Boring Can Be Fun

I was very recently reminded that we get to "fall back" and gain an hour of sleep Saturday night/Sunday morning this upcoming weekend. I was giddy! Elated! Positively joyous! For five seconds. Then I remembered I have a 7-month old who, in all likelihood, will not care one little bit that her mom and dad will be craving that extra sleep. She'll probably be all, "Waaaah, I'm a baby and I want to be fed NOW even though it's only 5:30am because I think it's 6:30! Waaaah!" And Patrick and I will be all, "But we just want the extra sleep! Go back to sleep little one, go back to--oh, forget it. Put on the coffee." And some of you are all, "I'm right there with you, sister!" And some of you are all, "Uh, that's what you get for having a kid." And some of you are all, "I wish she'd quit using the phrase, 'And some of you are all....'" Listen. I love my kid. I think she's the most perfe...

So, um, I'm really good at quitting. That's my way to work around my declaration last week that I'd stop bad-mouthing myself. But I mean, it's true. About two months ago (or more) I decided I'd start logging what I eat and what exercise I got (under my I Challenge Me to a Duel tab) in order to hold myself accountable. And it worked. It totally worked. I was getting more exercise and being more mindful of eating heathfully. Until I had a weekend out of town where I failed to log anything and just never started again. Tee-hee--oopsie! I've still gotten some exercise since then, but not nearly as regularly. I did a Jackie Warner workout for upper body after doing nothing but gentle pilates and was sore for nearly a week. Fo' realz. But still, it turns out I really did need the threat of someone, anyone, catching that I haven't followed through to hold myself accountable. So here's what I'm-a gonna do: Nothing. I'm going to let that...

A few weekends ago, while at our cousin's house, I took a peek at a group photograph that had just been taken of me and a few of my cousins-in-law. For reasons I don't fully understand, and before I'd even gotten a good look at the picture, I glanced at my image and said, "Ugh, I look fat." One of the cousins said, "I ought to slap you," or something else insinuating I deserved a throttle. After decrying my appearance, I got a closer look and thought, "Oh, wait, never mind, that's not bad." Frankly, saying that I looked fat wasn't even accurate. "My teeth look big" (the better to eat carbs with, my dear) or "my hair doesn't look as voluminous as I thought it did" would have been more accurate, if accurate self-insults are important. It's no big secret that women--heck, most of us in this country are image obsessed, and I'm no exception. It's also no secret that putting yourself down has bec...

I'm so flipping fancy. That's what I wanted my interweb friends to know when I posted the filtered, instagrammed version this picture: Let's be honest: the only reason I posted this photo is because I was so proud that I made such a divine and impressive looking meal. That's what the internet is for, after all: bragging. In case you can't tell, this is salmon en papillote (the fancy French way of saying salmon in paper) with a maple balsamic sauce, a blended sweet potato soup, and spinach. You can call it a spinach salad if it rings your bell, but it was only raw spinach with dressing on it. I feel there ought to be at least one other ingredient to try to call it a salad. Did I just whip this up with no guidance whatsoever? Not a chance. I totally followed a recipe. But man, can I follow a recipe! With a meal this snooty and fabulous, you cannot just eat it off of your everyday dishes. Non! This is not an everyday meal! This was definitely a wedding...

My very own mother asked me if I stopped blogging. a) Hi, mama. b) No. c) L-A-Z-Y. Remember? I had to check and sure enough it's been two whole weeks since I last thrilled you with my mindless musings. I suppose I haven't felt particularly hilarious lately. But I promise to be really funny sometime very soon. Here are some things I'm thinking about telling you about: My capsule(ish) wardrobe--where I am on that A review on a book I recently read that made me immediately want to write up a weekly cleaning routine so I can be a fabulous and chic working mom with an easy, effortless system for maintaining our abode A follow-up when I fail to achieve Chic Mama status School pictures for my INFANT CHILD. How happy I am that Gilmore Girls is streaming on Netflix Ummm... other stuff I'll think of something. In the meantime, am I the only one suddenly struck by what an odd word "infant" is? Infant. In-fant. In. Fant. Fanta. Doncha wanna?...

It's official. We're less than 3 months away from Christmas. Less than 3 months from trimming the tree. Less than 3 months until Charlie Brown Christmas and Rudolph and all the good, old programs come on TV. Less than 3 months until the holiday party season. Less than 3 months to shop for gifts for the ones you love. Less than 3 months to save for those gifts. Less than 3 months to get cocktail dress ready. So what does that all mean? Obviously, we have to start the pre-season diet and exercise plan so that you look perfect in that LBD that you'll never actually wear to a single holiday party. We also need to get a shopping list going so we know what we want to get for whom--then never look at it again or lose it in a pile of junk mail. And we have to start saving all our pennies so we can buy gifts for other people and somehow end up keeping 30% of it for ourselves (I mean, we do have good taste), thus having to go shopping again for the people who no lo...