Oh, how I love Pinterst

I love Pinterest. LOVE Pinterest. Really, really LOVE Pinterest. Am I clear on this? Here's why I think it has literally changed my life.

• I am the queen of browsing the web and thinking, "That's cool. I'll bookmark it and come back to it later." Then, when "later" comes around I can either not find the bookmark in my mess of bookmarks or forget I bookmarked it all together. Essentially, Pinterest has made it so I never have to bookmark anything every again!
• 2012 is my year of self improvement. I know, lame, right? Well, it really is and I'm off to a running start...but that's a whole other post. As I push through 2012, one of my personal challenges is to up the way I dress. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't say I've ever been "fashion-challenged." I love clothing and trends. Pinterest, however, exposes me to beautifully coordinated outfits and clothing items I may not have ever considered.
• I also adore decorating my home and Pinterest allows me to not only see what other people are posting when it comes to decor and organization, but I have a place to organize my design dreams.

Pinterest is awesome. If you aren't already on Pinterest, follow me today!

Oh to be so glam...

The other day an old friend of mine told me that she thinks my life is glamorous.  "What?" I said.  "You think my life is glamorous?!"  I was sitting on the sofa, typing on my computer in sweatpants, ugg boots, and the thermal I had worn the day before.  (And let's be clear...they were ugg-style boots bought at Costco.)  It was almost noon and I still hadn't had a shower.  The baby was sleeping and I was anxiously waiting for a repairman to come and restore the spin cycle to my machine.

Most days I feel like a slow moving train, moving through life on the same tracks I traveled on the day before.  There was once a time when I didn't leave the house without "putting my face on" and these days there's days I feel fortunate to find the time to apply the emergency lip gloss and mascara I keep in my car.  And showers?  You know where I'm going with this.  I don't get a shower every day.  Some days its impossible.  In order to make it happen yesterday, I had to confine the baby to his stroller in our bathroom so I could get a quick four-minute rinse in before picking up my son from kindergarten.  You should have seen the look on my husband's face when he went to get ready for bed last night and found a stroller in the middle of the bathroom.

There are days I come home from pushing the 100+ lb. pound cart around Costco and feel like an ox that's been in its yoke all day.  You know what I'm talking about.  You feel like you've used every ounce of energy your body can muster.  I walk in the bathroom and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror--fully expecting the Wicked Witch complete with green skin--and realize that maybe I'm not quite as haggard and worn out as I had imagine in my mind's eye.  I realize that I am, in fact, weathering my days of motherhood and my husband's incredibly long hours much better than I give myself credit for.  And on that day maybe I even actually did my hair or found time for mascara, lip gloss, and a little blush or had a successful meeting with a client or got to visit my husband on the set.  My life isn't glamorous, but maybe it's a little more spectacular than I give it credit for.

Life with 3

I love having three kids. Baby C has definitely completed our family.  He rounds us out and brings so much joy and happiness every day.  There's nothing I love more the his smiling face looking up at me from his crib each morning.

My boys are a blessing.  They are sweet and loving and charming and smart and fun.  And with all that being said, I must admit that sometimes having three children is hard.  I mean really hard.  Harder than I ever imagined.  Ever since Baby C came into the picture, I have felt like I've been treading water.  My house is a mess.  A mess.  I forget important dates and events.  It's really tough for me to stay afloat.  Things like mailing a package at the post office or taking the time to find the perfect birthday gift for my husband (or even having the forethought to plan out a special day) feel like they are completely out of my reach.  My head feels like it's racing a million miles a minute all day long.

And there's the pressures of being a mom--scholastic, social, and personal.  A is in kindergarten.  Do I read with him enough?  Should I be overly concerned that he missed two on his addition homework?  B is in preschool and every mom there looks she just walked off the cover of Cookie magazine at the 9a.m. drop off.  Nice, right?  I look more like Shrek at that time.  And then there's sweet Baby C.  I still haven't gotten my sweet angel's Christmas pictures taken!  It's January 10 for goodness sakes!!!

Do you ever feel this way?  I know these times will pass and maybe I'm too hard on myself.  But there's time when it just feels like I can't be the mom and wife I want to be.

A Chance Encounter

It was an encounter that lasted five, maybe ten seconds max.  I was walking through the grocery store.  It was "one of those days."  I had been spit up on and wiped more butts than I would like to count.  I hadn't gotten a shower and now I was wrangling three boys at dinner time through the grocery store to get milk.  Why oh why must they put the milk in the back of the store?!

