Football for life

I have a really sweet friend named Mia who is a Football Wife and posted the story below on her blog. (Here is the link to her blog! It's awesome! http://www.msmiamaree.com/)

It touched me so much I had to share it. When I started this blog I meant for it to be a story about our family but I must admit I have been very selfish with it, sharing stories from my labor and waxing my pikachu to my frusteration with daily mommy life.

However, it has given me so much joy, which was my original intention. So I am satisfied with what I set out for this blog to me. Below is a little something about football wives....

THE FOOTBALL WIFE

The good Lord was creating a model for football wives, and was into his sixth day of overtime when an angel appeared. She said, “Lord you seem to be having a lot of trouble with this one. What’s wrong with the standard model?”

The Lord replied, “ Have you seen the specs on this order? She has to be completely independent, possess the qualities of both father and mother, be a perfect hostess to 4 or 40 with an hour’s notice, run on black coffee, handle every emergency imaginable without a manual, be able to carry on cheerfully, even if she is pregnant and has the flu, and she must be willing to move to a new location 10 times in 17 years. And oh, yes. She must have six pairs of hands.”

The angel shook her head. “Six pairs of hands? No way.”

The Lord continued, “Don’t worry; we will make other wives to help her. And we will give her an unusually strong heart so it can swell with pride in her husband’s achievements, sustain the pain of separations, beat soundly when it is overworked and tired, and be large enough to say, ‘I understand,’ when she doesn’t, and say ‘I love you,’ regardless.”

“Lord,” said the angel, touching his arm gently. “Go to bed and get some rest. You can finish this tomorrow.”

“I can’t stop now,” said the Lord. “I am so close to creating something unique. Already this model heals herself when she is sick, can put up six unexpected guests for the weekend, wave goodbye to her husband and understand why it’s important he leave.”

The angel circled the model of the football wife, looked at it closely and sighed, “it looks fine, but it’s too soft.”

“She might look soft,” replied the Lord, “but she has the strength of a lion. You would not believe what she can endure.”

Finally, the angel bent over and ran her fingers across the cheek of the Lord’s creation. “There’s a leak,” she announced. “Something is wrong with the construction. I am not surprised that it has cracked. You are trying to put too much into this model.”

The Lord appeared offended at the angel’s lack of confidence. “What you see is not a leak,” he said. “It’s a tear.”

“A tear? What is it there for?” asked the angel.

The Lord replied, “it’s for joy, sadness, pain, disappointment, loneliness, pride, and dedication to all the values that she and her husband hold dear.”

“You are a genius!” exclaimed the angel.

The Lord looked puzzled, and replied, “I didn’t put it there.”

I teared up a little when I read this. Being the wife of a football coach is very special, and it isn't for everyone. I am one of the crazy people who not only grew up in a football family, but married into one as well. This life has brought me so much emotion, both joy and heartache, but I wouldn't trade any of it for anything. It has been an awesome ride and I consider myself very lucky.

I am very excited about this next step in the Taylor Family's adventure. I am extremely proud of my husband because he worked really, really hard for this opportunity and he is so smart! But I do feel a little sorry for myself too. I love this town. College Station is very unique. Despite it's biggest fault, having literally no shopping, it has really been such an amazing 4 years here.

I love the size of the town. It's that perfect small-town feel but not too small. I will miss Texas A&M. I don't think there's anywhere else in the country that has traditions like the Aggies. It is very different. There are some things like the War Hymn that you really can't help but tear up. The people in this town are so kind. People really watch out for one another. I am very envious of all those that get to stay!

We are headed to Miami....being the geography idiot that I am, when we got the news, I immediately google mapped it on my phone. I mean I knew it was close to Cuba but seriously....you could like throw a rock at Cuba. No wonder people swim from there! It will definitely be different as evidenced by my 3-day trip there to find a place to live. I of course am used to smiling at everyone in College Station, and it is a little bit different there. People aren't quite as warm but that's ok. I know there will be fun different things too and I have to remember that.

I move on February 29th and leave for my best friend from high school's wedding 6 days after that, so I may be weak on the blog front for about 10 days, but I'm sure I will have some stories soon enough!

