If you ever find yourself as a parent (or non parent, I suppose) in a group of new people might I suggest some of these conversation topics:

Things you never want to read in an email.

So, you went to Diabete’s camp?

Girls vs boys, the diaper difference.

(Admittedly, this one’s for parents … because, awkward.)

Birthing tips, doctor swapping secrets.

Battle stories from the front lines of raising boys.

So, we covered mostly parenting stuff but I haven’t laughed like that in a while. I’m not a current events conversationalist and I don’t often volunteer information about what I do or am working on … and having older children (no longer toddlers with eating schedules, napping schedules or diaper rashes) can make the parenting conversation a tricky one to navigate. But I don’t know, I’m my own kind of crazy (just ask Aaron.) and it was fun to be part of a group of women who understood that part of me last night.

When you get together with friends, old or new, what keeps the conversation going?

These are some of my finds (as requested, Meghan). Aaron picked out the shirt on the left and it is my favorite find of the day. Shirts with details around the bust (empire ish?) always make me look longer, which is something I’ll never actually be. Long. Or tall. He also brought me the combination’s in the middle and to the right – both of which I brought home, only one have I worn.

I’m a little worried about the whole “western” looking gettup. I haven’t had the guts to wear it yet. But I got some new jeans (Dojo’s, Meghan!) that are currently being hemmed. (See, never going to be tall. Or long.)

I picked up a couple other pieces that I’ll try to remember to photograph, but this is my wardrobe these days. (Better than before?)

How are we accessorizing in 2012? School me.

Aaron has been talking about joining the gym with us for a good 6 months and we finally got around to it this weekend. Not because we don’t want him there with us, but because his schedule generally likes to kick him in the shins while he’s sprinting toward home.

It’s more of an internal battle, to use more time away from the kids or me, to reduce stress. Which, hello? I am all for it. The guy needs a hobby – and punching things or throwing balls, running, swimming and lifting weights? All great hobbies. Good for your heart, too. I am a fan.

But here’s what he doesn’t know about the gym, and this is what I’d like to call “The Beginners Guide to our Gym: A Warning.”

1. I know this because I’ve asked, and guy’s locker rooms aren’t like you see on TV. They don’t sit around in towels, completely naked – throwing dirty socks around or telling Yo-Mamma jokes. Turns out when you’re naked, you’re all a bit like the girls locker room. Like a little lost bird who just wants to find her nest again. Flailing limbs, tripping over half strewn on clothes in an effort to avert your eyes from the ass in your face, possibly the years worst-kept beaver trail and then you have to look them in the eyes and be all “Oh hey! This Weather, huh?”

2. You’re so cute, you gung-ho newbie! Try every class and get those stamps for your promotional $50 giftcard. You know what the gym is doing right? A service to themselves: in an effort to keep them past the 60 day drop out, if we dangle a gift card in their face they’ll totally complete the program and learn to love being told that they’re doing it wrong. HARDER! FASTER! DO NOT SLOW DOWN! That gift card? Is only good for the gym, not a great night out – or your favorite retail store. You can buy 50 bottles of water! On them! Or pay for other classes, or kids classes. And well, working that hard to like sweating your balls off should mean I get something shiny when I’m through.

3. Spin class will break your vagina. I mean … well, I mean your vagina. I’m not a guy. I tried the spin class 8 very sore weeks after giving birth to an over nine pound he-man child, whom made his exit from my body through the birth canal. Spelled that one out for ya, huh? That’s technically only 2 weeks after the doctor inspects your still raw-meat girl parts and says, hey guess what! You can totally “practice” making more babies already! This doctor is generally a male because any female doctor would look at you, commiserate and then write you a prescription for an entire 4 months that having any kind of sex will incapacitate the ability to ever give a blow job again. That’s how it works.

4. When you start to have a routine to your gym schedule you’ll notice the routines of other frequent gym-goers as well. You’ll start to know which locker you prefer and which shower stall. You’ll begin the rhythm that will eventually be like coming home, taking off all your stress from the day and zoning out for an hour or two, maybe three. DO NOT INTERRUPT THE RHYTHM OF YOUR GYM GOER COUNTERPARTS. You noticed that Speedo guy likes the locker at the end of the 3rd row, don’t throw his game off and steal it. Don’t strike up conversations with folks on the treadmill, there are people who LIVE on those treadmills (I am one of them) and I stare directly in front of me with something really loud with lots of bass streaming in my ears – and I run away as fast as I can, for as long as I can. Do not disturb this kind of therapy. You know where the chatter’s hang out? Good, go there.

