Leave The Thighs Out of It

It’s that time of year again, mamas.

You have to decide—are you going to be the mom who sits on the sidelines, fully clothed.

Or are you going to be the mom who gets in the pool?

We had some success with this post last year. My favorite was the story of the grandmother who at age 69 hadn’t been in a pool in twenty years. But her grand-daughter came to visit and she decided she was not going down on the side lines.

She got in the pool.

Then there was one raucous afternoon at the local pool where three of us moms joined the game of sharks and minnows. Not just in the pool. Diving in the pool. A crowded pool. With lots of moms watching on the sidelines.

The kids were delighted. When we got out I said to one of the other moms “See, that was fun!” She rolled her eyes at me and said “I read your dang post.”

Lol. I’ll take it.

The pool opened two weeks ago and there have been lots of moms in the pool. It might be my imagination, but it feels like more moms than last year.

Could be the weather—it’s been early hot this year.

But I was thinking that it could be the memory of that game of sharks and minnows last summer. Right? All that screaming fun? It could be. I’m calling it progress.

Then I was forced to swim suit shop the other day because my tankini top had a structural failure. Let’s just say if you’re going to call something “DD”, you best bring your game.

In the middle of the Fred Meyer swim suit section, I saw this:

IMAG1321

Ladies. DO NOT THINK “Yes! Just what I need!” No, no. no.

Here’s what it looks like:

received_992735524156688 (1)

It came in a size 8 and a size 22 and every size in between. You can see that this was not in the interest of modesty, since it had molded cups in a push-up formation.

You know what else? That swim dress is not lined. So when you and your thighs, who were just minding their own business, try to swim, that top is going to float up and show all the business.

The only thing I can figure is the people at A Shore Fit want women and their thighs a thunder to stay out of the pool, with their objectionable parts covered up and their desirable parts running over the cups.

I socked that cheeky swim suit right on its tag, in the name of women everywhere.

Do not build me a bathing suit to hide a part of me that I may want hidden in such a way THAT I CAN’T SWIM IN IT.

Do not assume I am so self-conscious about my thighs THAT I WOULD PREFER PEOPLE STARING AT MY BOSOMS.

And for the love of goodness–do not call me, or my God-given and -blessed parts, nasty names on your sales tag. THIS IS BAD BUSINESS.

Sheesh.

Happy Summer, 2016. #momsgetinthepool

My Instagram Project

We live in a fairly small, 1920s era home that has NOT a lot of room for a lot of furniture on which to proudly display a lot of pictures in a lot of frames. Besides, I’ve filled every inch of flat surface with pictures in frames for most of my life and frankly, I’m bored with them. But all those Instagram pictures… with all those awesome filters… and all those awesome artsy shots that I convince myself I’ve taken… what to do? And since I’m on a kick of printing out my pictures (remember this blog?)…

It was from this necessity that a project was born.

I won’t call it a craft. Jen and I don’t craft. Please.

I got to thinking that Instagram prints are 4×4. And there is a plank of wood called a 4×4. What if I cut a 4×4 at lengths of 1, 2, and 3 inches, decoupaged my Instagram pictures to the pieces, then arranged them on a wall? The different lengths would give the project some depth. Yes. That’s what I would do.

My uncle had a 4×4 that he cut for me. I stained the blocks, printed out my pictures, bought some Mod Podge and an applicator sponge, and sat down to work. Here’s the finished product:

It was super simple and it’s pretty stunning in person. Here are the step-by-step instructions if you’d like to do it yourself (or a link to the project in my Etsy store, if you don’t want to tackle it on your own.)

Step One: Decide how many Instagram pictures you want to use. I used 42. Not all of these were originally Instagram pictures, though. I created a separate Instagram account just for this project. I took pictures of some old pictures and used some from my existing library. I decided to do all black and white, but you certainly could do color prints, too. You need to make sure that you get them printed at a place that prints Instagram prints. Walgreens and Shutterfly both offer the 4×4 printing option.

I mean seriously, check out this super artsy picture:

Don’t die from the cuteness.

Step Two: Do some math. You will want to cut a variety of block thicknesses. I chose 1, 2, and 3 inches. You’ll need one block per photo. Then decide how many 1-inch blocks, 2-inch blocks, and 3-inch blocks, then add them all up. That’s how long of a 4×4 you’ll need.

Ugh. I hate the maths.