Traveltastic

Well, on Monday's late-night blog I promised all 8 of my readers I would post the next one about all my frustrations with traveling so here I am! So pull out your annoying travel U-shaped pillow you traveling douche bag. Go ahead, I'll wait. Put it on your neck and pretend it's really helping, as you sit there all stiff like you're going to take the "best nap ever" and wake up "so refreshed" in Cleveland. You think you're better than me because you spent $75 at Brookstone before you boarded the plane? PUH-LEEEZE. I spent $3.99 on my issue of UsWeekly and $1.79 on my enormous bag of Funyons, and once I'm done eating these Funyons, I will let loose a 2 hour long farting brigade that smells so much like onions you may consider asking me if I am carrying onions. So I guess we will just see who comes out the winner on this one. Row 27 is going to get interesting.

The technology post really leads into the traveling post, for me anyway. Whenever I am traveling I am always really alarmed at the lack of updates in technology. Um, excuse me American Airlines but are these the same seats you introduced on your intro plane in 1972? The in-plane phone appears to be non-working, I guess you have unplugged it since everyone age 8 and up HAS CELL PHONES NOW.

When something has happened with your flight and they are trying to rebook you, is it just me or are those monitors the kind of computer Doogie Howser used? Have you ever slightly leaned forward to see what they're doing because it appears they're typing haphazardly and not purposefully? And then when you lean forward they slightly turn the monitor, right after you realize the screen is black and the letters are green, just like that first computer you had at your house in 1988 that you could just play solitaire on?

My father just told me a hilarious story about traveling that really tied in closely with the technology post. He is "about" 50 years old and weighs 200-something lbs, and was traveling in one of the regular seats, not business class. According to him he is "stuffed in like a sardine." He is a large man and I have to admit I am so annoyed when I realize I'm sitting next to a man his size. But I actually totally sympathize because I am pretty average sized and feel like the seats are smaller every time I travel. Getting out to go to the bathroom, which I do every 10 minutes, is like a test of what you learned in the 2 years you took gymnastics as a child. The first stress is whether to go front or back, thus either pushing your booty in the poor passenger next to you or your pikachu. Either is horrible and awkward. Additionally, people are so closed in nowadays you feel horrible for even breathing an inch outside your seat area, not to mention the tense 3 minutes when you are both sitting there thinking, "who is going to have this arm rest."

So my dad goes on to tell me about how once the plane takes off, there is a couple in his little row who have proceeded to take out an entire meal they had obviously brought on to the plane.

This brings me to traveling etiquette tip #397. I know I joked above about the funyons but I really do only do that in desperate times. I.E., if I just really feel like having a bag of funyons. But for the most part, this is just a really rude thing to do. If you are traveling for over 120 minutes in a very confined space, it is probably best you do not open your steaming hot steak sandwhich next to me and eat it with your au ju sauce dripping down your chin, or I may have to throw up all over you.

This particular couple brought on a Boston Market style meal, according to my father, a whole chicken. As he recalls, the entire bird was on American Airlines Flight #2997, bones and all. Understandably, watching this disgusting pair work their way through a whole bird worked up his appetite, but at this point, we all know that we can now only purchase in-air snacks, which are overpriced Teddy Grahams, and when you are a middle aged normal sized male, it's just not going to cut it.

So he moves on from the snack and decides he at least needs a distraction. He tells me he decides he will fork over the $5.95 to buy the airline headphones and watch the TV. Well of course, this is only in my family, because we are just walking jokes, he gets the only pair of headphones in their batch of 10,000 that does not work. Despite the fact that he does not need the $5.95 back, he goes on to ask if he should return the head phones because he cannot hear the show, how would he go about getting a refund? Well it turns out you have to fill out a form and turn it in, all in the name of getting 6 bucks back for an in flight movie gone horribly wrong. My dad loses his keys, credit card, and wallet all at least once a week so the chances of him bringing home the form, filling it out and sending it in are pretty much not happening.

I am about to travel to Miami in 7 days with my 1 year old little boy. I know I must be able to get at least a few blog-worthy stories from my trip as I am traveling alone and no longer have my secret weapon we used last summer when we took him on a 4-hour flight to Boston: Breastfeeding. He was about 8 months old at the time and since he was a growing boy, he would go on the boob pretty much anytime, so I used this as my way to calm him and keep him happy during take off and landing. Oh did I mention I would do this in the wide open, on the aisle seat? By the end of 8 months of breastfeeding I had fed Brooks so many times in random places I would have done it with my top completely off it it meant silence.

