Can a Mama Get Some Help?

My little girl is upstairs right now, crying as if her heart is breaking. Not cute little wails, oh no. These are full-on screams.

Even worse? Every once in a while, she lets out a chorus of "ma ma ma ma ma MA!" I know she supposedly doesn't know what she's saying, but that doesn't do my heart any good.

There's nothing wrong, really. She's clean, she's dry, she has a full tummy. She just wants her mommy. Has wanted her mommy for most of the last 48 hours. She's teething or something, I don't know. All I know is that my back hurts, my head hurts, I have a crick in my neck, a slobbery shoulder and a shirt polka dotted with various baby stains.

I've rocked her, sang her songs, read her books, played with her, tickled her, let her sleep on my chest. She's sucked on ice cubes, gnawed on teething rings and practically eaten a hole in my shirt.

Nothing helps. She's miserable, I'm miserable, and now, because you're reading this, you're probably a little more miserable, too.

The point? Teething sucks. Sucks donkey kong. And I'm out of ideas.

So, internet, I'm asking you. Is there anything I can do to help her? Other than feed her (and myself) whiskey? I could use a little help...before I start crying for my mommy.

Banishing the Baby Belly: Week 11

Remember that post I wrote yesterday? The one describing all the delicious foods still residing in my refrigerator? If not, just scroll on down. It's right there.

That would be why I'm not getting on the scale today.

That's right, I'm taking another pass. It wasn't a bad week, but after the last couple of days, I just don't think I need to do that to myself. That would take some of the joy out of stuffing your face with...stuffing, don't you think?

Instead, I'm going to go to the holiday market downtown (one of the benefits of living in a quaint little town), let Tori pet some live reindeer, and maybe, just maybe get myself a big old mug of hot chocolate.

Mmmm, hot chocolate...

Anybody out there braver than me? Who's got some news from the scale?

Turkey Coma.

Weeks of menu planning. Days of cleaning and cooking. All for...25 minutes of eating.

Granted, it was a meal to remember. My husband, the frustrated chef, made one hell of a turkey (which may have something to do with the cup of real butter he injected into its flesh). The mashed potatoes were so creamy they didn't even need gravy. And the stuffing?

Well, I made the stuffing, but it was still pretty darn good.

I also made a kick ass pumpkin cream cheese pie. But, when you think about it, there really wasn't much chance of that going wrong. I mean, pumpkin and cream cheese? Might be the world's second most tasty flavor combination (chocolate and peanut butter being the first).

There was one failure, though.

My pecan pie. I followed the instructions to the letter, and it looked and smelled wonderful (I should have taken a picture). But, like so many things that are beautiful on the surface, it disappointed once you saw (or, rather tasted) what lay beneath its gorgeous exterior.

It tasted like ass. Sugary, gelatinous ass.

I won't be making that one again.

And now? Now we have approximately 12 pounds of turkey left over, along with a vat of mashed potatoes, various breakfast loaves, quiche...it's a dieter's nightmare. Especially since we are back down to the two of us in the house (three, really, but one doesn't eat much).

But I have willpower. Or, at least I will...once that pumpkin cream cheese pie is gone.

Wordless Wednesday: Tori's Latest Pose.

Smiling's for babies. Now, when Tori sees the camera, this is the pose I get.

 

Adorable, huh?

Top Ten Things I'm Thankful For.

"If you pause to think, you'll have cause to thank."

That's what the sign of our local Presbyterian church reads right now. And you know what? It's completely true. It's easy to gloss over the good things in our lives, dwelling instead on the people who have done us wrong, or the things we lack. It's tempting to tell ourselves, "I'd be happy if only..."

It's much more difficult to live in the moment. To appreciate what (and who) we have. To be happy with our lot in life and just be. So today, in honor of Thanksgiving, I thought I'd take a moment to count my blessings.

And since you're here, lovely readers, you get to count them with me.

I'm thankful for the roof over my head. I know I'm lucky to have a roof at all when so many don't. But I'm thankful for this home in particular. After years of living in dumpy apartments, drafty townhouses and crummy fixer-uppers, we built this one from the ground up. And it? Is a house I'm glad to come home to.



I'm thankful for the internet.  I know we did without it for thousands of years, but it's become so much a part of my life, I can't imagine how. And to think, fifteen years ago, most of us didn't really know what the world wide web was...

I'm thankful to have a job to call my own. As some of you know, I'm from Detroit. Which is experiencing some hard times, to say the least. Many, many of my friends and family there have lost their jobs - and most of those who are still working are waiting for the ax to fall. It makes me intensely grateful for every paycheck that gets deposited in my account.

I'm thankful for my iPod. I work in a wall-less cubicle maze - and I have the focus of an ADD gnat. Without my trusty portable music library and headphones, I would never ever get anything done. Ever.



I'm thankful for modern medicine.  A hundred years ago, I probably would  have died in childbirth. So, however much we complain about the state of the medical system in our country, let's remember how much we owe the doctors and hospitals within it.

I'm thankful for the baby upstairs. I knew having a baby would change everything. But I didn't realize how insanely grateful I would feel every time I saw that gummy smile. She's a pooping, puking miracle, and I love her more every day.



I'm thankful for my running shoes. When I absolutely need to get away? Escape is as easy as tying on those shoes. Unfortunately, I don't make use of them nearly enough, but it's good to know they're there for me when I need them.

I'm thankful for my husband.  The yin to my yang. The right to my left. We're both completely insane, but in completely different ways. There's no one I'd rather have by my side as I navigate this wacky thing we call life.

I'm thankful for chamomile tea. And chocolate. When all else fails and I think I really might lose my mind, I sit down with a hot cup of tea and a bar of dark chocolate and just chill. That combo almost always brings me back from the brink.

Most of all, I'm thankful to be me. I'm a little crazy, a lot disorganized, and there are days I would give anything to trade lives with someone else, but really? I'm one lucky little bitch. It really is good to be me.

Now head over to Oh Amanda and check out some more Top Ten lists!

Somebody Smack Me: My Brain's Gone AWOL.

This time last year, I was about twenty weeks pregnant.

