Archive for the ‘Glamlife’ Category

Getting Back To Running

I used to run. I loved it. Two reasons:

1)   Pounding the pavement was a great way to get out aggression and yucky feelings. Especially when your ipod is set to Wannabe by the Spice Girls (yeah I admitted it. Toxic by Brit is also on my playlist. Git ober it, as Thing 2 would say).

2)   It made my hiney look fantastic.

Then I stopped. Because I was gestating. And stuff bounced way too much. Also the vomit. It was gross.

Pregnant. Not exercising.

Anyway.

I’ve never gotten back into it. I’ve wanted to, I’ve tried to, I’ve pretended to, I’ve thought a whole lot about it, and I’m sure I have a double in an alternate universe that is doing it. But me? Not really.

I need motivation, man.

Like a half marathon. Not a full marathon, because that has a good shot of actually killing me, but a half? I can totally do a half. Especially because it’s in Vegas. And Ashley Sewell is going to be my accountability partner. Because she loves Vegas too, and wants to come cheer me on, or even participate herself! Also, did I mention Vegas? And an actual goal??

I can do this, people.

Watch me go.

I’m in the Midwest again (yay!), this time in Minneapolis for AFP’s Right Online. Hey Koch Brothers – if you’re reading, can you do it in Vegas again? Because Vegas is like, totally awesome.

I have to say though; my first trip to Minnesota is not disappointing. For example, did you know that Target was born here? A couple blocks from my hotel, I noticed this huge Target store. There were three stories. THREE STORIES OF TARGET. I’m going to go later and pick up Ziplock bags and detergent, because we’re out of those.

Wait. I’m in Minnesota.

Maybe I’ll wait until I’m home.

But I will visit this three story Target. Check my Twitter page for TwitPics later!

I’ll probably be using the hashtag #epic.

Oh wait. I’m totally here to like work or something. I told the people planning this thing I’d be happy to help out in any way they needed, so they put me on a podcasting panel. With Ed Morrissey.

Here’s the thing. Ed is seriously one of the nicest, most down-to-earth people I’ve ever met in this strange little blogging world. He’s also one of the smartest, most on the ball people ever. So I’m supposed to sound smart or something about podcasting, while standing next to Ed in a roomful of people.

I’m a bit skeered.

I’m going to run to the Target Mecca afterward.

PS- there are a LOT of lakes here. Maybe even 10,000.

Right Now

Empty wine glasses. Furbaby. Coke Zero. Pile of crap. #GlamLife

I’m eating scrambled eggs with pepper jack cheese while I wait for my last load of laundry to dry before I pack.

The sitter is coming in one hour.

I really hope she doesn’t expect the house to be totally clean.

We had friends over last night night until 2am instead of picking up.

Well, I picked up the main living area, since we had people coming over. Now the only messy thing about it is the dirty scrambled egg pan in the sink. Ok, and the dishes we generated last night entertaining. Oh, and the trash is full. And there are empty wine glasses on the counter. Ack! Crumpled napkins! And the pile of stuff that came in with my kids last night when Gramma and Papa dropped them off. Ok, it’s actually a mess in here.

I texted the sitter last night to keep in mind that I work from home, have a three-year-old with me 99% of the time, and don’t have a maid. She said she’d bring her white glove.

I laughed.

These scrambled eggs are soooo good. Have I ever told you how much I love pepper jack cheese? I’m rethinking polygamy, because I totally want pepper jack for a sister wife.

Plus Leif is deathly allergic to dairy, so I wouldn’t have to deal with the whole sharing a man thing.

But if I did have to share a husband, I’d consider sharing with pepper jack. That’s how much I love it.

I freaking love mornings when I get up before everyone else. It’s so … what’s the word? Oh yeah, peaceful.

I might get up an hour before everyone else on a regular basis.

Except.

I like sleep better.

Happy Thursday! I’ll see y’all in Minneapolis!

Dirty Dishes? Clean ‘em Up with Phosphates!

I don’t get some people. Take progressives, for example. Their very moniker indicates their penchant for progress. Yet for some reason, they seem bound and determined for us to make our way back to the days when we lived in mud huts and life expectancy was 37, but gosh darn it, smog levels were nonexistent.

One of the latest developments in the fight to save the planet has been to ban phosphates in dishwashing detergents. Because phosphates make algae grow in rivers and lakes, and that could, like, totally starve the fishies of oxygen.

