Adventures East Of The Columbia River

I'm the kind of person who will do something SOLELY for the sake of being able to say that I did something. My philosophy is to live your life so that you have stories to tell. This philosophy has guided me through many crazy little adventures and life tangents.

It's the reason I ate aligator on a stick and ostrich burgers at the Taste of Chicago in 2004. It's the reason I went to Space Camp in highschool . . . and put an unwrapped BabyRuth on the floor of the women's shower. It's (one of) the reason(s) I eloped. This philosophy has also led me to dance on top of many bars in my short life (Ok, fine. It was three bars). It inspired me to eat my friend's Mystery Pizza in middleschool (you don't want to know and yes, it tasted horrible).

aIt's the reason I skipped the only class I ever skipped in highschool and the reason I went home with the divorced elementary school teacher I met at a bar on my 21st birthday (he turned out to be a gentleman and slept on the couch, I swear). It's the reason I made my group of fellow law student volunteers walk three miles so I could ride the train in downtown New Orleans just for one stop.

This philosophy of mine has landed me one step from the beaten path on many occassions. And now that I've stopped going home with strangers and (mostly) dancing on bars, I still drag my family along on little adventures while we are on vacation. Never content to sit on the sideline and enjoy the freshness of a new place from pure observation alone, I'm the person who makes you try new things just fo the reason that it is new and therefore, "adventurous." I'm the person who takes pictures of everything she sees while on vacation. The one who makes you pose oddly with inanimate objects. The one who squeals over famous and not so famous landmarks and enjoys staying in any hotel just for the fact that, OMG, it's a HOTEL!

Last weekend my family and I drove out to Spokane for a mini family re-union. Aside from the five hour car ride with my mom, dad, little brother, husband and toddler, it was pretty fun. And I got to do some ADVENTUROUS things!

Cure For The Bar Exam Blues

When it comes to studying for the bar exam, or facing any tedious task, it is best to just put one foot in front of the other. This, of course, is easier to do in a pair of cute new heels! So, when people ask me how I'm surviving through this dredgery, I just have to point to my feet.

That's right peeps, the cure for the bar exam blues: new SHOES!

This sexy pair of 2.5 inch heels was even ON SALE- (Cee- 5 points, Karma- 0).

And I can enjoy these so much more knowing that we are getting a major tax refund. I was an independent contracter at my firm over the summer and they withheld nothing from my paycheck. So I set aside 20% of each paycheck I earned (hardest thing EVER- like someone handing you a box of candy and telling you not to eat it!) in my own savings account. But looks like I get to keep it all (yay for dependents and tax deductions!). I feel like it's raining dolla billz!

The rest of that money will probably go towards paying off my credit cardz. Wait, who am I kidding? There are so many cute shoes left to explore... and 2 weeks until the bar exam :(

Take Caution Before Revealing Your Innermost Secrets

You all know me as the smart, sophisticated (*cough*) former lawstudent and child herder that I am today. (Doesn't "child herder" make more sense than "mother"- I swear I spend half of my mothering time diverting my toddler from things like: the coffee maker, kitchen knives, the bottle of KY-Jelly (TMI?) by my bed, tile-grout cleaning toothbrushes (which he loves to use to brush his teeth), and overly priced electronics). But there was a time, long, long ago when I was the shiny beacon of nerdiness. What's that? Ok, fine, I'm still a nerd it's just that I can hide it better in public. But sometimes evidence of my past nerdiness leaks out into the community, scarring my reputation for life.

My husband works for a well known community organization. He is very involved in the community trying to raise money for a campaign. He often takes rich and important people and elected officials on tours of their local facility to solicite donations. Since he drives a suped up, two door, turbo-ized (is that a word?) Ford Probe. He has to use MY car to take people on tours. For some odd reason, important rich people don't like to cram into the back of compact cars, dangling their legs out the passenger window with the sound of a million revved up motorcycle engines buzzing in their ear. Crazy rich peeps.

Often times these rich important people are lawyers (oh, someday!, that could be me!). They see my Seattle University Law and the Loyola University Chicago window stickers and like to make small talk.