Step Three: Mark and saw your blocks. You can round the corners or leave them square. My uncle rounded and sanded mine. What a nice guy!

Get yourself a good uncle who will do yours, too.

Step Four: Choose a color of wood stain. I chose MiniWax Dark Walnut. I applied just one coat, but apply to your heart’s content. It’s important to get some on the front of the block too. I’ll tell you why later. Let the blocks dry overnight.

Step Five: Now. There’s something that I didn’t know. A 4×4 isn’t 4×4. It’s 3 5/8 x 3 5/8. Neat. So you’ll have to crop your pictures down. The blocks won’t be a perfect square, either. I traced the block on the back of the picture, then cut it out with an exacto knife. So crafty. But inevitably you won’t cut the picture perfectly. So the stain on the front of the block will cover up any cutting mistakes you make.

Step Six: Apply a LIGHT coat of Mod Podge, or other decoupage glue onto the block. Place your picture on the block and press down lightly. Apply a thin layer of Mod Podge over your picture to seal it. Make sure you apply this evenly, in strokes that are all the same direction. You can sort of see the stroke marks on the finished product.

Allow all your blocks to dry overnight. These pictures are so cute. That’s Mazie in the snow on the left, Violet at her 2nd birthday party, then an old picture of my dad and his mother taken in Germany. Right? Be still my heart.

Step Seven: Hanging them on the wall… I realized that 42 nail holes in my wall would be a super bummer, especially since I’m renting. So I used small Command Picture Strips to essentially Velcro them to the wall! Easy application, and easy removal, someday.

I laid them out first on my dining room table in a random sort of pattern (there are two pictures of us as little kids and I positioned them so that he is looking up at me, Brady Bunch style… awwww…), then just transferred them to the wall. They don’t need to be measured and perfect. The perfection lies in the imperfection. (Note to self: apply that philosophy to all areas of my life.)

The great thing about this project is that it’s fluid. It can be added to or moved fairly easily. If you get mad at someone, just unvelcro their block and decoupage a different picture over top of it. Just kidding. Or not…

Tips:

The pictures I chose are very personal. There are two pictures of my dad, who passed away 3 years ago, with my girls. There are pictures of each of us with our children. There is a picture of me and my BFF, a picture of a family recipe written in his mom’s handwriting, my favorite one of my nephew holding Violet, me and my mom and Grandma on Christmas Day this year… each picture is so special and so sweet. They almost break my heart, in a good way, at every stinking meal.

I kept mine all matte finish. I didn’t want a super-glossy look. So I chose the matte Mod Podge and I didn’t do a gloss sealer over the stain. If you want gloss, that’s totally fine. Go with what your instinct tells you. It’s all about you.

There are SO MANY pictures that didn’t make the cut. It’s surprising how many pictures can actually fit in a space. Luckily I have more wall space…

Let’s Talk Turkey

You probably noticed that last week, my town was trending on Facebook—trending #1, in fact.

For the SECOND time this year.

The first time was when a Facebook post by our local police department went viral. I don’t know who writes the crime updates, but they are Freakin’. Hilarious. Right now, they have this whole thing going about wearing other people’s pants (OPP).

You might be amazed to know how many people are walking around wearing OPP, especially if those pants have meth in the pocket.

They went viral after posting the video of a man—who looked a lot like CNN’s Mike Rowe—robbing a bank. They asked for tips. They got a lot of tips, pointing towards Mike Rowe, because it’s not just the cops in my town who are funny, let me tell you:

https://www.facebook.com/plugins/post.php?href=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Fpermalink.php%3Fstory_fbid%3D447213618819223%26id%3D137789306428324&width=500

Mike Rowe—who is also funny—addressed the controversy in a Facebook post of his own and Boom! The Medford PD was on the map.

Last weekend, our local paper posted an article called “Medford May Look For Ways to Curb Nuisance Wild Turkeys”.

This is front page news. Deservedly. I have personal knowledge of this problem.

We are not talking about wild turkeys on the outskirts of town. We are talking whole flocks smack in the middle of main streets. I have posted pictures of the little buggers on my Insta and Facebook. Just a few weeks back, Annie and I were delayed at an intersection while a great big mama held up traffic until she was gently herded to the sidewalk by a Prius.

IMG_20160413_113611

We don’t have traffic in Medford, not the kind that makes people late. Unless there’s a turkey.

