Monday, January 31, 2011

How To

HOW TO ANNOY ME:
  • Undress yourself entirely, then pee all over your legs and the carpet... all in the 2.4 seconds I have my back turned to grab a diaper.
  • Use the word "guesstimate".
  • Poop in the bathtub.
  • After witnessing one of my coughing fits, tell me I need to "switch brands". You're not nearly as funny as you think you are. And by the way, your comb over looks like a dead ferret.
  • Go ahead and let your kid stand on the front seat while you're driving through town. It's not like it's dangerous or anything.


HOW TO CHARM ME:
  • After pooping in the bathtub, redeem yourself by scrunching up your nose, frantically waving your hands and saying, "Eeeewwwwww!"
  • Refrain from making fun of me even though I'm eating curry for breakfast... again.
  • Tell me I married a great guy. Of course I already know that, but I never get sick of hearing it.
  • Offer me a glass of wine from the bottle you just pulled out of your purse.
  • Shyly ask me if we can please watch Grey's Anatomy reruns after the baby goes to bed. It's okay sweetheart, I promise not to tell anyone you like watching Grey's Anatomy. Or Sex and the City.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Six months later

My range of motion is nearly back to normal. As far as strength, I'd say I'm at about 70%. I still have sore days, the bulgy scar tissue is incredibly sensitive, and I now have the ability to predict big storms due to the deep achy feeling I get. Overall, this recovery has been pretty breezy and I'm right about where I expected to be six months post-surgery.

Minus the millions of dollars I was hoping to get in severance pay, of course. Get it? Because it was a severed tendon! No? Well, it was worth a shot.

Friday, January 28, 2011

Asking for your help

Please visit cff.org for more information about CF and how you can help

For some time now I have been saying that I want to do a CF fundraiser. I've gotten totally stoked about it a time or two (or six) but before I can really begin planning, I start second guessing myself. Do I have the organization skills to pull it off? What could I do that people would be interested in? What if nobody shows up? Then I get into all the I don't have time to organize something like that B.S. and before I know it, I've talked myself out of it. For a while, anyway.

Eventually the idea claws its way back into my mind and the cycle starts all over.

So, I've finally decided to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT! This summer, I want to do a fundraiser. I'm telling you this because I really need your help. As I mentioned, I've never done this before. I've participated in things here and there, but never organized something. So I'd appreciate any ideas or input you may have. Like, for starters, what kind of event do you think people might be interested in? Great Strides is fantastic, obviously, but I'm thinking something other than a walk, like maybe a concert put on by local singers/musicians (for starters, my family is FULL of INCREDIBLE talent) or... well, that's about where my train of thought derails.

Another thing, I'd like to make a CF awareness video to go along with all this. I'm hoping to get photos and a few words about a bunch of CF warriors. If you or a loved one are living with CF, or you have lost someone you love to CF, and you would be willing to send me a photo to add to the video, please let me know. I'm trying to gauge what kind of response I can expect and if I'll be able to get enough pictures for that project.

Any ideas or tips on how to navigate all this would be VERY MUCH appreciated! I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing! I'm going to need to stay motivated and I really want you to hold me accountable for this, friends. There are so many people who could benefit from this, and it's something I feel like I need to do. Any words of advice or encouragement would be very helpful!

Thursday, January 27, 2011

What's a Bieber?


This is a recent picture of two of my cousins. I'm told one of them looks a little bit like this Justin Bieber fella, whoever that is.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

The first step is admitting you have a problem

I swore I wouldn't do it. I promised myself (and my husband) that I wasn't going to watch The Bachelor. But just like many before it, this season has sucked me in with it's tractor beam of trashiness. The thing about The Bachelor (or any other reality TV show, really) is that I know it's awful, I simply love to hate it so much that I CANNOT stop watching it. The drama, the cat fights, the jealousy, the desperate women, the skanky guy... everything I despise in life, I apparently love in TV!


