and it's 10 p.m.? #YOLO That's right we went to the 7:45 showing of Thor 2. That's almost the last show of the night we were regular rebels. Truthfully, had it not been for my giant Thor cup full of Coke I may not have made it through the movie, well played movie theater, well played. It's pretty bad when I'm 30 years young and being out at 10 is the most rebellious thing I'm capable of. Oh well such is life with three kids. My night was a grand success already and it wasn't even over yet. Just being out of  the house and away from my beloved children was a better gift to me then diamonds. I love my children to tiny little pieces but I'm a better mother to them when I get a night out by myself every so often. So the movie is over and I am standing outside of the restrooms waiting on my friend and I see all of these guys walk out of the theater, now I don't know if it was just me or what but those boys were so much cuter before I watched Thor. Have I ruined my possibilities for meeting a guy? Have my standards been raised so high now that no one will ever compare? Have I doomed myself to a life of solitude for the endless pursuit of Thor? No, probably not, it was dark in the theater and not in the hallway and I just need about a month to get over Thorshock. 

So next my friend and I are driving back from the movies and I am in tears with laughter. My sides are aching my cheeks are hurting it was amazing. Even at 30 you can laugh with a girl friend about boys, underpants, or whatever it is and it's just as satisfying as it ever was. As you can tell we had some pretty deep meaningful conversation on the way home :) I realized that just because I'm getting older and just because I'm a grown up now doesn't mean I have lost the joy in those small things that have always meant so much to me. When we got home there was a birthday margarita waiting for me because my room mate rocks. Naturally, I poured my birthday margarita into my awesome new cup and continued the birthday celebration. We all settle onto the couches in the living room and what does the room mate do? He put's on The Avengers. Best. Roommate. Ever. As we all know The Avengers has Thor in it. You all knew that right, it's not just me? So now I have Thor and a margarita and I care Way less that I have turned 30. As I was watching the movie and as the margarita is getting lower and lower I start thinking, maybe I'm a dork. I tell my roommates that I think I might be a dork based on my love of comic book characters and the fact that I intend to marry a fictional character who wields a magic hammer. They looked at me like " You are just Now realizing your a dork?" It was at this point I decided it was bedtime. I went up stairs I kissed my Thor figurine good night placed him lovingly on my alarm clock and drifted off to sleep in the hopes to see Thor again in my dreams. 

I awoke the next day and I was still happy from the night before and greeted by cross eyed Thor. I still felt blessed by all the birthday wishes from all over the country.  I still had an amazing household and left over birthday cheese cake breakfast, and I was still 30. Little did I know, life doesn't end at 30 like I thought it would. I was still here and I had another day to keep getting closer the goals I think I need to meet. As the day went on and the hang over went away I began thinking deeply about what my life was like right now and why I feel it should be different. I don't know where all of this pressure came from that I placed on 30 but it's OK now. God must have different plans for me. I thought my goals were husband, house, car and money. I have had all of those things and they were taken from me so that must not be what he wants for me. I sit here now at 30 and I'm thinking what are the goals God wants me to reach by 40? Here is what I have so far  further my walk with Christ, make the world a better place, and marry Thor. I'm pretty confident this is all I need by 40 to be happy.