With no breastfeeding tool this time, I'll be like a Pioneer in the days of yore, relying solely on books and toys. Prayers would be appreciated.

Technology

I would like to dedicate this blog to those individuals who are currently 40ish and above living in this country with all the new technology they do not know how to work. Yes I am talking about you mom and dad, who have 12 televisions and do not know how to work any of them. There is nothing more painful than being in the generation that grew up with computers watching someone who is your superior, and it is not appropriate to correct them, type like a chicken on the computer one key at a time.

This blog came about this morning when my mother in law called me to tell me that she is starting a blog with her friend Tracy. They have always wanted to write a book about the hilarious happenings they have endured but it hasn't happened and they figured a blog would be the perfect way to tell their hilarious tales. I agree and I think my mother in law is hilarious so I am really excited about this blog and will definitely be posting it on here when they have it going.

So my mother in law calls me when Brooks has just gone down for a nap, and I am laying in bed staring at the ceiling, as I always do for the first 20 minutes I get to myself when he goes down. I call her back and she tells me about their idea to do the blog, and asks if I'll read their first entry and give her brutal honestly. I of course say yes I'd love to read the blog and she puts me on speakerphone so she and her friend can both hear my criticism. The hilarity ensues immediately as neither Julie or her friend can figure out how to email their first entry to me. I assume they have typed it out on word, and they are laughing about whether they should copy and paste it (as Julie says, make it all blue and then paste it) or send it as an attachment.

I head to my computer in the study of the house to read the blog and Julie and I both think we have hung up and I'll call her in a few minutes when I'm done reading the blog. Hilariously, I realize a couple minutes later that neither of us hung up and she is laughing on the phone still, and when I say Julie, she starts dying laughing realizing that she didn't hang up.

I admit I am really not the best with technology myself but I have learned enough to survive. But for the generation that is currently 12-30ish, are you as impatient with me waiting for the older generation to learn? I feel a little bit guilty as I type this because I know for example my dad would love to be able to just type like a 25 year old. However at this point, there is no reason for him to learn as he has people at work who can help him. On the few occasions I have helped him type stuff he sits and stares in amazement, asking me how I go so fast. Little shortcuts just blow his mind.

I have many stories about technology mishaps. About 8 years ago when we were leaving the Green Bay Packers box after a game, my grandmother Claire shouts for everyone to stop and come back, because someone has left their cell phone. We all head back in to the box and realize she is talking about the TV remote.

Perhaps some of the best techno mishaps happen when we travel. We are so used to fully charged phones, navigation systems, talking microwaves (sorry, I'm really rich), that we take for granted that our phones could go dead or, heaven forbid, the airlines could have problems. Oh it's too foggy to fly? Well I've got a college reunion to get to and I'm willing to risk my life to get to Milwaukee for $1 beers. Are we all in on this together fellow passengers? Show me the waiver, I'll sign, mama needs to re-live her 18-22 years. Tomorrow I'm going to blog specifically about traveling. So. Many. Stories.

The other day in HEB the woman ringing me up was not only older but was also new on the job. I try to be really patient in these situations but it's like watching paint dry watching someone struggle sometimes! But the poor gal just couldn't read the number on the apples to type in, couldn't read the coupon codes, etc. It was all I could do not to hop over the shelf and just check myself out.

Despite what we all go through with attempting to keep up with the world the 2000s, I think we can all agree on the best invention ever ever ever, and that is DVR, and double stuff oreos.

Mistakes of my fashion world

Much to the dismay of my husband, I am huuuge shopper. I love it all. I covet all nice designer things and I love Forever21. I love shoes and bags the most because they always fit, no matter how many double stuff oreos I eat, but I love dresses too. My obsessions include eyelet, lace, white dresses, cowboy boots, flat boots, pointy toed flats, round toed heels....oh i could keep going but I should stop because I am about to get distracted and see what's new on J. Crew.

A really bad combination with this love of clothes is my little issue of being a pack rat. I love love love to save things. I have actually thought, surely I'll wear these zumba Green Bay Packer pants again. Who's to say they aren't coming back in style? I think this began when I was growing up. When you move around a lot you begin to kind of obsess about certain possessions because they're the only normal in your new setting. The new house and friends in California aren't so scary if you've still got your barbie convertible. I was born in New Orleans and then moved to Massachusetts, Texas, California, back to Texas, Wisconsin, Seattle, back to Wisconsin, Nebraska, back to Texas, and now I am about to go to Florida. I think it's time to give up the dress that I wore to my rehearsal dinner that does not go over my butt anymore. But I just find it so hard! What if my daughter wants to wear it one day? Oh dear. What if I don't have a daughter....moving on!