Rich Lawyer: "So did you go to school in Chicago?"
Husband: "No. Actually that was my wife."
Rich Lawyer: "Did she grow up there?"
Husband: "No, she really just wanted to go to school in Chicago."
Rich Lawyer: "It's a great city."
Husband: "Yeah. When she was in highschool, her hero was Indiana Jones."
Rich Lawyer: "ok..."
Husband: "The character of Indiana Jones apparently went to school in Chicago. My wife had never been to Chicago before but she really wanted to go to school there because Indiana Jones did." (OMG- HUSBAND- SERIOUSLY?! DID YOU HAVE TO GO THERE!)
Rich Lawyer: "So is the SU Law sticker yours?"
Husband: "No, that's my wife's too. She's studying for the bar exam."
Rich Lawyer: "You mean your wife wanted to be a lawyer instead of an archaeologist like Indiana Jones?"
Husband: "Yeah, I guess. I know, she's weird."

If this keeps up, no reputable law firm in my county will want to hire me. THANKS HUSBAND. At least he didn't tell Rich Important Lawyer that I had the name "Indy" put on my higschool track sweatshirt.

Horsing Around

I'm doing a ton of things lately. My weekly schedules are jammed packed! And somehow studying does not make my list of weekly activities. Oh well. If law school was a road, I would be a car that has spun out into the ditch. Smoking engine, blown out tires AND unconscious driver- the whole thing. But I'd be a HAPPY unconscious driver. Because instead of freaking out about finals and being a responsible student, I am doing things that make me happy!

Like riding horses. Exhibit A:



This is Jackson, the beautiful horse that I get to ride once a week (soon to be twice a week!). I LOVE riding. It takes so much focus, coordination and communication (with the horse of course) that I can pretty much escape the rest of my life. I thought riding would be 100% thrill. Like boating or going on a carnival ride. I thought I could just hop onto a saddle and ride away into the sunset. But actually, it's really challenging and takes a lot of skill and patience. Some days it's 70% frustration and 30% whatever else. But it's ALWAYS fun. Basically it's what gets me through the week, knowing I have a lesson at the end of it.

I was never one of those "horse" people. You know, the kids who wore screen print horse sweatshirts to school. The ones who collected My Little Ponies and watched Black Beauty a million times. In fact, I was never much of an animal person. I always prefered playing with babies to animals. But now I have a new appreciation and admiration for horses. They really are amazing animals. I can't believe how strong they are. And so stubborn. But I think that's why we get along, I have an affinity for stubborn things and I have a stubborn streak myself.

Damn it. I have to take back what I said about not being one of those "horse" people. I just remembered that, this afternoon, I ordered a sweatshirt from the stables. It has a screen print picture of a horse on the back AND my name on the front. Shhh, don't tell anyone...

P.S. The best part about riding is that I have an excuse to wear my cowboy boots in public. Then I like to make a trip to the grocery store on my way home and leave a trail of dried horse poo behind me. When people make a comment about my boots I get to say, "Oh, I just came back from the stables."

Re-Convert

You know how when you ask people what kind of music they listen to many will say, "Anything but country....oh and rap."

As a die hard country music fan, this totally pisses me off. Ok, so country is just not your thAng, I get it- that's fine. But REALLY? You like every other category in the repertoire of worldly music EXCEPT country? How much more of an insult can you give to a down-hown, line-dancing, wanna-be country gal? It's borderline ridiculous!

I mean seriously? You'd prefer to listen to hours of ear splitting mountain yodeling than country music? You would choose whinny teenage emo music over a couple bars of an acoustic accompanied by a fiddle and some lyrics about pick-ups and bud light? How about hokey polky acccordian music in another language? You'd rather listen to THAT too? Well, at least you disclaimed a distate for rap as well, but notice how it is almost an afterthought as if country music where the ultimate in horribleness.

Am I missing somethere here? Is country music THAT horrible? I mean it's a brother to Rock and Blues. And excuse me, but ELVIS PRESLEY was consideres a country music artist as well. I admit a lot of country is "redneck," but that's because country singers know how to HAVE fun and MAKE fun of themselves. Example lyrics:

"She thinks my tractor's sexy."
"I can hotwire your tractor and plow up your land."
"I can take you for a ride on my big green tractor."
"If you gonna learn to farm you gotta learn to drive a truck"
"We all gotta hillbilly bone deep inside."
"I was sittin' there sellin' turnips on a flatbed truck."