Like I said, the encounter was maybe ten seconds max but I think it hit us both like a ton of bricks.  She was walking toward me.  She had brown hair to her mid back.  She was think and pretty.  Her make-up looked amazing and she was wearing a fabulous skirt and sweater...maybe from Banana Republic...finished off with a great pair of heals.  She was in her early to mid 20s.  Our eyes met.  I looked at her and thought, "I used to be her!"  Truly.  It was like seeing myself ten years ago.  Confident and pulled together running through the market to grab one last ingredient for dinner after a day at the office, heals clicking on the supermarket floor as the cool lining of my skirt brushed against my fat-free thighs.  I was her.

And as our eyes met, I swear I saw a look of pity and then terror sweep her face.  I think she saw in me that we looked very similar--same build, hair, complexion, height--except for one major thing: I looked like I'd been run through the mill.  The boys were being outrageous.  The baby was whining...on the verge of a meltdown.  I was playing interference trying to make sure Fruit Loops didn't find their way into the cart and breaking up the game of who-can-hit-who-first.  As I read the look on her face she instantly pitied me, as it didn't take a psychology degree to figure out I was at my breaking point.  But then, I swear the look turned to terror...or at least fear.  Fear of becoming me in some crazy parallel universe.  I meekly smiled and she looked away.

I didn't see her again in the market but the brief encounter allowed me to reflect on how life changes without even knowing it.  I used to be that woman in the business clothes and clicking heals and in what feels like the blink of an eye, I am mommy.  And while it would be easy to mourn who I was in my 20s, I'm finding strength in the idea of how I will be reinvented in the next ten years.  Ten years from now, my oldest son will be 15 and I'm sure we will walk through the grocery store at dinner time to pick up the last minute essentials--only without tantrums and pleas for Fruit Loops and who-can-hit-who-first contests.  And I'm sure from time to time we'll run into mommies with little ones who are all haggard from the day's events and unknowing of the baby spit crusted in their hair.  I will see me in them and give them a smile and a nod and a "keep your chin up."

From that brief ten second encounter I have been reminded to embrace my current self, appreciate the past, and look forward to the future.  A lot can change in ten years.  I look forward to seeing where life takes me.

New Year's Resolution

I suppose this wouldn't be a proper blog without a post about my New Year's resolutions.  I make them every year and 2010 was the first time I actually stuck with them and saw (most) of them through.  I worked hard to try and downsize the "stuff" and eat healthier.  I also vowed to be more "in the moment" with my kids.  The eating healthy kick lasted until some time around October or November--the rest of them I worked on throughout the year.  I wasn't always successful in decluttering or living in the moment, but I was always conscious of my need to be at least trying.

2011 is going to be different than last year and the years before that.  I am claiming that 2011 is going to be the year I'm putting on my big girl panties.  That's right.  Big. Girl. Panties.  I seem to spend a lot of time in life worrying about what other people think or feel about me and in the process devaluing my own experiences and feelings.  Sometimes I look in the mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back at me and that's going to change in 2011.  I feel like over the last decade I have lost sight of who I am and what I love and what makes me happy.  This year, I am going to embrace the things I love and care about myself as much as I care about my children and husband and all of the other people I cherish. 

In life, it's so easy to get lost in role of wife and mother.  Sometimes it's just easier to be what everyone wants you to be, to care about what they care about.  This year, I need to refocus a bit on me because if I am a me that I love and I am happy with, I can be a better mother, wife, and friend.  I am going to live in the moment, cherish the people and things I love, lead a healthier lifestyle, and focus on the things that truly make me happy while minimizing the negative things (and people) that bring me down.

I am slowly pulling on my big girl panties, and it feels awesome.  I encourage everyone who reads this to pull on their big girl panties in 2011--make positive changes and take control.  Get in touch with yourself, what you love, and what makes you happy and in the process we can all be better moms, sisters, friends, wives, and daughters.

What's up with 3D?

You'll have to excuse me for a moment while I slip into my granny panties, but I've gotta pose a questions.  What's up with the whole 3D craze?  3D is everywhere--TV, movies, books, even video games.  I just don't get it.  Let's get one thing straight.  If they medium is in 3D, it still isn't real.  Let's get another thing straight.  3D add much to most movies or television shows.  All 3D does is add extra cost to whatever it's tagged on to and...well...give me a headache!  Ugh.  That's all.  I'll go drink my prune juice and yell at some kids on my lawn.