So as I begin to pack up for the big move to Miami, I'm really trying to purge, as it is smart to do before you look some huge moving man named Dave in the eye and tell him yes, you really need 68 pairs of flats, 10 of which are black and look the same. As I am purging I am really noticing some of my "disaster" buys.

Post-pregnancy clothes...this one actually makes me kind of sad. Anyone reading this who has had a baby and gone through the hormonal tornado afterwards knows that anything you can do to make yourself feel better is probably worth the money. I wore an insane "belly bandit" that the Kardashians market (should have been my first sign this was insane) for weeks after birth that would make me sweat like it was nobody's business. As if you don't have enough issues going on with your body, I would fight with this binding strap around my stomach in an attempt to get it to go down to something that resembled my previous frame. About 5 weeks after Brooks was born we had the opportunity to go to the Cotton Bowl in Dallas, Texas with the football team. This is by far the best bowl with gifts, stuff to do, fun atmosphere. It was a dream come true. For normal people. For a woman who has just had a baby and is leaking breast milk and cries at everything, this is kind of a nightmare. I knew I wouldn't be able to bring my enormous breastfeeding pillow that took up half of my kind bed or wear my Kardashian belly bandit. These are like security blankets for mommies so I nervously anticipated our trip.

So I wanted to look nice at these events obviously, but 5 weeks post Brooks I still weighed about 20 lbs off of my previous weight. Of course before Brooks was born I really thought I'd be back in my skinny jeans by now. So I drag my enormous breastfeeding porn boobs over to our insanely horrible out of date College Station mall and plan on trying to spend about $100 on possibly 3 or 4 pieces that could get me through 3 months until I could fit in my regular clothes. Little did I know at that point that I wouldn't be in my regular clothes until May, 6 or 7 months post labor. If you  had told me that I probably would have just given up so probably best I was still naive at that point.

What's hard about this process of post-baby body buying is you are still drawn towards what worked on your pre-baby fabulousness. Before Brooks I have always had a big old booty but a mostly flat stomach and smaller chest. So dresses that showed off my upper frame, the thinner part of me, were always a pretty sure bet that I would look classy and cute. So I walk around Macy's and grab what has always worked for me, and head into the dressing room. About 3 minutes later loud sobbing ensues as I realize that my enormous boobs are now taking over my life, and what used to work on me now makes me look like a not as cute version of Dolly Parton. What's hard to know is whether to keep all these clothes that don't work now but I'll probably need again for the 6 months after the last baby. Will they still be in style? I don't want to have another Macy's sobbing fest again. The poor woman who was working the floor that day came in and tried to comfort me only to finally tell me that before I did anything else, I really needed new bras, and her friend Marge would help me in the bra fitting area.

About 2 minutes later I'm half naked in a bra dressing room in Macy's and Marge is informing me I'm leaking. Oh gee thanks Marge I have felt like my boobs were about to explode for an hour, I would have gone faster but I've been sobbing on the floor in the dress area. Just what a hormonal mom needs, a naked bra fitting. What I really needed at that point was a sonic burger but instead I'm stuck in 1952 with Marge who has a measuring tape around my chest. She asked me what size I had been before and she is floored when she realizes I've gone up like 9 cup sizes. I agree at the insanity of it and inform her I could feed about 6 countries with my milk.

I guess I've sort of gotten off track here, so on to my other mistakes.

Leather pants....I am a fashion victim to the newest trends. I love InStyle and I love to follow what's hot in each season. I think it's fun to change up your wardrobe but with that being said, there are some things that aren't meant for certain people, and certain towns. This past fall, leather pants/leggings were huge. I spent one entire night searching the Internet for leather leggings that would work in the small town I live in in Texas and not be too offensive. I finally settled on a BCBG pair I found on clearance in Norman, Oklahoma. I was in a rush as we were visiting my in laws and didn't have a chance to try them on but had been looking for them so long that I just got them and left. Well about a week later I decide it's a leather leggings night, and I come to find out what it's like to put on these kind of pants. I thought there wasn't anything more painful than laying down and putting on my too-tight jeans I refuse to give up on, boy was I wrong. Putting on leather leggings is like getting in a wrestling match with a fish. Everything is slippery and weird and you don't even know how you got there. By the time I got them on my body I was so sweaty I needed another shower before going out to dinner. Not to mention that this was definitely one of those trends that just makes my husband shake his head.

