Birthdays and whatnot

So two weeks ago, I turned 30. In the weeks leading up to my birthday, a lot of people exclaimed "Say goodbye to your twennnnnnnntiessssss!" in a sing-songy voice while waggling their eyebrows at me. I mean, honestly, I'm pretty sure I left my twenties behind when I had a kid at 25. So I would just laugh along with them, maybe throwing in an "OOHHH UH OH!!!" here or there.

So in all reality, I don't really feel that much older. I'm sure most women will hate me for saying this, but, I haven't really aged since I was 14. I have grown much MUCH wiser, (not really) but looks wise, I still got it goin' on.

It's like staring into the past, present, AND the future!

On that note, here's a list of things, besides my age, that prove I am getting older:

My porch lurking
When Mo and I are schlumping on the couch watching a movie at night with our door open, enjoying the cool breeze wafting over our glistening rolls poking out from under our clothing, (how's THAT for imagery, huh?) and we hear some kind of ruckus happening outside, we'll peel ourselves up from the couch, shuffle over onto the the porch, and sit there staring menacingly at whoever has the balls to raise their voice while walking down the street. We do this for two reasons: to monitor any possible foul play in the neighborhood, and to witness any possible drama going down.Ten years ago? I would jump up in hopes something cool and exciting was happening outside my door and I'd want to participate. Now, we just stand there and attempt to intimidate. We are two years away from "GIT OFF MY LAWN".

Seriously. Put a bright red wig on him and he looks like my twin.

I leave parties at 11pm
When I was planning my big nerdy thirty party, I decided to open the evening with some private room karaoke, and end it at a bowling alley/lounge. Most young people wouldn't even be thinking about getting ready for a night out until at least 9pm.

Not me.

I started getting ready at 3, and I was at Voicebox at 5pm SHARP. Let me just repeat that, so that it really sinks in: I STARTED MY PARTY AT 5PM. That is just only slightly worse than hitting Sweet Tomatoes at 4pm for the early bird special.

Leading in to:

Bedtime
I turn into a pumpkin at 11pm. Oh, I've tried staying up until all hours of the morning like I used to, but at this point, I don't even know what 3am looks like anymore, unless it's 3am and my 5 year old is crawling into bed with me, asking to watch television and complaining his legs hurt. Also, the other night I caught myself thinking: "I should bring my water bottle to bed. Mmm, nah. I will just be getting up all night to pee." I SAID THAT, YOU GUYS.

What in the fu.....

My opinion of young people
I'm not saying I'm that old crotchety person scowling at little kids just yet. I'm talking about my general opinion and attitude towards people in the age range of 16-25. I have reached the point where I want to smile knowingly when they talk to me about inane, shallow shit and say something wise like: "Oh my child, you have much to learn." I'm that annoying "just you wait" adult. I just want to impart all my wisdom upon these poor innocent souls, even though realistically I was JUST THERE.

My general condition after practice
Now, I have never been the athletic type. I didn't play sports in high school. BUT, I did skateboard, and I skated a LOT. Street, vert, anything I could put my wheels on. As a 16 year old, I could skate for 6 hours, drink a slurpee, and spryly jump up to skate some more. And barely feel anything in the morning other than a shade of soreness in my thighs.

Not so much now.

I go to a 2 hour practice, even if it's just endurance and I'm not getting bashed around, and I feel like I was hit by a freight train almost immediately. The next morning, I'm wondering who the fuck picked me up during REM sleep and proceeded to throw me around my room. I can barely walk the next day. Plus I'm so dehydrated my skin starts peeling off. My youthful days of athleticism are gone, my friends. All that's left is an empty, panting shell.

Must... remember... to drink... more... water....

New tattoo time!

Just a quick blurb before I head to work:

We finally finished the "Alice" piece we started over a year ago. If you like this work, it was done by none other than the beautiful and talented Betty Marie. If you like what she does, head over to www.steadybettytattoo.com and hit her up. She's crazy talented and this tattoo is a masterpiece, in my opinion. A brilliant, brilliant masterpiece. But that may be just because it's on me.