This seasons bachelor, Brad Womack (who I must say, is pretty hot as long as he doesn't open his mouth), was actually the bachelor a few years ago. Surprisingly, I didn't watch a single episode that season but I hear that, due to his emotional baggage and serious commitment issues, he rejected both of the final bachelorettes. Going into this season, I immediately questioned why these women were so excited to fall in love with someone who is famous for not committing. And then I remembered... this is TV land, and REAL love doesn't exist or matter here so commitment issues are, well, non-issues. I guess they've chosen to give him a second chance since he claims to be doing this for the right reasons this time. (I suppose that's why he's only made out with 14 of the women so far.) Apparently after three years of "intensive therapy" and serious self-reflection, he's ready to find love -- and he only reminds us of that 47 times throughout the course of each episode.


The women are, hmmm... what is the best way to describe them? Desperate? Fake? Melodramatic? BATSHIT INSANE? Some of them seem like they'd be perfectly normal in real life, like maybe the pressure of being on TV just brings out some of their more bizarre personality quirks. Some, on the other hand, are total nutjobs to begin with. This season's Michelle from Salt Lake City is a doozy (and I've had a couple people tell me their husbands went to school with her and she IS that crazy). No matter how normal they are to begin with, being cooped up in that mansion with a bunch of women just breeds craziness and by the end of the show, every last one of them is certifiable. There are a several cute girls but at this point I'm totally rooting for Emily simply because she and Brad's babies would have THE CUTEST Southern accents.


The worst My favorite part about the whole show is when one of the women breaks down and says through tears that she simply can't handle the pressure anymore. We've connected on so many levels and I thought we had something special. I never expected to fall for him so hard. I hate that he looks at other women! I hate that he's dating other women! Honey, have you seen The Bachelor? If you thought you might be upset by him kissing other girls you probably shouldn't have signed up for the show.

What's even worse than the fact that I can't stop watching it is that now I'm BLOGGING about it! So please, tell me I'm not the only one who is obsessed. Tell me I'm not as pathetic as I feel right now. Or at the very least, tell me there is a support group that exists for sick people like me.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

January 2011 Newsletter: 17 Months and Smarter Than Her Mama

Dear Morgan,

This month is nearly over, and I'm just now getting around to writing this. Now, before you start thinking your mom has turned into a big ol' slacker, let me just tell you how crazy this month has been. First of all, your great grandpa's sudden diagnosis of cancer threw me for one heck of a loop. Then his death just five days after that was... well, lets just say my head is still spinning from that one. When you factor in the regular stresses of life, a few sick days here and there, an important job interview for your dad, and a leaky upstairs faucet that resulted in flooding through our kitchen ceiling... it's not a big surprise this letter hasn't been the first thing on my mind.


Something incredible happened to you this past month, Morgan. I looked at you and for the first time I saw not my baby, but my little girl. When did that happen? I'm amazed not only by how big you are getting and all the new things you're doing, but also by how well you are understanding things; even things that aren't necessarily being said to you. A couple weeks ago I was wondering aloud where I had put your sippy cup. You disappeared for a second and the next thing I knew, you grabbed my hand and set your cup right in it, like here you go, Mom, no big deal. You then kindly picked my jaw up off the floor and placed it back in it's proper place before going about your business.

Your communication skills are, in my opinion, pretty freakin' amazing. You've signed several words for quite sometime now (more, please, eat, drink, milk, candy, all done) which has been very helpful. To my delight, you've never been the point-and-grunt kind of child. I have to admit there have been times that you've signed something completely new to me, and I've had to look it up online or ask your babysitter (from whom you learn these new signs) what it means. Now in addition to your signing, you are talking up a storm! It seems like each day at least one new word is added to your vocabulary. Granted, you don't always pronounce the word perfectly, but you get the gist of it.