Twenty weeks pregnant and already looking like I was about to pop. Twenty weeks pregnant and already not sleeping. Twenty weeks pregnant and already suffering from near constant back pain.

Twenty weeks pregnant and already ready to be done with the whole thing.

But today? Today I'm kind of missing being pregnant.


I know. That's insane, right?

It's just that the whole pregnancy thing was so exciting. Everything was new. Everything was wondrous. The little girl, she was just starting to make her presence known. In fact, I had just found out she was a little girl.

We were busy picking out names. Trying to decide how to decorate her bedroom. I was eating all the ice cream I wanted, and not feeling even a tiny bit guilty for not working out.

Everywhere I went, people smiled at me. They told me I looked cute (even when I hadn't washed my hair, brushed my teeth or put on a lick of makeup). They squealed, and giggled, and oohed and ahhed.

Everything I did, I thought to myself, "this will be the last time I...go Christmas shopping before I'm a mom. Stuff my face with turkey before I'm a mom. Celebrate the New Year before I'm a mom."

See what I mean? Everything was just a little...more.

Now, of course, I'm a mom. A mom who's still carrying an extra twenty pounds, is always tired and can never seem to get anywhere close to the bottom of her To Do list.

I'm not a star anymore. I'm not exciting anymore. I'm just...me.

And life? Has gone back to being just life.

Don't get me wrong. I love me my Tori, and I thank my lucky stars that I've been blessed with her presence in my life.

But sometimes? I miss being pregnant. 

Banishing the Baby Belly: Week 10

Today is a good day. I got ten hours of sleep, the sun is shining, my hair is cooperating, and the scale? Says I'm down two pounds.

Hooray!
Even better, I'm finally feeling like I can do this. Get this weight off, I mean. For the last few months, I've been going through the motions, telling myself I need to lose the pregnancy pounds, but not really believing I could make it happen.

Although I didn't want to admit it, I was kind of convinced that I was doomed to look like this forever. That my days of feeling sexy, of feeling pretty - of not hating what looks back it me in the mirror - were gone.


But something's changed. Suddenly, I have momentum.

Yesterday, there were doughnuts in the office. My favorite kind of doughnuts. And I was hungry. But you know what? I wasn't even tempted (okay, yes I was, but only for like five seconds). My inner voice, the one I call the Diet Captain, took control, and I realized that I would only hate myself later if I gave in.

So I didn't.

I'm feeling good. I'm feeling strong. And not even the holiday season is going to stop me.


I mean, sure, I'm going to eat my share of treats (it's not Thanksgiving until I consume a pile of stuffing as big as my head), but I'm going to keep it in check. I'm going to keep the scale moving down (if only slightly).

Because my skinny jeans? Are waiting for me. And I fully intend to wear them to Tori's first birthday party.

So that's me. Anybody else have anything to report?

Who You Calling Talented?

I knew winning my tiara was going to be tough. But I didn’t realize how tough—until we got our instructions for our third mission. The challenge? Show the world, and the pageant judges, how talented you are.

I was stumped.

I briefly considered lots of options. For instance, I can’t sing well, but I’m quite good at singing badly, so I thought about taping myself singing the worst rendition of  “Do-Re-Mi” you’ve ever heard. But even I have some limits (and stuff you put on the internet? Never goes away. Ever).

Next, I thought about dancing with my dog. On tape. Yes, this is something I do. No, he doesn’t like it. And since we can’t compete with this guy:

I decided to let it go.

I even thought about stunt falling down the stairs, since that’s what I do best. But, because that really is my biggest talent, there’s far too much chance of that going horribly wrong. So I didn’t.

But while I might be lacking in the “super huge talent” category, I do have lots of little things I do really well. So that’s what I’m going to share with you today. My Top Ten Tiny Talents.

I bake a damned good boxed cake—Despite the fact that I have never actually made a cake from scratch, I have a reputation for being a great baker (my brownies are kind of famous). My secret? Voodoo, of course.  What, you thought I’d actually give it away?

I have a knack for getting lost—I love to drive. But I can’t follow directions to save my soul. In my mind, the sun sets in the east, Florida lies to the north, and one-way streets are always headed in the wrong direction. Once, I directed my husband to drive two hours down the wrong highway before I realized what I had done.

I plan excellent imaginary vacations—Traveling, especially to warm, sunny destinations, is just about my favorite thing in the whole world to do. See how happy I look?

So, when I’m feeling sad, mad, fed-up or just plain bored, I get online and ferret out the best vacation deals around. Cruises, flights, car rentals—I find it all, take it all the way to the point where they’re asking me for money…and then click out. It’s masochistic, really.

I give good rant—As I may have mentioned a time or two, I have quite the temper. The only way I’ve found to simmer down? Let loose a good solid rant. These diatribes generally include lots of colorful language, magnificent insults…the works. My husband said they actually are film-worthy, but he didn’t want to make me mad enough to capture one for your viewing pleasure.

I make fabulous messes—Remember the character Pig Pen from Peanuts? I am the real life version of him. As soon as I enter a room, it becomes a disaster. Clothes fall to the floor, papers get disorganized and inch-thick dust appears from nowhere. It’s one talent I’d gladly give up.

I look good in hats—Skinny jeans? I don't think so. Sweater coats? Only if I want to look like I'm wearing my giant mother's clothes. But hats? Hats I can do (and really? not many people can).

 

But since I generally don't allow pictures of me to be taken, whether I'm wearing a hat or not, this is the best proof I can muster up. You'll just have to take my word for it.

I’m a fair weather speed-reader—Hand me a 500 page novel, leave the room for a few hours, and when you come back, I’ll be done. I tear through books like nobody’s business. Unfortunately, this talent only applies to things I want to read. Give me a textbook and tell me to read 100 pages, and when you come back, I’ll be sound asleep.

I can spell almost anything—Seriously. Give me a word, any word, and I’ll spell it for you. I even won a spelling bee once. But the advent of spell check has rendered this fabulous talent virtually useless. Damn you, dictionary.com!

