Because you know I'm all about that unrealistic standard of beauty...

We've all heard it. It feels fun and innocent and its message is clear: 

it is desirable to have a big butt. 

So what's wrong with that? Why not celebrate a song in which a woman has learned to love her body the way it is? Isn't that a step in the right direction? Shouldn't we all join hands, sing kumbaya and rejoice that women everywhere are now free to accept and celebrate their diversity in shape and size?? I can't tell you how I wish that were the case. The problem is, songs like this one aren't giving women the liberty to be what they are. Instead they are adding to the growing list of traits required to qualify as "beautiful". The problem is, while every adolescent girl you know I'd learning these lyrics by heart, she's taking to heart a deeper message:

You are not desirable unless you have a big butt. 

Because "Boys like a little more booty to hold at night" right? Now, I'm not suggesting this artist is soely to blame here, or even that this is the first song of its kind. We all know that's a joke. Whether it's Beyoncé, Nikki Manaj, or Sir Mix-A-Lot everyone from every generation can cite a song just like this one. 

What I am suggesting is that when a gorgeous  young woman I am very close to, {who just happens to have the physique of a runway model} doesn't believe she's beautiful because she "has no butt" we can be sure something here is broken. What she doesn't understand is what Tina Fey humorously and adequately illustrated when she wrote: "every girl is expected to have Caucasian blue eyes, full Spanish lips, a classic button nose, hairless Asian skin with a California tan, a Jamaican dance hall ass, long Swedish legs, small Japanese feet, the abs of a lesbian gym owner, the hips of a nine-year-old boy, the arms of Michelle Obama, and doll tits." 

The ideal of beauty is not only ridiculous, it's pretty much genetically impossible. Deep down every woman probably knows that. But as long as songs like these surface every few years or so, it will never matter. As long as we all keep paying the media to create it, and loving it despite ourselves when it comes out, 

things will never ever change. 

You see, it's all about that bass...

A Little Marriage Trivia:

Q: How can you tell he really loves you? That you're the only one for him, that he wants to grow old with you, that he's your soulmate?

A: He lets you peel the plastic protective sheets off his new iPad. 

{he's a keeper, everyone.}

Stacy's mom probably didn't shop here.

I expected to feel a lot of emotions after the birth of my baby, but for some reason "blegghhhh" didn't make the list.

Because they don't tell you on those pregnancy websites that once you have the baby you are automatically transported forward in time to your 40's. Yesterday you were 23 with a nice body and great fashion sense? That's nice. You're a mom today so here's your pair of clogs, now go get that pixie cut. 

Seriously. A year ago I was happily judging women who wore sweats to the grocery store, and suddenly I wake up and realize I'm getting the mail wearing a bathrobe and crocs??

"It's time for an intervention Myrinda. You wore that mumu twice already this week. We're just so worried about you!" 

-everyone I know

Rest assured friends, operation mommy makeover is a go. Why? Because {dont let this spit-up smeared, hasn't-been-cool-since-the-90's band Tshirt throw you} this is my prime people!

So even though my first round of wardrobe revamping at the mall today was a little bit traumatic.. (you know what else they don't tell you on those websites? That you can lose as much baby weight as you want, ain't nothing gonna be the same post baby. All you're doing is trading those voluptuous pregnancy curves for things that more closely resemble fried eggs than boobs. Oh and be prepared to all of a sudden look like Barrack Obama from behind. Seriously. This is a selfie I took in the mirror at the mall today: 
I may have cried. Stupid teenager clothing stores. But I digress. And this is the longest sentence in parenthesis ever.)

The point is- of course my body is different post baby. My whole world is different! And so much better. There isn't a pair of perfectly toned thighs I would rather have than the beautiful, smiley, poopy, perfect little reason to get up every morning that I traded them for.

Being a mom is the best. But pardon me while I go destroy every reflective surface in my house until i'm emotionally prepared to face that fact that being a mom, is in fact a package deal with looking like one. 

Me and Cinderella, we put it all together. We can drive it home with one headlight.

I learned a few things this week.

First life lesson: never name it the worst day of your life before six pm, because the universe will surely take it as a challenge.

My husband wont ever make that mistake again because right about the time he got home on the afore mentioned day, was when I called him from the side of the freeway with a flat tire.
So like the hero he is, he came in his truck to save me. And then he supervised as I changed the tire all by myself like the sexy and capable woman that I am... Or he may have made me stand behind the cement barrier the whole time so I wouldn't die if anyone crashed into us... Really it's tough to recall.