Pink tie die jeans...oh man. I went to a Cabbie show of a friend and had just really gotten back to my pre-baby weight. Don't get me wrong, my body was still a hot mess to the naked eye but with clothes on, I looked like a form of my previous self. Well she had these hot pink tye dye jeans in a sample size 4 and I was determined that they would go on my body that day, and if they did, they would be mine. To buy something for this reason only is insane yet I do it all the time. Now my pink tye dye jeans haunt me when I go in my closet, as they and I both know they were a "because they went on my body" purchase.

The most sick part of this has to be the fact that every single day of my life, my main uniform is my workout clothes. Despite my love of high fashion, I am in my workout clothes about 90% of the time. I even have my more "fancy" workout clothes for the days Brooks and I do errands around town after our gym trip. All in all, writing this has been good for me as I know I am looking down the barrel of the next 40 years of moving just as much as I have in my first 28 years. I know that I don't need any silly purchases like pink jeans or leather pants. But I can promise you there will be some mistakes when hormones are involved.

Wooden Teeth

I absolutely love coffee and make a huge effort not to get a Starbucks every single day. I know it's such a waste of money but I love it! So Brooks and I typically go to the local Starbucks inside Kroger about twice a week. We know everyone in there and we get to say hi to all our friends.

I went at 8 a.m. yesterday, which I know is prime time, as everyone headed to work is grabbing their caffeine fix. I wasn't thinking until we went in and noticed the long line. I was ahead of a cute little old lady who was sweet and friendly to Brooks. We got talking and she got on a little rant about how babies don't brush their teeth enough. Um... seriously? There's famine and war in this world and we haven't figured out how to get rid of cellulite, and this is what's keeping this woman up at night. Babies brushing their teeth. Babies with teeth that are going to fall out of their heads, not brushing them.

Well, I admit, Brooks is 1 year and about 2 months, and I hadn't brushed his teeth yet. Between all the moving and keeping up with life I guess I missed the boat on that one. I think you're "supposed" to start on this at about age 1. So I guess I'll be getting baby toothbrushes and baby toothpaste the next time I go to the store. Notice I'm not making a special trip.

What this does for me however is just begin what I know will be a lifetime worry about his teeth. You see, I have the teeth of an old English woman. I have often asked (friends mostly) why we can't just have wooden teeth. If we all had wooden teeth and didn't wax, well then we would just be wooden teethed hairy people and it would be fine. But since everyone is hair free and now getting dental repair like it's a Gap purchase, well I'm lagging behind in the looks department. The husband might soon begin to wonder. It's a good thing I bake.

Teeth are just like anything else- hair and skin tone- passed on from your family history. My mom has told me before, I'm sorry but we are just a "bad teeth" family. If you know my family this is a classic line. We like going to the dollar store, giving each other a hard time, and altogether being white trash. It would make sense my family and I have bad teeth. But, this is a heartbreaking story and not one I look forward to telling my little Brooks. When I break this to him I suppose I'll leave out that I didn't start brushing his baby teeth on time.

Growing up, I had pretty straight teeth, and for a little while thought I might have even bypassed the whole "family of bad teeth" thing. I figured they were straight enough for me to even miss out on braces. Boy was I wrong! Apparently, I had an overbite that would eventually lead to pain and basically a lifetime of unhappiness. I think I remember the orthodontist telling my mom something about how overbites eventually give people back problems. Balogne in my opinion but the braces went on. I'd love to know what would have happened had we let that overbite just remain. So I got the braces, the horrible mouth of metal that is so common in 6th grade. I remember laying in beg, with my head gear on of course, reading the letter about staying away from popcorn, gum, and anything sticky and fun. I guess this year's halloween is a wash, I thought. It took a long time to get used to getting all the food out of my  braces before engaging in conversation. While getting used to the new hardware, I remember cringing in embarrasement when I realized in the middle school bathroom I'd had half a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich stuck in my front braces the whole time I talked to my 6th grade crush, Jimmy, at lunch. It's a right of passage as a teenager, and I had them for 3 1/2 years. When they were removed, I figured that I'd have a happy future with my now perfect bite.

