Standing Tall

Mommy & Sleeping Huck
This week I wrote a real live article. Like, for a real live y’know, professional thingy. And I get like, paid. How weird is that?

You know what happened? I procrastinated and procrastinated and procrastinated. And then I put it off. I couldn’t seem to find a hook, a phrase to get me started. I couldn’t find my voice, and if there is one thing I do…it is write with voice. But this marked a new avenue for me. This was real. Not that blogging isn’t. Blogging is very real and I owe it so much!  I take blogging seriously,and I work hard on every guest post or assignment. But this was, dare I say it, a JOB.

My insecurities were running at a crazy warp speed. I can’t write. I’ll never be anything. Why didn’t I learn a real skill? Why didn’t I get a degree? Why can’t I lose the last ten pounds of baby weight? I just worried and worried and worried myself into a hurricane of panic.

A casual conversation with a friend brought out an anecdote that just opened the flood gates for my article. The words flowed far past the allotted amount. I felt sick to my stomach as I sent it off. And held my breath till I had a response. It was good. The response was good!

I couldn’t stop smiling all night. I kept reliving the words leaping off the email telling me I had done well. And I physically stood a little taller. Confidence. I felt it and it felt good. It’s been so long since I was confident, really confident and oh my god it was like a welcoming back good friend. A friend that I’m hoping stays a while.

{Join us at Just Be Enough!}

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I have become my mother.

It’s happened. I have become my mother. My mother is a dog trainer, she’s the bestest in the westest (literally she is in Colorado so I guess she is the bestest in the western-mid-westest) Cesar the Dog Abuser ain’t got nothin on my mumsy. She is fantastico. But  she talks to herself. All day long. Non-stop. And it always drove me to the brink of ragetastic insanity. While I was such a delightful and easy going teenager I would be screaming in my head “WHY CAN’T YOU JUST THINK THAT??”It was only due to the fact that yelling that at her would have involved speaking to her that saved her (at least) one of those tirades. Yup. I was such a joy.  Now that I am not an evil teenager and we are sooper close, I must admit that habit if hers still drives me bonkers, but now in that way that only someone you love more than life can make you crazy.

And then yesterday I noticed it. I talk to myself. All day. It happened when I was running errands for the play restaurant that I suddenly needed to make for The Boss.  Huck was with me but sleeping peacefully and I found myself chattering away at well, no one, trying to decide between the 4 inch circles and the 5 inch circles for the stove top. Then I noticed it again as I was fighting with my mini sander to get the opening for the sink justhismuchbiggerwearesoclosewhywon’titfit?!

There was an actual clap of thunder (it’s thunderstorm season round these parts) and I stopped sanding looked up at the heavens as the raindrops began to fall and declared “Holy Crap. I am my mother.”

I know where this new habit came from and Dr. Laura will be thrilled to know that I do not blame my soliloquizing mumsy. I blame my son. My precious, snuggle bug, darling Boss. It’s his fault. He, like most small people, is of an inquisitive nature. Not so much the why of things, but more ‘what’s that they are doing”  & “is she happy?” and so I narrate our day from morning till sleep with the what and how of what we are doing. And when I am not narrating I am answering questions. When I am not answering questions I am responding positively to the 8000 th announcement of Mommy I did it! {Honestly I never get tired of that one. He is so proud of himself and I want that ingrained in him before he goes to school and some asshole kid tries to tear him down.}

So you can see why I am in the habit of talking all the livelong day. Now with Huckie being here I am sure the daily narration will continue for at least another 5 years? Maybe longer if I am blessed with a third mini fun sized person. As long as I have small people in the house that means I don’t need to call the looney bin on myself right?

Sorry mom, watch out for those men in the white coats…. I am not sure if there is a Dog Trainer narrating for dogs clause, but I’ll look into it for you.

p.s. i love you mom, sorry again for being a  train wreck/exorcist like monster for so many years.

 

Oh and p.p.s. I am over at my new venture The DC Moms writing about my top ten beauty buys under 30 bucks. Give it a look see please? Y’know so I am not talking to myself on the internet too.

seventeen again

It’s true! Today I feel like I am seventeen again. I am reliving my teenage years, but without all the girl drama and eating disorder nonsense. I feel seventeen again!

Of course, it could be the tube of zit cream I just bought.

