Red Flags and Sparkly Head Bands

So I’m enjoying the weather, windows are down, trendy framed Oakley sunglasses sitting on my nose, and Sexy Back is blaring on the radio.

I’m driving slowly (in traffic) past the high school in our neighborhood and I can sense the kids (when did they become KIDS? and not my peers? Oh dear god am I that old!?) glaring at me. Maybe they’re not glaring, but I feel like they are. It’s probably because I forgot my toddler is in the backseat. I should be listening to like Old McDonald or some other nursery rhyme and be more appropriate.  

I remembered a conversation I had with my friend who just turned 30. I asked her how her day was and she said she cleaned out her closet, felt she was ‘too old’ to wear American Eagle anymore. I told her NO WAY as long as it doesn’t say AE across her chest it’s probably save. Then I remember my other friend told me her sister just turned 30 or was about to and said ‘now I’m finally old enough to wear Burberry.’

Those two conversations had my wheels turning. I just turned 28. Are my youthful years of shopping at American Eagle over? Do I need to re-evaluate my wardrobe, too?

I then recalled a time a few years back when I was pregnant and had braces. I was wearing God knows what maternity wear and a gold, sparkly headband. We were at lunch at Chipotle and I was behind a long line of high schoolers. When I got to the register the cashier said ‘Honey, do you have your student ID? I can’t give you the discount without it?’ Rewind a week or two to the moment I BOUGHT said sparkly headband, I was at Claire’s with my mom (red flag number one), I had braces (red flag number two) and I purchased two sparkly headbands (red flag number three.) The cashier asked me ‘Oh, are these for prom? (red flag number four) Although I was pregnant and felt as if I looked over 17(after all I was 25!), the red flags were everywhere and I just shouldn’t have even purchased those sparkly headbands.

After that time in my life I made some changes. I ditched the sparkly head bands, and most head bands in general, and I got real with myself. I still felt that it was age appropriate to shop at AE and continued to do so. I bought skinny jeans in a variety of colors (which, based on my body shape/type probably was a poor choice in general but they make me feel good about myself so I go with it.)

Now that I turned 28 I am starting to panic. 30 is looming, and I don’t fear 30 itself as I’ve always vowed to be more fabulous turning 30 than I was turning 20, but I fear that I will have to find new places to shop.

Gap, which is my most favorite, will remain safe and age appropriate as 30 approaches. American Eagle? Thoughts? I still stand by the advice I gave my friend, stay away from large chest logos and you’re good.

I vow in year 28 to look for red flags, stay away from sparkly headbands, and stop blaring Sexy Back, at least while my kid’s in the car.

Who Knew I Married The President?

Today's blog was inspired because Cody is working from home. I noticed an email he was working on where he needed to answer these two questions for an article he's being 'featured' in. 

             1. What got you interested in ultraviolet technology?

2. What got you interested in Engineering? 

I laughed out loud and then proceeded to stare at him, asking him with my smirk how the hell he was going to answer those questions. 

It was about a year or two ago that I realized I was married to the President. Not the real, actual, President of the United States of America of course, just a guy who seems to be as busy as the President. No joke. My co-workers lovingly refer to Cody as 'Prez.' 'Who you calling, Prez?' Then they hear his cell voicemail pick up and they chuckle. It's no joke being married to someone who's so busy and hard to reach. 

What does he do all day, why is he so busy? This is beyond me. 

The other reason I like to refer to him as Mr. President is because the guy is in hot demand. He travels like none other. Texas, Las Vegas, Chicago, Texas again. That was just last month. He is an Engineer, I had no idea this required so much traveling.  He's constantly writing papers and having them published in these Engineering Magazines that I wouldn't dare read. Companies ask for him specifically sometimes. 

I like to keep his head out of the clouds and remind him he's not that awesome. That's the wife's job, right? To keep her husband humble. I like to ask him things like 'What do you even do all day?' 'Why do you need to fly to (insert some city here) again?' Can't you just video chat for that meeting?' 'You work with poop, you know that right?' 'Wait, the dorky Engineering Magazine is doing an article about YOU? Why?' 'Seriously, you're not THAT important.' 

In all honesty I am proud of him and all his accomplishments. I know that his hard work and these trips he takes and these articles he writes are getting him out there and getting him where he wants to be. I am very aware that it's his hard work and dedication to water and poop help us live a comfortable lifestyle. 

But seriously, he could at least answer my phone calls. I am apparently after all, the First Lady. 

