In conclusion...

Today, I was going to post about the post that would have been yesterday. Different words, different pictures, different tone. But that would undo what my husband did and I don't want that. So instead, I'll show you how we partied after our day of "firsts" yesterday.

 

 A trip to the salon for some manicures with some friends, followed by a scoop of ice cream seems like the perfect way to celebrate heading back to school.

But I would have had ice cream anyway, because:

a. It was Monday.

b. Jordan Knight likes big thighs (and probably muffin tops too).

c. It is my final post of my insane posting daily promise (whew! I had to dig deep some days).

It's been fun, but I'm taking a few days off. Thanks for sticking with me!

Day 22 (1st Day of School)

Amber has been bugging me about "guest-posting," so here goes.  Today was the first day of school.  Cora started 1st grade and Claire began her second year of preschool.  As you can see in the picture Cora is loving it, Amber is being the good mother/wife and filling out paperwork (which also included volunteering to help out with just about every party/event), and Claire is pretending to read.  I like this pic because it has all three of my beautiful girls in it.  I then went on to spend all day in court....yay.  That's it Wife, hope you like it.

*This post made me laugh for so many reasons. First, Mark hijacked my blog without me knowing which was ubber sweet of him. If you know Mark, you know how not Marklike that is. Next, this post sums up my husband to a T. When you ask him how his day was, he will always say "fine." He could have shot and killed someone or not taken a single call all night. Regardless, the answer would be the same.  He is very matter of fact; seemingly void of all emotions. And while this post reads much like an arson report at work would, I wouldn't have it any other way. It wouldn't be organic otherwise. Ah, how I love that "fine" man.*

Day 21

Because we live in a world of biggerfasterbetter, the pansy beaters I grew up licking would just not do. Kids, meet Kitchen Aid Mixer. Because stirring is such strenuous work, someone had to create a machine to do it for us. To the kind inventor of said mixer, my arms thank you (my wallet however, does not).

ps. I loath character clothing of any kind and only allow my daughters to wear clothing of that nature around the house, or as a flour-catcher while making cookies. Does that make me a mean mom?

Day 20 (Celebrating Clairebear)

Dear Claire Brooklyn,

For months we planned for you. We picked your name and your paint colors and your coming home outfit. We washed and arranged and organized, so everything would be perfect when you finally joined our family. What we couldn't have prepared for was how you would change our view of the world entirely.

You affect people. You radiate with such a zest for life and tackle this world head-on. You pay no attention to what others think of you. While you do aim to make others laugh, you march to the beat of your own drum (a very loud drum) while never giving a second thought to the music playing all around you.

Because you can't concern yourself with what others say about you, let me tell you. People adore you. Friends. Strangers. Neighbors. You sparkle (and not in a creepy vampire sort of way) and people notice. I can't count the number of times people have approached me to tell me how much you make them smile. Most of them I have never met. And while they may never get to see how, um, "busy" you are when you're at home, just getting to experience a few moments with you affects them.

You are our little sunshine. And you have made us laugh everyday for the last four years. You remind us that simple is best and smiling is easy and a cookie cures everything. This world is so much brighter with you in it.

We love you THIIIIIIS much,
Mommy and Daddy

Day 19

I'm posting photos today. I'm posting photos because when it's 105 degrees outside you do what any sane person would do. You head towards water. And I'm posting photos because for the 1st time all summer, I remembered my camera. And I'm posting photos because big fat smiles on my babies makes me happy.

Truthfully, I'm posting photos to keep my mind off the fact that tomorrow, my baby turns 4. And that makes her not my baby anymore. And occasionally, when she is talking back or copping an attitude, I want to shrink her. Because as the years pass, the memory of her tininess fades. I don't remember what it is like to cradle my infants. Borrowed infants from friends, sure. But my own? I'm forgetting.

So stare at these pictures with me. If you squint, can you still see their littleness?

Me, I just see giants. Very happy, very exhausted giants.

Where did my babies go?

Day 18

If I just post a link to a blog I'm guest posting on today, does that count as a post?

What if I told you the particular blog I'm guest posting on belongs to my lovely friend Andrea? Still not enough?

Okay, tough crowd.

Well then, what if I told you the owner of said blog, another one of our mutual friends and I once puffy-painted a big fat "B" and 2 glittery "Fs" onto some t-shirts and then wore those bad boys during a $5 Walmart portrait session. And that we laughed so hard while the kind photographer snapped shots that we all almost peed ourselves. Still no?

What if that particular incident didn't happen when we were 16? Or 20? Or even 29?  But it might possibly have happened the last time I was with those crazy girls.