I can predict the weather—I’m not a meteorologist or anything, but I can tell you when the weather’s about to change. When the barometric pressure starts doing its thing, my knee begins to pulse with pain. It hits a fever pitch about six hours before any big storm is due. Want to know if you should take an umbrella? Ask my knee.

I make damn cute babies—I may be biased, but I’m pretty sure Tori’s the most adorable baby on the face of the planet.

 

And I take all the credit.

That’s it! Those are my Ten Tiny Talents. Now head on over to MomDot and see what the other Bloggers and Tiaras contestants have to say for themselves.

Wordful Wednesday: A Few of Her Favorite Things

Tori is surrounded by educational, developmentally correct toys. Things like stackers and blocks. Brightly colored things. Things that squeak and rattle and roll.

But you know what? Those are not her favorite things. These are.

That's a piece of paper she's got in her mouth. She loves paper - crunching it, shredding it...eating it.

That's a metal spoon. Plain old ordinary spoon.

 This is a cat toy. It's quite possibly her favorite thing in the whole world.

This, at least, is actually meant for babies. Teething babies. Like her.

Yep, another spoon. This one doubles as a drumstick. And a baton.

See, she does have real toys. Sometimes she even plays with them!

Now head over to Seven Clown Circus and see what other people have to say this week.

Too Many Are Born Too Soon.

When I was seven months pregnant, my blood pressure spiked. Even worse, there was protein in my urine. The doctors started talking about preeclampsia.

At the sound of that word, my blood ran cold. Preeclampsia, for those of you who don’t know, is a hypertensive disorder (meaning it stems from high blood pressure) that in its most severe forms can cause death. That’s right. When left untreated, it can kill both you and your unborn child.

When caught early (as it was in my case), it’s usually controllable with medication and bed rest. But sometimes it can lead to serious complications—and force the early delivery of your baby.

I was lucky.

After a week of almost total bed rest, the protein disappeared and my blood pressure sank to more manageable levels. I still had to take it easy for the rest of my pregnancy, but Tori was able to continue baking until my due date.

But a lot of women (and babies) don’t get that break. A lot of moms give birth to their babies prematurely.

In fact, 543,000 babies are born too soon in the U.S. every year. That’s one in every eight babies. One in eight. That’s a whole lot of babies, people.

Being born prematurely puts them at risk for a host of health problems, including cerebral palsy, mental retardation, hearing loss and blindness. Even worse, they could die. In fact, premature birth is the leading cause of death among newborns.

There’s one organization that’s working to reduce the number of preemies being born in this country—The March of Dimes.

They research the causes of premature birth, educate at risk women and their families, and support families affected by premature birth. In short, they do everything they can to help more babies make it to their due date.

So what can you do to help?

Support them during Prematurity Awareness Month (and every day). Get active. Make a donation. Volunteer. Heck, even blogging about it helps. Just do something.

Because every baby born too soon is one too many.

It's Beginning to Feel a Lot Like Christmas.

In case you missed it (and I don't know how you could, considering the commercials started in August), it's the holiday season again. Which has me feeling...conflicted.

Part of me loves the holidays - everything about them. Decorating the house, putting up the Christmas tree, baking all those cookies - it all makes me want to jump up and down and clap my hands like a little kid. Once the time changes and the night gets long and dark, I start pestering my  husband to put the lights up outside -  those twinkling, colored lights make my heart sing.

I even love Christmas shopping. At the mall. Yes, really. My mom and I  used to make an event of it - the day after Thanksgiving was Serious Shopping Day, and we'd spend hours combing the mall for the best deals on the softest, shiniest, glittery-est presents to stuff under the tree.

Now that I'm seven hours away, I kinda miss that.

There's also a part of me that dreads the holidays. I feel guilty admitting that, but it's true. Especially since we moved away and our trip home became an Event. There's always so much pressure. Everybody wants a piece of us (usually at the same time), and there's absolutely no way to make everyone happy.

Someone always ends up disappointed. Sometimes lots of someones.

And I? Spend the week with knotted up shoulders, a tension  headache and a sour stomach. Because, you see, I really want to make everyone happy. Especially during the holiday season. But I haven't figured out how to clone myself, so it's impossible.

Plus, I'm not naturally a very social person, so all that visiting starts to get to me after a while. I start longing for a quiet corner to hide in, or at least a bag I could put over my head.

By the time we head for home, I'm usually so exhausted that I spend the next three days sleeping.

But this year is different. This year there's Tori. She's not old enough to really appreciate all the hubbub around the holidays, but I'm looking forward to sharing it with her anyway.

I can't wait to put up the tree, so I can watch her face shine when she sees it glowing  for the first time. I want to buy her a stocking, and let her get her hands in the cookie dough (don't worry, I know she can't eat it yet).

I want to dress her up in pretty, absolutely useless frilly dresses. Take her to visit Santa. I even want to get one of those cheesy family portraits done (we may even wear matching clothes).

I want her to join in the chaos when her cousins rip into the Christmas presents under the tree. I want to see her face when she tastes turkey and mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie for the first time.

Above all, I want to share the joy of her first Christmas with everyone I love. Even if it kills me.

So, I'm going to try to leave my inner pessimist home this year. I'm going to do my best to get through it all with my smile intact and my shoulders loose. I'm going to try to enjoy myself.

Because you know what's really great about having a baby at Christmastime? It gives you an automatic excuse (lots of excuses) to get out of doing anything you don't want to do. After all, she has to eat, sleep, get her diaper changed...

I may actually get some quiet time this year.

And Away We Went.

Recently, I saw the movie Away We Go. For those of you who haven't seen it, the story follows a pregnant couple as they visit various cities looking for a place to call home. It spoke to my heart.

Why? Well, because after the years of Badness, that's exactly what Brian and I did.

At the time, we lived in the same town we always had, not more than ten miles away from where we grew up and fell in love. We were surrounded by all the people who loved us - which was great. Most of the time. But it was also a little suffocating.

Not because anyone was trying to be overbearing, or tell us what to do, but because they knew who we always had been, and expected us to stay the same. Be the same. And we? Couldn't. We had to change.

