2017

Let's be blunt, shall we? 2016 has sucked donkey dick. Crass? Sure, but that's what this year has been. Everyone I voted for this year - lost. Some of my favorite celebrities - dead. Mono was defeated, but I got copacetic again as a result. Oh and what's that? Yeah, my basement flooded majorly - twice - and while it's been fixed, we're on the market again as a result of PTSD and wanting good juju versus the crap we've had in this place. Just what I (we) wanted to do again - possibly move.

Deep cleansing breath.

So... how do I make 2017 better? Screw focusing on stupid shit like losing weight or making myself hot. I just want to actually give a damn about myself. For me. Why? Because I'm a better person (mother, wife, daughter, friend, etc.) when I take care of myself but I honestly can't remember the last time I truly did that, 100%.

Yes, obviously, I'm not running away from my responsibilities. I'm still married (9 years in two days - damn) and a mother to a (mostly) awesome, amazing (BTW, my bullet journal proves I use these words way too much) two year old little boy - and I have a great job with a boss who constantly reminds me of how much I actually do since it's easy to forget because of how much I do in a short amount of time. 

I don't want to quit being me. Far from it. I just want to be the best me possible.

I know I'm much better off mentally, physically, emotionally, etc., when I run and do yoga on a more frequent basis. It grounds me. It's a challenge. And it helps me be at a weight I'm more comfortable with.

I'm 31, not 70, so I should be okay with feeling hot. Regardless of whether my definition of hot aligns with anyone else's. Yes, I like skinny jeans, tall boots, and shirts that are long enough to cover up my freakishly long torso. Sue me. That just shows that I have a "look," I just need to accept this fact and tailor my wardrobe around it versus trying to fight it and look like a mom or a wife or whatever should. 

I'm Lindsey: a sarcastic, agnostic, upper middle-class, slightly lazy, working wife and mom. I'm not going to suddenly turn into something else, regardless of how much I may wish too (upper class working mom/wife with a flexible job, friends and expendable income/time to do Pure Barre or yoga at a studio when and where I want comes to mind). I have to accept what I have available, channel my inner Tim Gunn and "make it work." 

So, yeah. In 2017, that's what I hope to make possible. Accept the fact that I know what makes me the best me (denial or not), resist the temptation to revert to lazy habits and just make it happen. For my entire family's sake. 

I have four days to wrap my head around this and figure out a potential plan of attack. Let's do this!

The second mile

When I run lately I tend to average 3 miles (give or take depending on route and mental fortitude). The first mile is always super easy, after all I'm just getting started so I feel really good as a result. The third mile is okay; normally by that time I'm ready for it to be over with so I start picking up the pace again. That second mile, though, is always the hardest. I start hurting or losing a bit of steam, so that's when I tend to have imaginary conversations or think my deepest thoughts of the run. Anything to distract myself, ya know?

On today's run, in order to distract myself from the very real possibility of being covered in oak mites, I couldn't help but consider what makes us like a person or not. For most of my life I've been told that people had the tendency to dislike me when they first met me. I came across as bitchy or cold. Things like that. It was only after they got to know me that they realized I was funny - or whatever their particular descriptor is - and while bitchy at times, not a bitch.

What happens when we don't give people that chance though, and we automatically write them off forever as someone on our "avoid at all costs" list? It's entirely possible that they're truly a great person, and we're missing out by not interacting with them. (What? I'm trying to be positive!) Or even if they aren't, we still might be able to find some sort of common ground. Connection, people, connection. It makes us more likely to remember that everyone's a human with feelings.

Sadly, even at 31 there are some people whom if I saw I would hide behind the nearest item and pretend like they don't exist. Not nearly as many as there once were (Mom perpetually gave me a hard time for acting as though someone was invisible if I happened to see them at the mall as a teenager), but still. I'm not proud to admit this. At all. But that's part of growing up, you acknowledge your flaws and try to reduce them in your kid(s).

So as a personal challenge, I'm going to try to be more open-minded when I first interact with people (or at least act friendlier so I don't seem as bitchy). You're welcome to give it a shot, too. It could be especially helpful until this horrible election cycle is over.

One more week.

Sigh.

Green-eyed beast

Let's start with another Roosevelt quote, shall we?

Comparison is the thief of joy.

-Theodore Roosevelt

 

Throughout my entire life, I have compared myself to others. In both areas that matter and those that don't. This has resulted in me being a bit... petty... when it comes to observing others' lives. Social media has definitely not helped this issue get any better. 

Rather than being happy for someone for the (admittedly limited view) of the things they have going on in their lives, I sometimes can't help but feel bitter as to why they seem to have certain things go their way and I don't. 

