love, laughter, adventure

the last few months have brought friends and acquaintances passing on well before their time. it's caused me to pause and reevaluate life.

forever i will move like the world that turns beneath me
and when i lose my direction i'll look up to the sky
and when the black cloak drags upon the ground
i'll be ready to surrender, and remember
well we're all in this together
if i live the life i'm given, i won't be scared to die

the life i'm given. these children..this man...they're all that matters.
once the semester has started i'll rarely see him.
work, class, study, ready
repeat
and i have to wonder if it's all worth it.

so much time spent apart from each other.
but he works so we can eat.
and it all seems like such a waste.

last night we went swimming in the dark, nearly 2 hours after our normal bed time.
and i don't regret a thing.

love
laughter
adventure
these are the things i believe in

the rest of life is made of all these silly details. details that don't really matter.

mother

Almost daily I need to remind myself that being a parent is a privilege. Any one can get pregnant and be a birth mother, but it takes an incredible amount of patience and love to be a mommy.

And anyone who tells you that they've never questioned their decision to have kids or wonder what their life would be like if they'd chosen a child free path is a fucking liar.

Me? I think I'd be traveling. Seeing all the places I never made it to. Maybe I'd be riding elephants in exotic places with my camera in hand. Maybe I'd be traveling in a bus with a guitar that I learned how to play because my hands weren't busy changing diapers and nursing babies. Maybe I'd be living in a tiny loft in New York while working for pennies in random art galleries because I just love learning about art history. Who knows... and that's part of the beauty.

You always hear people say that you shouldn't look back or dwell on the past. And when I think about my life without my children I just think about how much I would miss them. So I force myself to look ahead. Instead of day dreaming about the exposed brick walls in my tiny loft or the romance of the open road I day dream about the day that Faith will become an adult. What will she be like? Will she fall in love and commit herself to someone? Will she keep her independent streak and make a fabulous life for herself doing something fantastic? And what about Elliott? He's my little sensitive artist. Will that hold through adolescence into adulthood or will growing up squash those qualities that I love so much? And Otto... my little ball of energy... will he forever stay so loving and snuggly or will he change with time? Will my boys get married some day? Will they thrive on being different or feel the pressure to fit in? What will my role be in assuring I raise free thinking, loving children? How the hell am I going to do it?

Raising such children is going to be a challenge in the Bible belt with religious right wing family surrounding us. Just yesterday my Elliott told me that boys kissing boys was gross, and I don't even know where he heard it. Was it from someone at school? Did someone at a church somewhere some time tell him that? Do I need to ban church? Why am I surrounded by such small minded insecure people?

Love. My primary role as a mommy is to love. Even when temper tantrums are being thrown, children are hiding under blankets refusing to speak to me, or jumping up and down in the hotel and I'm having to remind them for the 15,000th time to be kind to the people below us... I will love. I will be patient. I will nurture. I will not shout. I will not shout. I will not fucking shout. I will save the word fuck for frustration towards other people, like my mother.

I am flawed. I curse. I still walk around naked in our house even though it may not be appropriate any more. I shout. Sometimes I even yell. Sometimes I even get the urge to hit aka spank, even though those impulses are always overcome. I crave quiet. I crave peace. I crave alone time. I crave the days when it was just me and my cat in my little apartment..where everything was in its place and my glade plug ins made everything smell like cloves and cinnamon.

My life now consists of sticky things everywhere. I wipe bottoms daily. I clean up spills. I tie shoes. I brush hair. I drive back and forth all day long, every day. The science museum. The zoo. The park. And some days I turn on a movie on in my bedroom and let them fill my bed with crumbs while changing clothes over and over again just so I can sit quietly with a cup of coffee and a book on the couch, hoping that daddy will be home soon and bedtime will come quickly.

Marriage is difficult with children. There are disagreements. There's the delicate balance between letting each of us parent as we sit fit and not undermining each others authority, and knowing when to tell each other to back off and chill the fuck out. Sex is rare...and rushed 99% of the time. Date night is non-existent. And when it does exist it's always over too quickly. Some days we're lucky to be able to get in a 10 minute conversation with each other before passing out. There are weeks that go by without us even sleeping in the same bed together all night. But we've made it this far with more love than we've ever had for each other before, and we've stayed strong through it all.

