Tuesday, February 23, 2010

While You Were Out...

I am off for a week of relaxation and respite.

While I am gone I thought I would share with you some blogs that I read. They are inspiring, fun and beautiful insights in to people's lives.

I believe each of the authors is courageous and I think of them before I hit the "publish" button on my posts.

I hope you enjoy them too!

My friend Julie and her determined journey toward adoption that is so full of grace.

My friend JB whose convictions are as strong and steady as his shoulder in friendship.

My friend Mike whose soul fulfilling cycling journey to raise funding for Parkinson's research made me laugh, cry and cheer.
(This is not a blog with current posts but well worth the read.)


Enjoy!!



Recession Fashion P.S.
I adore this fashion blog - Cheap Chicas.



Monday, February 22, 2010

Sense-ability

Every now and then there is a scent that wafts by or a song overheard. A brief taste that dislodges distant memories. A moment remembered.

You know the kind of memory of which I speak. They sneak up on you and for a few pleasant seconds you are transported to a time and place that make you smile.

While these memory snapshots are fleeting, there are a few that I hold in special rotation.

The smell of Grape Hubba Bubba
Warm sun. My sister is inspecting the summer reading list - prioritizing which Newbery Award books "we" would read first. List in hand we walked down main street to the public library. A small town affair in a stately, old brick building cooling itself. In through the screen door to the darkened, quiet; sis would check out the maximum allotted stack of books. Back down main street I would trail behind her. Next stop Gray's drugstore where we would stock up on Hubba Bubba, cowtails, bottle caps and giant sweettarts. Once home, the main event of the day began with a lick of the lips and a rattle of the cellophane book cover. Sis began to read outloud.

Polka music
As Secretary of the Senate for the Student Government Association my junior year of college I edited the SGA newsletter every month. Procrastination often found me very early on Sunday mornings plugging away at the computer in the SGA office - read closet - for the Monday deadline buried in the back of the Blanchard Campus Center. That first morning I lost one of my nine lives when the polka music came blasting over the PA system. As I skidded around the corner to the main part of the campus center to see what was happening, I am not sure who was more startled - me or the housekeeping staff. And so we settled into a routine, the staff and I. My very own Sundays in the campus center with polka.

Atlantic Ocean breeze
There is a certain smell possessed by the Virginia section of the Atlantic Ocean. When mixed with the scent of freshly laundered linen and an old school wall air conditioner, you get The Avamere. At least once a year, I am transported there purely by a ghost scent. The Avamere is a past era where the switch board operator listened in to your room and send a messenger to the beach to let you know your baby had awoken from the nap. Where Clarence, the owner, greeted three sometimes four generations of a family summer after summer. Where you dressed for dinner and as a 7 year old you delighted in the glamour of shrimp cocktail. Everyone rocked on the front porch facing the ocean after dinner and we were the early explorers of the 17th Street surf shops. The Avamere is long gone, its comforting facade a hazy memory reflected in the shiny new high rises.

Our sensory abilities give us the gift of survival and pleasure so that we fully engage and enjoy life.

Our senses play so many roles. They warn us, they indulge us, and they guide us.

They show us what is ahead of us.

But perhaps their greatest ability is when our senses remind us of where we have been and what we have been through.


RECESSION FASHION P.S.
Run, do not walk to get this great jacket for spring and summer. This jacket from White House Black Market will shine at work, star with jeans and make any LBD stand out from the crowd!


Thursday, February 18, 2010

Beachy Keen

Itsy, bitsy, teeny, weeny; may not be for you or me.

A few days ago I was discussing swim suits with my sister. It was not wishful thinking – in a few days I am blowing this literal popsicle stand for the golden beaches of Jamaica to celebrate my tenth wedding anniversary. A few short weeks later sis is hitting the rarefied sands of Grand Cayman.

Thus, like the annual exodus of the bear from hibernation, we were poking our noses into the air and reviewing our options for exposure.

I may have mentioned that now that she was of a certain age, the string bikini was less of an option.

Silence.

Don’t get me wrong – sis is a bird-like specimen who has to blow out her stomach to fill out a size four. (We look nothing alike. I got the Nordic genes…oh yay.)

So clearly she COULD wear a string bikini quite well. But…and here I will trot out my favorite mantra of all time…just because you CAN, doesn’t mean you SHOULD.

My daughter is going to learn to loathe that statement.

Because even 40 year old actresses whose whole life revolves around being at peak physical attractiveness, look atrocious in a string bikini. (Hint: CLICK HERE FOR PHOTO EVIDENCE)

At some point, age appropriateness wins out over our body’s ability to stay young. Thus, the string bikini, the mini skirt, and the skinny jean stop making you look good and slide rather closer to making you look like you are trying to shave seven years off your age.

