Oh, hey. Hi!
Want to know something funny? This Thursday I am teaching a class on blogging.
Step 1: Set up your blog.
Step 2: Ignore it for weeks.
Step 3: Feel guilty for not blogging. Feel tempted to apologize. Don't. Nobody really cares. In fact, many are relieved because now your craft (kids, spouse, home decor) isn't cuter than their craft (kids, spouse, home decor).
Part two of my tutorial will focus on how to monetize your blog. Step 1: Joke's on you. I have no idea.
I think it's going to be a really good class.
Last Sunday Drew turned 12.
Monday his voice started changing.
Tuesday he had lacrosse practice, and as he gathered his gear from the trunk I caught his reflection in the rear view mirror. If I squinted really tight I could see past the shoulder pads and arm guards to the little boy who used to grasp a plastic animal in each chubby hand everywhere we went, but relaxing my focus revealed the truth. A man in the making. He has grown an inch and a half in the last three months, three inches in the last six, and four inches over the course of the year. If I buy him pants on Wednesday, he has outgrown them by the weekend. And yet, despite my tireless (tireless!) efforts to explain that it's "COULDN'T care less", NOT "COULD care less", he shakes his head and says I'm not making any sense.
Samantha went on her first date and I didn't even have to be sedated. It was a blind date organized by another couple so they could double, so we didn't know this kid. It took me two days to find out his first name, three more days to get his last name and about 7 seconds to search him on facebook. Samantha said that made me a Creeper. I say trying to make sure her soon-to-be date didn't claim serial killing or Mafia Wars as favorite past times was the right thing to do. Her date was adorable and she had a good time. So normal! We are normal! I like to celebrate the small victories.
How have YOU been?
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
A few years ago I was at a New Year’s Eve party and as the clock struck midnight, the gentleman sitting next to me shared the following: “My only resolution for this year is that by the end of it, I’d like my nipples to stick out further than my belly button.” I laughed and replied, “No way! That’s mine too!” And then we blew our kazoos and went back for seconds on chips and dip. I’m not sure whatever happened to that guy but as for me, I’ve ultimately managed to claim that resolution.
It hasn’t come easily. When I was in middle school I was sized up by a serial pervert in my Science class who waxed philosophical one day on breasts. “Some,” he explained, “are like MOUNTAINS.” He sported a wicked smile. “Others are like little hills,” he rattled as he curled his hands in little waves. “But YOU?” He flashed a cursory glance at my chest before he announced, “They’re like…mosquito bites.” Yeah, I know. In 2012 that’s called sexual harassment but in 1983, well, that was called 7th grade. And trust me, as soon as time travel becomes viable Room 201 at Del Dios Middle School will be one of my first stops and I will show that gangster what is up. He will probably be able to take me by then what with all of his experience he likely gained from prison, but I’d at least like a go at it.
Over the next 20 years life happened, and several extra pounds happened, and that whole cupcake explosion – it just HAPPENED. Before you know it you’re sitting on the couch with a bag of potato chips using your chest as a shelf and your son’s playmates want to know when your baby is coming. It’s a real party. I’ve endured several highs and lows on the scale over the years but my hopes for true reform waned as I rebelled against a life sentence of boiled chicken and low fat hummus. Then about a year ago I decided to make one last ditch effort. It’s been slow, but even slow over twelve months adds up and I have since lost almost 40 pounds. I’m in a really good place. A couple of days ago I was getting ready and as I checked my make up in the mirror I took a step back and gasped a little.
I had boobs!
It was like living puberty in reverse. And to be clear it’s not that I care about other people noticing, it was just interesting to me that I noticed.
A waist reborn.
A pervert shamed.
I have boobs.