Either way the spare was on in no time. Which would have been great if the spare didn't end up being completely out of air and thus even flatter than my original flat tire.. (Seriously? Who knew that could even happen??) So though we realized the worst day ever would probably turn out to be the longest day ever as well, we removed that soggy doughnut tire and loaded it in the truck in hopes of finding a gas station air pump to re-inflate it, so we could start the whole tire change process over again.

Which is about the time I learned life lesson number two: don't leave the headlights of your working vehicle shining on the vehicle you are repairing, unless standing on the side of the freeway well into the night is a hobby of yours.

Yep. Two flat tires and a dead battery. (It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.. which it was. A horrible, terribly-timed practical joke from our good friend the universe. Jump out with the cameras now MTV. We've been punked). It was time to call in the cavalry.

Because life lesson number three is that: you're never too old to call your daddy when you get in trouble. We're pretty lucky to have fantastic dads who never mind driving to find you in the wee hours of the morning and bring a battery charger thing and let you steal the spare tire from their car.

Its also pretty lucky that cell phones were invented. Because seriously if this was the 90's i'm convinced I would still be there. Why? because life lesson four taught me that while cops around these parts have no problem pulling me over monthly for all kinds of ridiculous reasons, they turn a blind eye when you're a girl stuck on the side of the road alone at midnight.. Sigh. Rant over. (The back story about my beef with cops will just have to wait for another day.)

But the best thing I learned from this impossibly long, ridiculous adventure is in line with that thing about lemons and lemonade. Because despite all the frustration I walked away from this experience feeling gratitude, and love, and a general feeling that my life is pretty great.

And that's what this blog is about people. Life and love and fantastically flawed people finding reasons to be happy through it all. Dear Myrinda, remember that.

Love, Myrinda.

my thoughts on cheesecake.

I've got a serious love/hate with exercise. Who doesn't?

I mean except for that one facebook friend you have thats always posting things like: "OMG soooooo excited for my billionth marathon  tomorrow just cant wait to run all day and not get tired cuz I just got back from running a billion miles in the freezing rain and I just want to run like a crazy person every day of my life because I loooooove running and running is just the best everrrrrr" and you're over here like:
 


Because for the rest of us, working out is hard. And whats the hardest part of working out? Getting motivated enough to actually work out. You know how it goes.

You start by getting on pinterest (mistake. always a mistake.) and seeing one of those memes with a picture of a super hot girl and some saying like 'nothing tastes as good as skinny feels' or 'get off your butt fatty' and you're like "yes! I am going to work out every single day and  never eat junk again!! Starting tomorrow!!" And then tomorrow comes, and you're like "ok not today but tomorrow! tomorrow is the day! I WILL become the girl in that photo!!" Then the next day comes and you're like, "those photos are so airbrushed anyway.... oooh cheesecake."


But i'm proud to say that today I actually dusted off those running shoes, got out the jogging stroller, and went for it. And you know what? As much as I hate to admit it, It felt kind of awesome. It always does.



So today I'm writing a motivational letter to myself to be read in the absence of motivation to exercise. AKA every day. Here Goes.



Dear Myrinda,

Let me just start off by saying how cool you are. You're like a female Vanilla Ice mixed with a ninja. Plus your hair rocks. But I digress. The purpose of this letter is to convince you to work out today. I know right now watching HGTV on mute and eating jelly beans just seems easier, but I promise you will be glad you got off the couch. Yes, you will look a little muffin-y in those shorts. Yes, your face will do that thing where it turns beet red but only in select patches and your hair gets all stuck to it. Yes, you may hold up traffic a little bit while everyone watches you try to push the stroller up the hill. And yes, that car full of teenage boys will whistle at you and you will be like "who whistles at a lady running with a baby?? That's totally inappropriate you hooligans!" and then you will secretly be super flattered. But the POINT IS. Do it anyway. Get out there and do your best even for just a few minutes. You are always glad you did, take it from me- future, already worked out today Myrinda. Plus we both know you're going to eat the cheesecake either way.
Anyways, I better go. Don't worry about trying to find me, it messes with the time/space continuum.

Love, Myrinda

Bummer.

Do you ever feel trapped?

Stuck in the dark? 

Like you're looking at the world through a keyhole while your life passes you by?

Trust me, you're not alone.

Like me, you probably didn't realize that when you take off all the doorknobs to paint your house, you should just go ahead and remove the locking mechanisms as well. 

And like me, you're probably locked in the bathroom because you forgot about the doorknob thing and slammed the door as you ran in there because you seriously had to pee. 

Well don't lose hope. 

Yell out now to a trusted friend or loved one who can dissemble another doorknob in your house and use it's handle to set you free!

And remember,

there is light at the end of the screwdriver.

-M.