He's a daddy.
I'm a mommy.
And maybe when they move on I will have such severe empty nest syndrome that I'll stay in bed for weeks on end watching horrid television and eating hostess cupcakes.
But when that phase has passed I'll be ready to travel to distant lands. I'll climb on that elephant with my camera in my hand. We'll buy a magic RV that carries us down Route 66. I'll drive and he'll play his guitar. We'll celebrate freedom and our children will beg us to come home and see them.

I have time. I will grow old peacefully once they have chosen their paths. But right now I'm here to love, hug, and teach important life lessons. Everyone is beautiful. Everyone is lovable. The toilet paper roll goes towards the front, not the back. Flossing is always an option, not a necessity. Sometimes you just need to yell to get your frustration out, and that's okay. You're allowed to get mad at me. You're allowed to cry. I don't care what you believe, as long as you believe it with all of your heart. I don't care what path you choose, as long as you do it with honestly and integrity.

In short, I wish I had been my own damn mother, and had my husband for a father.

*Colorado is amazing by the way. The air is so much lighter here, the sun shines brighter without the heat, and we are loved. I'm so grateful for our time here, and will be grateful to get back home to my lover.

(lots more pictures on flickr)

the good, the bad, and no ugly because i'm beautiful

sounds in my house at this very moment:
toys being dumped out onto the living room floor
nickelodeon playing quietly on the television
faith cutting up dried seaweed for them to have as a a snack. they seriously eat them like potato chips
the ceiling fan whirring above my head. it's actually not horrible hot today and i've had the window units off for most of it

things have been..interesting. and challenging.

at this very moment cory is applying for even more jobs. catching a break would be pretty sweet here.

at this moment, when i have 3 months left to fulfill groupon clients, i have mixed feelings about it all. would i do it again? fuck no. do i regret doing it? no, i don't think so.

i've been in a slump in mom land. and it's because most of my days are spent staring at a monitor editing pictures. i've gotten a rhythm down with groupon clients & lightroom that's made the process so much quicker, but it's still sucking my time into a black hole. which leaves my poor children to make their own fun. today was spent with dance parties and swimming, despite the water being titanic like thanks to the massive amount of rain last night.

i find myself wondering lately how people manage to live such glamorous lives. it's almost like much of instagram is "look how awesome i am!" and that's definitely me being bitter and judgmental. I haven't even posted in a few days. what am i gonna post? this is me...sitting on the toilet & peeing for the twentieth time today because my children destroyed my bladder. this is me...drinking yet another diet coke when my brain tells me i should be drinking water. this is me...staring in the mirror, squeezing my belly fat yet again wishing i had christina hendrick's body. this is me...sitting on my ass editing pictures that will never get purchased or seen again. seriously, you guys. i'm considering just giving the last groupon clients all their files so i don't have to order their prints any more or deal with it.

sometimes i consider giving up coffee and trading it for tea. then i remember i would be dead without it.

i noticed a penny stuck on the kitchen floor yesterday. i should mop at some point.

you know how the pioneer woman posts pictures of the trash she sweeps off her floors & claims she's "keepin' it real"? i call bullshit. she should see what i sweep off my floors.

i've come to the realization that i have two sons & a husband. i will never again have a bathroom that doesn't smell like piss 24/7.

i haven't folded laundry in weeks. it's liberating..until i need to find clean clothes. then it's horrible.

is it wrong to be jealous of my 7 year old daughter's skin tone & trim physique?

here's a secret that won't be a secret any more: i'm closer to 300 pounds than 200 now. barely, but i am. this is heartbreaking, depressing, and so discouraging. it also means that every time i see my mother now she has to say something about my weight. my tongue starts bleeding from the excessive biting i end up doing. this was the woman who told me i was fat then fed me more food. and fed me an exclusive diet of take out food and frozen pizzas.

but then i realize that i'm a 31 year old woman dammit. i need to take responsibility for my own bad habits & quit blaming other people. but it's just so much easier to point fingers. it's why we all do it.