Maybe it's genetic. You are born to like country or not. Maybe I just like it because it brings back memories of riding my bike in my garage as my dad worked on his boat and blasted the local country station. Maybe it just speaks to where I am in life right now. Or maybe I'm just a country girl trapped in the city. Oh, and there IS something beautiful about an accoustic or steel guitar that can't be replicated by a synthesizer.

In highschool I claimed that I hated country along with all of my friends. I think I even believed that myself for a while. From highschool to the age of 25, I refused to listen to it because of it's reputation as being "uncool" and "hick." But then, one day, my mom drove my car and left the radio station blaring. I decided to leave it on that channel for my entire 45 minutes drive home. By the time I got home I was singing along to my old favorites and loving some of the new stuff. I could hide no longer- country found me again and it stuck.

If you just don't like country, I respect that. I'm not trying to convert you. I just want people to respect country as a legitimate expression of the values and experiences of people from all across the country. And not just unsophisticated, toothless people, either. Sure it can be as loud an obnoxious as a dirty pickup with monster wheels. It can be as sexy as a shirtless rodeo bronc in boots and a dirty cowbow hat. But it can also be as sweet, romantic and breathtaking as an endless field of wheat and rolling hills.

And if you STILL refuse to respect country, you can take my shit kickers (aka:boots) up your @$$, you dimwitted gooseberry.

The Hamburger Diet

After Jacob was born and I returned to school, I managed to get back to near my pre-baby weight. And I did this by eating hamburgers every day. Not special silly tofu burgers or sandwiches pretending to be burgers but nastily delicious fast food burgers! This just seems wrong doesn't it? Don't you all hate me right now?

If you love fast food burgers but are watching your weight (hopefully watching it decrease not increase), then let me introduce you to the HAMBURGER DIET! It goes something like this:

My favorite hamburger at Dairy Queen is the 1/4 pounder Classic with Cheese. Normally, this burger is packed with 560 calories. Let's not even go into grams of fat shall we? BUT, if you order this burger without cheese (90 calories) and then remove the bun (190 calories), then you can eat the patty with ketchup, tomatoes and pickles like a pizza slice or even fold the patty in half like a taco. A third option is to wrap the patty in lettuce leaves- which is my personal fav. This bunless, cheeseless "burger" is only 270 calories!

I ate this for dinner multiple times a week on my way home from class. It always hit the spot. I was still splurging on greasy fast food and I was still getting 18 grams of protein. I didn't feel like I was dieting at all. And a dinner that is under 300 calories is a great way to trim down. If you are lucky like me, you can order yoru husband a full burger meal and then steal a handful of fries to wash the burger down with...my only weakness in life = fries...yummmmmm.

DELICIOUS HAMBURGER DIET!! You will never hate dieting again! (unless maybe you are a vegetarian?)

One More Step Toward Adulthood

I have taken many steps on the path to adulthood:

- I make myself eat veggies even when I don't WANT to

- I've learned how to tolerate and even like coffee (although not without tons of milk and sugar)

- I've walked in the ceremony for my law school graduation

- I worry about things like health insurance and what to cook for dinner

- I've gained some (although limited) experience with foreign concepts like: "tax deductible," "downpayment," and "toilet bowl brushes"

- The appropriate response upon hearing a friend or relative is pregnant is more often "congrats" than "oh sh*t!"

- I watch my husband pay my car insurance- I was going to tell you all that I pay my car insurance but that would totally be a lie.

BUT BY FAR, today's experience has made me feel the most grown up out of any other adult step I have taken. Today, for the first time in my life, I paid a babysitter. Think about that for a moment...For a good decade and a half of my life I have BEEN the babysitter. Now here I am, interviewing awkward teens thinking "how are YOU good enough for MY baby?"