Things that piss me off

Searching for my glasses.
I'll be the first one to admit, I am not an organized person. For some damn reason, my brain refuses to remind me to put stuff in the same place every time. ESPECIALLY SHIT I NEED TO SEE TO FIND. Hence, the pickle I put myself in when I have no contacts in and I can't see an inch in front of my face. For those who are blessed with good eyesight, guh'head and blur your eyesight on purpose, to where you can no longer distinguish shapes. Now look for something you really need. YOU ARE NOW FEELING A FRACTION OF MY FRUSTRATION.

"I know they are here somewhere"

Well written, well thought out, hilariously clever, and consistent blogs
Only because they are more well written, more thought out, and more hilariously clever than mine. Also, they post regularly instead of just during a full moon. And truth be told, I love funny blogs, I just feel like less of a writer after I read them.

This is essentially my face when I read funnier blogs than mine.

Incidentally, this image is from one of the funniest blogs of all time and I 

follow it religiously. Check out www.booksofadam.com

Carbs

Oh, carbs, you nasty little minx, you. I hate you, I really do. NO. I TAKE IT BACK, PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME! Carbs make me fat. Carbs slow my athletic performance down. Carbs make my brain fuzzier than it should be. Eating carbs for me is like how I imagine a bad one night stand with Zak Bagins would be: momentary euphoria and bliss, followed by intense feelings of regret, remorse, and self loathing. I fervently wish I could say "I had such a bad day, I can't wait to go home and eat celery and swiss chard to just MELT my stress away." Instead I come home and inhale an entire pizza like I've never had one before.  

I swear this is the last Books of Adam image I am going to use.

The underwear I'm wearing at this moment

Every time I stand up, I get a wedgie. I pull it out, do my bizness, and sit down, only to repeat the process again. And yet, when I pull those undies out of the dryer, do I think to myself: "Nope, I will never put on the wedgie panties again." or do I think: "Maybe THIS time I won't have any problems."? I never claimed to be the smartest person on the block.

I understand, my brethren.

Victory rolls

I get lots of compliments on my victory rolls when I wear them out in public. People love them. What they don't know is the fucking commitment it takes for me to get them that way. It's about 45 minutes per roll of screaming, frustrated grunting, rolling and unrolling, and pieces of hair sticking to my fingers when I FINALLY get it and pulling the whole damn thing apart. I am not good at victory rolls, you guys. When you see me with the finished product on my head, you are looking at someone missing a piece of their sanity.

Expectation                                 Reality

People who don't find sarcasm very funny

Get over yourself.

Whatever predator is out there eating my chickens.

Fucking stop already. This isn't KFC. I know circle of life and all that shit but if I catch you sneaking up on my chickens again.....

Not ending my blogs the way I want

Speaking of funny and well written blogs, (this is not one) how do people end blogs like this? I sat here for six minutes trying to think of the perfect way to tie this all together in a neat little concluding package, but I'm drawing a blank. So instead, I will leave you with this picture that really confused me when I googled "funny".

I can't think of a clever title, so I'm just going to make an old school horn noise: AWOOOOOOOGA!!!

In the last two weeks, I attempted several paleo meals with 90% success! All of my meals came from PaleOMG and they were REALLY GOOD, with the exception of one. I made Honey Dijon Pistachio Encrusted Steak, and it was REALLY GOOD. I also made Bacon and Spinach Stuffed Chicken and it was also REALLY GOOD. The last thing from that blog I made was Beef Spare Ribs and it was NOT REALLY THAT GOOD, BUT OK. Honestly, I am pretty sure it was an ID10T error, as my crockpot was turned up too high and it sucked all the juices out of the ribs and made them dry as the bones they were stuck to. I followed the recipe exact, but I think if I had made 3X as much sauce it would have been better.

Also turned down the heat.

Ok, moving on!