31...i'll be 32 in 9 days. i feel like only decades matter now. 30 mattered. 40 will matter. 32 doesn't mean shit. although i have noticed wrinkles around my eyes.

right now you'er experiencing a serious case of verbal diarrhea.

and those were the bads... i should share some goods.

cory is my light, you guys. i won't lie & say that we're always perfect. in fact, we're far from it. our marriage has definitely had it's ups & downs. right now we're climbing upward and it feels so good.

i had my first thai food experience last night and i'm a changed woman. so fucking good.

after 7 1/2 years i'm finally okay with the idea that having happy children means more than having a clean house. some days it's spotless in here. others it's an episode of hoarders minus the dead cats. every day my kids are fed and laughing. that's a win.

i've re-found my photography mojo when it comes to taking things for myself. i need to get back into the habit of doing it every single day, but at least i'm getting back into the groove.

i finally own an epiphane camera bag/purse. i'd been waiting for 2 years for one of those babies. i will never not feel guilty for spending the money on myself, but we agreed it would be my birthday present from everyone in this house..and i'm totally okay with it. and the thing is amazing. seriously.

even though i'm officially fat, i actually feel more comfortable in my own body than i ever have before. it's crazy i realize. and probably just me making an excuse to stay fat & not work to change it...but it feels nice to feel disgusting for once.

every season of buffy is on netflix right now. my soul is dancing.

we've discovered the joys of stacking dominos then knocking them down. hours of entertainment here, and i'm sure they're learning the importance of something really vital..like physics or something.

my children are healthy, tender, perfect

and stupid cute.

storms

Last night I stood at our back door watching quarter sized hail beat down on our porch. I stuffed towels in the cracks of the windows in our living room, trying in vain to keep the damage at a minimum.

It was so loud, like there were thousands of tiny trolls standing on our metal roof pounding it with tiny hammers.

I had the kids laying on the floor in bedroom, far away from the window. A trip to the emergency room due to flying glass wasn't high on my list of things I wanted to do.

I walked from the TV to the back door, back and forth back and forth.

Texting my mom and sister, letting them know what the TV was saying in case my mom and dad had to take cover since their power had gone out. The storm was so much worse there. Half of the tree in their front yard is gone.

Oklahoma. I've spent so much time defending it and every spring/summer it tries to destroy us. And it hasn't even been kind enough to blow our house away so we can get a new one...

It was such a late night...restless with all my offspring crowding my bed. Cory woke me up and told me to move from the bedroom floor to the couch. I don't even remember moving to the floor.

Then offspring #3 followed me to the couch.

Sleep has been difficult to catch lately, although it's so desperately needed. 

Our bed was comfortable...when it was new in 1973. 

Every morning we wake up with sore backs, wishing for change.

Extra coffee has been not just desired, but required.

I've been wondering a lot lately when we'll catch our big break. It seems like 2012 thus far has brought with it busted tires, broken dishwashers, headaches, weird rashes, sleepless nights, and frustration.

I was expecting things to change and get easier. And I'm still waiting.

To be completely honest with you, I'm no longer in the mood to be optimistic. This glass is half fucking empty. We're good people. Cory works his ass off. I wake up every morning and be the best mom I can be, which is pretty damn good. And we still struggle.

We've spent so long being tested... I think we've proven we're worthy of good things. 

Maybe we need to start going to that mega church, dropping 10% of what we need to eat into the bucket, and praying to someone we can't even see to send us checks in the mail.

All those people are prospering, right? Maybe that's the key..to stop thinking & just start doing what I've been told my whole life to do. Because being a good person & working hard just isn't paying off. 

Today I'm not in the mood to count my blessings. I'm in the mood to hold them and watch TV in bed all day, then pop a few ibuprofens to soothe my sore muscles. If I had money I'd go buy a bottle of wine and drink the entire thing after they've gone to sleep, waiting for all these thoughts to go numb. 

And I happen to think that's okay. I think it's okay to have bad days..days when you don't feel like playing the happy go lucky role that for some reason everyone expects you to play. 