It does count you say? Yep, that's what I thought.

Day 17

Summer means...

popsicles....

a backyard full of friends....

last second trips to see people we love....

and forgetting our camera in the busyness....

and using a junky camera phone to document our adventures instead.

We only have a few days left Summer, please let them be as sweet as a handful of ice cream (yes, that's what you see in Claire's little paw. The "guts" of a mutilated ice cream sandwich).

Day 16

I have posted about this in the past and even emailed it to a few of you. I love it more every time I hear it. I envy that she was able to so perfectly capture my feelings. It encompasses everything I believe about the strength of women. The strength of YOU.

If you ever need anyone to howl or clutch or circle with, please know I'm available. And knowing you are too is often the only thing that gets me through the day.

ps. First pause my crazy music at the bottom before watching. I know I need to set it so it doesn't automatically start playing when you view my page, I'm just too lazy to log in & figure it out!

Day 15

I read Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert and then I reread it (read my full review HERE if you're interested). It fascinated me and troubled me. Made me angry and happy simultaneously. I have never wholeheartedly agreed and disagreed so fiercely with someone all at once.

I was eager for the movie to come out because, a. I'm a visual person and b. I adore Julia Roberts ("Man this baby must corner like it's on rails," anyone?).  I think I enjoyed the movie more than the book. That is rare.

One thing the movie reminded me of was all of the talk about finding "her word." In the book she speaks extensively on how, much like cities have words that define them, people do as well. She actually titles her book in one-word reflections of the places she visits, and then spends the entire book searching for her word. Which she finds.

I remember pondering that as I was reading. What is my word? What one word sums me up? Is one word enough to define who I am? Quite simply, no.

I process everything through written word. The click of keys has unraveled every heartache, every struggle, every triumph. My entire life has been defined by a series of scribbles and journals and essays. I am a writer. Not a great one. Some days an awful one. But a writer still the same.

I feel limited choosing just one word. While I am not the most complex person you will ever meet, as evidenced by this silly little blog of mine, my emotions are broad and ever changing. And I wear those emotions on my blog. I do that by taking a whole mess of words and cramming them together in an effort to make sense of my life.

It rarely works, but I am left with a fascinating trail of those jumbled words documenting that journey. If I had to choose just one word to sum that up, well, it would not do my life justice.

So I am left wordless. Or I guess you could say wordy?

Day 14

Man this is hard. When your life is as boring as mine, posting daily is a lofty goal. Which is why I typically don't do it.

I want my posts to matter. If not to anyone else, at least to me. I want them to have some sort of substance. Which this one won't. At all.

I knew taking on this daily posting challenge was going to be difficult, because I rarely have enough material to post once a week, let alone every. single. day. But I had been in such a blogging slump on my personal blog lately and I had to snap out of it.

Go big or go home, right?

Tonight I had nothing. No pictures to post. No words of wisdom. No funny Claireisms. I didn't even have the desire to fake it. But a promise is a promise, so I headed into the office to post.

I found my husband on the computer and the wheels started turning. I would log into my blog and hand over the reigns; let him run wild. He could write about anything his little heart desired. But I would leave the room of course so he could transform it into a why-I-adore-my-wife-so-much post. And then I would log on and act surprised and read it and weep a little. It was the perfect plan.

So I presented it to him.

He laughed.

And now you're stuck with this.

Day 13

Cora is my healthy child. She doesn't get sick. Scratch that, she doesn't get sick until Mark takes a rare Saturday night off so we can go out with one of our favorite double date couples who we never get to go out with because Mark has worked every weekend for like the last 6 years.

She started barfing and didn't stop. We got the call from the babysitter just as we were settling into our movie. Since we all arrived in the same car, we all promptly left, popcorn and Milk Duds in hand, in the same car. Bummer.

What was not a bummer? That the poor babysitter had to clean up the puke and not me (I've never paid a babysitter more in my life!).

Day 12

I loved Ben. I was certain of it. He was tall and strong and handsome and smart and athletic and perfect. He was also a 21-year-old alcoholic and I was a naive 17-year-old. Our relationship was a train-wreck. One with many casualties.

When he loved me, he really loved me. I felt important and beautiful and adored. But when he passive-aggressively made me feel worthless, I believed him and began trying harder to please him. My self-worth was directly tied to how much he loved me. Which he never truly did. That was not his fault.

He was a good guy with a great heart from a great family. But we should have never been together. It never made sense. Our relationship was never easy.

Square peg. Round hole. Every time.