A couple weeks ago we bought you a little pink stepping stool in the hopes that you would stop attempting to climb on top of Dixie to reach things. Oh Morgan, had we known what joy that stool would bring you, we would have gotten it months ago. You love to climb on it, jump off of it, eat on it and sit on it to watch TV, but your favorite thing about it is it's portability- you can carry it anywhere in the house. You bring it in the kitchen to get a better view of me cooking dinner, you carry it into your room to reach certain toys, you stand on it in the bathroom while we brush your teeth. The downside of the stool is that you can easily reach things now that you couldn't before, which means I've had to find a new place for several things, but the proud smile on your face each time you use your stool to put your own cup in the sink totally makes up for that time you used it to reach my hairspray bottle and pour it's contents onto the floor.

You are still sleeping in your crib, which amazes me. When you began sleeping there last month, I honestly thought it was a fluke. I thought that, much like times in the past, you'd sleep alone for a couple weeks then be back in bed with your dad and I. But this time it wasn't something I was trying to make you do because I thought it was time; it was something you decided you were ready to do, and that has made all the difference in the world. Often you will begin our bedtime routine on your own, saying "ni-night" then setting your books and blankets on the rocking chair signifying that you are ready. After your jammies are on and your teeth are brushed, we snuggle up with a couple blankets and read a few books. When it's time for bed, your dad carries you into your bedroom and we get your B's ready. That's what we call your bedtime paraphernalia - "your B's". There are certain things that must be in your crib with you before you'll fall asleep, and they all happen to begin with the letter B: a blankie, a baby (a musical glow worm), a bottle (with just a little water), a bunny, and a book (yes, you insist on sleeping with a book). Once those things are placed around you, I have to kiss you and your baby goodnight, then you calmly drift off to sleep. I sneak back in your room once you've fallen asleep to remove several of those things from your crib and kiss you one more time. The other night while I was doing this, you mumbled something about candy ("nanee") in your sleep. Sweet dreams, indeed.


Morgan, I want to talk about your grandpa for just a minute. Several of us were gathered in his hospital room as he passed away and the only way I can describe the feeling in that room is LOVE. Pure and overwhelming love. That feeling lasted through the whole next week and got even stronger during his funeral. Our family is a close family, but going through such a difficult time together brought us even closer, and it was beautiful. As one of my cousins said, we "connected hearts and loved immensely". Immediately upon entering the viewing room, you saw Grandpa lying in his casket and your face brightened. "Pam Paw!" you said excitedly. It broke my heart to hear you call for him and I remember thinking she doesn't realize he's gone. But then, as the funeral proceeded and I thought about it more, I realized how foolish I was to think that. I believe that you, probably better than most of us there, understood that he isn't really gone.

The experiences I've had this month have just solidified my belief that even amidst adversity, beauty exists -- we simply have to be willing to recognize it. That sentiment is something I hope to hold onto and eventually pass on to you... but the more I think about it, you probably already know that, don't you?


Love,
Mama

Sunday, January 23, 2011

About this time last year


This photo of Morgan was taken by my sister in law sometime close to a year ago. Her baldness and chubbiness make me laugh.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Why can't we all just get along?

My dear CF friends, my second family, please tell me... WHAT IS WITH ALL THE DRAMA?!?

I've recently witnessed some incredibly hostile interactions between members of our community and honestly, it breaks my heart. I'm blown away by how quickly a thread that began with a simple question can be reduced to a bitter altercation between contributors. Disagreements happen, and as human beings we are all entitled to our own opinion, but harsh words and personal attacks are NOT the way to resolve those disagreements.

Although I've never been the target of one of these attacks, things have been said to me that were hurtful or, at the very least, distasteful. For instance, several months ago I noticed a thread on a CF forum (that will remain nameless) about some issues a mother was having with her CF baby. Being a mother myself, and also having dealt with CF for 23 years, I thought I had some advice that might be helpful, but when I left a response I was told (in no uncertain terms) that my opinion was not wanted.

