Wednesday night I stayed up to watch my girl Oprah. I have to get in as much O before she leaves me in 2011.

She was doing a show called Food 101 in which she talked about what America is really eating these days.  They discussed how horrible the animals are treated (some chickens NEVER see any light. Ever. In their whole little lives!) and how chickens, cows and pigs are raised in the US with so many antibiotics pumped into them they are in turn being pumped into us.

“A prime example of this is chicken—an animal Michael (Pollan) says has been re-engineered through breeding and diet to produce the breast meat consumers want. Compared to 50 years ago, chickens are now raised and slaughtered in half the time and grow twice as big.”

None of this is a secret to people like my brother and sister-in-law who have been vegans for years.  And I know I’ve heard this information myself before but the reminder last night really woke me up.

After Michael Pollan (a food expert featured in Food, Inc. and the author of “Food Rules: An Eater’s Manual”) Oprah had Alicia Silverstone talk about her vegan diet.  Don’t worry Mom and Dad, I’m not going vegan but just listening to Alicia got me thinking. She explained that after going vegan…

“she sleeps like a baby, doesn’t worry about her weight and has tons of energy. ‘I used to have all those white marks on my nails and they were very brittle, and now they’re so strong I cannot bend them,’ she says. ‘My eyes got really white, and I feel like I look less puffy.’

Strong nails and a less puffy face without having to take a magic pill?  SIGN ME UP!  I can’t possibly go vegan as I need milk, cheese and yogurt like Heidi Montag needs plastic surgery, but I am going to give up the meat. For 30 days.  And see how I feel.

Before I had Ben, I was a strict vegetarian for seven years.  No fish, chicken, or even chicken stock crossed my lips.  However, the minute Ben was more than just a twinkle in my eye, the caveman was ignited and I was dying for meat.

I was out to lunch with a friend to tell her I was pregnant when the waiter came up I said to my friend “I’m pregnant.” and to the waiter, “I’ll have the chicken tenders.”  She was more surprised that I ordered chicken than the fact that I was pregnant.  And single.

Therefore dear Internet, today begins my Vegetarian Journey, which lucky for you, you’ll be along for the ride.  If after 30 days I feel no different then I will eat, breathe and bathe in bacon for the next 30 days.  (I miss you already Bacon!)

However, if I feel healthier, less gassy (don’t pretend you don’t know what a good blue cheese burger does to you…) with better skin and more energy, I’ll be saying goodbye to the meat for good.

Damn you, Oprah. Between this and my pledge to never again text while driving, I’m turning into one healthy buzz kill.

So help me lady, if you air a show about how wine makes you grow another nose, well then bring on the extra Kleenex while I uncork my bottle of Chardonnay.

Wordless Wednesday

(Betcha can’t figure out where he works huh?)

One of the great things about this blog is that I can confess secrets and get things off my chest.  In the past I have openly admitted to have certain addictions. Whether it’s books or mindless and pointless games. 

Well once again it seems my pathetic will power has fallen prey to yet another game.  I might as well get this out there… my name is Becky and I am addicted to Farmville on Facebook.

Are you a farmer?  Do you don your overalls and plow that land? 

It’s a very simple and darn cute game. You plant seeds and then harvest them when they are grown. From there you get money which can lead to bigger farms, more animals, huge houses… the sky’s the limit! You also play with others who become your “neighbors.”  Two of my best neighbors are loved ones. (Sorry Mom and Matt but if I’m going down, you’re coming with me!)

Each seed you plant has a certain time before you harvest.  If you wait too long, they wither. THE HORROR!   Earlier this month when Matt was on the cruise he knew he wouldn’t have much, if any, internet access. Being the loving girlfriend I am, I asked in all seriousness, “Honey, do you want me to farm for you?” He replied, in all seriousness, “Sure. That would be great.” So with that conversation and an exchange of passwords (talk about TRUST!) I began my week away from my beloved; farming for him.