Real talk. Social media is fake. It's a forced perspective. I get this better than most since I work with social media on the daily (I'm even dreaming about it a lot lately - yuck!). And yet, I still fall victim to it. 

Why does Megan always seem to have it so easy?
Jackie's so pretty and she's had four kids. How does she look so good?
Gah, Cassie's so crafty. I have like zero abilities now.
Man, Ashley's living the dream. Dancing and yoga, all day, every day. 
Ellen gets to have the adventure of a lifetime with all her European adventures! Why did I only move to Florida as my escape from KC?

I need to make it stop.

No, I'm not going to remove myself from everything and go the Luddite way. Again, I kind of work with social on the daily, so that wouldn't fly. Instead, I'm just going to constantly remind myself of Roosevelt's words.

Comparison is the thief of joy.

As I wrote in my bullet journal last night (BTW - can I say how much I love that thing? Definitely not the fancy-schmancy type, but it's so much fun!), "Quit comparing yourself to others, you're on your own journey!" And it's true.

These girls and I may have had similar journeys at one point in time, or at least had our paths cross, but we've all gone down our own trails since then. I need to appreciate their journey and realize that while it may seem smoother than mine, that that's not necessarily the case. I'm only seeing a fraction of their lives - the same way they're only seeing a fraction of mine. And that's okay. 

I'm not them. They're not me. We all have our own journeys to take.  And who knows, there may be someone out there who looks at my life with a bit of envy. Stranger things have happened. 

My son, the headbanger

Toddlers. Little people with a lot of emotions and opinions, but who lack the proper vocabulary with which to express themselves. As a result, they lash out. It would seem their tantrum styles are as varied as they are.

• One of my nieces kicks. Especially if she's being held. That tends to wind in disaster, especially if her father or one of her uncles is holding her. 
• I've seen other kids at day care launch anything they can get their hands on across the room.
• Biters may possibly be the worst. Though they be but little, their teeth are sharp and their jaws are powerful.

C tends to channel an 80s hairband god and bang his head. This sometimes means falling backwards on the floor (most of which is carpet in our house). In the car (or high chair) he likes bonking his head backwards against the headrest. This weekend's tantrum though, took the cake.

He tried to Judo chop the side rail of his crib with his forehead.

But instead of successfully pulling off his new "Daniel-son" move (if you don't get this reference, you're too young), he realized that head + wood + force = pain.

Maybe this is one of his first physics lessons. Probably not.

After ensuring he was okay, no visible lump or bruising, the first words out of my mouth were, "Now what did we learn?"

I wonder how Ricky mastered ventriloquism so quickly. 

Sadly, I doubt this lesson will sink in. At least not yet. Someday though. In the meantime, maybe we should invest in some helmets.

A friend in need...

Ricky said something the other day that made me think:

"It seems like we, both of us, only have friends in our life while we're of use to them. Once they no longer need us, they're out."

After thinking about it a bit, that does seem kind of true - for the most part.

We do have a couple of friends who have been in it for the long haul (ironically, most of whom currently live in London - and who have invited us to recent events in KC but we've had to say "no" to the sanctioned things. Doesn't mean we can't hang out still while you're home, we're just out for Memorial Day weekend!!), but for the most part our past friends have only been so when convenient for them.

That's not to say that they did it intentionally, at least I hope not, but there have been a number of times when I've continued to try to make the effort only to be ignored.

I wonder what it is about us that leads to this...

Should I take this more personally?

It feels like a normal person probably would. But for some reason it doesn't really bother me that much. I enjoyed my time with them while it lasted, but I guess we're just at different places in our lives now. It doesn't make me miss them any less, or feel any less lonely at times, but yeah...

It just kind of is what it is.

I hate that saying. But it's true.

I guess this is an instance when being an extroverted introvert by nature comes in handy. I'm okay with "being alone." I get my social needs out of the way at work and then can go home, decompress and hang out with my favorites.

Still, I kind of miss my friends.

Sometimes.

I wonder if they ever miss me.

A puzzlement

To have another kid, or not. That is the question.

With C being 19 months old, Ricky and I are starting to toss around the idea of having a second kid. If we did, we wouldn't want them to be too far apart in age. That combined with both of us being 30+ now, if we're going to go that route it needs to be sooner rather than later lest we wind up being old parents.

Not that there's anything wrong with that, but we're already going to be in our upper 40s when C graduates high school. Would prefer not to push that into our 50s if we can avoid it.

We're both pretty torn. We would love to have another little bit in the house, but daycare is expensive. We're comfortable, but not as much so as we would like.