I was shocked that they were so quick to dismiss what I had to say. I was hurt by their rudeness and felt as if one comment in particular was undermining my mothering abilities. Apparently since I do not have a child with CF, I couldn't possibly know what these mothers were going through, therefore my opinion was worthless... even offensive to some. These women almost made me feel like the enemy because I wasn't part of their CF Mommy Club.

[Note: PLEASE understand that I realize this figurative CF Parent Club is one that nobody wants to be part of. In fact, it's a shame that it even exists in the first place! The parents of children with CF are seriously some of my greatest heroes. I could not do what you guys do, and I admire each and every one of you. I simply mean to say that these women were making me feel that since I wasn't walking in their same shoes, I was not welcome to be a part of their conversation. They made me feel less than them because I am different from them.]

On another occasion (and another website), after my tendon injury, I shared my concerns about not being able to continue my regular exercise routine. For several months before my injury, walking had been my main form of exercise. I'd begun my routine during a hospital stay -- the most difficult and terrifying hospital stay of my life so far -- and gradually increased my pace and distance as I got feeling better. In five months my FEV1 climbed from 27% to 80% and I believe my workout routine had a lot to do with that. Obviously a severed achilles tendon and the estimated three months of immobility it would cause was going to put a damper on that routine.

Without taking the time to ask any more questions or get any background whatsoever, someone sent me a personal message saying that I was pathetic, essentially. He said that I was not doing enough for my health and that "simply walking" was never going to get me anywhere. He told me I needed to stop making excuses for myself and start trying harder because when I'm on lying my death bed, I'm really going to regret my "less than significant efforts".

I began angrily typing a response to his message; I told him that just a few months before that I was on 6 liters of oxygen, unable to even wash my hair on my own because I was so weak and sick that the effort it took to raise my arms nearly made me pass out. To go from that to 80% lung capacity in such a short amount of time, due to my GREAT effort was NOT, in my opinion, a less than significant approach to my health. I may have said more, and due to my anger at the time, I'm sure my speech was a bit more colorful. In fact, I'm fairly certain I used the words "douche bag" more than once. The point is that I reacted to what he had said before taking the time to actually think about it. When I finally did take a second to consider it, I realized that he most likely didn't intend to hurt me. In fact, for all I knew, maybe he was really sick himself and had recently experienced a moment of darn, I wish I had done more for myself. Maybe he wanted to save me from sharing his fate. Maybe his words were simply meant to motivate me.

I deleted my reply. After thinking about the situation, I was glad I didn't send it. I began imagining this innocent stranger opening the message, reading my overreaction and thinking, "Wow, now that's what I call a douche bag."

I think that so often that is what happens, not just in this online community, but in life. We get so riled up about something someone has said, blow it completely out of context and react negatively. How often could things be resolved if we'd simply take a step back and assess the situation before flying off the handle? How often could our feelings (and often our dignity) be spared?

Friends, we are all fighting the SAME fight! Whether you have CF, or are the parent, friend, spouse or sibling of someone with CF -- it doesn't matter. We each have something to offer, and more importantly something to learn from one another. Our differing thoughts and individual experiences are crucial in learning about this disease. We need to be able to share with each other without the fear of being judged or attacked. Our opinions are just that - ours. They are wonderful to have, and thank goodness we each have our own! But, no matter how strong or well-informed those opinions are, there are ways to express them in a respectful and courteous way.

Unfortunately, not everyone can do that. Some people will always lack tact and will never be able to word things in an appropriate way. I'm learning that even when I become offended by what someone says, their intention, more often than not, is still good. Often I just need to check my own thoughts and emotions before reacting. The funny thing about people is that when you give them the benefit of the doubt, they generally don't disappoint.

Sorry if I'm rambling. I just really needed to get this out there. I'm not asking for world peace or anything, I just think that especially in a community that is so dependent on the support of others, we need to be careful about what we say and how we say it. Okay, now that I've said everything I wanted to, I think I'll step down off of my soapbox now.