Rather than spending late nights waiting for some other children's parent to come home with a big fat check for me, I'm the one dolling out the big bucks (dang, childcare is expensive). Seriously people- how did this happen? I'm too young to be the "parent!" Where did my childhood go?! Then, after I PAID the babysitter, I *gasp* DROVE the babysitter home. The first time I actually said the phrase, "I have to drive the babysitter home" I almost choked on my own breath.

I used to think parents were crazy when they would be out on a rare date and keep calling home to check in on their kids. I used to wonder if parents really meant "help yourself to anything in the fridge" when they said it. I used to wonder why they would often come home later than they told me they would come home. And now I totally understand it all.

But you know what? I kind of miss being the babysitter.

Discard Your Social Camo

There is something so sincere about a child. When we are children we have less social inhibitions and are more free to be who we really are. As a child/tween, I was a total free spirit- I was who I was with no care about how society viewed me. Proof: I wore sweatpants, Ninja Turtle t-shirts and a purple rhinestone baseball cap to school until like 7th grade. I was a fashion nightmare- but my outfits reflected 100% who I was. I didn't care how I LOOKED compared to everyone else. I cared only about how my clothess made me feel- I wore what I was comfortable in.

When I was 11, my best friend and I had big plans for our futures. We spent our time planning every detail and outlining our thoughts in a spiral notebook. We were going to move to Montana. We were going to have a house and a barn with horses, cows and other farm animals. We were going to make our money teaching horse riding lessons, holding summer camps, teaching line dancing and making and selling pottery (ok, so the plan had some gliches). In our journal we named our animals, kept a newspaper add of the land we were going to buy, and drew blueprints to our house and barn. We loved getting together and dreaming. To us, it seemed like anything we could dream up, we could do.

Then you grow up and society tells you to "get real." Get into a good college. Get on a fast track to a professional career. One day, like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, you are suddenly aware of your "flaws" and the many ways in which society is judging you- you feel naked and inadequate in front of everyone. You have to buy nicer clothes, have nicer things and act like everyone else.

I admit that for a good couple years, I fell into these pressures. In college (the first time I ever started caring about my appearance), I burned up my highschool savings on clothes. I still never felt accepted, mainstream or satisfied. Inside, I was still that free spirit. But except for certain times when I was with close friends, I felt like I had to suppress that quality of myself.

You think pressure is high in highschool and college? Well, it's through the roof in law school. There isn't so much pressure to fit in- it's more like pressure to do well in the traditional law school sense of getting good grades, being on a law journal, earning awards and achieving a high class ranking. Oh yeah, and get a JOB. And although I find that your average law student is unlike your average undergrad student and may be more prone to being "awkward" and "nerdy" and accepting of people who are unlike them- there is still a sense of "fitting in."

However, after 2.5 years of lawschool, 2 years of marriage and one year as a mom, I'm finally unlearning all the things society taught me about what being "cool" is. It finally clicked as I read To Kill A Mockingbird the second time this past summer (and as I ruminated on the concept of International Law and how the law is basically defined by behavioral "norms"). It finally hit me that- duh- society is just a herd of sheep being lead by a handful of blind but really loud shepherds. Someone yells, "this is cool! come this way!" and we all rush to comply. Society is not some divine truth. Society can be wrong just like any other individual. Proof: skinny jeans- holy hell those things are awful.

The scary part- laws are created by society. If society can be "wrong" then laws sure as hell can be "wrong." I mean, how do a lot of law come about- Legislators are pressured by their constituents and society as a whole to enact them. As lawstudents, I think we often view laws as the Ultimate Truth- this is because outcomes turn on what the laws say and how they are interpreted. But we shouldn't forget that those laws establishing "justice" and "order" are often merely what the majority of people (or even just a handful of people) think are "just" and may be a far cry from what they should be. (Getting off my To Kill A Mockingbird soap box now).

Admittedly, I do take into consideration the messages society sends me. And, I also have to admit, that while I balk at some social trends and messages at first, many times I learn to accept them and sometimes I even start to agree. But I try to accept those messages and trends only if they mesh with me personally- I won't accept them JUST for the sake of accepting them and JUST because of social pressure. So yeah, I will always be influenced by society, and my internal compass might be "adjusted" in part by social pressure- but I strongly reserve the right to be a free spirit.