Then I have my own personal concerns. C is wonderful, but my experience bringing him into the world wasn't. I had late developing ICP and pre-e. My labor was moving incredibly fast (at first) until my blood pressure got so high that I was on the verge of stroking out. They had to bring it to a halt and then start it up again with pitocin. That combined with a missed epidural (twice) led to a spinal headache which made the first week of C's life the most miserable I've ever felt.

Birth PTSD? I may have it. Maybe.

Maybe I'm just being selfish.

Maybe.

I had similar anxiety before I got pregnant last time, until we just decided to rip the band-aid off and see what happens. I get the feeling it may come down to that sort of decision again this time.

I just wish I was more confident in what was right.

Indecisiveness sucks.

Broadmoor

I now work in an office with easy access to windows and an electric convertible desk. What witchcraft is this?

I love my new office space. I love my company. I think this is the happiest I've ever been in my professional life.

End of story.

(And knocking on all the wood possible so as to not jinx anything!)

Daycare

It's official, we've entered the clingy, shy stage with C this week.

Every morning when I've gone to drop him off, he's practically glued himself to me once we hit his classroom. Normally, he runs in as if he can't get to the toys fast enough. Yesterday as I was giving him a hug goodbye, he practically climbed me like a tree as I tried to pass him off to one of his room's teachers.

Don't get me wrong, I love the extra snuggles that the (normally) daddy's boy is giving me, but it makes it that much harder to leave him when his big hazel eyes fill with tears and he lets out a heart-rending wail as I walk away.

At least he's not the only one going through this right now. His "buddy" Lucas seems to be in the same phase. Lucas' mom, Lisa, and I frequently exchange knowing glances in the morning as our boys seem fine only to wind up to meltdown mode as we try to leave the room.

On the plus side, I definitely don't mind when he runs to me at pick up time. That? That is easily the best part of my day.

The wrong side of the bed

Happy Friday! Well, for most people it is. Apparently the Leesmann men of KC failed to get that memo this morning.

This morning was rough as both Ricky and C were grumpy. C, who normally wakes up and contentedly talks to himself until we get him out of the crib, started fussing as soon as Ricky went in to grab him. I wonder if he's got another tooth getting ready to break through, but seeing as C's vocabulary is a bit limited still it's not like he can fill us in on what's going on with his body.

Ricky woke up a bit earlier than normal due to not being able to sleep, so honestly this should have been my first indicator. The second should've been the fact that he was pestering C after breakfast. Not in a mean way, but in a way that's a dead giveaway that he was a big brother growing up. He's done this to me before, too, so I get how frustrating it can be to go through. Especially since I tend to be an angry crier, which just exacerbates everything. No bueno.

C's not really crazy about his sippy cup being on his high chair tray if he's not actively using it, but Ricky kept teasing him by putting it back on the tray after C tried removing it. This just led to five minutes or so of the back and forth of Ricky putting the cup on the tray, C whining and trying to remove it, lather, rinse and repeat.

Finally fed up with it, I just removed the cup so it was closer to me. Unfortunately both of their moods continued through the getting ready to leave process. C whining, Ricky acting off. It's not fun. And if you've read previous entries, you can probably guess that I ended up snapping at Ricky (which I'm not proud of, but it happens).

He ended up simply saying bye and walking from the garage back into the house. No goodbye kiss or "love you" for me. Sucks, but I get it.

With a defeated sigh I turned and got in the car. C seemed content enough on the way to school so hopefully his mood will be better when I pick him up. Ricky, due to the stressful nature of his job, I won't hold my breath. Maybe his mood will improve after he works out and mows the lawn. After all, "endorphins make you happy, and happy people don't kill their husbands." Or... annoy their wives and kids in this case.

I wish there was a way I could help my guys feel better when they get into these funks. I don't like seeing people, especially my people, unhappy. But I'm only one person, and sometimes bad moods just need to be worked through. Hopefully this is one of those times that the working through is quick.

Bookshelf II

Normally I'm a speed reader. I have been all my life. But I just finished a book that took me two months to read: Gretchen Rubin's The Happiness Project.

I've been really into memoirs for the past couple of years, and I saw Gretchen speak at a work event back in February. I didn't think her presentation was as funny as the other speakers, but I didn't think she was horrible either - she was okay. So when I found I could get two of her books for the price of one from the event on Amazon I thought I'd give her a shot.

I wanted to like the book, really I did, but I had the hardest time getting into it.

I wonder if that's because I saw a lot of myself in her and her admitted faults. Like her, I'm quick to judge and I like to "debate" (Ricky just calls me argumentative - I, of course, disagree). Maybe she's just not enough of a difference in personality for me to see it as a form of escape (or walking in someone else's shoes) to enjoy - reasons I prefer Jen Lancaster and Jenny Lawson better. They've had all kinds of madcap experiences that are so out of my realm that they give me something to think about (and in Jen's case, the sort of person I wouldn't mind learning from/befriending).