Oh yeah, just one more thing: I really do want world peace.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Memories


My grandpa, my sisters (Shannan on the left, Teresa on the right) and me. After we were done with his hair and he was sound asleep, we liked to lean into him really close and shout, "GRAMPA!" Okay... so maybe I was the only one who did that.

Is it weird that I distinctly remember the smell of that couch?

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Baby Miles


My sister was able to stay here in Utah with my grandma for about a week after Grandpa died. Although I wish the reason for her visit could have been different, I can't say I was upset that she flew out earlier than she had originally planned. And I certainly wasn't going to complain about the fact that she brought this handsome little guy with her. My goodness is he delicious! 

And is it just me, or does he totally have my curly, black hair?

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Sexual orientation... or lack thereof

"He left his boyfriend because he was still in love with his ex wife."

And...

"Your cousin isn't even here, is he?"

"Yeah he is. He's that woman standing next to that guy right there."

...are both conversations I've found myself in the middle of in the past 24 hours. Gotta love spending time with the fam.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

A very special man

Have I ever told you that I have the best Grandpa in the whole world?

Growing up, Grandpa was my biggest fan. I remember planting a corn seed in my kindergarten class and giving the tiny sprout to my grandparents. My grandpa planted it in his backyard and was so proud of the little corn stalk it grew into. So very proud, in fact, that he had a little photo album that documented it's growth.

Years later, we'd come across the pictures of that cornstalk and he'd say with a grin "Do you remember that? That was special."

My cousin and I used to sneak into Grandma and Grandpa's bedroom and dress up -- Niki as Grandma, right down to a sock-stuffed bra and bright lipstick, and me as Grandpa with one of his hats on my head and pillows in my shirt to mimic that big, round tummy of his -- and we'd put on silly skits or sing and dance for them. I don't know how Grandpa really felt about it, but he always made us feel like he loved it, and he treated us like total STARS.

I think he must have attended every horse show I ever rode in. I was easily embarrassed back then, and I remember feeling my cheeks burn every time he'd shout "Jenny SUE!!!" from the stands at the top of his lungs. But he wasn't trying to embarrass me, he just wanted me to know he was watching. He also used to set up barrels in his backyard so that my horse and I could practice running the pattern. He'd watch me ride around, waving to me and snapping pictures. I think he was the ONLY one who whole-heartedly believed in my (short-lived) dream to become a champion barrel racer. He promised that he'd shout my name from the stands at the National Finals Rodeo someday. Sorry we never made it there, Grandpa.

My grandpa was creative; he'd make all sorts of carnival games out of  wood and bean bags, or bowling games out of empty coffee creamer bottles. He collected things, sometimes really strange things; the walls of an entire room of their old house were covered in hats, and somewhere there is a jar with a bunch of our (his grand kids) teeth in it. He used to randomly tell me, "Come out to my shed, there's something I want to show you." Sometimes it was something interesting like incredibly old, tattered newspapers, other times he just needed someone to compliment him on how well he'd stacked the firewood.

Grandpa was stubborn. He was grumpy. He was bullheaded. He was proud. He would randomly break out in song, "Oh Lord, it's hard to be humble when you're perfect in every way. I can't to wait to look in the mirror, cause I get better looking each day!" But everyone who really knew him, knows that it was all a facade. He had to be rough and tough on the outside to protect that delicate, sweet soul he had on the inside. Undeniably, Grandpa had an ENORMOUS heart and when he loved, he loved so fully. Take Kirby, for example: he was a cocker spaniel that my uncle brought home to my grandpa. Grandpa insisted that he wanted nothing to do with "that damn dog". But in time, he decided he kinda liked Kirby and eventually the two became best friends. When they went out to dinner, Grandpa would stash some food away in a napkin and take it home to his buddy. Not only did Kirby get to sit on the front seat whenever he rode with Grandpa in the truck, he also got to come inside when Grandma wasn't home. (Was that secret out of the bag, yet? Did I just nark on Grandpa?) When Kirby died, Grandpa was heartbroken. For weeks, the mere mention of Kirby's name brought him to tears.