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: Happy Thanksgiving

Here's what I'm thankful for...

My baby love.

My super sweet snuggle love.

My caring, sensitive, first born love.

My one and only love.  Forever.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.  What are you thankful for?

No Sugar and Spice, But Life Is Still Nice

I am a mother of three boys.  When you add a husband and male dog into the mix, I am clearly a woman swimming in a sea of testosterone.  I am a girly girl living in a guys’ world.  I’m a dress-wearing, hair-curling, pink-loving kind of gal.  I love to shop and decorate and make crafts. I adore antique furniture and vintage hats and gloves.  I collect teacups and bits and pieces of sterling silver.  I have not one but four sets of china.  I am just about as girly as it gets.

I love my boys with all of my heart and when I found out my third baby was going to be a boy, I tried not to let it bother me.  I already had two boys whom I adore and knew that my third boy would be just as amazing as the first two, yet deep down inside I felt a strange pain clawing its way up to the surface.  Several days later, it hit me that I was not having a little girl and my world was tipped off of its axis.  How could this be?  How could I not have a daughter?  Who would I pass all of my girly antiques on to one day when I was old and gray?  I would never have a daughter to go shopping with or go to lunch with.  I would never go prom dress shopping or have “the talk” with my little girl.  I would never stand next to my daughter in the delivery room just like my mom did with me all three times.  I would never have all of the experiences I have had with my mom and grandmother.  As these facts became clear to me, I became depressed and guilty.  I was depressed that I would be missing out on the mother-daughter relationship I had always dreamed about.  I felt guilty for being disappointed that the beautiful, wonderful, healthy baby in my belly was a boy.

I struggled and cried in secret.  I was ashamed of my feelings.  And then after a few days of really looking into myself, I came to the realization that it was and is ok to feel that way.  There is nothing wrong for having wanted a daughter and in the end I allowed myself to mourn the relationship I will never have.  I gave myself time to grieve and reflect on my feelings and past expectation.  After a few weeks, I came out on the other end feeling so much better and ready to parent my three boys in a way that will make them wonderful husbands to someone else’s daughters.  I realized that having three healthy, happy, and wonderful sons is my path in life.  I was put on this earth to teach my boys how to treat a woman right and how to live their lives with respect and dignity.  And lucky for my boys and me, I have a wonderful husband who consistently sets just such an example for them.

The other day, my mom spent the day tending to and laying in bed with my sick grandmother.  They talked about jewelery and clothes and what was on QVC.  Sometimes they laid in silence, both lost in their memories.  My mom told me it was something just a mother and daughter could do together.  While I was happy that my mom and grandmother shared that time together, the statement instantly hit me in the heart.  I cannot deny my disappointment that I will not get to experience these same moments with my own daughter.  I don’t think that it is something I will ever get over.  But I would never, ever trade my beautiful boys and all of the amazing moments we share now and will share in the future for anything.

The Wanna Be Perfectionist

As a mother, I always try to put my best foot forward.  I try to offer my children a lot of enriching experiences and work hard to guide them into being polite and well behaved.  A mommy friend of mine once said that she was jealous of how much I “had it all figured out” as a mom.  I remember looking at her in shock and thinking to myself, “…if she only knew…”

I’m here to state for the record that I don’t have it all together—not even close.  I’m a joke and a sham.  I do get out with the kids a lot.  I do teach my kids about new and different things.  I bake cookies and cakes with them and read to them.  But then there’s the other side of me–the side that kept me from having play dates at my house for the first four years of my oldest son’s life.  The side of me that shutters at the thought of a friend stopping by for a surprise visit.  My house is a mess.  That’s it.  There it is.  As I type this, there is a Leaning Tower of Pisa of Laundry that I am clearly neglecting to fold.  My house is not dirty…it’s messy.  I am terribly unorganized.  My entryway and master bedroom closets are downright danger zones.  I wish I could get it together enough to be one of those super moms who keeps their house super neat and tidy, but I just can’t do it.  I’ve tried.

I am terribly embarrassed by the fact that I can’t keep my house the way that I want it.  In fact, this flaw deterred me from having but a few play dates in our home in my oldest son’s first four years of life.  I mean, what would people think of me if they knew I kept a less than perfect house?  I felt bad because as every parent knows, you reap what you sow when it comes to play dates and my son was not invited to lots of play dates since I rarely had other children over here…and when I did it was only after several hours of tidying up.