So we decided to make a complete break. To venture out on our own and discover who we could be - not who we were supposed to be.

I found a job in Cincinnati, and after spending a weekend there, we decided to do it. To make the move and start over.

It was frightening and exhilarating at the same time. We didn't know anyone. We had nobody to fall back on. We were completely and truly on our own.

Over the next few months, we worked to rebuild our lives. To make Cincinnati home. But it just didn't work. It felt too crowded. Too segregated. Just wrong.

So we prepared to pull up stakes again. I interviewed in all sorts of places - Memphis, Nashville, Louisville - even back up in Detroit. But none of those cities felt right either.

Southern Indiana wasn't even on our radar. Until I interviewed here - just for a lark.

But walking around the town on the night of my interview, I knew I had found it. The place we could call home. The quaint downtown, the tree lined streets, the youthful vibe - it all felt right. So right that Brian agreed to make the move without ever seeing it.

I found us a sweet little house to rent and two weeks later, we made the move. By the way? Never move ten days before Christmas. It was an exhausting way to spend the holidays.

Brian found a job within a week, and we began the process of rebuilding our lives. Again. But you know what? This time, my instincts were right.

We fit in here.
We have friends here.
We have...roots.

Given the business I'm in, I can't guarantee we'll be able to stay here forever. But I hope we'll be here for a while. Because this? Is our place. It's home.

Banishing the Baby Belly: Week 9

You know what? I'm taking a pass this week. That's right, I'm not getting on the scale.

You're allowed to do that every once in a while in Weight Watchers, if I'm remembering correctly. I had a bad week this week for a number of reasons. Plus, I ate heavily yesterday, so I know the scale's going to lie to me, so I'm just not. Going to do it, that is.

Instead, I'm going to finish eating my 100 calorie yogurt and take advantage of the fact that Tori's supposed to be napping to go for a run. Outside. Then I'm going to come back and put my gardens to bed for the winter.

And I'm not going to think about that dreaded scale at all. Do you believe me? Nah, me neither.

But I'm still not getting on. Not this week. I don't think I could take it if it's a bad number.

So that's me and my cop out. Anybody have anything to report this week?

Writer's Workshop: Anything But That!

It's time for Mama Kat's Writing Workshop again. This week's prompt? Describe the most creative punishment you ever ever experienced.

I was a good kid...most of the time. But I had my moments. I fought with my brother, talked back to my parents—all the usual stuff. On one particularly memorable occasion, my brother and I took hot wheels cars off someone's porch.

That resulted in one hell of a spanking.

Yep, back in the day, it was still okay to spank. I also spent my fair share of time staring at the wall in the kitchen, stuck in the dreaded time out. I even got grounded a time or three (hundred).

Still, all those punishments were quickly recovered from. Sure, I cried when I got spanked. Pouted when I got put in the corner. Threw a hissy fit when I got grounded. But through it all, there was one thing I could count on to comfort me.

My books.

To say I was a bookworm would be an understatement. I always had a book in my hand. I ate with a book. Slept with a book. Even walked around with my nose firmly stuck in a book (not a real good idea when you're as big of a klutz as I am).

So what did my parents do when they really wanted to punish me? They took away my books.

I was in fifth grade. I hated my teacher and was doing really poorly in school—culminating in my first  "D" on a report card. My parents were beyond frustrated with me.

So they forbade me to read until my grades improved. They confiscated my library card, packed up the books in my room and even denied me access to the boring old books in our bookcases.

It was torture.

I don't remember exactly how long it lasted (I'd call my mom and ask, but she always seems vaguely embarrassed when it comes up). But I'm sure I was a pain in the ass for the entire length of the punishment.

I didn't know what to do with myself. I had far too much spare time on my hands. Time that was usually spent in the alternate (sometimes preferred) universe that books opened up for me.

Did I mention it was torture?

But it worked. I did my homework. My attitude improved. And soon, so did my grades. When next I brought home a report card, there was nary a D in sight.

Thankfully, my books were returned. I welcomed them like long lost friends—there may even have been a few tears.

And you know what? I never got a bad grade again. From then on, my report cards were chock full of A's and B's. I wasn't about to risk losing my best friends again.

So I guess it was the most effective punishment my parents ever came up with. Here's hoping I can be half as creative when the situation arises (and I'm sure it will).

Now head on over to Mama Kat's and see what the other entrants have to say!

Owning My Beauty.

This morning when I looked in the mirror, I said, "hello, beautiful." And then I snorted.

So I tried again. “I said, hello, gorgeous.” My reflection eyed me warily, but didn’t respond.

“You really are beautiful. A beautiful woman.”  This time, I couldn’t help the roll of my eyes.

You see, I’ve never been comfortable with my appearance. Never been able to love the skin I live in.

Even as a little girl, I knew I didn’t look quite right. I just wasn’t sure why. The twirly skirts, the pigtails tied with bows…I loved them. But the playground teasing I endured assured me I had it wrong.

Then, as a teenager, I wore glasses, had acne and a mouthful of braces. I was short, had an odd sense of style and struggled with my weight. That, of course, was a recipe for disaster. Especially when coupled with an innate shyness and a tendency to hide my nose in a book.

Eventually, though, I came out the other side. The braces came off, the glasses gave way to contacts, and the acne…subsided. And I? Became a not-too-terrible-looking human being.

But the damage was done. I couldn’t see the reality of what was staring back at me in the mirror. I could only see what I lacked. 

Instead of the pretty blue eyes, I saw only the crooked nose.

Instead of the fantastic smile, I saw only the stained teeth.

My boobs were too big. My thighs were too large. Even my feet were too wide.

I was a melting pot of flaws.

Now, of course, I look back and think, “you idiot. Why didn’t you appreciate what you had?”

And then I go back to beating my self-confidence into the ground.

But that has to end. And it has to end now. As I’ve already mentioned a time or five (million), I have a daughter now. And, as I’ve also said, she needs a strong, self-confident role model.

So, I’m trying to see myself for the wonderful human being I am, flabby belly, chubby thighs and all.

That belly is poochy because it performed a miracle.

