I had a little business lunch with a friend the other day to flesh out an upcoming event and I ordered a sandwich with the upgrade to fries rather than the included option of potato salad. Why? Because FRIES.

We all know that McDonald’s has the best fries, but I only go there when I’m pregnant and on Canadian holidays, so I don’t get to enjoy them very often. But a side of hot, fresh fries with my lunch sounded like just the thing.

So my lunch came, and I did the right thing: I ate my sandwich first and saved my fries for dessert. While we chatted, I used my standard in-public strategy of putting them in my mouth one at a time if she was looking…

Nine at a time if she wasn’t.

I think they had a seasoned salt and sugar sprinkle on them, they were kettle corn level addictive.
We wrapped things up and headed our separate ways, and as I pulled out of the lot I thought about those fries and how they were more addictive than actually good. Then I tried to think of the last time I had some amazing non-McDonald’s fries. And then I had a revelation…

I CAN’T REMEMBER.

I just don’t love fries like I used to! This is at once heartbreaking and liberating. I’m not sure yet what to do with this awakening, but I know my life will always be different.

I’d still eat this though, because it has all the food groups.

My career has taken me all over the country. To Manhattan, to the Vegas strip, to the beachfront in Miami, just to name a few. Because of these opportunities, I was able to complete the obstacle course set forth by the TSA like it was an Olympic time trial. Those days are OVER. The small people have taken over my life.*

* I’m still faster than most of the old people.**

** If I still have a blog when I’m an old person I’ll let you know what my time is. I predict I’ll stay strong.

I’ve been doing a little more traveling in the last few months than I’d maybe prefer, but this weekend I got to take the non-speaking, non-crawling, non-bossy child to a work conference. We shared the biggest bed ever. We watched Say Yes to the Dress and some movie on TBS. And Meet the Press. We did actually watch all of those things, AND they rhyme. Bonus!

He was the perfect gentleman. We strolled in the park, we found the cutest little pastry shop and laughed over breakfast. We (I) even attempted (failed) to finish a bottle of wine over the course of the weekend. He wore a bow tie for the evening festivities and had the courtesy not to spit up on my LBD.

More than one latte was sacrificed in the name of this workation. There was even some shopping! Does this guy know me or what?

I think the bottom line is two fold: I have a fantastic career and my idea of luxury (and romance?) has DRASTICALLY shifted.

I have been ignoring A Thing for a while, and when someone ELSE brought it up the other day, the bear was poked.  And you can’t unpoke the bear.  And apparently I rant now.  Sorry for that…

But here’s the thing: if you’re reading this blog, odds are your life is pretty good.  You at least have access to a computer, which tells me you have access to shelter and to electricity.

With that in mind, the next time you encounter someone who is newly married and happy about it, please try to stop yourself from saying “Oh, all marriages START OUT great.”

When your college buddy gets a big job promotion, do not ask him how the view is from inside his boss’ anal cavity.

When you learn that someone you know has hopes of starting a family, DO NOT offer them your children for a day as a means of contraceptive.

When your roommate gets a chance to travel to Europe, don’t tell them all about the vicious leg cramps on that aaaaawful long flight.  With screaming babies.  And no pretzels.

When someone is overwhelmed by their 2 year old, do not say “Just wait until he’s 3!”

JUST DON’T.

Try these instead…

“That’s great!”
“How exciting!”
“What a great opportunity for you!”
“Are you nervous?”
“What do you think of all this?”
“I remember that feeling, you’ll get through it!”

Just try it!  You might end up having interesting conversations or even feeling BETTER about whatever it is that is making you want to POOP all over someone else’s parade.

And I fell.

[narscosmetics.com]

I know things, okay?  And I will tell you about them.  Sometimes I won’t even wait for you to ask.  Like the time I told you how to fly with your babies.  All of this was based entirely on one of two things happening: either you have someone with you or your kid gets their own seat, and preferably their car seat as well.  If you strap them in, they can’t knock over your Bloody Mary.