This all went on until last year when I was talking with a teacher at my school.  She was just about to retire and as we cleaned the room we shared, she told me a story that her daughter (who is my age) had recently told her regarding her childhood.   She said, “Mom, you know how you used to be embarrassed that our house wasn’t perfect when I was a kid?  Well, there’s a funny thing about that.  All of my friends loved coming to our house because they didn’t have to worry about getting yelled at for leaving toys out.  As I got older my friends like to hang out at our place because it was comfortable and they didn’t feel like they were in a museum.  I know you hated it, Mom, but I loved it and so did my friends.”

I’m not quite sure why my friend told me this story or how it came up in the course of conversation.  Perhaps she sensed that I was a lot like her from the stacks and stacks of papers on my desk.  Maybe she just sensed that we were kindred spirits—fake perfectionists who want the world to see us how we wish we were.  Whatever made her tell me that story changed my outlook on play dates, kids, and other moms.  I have had a lot more play dates since that day and I’ve tried to not be so consumed with making the house perfect before the child crosses my threshold.  I learned that day that kids don’t really care if I have a stack of laundry on the sofa that needs to be folded…and quite frankly their moms probably don’t either.

Just Make Me Beautiful!

Dear Cosmetics and Hair Care Manufacturers,

Please stop lying to me. I'm sick of it. I'm specifically tired of the following fibs:

• "100% gray coverage"
  That's just crap and you know it. Oh, sure. If you have ONE gray hair, I'm sure it covers it just fine. Now I don't have a TON of gray, but I have enough to know they are there and enough to see that they aren't all covered after I dye my hair. And for the record, I did dyed my hair exactly how I was supposed to.
• "eliminate dark circle"
  More poppy cock. Really? Does that mean you get up with the baby at night to, Mr. Eye Cream. You are a liar.
• "All-day coverage"
  I don't know about you, but my makeup doesn't look fabulous at the end of the day.
• Plumps lips
  Uhhh...unless the tube of lipstick comes with a guy in a white coat and a needle full of something expensive, I doubt it. 
• Longer, fuller lashes
  Maybe I'm crazy, but I've never really been able to notice the difference between most mascaras.

Although I love getting my hopes up that cosmetics will make me look like what I'm not (or what I used to be), I think I might appreciate a little more honesty--like "covers most grays" or "will stay on your face for most of the day unless it's the middle of the summer then forget it"...you get where I'm going.

Sincerely,
Me :)

Me and The Bulls Eye Boutique

Dear Target,

I have a hate/love relationship with you.  Yes, hate/love and not love/hate.  I hate that I love you.  I hate that you cast a magical spell over me every time I pull into your parking lot and walk through your automatic doors.

Why is it that you will not allow me to walk out to my car without spending at least $100?  I may be running in for a loaf of bread or can of infant formula, but I am sure to walk out with much, much more every single time.  You continuously mock me having the clothing section right by the checkout.  You know that I cannot resist another tank top for $9 because you can never have enough tanks.  And those $1 bins are like crack to my kids and me.  Shame on you for supplying such a powerful drug.

I would also like to take issue with your clearance sections.  Those red clearance signs with their bright white letters call to me like sirens who crash ships.  Those signs taunt me with their bargains on misfit items that I would never look at if they weren't donning red clearance stickers showing the item is now 30% off.  Five minutes ago I didn't need a new welcome mat, waffle iron, or napkin holder, but now...because they are on clearance...they are headed for my cart.

And let's talk about the fact that you now have a huge grocery section.  I don't need to go anywhere else!  I can get my eye glasses, prescription medicines, groceries, clothes, diapers, sheets, and gardening supplies all in one store.  If you just sold gas and had a doctor's office, I don't think I would ever have to leave.

Oh, Target.  How I hate that I love you!

Love/Hate,
Me

Three Stikes and You're Out, Sears!

There are certain stores and restaurants in town that we just refuse to patronize and it is always due to poor service or quality.  Once we make this decision, they are "on the list."  My friends know that we take "the list" pretty seriously.  If we are out with friends or family and they suggest one of the places on "the list" we tell them that it is not an option and they can't have our money.

Once in a while, we forget why a business is on "the list" and make the mistake of going back.  This is one such story.  I hadn't been to Sears in about four years, in spite of there being one about about two miles from our house.  There's been times I've wanted to go there for things like a filter for for the water in the fridge or a tool for a job my husband's working on around the house, but I always keep on driving to the next closest "unlisted" business.