Life is beautiful, yes. But sometimes life is hard. Sometimes it sucks so much that you just want to crawl into bed and forget it all...drown out the noise around you and just stop thinking.

And when it's over hope to emerge with a new outlook on things...a fresh view on life, knowing that once the storm has passed everything will feel just fine yet again.

Melons

It was either junior or senior year of high school. I can't remember exactly..because I'm too lazy to take ginko whatever in an effort to better my memory.

But I was sitting in a classroom..or the cafeteria..the location doesn't really matter. It's what happened that helped to build a lonely girl's self esteem that really matters. I overheard a guy behind me talking about boobs.

And he said something to the effect of "Vanessa's are nice, but they're not perky enough. I like 'em perky." That was heavily paraphrased...but there was talk about how nice my boobs were. I happen to be friends with this guy on facebook, so if he happens to read this (which I doubt he does..I have it on good authority that a good number of my "friends" hide me from their news feed. Probably for reasons like what I'm doing right now..writing a blog post about the perils of having giant boobs.) what I'm trying to say is "thank you".

Thank you for the self esteem boost. It didn't hurt in the slightest bit that mine weren't what you would classify as perky. But the idea of someone of the opposite sex finding anything on me "nice" was life changing.

I was a lonely, lonely girl. One whose only boyfriend was a boy she shyly held hands with in church for about a week. And she had only been on one date ever. One that ended with her in tears at a payphone calling her big sister to come pick her up because she was hopelessly lost while trying to get home after a traumatically awkward experience.

Really though, that experience in high school was when my boobs started working for me. They helped land my adorable husband. I know this for a fact because he's confirmed on several occasions that my boobs were one of the first things he noticed. I mean, my C cups were pretty magnificent back then.

But things have changed. And now they work against me. Three children and a number of pounds I'm not comfortable with divulging later and my melons have grown to epically gigantic ridiculous stupid proportions.

How epically gigantic you ask? Well, my PLP (that's platonic life partner, y'all) called me from the thrift store a week or so ago. She wanted to know my bra size because there were some pretty sizable ones up for grabs. My boobs are too big, I told her...I knew for a fact they wouldn't work. And that's when she confirmed, "Oh there's one that's REALLLLLLLLY big." Yea, still won't fit. So I did the walk of shame to my dresser, pulled out the massive purple bra in the top drawer, and told her "40G". "Oh..yea....this one's an F."

Every time my sister sees me in my bra she exclaims, "Good lord, woman! Where did those things come from?!" And that means a lot coming from her, because she's a luscious goddess with beautiful gigantic boobies. Not stupid clown boobies like I have. I mean, these are the kind of things you only see in cartoons. Or porn. Big girl porn. Which I'm not really in the market to dive into at the moment. After birthing three children it would be a challenge to even see what was going on down there. It's a mess.

But we're here to talk about my boobs, not my vag.

So in an effort to form some kind of solidarity between myself and my big breasted sisters, I would like to share with you some of the horrors of carrying around gigantic watermelons on my chest that probably weigh an average of 10-15 pounds each...minimum. Although a lot of you who read this probably won't get this, because most of my female friends happen to belong to the itty bitty titty club.

These are in no particular order, as if that matters....

