Archive of ‘Sentiments’ category

You Must be a Parent


http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2015/07/signs-someone-is-a-parent/

You came to my house unannounced and weren’t appalled that it was a pigsty.

You must be a parent.

You smiled and moved your purse out of the way when my infant and I sat next to you on a plane.

You must be a parent.

You acted like you didn’t notice when my two-year-old was thrashing in the middle of a restaurant because I wouldn’t let her eat a brownie for dinner.

You must be a parent.

You were the server at the restaurant who didn’t get upset when we left behind a pile of puffs, sugar packets, and exploded coffee creamers on the floor underneath the table.

You must be a parent.

You were the co-worker who didn’t appear phased when we carpooled to a two-hour work event listening to the Frozen soundtrack on repeat because I didn’t notice it was playing.

You must be a parent.

You were the nice lady at Target who approached me in the parking lot with a loving pat on the arm and said “been there” when my child was screaming because she didn’t want to get into her carseat.

You’re obviously a parent.

You were the Costco employee who cheerfully gave into my daughter’s requests for sample after sample of Scooby-Doo fruit snacks.

You must be a parent.

You were the grocery store cashier who didn’t get annoyed when my toddler wanted to swipe my credit card in the electronic machine. Ten times in a row. And kept accidentally hitting the “cancel” button.

You must be a parent.

You were the customer standing in line behind me as this was going on who wasn’t giving me a homicidal glare.

You must be a parent.

You were the library volunteer at story time who didn’t mind answering irrelevant questions about the book before moving on to the next page.

How many freckles are on that kid’s face?

Do you think that camel has brothers and sisters?

Why is that birthday party cake pink and not purple?

You must be a parent.

You were kind when you could have been irritated, you were tolerant when you could have been angry, you were calm when you could have been uptight, you smiled when you could have rolled your eyes.

You must be a parent.

And thank you.

    Parenthood: 8 Battles That Aren’t Worth Fighting


    8 Battles that Aren't Worth the Fight with your Kids; http://www.thechampagnesupernova.com

    It was easy to judge other parents before I had kids of my own.

    Oh my Gawd, that lady is letting her three-year-old chew gum!

    Can you be-LIEVE those parents are allowing their children make a mess in this [crappy] restaurant? 

    I would NEVER let my kids entertain themselves with an iPhone! 

    Man, was I clueless.

    After I had children, I realized that some battles aren’t worth being late to work, stressed and defeated. They aren’t worth getting my blood pressure up. They aren’t worth raising my voice. They aren’t worth the eye-roll.

    Don’t get me wrong- some battles are worth fighting. Getting into a swimming pool without an adult. Petting a stray animal. Trolling around the medicine cabinet. Taking candy from strangers.

    However, in our home, some things are not, and will never be, worth the battle. Here are eight of them.

    Lipstick. A lover of cosmetics and all things “girly,” my daughter routinely invades my makeup bag and ends up looking like a clown. 

    I could rub the lipstick off her face, but the rage that would ensue simply isn’t worth it.

    So, unless we’re going somewhere important, the lipstick is staying on.

    Not worth the battle.

    Hairstyling. My daughter likes to do her own hair, which entails putting a hundred bows, barrettes, and rubber bands onto every square inch of her head. By the time she’s done, she’s proud of herself and making her take them off and re-doing her hair would shoot her self esteem.

    There’s nothing wrong with looking like a ragamuffin in public.

    Again, not worth it.

    Manicures at 6 am. My daughter occasionally wakes up at the crack of dawn and wants me to give her a manicure. Her preference is “rainbow” style, which means a different color on each fingernail.

    As there will come a time when she is a teenager and wants nothing to do with me, as long as I’m already awake, I will happily oblige.

    Not worth the battle (and so worth the memories).

    8 Battles Not Worth Fighting With your Kids; http://www.thechampagnesupernova.com

    Wearing Pajamas to School. My daughter has a closet full of beautiful smocked, monogrammed, and brand name clothing. What does she want to wear to school? One of ten polyester Disney princess nightgowns that were purchased at Wal-Mart.

    She will not take no for an answer. If I try to put something else on her, she arches her back, scorpion-style, and it takes twice as long to get out of the house in the morning.

    So, as long as she chooses a clean set, she can rock her pajamas at school.

    Not worth the battle.

    Cookies for breakfast. Despite having a plate full of organic eggs and farm-fresh fruit in front of her, my daughter becomes fixated on a cookie from the pantry.

    As long as she first eats the eggs and fruit, I’m okay with the cookie because I know the cookie is a means to an end.

    Not worth the battle.

    Nighttime Snuggling. People have strong opinions about co-sleeping, but it doesn’t phase me.