Thanks JJ's

Today for my birthday we went out to lunch. We went to Jimmy Johns. The food is always amazing and I’m never disappointed. Today, today was special. We were sitting there enjoying some conversation and realized there were at least thirty-seven employees behind the counter. One in particular must have been parched from all his deliveries so he stepped to the drink fountain. We watched as he filled his cone-shaped paper cup with water, tilted back his head, and dumped the water in his wide open mouth at least three or four times.  This particularly thirsty Jimmy Johns driver then grabbed a bag and ran, I am not making this up, RAN to the back door to complete his delivery. While he was gone I noticed another employee with said cone-shaped paper cup step to the drink fountain and go through the same drinking escapades as previous dude.

I get it Jimmy Johns, subs so fast we freak.  I really appreciate your diligence but couldn’t you at least quench the thirst of your employees with a fancy BPA free bottle rather than a paper cone-shaped mini sized cup? If you’re going to demand such excellence I think official water bottles would be the least you could do.

Anyways, it’s my birthday. Thanks to my awesome Husband, family, friends, and co-workers for making today extra special. Tonight, I’ll skip dinner and indulge in lots and lots of ice cream.

Potty Training

As I mentioned before we are potty training. Oh boy. 

Let me start by saying when I was pregnant I wasn't scared about giving birth, but rather taking the screaming, pooping, needy infant home and knowing what the heck I was supposed to do to care for it. I was right about that, birth (for me) was a piece of cake. The days and weeks and months following were terrifyingly amazing. We sailed through our milestones and handled each one as it was thrown at us all the while in the back of my mind I was DREADING potty training. Nothing in the entire world terrified me more than potty training. I'm not sure why, really.

Here we are, in the thick of things and now I know why I was scared. First of all, he and I don't have the same parts, and learning how to situate him on a toilet while we're out sans potty seat so he doesn't pee down the front of the toilet and down on his pants was tricky, but that we've mastered. Then, the whole idea of accidents. Pee accidents, of course, are not a huge deal except for the big pee's where it's running down his leg, filling his shoe, dripping on the wood floors and he's screaming and embarrassed. The other accidents are just down right nasty and I will spare you the squishy details. And, lastly, if I wasn't already neurotic enough ('Hudson, no don't smell that candle while it's burning' 'Hudson don't punch the dog' 'Hudson, don't throw [insert any random item] down the stairs') NOW I get to add 'Hudson, do you have to go potty? Are you sure? Are you positive?' Every. Five.Seconds.

I'd like to add that I'm not complaining. I love my child. I'm so thankful for these years. I know time goes fast.

 

Still, I leave you with this.

Am I REALLY Doing this?

If I had a dollar for every time someone said ‘you should write a book’ I’d have like maybe $4.50. But in all seriousness, I’ve always wanted to write a book and also be a stand-up comedian. It’d take half a handle of vodka and probably some serious lapses in judgment for me to actually step foot onto a stage of any kind. Maybe trying my hand behind the keyboard is a better option, for now.

I wasn’t always funny, well, I didn’t always think I was funny. It wasn’t until college that I decided I thought I was funny. I lived with guys and they taught me to be quick witted. I have to thank them for helping me come out of my shell. It also wasn’t until I was an adult and felt like I could cuss around my parents without repercussion that I felt comfortable expressing my thoughts.

The honest to God truth is that I like to hide behind funny or else I’ll cry, and we’ll save the analytical bull for another day. I’m a mom, and plain and simple that means every single day is an absolute horror film. Not REALLY that bad, but somedays it's truly like I'm watching a horror flick on repeat. I like to post on facebook little blurbs about my day, and my goal is to make people laugh. If I can make you smile, or chuckle, I’ve done my job.

Being a mom is an insane thing that I won’t even begin to get into, so poking fun at myself and my ability or inability to parent helps me get through the day. I’m going to try to keep this up, I’m going to try to share my fortunes and misfortunes with everyone and hopefully, give you a laugh.

I’ll leave you with this. My husband travels for work and he was due back tonight. I was wearing my new Victoria Secret sweats that I got on clearance (holla!) not to be sexy, but to at least be in something clean. My newly potty trained son had just finished a particularly grueling poop and I asked him to bend down so I could wipe him. Rather than bending down, he sat down. His little un-wiped toosh landed on my clean, new, mint green Victoria’s Secret sweats. Welcome home honey. But seriously though, I did change back into my ‘already worn a few times’ other sweats that weren’t nearly as adorable, but less poopy. I don’t even think he’d have noticed, though.