Those thighs are supported by some damn fine calves.

I have a fantastic smile.

I have pretty blue eyes.

I am strong.

I am smart.

I am sexy.

I am beautiful.

This post was written for the first Bloggers and Tiaras challenge at MomDot. The task? Define what beauty means to you. If you think I've done a good job, you might want to head on over there and vote for me. There's some serious bling at stake. And I? Would really like some pretty pearls to go with my tiara.

Pleased to Meet You: Getting to Know One Cluttered Brain.

My friend Alexes at One Cluttered Brain is hosting a Blog Party. It's a rather intimate gathering—a dinner party, if you will. So tonight, you're all invited to sit in as Alexes and I discuss life, love and, of course, blogging.

ME: Why did you start blogging in the first place? 

ALEXES: I'd been following several of my friends blogs and realized I could start one too. And so I did. My first couple of posts were really pretty lame-o. I think I am getting better now, thank goodness.

You are so not lame. I'd tell you if you were. That's what friends are for, right? But let's shift gears for a moment and talk about the Big Picture. What would it take for you to consider yourself successful?

For me to be successful—First, I want my children to grow up well-loved and hopefully well educated, after that I really want to have something published BEFORE I die. I am not a closet writer anymore. I am putting it out there.

Speaking of putting it out there, who's your favorite blogger of all time?
Hmm. That's a hard one. Don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. I really like MomBabe Bingham. She ALWAYS makes me laugh.

My feelings are not hurt. Bruised, but not hurt (kidding). Who's your favorite author...or authors, if you can't pick just one?

Roald Dahl, "The BFG", CS Lewis, The Chronicles of Narnia, and James Patterson. I love the Women's Murder club series.

Now let's get random. You can have a $500 gift card to any store you like. What do you choose and why?

Hmmm. The T-Mobile store. I want to upgrade my phone to a Blackberry. Someday. I hope.

Which would you rather have—a million dollars or lifelong love? 
A Lifetime love, 'cause a life lived WITHOUT love is NOT a life I'd like to live.

Dream vacation. Name it.
Hawaii AND Disneyland CA. (Still haven't gone yet.)

I hear you're writing a novel. What's it about?

The main character Abby, discovers a family secret that has been in the family for generations--dating back to the Prohibition era. And it's not GOLD.

Which would you rather have—the perfect body or perfect health until you're 101?

Tough one. I think I'd rather have good health. Hopefully I won't be a fat old biddy though. :D

You're hosting a dinner for six famous people. Who do you invite?

Oooh. Matthew McConahaughey, Christopher Meloni, Mariska Harigtay, (Law & Order SVU), Sandra Bullock, AND Lindsay Lohan. (I like her high school movies). Also like Julia Stiles too.

You're hosting a lunch for six bloggers (famous or not). Who do you invite?

MomBabe Bingham, Motherboard from Crazyland, Supermom, YOU, Mrs. Bibi, and Debbie. (I happen to know Debbie IRL. She is so cool).

What made you fall in love with your hub?

The fact we could talk about anything. We were pretty good friends before we actually "fell" in love.

What are you scared of?

Hmm. The Dark. I always have to have some sort of light on. I know real lame, Right?

What makes you happy?

My Family. And the fact that I am actually WRITING again. I LOVE it. I will never leave it again.

Treats: salty or sweet?

BOTH! At Wendy's I am known to order a frosty and fries, everyone knows you have to dip your fries in your frosty...

Favorite meal?

Italian. I LOVE pasta.

Back to blogging. Do you ever worry that your daughters will be embarrassed by your blog?

Nope. I'm an open book. I even show my fam some of my posts.

What's your favorite part about blogging?

The friendships I have made. Soon I had better have or attend a bloggy lunch. I think that would be SO cool. Who lives in St. George UT or Cedar city? Or even Mesquite? *Gulp* Not too many bloggers I bet live in Mesquite NV.

There. Now you know a little more about Alexes. I suggest you head over there right now to read her favorite post.

Don't forget to come back here tomorrow. It's the first Bloggers and Tiaras event, so I'll need your support. I need a shiny crown to really make my new hairdo pop.

Adventures in Girl Land: The Hair Edition.

I've never been very good at being a girl. I mean, sure, I like to wear skirts, have a serious shoe fetish and cry at weddings. But I'm not good at girl stuff. You know, like putting on makeup. Or picking out accessories to match my outfits. Or doing my hair.

Especially the hair thing. After twenty years of battling acne, I figured out how to do a passable job of "putting on my face" as my mom always called it. But my hair? Has pretty much always been a bit of a disaster.

In high school, which I attended at the height of bad perms and mall bangs, I tried to fit in.  I got the perm, attempted to curl the bangs...but on me, it never looked quite right.

In college, I cut it all off. Got myself a pixie cut. It looked kinda cute...but I still hadn't grasped the concept of styling products. So it was always just a little bit off.

Over the years, I've gotten better. I've also gotten better at picking easy-to-manage hairstyles. Hairstyles that take nothing more complex than a little flat ironing. Until last week. Last week, in a fit of, "oh man, I look like a mom. I don't want to look like a mom," I got myself a haircut with lots of layers, requiring lots of product and more intense "styling."

So you know what I did today? I spent 60 bucks on styling tools. Got myself a real ceramic straightening iron and a fancy shmancy ionic hair dryer (whatever the hell that means). I even got myself some product.

I'm hoping these magic tools will help me go from clueless schlub to hairstyling pro...or at least someone who looks like she knows what she's doing.  Think it'll work?

Do me a favor. Don't answer that.

Things To Remember: Part Two.

In the craziness of our everyday existence, it's easy to brush past life's best moments—those small things that don't seem special at the time, but add up to be, well, the stuff worth remembering.

This is especially true with a baby in the house. She's changing so fast we can hardly keep up—and yet, too often, we find ourselves wishing she could  grow up just a little faster. We yearn for the day she can tell us what's wrong, or grab the toy she's wanting herself.

You know, the stuff we take for granted.

At the same time, though, I'd like to freeze her in place, keeping her my snuggly sunshine for just a little longer. Here are some of the things I hope I'll always remember...