Boy was I wrong.

I'd had a rollerblading accident years back. My best friend Bethany and I were racing down the huge hill in Emerald Forest to make it back to her house to watch 90210. My parents wouldn't let me watch it so we had to watch it at her house. I also wasn't allowed to watch Roseanne, which of course made me want to watch it more. I didn't get half of what they were talking about but I knew it was cool and I did like Dillion on 90210. Well I'm no olympic speed skater and I took a long hard fall about halfway down the hill. there went half my front tooth, my perfectly straight, perfect bite, half tooth. A huge split lip and half a tooth less, we skated home like idiots. I knew Karbear (my mom) was not going to be pleased. We had a dentist neighbor who came in specially to fix the issue, since it was the evening and they weren't typically open. I got a stitch in my lip, and they put whatever it is they put on the other half of your tooth to make you not look like a hillbilly.

That lasted for quite awhile, but after some time, the tooth would turn half yellow, as half my tooth was real, and had nerve endings etc, and the other half was fake. Wow that sentence made me realize I am really white trash. So before I got married around the age of 24, my mom and I were discussing how it is frusterating how it yellows sometimes and has never looked perfect, and she says she and my dad will pay for me to get 2 veneers on the front 2 teeth so that they look perfect.

I was excited because I wanted to look wonderful on my wedding day. However, I did not realize what veneers entailed. Did you know that for veneers they shave your entire tooth down to be the base, and put the new tooth on top? That's right, your tooth is like 1/10 of it's original size, and just hanging out there for a little bit. Do you know what's like to lay there and let someone SHAVE down your tooth?!  It is a very freaky feeling! Then they take a picture of before, and one of them is just you with your shaved teeth. So ya that picture exists somewhere, I'm sure they take those just to bring to their dentist parties and laugh hysterically at while they drink champagne.

This brings me to my greatest fear in life. The dentist. I'm sorry if you're a dentist, or married to a dentist, or really like dentists. They're wonderful people and I'm glad they exist. But I hate it. I hate being there. I hate the gross teal plastic chair. I hate the smell of grinding teeth. I had the "flavor options" they give you. Um. Hi this doesn't taste anything at all like bubble gum. Can I take it back and switch to cotton candy? Oh that flavor tastes like metal. Jeesh.

I hate how the waiting room smells like bleach. I hate how the waiting room only has magazines like Field and Stream. I'm trying so hard not to run screaming out of there, I need a better distraction than different species of bass fish. I hate how at the end of the appointment they always offer you a basket of free toothbrushes like they're gold. Um, you must not be able to tell because of my shaved down teeth but I don't need free toothbrushes THAT bad. I hate how flossing is always a sore subject. Um Sarah I'm noticing when we floss your gums bleed. This tells me that you are a disgusting person who never flosses, you have really got to floss. Nevermind that Sally the assistant is flossing so hard it's like she's trying to remove my molars by flossing.

I hate how the dental assistant always talks to you while they are doing stuff, asking personal questions and you're trying to answer while someone is digging a metal prick in your mouth. You mumble something in what sounds like Spanish and she nods like she understood you. She didn't understand. i was asking to escape. Because of this hatred, I avoid the dentist. Because I avoid the dentist, it is bad when I go there, and I have a cavity. It's a viscious cycle.

There is one experience with my veneers that still makes me laugh. I was at work, biting into a yummy popsicle, and one of my veneers broke. These things are like a lifetime warranty kind of thing, so I was mortified and also mostly just mad I would definitely have to go to the dentist. Since I was at work, I was forced to go into my bosses office with half my front tooth missing and ask him if I could be excused to go get the rest of my tooth put on. My boss at the time who is amazing and couldn't be nicer was so grossed out he couldn't even look at me, and shooed me off to go get it fixed!

I guess the lesson in this one is probably something like taking good care of one's teeth, and scheduling regular visits to the dentist. I just want to talk to someone about those toothpaste flavors.

Happy Balentimes

It's Valentine's Day! I am all alone. Waaah. My hunky husband is in Florida, already at work at his new job with the Miami Dolphins. Brooks and I are here in Texas until we move March 1. So I'm having a little pity party.