I didn’t think much of this co-dependence until Shelly and I were emailing during the week Matt was gone.

Me: I got an email from Matt this morning! He hasn’t fallen overboard!

Shelly: YAY! How the heck is he playing Farmville or whatever on that boat?

Me: That would be his girlfriend farming for him.  And playing Petville for him

Shelly: LMAO. You’re kidding me?!?

That was the moment it hit me. Is this not normal? Has this addiction gone too far? Is this like when an alcoholic puts brandy in their morning coffee thinking that it’s OK until someone gives them that concerned furrowed brow?

A wave of embarrassment flooded over me. An intense feeling of massive dork-dom. I knew something had to change. Something drastic. And so I gave myself a talking to and a hard look in the mirror and I changed.  For the better.

Oh, I still farmed for Matt with much pride at his glorious farm. I just stopped publishing anything that had to do with Farmville and therefore hiding all the evidence. You see, you can take the perception of the addict away but you can’t take the Farm girl off the Farm.

By the way, if any of you are on Facebook and farm, BE MY NEIGHBOR!  I only need 1 more neighbor to get the blue ribbon!

Dear Veins,

I have a huge blood clot to pick with you.   Not all of you.  Just the ones in my arms.  Femoral, you are off the hook – this time.

Remember earlier this week when we were going to donate blood to the Red Cross and do some good in this world? And remember how we LOVE to give blood because a lot of the people we know can’t give, but we can. We are lousy with the stuff and NORMALLY it’s very easy for us.  And then remember how this time you decided it would be so fun to play hide and seek with the nice Red Cross lady?

Seriously Veins, SO. LAME. 1) You guys are 37 ALMOST 38. That’s too old for such childish games. 2) She didn’t know you were playing so she was all “YAY! I found a vein!” and then STUCK me so hard that I may have cried a little and you were gone.

The Phlebologist said you guys are deep veins. Don’t get a big head, it doesn’t mean you are Bob Dylan deep, it just means you are annoying and hard to find. She also said maybe I was dehydrated but you and I both know that is complete bunk. No one drinks as much water as me.

I know the real problem… you guys have gone soft. Sissies! You’re all “Ooh we don’t want to get stuck with that pointy silver thing again. It hurts. Waaa.  I know, let’s be total stupid scaredy cats and hide.”

Well you know what you stupid tubes?  You guys have it so good in there.  Did you know there are people who shoot DRUGS right into veins like you?  Yep, it’s true. But me? I rock. I rarely poke you, your best friend O Positive is full of iron and don’t even get me started on the plentiful amount of oxygen flowing through you like a river.

Do not even think for a minute that I’m going to give up “Our Thing.” Oh hell no! Guess who’s going to make an appointment with the Red Cross as soon as these bruises on BOTH arms heal?  So stop being such complete ninnies and give it up! There are people in Haiti who need us.

Now if you’ll excuse me I have to write a letter to Jackie at the Red Cross apologizing for the grown woman who cried like a three year old on her watch.  It was quite awkward and I need to make sure Jackie doesn’t give up on the good work she does just because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time with a woman who clearly needed a good cry.  On a Red Cross trailer.  Shudder.

Love (sort of, because I’m still mad)

Me

Thordless Thursday

(Please excuse the pictures that are askew.  That’s what happens on Thordless Thursdays…)

Recently, with being on Twitter 24/7 often, and being at Cupcake with all those cute new moms, I have been much more exposed to the Mother of Today than before and I have to tell you, I’m amazed.

Actually, I’m in awe. Open mouthed gaping, jaw dropping awe.

When Allison over Twitter asked, “Ok, mommas, do I REALLY have to not give my baby any WHEAT products until he’s 1 year old?” I assumed she was talking about giving her six month old a loaf of wheat bread with bologna on top. Only to find out the poor woman was talking about CHEERIOS!

CHEER-I-OS!

