Go ahead.

Point. Laugh. Groan when you remember that you did it, too. But I’m going to bet that mine looked much worse. Let’s face it: My chia pet curls were not meant to be teased into a Bang Wave. Let’s not talk about the amount of hairspray involved. But in my pubescent need to fit in and look like the white girls I went to school with, this is what I came up with.

And really? I know it was probably the worst idea in the history of hair. Or at least it is until I come across another photograph that makes me think “I so have to blog this.”

Also, this is me one-upping any relatives or friends who have embarrassing photos of my pre-famous days in case I ever actually do get that book deal. Seriously, people, it can’t get much worse than this. Except for any surviving photos from my Match My Eyeshadow to My T-shirt phase. Cuz that sucked, too. Purple eyeshadow is not meant to be used in the quantities I slathered on my face. It’s just not.

I’m on a boat in this photo. It was either 7th or 8th grade and we were on our way to Boblo Island in Michigan as part of an end of the school year trip for us totally awesome middle schoolers. I was socially awkward, tried so hard to blend in that it only made me stick out more, and quite obviously, dressed with the intention of having my future self ask the 13-year-old self what in hell I was thinking and point out that this is absolute proof when it comes to why I couldn’t get a boy to look at me.

This photo also serves to prove my case when I tell people that I don’t just have bad hair days. I’ve had bad hair decades, maybe. But a single day? Would have just been a vacation for my mexi-fro and my misguided attempts to not accept my hair for what it is: a kinky, spiral of curls so springy that my black friends snicker when they see  crap like this.

My first reaction when I found this photo was to burn it. Then I realized I need to hold on to it, if only to remind myself to try very hard every day to remind Buttercup to accept and celebrate every little oddity; every single piece of individuality. I spent far too long fighting myself (and my hair) before finally (blissfully) reaching the point where I could look in the mirror and smile at the woman standing in the mirror.


I nodded my head stupidly when you asked me to marry you because I couldn’t speak.

Kind of the way I lost my voice when I told you I wanted a karat and you got the kind bunnies eat out of the fridge.

Except the first example is way more romantic.

Ask me again if I will marry you.

I will say yes.

A thousand times, yes.

Even if you propose with a carrot.

Because it’s that kind of Story Book Love.

Except the other spelling not the kind bunnies eat is way smarter more romantic.

Happy anniversary, Sweeter. Eleven years together. Eight years married.

Laughter gives time the wings to fly.

Because of you, I have found my voice.


It’s official. I have tossed my hat in the ring for what promises to be an eye-opening experience with the Mamavation campaign.


I posted the details a few days ago, but here is a little snippet of what the program is about and why I feel it’s so important to at least give it a try and see how far I can go.

The Mamavation campaign is a social media experiment started and managed by Leah Segedie (@bookieboo), a walking little bit of inspiration who has successfully lost over 170 pounds over two pregnancies. She runs the Bookieboo site (where I have been an editor for almost a year), which is all about making families healthy, one mom at a time. It’s free to join, an awesome source of support, and the stepping point for those who may consider joining the Sistahood, which is the virtual healthy living sorority committed to learning healthy living.

I pledged and am a proud Sista now, thank you very much. Which leads me to the Mamavation campaign. I’ll let Leah explain it here.

“Mamavation™ is a social experiment and weight loss campaign in social media with the goals of teaching moms healthy living lifestyle choices so they can share with their family. Mamavation™ is a two part campaign: (1) a virtual healthy living boot camp for two moms and (2) the home of the first virtual healthy living sorority in social media, the Sistahood™”

Those moms selected enter into a 7 week healthy living virtual bootcamp, tweet, vlog, and otherwise share every detail of their experience, with the goal of becoming healthier and motivating others to do the same. Click here for the scoop on the rest of the details.

And in order to be considered for the campaign and possibly make the final five, I need all of you reading this blog (writers, BFFs, sisters, Sistas, friends) to tweet the following to Leah to show her that we all mean business about finding my waistline:

“Hey @bookieboo! I want @aspiringmama to be the next #Mamavation Mom. She has my support! http://bit.ly/zqUxa”

Oh, and um, tweet this message A LOT.

As I stated earlier, I wrote the book. Now I need your help to write the epilogue.

Oh, and thank you.


Dear New Balance Marketing People,

We need to talk.

It’s about your commercial, my shoes, and that little complex you just gave me. Not sure what I’m talking about? Let me refresh your memory.

Exhibit A: (Your ad—a.k.a My New Complex)

Before I get into the specifics on where you can send the new shoes to replace Those That I Shall Never Wear Again and I’m a size 9, thank you, let me first congratulate you on a job well done. I am not easily swayed by advertising. Usually. Okay fine. There was that little Barbie phase I went through when I was eight, but I got over that really fast when I realized that playing Barbie at home was a total downer compared to what they made it look like in the ads. I have grown up since then. Mostly. I have a mind of my own and am proud of that. No one tells me what to do or what to like. (And by the way, Swiffer? It’s really time to hire a new marketing team. But you knew that already, didn’t you?)

Then I saw your ad. While I was wearing, well…we won’t talk about my choice in footwear. We can talk about The Husband’s smirk as he saw my face fall. Or his outright laughter when I threw out an “Oh HELL no!” Or the fact that I promptly went upstairs to my closet, threw the complexes I once called shoes into a corner, and dug out my old sneakers for my walk. There’s also The Husband laughing at me when I came back downstairs. And of course, we can talk about me telling The Husband that you and your savvy and saucy little marketing team owes me a pair of shoes.

Because really? You totally do.




I almost did it. Really, I did.

I almost bought a pair of Big Girl Panties. But all I could think was that I would feel like I was doing a half-assed blogging job if I left the visual out and am I really going to take photos of my panties? Even just set out prettily on the bed, that would really only serve as a reminder that I am not Kate Gosselin and do not have the means to buy the nip-tucked rockin’ mom bod she’s flashing for the world (and her ex) to see now. What? Me? Jealous? Bitter? What? pfft! I mean, I only had ONE kid and got royally jacked up. But who’s keeping score?

The bottom line is that I’m still deciding on what to actually do to commemorate the actual rejections. But for now, Mama got herself a new pair of Pandora earrings for finishing the book. How’s that for a consolation prize?

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, The Husband already knows…so no need to pretend you have no idea what I am talking about.

Social links powered by Ecreative Internet Marketing