I dunno.

Maybe it's that, but maybe it also has to do with the fact that she's a bit of a research nut and included a lot of that and comments from her blog in the book that slowed things down for me. Research is great and all, but I don't need to know the nitty gritty about it. Hit me with your best quotes you've found and then move on to your perspective again.

I dunno.

At least she gave me a new way to look at the idea of resolutions. They're different from goals. A goal has a tangible end. A resolution should be on-going and something to continually work on/toward. 

I still have her other book to read, but I'm going to take a break from Gretchen for a bit and read The 5th Wave and its sequel next. Ricky's been waiting for me to read those since we got them. Maybe Better Than Before will truly be better. One can hope. 

Pine Grove

When you have a little one that you see on the daily it can be hard to realize how much they have truly grown. Yes, Ricky and I find ourselves saying almost everyday how big C is getting, but last night I had one of those thunderbolt moments.

The weather has been gorgeous lately, and C (as per most little boys) loves spending as much time outside as possible. Our backyard is slightly limited - especially since Ricky had just watered the sodded areas and gardens - so C and I decided to head up to the neighborhood playground.

Normally when we head that way we do so with C riding in the Radio Flyer. Last night we hoofed it instead. Hand-in-hand C and I headed off. It was kind of slow going (he has short legs still), but he made it the whole way.

Let that sink in. My 18-month-old was able to walk about a half-mile, mostly uphill on his own.

My favorite shadow buddy.

We stopped a couple times so I could ask if he wanted to keep going or head back home, and he legit got upset the one time I tried turning around before we reached our final destination. Safe to say my child is strong-willed (at least he comes by it naturally).

Granted he was wiped after going down the slides twice and I had to carry him the whole way home. Worth it. I got baby snuggles, and we made it home much quicker than we made it to the park.

It's amazing how big he's gotten.

The day we went home from the hospital. Pre-buckling up or even getting near a car.

The days are long, but the years are short. No freaking joke.

New motto

I consider myself very fortunate in the fact that I love my job and the vast majority of my co-workers. One of the writers I work with frequently has two simple sentences as her profile on Instagram, and ever since discovering it the phrase has stuck with me.

Do no harm. Take no shit.

I'm kind of seriously in love with this.

Do no harm. Take no shit.

It's almost like she's wrapped up everything I wish to accomplish in my life in six words.

Do no harm. Take no shit.

Let's be honest. I've always looked up to the ladies who are classy, but don't take crap from anyone (some examples: Jen Lancaster, Katharine Hepburn, Eleanor Roosevelt, Tina Fey, etc.). And yet, when it comes to myself, I tend to let myself get trampled on... repeatedly.

Why? Because I want to be true to my Midwestern roots and be nice.

This phrase kind of has me believing I can be both ways, and still be true to myself.

Do no harm: I can continue trying to leave the world a better place. I can still be nice and want to help others.

Take no shit: If someone is rude to me, or condescending, I don't have to take it with a smile while seething inside. I can - and should - stand up for myself.

Maybe it's time to start channeling the manager my girls in Florida witnessed. There, whenever there was an issue I was frequently the one called on to solve it. Why? Because I was "Midwestern-nice but with a backbone."

Me thinks I need to find this again.

If I did it once, surely I should be able to do it again. Right?

Mystery solved

So the weight creep mystery has been solved. I was diagnosed with mono back in early December, and apparently that bastard can stick around for a while. While I thought I was over it, it was just trending down. Then, it decided to come roaring back with a vengeance in a two-and-a-half-week-long flare up.

The good news: I'm starting to trend down again.

The bad news: Pollen vortex has hit me like a freight train. So now I just sound like I have emphysema and have perma-chapped skin between my nose and lips. Fun!

Whatever, at least my weight is no longer up at 178. (Stupid body, holding onto everything, especially water, while sick.)

Back to regular posts soon enough. Thanks for bearing with me.

Bookshelf

Have you ever read a book and you've automatically wanted the author to be your best friend?

In 2008, I lost my first "big kid" job. Allegedly I was insubordinate - my boss at the time even went so far as to claim I got down on my hands and knees and bowed to her (side note: um... what?).

In actuality, I just was over my job and started mentally checking out way too soon causing my work to suffer. Stupid? Undoubtedly, but I was 23 and now see it as a learning experience.

Anyway, in case you don't remember that was the year that practically everyone and their mom lost their job, so it took me a bit longer than it otherwise would have to find another full-time gig. Things got tight, and we were in a bad way financially.

