I had a different post written here.
It was about the messes my kids and husband make. I make messes too.
It was very “First World Problems” and super annoying, so I deleted it.
If we didn’t have so much stuff, we would probably have less mess, right?
Two days ago my washing machine broke.
Yesterday morning I decided I need some bottom covers cleaned, because as much as I like to go pantless at home, pantless in public is frowned upon.
So I handwashed some clothes in the tub. I think they might be dry in four days or so.
It was a rough morning. I was trying to get ready for a playdate I had arranged with a friend and her child.
We like to go to an indoor play cafe that is about 30 minutes from us.
It is great there. The kids play independently and there is delicious food and they make amaaaazing London Fog lattes.
But yesterday neither my friend nor I were feeling it.
It had nothing to do with the atmosphere of the place, or that our kids weren’t into it – as they always are.
My friend and I were both feeling The Rush.
The Rush is that feeling you get when you have a timeline or schedule and the little bit of panic that comes with not meeting those deadlines or being a bit late.
The Rush is the anger you feel when your children are being pokey and avoiding getting their shoes or coats on so you can leave the house.
The Rush is the fear you have when you think someone is judging you because you are going to be late.
The Rush is a bitch.
My friend was also rushing around that day. She had to leave early for a meeting and felt like she didn’t get to relax at all.
We just looked at each other with the same expression and we both knew what was going on.
The Rush.
It would have been OK for us to cancel that playdate.
Our children would not have been permanently scarred by not getting to socialize that day.
They are probably going to be a little messed up anyway, so one 45 minute playtime probably won’t be too impactful on the grande scheme of things.
That effin’ Rush. We are all feeling it.
If we aren’t rushing around ourselves we are being impatient and waiting for the weekend, or some holiday, or some special occasion and we are wishing time would go faster.
We are causing that Rush ourselves.
That’s how we end up waking up 32 years old and thinking we are still supposed to be 30.
I want to slow down. I wish time would slow down too, but we know that isn’t happening.
I know sometimes we need a schedule. We have places to be and people to meet.
But, on a Wednesday afternoon when all I want is to create a clean house and get my hands dirty in my garden while my kid runs around the yard, it is OK to cancel going to the “kid-cafe.”
Time is going fast enough and I need a little bit more of it, especially if I am going to be handwashing clothes once in a while.
Love yourself,
PS) Playdate is at my house next time.


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Hot Yoga and Other Things

I will try almost anything once.
As long as I know it isn’t going to kill me or some other weird crap, I will try it.
I tried Hot Yoga two weeks ago.
It is where the room has the temperature jacked to just below “Ok I can’t breathe” and you are put through some fancy yoga stretches. When my buddy said the mat under me would be like a “slip n slide” with sweat, she wasn’t kidding.
I was sweating buckets halfway through and kind of felt like I was in the Fires of Mordor for the last ten minutes or so, but at least I didn’t let out a loud fart, so that helped me get through it.
There is absolutely no talking in the studio we were in, so you can imagine how that would of ended like –
Me. Silently laughing my ass off… at my own fart… in a room full of Yogis trying to hold it together.
I actually ended up liking the class. Fart or no fart. The instructor was amazing and at the end she surprised us by placing a cold towel on our heads while we were in corpse pose. That there made it all worth it – and really if I was sweating that much. there has to be some benefit, yes?
I also tried some legit meditation for about 20 sporadic days last month.
I needed something to clear my head and I have heard such great things about meditation and the benefits.
It didn’t change me. I am not some walking being of light with a halo over my head, but I honestly felt 80% better on the days I meditated.
I am just waiting for another free meditation series before I do it again. El Cheapo.
It isn’t like I am frantically searching for ways to take me higher.
I just don’t want to be confined to the norm because I am afraid to try something others would think is “weird.”
We are all a little weird.
If you don’t think you are a little weird, you are the weirdest of the bunch. Trust me.
Yesterday was the first anniversary of the passing of someone in our community who was loved dearly.
She was the first one of my peer group that went to high school together, played on the sports teams together, grew up and was just living through life as a mom, wife, daughter, friend… and got the cancer. Mother effin’ cancer.
It is such a horrible idea that something so small can take a life – just like that.
Such a vibrant life.
Now her family, her small children, are left to try to figure things out on their own.
I can guarantee that if she could have a do-over, she wouldn’t have any reservations about trying new things and showing her babies that the world isn’t as scary of a place as we all make it out to be sometimes.
I am not sure if her choices would include Hot Yoga or Meditation, but that’s my life and my choice.
I have three sisters who were born to a different mom.
Their Momma passed away when they were so little. I don’t think the youngest of the three even remembers her Mom at all.
When I really want to mess with myself and my feelings, I sit and think about the resulting effect of their Mom’s death.
If she hadn’t passed away I wouldn’t be here.
My Dad would have never shacked up with my Mom and I would not exist.
It is a messed up thought, I know.
So I am going to try the hot yogas, the meditating, the stepping out of my comfort zone.
It might not be pretty, it might not work out sometimes, but I have to try.
All of the experiences that those before us never got to have and we are just going to let them sit there untouched? Why? Because of fear?
No thanks.
Fuck fear and fuck cancer too. Fuck all of the things that take any of us before our time and fuck all the naysayers that believe new or different is unacceptable.
Love yourself,
PS) My Dad is going to be so pissed that I said fuck. Sorry Dad. It can’t be helped.