While he loved all his grand kids, he absolutely adored his granddaughters. He hugged us more often... had a little more patience with us... let us get away with a little more. We were his special girls. He used to ask if we wanted sips of his beer or coffee saying, "it'll put hair on your chest" or occasionally "it's what makes me so sexy".

I don't know if he ever understood that I didn't really want hair on my chest.

A few years ago there was a church meeting that my grandma couldn't go to (I think she was sick). When I walked in during the opening song and saw Grandpa sitting there alone, I quietly sat in the chair next to him, slid my arm around his and laid my head on his shoulder. Neither of us moved until the song ended. Since that day, there have been several times that Grandpa has told me how special that moment was to him.

My grandpa didn't seem like an old man to me. Sure, he was hard of hearing and didn't get around quite as well as he used to, but for an 80 year old man he was in awesome shape! Part of me thought he would be around forever. We all used to joke that he was just too stubborn to die.

Several weeks ago, my Grandpa started feeling ill. Last Tuesday he was diagnosed with cancer in his colon, liver and spine. Five days later he passed away peacefully, surrounded by loved ones.

It's hard to explain the way I felt seeing the man I once thought was invincible laying in a hospital bed, weak, frail, and exhausted. It was such a comfort to know that although his body was languishing, his soul was still larger than life. He was Grandpa right up to the end -- winking at the nurses, insisting he wasn't staying in that bed... just as ornery as ever!

Because he was so heavily sedated (not because he was in pain, but because he kept trying to escape) the last time I was able to speak to him was the night before he passed. He wasn't very coherent even then, but was experiencing occasional lucid moments in which he could respond by squeezing a hand or mumbling a few words. Before I went home for the night, I took his hand and leaned in close to him. I told him that I loved him and was really, really going to miss him. He opened his mouth as if he was trying to say something.

"I think he's trying to say he loves you too," my grandma said. But then, clear as day, my grandpa whispered to me, "You're special".

People have asked if I'm okay, if I'm really handling this alright. The truth is, yes, I'm okay. I'm sad and I've cried a LOT. I'm really going to miss my friend. I'm heartbroken that Morgan won't have the chance to know her great-grandpa the way I did, or even remember him most likely. I'm concerned about my grandma and how she's going to cope without her partner of 46 years. But mostly I'm just so damn grateful for the memories; grateful it was a peaceful passing and that he's in a better place; grateful he's been reunited with his loved ones on the other side.

Thanks for all the good times, Grandpa. Thank you for making me feel special, and thank you for being special. Thank you for always sneaking me cookies and sips of your Dr. Pepper. Thank you for telling me I'm beautiful. Thank you for loving my girls. Thank you for all the memories. I love you "with all my heart and half my gizzard".

Like I said before you left, it's not goodbye, it's see you later. Since I know there are going to be a lot of people up there and I might have a hard time finding you, I'll be listening for that familiar tune "Oh, Lord it's hard to be humble".

And I have a feeling I know just what you'll say when you see me... "Jenny SUE!!!"


-------

For those of you who knew my Grandpa
and may be interested in reading his
obituary, you can do so here.

Monday, January 10, 2011

When there are no words

In the past two days, I've received an overwhelming amount of email, text and facebook messages. "I'm so sorry" they say, "your family is in my thoughts" or "I hope you're handling this alright". I haven't answered them. I don't know what to say. I'm lost for words.

I don't imagine that I'll be posting much this week, or even into the weekend. I need to heal. I need to rest. I need to feel for a while before I attempt to say anything. But when the words find their way, I promise I'll be back.

There's an incredible man I can't wait to tell you guys about.

Friday, January 7, 2011

This bloggy internet thing that I do

I've recently been struggling with the idea of where my place is in this blogging world. Where do I fit it? Am I a mommy blogger? A CF blogger? Why do I keep a blog?

