Boring Can Be Fun

Amazingly enough, around this time of year-- every year --I turn a year older. I call it a "birthday" because it's the anniversary of the day of my birth. Pretty clever, right? Right. I'll be 33 in a few short, wrinkly, creaky-jointed days. What do old people do to celebrate their birthdays? I'm not sure, but it probably involves facials and peels and botox.  Not for me, of course, because I'll ALWAYS look youthful. But for other people, they're totally up on that injectable botulism and dubious "fillers." I'm still holding strong with my crunchy, all-natural face care stuff . Except this morning I used one of my favorite old philosophy products and I'm like, yeah--some chemicals are totally worth it. Which makes me think, well, if this chemical is okay, another one would probably smooth away these fine lines. And another one would probably plump up the skin here. And I probably should just go dunk my head in a barrel of chemica...

Listen. I'd like to put this delicately. I'd like to sound humble. But I can be real with you, right? Lately? I've been kicking butt at life. Domestic life, anyway. For the past few weeks, I've been SUCH a little Suzy Homemaker. I've been doing things like "cooking meals," "staying on top of the cleaning," and "doing laundry." During the week , even. Normal Life: I DO NOT DO THINGS AFTER WORK EXCEPT COOK (if I must), EAT, AND GO TO BED. Oh, and child care. I do that, too. And TV. But, New Domestic Success and Fun Good Times Life ?: I'M AWE-INSPIRING. Are you not, dear friends and random readers, sitting there at your internet-connected device thinking, "Wow, this blog should be renamed 'Boring is Unbelievable.' Does she mean to say?--does she actually think I believe?!--that she not only cooks food, but also cleans and does laundry? Pish posh!, I say. Pish posh and... and... poppycock!" I hear...

Serious topic today. The "I'm relaxing with my feet up" picture. On a beach? Cross your legs and capture the pristine sands and blue waters, with a sneaky little slip of your kicked-back feet at the bottom of the snap. Enjoying a little "me" time a home? Set the snacks and the wine on the ottoman, and kick those feet up there (carefully!), cross them, and snap that totes cazh picture. Chilling on the patio? You know what to do. Throw those feet up on the banister and get that snap of your pedicured piggies and that beautiful sunset! So here's my issue. I like to relax. I like to be at the beach. I like to drink wine and eat snacks alone (not that I get to do that anymore, but I like to). I like to look at sunsets and yards and be on porches with banisters. BUT I HAVE UGLY FEET.  It's extremely sad and unfair.  No one will care that I'm on a beach when they see my skinny finger toes, all long and pale and unpolished. ...

Hey guys, Remember when I said I was "really going to try to write more often?" LOLZ. Oh well, disappointment is a part of life. You just learned a Fun lesson, didn't you? But I'm back today to talk about.... MY BABY. Whatever, you'll live. You know how babies "belong" to their mamas? Mama is a special person to a baby. They know--they just really know , man--that mom is the one who grew to previously unimaginable proportions in order to carry a whole separate person inside their belly, then pushed the proverbial watermelon out the proverbial hole a size of a lemon.  Mama held that baby close in his or her first minutes of life. Mama gave up daily showers, sleep, and the ability to use their cognitive functions for CENTURIES (oh, weeks, whatever--feels the same) after baby was born. Mama wore a frozen diaper as an ice pack for that baby. And why? Because we love that baby. Love. LOVE. Lurve.  We feel a deeply spiritual and primitively inst...

Do you feel down? Feel like you could use a little cheer? Would a high-five set your day on the right track? If so, see me. I can introduce you to a 15-month-old gal who will gladly give you a high-five. Or two. Or ten. Allow me to give you a tantalizing glimpse at the innumerable and inexhaustible amount of high-fives that I can put you in contact with: Yesterday this tiny person with chunky thighs high-fived her mom, her dad, and the cat (who found it beneath her dignity to reciprocate). She high-fived a teacher in the hallway at school. Then she high-fived her own teacher. And her other teacher. For the duration of the day, while she was not under her mother's eagle-eyed gaze, she probably high-fived all kids in her class and any and everyone she passed. But I'm just guessing. However, once she was back in parental custody, I have it on good authority that she high-fived her teachers again (to say goodbye), air-fived her classmates, high-fived her mom again (to...

Once upon a time, I decided that I would start far too many of my posts with the phrase, "Once upon a time." Also, once upon a time, I told you about that hippie prenatal Pilates lady who totally kicked my butt. You remember: I was pregnant, decided to exercise, and nearly died. The end. What I didn't tell you is that I eventually fell in love with her and have started a very serious relationship. No, no, I don't mean that kind of relationship. I'm still super married to Patrick and totally digging it. The pigtailed Pilates lady and I are now virtual BFF's. Well, we would be if she knew me at all... Perhaps I should explain.  My first experience with this woman was during that killer jelly legs work out while pregnant. To just watch the DVD, you'd think, "How soothing and gentle and how not at all difficult this must be." And then you actually DO the DVD and you think, "Holy mother of biscuits, my legs have seized up!" W...

The last time I wrote anything for you was a while back and I'm pretty sure I was whining about competitive crafting or something. (Okay, I just checked to see what I last posted and it was actually about something worthwhile! Kudos to me!) And then I just kind of fell off the radar again, because that's how I roll lately. But why? Though I don't feel an intense pressure to produce that wry, witty, and hilarious commentary you've come to expect from me*, I have occasionally thought I ought to probably write something. As in, "Hmm, it's been a month since I last wrote anything. Has anything funny happened in the last month? Umm... probably? What was it?... Uh, I'll just get back to the blog later..." And then I forget about it for another few weeks. "But Rebecca, you're writing right now! And you called it 'Confession'! So what are you going to confess? We're so happy to see a blog post up that you could have written about s...