I want to be like the kid I used to be. I want to do things regardless of how society views me and do them just because that's who I am. There is always going to be a force within me saying "don't go too far if you want people to take you seriously" but I think it's healthy to know how to get along in your environment and connect with others. Like most of the themes of mommy-lawyer blogs, the key is BALANCE. Be part of your environment. If you want people to take you seriously as a lawyer, then you have to fit into certain social perameters. but you can be an individual at the same time and you don't have to suppress that inner free spirit (unless your inner free spirit tells you to wear skinny jeans or become a card carrying member of a Nazi survivalist group- both are equally heinous). And most importantly, it should be our JOB as lawyers to always scrutinize the laws and norms of our society and challenge the status quo rather than mindlessly accepting them.

YAY For The Flu!

Thanks to two days of eating nothing and three more days of having no appetite, I finally lost those five extra baby pounds! Woo hoo!

This wasn't exactly the way I planned on losing the weight. But hey, I deserve something positive to come out of this Extreme Flu Bug of Death.

Someone at school today commented on how I looked more slender. I told her it was because I had been crippling ill. And she was all like, "Awww, I want the flu. Can you give it to me?"

Gross. Seriously I have done some desperate stuff to lose weight- like the time I didn't drink water for a whole day and then ran 3 miles in order to squeeze into a dress the next day- but I doubt I would ever VOLUNTEER to dry heeve for 24 hours and fry my brains out with a fever just to lose 5 pounds. But then again, under the right circumstances, just maybe, I would?

Bear Sightings & More

Last weekend, Jacob went on his first road trip. We traveled five hours by car to visit my sister at her college way out in the middle of nowhere. The town she is lives in was basically built around the university. Once we got about 1.5 hours outside of Seattle, the roads were basically empty- and it was kinda spooky. After we traveled down the mountain pass, all you could see for miles was flatlands. We passed farm after farm, field after field. I forgot that at least half of Washington looked like this!

I am 100% a water person. I grew up on an island (7 miles across by 12 miles long). The only time I don't remember living in the Seattle area (I lived in Alaska was I was really young) I was in college living on the edge of the country's largest lake- Lake Michigan. If I am not near water and if I am surrounded only by land, I begin to feel claustrophobic. I guess you would call that landphobic? So while it was nice to visit my sister, I could never live there.

The highlight of the trip: the hotel! I LOVE hotels. I can't describe it. I love staying in hotels more than I love travelling to other cities. I love the smell of hotel rooms- chlorine, cleaning products and freshness. I love the feel of cool hotel bed sheets against my skin. I love staying up late sitting in bed watching the news in a foreign city. The feeling of relaxing in your room after a dip in the pool- clean and refreshed. I love the possibility of adventure that hotels give. Looking down at rooftops, cityscapes, beaches, and alleys from hotel windows. I love the sound of flip flopped or sneakered footsteps echoing down hotel hallways. The hustle and bustle of people coming and going. Continental breakfasts and late night trips to the vending machine. And don't get me started on Hotelsex! I just love everything about them!

At the hotel we stayed at this weekend, Jacob got to go into a pool for the first time. He loved the water and laughed when his Grandpa splashed about making funny faces. Then he sat on my lap while I dipped my feet into the hot tub. It was heavenly!
The next morning we took a tour of my sister's college town. Enjoyed some yummy lunch and passed by a bear conservation! My little bear got to meet a couple of real bears! The bears definately rank second among trip highlights, after the hotel of course.

But after spending ten plus hours in a car all weekend, it was nice to be back home. Next to water. Away from bears. And back in our beds.

Haunted by Christmases Past

There will always be that one toy that you desperately wanted as a child. One year you asked Santa to bring it to you for Christmas (and maybe you asked every Christmas until you were 15). But every year, the toy elluded your greedy little kid paws. The wanting continued... until your hope dried up and your heart grew hollow. And you lost all faith in Santa and his STUPID ELVES (why couldn't they just get it right?).

Eventually you stopped trusting the world and your outlook on life became dark and full of doom.