    When it’s 3 a.m. on a Tuesday, my husband and I have to work the next day, and our daughter crawls into our bed saying “can I snuggle wiff you?” telling her to get back into her own bed isn’t a viable option.

    Definitely not worth the battle.

    Tooth Brushing. Ordinarily, this is part of my daughter’s nighttime and morning routines. There are, however, occasions where she will fall asleep in the car and we have to transport her into the house and attempt to get her into bed without her waking up.

    We are not going to risk a Hiroshima-esque event occurring in our house by waking her up to brush her teeth.

    As long as it doesn’t happen very often, tooth brushing can wait until the morning.

    Not worth the battle. 

    Reading the Same Book a Hundred Times. When my daughter likes a book, she can become obsessed with it.

    As in, she wants to read it over and over and over again.

    When it’s late at night and we are trying to get her into bed so we have a little time to ourselves, we don’t care if we read Pinkalicious every day for the last month. We are going to comply because the battle isn’t worth it.

    Jeez, Pinkalicious, quit eating all the freaking cupcakes already! 

    Absolutely not worth the battle.

    Cheers to choosing your parenting battles wisely!

      Fathers and Daughters: 5 Important Things My Dad Taught Me


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      Me and my Dad on my wedding day in 2009.

      Ten years ago, my father got a phone call from his sobbing daughter, who was on the verge of what she believed was a nervous breakdown from final exams as a first-year law student.

      What did he do?

      He hopped in the car and drove four hours- round trip- and surprised her by taking her to dinner at one of her favorite restaurants, Sonny’s BBQ.

      Fast forward one decade. My dad invited me to be his “Plus One” on a trip to Italy, which he won as part of an incentive program through his company. Assuming that I would be in the throes of cleaning my kids’ spit-up and tending to a full time, “stress-free” career, he was shocked when I accepted his invitation.

      When I was growing up, my “Tour of Italy” would have amounted to unlimited soup, salad, and breadsticks at The Olive Garden. You can imagine that I jumped at the chance.

      We had the best time, and I’ll be forever grateful for the memories.

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      Me and my Dad in Pisa, Italy.

      My sister and I have a great dad. He never let us slack off at school, never allowed us to keep questionable company, and always encouraged us to “make good decisions,” which was his motto.

      He always tried to instill important values in us, but was also forgiving when we slipped.

      Here are the five things that make my dad so special:

      My Dad Gave Up His Own Comfort for Mine. My Dad always put me and my sister before himself. As a recent example, he gave up his window seat and took my center seat on the 9-hour plane ride from Europe to the United States when we were returning from Italy. I’m terrified of flying [thanks to my parents letting me watch La Bamba when I was a little girl], and needed the window seat to keep from hyperventilating.

      He didn’t once complain about the center seat, and karma probably allowed him to easily fall asleep to boot! 

      My Dad Humored Me When He Probably Wanted to Shake Me. Growing up and through college, my Dad listened with a nonjudgmental heart when his drama queen daughter would call him crying about failed relationships. He probably wanted to shake me and tell me the best was yet to come and the guy at issue wasn’t worth the headache. Instead, he listened, never said “I told ‘ya so,” and never made me feel badly about allowing my heart to hurt.

      My Dad Was My Biggest Fan. My Dad has always been one of my biggest cheerleaders. My earliest memory of this was when I was chosen to represent my public elementary school at a county-wide speech contest in fourth grade. I spoke about water conservation and another girl spoke about her brother’s physical handicap. She won. To this day, my Dad still tells the story about how I should have won and of the large number of people who approached him afterward to express disgust about my “highway robbery.”

      While it was never good to be a sore loser, my Dad thought it was also important to recognize when fair was fair.

      Even though life wasn’t always fair.

      My Dad Taught Me that it’s Ok for Men to Cry. My Dad is nicknamed the “weeping willow” of the family. This became apparent during my senior year of high school when my grandmother died of cancer. My Dad showed me that the stereotype of men being weak if they cried wasn’t true. He showed me that in order to be strong, real, and authentic, you couldn’t be afraid to reveal your vulnerabilities, even if it meant publicly crying.

      This was as true for women as it was for men.

      My Dad Taught Me the Importance of Choosing My Friends Wisely. When I was growing up, my parents never allowed me to go to anybody’s house unless they first met the friend and their parents. Their philosophy was that I’d be less likely to get into trouble if my friend was being raised by people with values similar to the values my parents were teaching me.

      “You are who your friends are” is a motto that is true, and is even more apparent now that I have girls of my own.

      What I value the most about this motto is that some of my deepest, core group of girlfriends date all the way back to my childhood.