After 2 months I landed a full-time job, and between my two jobs and Ricky's one things were starting to look up again. That's when I discovered her - Jen Lancaster and her first memoir, Bitter is the New Black.

It turns out that Jen had been through a very similar situation in 2001 - but even worse, as hard as that was for me to imagine. Seriously, she helped me see that I wasn't the first person to go through a hard time, and I wouldn't be the last. She also made me laugh harder than I ever had previously while reading a book, so there's that, too.

Yes, she's 10ish years older than me, and has a notorious disdain for Millennials, but I can't help but feel in my heart of hearts that if we had the chance to meet that we'd become instant besties.

Not really, because I'd probably make it awkward somehow and stumble over my words (or literally trip while going to talk to her) and make absolutely no sense when I'm trying to explain to her how much her work means to me, and how much she helped me when I needed it most. And she'd probably smile while backing away signaling for her publicist to save her. And then I'd be sad but thrilled to have met her.

Long story short. I have a major girl crush on Jen. And though she'll never, ever in a million years read this, I just want to say "thank you." Thank you for sharing your stories, making them relatable and making me laugh and realize I'd be okay when it seemed like all hope was lost.

Keep it up, Jen. I adore you.

Rainbow and SM Pkwy

Okay, so you know how babies sometimes get diaper butt syndrome? Where their pants start falling down so you get a big ol' eyeful of diaper? It's super cute.

On a grown-up... not so much.

Nope, not talking about those dudes who walk around with their ass hanging out of their pants. That's to be expected and while eye-rolling worthy, not really something to clutch one's pearls over.

Yeah, no. Today I'm talking about myself.

While running.

Outside of my workplace.

Fun, right?

Oh, and another fun part to this equation. Instead of having diaper butt syndrome, picture the opposite.

Yeah, my undies decided to do the drooping and then my pants threatened to follow along. Can we say wardrobe malfunction?

I got maybe a tenth of a mile before deciding to say "screw it" and give up the hope of running today.

It wasn't worth the highbrows in the surrounding neighborhoods potentially calling the cops on me for indecent exposure. Plus I run past two schools on my route, and I'd prefer to avoid potentially scarring any children who aren't related to me.

I call Ricky to vent my frustration and he's super sympathetic.

Not really.

I can hear him struggling to keep his laughter muffled over the phone.

Thanks, babe. Love you, too. Jerk.

Standing near one of the side driveways of my office I begin huffing and pouting over the idea of going back inside already. It's too nice out.

Hello, it's not often we see the 60s in March in KC. (Attention non-climate change believers, if this isn't an indicator I don't know what is. Yes, I don't particularly enjoy the cold all the time, but it is still winter and maybe - just maybe - it should actually feel like it.)

Anyway, rather than accepting defeat I go all "Goonies never say die" and decide to walk instead.

Was it my normal three-plus miles? Definitely not.

Was I a little grumpy seeing that I walked half the distance in about the same amount of time? You betcha.

But on the positive side of things, at least I was out in the fresh air for a while. So there's that. And now I remember why I'm so picky when it comes to workout clothes. Fully functioning elastic is my friend.

Master closet

I'm standing in my closet staring at my clothes, willing my brain to work in order to get the day started, as Ricky steps on the scale. A small smile crosses his face as he steps off.

Someone's pleased with himself this morning.

"What's your number today?"

As he tells me (his business, so I'm not sharing) I can see him doing an internal victory lap. Lately his number's been riding a bit higher than he likes, so he's thrilled that his efforts have been paying off.

Our first Easter vs our most recent Christmas.

Curious about my own stats I momentarily abandon choosing between my usual work week wardrobe rotation. Seriously, I've been doing the whole pod-wardrobe-thing unintentionally for about a year now at the office.

I've been running 3+ miles a couple times a week, pretty honest with my food tracking (the hardest part is doing so when you know you've had a bad day - connect with me on MFP!) and doing yoga on a consistent basis so I'm feeling pretty confident.

The smooth metal surface of the scale reflects the lights above it as I step on. The numbers start processing so I try to hold extra still to make sure they're accurate. When they've stopped I glance down.

That doesn't look right.

I rub the sleep out of my eyes and step off to let it zero out. I check the scale to make sure it's not laying on a grout seam or something then I step back on.

Same results.

172.2.

I realize at this point in time I have one of two ways I can go: I can get upset and let this dictate my entire day or I can realize it's just a number in a moment of time and count on how I feel instead.

Not to mention I drank a ton of water last night and haven't had the first BM yet, so this could be the result of any number of things.