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Killin’ It or It’s Killin’ Me

See that? That’s the Stay at Home Mom version of a Gold Star Perfect Finish. A toddler lunch.

If a part of you is saying “Oh that could be better. Is that organic?” See that little X on the top right of your screen? Click that and be gone with you. This is a major win.

Dang. Gone are the days when I would add my finishing touches to a report or project and send them off to my managers for approval.

I would anticipate the “Thank You” reply from them like mother-effin Christmas morning and be like “Yeaaaaaaah I made those excel cells purplllllle and grouped those columns like a Boss. I ROCK THIS.”

Now I get to watch as Toddler takes my well thought out project and turns her nose up at the prospects.

This is my life.  I still sometimes wait and admire my handiwork and expect some big-brass-boss-guy to come by and say “Way to go! Keep up the great work. That lunch has healthy fats, calcium and protein.”

I get off on being awesome. I am awesome about 15% of my day, some days. Other days I feel like John Wayne with tits.

Yesterday, not only did I feed my child and keep her alive – I cleaned my house, wrote two blog entries, did the usual social media plugging (like I am a pro…HA!), took Toddler for her flower girl dress fitting, had supper on the table at 5:30pm and still managed to hit up my bootcamp class. HELL YES.


Some days, It is Killin’ Me.

I look for approval everywhere. I have no idea if this was something I groomed as a child, or if I just am naturally that effin’ insecure that I feel the need to be please others. I certainly went a long time without pleasing myself. — Wait… that sounded dirty. Moving along…

The only person I really get gratitude from is my husband. He is food driven so I just have to have supper on the table and he is happier than a pig in shit. He is my soulmate and I can not believe he puts up with me – that is another post altogether.

If you have ever met me in person you know I am an extrovert. I think sometimes extroverts are the ones who strive to make other people happy. We want to be liked. We want to be admired sometimes. We want everything that is awesome to be awesome because we deemed it so. We are a self-centered and self-depreciating all at the same time.

It can be a horrible feeling.

For instance, I will create a painting, post it to Facebook and get 100 likes. I will bask in the attention for a while and feel a sense of fulfillment for a time.

I will still think that painting is garbage three weeks later.

One hundred people liked some aspect of that painting, and I still do not find it worthy to put a price tag on it.

When is it enough? When can I stop putting so much value on the opinion of others?

I know this is something I have written about before, but it rears its ugly head daily for me.

I still feel the need to be encouraged and appreciated. I need a good ol’ pat on the back sometimes and for someone to tell me that I am doing GREAT, or even just OK. Other days I need to be taken down a peg or two. That’s fine.

Just tell me when I can breathe and relax and everything I have done to this point is exactly right.

Tomorrow my child’s lunch may be a cookie and a yogurt tube.

Please tell me I am still Killin’ It.

As always (even when you don’t feel like you are Killin’ It)…

Love yourself,


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Back Deck Breakfast

I have been waiting for this my entire life – a back deck of my own.

I woke up this morning to a brand new spring day.

Someone close by is mowing their lawn, so I can even smell fresh cut grass.

We ate breakfast outside and I sipped my coffee absentmindedly and drank in the gorgeousness of the outdoors.

A wonderful gift from nature today.

The birds are singing their songs and the bees are collecting their nectar.

It is a sweet reminder of the childhood I had.

I have always loved the outdoors. Even when I felt like I didn’t get enough of it, I felt like there was some kind of magic in the woods, or maybe something being whispered in the waves.

When I was young, I thought I must have had some sort of special connection to the earth or maybe there was a little bit of magic in me somewhere. I thought I communicated with animals and I had the ability to change my situations with mere thought alone.

I was an imaginative child.

As an adult I have realized these things either have faded, or were child’s play.

I am no different than my neighbour – but we are all unique.

I have no telepathic or psychic abilities – although some friends would suggest otherwise because I am very good at reading people and predicting outcomes.

I can’t wave my hand and change the direction of the wind.

I don’t have the power to cast enchantments.

But, I don’t have to.

I don’t have to be magical in order to see the magic in everyday life.

Magic isn’t some sort of spell or conjuring.

It is a feeling.

It is the oddity that we are all here at this exact moment.

It is the moment the sun warms your face.

It is the feeling of ecstasy when you have those full belly laughs and when your cheeks start to hurt from laughing so hard with someone you love dearly.

It is the glorious feeling of a back deck breakfast on a sunny Wednesday morning.

Love yourself,


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