You would be better off just making do with the thrill when the obviously in training tween waiter asks for your photo ID as you order your cocktail.

This hardly means bikinis are out altogether. Cleavage at any age, when done right - can cause its own heat wave. There are plenty of well cut bottoms that still use words in their descriptions such as “low rise” and “rio”.

You can still be a sexy beach bunny - just a wiser, more experienced rabbit!


RECESSION FASHION P.S.

Ever since Victoria's Secret started putting 13 year old models in their swimsuit photos, thoroughly skeezing me out, I troll the Venus swimwear catalogue. Not every suit is a winner but they have a plentiful selection and a super swim bottom style finder.

Here are two winners:
http://tinyurl.com/yeqoeca
http://tinyurl.com/y8oonxl

AND Swim Bottom Style Finder: http://tinyurl.com/yl2tby4

Monday, February 15, 2010

Olympic Inspiration

This weekend has been rather humbling.

It started like any other - takeout night, Jonah's Treehouse for the Coop, a workout here, an Whole Foods visit there. I never saw the Olympic gold or the emergency room visit coming. Nor did I see their inevitable connection.


Saturday night Alexandre Bilodeau won Canada's first gold medal of the 2010 games. Almost as well highlighted as his unlikely mogul prowess was his older brother with whom he was best friends. His older brother, shown cheering on the sidelines with all his heart, has cerebral palsy.


After his win Alexandre was asked what was his inspiration. Most people might remember his interview for his girlfriend throwing herself at him for an olympic sized snog. I, however, can still hear his words.


"Even if it is raining, I'll take it, I'll go train," Bilodeau said. "He [brother Frederick] doesn't have that chance, and he's having a smile every morning he wakes up."


I, too, have cerebral palsy. And find myself in the Jekyll and Hyde limbo land that is to wake up smiling every morning knowing it could be a hell of a lot worse but also waking up knowing that there are many every day things I cannot do.


Hearing Bilodeau's words were inspirational. We should all greet each day to give it everything we have got, to not waste what we have been given -- no matter how flawed.


So I awoke this morning thinking how much I needed that reality check. I used to be fearless - rock climbing and water polo and rugby and national presentations in four inch heels. Clearly, I don't wallow in the negative of CP.


I have, however, found myself frustrated more often by what I cannot do, since the birth of my daughter. But today, with Bilodeau's words echoing in my head, I was mentally charged and ready to attack the day - reminded that I have so much to smile about.


Hours later I was rushing my 18 month old in to the emergency room with a deep, bloody gash in her forehead. In that moment, I was drowning in fear.


Not the fear you would think, I knew intellectually that she would be fine. The wound would heal, there was no neurological damage, she would forget about this day very soon.


All I could hear in my head was - What if she is noticeably scarred? What if she looks different than other little girls? I was all over the negative.


While I thrill at the thought that Baby C will defy stereotypes, bust through barriers and display all the traits of a baby buffalo; I want her to do so without any physical anomalies.


Illogical. I know.


I do not want her to be perfect, far from it. I want her to have ruts and ridges, just not the kind that make store clerks ask her if she has tried some new kind of therapy or have little kids stage whisper ask their mothers what's wrong with her.


Hypothetically.


I wanted to stand up and shout, "I told you so!".


I told you that all of my irrational fears would come true. I told you so when I grilled my doctor about CP lightning striking twice, I told you so when my family tried to assure me that Baby C would not face my challenges.



Yes. I told you so.


I told you life wasn't easy. Accidents will happen. Challenges must be faced. What ifs will plague you. There will be blood and tears and fear.


And even, lasting mementos of a life lived in full.


Tomorrow morning I will wake up smiling. Because I can and so can Baby C and for that I am blessed.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Mars and Venus


Maybe my Tivo is to blame.

Or Mad Men.

I never watch commercials anymore. So imagine my shock on Sunday during the Super Bowl when I discovered that the advertising creative community had sunk to that of its lowest member.

And no, I am not talking about the Tim Tebow commercial, I will spare you that diatribe - I will say that the ad's premise would have resonated better with me had it just been any average mom with an average kid. Anyhoo.

I am referring to the tired and overplayed themes of "please, take my wife", philandering, wives emasculating men, etc. predominating this year's Super Bowl commercials. According to Shannon O'Toole, author of Wedded to the Game, women make up 43% of the NFL fan base. This number may not be exact but most polls have shown that over the past 15 years the percentage of female football fans has increased.