He was too comfortable to break up with me and I was too terrified of losing him to allow it. I'm not sure how many years that dysfunctional relationship would have continued had I not left for college. He wrote one time. I ached for him for years.

Years later we ran into each other at a basketball game and he asked if he could take me to dinner to catch up. His cologne was the same. His hug, familiar. But his words were foreign.

He apologized. For everything.

We talked for hours about where our lives had taken us and how our dreams had shifted since we'd been making them together. I remembered every facial expression and still knew when he was going to laugh before the sound came out. I had memorized so much about him.

When we emerged from the restaurant, the parking lot had frozen over. He asked me if I remembered the night of my senior Christmas Ball when we had "ice skated" through the school parking lot. I did.

He offered me his hands and began to "skate" me around the parking lot. He tightened his grip and began spinning me faster. His hands were so strong. I closed my eyes and remembered exactly why I had chosen to stay with him for so long. He made me feel safe.

And then the spinning stopped. I was light-headed and giggly. He told me I had never looked more beautiful.

I rejected his compliment. I began blabbing on about how my hair was a mess and how he must be mistaken, when he paused me mid-sentence.

"When someone gives you a compliment Amber, you simply say 'Thank you,'" he said. "They wouldn't take the time to say it if they didn't mean it."

I forgave him. For everything.

When he hugged me goodbye, I knew I would never see him again. I didn't need to. Our relationship had come full circle, and to start at the beginning again would be a mistake. He knew it. I knew it. But this time, both of us had the wisdom to walk away.

Day 11

When your three year old gets a hold of your camera, you get pictures like this.

31 pictures like this to be exact.

ps. While this series of shots did make me laugh out loud, I know this post is a cop out. I am seriously drained from yesterday's post. And while I thank each and every one of you for your kind words, I also know as my friends you are required to say things like that. That is of course why I keep you around!

Day 10 (the post that almost wasn't)

Blast. Grrr. Ugh.


I have scheduled and deleted this post 3 times today. It really has been an internal struggle. One that runs deeper than I will ever talk freely about.

I don't like my body. I never have. Even when there was sooo much to like, I hated it. Hated it to the point I did horribly unhealthy things to it. Hated it when I was 100 pounds soaking wet. Hated it when I had an actual six pack. Hated it when there was not an ounce of fat on me.

I have no one to blame for my unhealthy relationship with body image, and yet I blame everyone: the media, an absent father, my high school friends who thought encouraging bulimic behavior was so "hip." Never myself.

Now I have two daughters I am accountable to. I can no longer hate my body because I love them too much to allow them to follow in my footsteps. I am the most influential female example in their lives. I probably always will be. I cannot teach them to love themselves exactly as they are while hypocritically cringing in the mirror. My actions would teach them far more than my words.

For years I have been working on embracing my body, imperfections and all. It is the most difficult journey I have ever taken.

This photo is my final step. One I tried so hard to sabotage. I ate an entire large sub from Quiznos right before it was taken, knowing full well I would hate the results and refuse to post it. I'm posting anyway. In a permanent, ridiculously public way.

I want to pick this photo apart, joke away the things I despise about it. And there are many. But I'm done feeling guilty about being curvy. I'm through obsessing about how much time on the treadmill that candy bar will cost me. I'm over beating myself up for enjoying a sandwich. I'm exhausted from years of hating my body. I have wasted so many hours of my life that I can never get back. And so I say enough.

I'm hitting post.

And once I do you can find my prude, body-conscious self sobbing in the corner. But please know they will be proud tears.

Day 9

I'm going on a hot date tonight. It would even be considered hot if it wasn't 100 degrees outside!

We are ditching the kids and heading to the water park. Yes, as in Roaring Springs. The place I typically take my kids to frolic in the water and beat the heat.

No kids tonight. Unless you count how we'll be acting, as I'm actually giddy to spend hours slipping down water slides and splashing my husband. I'm a dork like that.

We have season passes, which means I haul the kids there multiple times a week.  This season alone we have been 20+ times. And out of those 20+ times, do you know how many times I have remembered my camera? ZERO!

I don't have a single picture of our water adventures. Pathetic.

So my vow is to take my camera along on my HOT date. Not only will you get to see my fancy new bikini, but also my husband's farmer tan. Consider this your warning. If you have sensitive eyes, you might want to avoid this here blog for a few days. Unless you are dying to see my back fat.

Day 8

I can't post a real post tonight because my husband asked me to hang out in our hammock on the back porch and watch the sunset with him instead of blogging. And really, who can say no to that?

ps. I did not take that beautiful picture. I stole it from my dear friend Krista, who, unlike me, is actually capable of capturing a shot like that!