C's cries indicating he's ready to get the day started cause me to make a snap decision. I peek at the number again. Sigh, shrug, hop off the scale and decide to move on with the day.

Am I thrilled with the number? No. Not at all. Most times I feel as though I'm a skinny person living in a fat person's body, but I can't really be mad at my body (insert cliche list of all the amazing things my body is capable of here).

It serves its purpose and it's a constant work in progress.

So long as I'm not just sitting on my butt cramming my mouth full of chips all day long that is.

Basement

I recently purchased a Groupon for a yearlong subscription to a yoga video collection. I've always wanted to truly try yoga, but being as cheap as I can be I couldn't ever really stomach the cost associated with taking class in a studio. So when I saw the deal was only $12 for a year I was all over it.

A couple things I've noticed since starting my "practice."

• I'm not nearly as flexible as I was pre-C, but I can still put my palms flat on the ground while in forward front stretch so I'll get there again. Eventually. Maybe.
• My core is supa dupa weak. I can do planks and downward dogs, no problem. It's when I try some of the twisting one-hand-one-leg balances that I realize how far I have to go. At least in my basement no one can see me trying to stabilize all over the place. And the only one who could get hurt - aside from me because, well, klutz - is my cat if he decides to try to investigate at the wrong time.
• The teachers tend to be super chatty, but I guess that comes with being on video. You have to fill the silence somehow, and no one wants to hear the loud "dragon breathers" who are sometimes featured as students for the entire length of the class.
• I've forgotten how it feels to not just naturally be good at something. It's an odd feeling, but one I'm okay with. After all, the teachers in the video call it a practice because that's what it takes to get the hang of yoga. Practice. I just have to go back to my mindset from dancing days past where I don't know all of the technique by heart and have the openness to learn.

Am I ever going to be a true "yogi" who can do all of the awesome inversions and balances like it's nothing? Probably not. But what I will do is get better and stronger in my practice. And maybe, just maybe, become a more zen person in the process.

Namastae, y'all!

Soap Box

We watch a lot of "The Big Bang Theory" in our house. It's on whenever we need random background noise.

The other day though, one line in particular seemed to jump out at me. I stand in the kitchen, puzzled. Surely I didn't just hear what I thought I heard, right?

Just to be on the safe side, I check with Ricky.

"Did Amy Farrah Fowler just say she was 130 pounds?"

"Uh, yeah. I think so."

Huh. Knowing what little I know about Mayim Bialik in her everyday life I wonder if that's true. Or if it's just a random number the script writers threw in there thinking it sounded right for a (formerly) sheltered female scientist. Considering how straightforward she seems to be, and the fact that she's a bit shorter than me, I suppose it may be true. After all, the women in Hollywood - especially her costars - are freakishly teensy.

For those of you who have never seen the show, there are three consistent females in the cast: Penny, Bernadette and Amy.

• Penny started out as the stereotypical hot, blonde neighbor, but has developed over time into someone who can hold her own when it comes to putting the guys in their place. She's still hot though, and her costumes tend to lean this way. 
• Bernadette is a scientist with a little squeaky voice, but a big scary yelling voice when mad. She's described often as pocket-sized (she's very short and cute so this is understandable), but admittedly "stacked" as her husband's late mother called her once. 
• Amy is the dowdiest of the group - and I mean this in the nicest way possible as she's also hilarious and brilliant - but her costumes mostly consist of shapeless cardigans and calf-length skirts. Out of the three of them, she's presented as the DUFF. If you don't know what that is, you can look it up.

Anyway...

Obviously this thought has stuck with me for a few days. And then this morning I had an epiphany, one that I needed to resort yet again to my good friend, Google, to confirm.

In the Bridget Jones' Diary series, the character is constantly referring to herself as some form of fat. In order to play her in the first two movies, Renee Zellweger had to put on an alleged 20+ pounds. If you Google "Bridget Jones' weight" in an image search you'll find a ton of pictures of Renee side-by-side as a before and after playing the character. And yet, what is her weight described as in both the books and movies?

I'll give you a second.

Give up?

125-131 pounds.

Think I'm crazy? I'm not the only one who noticed this. Book Riot also picked up on this oddity almost four years ago.

Let that sink in. We're being told that 130 pounds is heavy.

I dunno about you, but that kind of makes me want to go all "Hulk smash."

What sort of a messed up world do we live in where the average woman (going on the average height of around 5'4" for American women) is told that 130 pounds is heavy? Yes, Bridget is technically British, but you know the publisher likely did that conversion for American audiences, much like "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone" was changed to "Sorcerer's Stone."

Please tell me someone else is getting angry.

130 pounds. Heavy.