      I’m working on passing along these five things to my own two girls.

      Cheers to the man who loved me first and knows me best.

        10 Things I’m Glad Didn’t Exist When I was in College


        10 Things I'm Glad Didn't Exist in College: http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2015/06/10-things-college/

        I attended undergrad in the early 2000 timeframe when life was easy. Very few people had cellular phones, and we had to take turns sharing the dorm room landline.

        Ahhh, the simple life.

        If someone tried to contact you, you could pretend you never got the call, the email, or the letter that came via snail mail. You didn’t have to think about doing something immature and becoming an overnight sensation on YouTube. You didn’t have to worry about writing stupid things in an email and having it go viral.

        Because back when my friends and I were in college, we never said or did anything dumb, immature, or regretful.

        Here are the top 10 things I’m glad didn’t exist when I was in college:

        Facebook. Back when I was in undergrad, they had this thing called Flashes Online.

        No, it wasn’t one of those sites.

        It was a company that sent photographers to college events, usually fraternity and sorority functions, to document shenanigans, tomfoolery, and debauchery. The photos were uploaded for purchase onto the internet within a couple days, and you better believe that me and all my girlfriends were glued to our IBMs, scrolling through thousands of pictures of people we didn’t know to see if our crush-o-the-month was spotted with another girl on camera. Praise God, Facebook didn’t hit the scene until my first year of law school, and even then, it wasn’t very popular.

        Oh, and you had to actually be enrolled at a college or university to qualify for a Facebook account. Not like now, where the free world has access to it.

        If Facebook was around in college, I would have been arrested for stalking.

        Text Messages. These weren’t around until my senior year of undergrad and, even so, nobody really used them because it took ten minutes just to figure out how to type a seven letter word. Further, they weren’t part of my cell phone “family plan” and my Dad threatened to kill me because each incoming text cost 25 cents.

        Back in the glory days, we actually had to pick up the phone and call someone when we wanted to make plans. Or we had to hop on our computers [usually desktops] and log into AIM to figure out what everybody was doing.

        My screen name was chikenleggz. Don’t ask.

        The Bachelor/ Bachelorette. While this show was technically around when I was in college, the extravagant dates on the show didn’t happen until much later. If so, the extremely over-the-top nature of “dating” would have given me an unrealistic view of relationships and made me feel insecure about my own love life.

        You mean, you’re not picking me up at 7 to take me on a personal tour of the Grand Canyon via helicopter followed by a romantic candlelit dinner at a castle?

        Instead, you’re taking me to the unlimited Italian smorgasbord at Cici’s Pizza?

        Shucks.

        Camera Phones. Back in the glory days of college, we carried around disposable cameras from the drugstore. Getting them developed was like opening presents on Christmas morning: you never knew what you’d get, and the final product would leave you equal parts disappointed and elated.

        There was no red eye correction or skin-smoothing filter. The only way to crop a photobomber was to physically cut him or her out of the picture altogether.

        Sometimes you had to hide your recently-developed photographs from your significant other, because you didn’t know the exact age of your disposable drugstore camera or if any of the pictures that you’d since forgotten about would get you into trouble.

        Rule Number 1: Don’t let your mother develop your pictures.

        This also leads us to…

        Selfies. You couldn’t really take a “selfie” with a disposable camera. If you did, you couldn’t immediately upload it onto the internet (because there was no social media) and you had no idea how it turned out until you developed your pictures.

        Not to mention that being caught taking pictures of yourself in the early 2000s would have gotten you labeled as vain and narcissistic.

        Wikipedia. When I was in college, if you wanted to do any research, you had to actually walk to the library and fully acquaint yourself with the card catalogue. Nowadays, thanks to Wikipedia, college students can plagiarize from the comfort of their own couches.

        Amazon Prime. I didn’t have a car my first two years of undergrad. If I wanted to go anywhere or needed to buy anything, I had to either take the bus or mooch a ride from my friends.

        99% of the time, it was the latter.

        I would have been impoverished if Amazon Prime existed when I was in undergrad. The fact that I didn’t have a job or two pennies to rub together wouldn’t have deterred me from buying nineteen bottles of Bed Head shampoo, a Juicy Couture terry cloth jumpsuit, and the new Vanessa Carlton album just because I could.

        Click, click, boom!

        Adorable Gifts for New Arrivals at Gymboree!

        Smart Phones. Back in college, I had the freedom of being completely “in the moment” with my friends without the pressure of needing to instantly respond to emails and SMS messages, uploading pictures of my otherwise mundane life on Instagram, or posting witty remarks on Twitter.