However, don't you think for one second I'll be home watching the Notebook alone bawling. No, I took care of that last night. I made plans with another coach's wife, Amanda, to go out for dinner at one of the fanciest restaurants in town. Her hubby is gone too so we are going to go paint the town red just ladies.

I find it very hard to be away from my hubby. I would never have thought I would be saying this 5 or 6 years ago when I thought I was so independent, but I love being married and my cute hubby just makes life a little bit more bubbly and fun. Additionally, it is frightening how my hygiene makes a dramatic drop when my hubby isn't around. I'm kind of lazy in this department anyway, as evidenced by my last blog when I pleaded to everyone to stop waxing their bods. However, what little I do to keep the husband happy immediately stops when he's out of town.

I truly can't even tell you when I last shaved my legs. It's pretty gross and there is really no excuse for it, I am just lazy, and with nobody to notice, I go amazon woman. I'm sorry but when it's choosing between House Hunters International, Dove Chocolates and my Instyle or Shaving my legs, I think we know what I'm going to choose. There is only so much downtime in the life of the single mommy and I'm not spending it shaving my legs so the other moms at the gym aren't disgusted with me. They're probably already judging me because of my body odor and shirt that has baby throw up on it. I'm not winning any cute gym rat awards so why bother?

On the subject of body odor, I worry I have a problem. A sweating problem. It all began in college when I found this gray v-neck shirt at the Gap. The shirt made me invincible. Despite my 40 lb freshman year gain (I know. It's gross. That's for another day, another blog. I loved dorm food what can I say), this gray shirt made me look like Heidi Klum. Correction-it made me FEEL like I looked like Heidi Klum. In retrospect I looked like Heidi Klum directly after labor, but at that time I remember thinking I was hot stuff. So there I was at the Gap, exhilarated because I had found what I knew would be my go-to shirt to feel and look great. What I didn't realize at that time was that my sweating problem was going to stand in the way of me looking like a supermodel all day long.

Days later, when I finally got the chance to wear the shirt when invited to a party, I laid down to put on my jeans (this was a year when I had to lay down to put on all jeans. this allowed me to deny that I had gained 40 pounds) and threw on my Heidi Klum v-neck. I sauntered out of those dorms like a new woman. I owned the night. 2 hours later, I laughed nervously talking to some new friends. The party was crowded and I knew I was sweating. So I made a quick beeline for the overcrowded, disgusting bathroom to check myself. Well, much to my shock and dismay, I had pit stains the size of Africa. No joke, they went all the way to the edge of my boobs and down the short sleeve shirt. I had just spent 20 minutes talking to a boy that looked like Gerard Butler (beer goggles), who was probably just betting with his friends how big my pit stains were going to travel.

I went into panic mode, searching the bathroom for something I could wear out of the party for my sprint back to the dorms. All I could find was a gross bathrobe for whom I did not know the owner. On that note, I have never been a fan of men in bathrobes. Something a little too Hugh Hefner for me about it. I had no option but to throw my hands under my armpits in a frustrated stance, and run as fast as I could back to tiny dorm cell I lived in to cry myself to sleep. When I got home, I wept hard, both for my sweat problem I didn't know how I was going to conquer, and for my beautiful, perfect v-neck shirt that supermodel-ed my body.

I've since researched many options for all the sweaty people out there. There's botox for your arm pits, which stops the sweat altogether. Um, so where does it go? Will this make my face sweaty? No thanks. Also, needles in my arm pit? I guess I don't need my supermodel shirt that bad. There's also heavy duty deodorant, and since college, they have come out with many more options. Most have disclaimers on the back saying they're made with ingredients like metal and chlorine and they can't promise it won't harm your brain or a growing fetus inside of you should you have one. That's not very comforting, and a pretty big risk to take just so I don't get pit stains. So I have just given in. I'm a sweater and that's me, take it or leave it.

I currently live in Texas and I'm about to move to Miami, so God's not giving me any free passes with locations. This past summer in College Station we had a record number of 100 degree days. I have a little boy so between him wanting to be outside and me going stir crazy if we didn't get outside, we just sucked it up and sweated our buns off all summer. I pretty much had a constant upper lip dotted with sweat. And if you read my last blog, you know it was a mustache dotted with sweat.

I say let's keep it natural

This blog came to start with a little adventure to the nail salon. I feel very lucky that I get to do this "calming" and de-stressing little adventure every month or two. It's quite the indulgence considering our budget, but I consider this my chance to be alone and really collect my thoughts. And by be alone and collect my thoughts I mean read all their trashy magazines and see the latest in J. Lo's fashion choices.