I know my self-perception of my body is way off. Dancing for well over 20 years will do that to a person. (Side note: My friend Lacey just wrote a beautiful post that can explain this far more eloquently than I can.) But at 5' 7" and 169 pounds, I can safely say that I'm in the slightly overweight category.

Does my height help hide this better than some others - that depends on your perception: I say no, others sometimes doubt me (or they spare my feelings and say I'm lying while doing it themselves).

But still... 130 pounds as big seems insane to me. In fact, my dream weight is still heavier than that. Yeah, wrap your head around that one.

In the U.S., 20 million women, and 10 million men are estimated to have suffered from an eating disorder at some point in time in their lives. Maybe, we can take a small step in the right direction of remedying that by eliminating the idea of characters in our media being large when they're anything but.

130 pounds is. not. fat.

Westwood

"Thoughts on dinner?" 

I cringe. I hate this discussion. Hate. It. Loathe. Abhor. Despise.

Ricky and I are both relatively apathetic when it comes to food - me from a brief flirtation with anorexia in college, him from being tired of the one who has to cook most of the time (long story short, I've had a few disastrous cooking experiments so he tends to be a little trigger shy when it comes to me trying to cook new things. I insist it's the way to learn, he says his stomach disagrees 9 times out of 10) - so this is the conversation version of the spinning wheel of death.

"Um..."

I swear, I'm not avoiding the question. I'm actually racing through a bunch of ideas trying to come up with something, anything that will work, is easy to cook/clean up, relatively healthy, and something that C might eat.

A random list of ideas starts streaming from my mouth. I can picture Ricky's reaction on the other side of the phone. Tensing of the shoulders and an eye roll, as my list consists of things that I know I can cook, but that he's long burnt out on since my reliable repertoire is kind of limited.

"No, Lindsey."

"Well, what are your thoughts?"

This is my usual cop out answer. Whatever he suggests I'll normally agree to instantly. He knows it is, that's why (much to my frustration) he usually doesn't play into it.

What? I'll eat almost anything. He's a bit pickier so this is a guaranteed win because I know he'll eat it as it was his suggestion.

"I don't have any particular thoughts."

Damnit. I start Googling ideas, copying recipes that seem interesting - to me - into chat and sending them to him while trying to buy more time on the phone.

Eventually after a lot of back and forth, and endless amounts of frustration on both our parts, we come to a conclusion. It's not necessarily something that sounds amazing, but it'll do. Again, we're both pretty apathetic.

There has got to be a better way to figure out what we're doing for dinner.

Right?

Suggestions welcome. Seriously, if you have a favorite website with healthy, easy recipes please share.

C's bedroom floor

To start this entry off, I did a quick search for Eleanor Roosevelt quotes. There was one I had in mind - that I thought she had said - and while I haven't found that one yet I've quickly come to realize how smart she was. Especially when it comes to today's topic: self-doubt.

Here's the one I was looking for! Thanks, Bag-all.

This weekend, as per usual, my folks popped over for a bit to visit. While C was busy yanking every book off his shelf to bring over to my mom, she and I somehow got on the topic of high school.

Apparently, as a 30-year-old, whenever I think back on my younger self, I can't help but cringe and be filled with huge, overwhelming waves of regret. It's not that I was a bad kid, I wasn't. I was super involved with extra-curriculars, made good grades, worked and hung out with relatively "good" kids.

No, the issue is that I have issues with my own behavior and whatnot back then. I was obnoxious, sarcastic, judgey, if something didn't come easily I decided to half-ass my effort, etc. Typical teenage girl things. But still. I wish I could like issue one huge apology to anyone who might have had issues with me when I was younger. I had friends, but on reflection I'm not sure how.

Anyway, that brings me back to the quote above. Here I am, 13 years post high school graduation and I'm still worried about what others thought of me back then - high school and college. So much so to the point where yesterday I was telling my mom that I kind of regretted continuing trying out for plays and doing certain choirs while in school.

What the hell?

I loved that stuff.

I might not have been deemed as hot shit as I thought I should have been (Seriously, where does my ego come from when it comes to certain things? I wish I was always that self-confident), but I was still chosen for almost everything I went after. Most of which involved an audition process, ergo I was above average in these areas.

As I was busy going off on this tangent, Mom's sitting there with a small, amused smile on her face. She can tell that I'm having one of my "moments." When I've finished, she reaches out and takes the latest book offering from C, wraps her arms around him and pulls him into her lap.

"You know," she says, "everything happens for a reason. Your life has turned out exactly as it was meant to be. If you hadn't gone down those paths, you might not have met Ricky and then where would you be? This little guy probably wouldn't be here."

She blows a raspberry on my little hazel-eyed hellion's neck, causing him to squeal with laughter.

I normally hate that phrase with a passion, that and it is what it is, but I have to admit that she's right in this case. "Yeah, and I probably wouldn't have realized that I'm pretty good at content management. And I wouldn't have seen as much of the world as I have. I get it."

"Everything happens for a reason."

It does, and ol' Eleanor Roosevelt is right, too. No one is thinking of me as often as I worry they are.

Chances are that while some people, if they were to run into me again in public, might avoid me because of past interactions, most wouldn't even notice me. And if they did, and one of us happened to be feeling gregarious enough to say hi, then it would be a civil conversation between two people with a past commonality. That's about all there is to it.

So I leave you with this, another Eleanor Roosevelt quote:

I am who I am today because of the choices I made yesterday.

I might not be perfect, but damnit, I'm going to try to be the best me I can be. And I have that obnoxious teenage girl to thank for shaping me into who I am today. 

The master bedroom

(Author's note: I suck at coming up with titles, ask me how long it took to come up with the name for this damn blog, so to keep things simple I'm going with locations for titles at the moment.)

After turning off the lights and tip-toeing through the mine field that is our unfolded sock pile I finally slide into bed. Ricky's on his phone - probably reading reddit or something like that. A few chuckles escape him every now and then, but I've learned to not bother asking what's so funny. As a non-redditor chances are high I won't really "get it" anyway.

I can tell he's decided he's done for the night when the room goes pitch black. This is my sign it's time to say "good night."

I roll over and fumble in the dark for his face. When I find it I turn it toward me, leave a quick peck on the lips and then roll back to welcome slumber. He snuggles up beside me.

"Night. Love you."

A pause.

"Ricky?"

"Love you too," he mumbles. The dude falls asleep quickly, but this hesitation isn't that. He's always had a bit of issue with the L word. He willingly admits this.

A few moments pass, and then apparently he's got something on his mind that can't wait til the morning.

"Why do you always insist on doing that before bed? It's not like I'm going anywhere."

"You always say 'bye' and 'I love you' when leaving someone, even if it's just going to sleep," I protest. "You never know what could happen."

He's dubious. "In bed. What could happen?"

Oh boy. He should've known where I'd end up going with this. Especially since I've been in marketing for a hospital for almost a year now.

"Stroke, heart attack, aneurysm, any number of things really. You never know when your time is up."

Silence.

I shrug. He's probably fallen asleep by now. Not kidding when I said he does it in the blink of an eye.

"My mom always used to say that."

Now I pause. Ricky's mom passed when he was a senior in high school. So I'm assuming this is a good thing, but since I never met her I can't be sure. His relationship with her memory is a bit... rough at times.

"Well, it's probably the smartest thing your mom said then."

With that I roll over, kiss him a second time and snuggle down again. It's probably safe to say we both fall asleep within five minutes.

P.S. - apparently what I said last night struck a cord. This morning as we were packing C up for day care I was able to successfully get two goodbyes and love yous, without any hesitation. Though the second one did merit an eye roll. Whatever, I call it a win.

Why basic?

Picture the cliche, 30-year-old, female living in a large Midwestern city. She's probably married with pets, maybe a kid or two, a smidge overweight (if we're being honest) and awkward, but straightforward and friendly. Her tastes are basic: she loves boots and skinny jeans, coffee (Starbucks, particularly), fall weather, craft beer, Target is her favorite, she's obsessed with her town, her teams, etc. Got the image of what she looks, acts and sounds like in your head?  Good.

Hi, I'm Lindsey. I'm pretty basic, but I'm okay with that.

Language warning, Mom! Per Urban Dictionary.

I decided to start this blog because I have a lot of random thoughts and ideas that fly through my head, essay-style, so this was the best way to get it out. And since the best blogs tend to have themes, I needed one, too.

Possible blog ideas:

• Mommy-hood
• Exercise plan with a big end goal
• Personal change
• Pets
• Hobbies/arts & crafts

Notice a trend? They're all a little trite. Google any of these topics and you'll find tons of blogs and bloggers who have already covered these. Not that that's not admirable, especially if done well, but who wants to read the same thing over and over?

Not only that, but I tend to have the bad habit of starting something and not fully seeing it through to the end - at least in my personal life - so that makes for a random, piecemeal blog. Again, not something anyone really wants to read.

So instead I decided to go with the theme of basic. Why? Because it's me, in a nutshell. And, it allows the freedom to write about whatever topic happens to pop into my mind at the moment. Win-win!

So to anyone who happens to stumble across my little chunk of the Internet, welcome. Hopefully you're entertained. If no one finds this, at least I can finally get these essays out of my head and down on "paper."