Well… APPARENTLY Saturday is a really popular day for flying from Oregon to Minnesota.  I mean really popular.  Standing room only popular.  Waiting list popular.  Put your kid on your lap popular.  Because why wouldn’t you want to go from 70 degrees and sunny to 40 degrees and rainy?

The details of the day are not important.  I may have had 15 minutes to get through security and to my gate.  I may have had nothing to eat.  I may have almost checked my baby along with her car seat.  Anything is possible.

Let’s just say that the husband looked “worried” when he saw us emerge at the end of it all.  Something about “catatonic” and “shell shocked,” but I wasn’t really listening.

The moral of the story is that I’m down two pouches.  You know, the purse that you put inside your purse so that you can get to your lip gloss without digging?  One got run over a couple weeks ago.  I know.  I had to say goodbye to one lip gloss, a brand new lipstick, and there is now a lipstick reminder of my carelessness all over my drivers license.  I cleaned it all up and transferred everything that survived (my car key remote thingy not on the survivors list) to the OTHER pouch.

That pouch is now in Delta heaven somewhere, frolicking with discarded peanut packets and used blankets.  As it turns out, when there is whining and squirming and snot and drool and GO LIMP SHE’S NOT STRONG ENOUGH, there is bound to be a casualty.  I just wish it didn’t have to be my last pouch, with my good keychain and backup lipstick (see above ill-fated lip wear) and Macy’s store credit that I had designated for a new mascara.

This is not my child.  [realchilddevelopment.com]

And my new favorite pen that was delivered by a pen angel after I lost my old favorite pen.

This is not my pen.  [dickblick.com]

And my HEADPHONES?  Now I have to quit running.

Because running is boring.  [blog.mindfitmove.com]

This is why we can’t have nice things.  They get run over by airplanes.

I flew solo last weekend, so obviously there was much feet-up and bon-bonning…

Yeah, not at all.  I kept myself as busy as humanly possible, and even did some NEAT STUFF in there.

Among the more-ordinary-but-still-fun things were meals with friends, walks to the park, and iced lattes.  Cold and caffeinated?  I’ll take 6.

Saturday was the real kicker, though.  I got up – “willingly” – just after 6.  In the morning.  I picked up my friends, drove across town, and ran 6 miles with them.  (Lots of sixes in today’s post…)  SIX MILES, you guys.  That’s farther than I drive for most of my errands.  But, there’s a 10K coming up this month, and still MORE fun after that.  I’m still not one of those people who likes running.

[femonite.com]
I hate it.  While I’m doing it, I hate the flowers and the trees and the puppies and you.  But when I am done?  I AM CHAMPIOOOOONNNNN.  And so I do it again.

I rushed home from that and barely slid my butt onto the couch in time for the 2013 FANTASY FOOTBALL DRAFT.

Yep.

I picked my people via the that’s-a-neat-name-where’d-his-mama-get-it system, and also by googling things like “which wide receiver should I pick next?”

Beware the Eastside Honeybadgers.  They’re coming to your town to eat your football team.

After that, I went with some ladies to a place where you order a snack and a glass of wine and sit down for a PAINTING CLASS.  We don’t doubt we were the highlight of our instructor’s day.  She called us the “rowdy bunch” and something about “banshees.”  The other group was a bachelorette party.  But they were REALLY quiet…

I think I have a future in this…

“Food”  [nationofchange.org]

I heard some thing on NPR today about processed food.  I have no idea what they were talking about, as is usually the case when I turn on NPR, because I’m never in the car for that long.  I’m not sure who IS ever in the car for that long.  They don’t exactly get right to the point over there at NPR.

Anyway, the guy was saying something about processed food and how it could be better than it is (no kidding) but how getting rid of it entirely is not the answer, because not everyone has the time/money/concern to start cooking meals for themselves or their families all the time.  Fine.  Then he started talking about foodies and my mind wandered.  I guess I don’t really know what a “foodie” is.  People tell me I’m a “foodie.”  And because I don’t like being told what I am or amn’t, I get kind of annoyed.  But really?  Are there people who don’t like food?  No.  I’ve decided that “foodie” is probably the dumbest concept ever.