5. Welcome! It’s just like high school PE class only no one is timing your mile.

I’m pretty sure Aaron’s gym experience will be awesome now. He says he’s going to try the Spin class today … so, you know. I’ll be buying foam donuts this afternoon.

I’ve been thinking about this one for a long time. Years, actually. How much I struggle with expectations and yet how completely pacified I am by good enough. I am a self proclaimed NON-perfectionist, but I set expectations for perfect. (And then never meet them …)

In the middle of a project or huge decision, I am very decisive. I don’t need to debate or think it over. It is, or it isn’t and we move on. I’m good with those things but sometimes, when I’m not sure, I don’t know how to speak up or say it out loud.

I don’t know how to rise above the mediocre, the good enough. I don’t want a life that is just Good Enough. And yet … I cannot figure out how to get above it.

I can get pushed enough to finally scream these things, desperately, but by that time the wrong people are listening. Or the right people stopped listening. Or both.

It’s crippling, being just good enough. Just past the bar of potential, just enough. Not great or exceptional. And I can go there in my head and be all whiny and poetic about how I want AMAZING THINGS! I’ll dream all day long about the life I. Will. Live. one day but then I talk myself out of it, because all those things? Do they really matter?

But I wake up and today is good enough. It will always be enough but somehow I want more. Is there a date of expiration here? How long do I have to really figure this out before it’s too late?

Sometimes I move around just to make sure I’m here to begin with. I drive these roads and watch the water lap the beach and I make these markers in time just to know I’m here and not invisible or somehow fading. I try to make an imprint, sometimes a big one or a messy one – on roads or dirt paths so I can look back and see the proof.

I need more than Good Enough, I’m drowning in good enough.

But I will be damned if this defeats me. Round up, me – we’re doing this – suit up.

Now, now. Siri.

I think we’ll get along just fine. Now if only she could scramble these eggs.

Damn it.

I recently bought an ebook from Crunchy Betty about natural ways to clean oily skin, or acne prone skin … and although I experienced a slight hiatuses from the stupid stuff (Pregnancy hormones! Amazing!) my skin generally likes to argue with me. And it almost always wins.

Ughhhhhhh! Fine! [stomps feet angrily and marches in opposite direction]

So I need to stay on top of this. And probably buy night creams and wash my face before bed and use make up remover. I GET IT.

Only, and sadly, I do not get it. But the ebook helped, as I’m sure scouring her website for recipes and tips would also help – but I’m a fan of the conscise collection of everything-I-need-to-know, here-you-go. (Also I’m a big believer in supporting other bloggers.)

I have a routine, if we can consider a routine something I’m trying lately and count as productive if I remember 3 out of the seven days in a week to actually do it.

Tonight I added DIY Biore Strips to the routine and it works, really well. But she is lying when she says it won’t hurt when you take it off. I applied to my entire face (probably mistake #1) and waited the 10 minutes. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t yell MOTHERFUCKER through out the removal process. Quickly followed by the oooooooh! when I saw all the little creatures coming off my face.

I start with a cleanser/make up removal that is water, Baking Soda and natural unprocessed honey. Followed by a pH balancer of apple cider vinegar and water. Then the Biore strips, if needed. I finish with a honey wash. Simply honey.

I often start my day with a honey wash, too.

What do you guys do? Are there really miracle creams out there? What works and what doesn’t? Let’s discuss.

I was telling Aaron this week how scared I am of this book. What if I get finished and then I hate it? Or the people who read it hate it? And he said: then you’ll write another one. Just like that.

What a simple expectation. How easy it was for him to believe in me. I might not be the next great writer and I might not make it to the shelves of a box-book-store … but I might find an honest circle of people who feel the same way. Who can respect my story and the raw brokenness it brings – and maybe that’s enough.

Maybe waking up every morning and drowning in these black and white Verdana emotions will be enough when I’ve written my last sentence and cried my final tears through this year of writing.