        Hashtags. #wheniwasincollege #wedidn’thavetheseridiculoushashtags #andcouldactuallybefunnyinreallife #withoutfeelinglike #wehadtobefunny #ontheinternet

        Tinder. This is an internet application that pulls information from Facebook to create the user’s profile, and then retrieves “matches” that meet their age/sex/location criteria. The user swipes the picture to the right if they find the other user attractive, or swipes to the left if they’re not interested.

        The Tinder concept is sick and shallow.

        Cheers to the glory days when life was simple and unplugged!

          To Ask or Not to Ask: When Your Friends are Trying to Get Pregnant


          To Ask or Not to Ask: When Your Friends Are Trying to Get Pregnant; http://www.thechampagnesupernova.com

          I am an open book.

          Someone: How are you?
          Me: Ohmygod, Arden woke up four times in the middle of the night last night, Elle threw up in her car seat on the way to school, when I got to work, my heel got stuck between the elevator and the ground floor, causing my foot to fly out of my shoe in front of a bunch of people, I had a strawberry seed stuck between two teeth all day and I couldn’t find any floss, some lady in a white Volkswagen Jetta cussed me out at the gas station because she thought I stole her pump, and so I got stressed and binge ate a Baby Ruth. How’ve you been?

          Someone is sorry they asked.

          While the dialogue above is generally light hearted, I’m equally revealing about life’s catastrophes. Little is left to the imagination.

          It took me 30 years to realize that not everybody thinks, acts, or processes life the same way I do. Some people don’t want to talk about obstacles.

          As my friends and colleagues have started settling down, getting married, and thinking about starting a family- or about extending an existing family- something I’ve struggled with is whether to inquire about their efforts to have a baby.

          I know an unsettling number of women who have dealt with infertility. Some of these women have had miscarriages, from very early in their pregnancies before the child had a heartbeat, to very late in their pregnancies when the baby had a name, a nursery, and the parents anticipated a future that would never happen.

          It’s heartbreaking.

          From a social [and perhaps moral] standpoint, it’s necessary to be interested in- and show an interest about- important things that are happening in other peoples’ lives.

          Mama always said that it’s better to be interested than it is to be interesting. 

          Notwithstanding, if I suspect, or specifically know, that someone is trying to have a baby, I’m often at a crossroads about whether to ask how it’s going. On one hand, I don’t want to not ask and seem like I’m uninterested in something huge that’s happening [or not happening] in that person’s life. On the other hand, I don’t want to ask and pour salt in the proverbial wound if the person’s childbearing efforts aren’t progressing the way they hoped. Overall, I don’t want to project an inaccurate feeling that I don’t care.

          According to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, infertility is common and defined as unsuccessfully trying to get pregnant for 12 months or longer. Approximately 10% of women between the ages of 14 and 44 have difficulty getting pregnant, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

          Before writing this post, I undertook a completely non-scientific survey of a bunch of girlfriends, all of whom come from different geographic, age, and educational ranges, to get their views on whether they want their friends to inquire about their attempts to have a baby. Here’s what I learned:

          Don’t assume that a woman who already has children is immune from infertility. Anna* [not her real name] has two children with her husband, and has been trying for a third for a year and a half. “What I hate is when acquaintances nonchalantly ask if we are having more children or make comments like ‘so and so has three kids… she must be CRAZY!'” Anna believes people assume she’s finished having children because she already has two, or that if she wanted to have more, getting pregnant wouldn’t be an issue.

          Most people aren’t eager to talk about their pregnancy efforts.  After suffering a miscarriage, followed by months of not being able to conceive, Casey finally had her first child a year ago. “We got pregnant so easily the first time that ‘struggling to get pregnant,’ wasn’t a consideration. After I had the miscarriage, I thought I would get pregnant quickly like I did the first time. When it didn’t happen, it was stressful and disappointing. I’ve always been a perfectionist and a workaholic, and discovered quickly that this wasn’t a ‘problem’ I could control or micromanage. That was the hardest pill to swallow. Given how much pressure I was putting on myself and on my marriage, it wasn’t something I was readily willing to talk about with other people. However, when a close friend did ask about it, I did see those chats as more of an escape than dwelling on something I couldn’t fix.”

          Know your audience. Elizabeth is currently pregnant with her first child, who was conceived with fertility treatment. She has many friends and colleagues who also experienced infertility and underwent treatment, some unsuccessfully. “Just like our chronically single friends don’t always want to hear about how in love we are, or all the details of the amazing wedding we are planning, our friends who are experiencing infertility may not want to hear about our pregnancy or baby all the time. Hearing about a friend’s baby can be a painful reminder of a life they want but can’t achieve. Now that I’m finally pregnant, I let my friends who are experiencing infertility bring up my pregnancy to me, but I don’t bring it up to them.”