Now where is that Zac Efron…

What I like about me…

{Me on the set of McFwap!}

So. I’ve reached that postpartum stage where I’m feeling a bit blah. You know the stage. I’m still thrilled to be a mom and I’m thinking that I am A-okay weight loss wise, but I’ve just got a case of the blahs. I never quite got my mojo back after The Boss made his entrance I am determined now that Huck is here to sort of piece myself back together. One simply cannot live in yoga pants and hoodies for ever, know what I mean? Surely there must be a middle ground between day time pj’s and platform wedges right? Wait. I love platform wedges. No middle ground there, but the point is this: I need to get back on the Stephanie bandwagon and figure out who I am in addition to being mommy/roadie/milk bar/walking napkin.

I know, it’s a tale often told. I’m not alone in this. But I must admit that I am still sort of  caddywhompas from the 1-2-3 punch of having a baby, moving, and then moving again. I miss my friends still. I am so isolated now and it’s hard to make new friends as an adult. Especially when you have tiny little ones. I find myself talking far too much when I am unleashed upon the adult population at large. Simply too excited to talk to someone who has knowledge of a world beyond Yo Gabba Gabba. I’m a big personality, to be sure. To be an actor and commedian in LA you sort of have to be, I fit in there, I made friends easily. Here? I’ve been so very, very, blessed to meet my blogging friends. My DCmoms (website soon to launch!) but even then, when we meet I am wracked with second thoughts. I talk too much, I interrupt too much. And also? They are all so accomplished it’s a mite bit intimidating! Everyone is so busy, of course, with life and kids and y’know 8 million blogging conferences that we rarely see one another. But I am lucky to have met them. But I digress…again.

One of these lovely DCMoms is CiaoMom. I adore her! She along with The Empress devised a dastardly plan. What if instead of the twenty million negative things we list about ourselves every day was replaced with just ten things we like? Maybe you don’t have the same inner monologue I do. In which case you’re one lucky duck cause my brain works like this:

{Wake up}Wow, I look tired. And old. When did I get so old? Is my neck sagging? Good Lord, it is. Ugh. I’m fat. This belly is so wobbly! holy crap! Is that my belly button? Whoa. I’m practically a hunchback. I hate my hair. Why can’t I figure out what to do with my damn hair. Ugh. I hate my clothes!{continue with slight variations until sleep}

 

You get the point.

So, the challenge. List a buncha things that you like about you. Errr. That I like about me. It has proven to be, well, troublesome. Is it because we as women are taught to downplay our accomplishments for fear of being labeled a braggart? I don’t know, but I do know this; it’s an uncomfortable thing for me to do. I’ve been sitting here for ages trying to come up with say, ten. And so far I’ve got:

1. I make really cute babies.

Yeah. Surely there is more to me that I like than just that??? Ugh. I keep thinking about this one picture of me, it’s my favorite picture of me ever! I’m laughing and the wind is blowing my hair back from my face. I’m wearing a vintage slip as a dress and some horrible frankenstein’s monster shoes. Despite the shoes, it’s a great picture I look happy and thin and it’s just perfect. It’s a perfect moment captured on film. I wish I could find it…so now we have

1. I make really cute babies

2. Once I took a really great picture that captured how happy and carefree I was.

 

oh yeah I am just BURNING up this list, riiiiiight??

So here we go, no heavy thinking just brainstorming. Don’t laugh, K?

  1. I make really cute kids (and I love them with all that I am)
  2. once I took a great picture that captured how happy and carefree I was
  3. I am pretty funny, actually!
  4. I conquered a big old fear and did stand up. At the Improv. In front of Drew Carey and a bunch of other comics and they laughed!
  5. I love that for a while, I really did live my dream of being a professional actor.
  6. I like that I have gotten into refinishing and painting furniture. I’m pretty proud of how I’ve taught myself how to do that!
  7. I’m a good decorator.
  8. I like that I grew up with an anxiety disorder and was a train wreck teenager, but came out the other side a wiser adult.
  9. I like that I beat my eating disorder before it beat me.
  10. I like  my lips and eyes.
  11. I like that I am decisive. Whether I chose right or wrong, I chose what I want really quickly.
  12. I like that when I set my mind to something more often than not I make it happen.
  13. I like that I can do a bunch of accents/dialects and can come up with a sketch comedy character quickly!
  14. I like that I have found an incredible group of friends through blogging.
  15. I like that I am me. When it boils down to it, I really wouldn’t want to be anyone else. Of course, I’d like to be me with my own house and oodles of money….but me nonetheless

There. 15. Whew. I need  a drink. Why is that so hard? And so…uncomfortable feeling? Ugh. You do it too, okay? List and link up. Cause well, we could all use a little pick me up, I’d love to read what you like about you. Cause I think you rock.