While researching and writing this article on how to add green space to your office I fell in love with the Cork Succulent garden. Great texture, original idea and seemingly easy.

You’ll need:

Corks, clippings of your favorite succulents (I have hens and chicks), a small amount of dirt and a knife.

Click here to continue reading over at MyTurnstone.com

Pin It

At this point I’m just throwing words against the wall to see which ones stick and no I do not have a book contract, I’m not that cool.

I have 3 books in mind and I’m pretty sure I know which one I’m writing right now but I need some more time to really decide. (aka, log more hours pouring it out of me)

SO! That is the scoop and when I know more you will too.

A friend lent this book to me right after it was released, having read it herself and knowing we both shared an equal love for the author and it’s message. But that wasn’t long after we moved into the first apartment (roughly, I think) and I couldn’t pick up the book. It would stare at me and I’d glare at it and we were like two positives repelling each other at every attempt to fall in love. I gave it back with the explanation that I wasn’t ready to digest the book.

I had entered my own season of Bittersweet and the last thing I wanted was someone’s hope or happy ending. Ok, lets be honest – I had entered the season of Bitter – running from all things that could end in sweet.

A few weeks ago we took the whole family to the book store and I’ve been wanting to read something *else* lately. I love fiction but I needed substance, only I couldn’t figure out how much or what kind when I remembered I hadn’t read this book yet. I found it and started reading the prologue, tears streaming down my face … I knew it was time to read the book. To own it and mark up the pages, make notes in the margins and underline every sentence that sent shivers down my spine.

Shauna writes about the list of things she doesn’t do and I can’t stop thinking about it since reading that chapter a few days ago, so I’ve decided to give myself permission to occupy the same kind of list.

My List of Things I Don’t Do:

I don’t feel guilty about making pancakes at midnight while drinking red wine. There’s a movie with Diane Keaton (Somethings Gotta Give) where one of her scenes is making pancakes at midnight, drinking red wine. Call me crazy, I’m used to it, but there are days where I make pancakes at midnight while drinking red wine and I’m blissfully happy while doing so all because of that movie.

I don’t plan vacations. I love taking vacations and will be the first to jump on the bandwagon when one is mentioned or thrown out as possible. I love getting away, but I don’t love figuring out where we’ll eat every night or what we’ll be able to do. I don’t scour local visitors bureau for information … I just show up and order an umbrella drink or have my camera ready. I say yes on vacation.

I don’t make dinner past 5 o’clock. If it’s 5:03 and I have no plans for dinner, we’ll order out! If I purposefully wait until 5:15 to decide on dinner, we’ll order out! It’s a great plan.

I don’t run a daycare. I love other peoples kids and pets just as much as the next person, but when I’m away from my own kids – I don’t do yours. This has been hard because I want to be the person who always says yes, who volunteers in Sunday School and who can relish in being surrounded by twenty-three 5 year olds, but I am not. I wanted to be the favorite aunt who had sleepovers with my nieces every month. Who played dress up and had a bin of candy for baking cookies. I have an aunt like this, who I love dearly (and Jessica is named after). And bless her heart for being that person for me because I don’t think I’ll ever be that person for my own nieces.

I don’t apologize for my ideas. I laugh loud and often snort while doing so, sometimes I cackle. I make plans and throw parties and want everyone to have an amazing time. I dream really big and I’m almost always in my head. I’m scared of myself, most of the time, afraid to say things out loud because even though they sound good when I’m thinking them, what if someone doesn’t like it? Fuck it.

I’m not the person who sends amazing packages in the mail. But I want to be. I shop for people all the time, I have little piles all over the house and in boxes meant for this person, that baby, just because. I’m really bad at getting and sending the mail. Really bad. Once upon a time I was on top of it. Once upon a time I was on top of many things (scrapbooking, sending correspondence to out of state family, christmas cards, thank you cards etc) and then I gave birth to a second child. Period.

I don’t clip coupons. OHEMGEE. I said it out loud. I don’t clip coupons and I don’t feel bad about it! It’s such a time suck for me, if I can make a list and menu plan for the month – we’re ahead $250 bucks. Times 26 trips to the grocery store (give or take) in a year … that’s $6,500 in savings. BOOYA. Frugal that. I feel so much better getting that off my chest.

What’s on your list?