          If you’re close friends, then it’s always ok to ask.  With regard to specifically asking about childbearing efforts, 100% of the women I spoke with agreed: if you are close enough to the person to know they are trying to have a baby, then you are also close enough to either ask them how they are doing or let them know you are thinking about them. On the same token, all of these women agreed they wouldn’t be offended if a close friend didn’t ask. “I know it’s an awkward subject that most people don’t want to broach, mainly out of fear of a potentially bad reaction from the person they’re asking,” said Amanda, who has been trying to get pregnant for two years.

          They also provided valuable information on things people should definitely not say to a person going through infertility:

          Be patient and it will happen. “I knew I would eventually get pregnant, but living in the moment, you feel like it won’t,” said Kate (who now has a two year old daughter). “I hated when people told me to be patient.”

          Just have a lot of sex. “This is probably the most infuriating thing to hear,” said Lauren, who has been trying to get pregnant for almost a year, who added, “it’s not that easy.”

          You’re probably not getting pregnant because you took birth control for so long. “Well thank you for that outstanding observation… please let me jump in my time machine and rewind the clock,” added Lauren.

          How old are you? Oh yeah, you’re getting up there! “Thank you Captain Obvious,” said Lauren.

          I had such an easy time getting pregnant, I didn’t even have to try. “People who make comments like these look like socially inept jerks,” said Ashley, who has been trying to get pregnant for four years and three failed attempts at IVF.

          I wish I could experience “trying” to get pregnant. See the comment to the statement above.

          Would you consider adopting? “People who are trying to get pregnant want to have a biological child. If and when adoption becomes their path, they will let you know,” said Elizabeth.

          If you’re at a loss for the right approach, sometimes the easiest way to show someone you care is by sending a text or an email that says, “Just wanted to let you know I’m thinking about you and am here if you want to talk or need anything.” This lets the person know you care without the potential difficulty of a face to face reaction.

          Special thanks to all the women who candidly shared their stories with me.

          Cheers!

            6 Things I Don’t Understand: It’s Not Just You


            FUNNY- People are Jerks! http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2015/05/6-things-i-dont-understand-its-not-just-you/

            Life can be confusing. The following are, in my opinion, the top 6 doozies.

            Acrylic Toenails. Apparently this is a thing. I didn’t know about it until I was at a “salon” around a year ago and witnessed one of the employees hacking away at an old acrylic nail so he could glue a new one to some lady’s big toe.

            It was like Tampa Chainsaw Massacre. Toenail style.

            I was really confused.

            Failed, Awkward Sarcasm. Sarcasm is an art. If not executed properly, it’s completely awkward and, at a minimum, rude. Example:

            Me: Excuse me, sir, will you please tell me where I can find a restroom?
            Sir: No.
            Me: Standing there, confused, not sure what to say, unaware of whether this dude is trying to be funny or if he’s just a jerk. 
            Sir: Laughing. It’s across the hall.

            I hate when this happens. Then I have to let out some insincere, fake laugh and I just want to ask the person why he can’t answer the flipping question like a normal human being in the first place.

            I was confused.

            Social Media Love Sonnets. “To [my husband]: I love you so much and am thrilled to have spent the last [x] years with you. I can’t wait to have our baby tomorrow, you’re the best person, I love sharing this journey with you, and I thank God for you daily.” 

            Huh?

            Isn’t this lady’s husband sitting next to her, watching reruns of The Family Guy, while they ignore each other because they are both on their phones? Doesn’t she live with him? Why can’t she text, email, call, or better yet, tell her husband these things? Face to face. Why’s it gotta be all over the internet?

            I’m so confused. While we’re on the topic of social media…

            Twitter. It doesn’t make sense. I can’t figure out how to make my “tweets” include a picture or how to tweet something in the first place and then make a lot of people discover my tweet so they can “re-tweet” it. [How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck…]

            This must be how my grandma feels when she tries to use an iPhone. Or send a text message.

            I’m so confused.

            Extreme Couponers. You know, those people who spend fifty hours locating and cutting coupons, only to end up with seven hundred rolls of toilet paper and nineteen jars of peanut butter after saving $15. Do the math. That was slave labor.

            The only way they will benefit from this is if North Korea drops a bomb and all the peanut butter comes in handy.

            You want to murder these people if you get stuck behind them in the grocery line.

            I’m so confused.

            People Who Spend Tons of Money on Weight Loss Pills/Shakes/Magic Ingredients and are Still Overweight. Get ready for it ‘cuz I’m about to save you some money. Pills, shakes, and magic ingredients won’t make you skinny. They will just make you angry and give you a feeling like you’re “riding in a Chevy and you feel something heavy.”