• Clothes don't fit. Seriously.
  When my brother got married I was forced against my will to be a bridesmaid. When I went to try on the dress I discovered to my horror that it was strapless. This is a big girl's worst nightmare. Fucking strapless. And here's the best part: The boobie shelf surface area was 1/3 of the size it needed to be. The line that should've sat below the girls was smack dab in the middle of them. I'd show you a picture, but I untagged all those pictures of myself on facebook and I can't see my brother's photo albums any more since he unfriended me. (Oh family....)
• My back hurts. A lot. And pretty much all the time.
  Remember that episode of "Roseanne" where she got her boobie fat sucked out & insurance covered it? Guess what....this girl ain't got no insurance. And I've seen what those state approved plastic surgeons do to breasts.
  Did you know the have to RELOCATE YOUR NIPPLE when you have a breast reduction? Yea no. 
• The straps on my bra totally dig into my shoulders, and pretty much everywhere they make contact with my skin. Imagine someone stabbing an exacto knife into your armpits. It's awesome and just one of the many horrors they refer to as the "underwire".
• My bras cost more than any other article of clothing I own.
  I can only wear bras from one specific place. And they're a minimum of 50 bucks a pop. And the fuckers aren't even comfortable. But they're the only ones I can wear that will insure I can sprint across the parking lot at Target to catch my 3 year old running into traffic and not give myself a concussion and two black eyes from the blunt force of my boobs smacking me in the face.
• They're all anyone ever looks at.
  Seriously. Don't believe me? Stuff the largest watermelons you can find into your shirt the next time you go out and watch the awkward teenage boy scanning your groceries stare at them while trying (poorly) to not be terribly obvious.
• My children touch them. All the fucking time.
  I breastfed all three of my children. And they still have the psycho impression that even though I haven't lactated in well over 2 years they still belong to them somehow. I am no longer a cow, people. Leave them the hell alone. 
• People judge my boobs being so big and automatically assume it's because I'm also fat.
  Listen...I had to buy my first bra years before any of my friends did. I don't know if my mom dumped extra BPA into my food every day or only fed me the milk from dairy cows who received quadruple the amount of hormones their lady friends did, but these puppies have always been there. And yea, in high school they were large C cups. But I've been suffering the wrath of G cups since I had my first kid 7 years ago. And even in times when I wasn't breastfeeding and weighed much, much less..well, they were still hanging to my belly button. 
• Cleavage. It's there all the time, no matter what I wear.
  This gives off the impression that I'm trying to draw attention to them when, in fact, it's the exact opposite. I just lack any ability to control them.
• It's literally impossible to sleep on my stomach. Or on my back without a bra on. I'd hate for my obituary to read "She was smothered by her own breasts in the night. Her husband and the 17 year old checker at Crest will miss them dearly."

So there you have it. A few words on the perils of having large boobies. 

If you can relate, please raise a glass and know that I'm toasting you in an effort to say "I understand". Also, if anyone who happens to run across this has a connection to spanx, a product that controls boobies would be greatly appreciated. 

"Gimme dat boobie!"

Pass the Pie, I'm Fat

*This isn't one of those blog posts that I'm sharing in an effort to get comments like "You're awesome, girl!" or "You're beautiful! Rock on with your bad self!" Although, rest assured, those will happen from time to time. This post is just me documenting thoughts that have been running through my head today and an earnest effort to do something constructive with those emotions besides sitting in a corner and crying. When I don't know what else to do, I write things down....

There are some things that I really and truly despise doing.

These are different from the things I have to do on a regular basis that I find tedious and exhausting..like shaving my legs, brushing my teeth, or bathing the children.

But things I despise doing? They include the following..
Calling anywhere that has an automated system. I despise them.
Putting away laundry. The washing and folding I can handle. But for some reason, when it comes to actually putting them away? I have a serious mental block...
Making awkward conversation with strangers.
Shopping for clothes. Especially since I have to try on every single thing before I buy it.

That last one.... it's incredibly difficult.
Unless you're a size 10 or under shopping for clothing can be so stressful...and expensive.
I've finally found my go to bra and jeans, after many many years of searching. But both of those are way more than I can afford on a regular basis. It's more like..buy one once a year and make it last. But in my line of work where I'm crawling around in the dirt and chasing 2 year olds, they rarely do.

And then there's the tedious task of dressing for weddings.
As a photographer I'm supposed to disappear into the background and be barely noticeable.
That's where the idea of having a simple black dress comes into play.
It wasn't intentional, but a lot of the several weddings I have booked between now and the end of the year are quite formal affairs. And me and my size 22 ass find it difficult to blend in.

Which means that yesterday I had to do one of the most dreaded things ever.
I had to go shopping.

And I discovered that shopping in a skinny store that happens to have a plus size section isn't all that awesome. I mean, I would've loved to walk my fat self into Lane Bryant or Torrid to shop, but all of their clothing is about 4 times more than my budget allowed for.

And I have to tell you.. it's humiliating and totally degrading.