Day 7 (an expose on Amber's beauty)

*Our power went out for a LOOONG time today. I was frightened that I would miss a day and break a promise. Which I couldn't do. So I begged my dear friend Andrea to hack into my blog and write something brilliant. What I forgot was that Andrea is blind in one eye (perhaps both). And a liar. Both important things to remember before reading her post below. Another thing to keep in mind is that I adore her.*

I'm not Amber.

Believe me, I wish I were, but I am not.

I am Andrea, but don't feel bad, it's easy to get us mixed-up:

our names both start with 'A' (but so do a lot of names)
we were in the same English class as high school freshmen (but so was everyone else in our grade)
we share a love of The Outsiders (I almost named my firstborn Ponyboy)
we have each, now, posted on this blog (highlight of my life!)
we both possess a rare and exotic beauty (okay, that might be stretching the truth, but that's how I like my truth: nice and stretchy)

Do you know that I didn't like Amber when I first met her? (Did YOU know that, Amber?)
It was the summer before our freshman year, and I had character judgment down to a science:

pretty = I don't like you. Squared.

It was a simple equation, and one that was probably unfair, but it worked for me.

I don't know when I started liking Amber. It was right around the time I first had a conversation with her, I think. I'm warning you now, that is all it takes with that girl! She's a wizard at making a person feel interesting and understood.

She was back then, and she still is today, almost 47 years later (or is it just 13? I'm tellin' ya, she's THAT good).

And she's still drop dead gorgeous, to boot.

What a brat.



*picture taken last October while Amber was here visiting. 'Nuf said.

Day 6

Claire, I'm going to ask you one more time. Did you happen to get into the chocolate ice cream?

Day 5

I'm packing the car for a trip.

Candy. Check.

More candy. Check.

Sour Patch Kids (the most important candy of all). Check.

A last second trip to help someone I love dearly.

I also get to stop in and see one of my favorite friends.

Knowing that makes the 3+ hour car ride with my 2 freaks bearable.

The DVD player helps too.

First solo trip with my daughters.

I miss my husband already.

Pictures of our adventures to come.

Wish me luck.

Day 4

We are a normal family.

See, when my siblings come into town we do normal family things.

Like take the kids to small town carnivals.

 And feast on yummy fair food.

And hang out at the pond by the park.

Yep, we are a normal bunch.

Totally

And

 Completely

Normal.

Day 3

Dear evil man in front of me at check stand 4:

Sometimes I want to scream at stupid people to shut up. But since we don't allow the use of the word "stupid" or shut up" in our house, it might be a bit hypocritical of me.

There are a lot of things I am uncertain about in this life, but I do know this: if you cuss out a grocery store cashier right in front of your 3 small children because she won't price adjust an item to LAST week's sale price, you are dumb. Plain and simple. Dumb is another word we can't say around our house or I might be tempted to say it to your face.

And furthermore, the "F-word" is not the best vocab word to be dropping if you are trying to teach your children about, well, anything. But I suspect, based on the way you yanked your smallest out of the cart by one chubby arm and flung her helplessly to the ground, you are not teaching your children much of anything except exactly who not to grow up to be like.

Another word we don't allow in our home: HELL. But I suspect you will become quite familiar with that one, as there is a special place there reserved just for you.

Day 2

How can something so adorable be so devilish?

She randomly asked my sisters how they would feel when she burned our house down. Not "if," but "when." At least she is giving me ample warning to hide the matches.

Day 1

This is Michelle. She still loves me even when I go out in public sporting wannabe rock star glasses. Broken out like a 13 year old. Without a stitch of makeup on. Unshowered after teaching a sweaty cardio class and desperately in need of Botox.

Yes, she still loves me. Because she has to. She is my sister. You can't choose the crazy you are born into.

The Promise

While that is one of my all-time favorite Tracy Chapman songs, that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about a promise I am making to you. Not that it matters to you or will be life changing or even affect you in the slightest. I just have to promise. Cause I don't break promises.

So I promise to blog EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. until August 31st.

I'm not promising greatness. In fact, it's quantity WAY over quality. But I will post something on this here blog. Every day. At least once. For 23 days.

And then I'll pass out and sleep for a week.

To prepare you for the randomness to come these next few weeks, I will leave you with a picture collage of my childhood I found on my mom's computer. And yes, I can still rock a floral mini-jumpsuit/turtleneck combo. In case you were wondering.

ps. You see that bunny in the top left corner. She's turning 24 today. She's a punk and mostly a pain in the butt, but I love her to pieces. Happy Birthday sister of mine.