That face-splitting grin—When she's happy, her whole face lights up. She literally shines with joy. I know that once she hits her teenage years, we won't see that smile very often, but I  do hope it remains a part of who she is.

The way she rolls across the floor—She hasn't quite gotten the hang of the whole crawling thing, so instead, she rolls from place to place. Over and over and over, she quite literally rolls across entire rooms. It's ridiculously cute—and gives us a little warning as to her destination (so we can pick up whatever trinket she's after).


The way she bounces on my lap—She's working on learning to stand, and is getting quite good at it. Right now, one of her favorite things to do is stand on my lap, hang on to my shirt and bounce, bounce, bounce, giggling all the time. It's adorable.


The way she babbles—Last weekend, it was like someone turned on a switch. We were eating dinner and had put her in her exersaucer to play. All of a sudden, she stopped what she was doing, turned to stare at us, and said, "Baa Ba Ba Wa Ma Ma Ba Ba BAAA!" It's been non-stop babble ever since. And to think, I was worried she'd never talk.

The way she and Oliver play—Right now, she and the cats seem to find the same things entertaining. Feathers, balls, pieces of tin foil...Oliver has this toy. It's a pink ring with a yellow ball that spins around the perimeter. I can set them both on the floor, make it go, and keep them both fascinated for fairly long periods of time. She's going to hate when I tell her first boyfriend that story...

The way she reaches for me—She's a pretty independent little girl, but sometimes she'll stop whatever she's doing and hold both arms out to me, begging to be picked up. Then, when I do, she nestles herself under my chin and just snuggles up close. That does my heart good, it does.

The way she looks when she's sleeping—So sweet. So innocent. Her long lashes resting on her cheeks. Her mouth open, voicing tiny snores. It's so adorable, it makes my heart want to burst.

There's more. Oh so much more. But I don't want to make you, my lovely readers, vomit from all the saccharine, so I'll leave it there. For now. Don't worry, there will be more in this series.

By the way, I'm trying out a new commenting system. I've heard too many complaints about Blogger's way of doing things, so I'm trying out Disqus. If you wouldn't mind, could you leave me a comment sometime over the next few reads and let me know what you think? If you hate it, I'll take it off.

UPDATE: Disqus was annoying me...it kept logging me out of google, and therefore Blogger. So I changed it back. So if you left a comment last night, it seems to have been erased. Sorry about that.

Banishing the Baby Belly: Week Eight.

This week, I declare victory over Halloween. Despite having 150 pieces of leftover candy at my house, and being surrounded by chocolate goodness at work, I actually managed to lose a pound.

This does not mean that I did not indulge. On the contrary, I had a piece or two every day. But this week, I decided not to eat anything  after dinner. No junk food, no candy, not even a healthy snack. And that seems to have made a difference. So I guess I'll have to keep it up?

I'm still slacking hugely on the exercise front, though. I know I need to just man up and make myself go straight to the gym from work, but it's hard to do it. I don't get off work till about six most days. So if I go work out, I don't get home until it's just about time to put Tori to bed.

That kind of sucks.

I did buy a jogging stroller last weekend. It was the steal of the century—only $45 for a stroller that was easily $400 new. But it's dark by the time I get home. Who wants to jog in the dark?

People who want to get thin, that's who. Right? Right.

You know what's really motivating, though? Taking a stroll through the center of a college town on a warm, sunny day. All those skinny sorority bitches...they're enough to make a person want to perform some emergency liposuction on themselves.

Not that I'm speaking from experience or anything.

Anyway, that's it for me. How did you guys do this week?

Lions and Tigers and Awards, Oh My!

First of all, I just want to thank all of you for your support. I was really very nervous about publishing yesterday's post, but you all came through for me. I think I owe each of you a hundred bucks for playing the part of my therapist.

But you know what? You're not going to get it. But, hey, I thought about it. And it's the thought that counts, right?

In other news, some very lovely ladies have presented me with some equally fabulous awards. Over the last few days, I've collected a few of these beauties, and it's time to polish 'em up and show them off! Ready? Here we go.

Both Surviving Motherhood and One Cluttered Brain feel I deserve this bit of shiny goodness:

 Meanwhile, Momma Blogs a Lot gave me this very appropriately titled award:

And one of my very newest friends, The Stroller Ballet, thinks I'm just lovely (I think she's pretty great too):

So, now it's my turn to pass on the love. All these awards have different rules and requirements, but I'm not too good at doing what I'm told (authority, it makes my hackles go up). Instead, here's a list of some of my favorite bloggers. If you're on it, consider yourself awarded (and if I missed you, it's not that I don't love you. It's just that my pillow is beckoning).


Badass Geek—He's a funny man, that one. Check him out.
I'm Still Fabulous—My friend e's newest blog. She says it's not ready for prime time. I disagree.
The Seamstress of Avalon—Actress. Seamstress. Blogger Extraordinaire.
Mommy Wants Vodka—One of my heroes. 'Nuff said.
I Choose Bliss—Simply inspiring.
The Beet Goes On—She's living in Moscow with her family and writes about her adventures.
I've Changed My Name to Mommy—Another wickedly entertaining woman.
Rock and Drool—She's a Michigan girl (gotta represent), but more than that, she really rawks.
Lattes and Life—One of my daily must reads.
Us and Them—We'll round out this list with another guy. He'll make you snort. With laughter, that is.

That's only ten. I wish I could give you more, but seriously, my head's about to hit the keyboard. Thanks again, everyone. For the awards, for the support and for the friendship. I'd hug you all if I could reach you (well, not really. I'm actually not a very touchy feely person. But again, the thought is there...).

Writer's Workshop: Erase that Memory.

It's time for Mama Kat's Writing Workshop again. This time, the prompt I chose was, "describe an experience you wish you could shake from your memory." So get ready. This is heavy stuff. 

It was a cold winter's night. The heater was working hard, trying to remove the chill from the air, but I still felt frozen. We were whipping along the expressway at 80 miles an hour, but in my mind, everything was moving too slowly, weighted down by the sadness, the madness in my head.