Right after Baby C was born we got a card in the mail for a big package of pictures for only $4.99 at the Sears portrait studio.  What a deal, right?  Given the fact that I hadn't had the time to take him to JCPenney to get his pictures done (I love JCPenney portraits!), one afternoon when my parents took the other boys to their house we decided to run over there real fast and get pictures done at Sears.  Now, one of the reasons we had put Sears on the list was because of their poor picture quality when my oldest son was a baby.  I had hoped that by now the quality had improved.

When we arrived at Sears, the store was just as "ghetto" and old school Montgomery Ward style as I remembered.  I tried to give the portrait studio the benefit of the doubt, as they were in the midst of remodeling.  The session went fine--as well as can be expected with a baby.  The photographer was patient and nice, but oddly sucked on a lollipop the entire time.  I was told to pick up my pictures on July 3.  The date stuck in my head because I had to pick something else up at the mall the same day.

Well, life happened and I didn't make it to Sears on July 3, but I did truck all three kids into Sears on the July 6.  We parked on the second floor, rode the elevator up to the third floor and waited...and waited for the employee to find our pictures.  After a trip to the bathroom with the kids, I returned to the desk to find out that I had been given the wrong date and they wouldn't be in until July 9.  I was fuming.  Anyone with three kids under 6 knows that getting all of them out of the car and through a department store without a fruitful end is very, very frustrating.  Strike one, Sears.

I received a call from Sears on July 8 to let me know my pictures were in.  I received another call yesterday, July 14 reminding me they were in and wanting to know what day and time I would be there.  I told her I didn't know and I would be there when I could.  I drove over there in the afternoon and parked on the third floor so that I could not have to deal with the elevator once inside the store.  I got everyone out of the car and the baby in the stroller only to find that the good folks at Sears had decided to no longer use their entrance on the third floor.  The bridge from the parking structure to the doors was still intact, as were the doors...only their handles had been taken off and they had put paper on the windows.  What?  Are you kidding me?  I had to walk through the structure to a mall entrance and then walk through the mall and through Sears to get to the portrait studio.  Strike two, Sears.

After collecting my pictures, which were very cute, I decided to head downstairs to the appliance section, as our second refrigerator seems to be on its last leg.  I looked at the refrigerators as my two older boys ran around like monkeys trying to open every fridge in the store.  There was no missing us.  I searched and waited for a sales person for 15 minutes before finding someone in the electronics department who in turn went into the back and found someone who was not on the sales floor to come help me...one of only two customers in the appliance department.  Now I know I haven't been to Sears in a long time, but one of the last times I did go there was when I was shopping for appliances for our kitchen and I know for a fact that every time I went there, I could barely walk by the department without being asked if I needed help.

When a salesperson finally did come out, he barely gave the the time of day.  He could barely tell me about the rebates, as he was distracted by his cell phone the entire time.  In the end my "Blue Crew Appliance Specialist" (ha, ha!) told me that I needed to look into the rebates myself and when I asked him about credit offers, he checked his cell phone AGAIN!  I told him that I was sorry to interrupt his cell phone time and that I would be on his way.  He told me that he just kept checking the time because he had to go to lunch.  Oh, that's sooo much better...NOT.  I walked away in disgust and told him his customer service skills were CRAP.  I've never said anything quite so ugly to ANYONE, but then again, I have never had a salesperson quite like this guy.

On my way back to the elevator, I asked the cashier in the tool department for the store manager's name and number.  She quickly got the manager on the phone.  I relayed what had just happened.  She gave me a very half-hearted apology with the caveat that they were short-handed.  That was it.  Strike three, Sears.  You're OUT and you are on "the list."

Sears sucks.  Period.  I said it.  I haven't always hated Sears.  We actually registered there when we got married so we could get things like tools, etc.  This time, however, I have learned my lesson.  I will not go back to Sears.  Not in four years, not ever.  In the next week or so,  I plan on going to the Home Depot to buy the GE refrigerator I was set on buying yesterday.

This Time of Year

Yesterday was the last day of school for our school district and there's something about this time of year that makes me so emotional. Today I committed the act I try to avoid at all costs: driving by our local high school when it is lunch time or when school has just gotten out. Today I drove by as school got out. Ugh! It takes at least five minutes to go from one end of the school to the other when this unfortunate navigational misfortune takes place. My blood typically boils when the kids refuse to let the cars pass and take forever to walk in the crosswalks, but today was a bit different.

