You know, it’s funny. Twenty years after I hated my brother so much I was willing to smack him in the head with a frying pan (yep, actually did), we’ve come so far in our relationship. I consider him one of my best friends, and he always knows just how to cheer me up, even online. After lamenting on about having to wait over the weekend to hear back on a couple of job interviews I had today, he replied with the sweetest tweet:
My brother’s tweet made my night, and my whole week.
Now I feel really bad about that frying pan incident…
In less than an hour, there will be a Powerball drawing for 500 million dollars. Just typing that out feels ridiculous, a bit like Dr. Evil with a pinky to my lip. I have to admit there’s a part of me that gets caught up in the excitement. A big enough part that I actually went and bought a ticket. One single ticket. I invested $2 in our state’s economy, and I’m sure to lose that investment. But what if I didn’t. What if I won? Even a small portion? What would I do with that much money? Realistically? Here’s what I would do:
1. Have a panic attack.
2. Scream.
3. Have another panic attack.
4. Call an attorney.
5. Hire a bodyguard.
6. Buy an armored car.
8. Send large, anonymous …
(image from careermomentum.com)
Job searching. Let me just say this process is no fun. Scanning online ads, reaching out to friends and family for leads, spending hours on one cover letter, and I feel like this search has become a part-time job in and of itself. And while I’ve only been at it for a couple of weeks now, I’m worried. Worried that the money will run out before the job comes in. Worried that potential employers will see the small gap on my resume (when I chose to stay home with my girls), and think I must not be cut out for full-time work. Worried that I’m walking into the unknown and might make the wrong decision. Worry. Worry. Worry.
And all this while, I’ve lost sight of Him. I’m somehow built this bubble around …
I wouldn’t trade my post-baby body for my skinnier self. My girls are completely worth it. The hair was pretty cool though…
Flat stomach. Sleek thighs. Tight tush. Whether you’re a size 18 or size 2, you’ve probably looked in the mirror and desired to see these attributes. As women, we’re taught from an early age that beauty is defined by how you look in a pair of blue jeans, and that an extra squish should be taped down, bound up or just plain sucked out. We toss around phrases like “real women have curves” and “big is beautiful” but most of us don’t feel this way. We subconsciously suck in our post-baby pooch when someone else enters the room, and we thank the Lord for Spanx. We crave the feeling of being “thin,” all …
…I went on a date with a young man. One I’d met while we both worked at Sheplers, after I’d asked him to “clean my boots.” (Read the full story here.) He was charming, and funny, and handsome, and I fell head over western heel. Yesterday, that same young man had his attention on another girl at Sheplers. At 41 inches tall and 38 pounds, she consumes his whole heart. As he helped her buy her first pair of “real” boots, I couldn’t help but stare in wonder. Never in my wildest dreams did I see this in my future when I was 18 and flirting with a cute coworker. Never did I imagine that we’d be back here together, our little family of four. He stole my heart, and now she’s stolen …
There’s nothing like Facebook (and a pumpkin muffin from Panera), to distract you while your toddler is crying it out in her room at 1 a.m. (She’s fine, just mad I won’t give her milk.) Here’s a little poem I wrote about items from my news feed to commemorate the occasion.
(image from insidefacebook.com)
Laundry mishap
Mommy rant
Messy child
Pink elephant
Starbucks coupon
Ikea plug
Baby pictures
Cute lil pug
Someecards
Random meme
Family photo
Star Wars theme
Politics
Silly joke
Kitty faces
Thankful note
Gee I’m glad
I logged in
What would I do
Without my friends?