Riding that there paleo train, I also joined a gym that's basically called "Edge (not quite Cross Fit but Kinda Like Cross Fit) Performance Fitness". I have been to two classes so far and I gotta say, it's pretty damn amazing. It's not an open gym like 24 Hour where you just go whenever and work out by yourself. There are group sessions at designated times with a trainer who watches and corrects/makes adjusments as necessary. There are usually several stations that each person spends a couple of minutes at and then rotates. And it kicks my ASS! You guys, I'm gonna get buff so fast. It's hard to get into a routine, however, especially considering what a busy person I am. I'm learning to make time for the gym, and hopefully soon I'll be there 4 days a week. Now if I can only work on that self control in the office, when days like today happen and I have easy access to homemade cinnamon rolls, cookies, and homemade pumpkin cake stuff. Days at my office are going to totally negate my days at the gym and those jelly rolls are gonna stay firmly slapped onto my sides.

Not to mention, my station partner in crime was an old dude, estimated age between 78-202 and that badass was charging up the stairs, throwin' dem' ropes, and pounding that medicine ball better than most of the younguns in the joint. I was shamefully shamed, in the most shameful way. I'd like to say I was inspired, but I wasn't. I was shamed.

This weekend, myself, Rowan, and my bro and his wife are stuffing ourselves in a rental car and driving down to southern Idaho for my grandma's birthday. And by stuffing, I mean sitting comfortably in an Infiniti M37. Yep, we picked that little number up last night and I gotta say, it is PLUSH. I am hella excited to drive that thing for 16 hours this weekend, and I don't say hella, EVER.

Go ahead. Bask in it's glory. BASK IN IT, I TELL YOU!

It is by far the nicest car I have ever driven. Now, how am I going to convince the ol' ball n' chain to buy one for me?

In the roller derby world, things are moving steadily but surely. I'm eternally happy that I can finally get to practice every week. We were invited down to SoCal to bout against the Renegades down there, and I really want to go, but I'm unsure how I'm going to get there. I think it would be fun to go with Mo and have a pleasant weekend in another city but plane tickets are OUTRAGEOUS! If we can swing a last minute fundraiser to go, I may be able to. But I get the feeling I'm sitting this one out. Boo.

Until next time, puppies.

My foray into paleo, toddler past life regression, itchy skin flakes, and other boring things no one wants to read about

Whenever I see a bandwagon of any kind, my natural tendency is to RUN. RUN FAST THE OTHER WAY. Being a 4 on the enneagram, I also tend to get highly superior about avoiding said bandwagons and tend to proclaim this loudly in case anyone didn't hear me the first 8 times I said it.

I also tend to be highly annoying.

That being said, I have avoided the whole Crossfit/paleo phenomenon as long as I could.

"Crossfit is a cult." I said.

"Paleo is unhealthy and boring and expensive." I said.

I was so tired of seeing posts by friends who started crossfit, as it seemed like EVERY FUCKING POST was about Crossfit, and what they lifted that day, and other numbers that made sense to nobody. And they were all accompanied by that stereotypical picture of them posing next to a chalkboard with those same ridiculous, non sensical numbers, usually flexing. Wonderful, you are the best at exercising. Get over it already. (are you sensing that superiority yet?)




Today, the only thing stopping me from joining Crossfit is money. I honestly can't afford the monthly payments they want. Say whatever about Crossfit people, they get results.

However, one thing I've tentatively started trying is paleo. After reading about the extensive health benefits of this lifestyle, I'm slowly working my way into it. After gaining over ten pounds since the beginning of the year, I definitely need to do something that I can lose weight in a healthy way and support my athletic lifestyle. (Yes, derby girls are athletes. We train with the best of them and we drink with the best of them. You can do both. I said so.)

Grains, even whole grains, wreck havoc on your system. They cause all sorts of allergies and gut problems, not to mention your body basically treats grains like sugar and they spike your glucose level, only burning the carbs and not the fat in there.

I know myself better than to immediately jump into this, as I am wont to do. I've been browing paleo websites looking for recipes that are easy and don't have any crazy ingredients that will go to waste in case I hate the food. I found a great paleo blog called PaleOMG and I'm learning you can eat paleo and not want to stab yourself repeatedly in the mouth with a hot fork just to taste SOMETHING. I'm going to try her recipes and see how it goes. I will update this blog regularly, because I know that is what people really want to read, all the things I ate.