As my SUV slowly crawled down the street, I was instantly transported back to my years at Pacifica High School and my own personal feelings that came with the end of the year. I loved seeing the yearbooks my friends and I had worked so hard designing in our fellow students' hands. I loved the idea of three months of freedom. I adored that excitement of feeling full of possibilities and the fresh slate of the following school year.

And within that five minute crawl past the high school, my eyes fell upon a group of boys talking. I imagined they were making plans for the summer. Swimming at one boy's pool perhaps? Summer jobs? Maybe a road trip or what movies they wanted to see together. Then I imagined these boys being MY boys and my eyes welled with tears. They will go to this high school one day. In the not-so-distant future, they will be sharing last-day-of-school pats on the back with a yearbook under one arm. One day, my boys will be like these boys making excited plans for the future, cracking jokes, and goofing around. They'll be tall and gangly, but have fabulous skin, of course. I tried to pick out which kids my kids will look like and who will make up their group of friends. Will they hang out with the kids on the steps, the kids under the tree, or that big group on the corner. I then slipped into a fairy tale in which my boys want my husband and me to play an active roll in their clubs or teams--a time when I'll wear Burroughs High School red to their games and maybe wear their letterman jacket as I sit in the stands...if they haven't already loaned it to some (stupid) girl.

All of this happened in the span of five minutes. When I pressed the brake pedal at the final stop sign at the corner of the school, I glanced into my back seat and saw three beautiful little boys all in some sort of car seat or booster. Their cheeks are still chubby with baby fat and they all have some sort of shmutz on their faces--even the littlest one had a little dried milk on his chin. As I placed my foot on the accelerator I was instantly thankful for the precious days I have with my little boys and I vowed to treasure the present and look forward to the future.

A Little L.A., A Little OC

I grew up in the O.C. I was a beach girl--the daughter of a surfer. I was a baton twirler who spent her high school Memorial Day weekends in the Garden Grove Strawberry Festival Parades. I cruised Balboa with my friend Tracey listening to Color Me Bad and sneaked my way in to Knott's Berry Farm more times than I can count. (I knew every trick in the book.) I was O.C. through and through. So when I got married back in 2000 and agreed to move to Studio City (L.A.) with my husband who is in the entertainment industry, I was truly a fish out of water.

Giving up my life in Orange County (and Long Beach) was not easy. I gave up my hair place, doctors, the florist (yes I had a florist!), malls and stores, restaurants, family, and friends. The big city feel of L.A. scared the crap out of me. I'm not going to lie, people drive CRAZY here! I felt like everyone looked different than me and I certainly didn't feel cool enough to fit in with the people I did meet. I saw a celebrity almost every time I went to the grocery store...and I'm not talking about B listers either. It was tough to start a marriage in a land I didn't know. I was starting over. No friends, family, or familiar haunts. We hadn't lived together prior to being married. In fact, we had only ever spent time together on the weekends, so needless to say, it was not an easy adjustment all the way around.

When I lived in Orange County, I believe that the world revolved around those of us behind the Orange Curtain. Now that I'm here, I've gotten a much bigger picture and better appreciation for the fabric of California as a whole. This September, my husband and I will have been married 10 years and during that decade something pretty awesome has happened. I've started to become more adjusted to life in L.A. I used to drive with white knuckles through the streets of Hollywood during my occasional trips "over the hill" and now zip through Hollywood's crowded streets without a second thought. I like that every house is old and they all have a story. I have grown to love that I live in an "industry town" in which the moms at the park understand what it's like to have a husband who has to leave on a shoot for days, weeks, or even months at a time. I love that I live where I can walk to a bakery, restaurant, antique stores, the hardware store, and world famous studios all within minutes.

Now, almost ten years after living here, I am now at a crossroads in which I've discovered that I'm not an O.C. or L.A. gal. I read the L.A. blogs and most of the time I don't feel like I connect with them. In fact, I still feel a bit like an outsider when I talk with a lot of other women here in La-La land. And while I try to keep up with what's going on in Orange County, I know longer fit there. I'm used to driving like a maniac, trendy shops every few blocks, and the diversity I just don't recall from my days in the north O.C. Not feeling like I truly fit in in my past or my present is a strange sensation. I carry a lot of what I grew up with in West Garden Grove but have grown to love and value where I am raising my children. I guess I'm a Californian stuck between my past and my present hoping to instill in my boys the best of both.

Getting Back On Track

It's been five and a half weeks since Baby C joined our family. We've gotten through the toughest of the newborn days but still have rough patches here and there. C's smile is amazing and melts my heart every single time. My other boys adore him too and are always happy and willing to give him a bottle when I'm too busy to sit down and nurse him.