And it's all because you never got Go Go My Walking Pup!!!

he's a puppy that walks just like a real dog- he even comes with a pretty purple leash!

Moral of the story- give your kids what they really want EVEN if it does require batteries.

So what toy did Failure Santa not bring you?

Post De Hind Region

I don't have an intelligent post today. Rather, I have an assortment of odd-ball comments that have are hind region themed.

1. I haven't gone on a run since Jacob was one month old. And I LIKE it. I LOVE basking in my laziness. Not running every day is something that would have given me nightmares last year. But the downside? FLAT ASS. Pancake flat. Indiana wheat field flat. Pre-pubescent eight year old chest flat. I ran over a nail with my tire and it's flat FLAT. Yeah. That. Can you inject botox into your ass?

2. It's my husband's favorite time of the month. It's the I've neglected to do laundry like my laundry machine is the center of hate which also happens to increase cellulite and the accessive storage of fat cells and now I only have a handful of thongs left to wear Time of the Month. This is the time when all my lacey, frilly thongs come out of hiding and manage to wedge themselve in places that shall not be named as I go about my daily business.

3. I just happened to be drying my hair this morning in my tank top and a bright yellow thong when husband walked in. I may have crossed my legs and leaned forward provocatively, but that is no excuse for him to land a loud slap across my thigh. Seriously. There is the perfect red outline of a handprint there. And it still stings. Note to self: never try to be sexy while my backside is exposed.

4. Someone at Fred Meyer today happened to forget the Eleventh Commandment. Thou Shalt Not Wear Panties That Sit Higher Than Thy Pants' Waistline- And If Thou Does, Thou Shall Not Bend Over. Seriously people.

4. I was glimpsing through some old college photos on my computer and I realized that I missed my college dance party days. Me and a cross country team mate would sneak into the local bar with fake IDs (one time I was allowed in with my of-age Korean friend's ID). We wouldn't even drink alcohol because if we got caught drinking we would be kicked off our team (we were more scared of our coach than the local authorities who love to crash bars and arrest underage attendees). All we wanted to do was SHAKE OUR BOOTIES. It was a sad but serious case of booty shaking deprivation. You can't keep a good booty shaker down. While completely sober, we would dominate the dance floor and dance crazier than any of the drunkies. And we would compete to see who could slap the most stranger's butts without being caught in the act. (Once you slapped a behind, you had to turn the other way and act completely natural as the victim surveyed the busy dance floor in an attempt to find the perp).

I was awesome as a nerdy, sober college athlete. What? You want evidence?

Brimming With Joy (& Christmas Music)

Ever since I heard about pandora.com, I've been obsessed with playing Christmas music all day long!

This evening after Jacob was put to bed, I was doing my daily blog reading and listening to a string of holiday melodies. Out of nowhere my husband laughs and says, "You're cute Cee." His statement was dripping with endearing love and light hearted ridicule.

"What? Because I'm listening to Christmas music?" I asked indignantly?

"No because you are singing along to it. By yourself. And it's ridiculous."

I guess I had been singing along to "holly jolly christmas" without even realizing it. But seriously, my singing isn't THAT bad. And I love christmas music. There is just something about knowing all the words to feel-good tunes that elicit childhood memories of Christmases past. Who can listen to it WITHOUT singing along? Only a cold hearted Grinch!

But if my husband thinks THAT is ridiculous, I'm gad he's not home all day to witness me singing boisterously to Jacob (complete with AMAZING dance steps, facial expressions and hand gestures). Jacob LOVES christmas music too. Especially when I sing it!

There Goes The Resume

A word or two of wisdom:

If you are a innocent undergraduate student of political science, be wary. If you are wide-eyed at the opportunity to intern with THE Governor's Office and thinking about the wonders that experience will do for your resume (even if it IS only data entry), be wary.

You might want to consider whether your governor is susceptibe to criminal behavior and/or political corruption. Or you may find yourself with a ominous black mark on your educational and work history.

Thanks. Alot. Blagojevich.

Introducing Your Next Super Hero: The Reluctant Empathiser

I have an unhealthy impulse to want to help all of mankind.

I'm usually quite capable of drowning it out most of the year when I'm preoccupied with my personal responsibilities, daily routine and instant desires. I mean who can think about saving the world when Nordstrom is having it's yearly half off sale or when you are at risk of having the dignity kicked out of you by an ornerous Professor and his deadly Socratic Method. I hate to admit it but the thought of starving children in Africa is kind of a downer when you are enjoying an expensive meal out on the town with your girlfriends.

In the hustle and bustle of everyday, my philanthropic intentions often get pushed to the side and forgotten unless the needs of others are brought directly to my attention. But the holiday season always seems to bring the needs of others (or at least what I PERCEIVE their needs to be) to the forefront. A force of nature constantly drums the back of my head- urging me to do something.

It's like I'm a super hero and my calling is to eliminate the sadness, disappointment, and pain that I perceive in the world. Minor problem: I'm doing a lot of perceiving and not a lot of eliminating. During the holidays I just can't seem to shut off my fountain of empathy. This makes me miserable because often times I lack the means, ability, or the guts to help. I didn't ask for this gift, mind you. It found me. I'm a RELUCTANT super hero.

When I visit my single friends with small children and see how hard they work, I have this heart tugging urge to anonymously send them things they need in the mail. When I found out that my mom was only giving my ten year old brother socks for St. Nicholas Day, I had to run to the nearest toy store, buy something amazing, and beg my mom to give it to him instead (when I was growing up my parents always put a small toy in our shoe on St. Nicholas Day and the thought of my brother finding a disappointing pair of socks was TOO MUCH TO BEAR).

One time in highschool, I saw a Maury episode featuring orphan teens. Ever since, I have been haunted by the fact that there are acne-ridden, hormone crazed teen with behavioral issues out there that need families! After the show, I think I paced around my room for an hour trying to figure out what I could do. Never mind that I was a teenager myself because, seriously, they needed MOMS. FAST. I had to do something! See how traumatizing my human empathy is? To this day Maury taunts me from the back of my mind.

The other day I read an article about how food stamps and WIC benefits are not keeping up with this year's food inflation. One woman told the reporter that she often had to go hungry so she coud afford to feed her young daughter. My mind almost exploded. People are going hungry, people! We have to do something! It was all I could do to stop myself from taking my MasterCard and buying baby formula for all the families within driving distance of my house.

See. There is so much need. And, aside from participating in the various Secret Santa charity programs, so little I can do at this very instant. It's heart breaking. Families are hungry. Children will not get toys for Christmas. People are losing their jobs. And I can do nothing but keep thinking about it.

Maybe this is why I need to be in law school. Not only will all the hours of studying fry my brain and make it impossibe to think about anything but finals. But when I graduate, maybe I can do some good. Help change some laws. Represent the needy. Save the World. And then maybe I can go to bed at night during the holidays.

Why I Burned The French Toast And Why The Chicken Piccata Tastes Like Gasoline

Once there was a girl. Her name rhymed with pee. She liked to cook. Alot. But her parents talked her out of going to culinary school (Liberal Arts Education or Bust!). They also talked her out of going to Montana State University, thank goodness- but that's another story. So she went to law school. But sitting in front of her laptop in Business Entities, she missed her apron. And her rolling pin. And the crazy measuring cups with the numbers rubbed off (Is this the 1/3 cup measurer? We'll say it is).

Her love affair with the kitchen continued in her spare time (i.e. when she was supposed to be reading casebooks). Cee made spicey pumpkin breads and to-die-for tamarind chicken. She whipped up delicious blackberry cobblers and pan roasted exotic moroccan steaks. Cee was in heaven. She was having fun. So MUCH fun, in fact, that Cee felt she must be doing something a little bit naughty (the Catholic in her).

One day Cee got pregnant. She decided to take a semester off of law school to cook all day take care of her baby. She laid awake each night dreaming of the creations she would make in the kitchen.

Then Cee actually had her baby. And she found that she was suddenly missing one hand. Where did it go? It was constantly tucked under the smellier side of That Baby. That Crying Insomniac Baby. But Cee didn't let That Baby get in the way of her Kitchen Lust. Cee continued to chop onions and measure spices and peel potatoes and mix cookie dough with her one free hand.

Cooking with one hand is very hard and can even interfer with one's motor skills. And sometimes, having a baby over your shoulder can impair your vision. That is why Cee often had to explain to The Husband why gooey chocolate chips, minced garlic or marinated capers found their way onto That Baby's head and inside That Baby's clothing. That is also why Cee's culinary creations are now sometimes left untouched by her dinner guests. (NOTE: Husband is not so lucky. He must eat the food on the table or STARVE. So what if he gets indigestion. It's called a "Marital Hazard").

Call Me A Homicidal Maniac Crazy

Yes, my baby is only three months old.

No, he does not sleep through the night (on a bad night, he wakes up every hour past his initial four hour sleep stretch).

I'm quite aware that the horrors of potty training, teething, and terrible twos are in my not-so-distant future.

There are days where I want to take my frustration and sleep deprivation out on the world via a massive wrecking ball.

I vaguely remember that the day after my c-section, I wimpered that I was NEVER DOING THAT (pregnancy/labor/being cut in half) AGAIN.

But I keep thinking that it wouldn't be such a bad thing if I got pregnant again- now. I even kind of WANT to. I know it sounds crazy, but a part of me is already yearning for baby #2. No matter how much work, blood, sweat and tears it requires, I love this baby stuff. I love babies. I especially love MY babies. I think I want ten.

Can't you see why?

A Blonde By Any Other Color...

This weekend my hair changed color. Not by itself like the magic rainbow horse in Wizard of Oz, although wouldn't that be cool? I had my hair DID. First let me preface this by saying that I've had the same haircut for years. Medium length with long layers and blonde highlights to accentuate my natural dirty blonde-ish color.

I think I just woke up Saturday morning, looked in the mirror and had a new-mommy life crisis. The kind of life crises where you think, "Omg, I'm someone's mom. I'm someone's mom AND I'm required to feed that someone every three hours for the next eleven months AND I have a mortgage AND I've never been to India AND I'm one step closer to the end AND (as a final straw) I have REALLY BAD HIGHLIGHT GROWOUT!

So I got myself to the Salon faster than a baby can spit up on a newly washed shirt. But somewhere between me asking my hair dresser (that's a funny title because hair doesn't wear clothing!) to dye my hair back to it's original color and me dishing out way too much money, something went horribly wrong. Horribly BRUNETTE wrong.

I know I've been in denial about my hair color since I was six when a hair dresser chopped off the last of my bleach blonde baby hair. In first grade my best friend colored a picture of us together and I threw a hissy fit that she colored my hair light brown. "What is that?!" I yelled at her, "My hair is blonde, NOT brown!" Then in second grade when we were coloring self portraits, meany Matt Smith (who always scribbled on my desk) exclaimed to me that my hair was Dirty Dishwater Blonde. I ran up to the art teacher with tears in my eyes in search of a second opinion. According to my diplomatic Art Teacher, my hair was "golden blonde." Then after I graduated from college, I started highlighting my hair as a final act of denial.

To me, being blonde was just who I was as a person. It was as central to my identity as my running habit and my love for chocolate bars.

So when I asked my hair dresser to take me back to my natural color, I was finally accepting the fact that I am who I am. I was accepting that the almost 25 year old me is tied down to student loans, a house, a husband and a son. That I have never travelled the world or explored the jungle or solved a mystery (other than to find the location of missing house keys and work socks) or raided a lost arc in Egypt or flown an airplane. I never became fluent in a foreign language and I've never been on an adventure grander than my middle school trip to Space Camp.

While I was prepared to look reality in the face, I was not prepared to walk out of the salon as a 100% brunette. Either I was REALLY in denial about my hair color before or my hair dresser took come artistic liberties. I'm inclined to blame my hairdresser because she was calling me by the wrong name the entire time. *SIDE NOTE: You know how awkward it is when you don't correct someone the first time? It makes you look bad to correct them later and so they keep on calling you the wrong name for the rest of your life and you have to pretend that's your actual name?*

Anyway, I'm starting to get used to this new look and I'm almost starting to like it. I can't yet say the same for the new perspective on my identity.