Side note: Aren’t these the same people that supposedly believe in evolution? Why don’t the fish evolve to need less oxygen? Food for thought…

I’ve been going crazy for the better part of year now, wondering why the heck my dishwasher stopped working. Leif has taken the thing apart and cleaned it. We’ve fiddled with this and that. The dishes were still dirty. If we didn’t wash the dishes before they went into the machine, they came out with the food gunk still stuck on them. Even if we prewashed everything, there was this white filmy stuff coating everything. The dishwasher couldn’t even get rid of lip marks on glasses.

It’s enough to make a busy work-at-home-mom that hates doing dishes lose her mind.

It turns out my broken dishwasher isn’t broken at all. My Cascade is — the phosphates are missing. Phosphates used to be the part of the detergent that cut through grease and other food particles, and left nothing but sparkly clean behind. Thank goodness for Google, without which I might have never discovered the cause of filmy, groddy plight.

Luckily, people (especially moms, in my ever-so-humble opinion!) are smarter than the government. Thanks to the Internet, I figured out that I could add phosphates back into my detergent and enjoy shiny clean dishes again (no elbow grease required!), and thanks to a friend, I found out that I could buy phosphates at my local Home Depot. A teaspoon added to each cycle should do the trick.

So now I sit, in eager anticipation, listening to the dishwasher run and imagining all sorts of little phosphorus scrubby guys running around in there making everything all clean and sparkly.

I’ll let you know how it goes…

Update

Dishes are clean and sparkly. No hand washing required. Mega win!

Last Sunday, in honor of Mother’s Day, my friend Dana Loesch wrote a great piece on why she believes that motherhood is political. She says:

The nurture and protection of your children isn’t limited to monitoring their dietary needs, their educational needs, their emotional and spiritual well-being. I speak out because I don’t want my children saddled with debt. I don’t want my children’s generation to be the first generation that comes out of the gate with a lower standard of living because of our recklessness.

This pretty much echoes my thoughts on the matter. I feel like I owe it to my children to educate myself on Constitutional rights and limitations. I want others to love our country as much as I do and understand what makes it special. Like Dana, I want my kids to grow up in a phenomenal America, where if you can dream it, you can achieve it.

Working to protect the freedoms we enjoy in America flows seamlessly with our hopes and dreams for our children to be better off than we are. It makes perfect sense that moms are getting politically active, because we’re the ones with the most to lose: Our children’s future.

In response to Dana’s article, some chick piped up criticizing every mom in the country. Apparently, us mamas are not worthy to participate in politics because we choose to be a womb instead of study politics. Stay-at-home-moms are the absolute worst, because we’re lazy un-American do-nothings that leech off our partner’s salary.

Someone needs to call her mother and apologize.

This 23-year-old law school student has no idea what it means to be a mother. Our brains are not (completely) hijacked for 18 years when we give birth. We have every ability to read, listen, learn, write, and speak about any subject — including politics.

Motherhood and political activism are not mutually exclusive. It’s easier now than ever for moms to educate themselves and get involved with the conversation. Anyone with an Internet connection can find the Constitution online, download the text of laws like Obamacare, read the news, and find and share opinions on blogs.

Moms are awesome multitaskers. We take care of our kids, our husbands, and our homes. We learn new recipes, new technology (have you seen kids toys these days??), new stain-fighting tricks, and about the embalming techniques employed by the ancient Egyptians (that one might be just me).

We are smart enough to know that we can use sites like MomThink.org as a jumping off point in developing our political points-of-view. I love this site because of its straightforwardness on issues that will undoubtedly affect our children in the future. I love the encouragement to join Twitter or Facebook groups, where we can mingle with other moms over a virtual soda or glass of wine and share thoughts and even engage in friendly debate. I love that it makes me feel empowered, rather than inferior, to be a mom.

Motherhood is political. Anyone that’s ever navigated a playgroup or PTA meeting knows that.

A Thoughtful Log of the Past Nine Hours

Hiney Sculpting Machine

Around 10:45 last night, I randomly felt that although I’ve pretty much lost the weight that caused this problem, my hiney could use some improvement.

I know! I thought with a flash of mad impulse, I’ll get up early and go to the gym and climb the Butt-Buster StairMaster from Hades! Hellooooo fabulous gluteus maximus!

Before catching some zzz’s, I picked up a book. Nothing like lying in a dreamy bed and reading without small people attempting to draw and quarter me. It’s very relaxing, you know.

Four hours later…

2:45.