I had a minor setback the other day, personally. Someone I am close to made a crack about me still carrying my baby weight. I was crushed. As I've mentioned before, weight is a really big deal to me. I had thought that I had done a pretty good job up until that point of camoflaging my ample thighs and belly, but apparently it wasn't good enough. Now before you go and say nasty things about the person who made the comment, let's just say that they "didn't know any better" and leave it at that. I have to turn the other cheek and just move on from the comment. Move on and do something about it, that is.

I started eating better and I've already seen another pound shed off by controlling my desire for after-dinner desserts. I've cut out "naughty" breakfasts and replaced them with a (measured) bowl of Special K, a banana, and strawberries each morning. (I'm allowing one splurge breakfast per week.) I'm really controlling my portions and allowing myself healthy snacks when I need them. But on top of it all, as if from heaven, one of my girlfriends emailed me today and asked if I would like to run the Disneyland 5K in September.

It's on! I'm doing it! I haven't been on my treadmill since the first trimester of my pregnancy and I've NEVER ran a 5K or to the corner of my street for that matter. I'm going to take it slow, but this 5K is the perfect motivator to get my booty moving again. I have a big press event June 10 and hopefully I'll seena bit more trim me in the mirror by then. I know that I can do this! And when all is said and done, I eventually want to lose 20 pounds, I know I need to take it one day and pound at a time.

How Did This Happen?

I'm now in my 39th weeks pregnant with my third son.  I've made no secret that I'm not a huge fan of being pregnant and now I must admit to the fact that I'm...just plain HUGE.  I told myself I wouldn't get this way this time...but I let it happen.  I gave myself license to eat things I would never normally touch.  Because of my discomfort, I stopped exercising, which I had vowed not to do.  Basically, I had planned on doing "everything right" this time around.  Ummm...not so much.

Back during the summer between junior high and high school my battle with weight began.  I packed on a good 20 to 30 pounds that summer.  From there I yo-yo'ed up and down for most of high school.  I used to gain and lose weight so quickly that I once "outgrew" my clothes while on our family's two-week vacation and had to wear my dad's jeans.  No teenage girl wants that to happen.

My senior year in high school, I finally got all of the weight off and dropped to about 108.  I went on the most unhealthy of weight loss plans--I barely ate.  Mixed with my new love of swimming on the swim team, I was what I thought to be fabulously slim and trim.  That is until one day a friend told me that I was a little too slim and trim.  She had me look in the mirror and pointed out to my purtruding collar bones.  I was not just thin but way too thin.  She told that I was so thin that I was wasting away and that she couldn't see me any more until I got my problem under control.  That was a wake-up call for me.

For most of college and into my married life, I had my weight issues under control.  I straddled the line between thin and too thin carefully and tried not to get to hard on myself when I would fluxuate by five pounds every now and then.

After my first baby, I lost most of the weight within the first year or so.  With my second child, I lost most of the weight in about a year too, but that year was very, very difficult for me.  I fell into my old feelings about my body and let my issues about weight consume me.  My body image and how I appeared to people around me plagued my thoughts. 

And now, I'm huge again.  I've never made it this far in a pregnancy; my other sons had already been born by this far along.  I'm so incredibly uncomfortable, it is hard for me to move, which means I just keep getting bigger and bigger.  (I swear that this baby is going to rip through my ribs at any moment.)  It's gotten to the point that I don't even want to look at myself in the mirror when I'm wearing a tank top or (GASP) naked.

I have a feeling in the months to come, I will be dealing a lot with my weight issues and the troubling roller coaster of pounds and emotions I have been on since I was so very young.  It's my thing, it makes me crazy, and I will undoubtedly be putting a lot of pressure on myself to look like I used to.  I'm just warning you now, because this will probably be the place where I vent and cry and whine.

A Secret Hiding Place

Kids love secret hiding places--forts, treehouses, clubhouses. My kids love to build forts out of blankets and hide away in their Star Wars tents for hours. My friend Pam and I have a fantasy of a hide away of our own. We talk about it all the time--nothing fancy, of course. We dream about a place where we can just get away to every once in a while, perhaps a studio apartment. This amazing place would be girly and stylish. It would be free of toys and other small debris that make you scream in the night when their sharp edges jab into your bare feet. It would be a place where the freezer was always stocked with the ice cream and Lean Cuisines WE like and where it is perfectly acceptable to watch Lifetime movies without criticism. There would be no apple juice in the fridge or raisins between the sofa cushions.