Also I'm lying about that last bit.

Moving on, I've been thinking a lot lately about some of the strange shit Rowan says to me. Granted, he's only 4.5 so he says a LOT of strange shit.

Gems such as "I named my poop Larry!" and "

But a couple of things he's said made me really re-think my opinions about reincarnation. I don't want to get all hippy dippy on everyone, but really, is this a possibility? Or is my weird kid just getting weirder... at any rate, he's said random stuff like "One time, when I was a girl..." or talks about siblings he's never had or parents that are definitely not us. He's never straight up said "Before I was born when I lived with my first family, I died." or anything, but I'm now wondering if it's likely he had a life before this one? Ahhhh I don't fuckin know.

And lastly. You guys. My tattoo fucking ITCHES. Is this normal? I've had a lot of tattoos, and they've all taken about a week to get past the itchy, flaky phase. I've had this one for over two weeks now and it's shed more skin than a fucking boa constrictor. It's GROSS, dude. But hey, no one can ever tell me I'm not dedicated to my league, right? Right? Guys?

An open letter to the future mother of a boy

My dearest friend,

Someday, your little man is going to call you his best friend.

He is going to show you everything about his world.

What he found outside, the scribbles on his scrap paper, the dog across the street that barked at him once and scared him.

He's going to end up sleeping in your bed every night.

You're going to complain a LOT about that. But secretly, you're going to hope it never ends.

And you'll be heartbroken when it does.

He's going to embarrass the fuck out of  you when he poops on the front lawn.

He's going to make you prouder than you've ever been when you watch him ride his bike for the first time.

He's going to scream at you, tell you he hates you, and attempt to run away but only make it a block.

Only to tell you he loves you, that very same evening.

He's going to bring you shit from outside. And you're going to LOVE it, even if it's just a clod of dirt. You're going to tell your husband you're throwing it out, but you'll end up with a secret stash.

He's going to insist on a bandaid long after his wound is healed. You're going to keep putting one on there.

He's going to get really sick. You'll end up taking him to the doctor. You'll lose sleep at night, because your instincts won't allow you to sleep while your child is sick. Every tiny noise from his room will wake you up and you'll be going in there all night just to make sure he's breathing.

While he's an infant, you're going to be terrified of SIDS and all the other monsters waiting to take your child from you. Stay strong. It sucks. But you get through it.

While he's a toddler, you will have to learn when to protect him, and when to stand back and let him learn his own lessons. You will misjudge this from time to time. It's ok.

You're going to say and do silly shit you never thought you would do, and surprisingly, you're going to laugh your ass off while you're doing it because he is laughing his ass off too.

At some point, you'll probably endure him getting seriously injured, or have to be put under for some reason. It's the world's worst feeling, seeing your baby laying there unconscious while the doctor works on him. I'm not telling you it's going to be ok, because it won't. You're going to cry and not let go of him for hours and hours. That feeling will pass, but not entirely. You'll remember it forever.

Every now and then, a news story or article about something horrible happening to someone else's baby will strike you the wrong way, and you're going to sob uncontrollably and want to never let go of him. It's ok, it happens to everyone.

You're going to love him like you have never loved anything in your life. Your love is going to be fierce, it's going to come out of nowhere, and it's going to make you a great mom.

I love you. Congrats, mama.

On being a Mommy Martyr

Being as involved in the natural birth/parenting world as I am, I am constantly seeing great articles about giving birth at home, cooking organic food for your family, not vaccinating, and homeschooling. What I don't see however, are enough articles and posts about the self-sacrificing rut I like to call "Mommy Martyrdom".