Crap. I hate when that happens. But I didn’t know the book was going to be so gut wrenching! Ex-prostitutes! Hardened widowers! Bawl! I highly recommend it.

Light off.

Kick Leif to turn over and stop snoring.

One last bathroom break.

Stub toe in the dark.

Curse.

Back to bed.

Kick Leif again.

Turn over!

No, you’re on your back again!

Yes, you are!

Close eyes.

Sleep for half an hour or so.

Wake up.

SKNX-X-X-X

Kick.

Flip.

Sleep.

SKNX-X-X-X

Kick.

Flip.

Sleep.

SKNX-X-X-X

Repeat a few times until the alarm goes off at 7:30.

Pop open a sugar free Red Bull.

Pack school crap for Thing 1.

Pack work crap for Leif.

Try to decide whether to curse Leif’s allergies or ADHD.

Shift. Snore. Shift. Snore. Shift. Snore. All. Night. Long.

Fanaticize about being Victorian, with separate bedchambers.

Decide chamber pots aren’t worth it.

Blog.

It’s cheaper than therapy.

Good morning everyone!

(The Red Bull has started to work its magic.)

I’m a total lame-o. I’m also NOT a morning person. Like, at all. I cannot be considered a functioning human being until I’ve gone vertical and at least cracked open a Coke Zero.

Which means trouble when Leif has to be at work by 7 and I’m left to get the kids up and out of bed, fed, dressed, hair brushed, and Thing 1 to school by 8:15. Yesterday morning we were only a few minutes late. This morning? This morning I looked at the clock when I woke up and cussed. It was closing in on 9. The girls were in their room just waking up.

MAD DASH!

Because I have mad skillz in the getting-ready-quickly-because-I-want-to-sleep-as-long-as-possiblee department, we were signing a tardy form in the school office in less than half an hour.

Thing 2 was not amused to leave her playmate at school. Already feeling like a failure as a parent, I really didn’t want to spend the morning trying to ignore the four-hour-long tantrum I could feel coming. So we went to Barnes and Noble so she could play with the train table and hopefully another kid or two.

So. There I was in all my morning glory. Pony tail, only the slightest bit of makeup, bloodshot eyes, and I’m pretty sure I my right armpit missed out on the deodorant. But that’s ok! It was before 10 – not like the other moms at Barnes and Noble care about the dark circles under my eyes or my lazy, messy hairdo.

I made an important realization this morning at the bookstore. Dads should not be stay-at-home-dads. Especially not ridiculously good looking dads with manners and charm and adorable chubby toddlers.

Because while I can’t even manage to get my kid to school on time, let alone blowdry my hair or put earrings in or brush my teeth (crap, I just realized I didn’t brush my teeth this morning), this dude is probably the perfect husband to the perfect wife, and they live in their perfect house and sing opera together for fun. They probably kick ass at laser tag too.

Then I remembered how easy it is for guys to get ready in the morning. How sexy stubble is on a chin, but not on legs. The simple decision between a t-shirt and shorts or a t-shirt and jeans. And the fact that you can take almost any dude, add a baby, and it’s automatically sexy.

Then I thought about all the times over the last year or two Leif has played stay-at-home-dad to the Things when I’ve had places to go and things to do. And I wonder if any other moms worried about being schlepy in front of the cute, charming dad with an adorable chubby toddler.

Then I realized I love my life, even if it isn’t manicured and perfect. Stepford wives are boring robots anyway.

I also decided to set no less than three alarm clocks for tomorrow morning.

Once upon a time I was a gym rat. I’d go, check Thing 1 into the kids’ club, and hit the treadmill with my ipod. I looked like this:

Hawaii 2007

Then Thing 2 was born and she couldn’t go until she was six months old. I could’ve left her with Leif when he was home, but if I was getting out of the house for an hour or two by myself, I certainly wasn’t going to spend the time exercising.

Over the last two years, I’ve gone to the gym here or there, but it’s been sporadic. Add to that my 125 calorie-a-glass wine habit … well, I may have gained three six (ok, fine) nine pounds. Which means that my tighter fitting clothes have pretty much become unwearable.

But. I have this magic dress. It’s black. It’s satin. It’s strapless. It’s corseted and has a cute swingy short skirt. It’s the prettiest dress I own. It might even be the prettiest dress over made. I have never had to purchase my own drink when I’ve been out in my perfect dress. See? I told you it was magic.

The Magic Dress. Oh, and Leif.