"I can't," I whispered.

He groped to grab my hand in the dark. "Yes. Yes, you can. I'm right here. I'll be here."

I shrank back, trying to disappear into my seat. "No, you don't understand. I really can't. I can't face it."

We were on our way to dinner. With both sets of parents. Dinner with the parents, when everyone knew I was slowly going mad. Had watched as I took a baseball bat to everything that was good in my life and set about destroying it.

"You have to, Amber. They're waiting for us."

"But I'm brooooooooooken," I howled through the sobs that suddenly overwhelmed me. "I'm broken and I can't DO this."

"What? What can't you do?"

"This. Life. I just can't, anymore. I can't do it," I said, then clutched my head hard enough to hurt and began to sob in earnest.

His hands turned white on the steering wheel, and I could tell he was struggling not to cry himself.

"Stop. Stop talking like that. We'll get through this, together. We will. I promise."

Again he reached out, and this time, I let him take my hand. Slowly, my sobs quieted, the agony once more retreating inside my head. When we got to the restaurant, I took a deep breath, stuffed the pain into its closet, and stepped out of the car.

We made it through dinner, his hand clutching mine under the table. Everyone ignored my red eyes. Pretended not to see when I bolted to the bathroom to cry. They forced their smiles and carried on with the celebration, determined to cling to a shell of normalcy.

As for me? I was dying inside. Sunk deep in a pit of depression so crushing that I could hardly breathe. I'd like to tell you that that was the worst of it. The end of it. But it wasn't. Not by a long shot.

Before it was over, I had destroyed friendships, sabotaged my career and dragged Brian to the darkest depths of Hell with me.

This is just one of many, many memories I wish I could erase. But I can't. And that's a good thing. Because they serve as a reminder—a warning. Now, when the symptoms start, I don't ignore them. I slow down, reach out and ask for help.

I was lucky. I survived. Not everyone does. So if you think you might be depressed, don't wait. Get the help you need. It could mean the difference between living...and not.

Ready for some lighter fare? Visit Mama Kat and see the other entries.

Wordful Wednesday: A Look Back.

As I may have mentioned a time or two before, Tori almost always has a camera in her face. So much so, in fact, that when she sees me pull out the camera, she starts to ham it up. And boy, does that girl have a smile...

At this point, we literally have hundreds of pictures of her. But there will always be a few that are my absolute favorites. So, in honor of her seven month birthday, I thought I'd share those with you. Some, indeed, most you've seen before, but indulge me, 'kay? Mama's feeling nostalgic today.
  
At  three weeks, she starred in her first photo shoot. This is the pic that took center stage on her birth announcement.

Here she is on her two month birthday. Couldn't you just eat her up?

 

At three months,  she was starting to smile for the camera.

 

By four months, she was practicing her tripod position.

By five? Blowing bubbles was the new sitting.

At six months, it was all about discovering what she could put in her mouth. This daisy was enjoying its last moments...

 


















And at seven months? Well, we don't have those pictures yet. She's newly mobile, so getting her to sit still is something of a trick. Hopefully, next weekend I'll manage to get her to stay in one place long enough to say "babababababa" for the camera.

After all, there's always next Wednesday... Now head over to Seven Clown Circus and check out the rest of this week's entries.

I'm Gonna Get Me a Tiara.

I am not particularly pretty. Or talented. But thanks to Trisha over at MomDot.com, I've got a chance to win my very first pageant—and, I guess, so do all of you. She's holding a blogging contest, which will involve competing in blogging activities from November 9-20.

Oh, and there will be judges. Secret judges. Judging our entries. But, you, my dear readers, are encouraged to cheer for me (loudly) and help me get my tiara. Or, if you decide to play too, you can talk smack about me (but I'd rather you didn't. I'm fragile, you know).

But don't you worry. I will win a tiara. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a little competitive. Now, to enter, you have to answer some questions...but they didn't say you had to follow the questionnaire to the letter.

So here it is. My official entry into Bloggers and Tiaras.

Who the heck are you?

I'm Amber. You all know me as the writer of Amber Page Writes, because, well, that's what I do. Write. If you want to find me on twitter, you'll find me at, well, amberpagewrites. I'm in advertising, after all. I have to live the brand.

This is me at the only professional photo shoot I've ever been a part of (alas, alack, alaska, it was pre-baby and twenty odd pounds ago. But I'll get back there, damn it).

Have you made any attempts at earning a tiara before?

That would be a resounding no. I'm pretty sure if I tried, I would be laughed off the stage.

Got any talent?

That would depend on who you ask.  I'm an expert at tripping, falling, walking into immovable objects and otherwise injuring myself. I also turn 500 lovely shades of red when embarrassed, surprised, angry or experiencing strong emotion of any kind. Oh, and I grow some excellent dust bunnies.

We know you're an internet junkie. Now drop and give us five...sites that is.

Only five? But I visit so many! Well, there's twitter, of course. And facebook. Those are not just daily destinations, but semi-hourly checkpoints. I also check in at blogher and Jezebel, and...wait for it...Google Reader.

Show us you're a well-rounded person. What's your favorite thing to do when not blogging?

Sleep? No, I'm pretty sure that doesn't count. Truthfully, I read. Books, blogs, billboards...if it's got words, I read it. Yeah, I'm pretty exciting.
 

You've got unlimited vacation time and all the money in the world. Where do you go?

I would rent a luxurious villa on a tropical island. It would, of course, be oceanfront, with a coral reef within snorkeling distance. There would be an infinity pool, gourmet food, calorie-free pina coladas, and (this may be sacrilege) no internet access.

Who's your blogging hero?

Well, like so many others, I started blogging because of dooce.  I mean, come on, she's actually managed to make a career out of it—complete with a book and TV appearances. Say what you will, that woman's a force to be reckoned with. But Jen Lancaster is a close second. She's a riot—and she's on her fifth book.

You're a magazine cover girl for a day. Which one do you choose and why?