The internet is a wonderful place. There are blogs where fat women are celebrated..worshipped even. My favorite tumblr blog is a place where I'd love to live. Where curves aren't just accepted, but celebrated. But even there are so many images of gorgeous plus sized women have had their cellulite magically erased by the gift from the powers that be called photoshop.

This woman is stunning. Absolutely incredibly beautiful. She oozes beauty and confidence and obviously could give two fucks what people think of her.

And I'm missing that... that ability to not give two fucks. I actually give a lot of fucks..too many really.

Even now, while I'm writing this, I want to give you all a list of excuses for my jeans being labeled with such a high number.

Things like...
fuck off, I've had 3 kids.
I don't have medical insurance, and thyroid issues run wild among the women in my family...so I'm sure that's part of it.
We live in an incredibly meager grocery budget. Which means that things like making bread in our bread maker or pizza dough from scratch is way cheaper than buying fresh, good for you food.
I can't afford to go to a fancy gym. And while I try to run or walk outside fairly frequently, that only goes so far...especially when you have 3 small children and literally no extra time on your hands.

But the truth is, you guys, I just really love food.
Seriously.
Nothing soothes me on a horrid day like a giant chunk of brie on some fresh baked bread.
Or those horrible cosmic brownies from the grocery store. You know...those ones with the tiny chocolate candies on top? Oh god.
Or putting an extra drop of syrup in my coffee in the morning. Because, dammit, I work hard and I deserve it.
Then I wake up the next day and despise myself..hate myself...and I'm determined to make a change. Then it's a huge shit storm the next time a conflict arises. Which is every second of every day.
One of the boys throws a shit fit in the store? I want to come home and stuff my face with anything...everything...
I'm behind on all of the massive amount of work I have to do? No better way to motivate myself than sitting at the computer with a giant bowl of ice cream.

So here I am... telling you all about it.
And I don't really even know why, except for the fact that while I was trying on clothes I was sending Cory pictures to get his input...and looking back today at the picture of me in the dress I decided to get sent me into near hysterics.

So of course I posted it on instagram..and here...for everyone to see. 

And I feel as though I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place right now.

I have two options:

I can either slap myself and do something about it. Which I've done. Lots of times. I made it through two weeks of couch to 5k then life happened.

Cory didn't wind up getting the huge bonus he was promised at work... Groupon started getting even more horrible and backed up.... and I gave up on it all.

And instead of moving forwards, I moved backwards.

Or, I could just accept me for who I am the way that Cory does, and maybe even learn to love myself. Because he loves me. 

Life isn't about being perfect. It's about embracing your imperfections, right?

I want the confidence to be able to wear shorts in the Oklahoma summer heat without worrying about the cottage cheese consistency of my thighs.

I want the confidence to not cover up with a cardigan every time I wear a sleeveless shirt.

My hair? I want to dye it hot pink and turquoise without feeling like I look like a fat girl desperate for attention. I want to do it because I've just always wanted pink hair.

I've spent the majority of my life feeling unwanted because of my size. 

I feel the constant need to make excuses for myself, or make a joke about being gigantic so it's not that one thing everyone's thinking and avoiding all at the same time.

Maybe some day I'll find some other way to deal with stress or my emotions and just quit eating everything in my path at the end of a hard day. 

Maybe some day I'll wise up and replace the food with nicotine and alcohol.

But for now, I felt the need to post something about it here..on the blog that only the people I love and know will ever see...

And mostly as a reminder to myself. 

Self,

Fuck everyone else.

Fuck that guy who kept looking at you like you were a piece of garbage today just because of how you looked.

Fuck that girl at the mall yesterday who looked you up and down when you asked her to get that 3x shirt down for you off the rack.

You're talented, funny, have really strong nails that never break, and your farts rarely smell.

You're also a kick ass wife and mom to some of the most amazing people on the planet. 

So what if those pants you tried on at Old Navy today didn't fit? 

They're judgmental assholes for not carrying plus size clothes in their store anyway..they don't need your money. 

Now go eat your brie and drink your diet coke like the amazing goddess with her tree trunk legs and flappy underarm fat that you are.

And yea, thank you to the lovely Clay for posting this on tumblr today.... it made me cry, and spawned this whole post. So really if you're thinking anything negative about me posting this you should take your complaints to him. 