I decided to try to squeeze my hiney into the dress for the Big GOProud Party. My friend Ashley Sewell zipped me up. It was tight, but the zipper went up! Breathing is overrated anyway.

I went to the Blogger’s Bash at FreedomWorks to grab some dinner and warm beer (supposed to put that on ice before the party starts, guys), and then caught a ride with a friend to the GOProud party.

As I hoped down from the truck, I felt something pop. Then I felt air enter my chest.

Damn.

The hook popped off, and without that, the zipper wouldn’t stay up. GayPatriot tried to help me, and I believe his exact words were, “Yeah … this zipper isn’t going to stay up.” Thankfully, I had a cute coat, and the dress was snug enough to not fall completely off.

When I get back to San Diego, I’m hitting the gym.

Michelle Obama’s $495 Gardening Boots Irk Me

In a post I wrote regarding Michelle Obama and her plans to parent our children for us, I remarked about her $495 Tory Burch gardening boots. A few of the comments wondered why I brought them up, and why, as acapitalist, would I have a problem with pricey shoes?

The boots were mentioned to remind readers of how out of touch with reality the First Lady is. The average American mama doesn’t have a single pair of shoes in her closet that cost that much, let alone gardening boots. When I’m inclined to work outdoors, I put on a pair of three-year-old sneakers that are practically falling apart.

Referring to the self-appointed mom-in-chief’s aloofness when it comes to relating to us regular moms was useful to drive home the point that she is not qualified to make our parenting decisions for us. Only the best for the Obamas, whether it’s boots, school, vacation, vacation, vacation, or vacation. The rest of us can eat cake. Or carrot sticks.

Read the rest at The Stir

I Get to Meet Hugh Hewitt Tomorrow!

I’m pretty sure that it’s already clearly established that I am a giant dork. I get very excited (and nervous!) to meet people for whom I have a great deal of respect. Hugh Hewitt is one of those people. And I get to meet him tomorrow.

Although he doesn’t know it, Hugh Hewitt will always hold a special place in my heart, because he’s the one that (indirectly) got me on twitter.
I’ve always been interested in politics. When I was six or seven, I’d scream for my mom if President Bush (41) came on TV (This of course was in the days before our elected leader would treat his presidency like a giant media tour.). When I was eight, I told my teacher that I wanted to be a supreme court justice when I grew up, but I’d settle for being a senator. When I was nine, I asked my dad, “Who is that Ross Perot guy, and what’s he doing up there?” I took my first trip to DC for Presidential Classroom my junior year of high school.

I have always been fascinated with politics. Somewhere around 2005, I got really fed up with it all. The Republicans were spending like drunken Democrats, Bush was taking the blame for the Katrina debacle, and I was in the midst of trying to figure out how to be a wife and a mother. Politics got set on the back burner.

Fast-forward to summer 2008 and enter Sarah Palin. A woman got nominated for the VP slot on the ticket! And she was awesome. Having never heard of her, I did some research. She had a 90% approval rating as governor of Alaska. She cleaned up the dirty politics in the state – of her own party. She sold the private jet purchased by her predecessor.
Enter the media. They slammed her. They called her unqualified, uneducated, and a bad mother. All of a sudden I got into politics with fervor again. I started blogging about it on my ‘mommy’ blog. I read everything I could. I got to know Megyn Kelly and Brett Baier. I bookmarked townhall.com.

Just after the predictable but still sad election of ’08, I came across an article by Hugh Hewitt: All A-Twitter: A Late Adapter Alert. I had barely even heard of twitter, but at the prospect of connecting with some other conservatives online, I signed myself up and immediately became an addict.

Over the last two+ years, I’ve gotten to do some incredible things. I hosted a podcast for Smart Girl Politics for a year, and continue to work on their leadership team. I was on blogger’s row at CPAC last year. I got to talk to John Thune. The governor of Texas knew who I was, and joked about Erick Erickson being my husband (he’s not).

And it all started with twitter.

Which I joined because Hugh Hewitt wrote an article about it.

And I get to meet him tomorrow at Education Revolution, where I will be representing Smart Girl Politics. And you know how I feel about school choice. And Dick Morris is going to be there too, and he’s a pretty cool guy himself. It’s a win-win-win for this chica!

At least, as long as Mr. Hewitt doesn’t issue a restraining order for the crazy chick who is so excited to meet him and thank him for writing about twitter.

I’m not crazy, I swear!

I’m just eccentric.

Yeah, we’ll go with that.