I am an Eatie.

I like to eat things.

All things.

[thegreatfitnessexperiment.com]

Well, I don’t really like eggplant.  Or mushrooms.  At least not the idea of mushrooms.  But seriously, who likes food for its own sake??  What good is it if you aren’t EATING it?  It just sits there!  On your plate!  It’s not engaging until you PUT IT IN YOUR MOUTH.
Eaties.  We’re the new 30.

“Foodies” seem to like the farmers market.  And Really Expensive Restaurants.  And organic stuff.  And wild caught seafood,  NOT FARM RAISED OMG NEVER.

Eaties like all of those things.  And Cheetos.  And birthday cake Oreos.  Seriously, those exist.  And Funfetti.  And garbage burgers.

I made lasagna the other day.  I didn’t follow a recipe.  Because of my love of eating, I’m pretty clear on how most things are made, as long as baking isn’t involved.  Baking is the worst.  I added eggplant to this lasagna, because I decided that would make it less Bad For Me.  It doesn’t, really, and I still don’t like eggplant.  But you know what it does have?  Homemade sauce.  And homemade sausage.  And more than 2 pounds of cheese.  And dreams.

And it looked like this.

And I ate it.

This is not the kind of thing I’d normally write about, but several people have asked me how things, like, go when you fly alone with an infant.  I’m approaching level 398 in the Candy Crush Saga of infant travel, so I’m pretty good (I have no idea, I just googled how many levels there are in that thing everyone talks about.  425.) and I will share my secrets with all of you.  Because 4 people asked.

When traveling with infants or other small irritants, remember this rule: IT NEVER HURTS TO ASK.  So first, ask the check-in person if there’s a family security line.  Most people will wonder what you’re talking about, but some airports have them.  If they do, you pretty much get to walk right up to the scanners, while all the people in line shoot daggers at you.  Especially the ones in line with their whiney kids.  They didn’t ask.  Not your fault, head down, keep walking.

Now that we’ve gotten up to the security scanners, here’s what you “need” (because obviously you don’t need half of this junk, but this is my system and 4 of you asked):

• baby carrier (like an Ergo)
  
• baby stroller-carseat togetherness thing
  
  (If your kid is older and not in an infant seat, they make a “travel cart” that turns a regular carseat into a thing you can drag behind you with your kid in it.  Brilliant.  Then you can skip the whole stroller nonsense.)
• bag for gate-checking the car seat

• bag for gate-checking the stroller
  
• diaper bag full of things you already know you need.
  
  Oh.  Oh yes.  She made a diaper bag.  

Put the baby carrier and stroller bag into the carseat bag so you have one less Thing.

What you do not need: your car seat base.

It is a convenience feature, not a safety one.  Your car seat has slots through which you can run a seatbelt, and probably instructions right on the side for doing so.

At this point, you’ve checked your suitcase and the TSA guy is scanning your ticket, flashlighting your ID, and possibly commenting that you’ve changed your hair.  Even if you haven’t.  If that’s the case, he doesn’t really want to have the conversation with you, just say “yep” and move on.  Trust me.  So you’re standing there waiting, you’ve got your bag on your shoulder, the carseat bag in one hand or under the stroller, and the carseat is on the stroller.  Double check that the baby is in there.  If not, you probably don’t really need the rest of this information.

Walk up to the belt (do not be intimidated by the people rolling their eyes and trying to get past you, they are about to be blown away), take off your shoes and put them in a bin with your bag, coat, etc.  Put them on the belt.  Put the carseat bag behind them, then take the carseat off the stroller and put it on the floor (TSA doesn’t want you to put it on the table).  Fold the stroller and put it on the belt, take the baby out of the carseat and put it on the belt – upside down – and go where they direct you.  They’ll scan you with their flashy thing instead of putting you through the possibly invasive machine.  Winning.

Now everything goes in reverse… pull the carseat off and put the baby in it, unfold the stroller and pop the carseat on, grab the carseat bag and your diaper bag and shoes, GET OUT OF THE WAY, and put your shoes on.