            They only way you will lose weight and keep it off is by eating healthy, exercising, and getting plenty of sleep. Shortcuts won’t work. Weight loss products and pyramid schemes are a gimmick unless they help you lose weight the old fashioned way [e.g.- by doing the three things I referenced above].

            Please don’t try to sell me a product by showing me a “before” picture that was taken with you pushing your gut out, and then another “after” picture that is essentially identical to your “before” picture, except you got spray tanned, sucked in your gut, and stood up straight.

            I’m so confused.

            Cheers!

              Liebster Award: Oh Goody, I Get to Talk About Myself!


              I started this little ole’ blog in January of 2015 and can’t believe how much my writing has improved since then. I laugh when I read some of the first few posts because of how formal and crap-ola they sound. I’ve grown as a blogger, mainly because I stopped caring what people would think and, instead, started caring solely about what I think. Working full time and being married with young kids has its own challenges, and I wish I had more time for blogging. One of my blogging buddies, Michelle of Grammie Time, recently nominated me for a Liebster Award and I was stoked! Thank you Michelle! And then I thought “Huh? What is a Liebster award?” You can find out more about it here.

              liebster

               

              First, 11 random facts about me: I went to law school (and hated it); studied abroad in the Netherlands at the same university where Einstein used to teach; recently went to Italy with my Dad (oh just wait… there will be a post about it!); have run three marathons; can do a goat impression; am an amateur photographer (read: wannabe professional); have a Barbie collection of nearly 100 dolls that I started collecting when I was 7 or 8 years old, all of them are still in their original boxes; speak-a a little-a bitt-a of Espanola; enjoy taking over juke boxes anywhere there is a juke box (I will injure anyone who puts their quarter in ahead of mine); grew up wanting to be a plastic surgeon until I realized that I suck at math; and sneakily hand my infant off to my husband every time I catch wind of a dirty diaper (because the last person who touches the child, cleans the child!)

              Michelle’s questions for me to answer: 

              How long have you been blogging and what made you start? I launched my blog five months ago and started because I didn’t have any meaningful hobbies and wanted a creative outlet to fulfill my passion for writing, connecting with others, and laughing.

              What is the best and worst thing about blogging? Best: Making new contacts and meeting awesome people from all over the world. Worst: Finding time to do it, battling writer’s block, and trying to create posts on topics that haven’t already been written about ad nauseam. 

              How long have you been married and where did you go on your honeymoon? Six years next month. We went to Kauai, the smallest, northernmost Hawaiian island. There was wine. Lots of wine.

              What was your career before you became a parent? A full time litigator. And now, aside from being a baby booty wiper, snot wiper-upper, and drowner-preventer, I’m still a full time litigator. Shoot me.

              If you could only wear one makeup item, what would it be? Fuchsia lipstick.

              Would you go out to dinner or a movie on your date night? Dinner. And I’d order a steak and drink lots of wine (see Answer to Number 3).

              Advice you would give to your younger self? Do what you authentically want to be doing, hang out only with people who will make you better, don’t sweat the small stuff, and don’t take any crap along the way.

              What is one household chore you dislike doing? ALL of them. The absolute worst: folding laundry and putting it away. Second worst: unloading the dishwasher. Third worst: cleaning up the floor after my geriatric labrador has an accident.

              Your best Disney movie? The Little Mermaid. When I was a kid, I wanted to marry prince Eric and live in his family’s castle with Sebastian and Flounder.

              Coffee, tea, or cola drinker? Coffee. It’s liquid personality for me.

              Describe “YOU” in one word. Spitfire.

              This was fun! I list the following nominees for the Liebster award:

              Julie Borm of Everyday Happiness

              Casey McMillan of Fly Away with Me

              Julie Bedford of The Bedford Wife

              Julie Tingley of A New Happy Hour

              My questions for my nominees are (in addition to providing 11 random facts about yourselves):

              1. If you could take three people (dead or alive, famous or normal) on a trip around the world for a month, who would you choose?
              2. Would you rather have a leg growing out of your forehead or still be connected to your mother via umbilical cord?
              3. What are the things you love and dislike most about yourself?
              4. What is your biggest pet peeve in others?
              5. What do you think is the difference between serving others with an attitude of selflessness and love verses having people take advantage of you? (oh man, that’s a deep one!).
              6. Who is your favorite Disney villain?
              7. What song epitomizes your childhood?
              8. If your first name wasn’t already ______, what would you choose for it to be?
              9. What is the best and worst part about blogging?
              10. Have you received any negative blogging feedback and how have you dealt with it?
              11. What was your first car?

              Cheers to all the Liebsters out there!