 

accidents happen and randomness.

I accidentally dyed my hair red.

A week ago Tuesday TOTT took me to the ballet at the Kennedy Center and it made my toes hurt because they can’t help but point the whole time and I believe I once kicked the chair of the woman in front of me during a particularly impressive jump one of the dancers performed.

Sorry lady.

I can’t help it! I still dream that that could be me, even though hello? It cannot. I spent many hours after school in junior high at Boulder Ballet Ensemble practicing and dreaming. Well, really more dreaming than practicing since I was not too big on actual work and commitment as a young teen. Can someone tell that to my toes? {none of which were broken at that moment} Toes! You do not belong to an actual ballerina! You haven’t been on pointe in ages! Also you are wearing boots and are almost 5 months pregnant! So stop pointing, and longing to dance. So I says to TOTT during one of the intermissions “TOTT” says I, “once this bambini arrives I shall take  ballet class!” And TOTT smiles ever so sweetly and then says”Absolutely baby!” and then my thighs rubbed against one another as I crossed my now sausage legs and all those old body issue reared up and said BALLET THIGHS! And so I says to TOTT “TOTT, let’s start going to the gym” and TOTT says “Absolutely!” {And when I fell down the stairs TOTT says “you really want to get out of going to the gym don’t you!” and I said ” I swear I want to go! Do you know I won’t be able to wear cute shoes for ages now?” and then I silently thanked God that it is ten below and it’s the season of the Ugg boot and asked God for a quick healing toe and an early spring…and cute shoes. My testimony of shoes is strong.}

But my hair…I dyed it. Red. Accidentally. Well, auburn-y. And no one noticed. No one. So, I guess it’s not all that different than before but I sure thought so. And it was in my “no one notices me I’m so shlubby and pregnant and invisible and can’t fit into anything and will surely never look cute again or wear cute strappy sandals” funk that I finally threw in the towel and gave up on the ellusive center part I had been attempting. I guess it’s side part or nothing for this gal. I did manage to stop myself from cutting bangs. Barely.

Even Baby Boy #2 says NO MOMMY NO BANGS!

And lastly, and possibly most importantly…my quest for red lipstick that won’t turn hot pink on my big ol’ lips continues. Loreal FAIL! I want RED lips. Not hot pink. So very frustrating! Anyone have a great reccomendation, because a good red lipstick is a thing of beauty and power.

Cookie dough is like a pregnancy test

When I was trying to get pregnant (and by trying I mean, decided to have a baby, took a trip to Italy, lit a bunch of candles and came home pregnant) I bought a three pack of pregnancy tests. When I got home from Italy I knew- knew I was pg, and yet when I took that first test it came up negative.

I was devastated.
The next day and the next test provided the same result.

But that third test, it was just sitting in the bathroom cabinet, just sitting there. Taunting me with it’s non-taken-ness and I just had to take it and be done with it so I could move on and be not pregnant for another month.
But then…so faint it was barely visible to the naked eye was a second line. A line. I rushed out and bought three more tests, and then three more and finally one of those overpriced 1 in 5 women can misread a pregnancy test (say whaaa?) tests. You know the one…the one that says in big letters PREGNANT.

It was glorious.

This past week I made The Boss some of Auntie Keek’s (Keek. Boss speak combo for Kelly and CAKE) awesomelicious egg free cookie dough. It’s my PMS fav and the little dude had a rough week so a treat was in order.
It goes a little something like this:

Blend together:
1/2 cup butter
1 cup flour
3/4 cup brown sugar
1 tbsp water
1 1/2 tsp vanilla
1/2 tsp salt

Stir in 1/2 cup chocolate chips.

You’re welcome.

(typing that out I realize I used a tablespoon and a half of vanilla. Oops! My bad. It was delish though!)

The Boss and I had a lovely snack of it. And the next day we did as well. Then…then he went off to dream land. But that cookie dough was just sitting there in the refigerator. Just sitting there. Taunting me with it’s non-eaten-ness. I just had to eat it and be done with it so I could move on and not eat it for another month until I caved and made it again.
But then…so quietly no one in the house knew,  I ate a bite. And then three more bites. And then three more. And then I finished it all off.

It was glorious.

So you see, cookie dough is just like a pregnancy test. It will taunt you until you give in. Resistance is futile.
Plus both a baby and the cookie dough will give you a belly. And both will make you really happy.

Newsies! Get your papes! And also the Parade de Douche heads back into town!

If I eat it [the rose] I can take it into my soul and no one else can ever have it ~ Kyle, The Bachelorette.