I read an article a few days ago that said to have a "successful blog" (whatever that means) you should choose one topic you're passionate about and stick to it; if you wander off topic, people will lose interest and stop following. Pick one topic? How boring is that? I don't really agree with this, although I guess I do see where they're coming from. I've felt at times that some people in the CF community aren't all that interested in my blog since a lot of my posts have nothing to do with CF. On the other hand, I've also felt that I do blog about CF enough to bore (and likely confuse the hell out of) "normal" people. I've wondered if I should have two blogs - one for life in general, one for my CF life - but for me, those things are one and the same. Plus, I think I'd have a hard time maintaining two blogs. So I continue jumping from topic to topic, and I think that at least most people have survived the experience unscathed.

In that same article, I read that you should only blog about subjects you are knowledgeable about so you can always provide accurate information to your readers. Let's just clear something up right now: if you read my blog for educational purposes, you've been coming to the wrong place. In fact, I would dare say that I have no clue what I'm talking about 85% of the time. I blog about life, and who the heck really knows what that's all about?

I've heard it's best to keep your posts short enough that the reader will read through to the end, but long enough to make it worth reading. I've published everything from one-liners to oh my gosh will she EVER shut up posts. So I guess we can toss that guideline out the window, too.

I've been told time and time again that you should never share personal information on a blog. Stalkers, you know. You may also run the risk of someone you don't like visiting your blog for the sole purpose of digging up dirt on you. Or worse, people you don't know could actually be reading your blog! First of all, I'm not that worried about stalkers. (I may have to eat those words later, and if I do, please take it easy on the I told you so's.) It just doesn't seem realistic to me that someone might read my blog and consequently decide to camp out in the bushes surrounding my house and spy on my family with night-vision goggles. Well, no one except that nice homeless gentleman whose been living in my backyard for a couple weeks now. But he and I have an understanding: he can peek in my windows every now and then as long as he agrees to keep the stray cats out of my yard. Obviously I'm kidding. Please, if you are reading this to blackmail me, don't tell people I have strange men sleeping at my house. Or worse, that my suspicious male friend kills cats who wander into my yard! (But if you are going to tell people, you should at least know that he doesn't just kill for pleasure. What he doesn't eat, he uses to make crafts. Want a cool necklace? I know just the place to get one.) As far as people I don't know reading my blog... well, isn't that just part of the whole blog experience? I'll admit to reading the blogs of people I don't know. Sometimes I contact them, sometimes I just lurk. I'm not creeped out by the thought of people I don't know reading the things I write. If anything, I'm flattered that someone other than me thinks my life is interesting enough to read about. (But if you happen to be a lurker, please know that you don't have to be. I'd love to hear from you!)

When it comes right down to it, the fact of the matter is that I don't need justification for blogging.  I blog because I enjoy writing. I blog because I get bored. I blog because I'm having a crappy day. I blog because at this point, this is the only record I'm keeping for posterity (I'm working on that). I blog because I want to continue connecting with awesome people. I blog because I've found an incredible community here. I blog to embarrass my mom (okay, that's not entirely true, but I'm sure she cringes frequently while reading this). And I blog because when you have kids as cute as mine you HAVE to blog about them. It's the law.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

What I get for being vain

Looking in the mirror this morning, I realized it was one of those rare days I felt 100% confident with my appearance. You know... one of those days where you know you look hot.

I was wearing a flowing skirt, which made me feel like a lady. I was wearing my new high-heeled boots, which made me feel  a little sexy. I did my (newly blonde again) hair up -- not in a mommy ponytail, but an actual up do -- which made me feel put-together and elegant.

I walked out my front door feeling like a million bucks.

That is, until I looked down and realized that this elegant lady had tucked her skirt into her underwear and given the neighbor a peek of something he may or may not have wanted to see.

Sorry for that, dude. Or you're welcome. Whichever you feel is appropriate, I guess.