                Stuff My Three Year Old Says: From the Mouths of Babes


                http://www.thechampagnesupernova.com

                The Honey Badger herself, when she was almost 2.

                Arden turned three in March of 2015, but has run the roost since she was just a couple months old. We knew that she’d be a spitfire but, given the choice, I still would have preferred a spitfire over a wallflower.

                I’ll likely be eating those words when she’s a teenager.

                As parents, part of our jobs is embarrassing our kids, usually not on purpose, when they get older. This entails showing up at school drop-off in our pajamas, answering the phone when their friends call, and generally just breathing and being alive.

                On the other hand, when our kids are young, we pray they won’t say anything in public that is mortifying or likely to get us shot. Like loudly commenting about the overweight lady eating a hot dog in her bikini at the beach. Or the stinky European guy at Disney with the long armpit hair. The list goes on.

                So far, in her first three years, Arden’s managed so say some hilarious things. Luckily, none have gotten us shot. Here are some of the gems:

                Arden: Mommy, what’s that mole doing on your chin?

                Me: It’s not a mole. It’s a beauty mark.

                Arden: No. Pretty sure it’s a mole.
                _____

                Arden: Mommy, can I wear this princess dress to school?

                Me: No. It’s a 5t and you wear a 3t. You can wear it when you get bigger.

                Arden: Okay. And when I get bigger, I can drink beer and wine and coffee.
                _____

                Arden: Mommy, put Elle’s hand on the stove.

                Eat Clean $30.00 Off
                _____

                Background: Arden and her girlfriend, Emerson, are each enjoying their own brownie sundaes.

                Husband: Arden, can I have some of your brownie?

                Arden: Hey Emerson, wanna give my Daddy a bite of your brownie?
                _____

                Arden [pointing at food that dropped on the floor]: Don’t eat that- it’s a casualty.
                _____

                Me, trying to diffuse a temper tantrum: Arden, stop the drama.

                Arden [dramatically]: This isn’t drama. It’s real life.
                _____

                My sister: Arden, what noise does a pig make?

                Arden: Oink, oink.

                My sister: What noise does a cow make?

                Arden: Moo.

                My sister: What noise does Kuma [our geriatric labrador, who practically has one paw on the plank of the rainbow bridge] make?

                Arden: pants heavily with tongue out.
                _____

                Background: Arden is in the car seat returning home from a trip to the grocery store with my mom.

                Arden: Grammy, I have to go potty.

                Grammy: You need to hold it for a little while.

                Arden [confused]: Do I hold it in my hands?

                Man, I can’t get enough of this kid.

                What are some of your favorite things your kids have said?

                Cheers!

                  The No-Show Birthday Party: How Our Seemingly Harmless Actions Can Hurt Others


                  I was recently killing time on Facebook when I came across a girlfriend’s status update that stopped me in my tracks:

                  photo-2

                  One of the comments in the thread revealed that fourteen of the little boy’s classmates RSVP’d that they would attend the birthday party, but only one of them actually showed up. I blame this on the parents. It’s doubtful that the parents of the thirteen kids who failed to attend had legitimate emergencies that would warrant not showing up for an event that they already committed to. And what about texting or emailing the birthday boy’s parents ahead of time to let them know they had to cancel?

                  Until I had children, I never fully understood the amount of time and money involved in throwing a party. I imagined the situation where the little boy was probably counting down the minutes until his friends came to his birthday party, only to have one person show up. (And thank God for that one person!) Sure, it was gorgeous in Florida last weekend and there were likely other things these parents would have rather been doing than sitting at some kid’s birthday party, but couldn’t they have just sucked it up for two hours and honored their commitment? My heart goes out to the birthday boy and his parents, which my girlfriend described as “devastated.” I hope I never have to see my children experience that type of heartbreak and disappointment, even though it’s probably inevitable. Anybody who thinks that the birthday boy should “get over it” because disappointment is a part of life needs to consider how they would feel if the birthday boy was their child and they were the ones who had to see the pain in his eyes.

                  What made reading this status update more difficult is that I’ve been guilty of RSVPing to events and subsequently being unable to attend. This happens rarely and usually only involves weekday girls’ nights where the event seemed like a great idea when I initially received the invitation and RSVP’d. Then, by the time it rolled around a couple weeks later, I was exhausted from working and traveling all day, had a screaming (and sometimes sick) child to feed, bathe, and put to bed, and the last thing I felt like doing was getting dolled up and driving to a place where I had to be social. And when I sent that horrible text to the host(ess) “Hey, I’m so sorry but I had a crazy day today and am not going to be able to make it tonight,” I am usually thinking, “It won’t matter if I don’t go because I saw on the E-Vite that twenty other girls will be there.” Well… what would happen if the rest of those twenty girls did the same thing? Or even ten of them? In reality, during these scenarios I’m thinking about myself and not the person it might be negatively impacting: the host!