IMG_20151008_091555 — Yep. That’s a giant Tom just chilling on someone’s front lawn in the middle of town.

Totally unacceptable.

Our turkey story went viral, because the world understands the plight of a town overrun by turkeys.

(Right? That’s why, right?)

To show you how this all comes full circle, a few days later, the Medford PD posted a crime update where they caught all kinds of bad guys. A list of them, in fact.

And one of the commenters said “Look at that list. Not a turkey among them. When are you guys going to get serious about the turkeys?”

I’m telling you, quality of life is not just about clean air, green trees and good coffee. You also need to live among people who make you laugh.

#lifeisbetterinoregon

THIS was the greatest win

That kid made a big shot Monday night. And the Villanova-North Carolina game will go down as one of the greatest.

But not THE greatest.

And I’m not talking about Laettner. Or Edney.

I’m talking about one Easter Sunday morning when I was a senior in college. I was huddled in the corner of a 1940s farmhouse in Massachusetts with my roommate’s newborn cousin asleep on my lap. Everyone else was crowded around the TV watching the Championship game.

One team, a perennial powerhouse, with two National Championships and three second place finishes under their belt. The other team had never won the title.

The game was close except for one stretch in the second half one team carved a 7 point lead. With 48 seconds left, though, they were all tied up.

Then with fourteen seconds to go, the favorite went ahead on a jumper. The score: 59-57.

The other team inbounded and with four seconds left, heaved a shot that missed. In the scramble for the rebound, the refs called a jump ball. Possession to the team who was losing with .7 seconds on the clock.

Time out. Then another time out to reset the play.

Less than a second. National championship on the line.

I remember the conversation: Do they shoot for OT?

Would you?

Watch:

I screamed so loud I woke the baby.

No one talks about this game. It never gets mentioned in the conversation about greatest games. We know why, because the players had ponytails. And (John Gibbons, I’m looking at you) probably wore dresses.

But tell me a game that was closer, with less options than North Carolina inbounding the ball from underneath the basket all the way out to the three point line, bypassing their 6’5” big girl in the paint and their clutch guard at the free throw line to hit the 3 guard more known for rebounds than shots?

Show me a college coaching decision with more steely hubris than that one.

I don’t think you can.

.7 seconds. For the win.

The True Curse of Eve

Peri-menopause is when you haven’t had your period in so long that your Natural Family Planning app thinks you’re pregnant.

I’m not. My body temperature chart looks like a heart rate monitor: up, down, up, down. 44 days and counting. That’s nothing for me the last few years. I had a stretch from Thanksgiving to Easter with no visit from my good friend Lu. I finally went to the doctor because I was terrified to end up on a segment of “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant!”

And no period doesn’t mean no hormones. It doesn’t mean no cravings, no weepiness and no PMS. In fact, it means MORE cravings, weepiness and PMS.

Don’t ask for whom the bell tolls in my home right now—it tolls for you until further notice. The best bet is to stand still.

There are headaches. I refuse to call them migraines because I know some chronic migraine sufferers and this is nothing like that. More like a hangover without the wild night to show for it, or even one alcoholic drink.

And nausea, reminiscent of morning sickness. I have peed on pregnancy tests when my rational mind knows I am not pregnant but my first trimester PTSD is screaming “Holy Mother of God! Here we go again!!!”

It’s also hot flashes in the middle of the night in January. Last week it was 28 degrees outside and I was sleeping with the windows open and no covers. Sometimes I think I’m going to burn up into a tiny ball and frrrp! disappear.

It’s itchy skin. Mad, itchy skin. CRAZY ITCHY SKIN.

It’s repeat mammograms, which will take a few years off your life.

It’s gray hairs in the oddest places and less hair on the top of your head. Well, my head anyway. This is probably exacerbated by my thyroid issues, but hair loss is a symptom of menopause so I can’t offer any real hope on this one.

It’s brain fog so thick that reasonable conversations are almost impossible. I used to wonder about women who talked with their hands. But now I know that talking with your hands is a menopause coping skill. It invites others to supply the missing words in your sentence, like a giant social game of $100,000 Pyramid–everyone ends up red-faced and screaming, but all you have to show for it is a lousy finished sentence.

When my mom made this journey, I was a late teenager. Made for some interesting moments in our home.

My girls are young still and my fervent prayer is that I complete my trip on the hormonal rollercoaster before they get on.

Otherwise, to paraphrase Betty Davis: buckle up—it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: