Modern life has made cellphones somewhat of a necessity. Any mother will tell you that they need for their children to have a phone so they can always know where they are. It’s also quite helpful with the arranging of after-school or after-sport pick-ups. Of course we grown-ups need our cellphones too. How else is our husband supposed to let us know we’re out of milk? (And more importantly how are we going tweet about the long line at the post office?) Unfortunately, much to my family and friends’ dismay I am sort of known for forgetting my cellphone. And it always seems to bite me in the ass. Just last week I was standing in line at the bank and saw Angelyne. I had the perfect shot of her to text to my friends (OMG – look who is at the bank!), though admittedly if I had had my phone I probably would have chickened out and not taken it. If you are scratching your head wondering who the LA phenomenon known as Angelyne is, Google Image her. Or just click here. I’ll wait here while you wash your eyes out. (I know, you can’t un-see that. So sorry.) Yes, she really does dress like that. And yes, she is elevendy. (My friend Tina brilliantly called Angelyne a cross between Debbie Harry and Phyllis Diller. Hot Damn, Tina is funny!) A couple of days later I was at Trader Joe’s and saw some dude wearing a light-colored Hawaiian-type shirt with dark yellow pineapples all over it and contrasting dark-colored shorts with light yellow pineapples. It looked like a grown-up version of Garanimals that had gone horribly wrong. I think he was being ironic? Or maybe he just had really bad taste. Either way, it would have been nice to snap a sneaky photo to snarkily text to my friends à la People of Wallmart style. So obviously I have to be more careful and stop leaving my house without my phone. Forget about my husband or kids needing to get a hold of me. Every time I leave my house without my phone I see something spectacular.
If only the pineapple outfit had been this “stylish!”
I took Marley shopping for school clothes this weekend. I was hoping to score some good deals from Labor Day sales. There weren’t as many deals as I had hoped. Probably because I’ve found so much joy in shopping at thrift stores and yard sales lately. It’s hard to wrap my head around a $13 Batman tee shirt as a bargain when I recently purchased three skirts, a sweater and a pair of pants for just two dollars more. (My new favorite game to play with myself is to calculate the cost of my outfit in my head…”Wow, this entire outfit only cost $12 including my shoes and purse. I am one hell of a savvy shopper!”) Marley enjoys my thrifty finds (favorite Vans hoodie for only $1.00 – you’re welcome), but does not enjoy thrift store shopping. Or yard sale shopping. Or, truth be told, shopping in general. But I digress… (which is really hard to do in just one paragraph)… shopping with her made me feel old. Like that mother who just doesn’t get it. We do not think the same things are cute. I really never thought I’d be that mother. I remember shopping with my own mother when I was 13 and the importance of having the right clothes. Cute clothes. Clothes that made me stand out in exactly the right way. (Wait, who am I kidding? I still feel that way.) So I bought her (mostly) what she wanted and was thankful that she becomes bored with shopping so quickly and didn’t really want much. I sent Dave a text from Hot Topic, “What’s worse? Dress code questionable clothing or a Black Veil Brides tee shirt?” His response: “Aaaahhhhhhh!” Aaaahhhhhh indeed.
Last Friday night, when I was nearing the end of my second week of the Biggest Loser-style weight loss competition Just Lose It program at my gym, I was invited to my friend’s beach house for a girls’ night slumber party.
At first I thankfully declined the invitation.
I mean, I couldn’t drink. And trust me, I’ve given myself plenty of pep talks before walking into a social gathering about how I’m not going to drink because I am trying to lose weight, only to find a glass of wine in my hand 30 seconds after walking in the door.
And party food is my biggest weakness. (If we’re ever at the same party and you want to find me, just head over to the food table where you’ll most likely find me face first hoovering as many hors devours as I possibly can into my cheese hole.)
But we had nothing going on at home. And if I’m going to be successful beyond this program I’m going to have to learn how to rein it in and live my life in (a little bit of) moderation.
So I put on my big-girl no-drinking panties and went to the beach house.
Of course I got shit from my friends 30 seconds after walking in the door. I told them if they tried to make me drink I would leave. So they shut the hell up.
I have to be honest, if this Just Lose It program was an individual competition as opposed to a team competition, I would have ended up drinking. My drunk friends were acting like assholes, but I really don’t think I would have noticed (or cared) if I was drunk and acting like an asshole too. Screw proving something to myself. I disappoint myself all the time. I’m used to it. But I had a weigh-in in three days. I needed to stay strong and not disappoint my team.
I did have fun, but trust me, they were having more. Seriously, not to be offensive, but if this is what it’s like to be “high on life,” pass me a bottle of vodka so I can take a big ol’ swig. Being high on booze? It’s better.
Speaking of “high,”, the high point of the night was the food. At least for me. (No surprise there.) While there was fatty delicious crap dip (I only had two bites. With corn chips. Not bread.), the dinner itself was incredibly healthy. We grilled Salmon and chicken and fresh vegetables picked from one girlfriend’s garden. Plus we had cherries. Because my nutritionist says I need carbs. Amazing.
Yes, we know how to make a meal!
After dinner we pumped up the 80’s iTunes and danced. If you are a man reading this, and are anything like my husband, I will tell you just like I told him that seven women dancing in the living room of a beach house does not mean we were just one drink away from having a big lesbian orgy right in the middle of the hardwood floor. Sorry to disappoint you, dudes. It just means that dancing is fun. And girls just wanna have fun. (Yeah, that was lame, but I couldn’t resist.)
Around eleven o’clock (which is about an hour and a half past my bedtime) we decided to walk to the dive bar down the street, that due to previous trips to the beach house has been nicknamed “The Hurt Locker” by my husband.
And this, is where things got a little bit nutty.
I can’t really tell you what happened at The Hurt Locker because it’s a little like Vegas that way. But here are some things that might or might not have happened. (I can neither confirm nor deny them.)
There might have been a two-man band there (singer and guitar player) with a guitar player who only seemed to know one riff and therefore every song sounded exactly the same. If there was such a band, the mystery remains how in the hell the singer even knew what song the guitarist was playing.
One of the girls might have chatted up a few of the locals to get free beer. I won’t lie, I like free beer and attention from the opposite sex too, but at this place? Not worth the $5 savings.
One of the girls might have had everyone in the entire bar dancing because of her hilarious dance moves and vivacious personality. She’s very pretty, but her confidence and funny demeanor translated into her being sexiest broad in the joint (by far). Her goal may have been to make sure every single person at the bar was having a good time. (If that did happen and that was her goal, she achieved it.)
The girl chatting up locals for free beer might not have liked not being the belle of the bar and might have told some of the patrons that the dancing girl was a lesbian. Or perhaps she was trying to protect the dancing girl from unwanted molesters suitors. You know, if she did say that, which I’m not saying she did.
But I will tell you that the dancing girl might be is funnier and cuter than me, so while I wasn’t the one calling her a lesbian in an effort to minimize the attention being paid to her, she might have deserved it! (I’m just sayin’)
One of the girls might have flirted with a cute boy who is the same age as her son – 21. (And people call me a cougar.)
But I’m only saying those things might have happened. I’ll never tell. And if they did… well, my friends were just having fun. Drunk girls do silly things. I was sober, so of course my behavior was boring perfect.
But I will tell you this, it’s a good thing I’m seeing some real progress with this Just Lose It program, because I had fun, but my girlfriends? They had a blast!
I’ve completed Week 2 of my “Biggest Loser-style” Just Lose It program at Stevenson Fitness, but I’m sure what everyone really wants to know is how much weight I lost from Week 1. (What, you mean you haven’t been curiously obsessing over it all week? Whatever. I’ll tell you anyway.)
After my first week I lost 5.8 pounds. Yes, I am awesome. Or just fat. Either way… I have to admit I was pretty happy with the results.
As a team we lost 14.4 pounds – an average of 2.5% per person. Our team is in 2nd place – the first place team lost 38.4 pounds total (wow!) and an average of 3.9% per person. Obviously they are cheating. Plus there are five of them and only four of us, so there! (But I have faith. Our team will pull ahead and be the biggest losers – you’ll see.)
Trainer Safia (middle) hanging with Phil and his Pink Bitches
After our weigh-in last week we had a meeting with our nutritionist, Holly, who went over our food diary. (Yes, we have to keep a diary and write down everything we eat and at what time. And I mean everything.)
Holly said I’ve done very good on my diet (um hello, see weight loss above), but I’m not eating enough carbs. And by carbs she does not mean yummy bread, pasta or French fries. She means brown rice, the smallest portion of (non-French-fried) potatoes you’ve ever seen, or fruit. (Yawn.)
She explained that while the lack of carbs could be part of the reason I lost almost six pounds in a week, in the long run it’s not going to serve me well. I’ll become cranky and irritable and more likely to binge.
If you want to know the truth I think that’s a little rude. She doesn’t even know me. How does she know whether or not I’m cranky and irritable? Maybe that’s just my personality. And maybe I lost 5.8 pounds because I did not cheat on my diet (which is not a diet, but a lifestyle change -ugh!) even once and because bad mean Phil (quite literally) worked my ass off! Lack of carbs is making me cranky – Pffft! I might hate Holly too.
Um… anyway…
I found Week 2 to be a bit more challenging diet-wise. I mean, how much freaking chicken can one person eat? I swear if I see one more piece of chicken on my plate I’m going to kill it. Oh wait, it’s already dead. Well, I’m going to… to… I don’t know, I’m going to anything but eat it is what I’m going to do.
Chicken with black beans and corn. (You see that Holly – plenty of carbs!)
And if I’m honest (and sadly I always am), I will admit that the over-eating of chicken is my fault and not rude Holly’s. I can eat beef or pork or fish, but I don’t really like to eat too much red meat. (Okay, that’s a lie. I could eat red meat every day, possibly every meal, and be happy as a Survivor contestant after winning a food-reward challenge, but I’m pretty sure that’s not really good for you.)
But my family is fairly picky and doesn’t really like pork (unless it’s Easter ham or bacon) and my daughter won’t eat fish. So, we eat a lot of chicken. But these past two weeks we’ve eaten even more than usual in replacement of the quesadilla/pasta/grilled cheese gourmet meals that I usually rely on presenting to my family a few times a week. Even my husband who never complains about what I serve for dinner gently suggested we might have something else.
And then I snapped at him. And not because I didn’t eat any carbs. I mean I had 12 cherries that day. I think.
Also during Week 2 I’m sad to admit that I cheated and went wine tasting. But it wasn’t my fault. My friend bought a Groupon for SIP and it was about to expire. And friends don’t let friends let wine-tasting-Groupons expire.
I did talk to Holly about it beforehand and she told me to treat wine as my carb and to be sure to balance it out with a protein. (Wine as my carb? I might like this Holly afterall!) So I brought some cheese. Except that you can’t bring food to SIP so I had to sneak it in my purse.
Some people sneak wine where they’re not supposed to – I sneak food!
I enjoyed wine tasting very much. (Like you wouldn’t believe.)
See how wine makes me glow? Or perhaps I’m cleverly minimizing my wrinkles with a filter. At least one of those statements is true.
I also enjoyed flirting with our cute 24-year-old wine pourer, Austin. (And yes, I am familiar with the term sommelier, but are cute 24-year-olds who work at wine tasting rooms considered sommeliers? I don’t think so. Let’s just go with wine pourer.) And I think my 5.8 pound one week weight loss gave me a confidence that translated to hotness because my boyfriend Austin did not bust me on the cheese.
In my mind Austin’s red eyes are only for me.
And then we went to Ladyface for a late light dinner where I enjoyed their Salade Niçoise and a club soda with a splash of cranberry. And do you know who showed up 20 minutes later and sat right next to us at the bar? Austin! (5.8 pound weigh loss = confidence = cute boys following you.)
The fact that we didn’t tell him we were headed to Ladyface and he left after about 10 minutes when his friend showed up is really none of your business.
Yes, I enjoyed my cheater wine tasting evening very much.
Do you know what I did not enjoy? That night I slept like crap. And the next day I felt like crap. Following Rude Holly and Mean Phil’s program had my body so detoxed and clean that drinking wine made me feel crappy. And feeling crappy makes me crabby. And wine was my carb. So obviously Holly does not know what she’s talking about when she says lack of carbs will make me crabby because it turns out that it’s carbs that make me crabby.
At least program-cheating-wine-carbs.
Sh*t.
I do not like that. Not one little bit.
Check out my post on Thursday to find out about my girls’ night at my friend’s beach house with my six drunk-ass friends and sober-wine-carb-free me. (Yeah, that happened.) And check back next Monday to continue on my “Biggest Loser-style” Just Lose It weight loss journey.
I was feeling a little nostalgic today so I thought I’d participate in a little Throwback Thursday. What’s Throwback Thursday?
Throwback Thursday is the name of a weekly post theme that social media users participate in as part of a very general “throwback” activity for posting content and usually post photos on sites like Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr and Instagram that are from the past.
But I didn’t want to do that. It sounded like too much work to find an old photo to post. (And an old photo of what?) Plus, how do you even get an old photo on Instagram?
So I decided to do a different take on Throwback Thursday and re-post a piece that I wrote for skirt.com last year. (Thank you for indulging my laziness, all this working out has made me tired!)
The First Five Years
“I wake up almost every night covered in sweat,” I said to a table full of women on Friday night.
“Oh God, is that what we’re talking about?” a latecomer said as she walked up to our table.
“Oh yes, it’s no longer poopy diapers,” I responded. “The topic has changed.”
Friday night I had a reunion dinner with six women I met 15 years ago in a playgroup when Chandler was a baby. And yes, the topic had changed.
I was the first of my circle of friends to get married let alone pregnant and to say I had no idea what I was doing is an understatement. Luckily I found a gym for pregnant and postpartum women and when I popped in to purchase a breast pump when he was about a week old, I was invited to join a playgroup one of the gym members was forming.
I was desperate for mommy friends, so with a nine day old newborn in tow, I went to the very first “playgroup” meeting on a chilly Thursday afternoon. There were four new moms in attendance. There was an eight month old, a four month old, a three month old, nine day old Chandler, and three other mothers trying to figure out what the heck we were supposed to be doing. I held Chandler tightly and watched the other babies lie on their backs on the carpet, kicking their feet at their portable baby gyms.
I couldn’t wait to go back the next week.
The four of us met for two or three more weeks before finding new members. Within a few months we had over a dozen moms and decided to close our group. We were meeting every week at people’s houses and were just getting too big.
We had all been career women who had become stay-at-home moms. Among us was a wedding dress designer, an artist, an actress, a paralegal, a marketing vice president, a graphic artist, a teacher, an interior designer, and a screenwriter. While most of us had imagined seeing “Mom” as a chapter in our lives, few of us had ever imagined seeing it as a job title on our resumes. We didn’t quite know how to wrap our heads around this new identity.
Over pot luck lunches we’d talk about the things our other friends did not want to talk about – nap schedules, projectile vomit, chaffed nipples , the terrible awful thing that childbirth had done to our bodies, where our babies were (or were not) on the developmental chart, percentile placements, our very disrupted sex lives, and yes, poopy diapers. (Lots and lots of talk about poopy diapers.)
As our babies became toddlers and our houses could no longer contain so many of them running around we shifted our Thursday meetings to a neighborhood park. We would lay out picnic blankets and low beach chairs and spend our Thursday afternoons lazing around chatting while we watched our children play, our greedy conversations constantly interrupted by sand in an eye, requests for food, and the call of, “Mom, Mom, Mom,” a demand to be pushed on the swing again and again and again. When the ice cream man came we would joke that what we really needed was a cappuccino man and daydream out loud about that business plan. If it rained we’d shift to an indoor play place and ignore the germs in the ball pit. We wondered why none of the indoor play places had coffee. Or better yet, wine. When the kids got a little older we added a Friday beach day during the summer.
Of course some people clicked better than others and little side groups of two or three formed for extra playdates or outings – but never in an exclusionary way. With the exception of one member who was certifiably crazy (but incredibly entertaining – oh the blogs upon blogs I could write about that cuckoo), we all genuinely liked each other and got along well.
We celebrated the highs in life with birthday parties and baby showers and mom’s nights out. We were each other’s rocks for the lows – breast cancer, a miscarriage, the death of a parent.
Eventually as the kids got older our group started to dwindle. Four members moved away – one upstate, three out of state. Almost everyone eventually went back to work at least part-time. By the time our babies entered kindergarten maintaining our Thursday afternoon ritual had become nearly impossible. We would meet during winter break and in the summer, but it was never quite the same. The sad truth is while all of our kids remember playgroup as a whole, they barely remember each other.
I still keep in close contact with three of the moms and fairly close contact with two others. Of course we are all friends of Facebook (those of us who are on Facebook) and watch each other’s children grow up there.
It was so nice to catch up on Friday night. I only wish more of us had been there. And yes, our topics had changed – poopy diapers and chaffed nipples had been replaced by the demands of high school and hot flashes.
Our jokes about which toddlers would be attending prom together had progressed to “Oh shit, in two more years our kids are going to be attending prom.” (We’re not ready!)
What book on Oprah’s Book Club list we were enjoying changed to who would admit to reading Fifty Shades of Grey.
And yes, okay, because I am maddeningly honest in my blog I will admit it – the gossip of Tom and Nicole’s divorce was updated to snickers about the split between Tom and Katie. (Hey, we’re women – it happens.)
We lingered over dinner for three and a half hours – about the same amount of time we allotted for our Thursday playgroups. It wasn’t enough. I wanted more time with these women – these moms- who were there for me at the beginning of this journey called motherhood.
I love who my children are becoming, and it is a joy to watch them grow. I do not wish for them to be forever toddlers. (Who misses not being able to leave the house without a sippy cup, container of Goldfish, diapers and a change of clothes?) I really am enjoying this stage of our lives.
But I do wish I could still take my picnic blanket and beach chair to linger at the park and chat with my friends next –and every- Thursday.
That baby in the red shirt balling his eyes out is Chandler. Priceless!
Two weeks ago I wrote a blog about my birthday weekend and mentioned that I refused to get on stage during kickboxing because I didn’t like the way my ass looked in the workout pants I was wearing. I might have made a smart-allecky remark about Chris Stevenson not picking me up and placing me on stage against my will (as he is known to do) for fear of hurting his back (due to the size of my ass). I was trying to be self-deprecating, but Chris took it to mean that I was challenging his manhood and calling him old (which I would never do because he is at least 10 years younger than me and that would make me… nevermind)!
Kick it Chris!
This past Saturday he motioned me up again. I did not want to go.
As much as I enjoy being the center of attention (what – a blogger that likes attention?!) kickboxing is a place I prefer to remain anonymous. I’m not very graceful and my kicks aren’t very high. I have to stop a lot to wipe off the incredible amount of sweat that is pouring down my face (I hate sweat on my face) and take a lot of water breaks. And of course the woman he had pulled onstage already was gorgeous and about two inches taller and 20 30 pounds skinnier than I am. That’s always fun to stand right next to. In front of everybody.
And saying my workout look is not my best look would be an understatement. Even before the sweat. I pull my hair into a messy ponytail that just looks sloppy instead of a messy ponytail that looks cute like other women seem to be able to achieve. And I hate the way I look without bangs, but I pull them back in a bobby pin and expose my gray roots and in-desperate-need-of-some-Botox forehead to the universe because the only thing worse than sweat on your face is wet sweaty bangs on your face.
And I wear baggy black yoga pants from Costco and drab deteriorating tank tops from Old Navy instead of the brightly colored Lululemon outfits that 90% of the other women at my gym tend to wear.
And don’t get me started on the sorry state of my middle age arms. Ugh.
But it was 95 degrees outside (at 9:30 AM) and when you are in a kickboxing class with 50 other people it gets really, really hot no matter how high you turn on the air in studio. It looked like I might be able to breathe a little bit better on stage. (And who knows, maybe my batwing triceps would be useful and actually fan the people standing behind me.)
And as lame as my kickboxing skills are (and for someone whose been kickboxing for about 14 years they’re pretty lame) – nobody really watches you when you’re on stage; they’re too busy watching themselves in the mirror. (Or is that just me?!) I couldn’t even tell you who was pulled up for the class I took three days before. (Except that she was probably skinny with a cute-messy ponytail and Lululemon clothes.)
So when Chris motioned me up to the stage this time I rolled my eyes and walked up there. I mean, I was afraid if I didn’t he might try picking me up, throw out his back and feel unmanly. And I didn’t want him feeling unmanly.
Whole Foods Oxnard held a Friends and Family event last Monday to celebrate the store’s Grand Opening on Wednesday, June 19th. There was going to be food and entertainment so I was extremely excited to be invited to the event for an opportunity to write a sponsored post. (Have I ever mentioned that I like to eat?)
Beautiful!
I was especially happy to participate in this opportunity because I try very hard to eat healthfully and feed my family healthy foods. Now don’t get me wrong, I love and adore junk food because it’s delicious, but I rarely eat it. And since Chandler’s friends don’t like to come over because we never have junk food in the house and many of my friends tell me I eat healthier than anyone they know (I doubt it), I guess I’m doing a pretty good job.
So last Monday night my friend Kim and I headed out to Oxnard to check the new Whole Foods Market out. My first thought when I walked into the store was, “Wow! This place is gorgeous.” As someone who likes to grocery shop (like, for reals) I really appreciated not only the store’s incredible selection, but the beautiful aesthetics.
I knew there was going to be appetizers, but when we were told there was going to be wine and beer tasting as well, my next thought was, “This is hands down the BEST market grand opening ever in the history of market grand openings!” (Not that I’ve ever been to a market grand opening. But I could tell.)
Kim and I headed off to find some free grub and booze food and wine samples when we ran into a blogger friend of hers who asked Kim if I was her mother. And since I am only five years older than Kim I didn’t just want to taste some wine, I needed to up end an entire bottle down my throat.
(I will admit that I don’t think she really looked at me when she said that, and when she did was completely mortified. But still. Really?! I guess it could have been worse – she could have said, “Kim, is this your mom? When is her baby due?”)
I forgave the faux paus (mostly) and went on to have a fabulous time.
I could get into a lot of trouble in a store like this. Everything I tasted was nothing short of excellent. There was sushi, vegan salads, salmon burgers, barbecued beef sliders, taquitos, samosas, flatbread pizza, cheese (like crazy good cheese), and the wine and beer tasting that I mentioned. Didn’t I tell you – best store grand opening EVER!
In my head I took a lot more pictures of the amazing food and wine, but apparently in reality – not so much!
Kim and I were lucky enough to talk to the store’s designer and she explained to us the store was designed with the local environment in mind so the interior reflects the agricultural significance and beach culture of Oxnard and Ventura. Because it is right off the 101 Freeway many of the design elements were inspired by travel to and exploration of the beach and Channel Islands.
The store really is gorgeous, but I’m not going to lie – the most amazing and unique feature about the market is the fact that it has an old Air Stream trailer that was converted into a bar. That’s right – Whole Foods Oxnard has a bar! (Forget best market grand opening ever – how about just best market ever!)
Pretend the picture of me and Kim isn’t blurry, that I’m sucking my stomach in instead of poking it out, and that the photo of me isn’t crappy. (Please!)
Bar Rincon, located at the front of the store, serves wine, a rotating selection of over 24 craft beers – many of them local, and an extensive food menu. Kim and I hightailed it up to the bar and chatted up the cute sales rep from Figueroa Mountain Brewing company pouring samples of Hoppy Poppy IPA. The beer was excellent. We also tasted some Hitching Post “Hometown” Pinot Noir (made famous in the movie Sideways). Like the cheese I had previously inhaled – crazy good! It was about this time I was very bummed that I had volunteered to drive.
Good times at the Bar Rincon
We were given a tour of the store and here are some of the features I really loved:
They will be selling seasonal and locally sourced produce from my favorite local organic farm, McGrath Family Farms. (Yes, I have a favorite farm. Doesn’t everybody?)
There is a large selection of organic and sulfite-free wines, some starting at $2.49 per bottle and over 100 varieties under $10. (If there’s one thing I love it’s a bargain! Bargain wine most of all.)
There is a beer aisle with 72 feet of chilled beer with an impressive assortment of local craft beers, domestic favorites and unique imports. (I wonder how often Alex, the cute beer sales rep hangs out here.)
Their meat department has a full line of locally sourced, 100% grass-fed beef, chicken and turkey. I love this because the more I read about what’s in my food’s food, the less I want to eat it. (Ignorance may be bliss, but in this case it’s not very healthy.)
Whole Foods does not sell items with High Fructose Corn Syrup. Not a single one!
Bar Rincon has free WiFi. (I think I’m moving in!)
Yes, there are plenty of bargains at Whole Foods!72 feet of chilled beer – yes please!
I also found out that as part of its commitment to supporting local causes in the community in which it works, Whole Foods Market stores, nationwide, hold Community Support Days several times a year and donate five percent of that day’s net sales to a local nonprofit or educational organization. This Wednesday, June 26th, Whole Foods Oxnard will be holding a Community Support Day. Five percent of net sales from the Whole Foods Market Oxnard store will go to an organization called House Farm Workers! that helps provide safe, decent and affordable housing for farm workers. (So this Wednesday would be a really good day to shop there!)
A market that sells healthy food, supports its community, and has a bar (with free WiFi) – Whole Foods Oxnard is definitely the kind of market made just for me!
This is my kind of store!
Disclaimer: While this is a sponsored post for Whole Foods Market Oxnard, all opinions expressed are solely my own.
Last Friday was my birthday. My birthday is on Flag Day, so I hope you hung a flag in my honor. Or in honor of our flag. Whichever.
Now this is how I like to see Flag Day celebrated!
To celebrate I got my butt out of bed at 5AM even though I didn’t sleep well the night before and went to the 5:30 Boot Camp class at my gym to prove to myself that I wasn’t old. (And so I wouldn’t feel guilty about eating whatever I wanted that day.) At the end of class the instructor had everyone sing Happy Birthday to me. I’d be a liar if I said I hated that. It wasn’t a scary milestone birthday, but it’s two very short years away from a scary milestone birthday, so I did some serious reflecting on my life -where I’ve been and where the hell I’m going- when I went on my morning dog walk. Then I had a mini-mid-life crisis, got a spa pedicure and had my toenails painted blue. And then to stick my tongue out even further to this thing called old middle age I got my hair colored so I could say buh-bye to my gray roots (until they pop back up in about three weeks a week and a half, sticking their middle finger up at my stuck out tongue in rude defiance). Me: 1 – Middle Age: 0 (At least until my roots come back!)
Don’t my feet look youthful?
In the late afternoon I went to a party for Chandler’s cross country team because even though it way MY birthday, I’m a mother first. (Plus I heard there’d be wine.) It was the track coach’s wife’s birthday too and some of the kiss ass very nice track moms got her a cake and had everyone gather around to sing Happy Birthday. She insisted that they sing to me too. I like the track coach’s wife. We got home from the party around 8:00 and Dave and I watched a DVR’d episode of Mr. Selfridge. Or rather Dave watched it. I was asleep (and probably drooling) by 8:30. Me: 1 – Middle Age: 1. (Dammit!) On Saturday morning I took the 9:30 kickboxing class at the gym a little terrified that Chris Stevenson would pull me on stage as he tends to do on birthdays. I really didn’t want to go on stage because A.) my normal workout pants were dirty and I was forced to wear a pair that screams, “Yes, my ass really is that fat” and B.) Even though I’ve been going to Boot Camp regularly, I haven’t been to kickboxing in a few weeks and wasn’t sure how well I could keep up with the intensity of the class. Chris was feeling unusually generous because he tried to coax me onstage, but didn’t pick me up and place me there like he’s done in the past. (He was probably afraid he’d hurt his back when he saw the size of my ass in above-mentioned workout pants.) Saturday night it was time to celebrate my birthday properly. I met my friend Cindy at Latigo Kid in downtown Agoura Hills at my bedtime 8PM for a margarita (or two) before heading over to The Canyon Club to relive my youth and see 80’s New Wave/Pop/New Romantic sensation ABC. (Take that middle age!) Oh yeah, when I live it up, I live it up big. And if you’re going to live it up big and relive your 80’s (or 90’s) youth in this town, The Canyon Club is the place to do it. The club’s got a great ambiance and it’s all 80’s/90’s music all the time – Psychedelic Furs just played there (so bummed to have missed them), Courtney Love is coming, The English Beat is coming, Rick Springfield plays there all the time.
The coolest club in Agoura Hills through the blurry lens of my cellphone
ABC’s lead singer, Martin Fry may be 55-years-old, but he has definitely still got it. He shot his Poison Arrow straight through my heart alright. (See what I did there? No? Did you say #epicfail? Sorry!) In all seriousness, the band was fantastic. Martin looked very sharp dressed in a suit and his voice sounded great – amazing actually. Cindy and I smashed up as close as we could and danced and danced. The Look of Love, When Smokey Sings, Be Near Me – we sang along at the top of our lungs to all of them. They rocked the house. 80’s Music Rockstars: 1 – Middle Age: 0
These blurry pics are as good as it gets with my cellphone camera!
Although I will admit, the band went on exactly at 9:00 and was off stage by 10:15. (Probably when they used to start playing in the 80’s.) Because even though Martin Fry is a rockstar, he is even older than me. (I wonder if he ever falls asleep on the couch at 8:30 when he’s not performing.) 80’s Music Rockstars: 1 – Middle Age: 1. Yes, that damn Middle Age even sticks its middle finger up at rockstars. The only thing to do is keep rocking and stick up your middle finger right back. (You know, when you’re not asleep on the couch.) *Flag on unicycle photo courtesy of Mike Baird
I made Marley change her shirt before school on Tuesday – her 2nd to last day of 7th grade. Actually I told her she had to change her bra. She chose to change her shirt instead.
She was wearing her lacrosse practice jersey – a tank top that has arm holes that practically run down the entire length of the shirt. Underneath she had on a beige bandeau bra. (I will admit that she was wearing a regular bra under the bandeau.)
“Hello, here is my bra,” her outfit screamed at the top of its lungs. At least to me. It was 100% completely inappropriate for school. Or anywhere really.
I told her she had to wear a sports bra underneath if she wanted to wear that shirt to school. Not that the the shirt is appropriate for school with a sports bra (hell, the shirt is barely appropriate for lacrosse practice with a sports bra), but it’s better. And I get it. I really do. I understand why she’d want to wear her lacrosse practice jersey to school. It’s cuter than her uniform jersey (with the normal size arm holes).
But sports bras aren’t cool. Or cute. Sports bras are for playing lacrosse, not for letting boys people know you play lacrosse.
Cool girls. Cute girls. The populars. They all wear bandeaus exposed underneath their barely-there-with-practically-no-sides tank tops. They all do! At least according to Marley.
And she’s right. I’ve seen them. (And with too-short shorts too I might add.)
And I also understand why their mothers let them. Why I’ve let Marley. Because they are so young and they do look awfully cute. And it’s been so long since things have looked that cute on us. (Or is that just me?)
And I remember what it was like to be that age. To want to wear what everyone else was wearing.
And I remember hearing the words that are worse for “it’s time for bed” or “it’s time to wake up” or “remember to wash your face” or “clean your room.”
I remember hearing, “You are not wearing that to school.”
I hated hearing it and I hate saying it. But that’s what moms do. And one day she’ll say those words to her daughter and she’ll know what it’s like too.
But of course that day is a long way away. And until then I have a feeling I’ll have a lot more “you’re not wearing that to school battles to fight.”
Wednesday afternoon my friend Kim texted me asking if I wanted to go to a movie at 7:30. She was invited to a screening of The Way Way Back and had a plus one. It was around 4:00. I was running errands and knew I’d be home by 5:00, I had nothing planned and figured I’d have enough time to make dinner and make myself look semi-presentable, so I said sure. She told me she’d pick me up at 6:45.
At 6:15 I realized I was the worst end-of-school-year mom in the world (well maybe second worst) because I actually did have plans that night. Marley and I were supposed to bake a cake for her language arts class the next day. They were having a heritage party and everyone was supposed to bring a cultural food item. And since we are as Anglo and uninteresting as it gets culturally, Marley chose the coffee cake we have every year at Christmas.
She told her teacher it was a recipe from her great-great-great grandfather that he brought from Germany. (Uh, a recipe from her great grandfather from Pennsylvania that he probably got out of a cookbook would probably be more accurate, but Language Arts is all about spinning a creative yarn, yes?)
“Listen,” I said to Marley. “I totally spaced about the cake. I can’t cancel on Kim now, she’ll be here in half an hour. I’ll make it in the morning okay. I promise.”
She gave me that look. You know, that total look of disappointment that kids give you when you know you’ve screwed up and damn it to hell they know it too. “I’m afraid you’re going to forget, Mom.”
“I won’t forget, Marley. I swear to you. I get up at five o’clock every morning and go on my computer and I’ll tape a huge note there to remind myself. I will not disappoint you, Marley. I promise.”
My high-tech way of keeping it all together
“Okay,” she said. But she wasn’t happy.
“I’ll make the cake with her,” Dave said.
“Really?” I asked. “You don’t mind?” I don’t know what’s worse – the fact that I forgot about the cake or the fact that it never occurred to me to ask Dave if he could bake it with her. (No wonder my cousin calls me a control freak!)
“No, we can do it. Just put what I need on the counter. What, is it a mix or something?”
Sigh… no, our heritage recipe from Marleys’ great-great-great German grandfather is not a mix. And it has a cinnamon swirl in the middle.
“No, it’s from scratch, but Marley’s made it with me a bunch of times. She can probably do it herself. You’ll just need to supervise.”
At 6:45 I walked out the door leaving my family with the mess of dinner to clean up and a cake to bake.
I was happy to be having a grown-up evening and share in Kim’s blogger perk of seeing a free movie. (Kim is a waaaay better connected blogger than me.)
The movie was really fantastic. The Way Way Back is a coming of age movie with an amazing cast. I love ALL of them – Steve Carell, Toni Collette (I really looooove her), Allison Janney (I really looooove her too!), Sam Rockwell, Maya Rudolf, Amanda Peet, Rob Corddry, AnnaSophia Robb and a kid named Liam James in the starring role. All I can say about this movie is WOW! It’s in theaters July 5th. Do yourself a favor and go see it. (And don’t forget your Kleenex.) It’s funny and sad and heartbreaking and poignant and just… wonderful.
When we got out of the movie I turned my phone back on and saw that I had a missed call from home and a text from Dave that said, Please call home.Uh oh. What went wrong? Did Marley burn herself? Was there some vital instruction missing from the recipe? What kind of disaster ensued because I was the worst mom ever and went out to see a movie with my friend instead of staying home to bake a cake with Marley like I promised?
It turns out, this kind…
Oops!
Marley didn’t let the cake cool down enough and when she tried to get it out of the bundt pan it fell to pieces. Dave asked if they should start a new one or if I wanted to make another one in the morning. Since I didn’t want to be up until eleven o’clock at night baking a cake I told him I’d do it in the morning.
When I got home the house smelled like Christmas and Dave, Chandler and Marley were devouring the broken cake. I might or might not have had a bite or two ten myself. Never in the history of class projects has a child (and her family) been so happy to see the project be a complete and total failure.
The next morning we devoured the rest of the cake had coffee cake for breakfast. And Marley took this to school…
Oh yeah!
Because I’m the best mom in the world. (Obviously.)
Charlene Ross 