                  Let’s put the RSVP issue aside and move onto attending events that aren’t necessarily appealing (or convenient) to us, but are important to the person of honor. Like the bachelorette party in New York City for the girl who attended all of your events when you were the bride-to-be? Or the baby shower for the girl who hosted your baby shower when it was your turn to be celebrated? Or the awards luncheon (all the away across town when you only have an hour lunch break) for the friend who worked her tail off toward the accomplishment that she’s now being honored? It’s impossible to attend everything we are invited to, and sometimes there are genuine conflicts but, overall, who are we considering when we accept or decline? Ourselves, or the person being celebrated? Shouldn’t we want to make other people feel special, the same way other people have made us feel special?

                  We live in a world that teaches us to think solely about ourselves: “What do I want to do today?” “What feels like the best decision for me?” “I have to put myself first.” Me, me, me. To a large degree, it’s important to consider our own best interests when making decisions, but where do we draw the line? I don’t know the answer to this question. We can be so absorbed with ourselves that we don’t think about how our seemingly harmless choices can hurt somebody else. What would happen if the world taught us to base our decisions on love and service for others? What would happen if we universally had that attitude?

                  Perhaps the only good thing to come out of this horrible birthday party story is that anybody who hears about it might second guess the next time they consider blowing off a commitment. I know I will.

                  (Linking up with Annie and Natalie on Thoughts for Thursday). Photo credit by Can Stock Photo/ Vishnena.

                    The Second Child: How Pregnancy and Parenting Differ Among Children


                    Elle1

                    When I was pregnant with my first child, I routinely stayed hydrated with water, anxiously awaited doctor’s appointments so I could stay apprised of the baby’s development, was terrified of taking anti-nausea medication because of the child born with lobster claws in the Daubert case (lawyers, you know what I’m talking about), and diligently avoided tuna and shellfish.

                    With my second child, I was downing five cups of coffee per day, “forgetting” about doctor’s appointments, popping Zofran with reckless abandon and, in desperate times of starvation, eating Cuban sandwiches straight off convenience store shelves. (Putting the sandwich in the microwave will kill the Listeria, won’t it?).

                    With my second child, the five-second rule became the five-minute rule. I breastfed my first child for three days. My poor second child didn’t receive even a drop of colostrum. Hey, it wasn’t for me.

                    My first child had a closet full of haute couture that would impress even Joan Rivers. My second child received a closet full of our first child’s stained hand-me-downs.

                    With my first child, I was terrified to leave the house and risk exposure to germs. I took my second child to a zoo with my then-toddler in the dead of summer when she was ten days old. (Maybe if I expose her to lots of monkeys, she’ll be immune from the Ebola virus when she joins the Peace Corps in 2032).

                    $30 off Sun Basket

                    When I was pregnant with my first child, I was consumed with the “newness” of the entire experience. I found myself saying things like, “Oh my God, I just felt her kick!” and “Jason, get the camera, it’s time to take the 9-week belly picture for her album!”

                    When I was pregnant with my second child, the conversation became, “I can’t freaking sleep because she’s kicking my ribs!” and “If I rub my skirt really hard with a Shout Wipe, do you think anybody will notice the vomit residue? I’m too huge to bend over and change.” When I was pregnant with my first child, my baby bump became a photographed shrine. With my second child, it became my first child’s pillow and, occasionally, chair.

                    When I was pregnant with my first child, I loved when strangers stopped me on the streets and asked when I was due and whether I was having a boy or girl. When I was pregnant with my second child, I became homicidal when somebody asked me about being pregnant. Or gave me dirty looks when I was downing that fifth cup of coffee.

                    On the same token, when I was pregnant with my first child, I was a panicked, uncertain mess. With the second child, I had an idea of what to expect and didn’t have time to stress about the pregnancy because I was so busy chasing a toddler while juggling a career and marriage and attempting to reach Domestic Goddess status. (Never made it to the latter).

                    With my second child, I knew that most of what I thought mattered during my first pregnancy didn’t really matter at all.

                    What does matter is that she is loved, nurtured, and raised to feel a sense of validation and belonging in our family and the world. What does matter is that she, like our first daughter, is raised to treat people kindly and to understand her purpose and work hard at fulfilling it.

                    What won’t matter, dangit, is whether I ate and enjoyed a giant slice of brie during my pregnancy.

                    How did your first and second pregnancies and child rearing differ and do you think it made a difference?

                    Cheers!

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