Seriously, we still think plain girl versus pretty girl is enticing to any consumer?

It does make me wonder who the heck was in the room when some yahoo sold the humor in the concept about a woman stealing her husband's spine so he would shop with her. Yeah. Give me a minute to stop laughing. Me and the other women who make up 46.5% of the US workforce.

Once I stop laughing, I would like to point out that the unemployment rate in January for women was 8.6% and 11.2% for men.

I shudder to use the following phrase for the 3 zillionth time -- but in this economy, you would think advertisers would shy away from alienating any consumers. You would also imagine that advertisers' research and development departments would do a little detective work to come up with informative nuggets such as:

That 75% of the employed women hold full-time employment. That means women drive a lot of the consumer market. They buy for themselves, their significant others, their children, and their friends.

Women earn 73 cents for every dollar a man makes yet women make 85% of consumer purchases.

This means that there is...was...a possibility that a woman watching the Super Bowl would engage with Teleflora, E*Trade, Bridgestone, or FloTV. Yep, I am calling you out just in case anyone forgot who spent millions of dollars on advertising to insult the majority of potential consumers.

So, Bridgestone et al., take a long hard look at these numbers and try again - the Super Bowl comes around again next year and I hear the economic recovery could take awhile.



Friday, February 5, 2010

Eighteen Months


This week the Super Cooper will be a year and half old and the Winter Olympics start.

Exactly eighteen months ago Cooper was born on the first day of the Summer Olympics. I can honestly say that when she was born I thought I would be the perfect mom. I would be so together and get it all right. Or at least not care what other moms thought about my mothering skills.

Yeah, well, I was wrong.

So, so wrong.

I have been less than perfect and lord knows, I barely get it right. I'll never understand why they let someone still trying to figure things out, guide another being through life.

One thing I have begun to take in stride is worrying about parenting critiques. I am sadistically addicted to a local moms listserve that serves only to shred my parenting self-confidence. There is no end to the list of parenting faux pas in which I appear to have engaged.

So today, in full disclosure, I give you 9 moments in Olympic Cooper parenting history.

1. I have let Cooper watch television -- she is especially fond of Spanish court tv and ice skating.

2. I have introduced Cooper to the enjoyment of the enveloping quiet of the car while I have returned the shopping cart.

3. I have never, wondered, questioned or begrudged Marta, our nanny, the free down time when Cooper naps - whether she watches tv, takes a nap, whatever, I figure it makes her happier and rested for the rest of the day.

4. On multiple occasions I have kept Cooper in her pajamas all day, even while running errands.

5. One of Cooper's first words was bye-bye, practiced each day as I leave for work -- and I am totally alright with that.

6. I have flown Cooper cross-country, roundtrip, twice as a lap child.

7. I never gave Cooper rice cereal, she started eating with fruit solids.

8. Cooper has a suggested bedtime.

9. Weekly dinners tend to be heavily populated by takeout food.

My next faux pas will be keeping Cooper up for the Super Bowl.

Now she is starting to mimic me and this holds potential for even greater faux pas. I guess it could be worse...it has only been eighteen months.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Sharing is a Two Way Street

Driving in DC, many people have experienced various levels of road rage. I know I certainly have – I have a mental picture of a weeble wobble© world where I can vent my frustration by just ramming into the offending car but it just weeble wobbles with no harm done.

However, nothing spikes my blood pressure like driving on the road with a bicyclist.

More than 52,000 bicyclists have been killed in bicycle traffic accidents in the U.S. over the 80 years the federal government has been keeping records. No argument, that stinks.

It is not an ideal situation – large, fast moving, metal and steel objects sharing a relatively small space with completely unprotected human beings on two thin wheels. Yep, pretty much a recipe for disaster. The majority view of cars and bicycles sharing the road is akin to David and Goliath.


However, may I remind you, David won that battle.

In my experience, the bicyclist is one of the most entitled creatures I have found in the commuting world. They are quick to howl and flip you off if you begin to turn right and did not see them in your blind spot. But they are just as quick to weave in between cars in traffic and ignore stop signs trying to skim through the intersection between moving vehicles.

Let me go out on a limb here and make a suggestion – If bicyclists consistently followed the basic rules of the road with the same dedication they request of vehicle drivers, the roads may just be safer for all.


RECESSION FASHION P.S.
The stupid groundhog may be lazy but we can still dream about spring! DC spring usually has a nip to it so skip past the woolly and slip on this bright cardigan!
http://tinyurl.com/ybs6af2