Hmmm. This one's tough. But to be completely vain, I'd want it to be a fashion magazine. Glamour comes to mind. Why? Because I want to be fussed over by makeup artists and hair stylists. I want to wear the pretty clothes. And I want to see what I would look like after being subjected to all that photoshopping work. And at least Glamour uses real(ish)-looking women. Don't tell my daughter that I'm not a real feminist 'kay?

Tell the truth…you want a tiara, don’t you?

Damn straight. I always did like to play dress up.

What does blogger success mean to you?

Well, in my wildest dreams, I get a gigantic audience and a multi-volume book deal so profitable that instead of vacationing on that tropical island, I can live there. But more realistically? I just hope to be entertaining enough to develop a semi-respectable readership, become a slightly less small fish in the bloggin' pond, and make even more friends.

Because the comments I get and the friends I'm finding? Are what make it all worthwhile.

The Ins and Outs of Social Media According to Me.

Yesterday, in a fit of pique, I de-friended someone on facebook. Why? Well, because she said something that offended me. I know, that's part of life on facebook. But she did it on my status thread. And when I responded to her comment, she replied in a way that pissed me off even more.

But that’s not when she got deleted. Oh, no. I spent the next several hours stewing (because that’s the way I roll), then fired off what I thought was a fairly diplomatic response. One that was carefully worded to make my feelings clear without actually accusing her of being an asshole (although clearly she was. Being an asshole, that is).

And you know what? Her reply made hulk EVEN MORE ANGRY.

That’s when I hit the big red X. And just like that, she was deleted from my life. Poof. Gone.

It felt good. For a few minutes. But then, being the hyper-sensitive, overly-anxious-to-please doormat that I am, I began to feel guilty. I wondered if she would notice. I almost sent her an apologetic friend request, but didn’t.

And that's when I began to wonder. What are the rules? When is it acceptable to de-friend (or re-friend) someone? Do you have to accept a friend request? What about twitter? I'm sure loftier minds than mine have come up with the answers, but quite frankly, I'm too lazy to go look for them.

So I started to assemble my own lists of, I don't know, dos and don'ts?  Here's what I've come up with so far:

facebook

When I first logged on to facebook, I didn't have any idea how I was going to use it. So I accepted anybody's friend request—my best friend's ex-boyfriend, my real estate agent, heck even my boss's boss had access to my profile.

But as I got into it, I realized facebook is not the place for business contacts. Rather, I use it to connect with friends and family—mostly people I don't see every day. Sure, I'm connected to most of my work friends, but they're not the focus of my activities there. That's when I learned to separate people into lists—and control who has access to what.

These days, before accepting a friend request, I ask myself, "Would I want to get a beer with this person?" If the answer is no, then you know what? I'm going to ignore you.

There's one exception to this rule—old high school acquaintances. I might not want to go to the reunion, but I still want to know what those frenemies are doing (unfortunately, not as badly as one would wish, for the most part).

Once I've accepted your friendship, I generally won't un-friend you (except in a fit of rage). However, if you're obnoxious, I will hide you. It's the passive agressive way to deal with negativity on facebook. Also, if you start trying to sell me something? Consider yourself cut.

twitter
 
Twitter is a different animal entirely. Most of my tweeps are people I've never met in real life. They're simply folks I find interesting, funny or just entertaining. Most of them are bloggers, a few of them are advertising gurus with a sprinkling of celebs thrown in, just for good measure.

Likewise, most of the people who follow me wouldn't know me if they passed me in the street. In fact, I'm amazed that more than 200 people actually find me interesting enough to follow my stream. Many of them are simply being polite. Apparently it's rude not to follow someone back if they follow you. But I still feel I should try to be entertaining.

So, I think about my tweets as mini blog posts, for the most part. You hear that advice all the time, but I try my best to capture the same flavor of junk I write here...only shorter.

Also, it is a community. So you have to participate in the conversation. Which is tough when you're flitting in and out during a workday and such, but I try. When I can. By the way, if I seem exceptionally conversational? You can bet it's a slow and/or crappy day at the office.

blogging

Let's face it. Without readers, you're just talking to yourself. Which is, you know. Kind of pointless? Also, if people do comment on your posts, it's only polite to talk back. Otherwise you come off as...vain (By the way, I know I'm bad about this. But I'm trying to get better!).

So, how do you get readers? By getting out there. Reading and commenting on other people's blogs. And making friends. At least, that's what I'm trying to do. It's a lot of fun! There are so many smart, funny and wickedly entertaining people out there, I could spend all day just reading blogs.

One of these days, I'll get around to updating my blog roll, and then you can all see just how addicted to blogging I am. But for now, you'll just have to take my word for it.

I could go on, but I have a feeling I've already talked your ears off for far too long. So I'll leave it there for now. What do you guys think? How do you use social media?







 

A Glimpse Into the Way the Other Half Lives.

For the last few days, I've been pretending I'm a stay at home mom. My daycare provider went out of town, so I played hooky from work on Thursday and Friday to be...well, mom. And you know what? It was lovely.

Not that she was an angel. As a matter of fact, she's been in full on grumposaurus mode all weekend. Between the shots on Thursday and the two teeth that are working their way through her gums, she's been a crabby mess.

But she was my crabby mess. I didn't have to bundle her sobbing little body into her car seat and hand her off to someone else to take care of. I didn't have to wonder if she was eating, or sleeping, or if she was just fussing her way through the day.

Nope. I was there to dry her tears, coax her into eating and tease her out of her grumpiness (temporarily). We read books, played drums and endless games of peekaboo. We napped on the couch, played in the rain and danced in the living room.

I even got some laundry done.

Best of all, the semi-permanent knot between my shoulders began to dissipate. For once, I didn't have to split my focus, or try to do two things at once. I could just be with Tori. It was refreshing.

I had forgotten how much your pace changes—slows, really—when your primary responsibility is caring for your baby.  I'm guessing when you do it every day, it could start to drive you nuts, but I didn't mind. Not one bit. To be perfectly cheesy, all that one-on-one time with my daughter was balm for my soul.

I only wish I could have more days like that. But that's not in the cards for this working mama. So instead, I'll just be grateful for the time I do get...and be sure to schedule myself as many four day weekends as possible next year.