Most importantly, this place has two beds. They are soft, comfy beds...and no one steals the covers. And speaking of these beds, while in them, no one wakes us up at the crack of dawn requesting a cup of milk or to watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. This place is the girls' hideaway that we half joke about sharing one day. It's a place where we can go for a night--together or alone--to just get from it all and come back to our families recharged and refreshed. No laundry. No dishes to clean. No bottoms to wipe.

I love my family more than anything on this planet, but sometimes it's nice to just get a little peace and quiet and remember who I was before I possessed "working boobs." Sometimes, it's nice to imagine a place like the apartment I had before I got married. Pam and I lived on the same street when we lived in our single gal apartments, and I sometimes think we are dreaming of very similar hideaways when we discuss our grand plans. It would be a place where we can just zen out and ponder all of the day-to-day little things and life-altering big things that we all allow to fly around in our brains but never have enough time to contemplate.

Let's be real. I would never do it. We would never do it. Financially, it's crazy and well, the idea of being able to get away for a night more than once every four years is completely unrealistic. My family needs me too much and I need them too--plus I would feel way too guilty leaving them for my own needs. Pam and I will, however, continue dreaming and talking about our little piece of paradise for years to come--over giant dinners at Lucille's and delicious desserts at Yogurtland.

And even greater than our daydreams about our hideaway is my friendship with Pam because it provides me with a getaway in and of itself. We came together through college, our sorority, and living on the same street...and several other ways as well proving that we were always bound to be friends. I know that I can make it though the ups, downs, good, and bad of motherhood because we are doing it together. I know that she is just an email, texts, or phone call away when I need her and more often than not my conversations with her--long or short--are all I need to recharge and refresh.

I love my friend Pam and you will too. Stop by her blog, Mom is a Four-Letter Word.

Happy Birthday, Dr. Seuss

During a conference today, we suggested to a parent that he should read Dr. Seuss to his student so that she could hear examples of rhyming. He had the following questions:

1. "Is the Dr. Seuss something I can find on the internet?"

2. After explaining that they are popular books he asked, "Can I get these Dr. Seuss at the Nobles?"

3. After explaining it is available at Barnes and Noble I suggested he go to the library. He asked if the library would let him borrow the books for free.

4. "Do I actually have to read the books to my (kindergarten) daughter? Are you sure she can't just do something with this Dr. Seuss online?"

Happy birthday, Dr. Seuss. It's pretty sad that some of today's parents would rather sit their kids in front of web entertainment than read your books. Pretty sad.

I'm Thankful for Blogging

Yesterday I was down in the dumps and being able to blog saved my sanity. Just typing out my thoughts and feelings made me feel so much better.

I think I was "made to blog." I love to write but could never really stick to the journal thing. And while I don't consider myself an attention whore, I do like the idea of there being some sort of audience for my words. It doesn't have to be big...just enough to get occasional feedback.

I have several book ideas that I have tons of material for, but with the kids, it's hard to discipline myself to get the work done. Blogging satisfies my need to write in small doses. Sometimes I blog more than once a day and sometimes I'll let a a week or so pass before I blog again. Blogging is like my little drug and I love it.

One Big Ball of Hormones

I'm now 32 weeks pregnant and I can honestly say that I am one big ball of very emotional hormones. I feel like I have the worst case of PMS on the planet. My fuse is short. I've been crying all day. I've gotten frustrated by the simplest things. I feel like I'm going to jump out of my skin. (That's a fun one.) You know, as if it's not bad enough that I'm swollen (I'm telling myself I'm swollen even though I know I'm actually just FAT), uncomfortable, and achy from my giant belly, but I have the added bonus of being an emotional wreck as well?! I mean come on!!!!

To all of you out there who just LOVED being pregnant, I just don't get it. I mean...really? You "loved" it? Which parts exactly? You "loved" the food aversions? You adored swollen feet and/or ankles? You thought watching your otherwise flat stomach turn into a veiny beach ball was totally hot? Please tell me which part you loved. I'm dying to hear the great part.

Look, I know that the great part of pregnancy comes at the end when I get to meet my beautiful new baby boy and hold him in my arms (and smell like breastmilk and look like a train wreck for the next 9-12 months), but all that aside, let's be real. God must be a man because a woman would never make another woman go through the agony of pregnancy considering what you have to go through with a newborn in the aftermath.

I'm just sayin'.