It’s Bachelorette time! Squee! I can’t decide if I love the Bachelor better or Bachelorette. It’s like Sophie’s choice up in this joint! I mean, on one show there is a bevvy of buxom totally insane chics and maybe one or two normal ones who will never get picked *cough* Melissa *cough*, but on the other show there’s utterly idiotic doucheberg’s having the most bizarre pissing contest evah.

I love it. And last night the Parade de Douches came into town in a line of loonies worthy of mardi gras. It’s gonna be a good season. They got all Lord of the Flies on the introductory episode, so I’m pretty sure that soon it’s about to become a Survivor/Bachelorette blend. Or maybe Running Man. Whatever, this season is headed to a dark place. Suicides, stalking, and girlfriends! I can’t wait!!! If you want to snark and giggle, join me and TOTT  on Twitter during the show!

Change of subject:

I was approached by NVIDIA about my netbook and how much I love it, which I do, and they made this little video of me! Check it out! (also, file in narcisissm)

 Things we can mock:
1.my voice. what the heck? I am so squeeky. I guess that’s why I book a lot of character cartoony- voice overs.
2. My outfit at the park. It was laundry day. Also, horrible posture and excellent muffin top. Tossing that sweater out as soon as I find it.
3. TOTT in his shorts. Awesome tan. But how cute is he?
It was a blast to shoot! And since I do love my netbook, it was no lie.

One last bit of biz:
Hopefully you’ve all noticed my little message at the top of this blog! Look up…go on. Yup! We are mooooooovin on up. (to the East Side). You know how you can do your own mani/pedi and dye your hair, maybe give yourself a facial and you look in the mirror and think “dang! Well done me, I look pretty good!” but then like, for your birthday or Mother’s day you get to go to the salon and someone who really knows what’s going on fancies you up and you look in the mirror and think “dang! what was I thinking that I could do this to myself! This is so much better!”

I’ve done my best to give this blog it’s home grown mani/pedi and touch up it’s roots (lamest analogy ever.) but dialmforminky.com is working it’s way through salon de NapWarden. Bless her heart she has worked her magic and very soon we will be unveiling the new look and also making the big leap! The URL will remain the same, but I don’t want to lose a one of you! So I hope you’ll help me move by coming along for the ride. No heavy lifting required!

That my friends, is what a random recap blog post looks like. Lamesauce, but it had to be done! Back to the funny on the morrow!

I laughed till I peed.

Mr. M just pointed to this and said “mommy’s juice!” Indeed.
In the immortal words of Clairee Belcher my dream last night was “too twisted for color t.v.”
I mean, Borat and I took our jobs on that jury very seriously and we did a good job, but our subsequent Running Man (not a euphemism) left a lot to be desired. Still, “It’s Getting Kind of Hectic” is a song that has stood the test of time, at least in my dreams, it’s a jamming tune. Disappointingly, neither Borat nor myself made the Barnes and Noble Songleader squad.
Maybe next time.
My Southern Grandmother used to say that we suffer from a delicate constitution. She ran completely on Valium and narcissism so I’m a believer. Her thesis was supported by the very large fact that in her living room there was a separate fridge for the meds. The Valium had it’s own fridge, people. True story. No wonder I suffer from a case of ‘the nerves’ (btw, you have to say ‘the nerves’ with a Southern dialect). I come by the crazy honestly, at least! 
Maybe I should get a fridge for the Zoloft. And the Puppy Bear’s Prozac. Maybe the little light will help me read the label so as not to take the D-O-G’s medicine again.  I don’t need a big huge fridge like the Grandmother had…just a teeny mini fridge. Does Anthropologie make one? Cause I want it pretty. I should invent that. There’s money in that, y’all.
It’s such a bummer I can’t have the gooooooooooooooood drugs with this dang cyst. Due to the fact that I am a bad weaner, I am relegated to Tylenol only. Although with dreams like these on the ‘nol, I would fear to see what I’d come up with on the Vic. 
And now, (for a non-sequitor) I’d like to introduce a new feature here at the Minkster – Texts from Dub. The first month we moved away Dub and I texted 1, 478 times. This was both tremendously unfortunate as I did not have an unlimited texting plan then; and also totally impressive because at the time I had a baby pink Katana. Ah, the Katana…it wanted to be a Razor when it grew up. How did I ever live without a smart phone? Anyhoo, Dub is the funny. She makes me laugh till I pee. Those of you who have had a baby know what I’m speaking of. 
And so, I leave you with this…why I love Dub.

Only a sister would share that with you. And then let you share it with the world.