Guide to loving your body:

“ 1. Get naked and take a good long look at your body. Trace your stretch marks, feel your hip bones poking out, place your hand over your tummy and take a fistful of yourself in. Appreciate your scars and pimples, your uneven,large,or nonexistent breasts. Take pride in your un/shaven, un/cut, fantastically odd private bits. Hold up a mirror to yourself and study your body. Love it.

2. Be Ugly, reclaim words that are used to put you down and shut you up and scream right back at these fascist beauty standard reinforcing scumbags. Give them the finger and tell them to kiss your fat/skinny/somewhere in between ass ‘cause you ain’t got time to waste with their body hating bullshit. and remember, you don’t owe prettiness to anyone. Validate yourself by accepting yourself.

3. Wear clothes that don’t fit, that are too big or too small and show all your “problem areas” that cosmo insists you hide and walk down the street like the fucking fabulous queen you are. Sashay the hate away.

4. Do what YOU want with YOUR body. Shave or don’t, wear makeup or don’t, whatever choice you make is yours to make, and anyone who shames you for your decision can keep it moving. This also means respecting the choices of others, even if they differ from your own.

5. Surround yourself with loving and supportive people. Rid of the toxic bullshit in your life if possible, and immerse yourself in a community that embraces body positivity and diversity. ”

This is me begging Oprah to give me money

Confession: Unless I take time each morning to make myself feel pretty, I spend the rest of the day being totally useless. That means that I'm super productive 3 days out of the month. And just so you know, "make myself feel pretty" means putting on a good bra, red lipstick, and straightening my hair. You could either view this as my being confident enough to feel pretty with minimal effort, or that my standards are just that pathetically low.

And mornings are the worst. Seriously. They mean getting all three children up, fed, dressed, and halfway presentable in time to get Faith to school. All three kids..just so 1 can go to school. And my boys are just like me. They'd sleep til noon if everyone would just leave them the hell alone. Just like me as well, when they're forced to awaken before they're good and ready they're almost impossible to be around for the rest of the day.

That was taken yesterday morning. A rare weekday that Cory had off. Breakfast was delicious bacon and fried potatoes instead of the usual cereal and toast. And that was only because the boys got to sleep in and Cory took Faith to school. Mornings like that always leave me wondering how we can scheme to get money without him ever having to leave the house again. 

Seriously. Him being gone means my crazy bitch tendencies go through the roof. I really don't think it's too much to ask...for everyone else's tax dollars to go to my husband staying home so we can live a comfortable life without having to lift a finger. 

Spending our days napping in the sun while having picnics and quickies in the afternoon sound so much better than our current set up. 

Please don't tell me I'm the only person who thinks about writing some billionaire a kind letter asking for a simple donation of about $25,000 a year. Because truth is, we live on about $20,000 right now..have for the last few years..and it's actually served us pretty damn well. No rent, mortgage, or car payment means we can live on less than what some people spend on hair products. And to someone like Oprah I'm fairly certain $25,000 a year could disappear and she'd never know the difference. 

So O, if you happen to stumble across this at some point...

Gurrrrllllll (I think she'd appreciate the irony behind me calling her "Gurrrrllll" for some reason), you're lookin' hot these days. (Really, she is.)

I read while in line at the grocery store on some tabloid (because we all know that's the real news) that you offered Stedman a shit load of money so he'd marry you. I think the number was somewhere around $100 million. 

So I really don't think a measly amount of $25,000 a year would effect your quality of life at all.

I watched your show religiously in high school (translation: when there was nothing else on TV besides Maury and Judge Joe Brown) so really I've been paying you for years. Therefore, I feel like you owe me. Big time.
Everyone knows you're the Santa of the free world and I feel kinda cheated that you never gave me a car or even a fancy $50 candle or ceramic flat iron.

Hook a sister up, k? 

Fist bump. (She strikes me as the kinda lady who enjoys a good fist bump. It's probably how she and Gayle greet each other when they go out to coffee to decide on who will rule the free world next.)

*You guys, this might be the dumbest most asinine blog post I've ever written.