So, as much as I love to bump into people, I usually want this to be my hour of silence, so I have found this little whole in the wall place in Bryan where I assume I will never see anyone. The problem is, these women have decided because they have no customers, pretty much anything goes. There is one woman in this nail place who never has shoes on. I pretty much try to avoid being partnered with her. She seems bitter, though I am not sure about what. There is a man and a woman who I'm assuming are married, who are always sharing very implied glances -if you know what I mean - at one another, and at times disappears for what I can only assume is a makeout session in the back ally. I'm happy for them.

Then there's Monica. Monica is my girl. If she is in and free, I am with her. I like that she's usually pretty quiet and respectful of my immediate leap into Star Magazine. However, today Monica took things a step farther. I've been going to this place about 2 years now, probably every 2 or 3 months. To my calculations that's about 12 times, so she has probably been dying waiting for the opportunity to ask me what she asked me today. Today I felt chatty, and the Star Magazine I was looking at was from 2009, so I wasn't getting any fresh gossip. We began to talk about beauty routines, and I was asking her about her skin care, because if you haven't noticed, the Chinese women have just outstanding skin. We banter about creams and serums for a bit before she looks extremely stressed, like she just has to get something off her chest. She tells me doesn't want to "hurt my feelings," but that she believes it would be in my best interest to wax my lip. It will make my face appear brighter, she stammers as I wiggle uncomfortably in the chair. Ummmm. WHAT?! I felt warmth on my face and I knew I was beet red. There was an 80 year old woman in the chair next to me whom I am POSITIVE heard the conversation and gave me a look of pity. I could see it in her eyes though. She agreed.

So here I was in this awkward situation. First of all, I don't wax my lip. I suppose I could, but then there I would be, needing to get it waxed again in 2 weeks! Unfortunately my life just doesn't lend itself to this sort of schedule. So I decided about 2 years ago I would stop the waxing all together. Come to think of it, this was around the time I started frequenting Pretty Nail (just one nail??), so for all I know, this has been on Monica's mind for 2 years, keeping her up at night, and she's finally got it off her conscious. Come to think of it she did look relieved. But overall, I felt this was actually a very freeing decision for me. It's hard enough to keep up with my hair highlights! I can't be waxing around town all willy nilly.

Here's where my issue comes in with society overall, though: we have gone wax crazy. Don't you think God put those hairs above our mouth and ahem, other places for a reason? Can't we all just ban together and agree to stop pulling out the hairs, because it hurst, and it's a pain to keep it up, and then we will have more time to go get ice cream? I posted this experience today on facebook, and I received comments from people reminding me of something I heard of years ago - people are now waxing their whole face. I remember when I heard of this and I tried to block it out as if I'd never heard of it. I wince at the eyebrow waxing, why would I need that on my cheek?! This is getting out of control!

4 years ago, I got a bikini wax before my wedding. Now's a good a time as any to try this out, I figured. Well, I did not last the entire time and I will never forget that horrendous experience. Some lady who I remembered in my mind as having a German accent but probably did not, pinned me down and I swear, it was the WORST pain ever, and I had a child naturally without an epidural and ran a 32 mile ultra marathon! I don't think I'm a sissy. I considered going back to the torture chamber when I was pregnant, because as we all know, the pikachu is on full display as you deliver your little miracle, but then I decided they were just going to have to rough it with me. Because at some point, the madness must just stop! I mean I know Monica at Pretty Nail had my best interest at heart. But what she didn't realize when she so innocently suggested I get rid of my mustache was, I am on anti-hair removal rampage. That's right friends. I didn't even know it until today, but it has begun. Who knows, maybe with a little bit of effort and a good sense of humor, we could be putting those laser places and waxing torture chambers out of business! Well, a girl can dream.....

I don't think I was clear about this, and I know all 7 of my readers will be dying to know-no, I did not go through with the waxing. And yes, Monica (and ironically the woman who doesn't wear shoes) looked incredibly dissapointed in me. Join with me, if you dare, and stop waxing, plucking and removing!

*While I was blogging I decided to google-image "ladies with mustaches." Alarmingly, this picture below came up along with about 125 pictures of Madonna. Sooo I guess Madonna and I are on the same page.