Go find coffee/your gate/a cocktail (not really, you still need to function) and if your kid is booked to sit on your lap, wait for the gate agent to show up.  When they do, SMILE AND BE FRIENDLY, and remember our first rule: it never hurts to ask.

Tell him or her that he or she looks pretty today.  Offer them a coffee/cocktail/nap.  Then let them know that you’re traveling alone with your baby and are wondering if there’s an empty seat they can put you next to so that you can keep your baby in the carseat on the flight.  They’ll do this if they can, it means you will need less help from the flight crew.  Get 2 gate check tags from them.

15 minutes before boarding, go change that diaper because if you CAN avoid doing that on the plane, you’ll want to.  At best, it’ll be cramped.  At worst, it’ll be on your lap.

Get in line for pre-boarding, and at the bottom of the jetway, bag up whatever you’re gate checking.  Hopefully, it’s your stroller and your carseat bag with Ergo inside, and not your carseat.  Put a gate check tag on each of these and go sit down.  Now you just have to keep your kid from driving everyone crazy during the flight, but the HARD part is over.  The part that is at all within your control, anyway.

Now order us some mini-bottles, I brought my travel bitters!  Because these exist.

I signed up for a local early childhood and family ed program today.  I’ve had one experience, so far, with meeting some “other mommies.”  There was crafting.  It made me want to stick a pair of pliers into my left eye.  And then the right one.

Their outfits were not this cute.

So I have been ignoring the rave reviews of this program which have come from my totally normal friends who happen to have kids.  When one of them said it is “like a college level course” on all the weird things you run into when you have a kid, I bit.  Because my general tendency to “obsess” and “research” has taken me away from finding a good home (my home) for some perfect pair of shoes to the nutritional profile of chicken liver.

Salad is also good for you.

So, once a week for a few months I’ll be taking my spare mental energy to the community center to sit and “discuss” my “parenting issues” with other “people.”  For two hours.

But I will remain positive!  If this is the worst two hours of my week, every week, it is still a chance to stop by Starbucks for my trusty companion, an iced, no-vanilla, caramel macchiato.   I don’t even need luck.

So pretty!  [Photo credit: aauriasz.tumblr.com]

Well, it was yesterday.  But still!  How did you celebrate?

Did you run around a lake?

Cut your hair.

Did you eat clean all day?

Spicy quinoa salad?  Yes please!

Did you do some yoga, for balance?

Ooooommmmmmm…..ggggggg ouch.

I celebrated National Running Day by eating donuts.  2 of them.  And Oreos.

Run, donuts.  I’m comin’ fer ya.  If you want your other pink slipper back, you’ll hold still!

The donuts are gone now.  We ate them all (5 + a croissant).  And really, who celebrates National Running Day by RUNNING?  Too obvious.  Try harder, people.

I eat highlighters.

Okay, I don’t eat highlighters.  And I can’t even watch that show, it gives me the willies.

But my snappy new running outfit for vacation next week?  Looks like I ate 3 boxes of highlighters and puked them all over myself.

Hot.

The argument to my husband was that I needed some clothes I could run in, sweat in, wash in the sink, and have dry by the next morning.  Since I only started running last fall, all of my running clothes are for cold weather.  So OBVIOUSLY this vacation (Florida, Caribbean, blah blah, my life is hard) requires SHOPPING.  Obviously.

My best friend’s theory?  Bright colors.  I concur!!!  This makes it more fun to get dressed.  So…

You’ve seen my shoes.

So I added a bright headband…

This is not me, I am much sweatier.

…and a ridiculous skort…

And a grey tank, you know, so that I don’t overdo it on the bright colors.

I’m going to look ridiculous, but given the number of comments I get on my shoes, I figure I am going to SERIOUSLY make some people’s days out there.

We have a deal in this house that if I want to get the cute running swag, I can’t stop running.  It’s a valid concern on his end, as I tend to get excited about things and then flake.  Not always, but often enough that I get his hesitation to give all his money to lululemon and Athleta.

But you know what?  Colors!  Accessories!  NEON PLAID!!!  I totally come out ahead in this arrangement.