Many moms, and especially first time moms, throw themselves into the worlds of their children with enough force to knock of their pantyhose. Myself included. When my son was born, I became a stay at home mom. I quit my job, and filled my days with OMSI, playdates, the Zoo, the Children's Museum, parks, strolls, activities, you name it, I did it. My kid was my whole world. He became my identity. I was no longer "Cierra", I was "Rowan's Mom". Whenever I left the house, I had the giant diaper bag full of snacks and other assorted items I would need throughout the day to make sure my kid was content. I didn't even have my own purse anymore. I spent more time getting him and all his crap ready than I did on myself. I became "that mom". You know the one I'm talking about. Don't even pretend you don't. The mom in the grocery store wearing gross jeans, an over sized sweatshirt, hair up in a ratty ponytail, no makeup, and glasses. Rowan was already a pretty great kid in public so I never had to worry about looking out of control, but I definitely looked like I had given up. I did everything around the house as well. I spent hours making my own baby food, I kept the house as clean as I could, I tried to find wholesome and educational things to do with Rowan. If I got sick, I would simply buck up and plow through it. It would take me three times as long to get better, but I didn't have the luxury of calling in sick and taking a whole day to rest and heal.

And little by little, I lost myself more.

The person I was before I was a mom became a shadow. I rode motorcycles  I belly danced, I spent time with my single, non-parent friends. I took classes, went on hikes, painted. I did STUFF. I did lots of STUFF. All of that got put in the closet the day Rowan was born. I rarely did anything for myself. Everything I did was for my family. If I did spend time away, I spent most of that time checking my phone, making sure everything was already. I was wracked with guilt for being away from home. I felt like I was abandoning my family by going to a birthday party or having a drink with a friend.

I think I finally "woke up" around 2 years after I gave birth. I finally did something for myself and joined a roller derby league. Slowly but surely, I started gaining my identity back. I started taking extra time to put on makeup again. (and fuck you to anyone who wants to give me shit about that. It makes me feel GOOD.) I tossed out my ratty clothes and started buying cute, new clothes. I would go to events and try to ignore that nasty feeling that I should be at home, and when I actually got home, it turned out my family functioned just fine without me.

I will admit, I delved into it a little too much at first. I spent too much time away from home, and trying to find a balance between my social life and my home life was really hard. Especially considering my derby league wasn't exactly the most supportive environment to those who have kids. My requirements for getting drafted to a team were strict, and made it really hard to fulfill while still making my family a priority. I eventually got the handle of it, though, partially due to leaving that league and helping start a new one, one that caters more to families and busy lives and still makes it possible to skate. I learned how to say "no" and make my family a priority, but also stay involved and help the league.

My whole point to this blog post is: Do not sacrifice your identity to become a mother. You can be a GREAT mom (or dad!) while still maintaining your sense of self. Your kid is NOT you. You are you. You have wants, needs, interests, passions, and talents. Utilize all of them. In fact, your child will grow up watching a parent who is independent  self sufficient, and does what they need to do to be happy. And they will emulate that. Make your facebook picture an actual picture of you, instead of a picture of your kid. Post shit about your day or what you are doing, not what your kid is doing. Stop sacrificing your health and happiness for your kids' happiness because guess what? They're going to be happy anyway! Stop worrying about looking like a mom, and be yourself again. I'm covered in tattoos, I have crazy hair sometimes (I even had a mohawk for awhile) and I have gauged ears. I wear makeup every day, even if I don't leave the house. I'm goofy, I dance with my kid in public, and I laugh at people who choose to scowl at me for not being a "normal" mom. I play roller derby, I've been an extra on a tv show, I take photography classes, I'm even considering trying Krav Maga and Aerial Acrobatics.

And I love it. I love my life, I love my happy, healthy, unique son. He's goofy and silly with me.  It's much more fun being this way than before, when I was so stressed out about being the perfect mom. I can never be the perfect mom, I will fuck up from time to time. I will make mistakes. Even today I caught myself berating myself because Rowan has a cavity and I don't brush and floss his teeth twice a day. Whatever! I try the best I can! Those teeth are going to fall out anyway and when he's old enough, he'll be brushing his own damn teeth!

Get your fucking identity back, it's the best thing you can do for your kid, I promise.