The safest thing out there? God’s gift to a mother of an infant? Hell, Ben had Cheerios 20 minutes after he was born.  “Here’s your baby ma’am. Would you like to give him a bottle, breastfeed or just start on Cheerios?”

My mom used to throw a handful of Cheerios in my brother’s crib in order to get 15 minutes more of sleep when he was 6 months old. And now the medical world is trying to take away the heaven that are those little O’s from sleep deprived MOTHERS?! Madness.

This insanity got me thinking about how much things have changed in the last ten years. I feel like one of those old fogies saying, “I walked to school uphill both ways under a constant blizzard” but really, times, they have a changed. 

We aren’t in 2000 anymore, Toto. When I was baby rearing Ben there was no co-sleep.  Or if there was co-sleeping it sure wasn’t talked about much.  In 2000 it was best to put your baby in his huge crib down the hall.  The advice I got?  Roll up a towel to make the crib feel more snug rather than having this baby feel like he was sleeping in a California King.  Instead of sleeping with my child, I slept with the baby monitor. 

I never wore a sling.  In fact I thought, until recently, they were just for broken arms. I did once use this backwards backpack like contraption but it was so complicated and confusing that after an hour of trying make it work, we were both sobbing.

Ten years ago we weren’t worried about the quality of our plastic.  In fact I MICROWAVED his milk in PLASTIC BOTTLES!  Gasp!  And I mean he’s fine.  Sure there is that twitch and a third ear growing but really, he’s so fine. 

Don’t even get me started on vaccinations.  No one talked about autism or mercury. It was more a concern of who is going to hold his legs while I held his arms.

There was organic food but it wasn’t on every aisle in the grocery store and I swear there was no organic baby food, at least for this lady who whipped through the grocery store, coupons in hand praying the baby would be happy with his pacifier and the Jazz Hands entertainment. 

So my Carrie Bradshaw question is, if I had a baby in 2010 would I be a different mother?  I often wonder what Ben’s baby years would have been like if his mother had Twitter, this blog and Facebook, instead of asking advice to Hope on “Days of Our Lives”.  (She never did tell me how hard it was with Shawn-Douglas.)

Maybe these things were always around to those that weren’t stuck under rocks called “I’m Doing This On My Own, SAVE ME!”  Maybe I’m more open now and therefore seeing things differently.  Or maybe there is just more for the 2010 Mother to choose from and information to access. 

Regardless, to the mothers of today and women who will be the mothers of tomorrow; I tip my hat off to you and bow gracefully out of this race.  For I have my own pre-teen with the eye rolling so large it effects the tides.  And just try to rip the Twitter, Blog World and Facebook out my hands.

For the past few days I have been reading all my fellow Cupcaker’s blog posts about their experience from the weekend. I should have realized when you go to a BLOGGING convention you are going to be surrounded by talented writers but these posts knocked me off my enlarged-by-cupcakes butt.

The truth is, I can’t stop thinking about this conference/retreat/hangout. My mother always says that if you go to a movie and you find yourself thinking about it in the days afterward, it was a GOOD movie. To that adage, this was a great weekend.

To be honest, I was excited for Cupcake but I didn’t really know what to expect so I was guarded. I also admit I did some prejudging beforehand and was worried I wouldn’t have much in common with many of the women there. Like I posted on Monday, I had a great time and was truly blown away from meeting these women in person but when I left on Saturday night I didn’t feel regret at not staying the night or even coming back on Sunday.

Well that was then. This is now.

Now I find myself obsessed and melancholy. I can’t stop reading these women’s amazing blogs, whether they are recapping the weekend or just talking about the injustices of the world. I can’t get off Twitter. I can’t stop looking at the Flickr pool. I am trying desperately to get Madison Cupcakers together in February.   Thank god I have no plans to go to BlogHer.  If I can barely handle my feelings for these 28 women, think of what would happen to me after being exposed to 1,000 some bloggers. 

And I feel such regret. 

I so badly want a “Do Over!” I want to go back to that lodge in the woods and spend the night. Or at the very least go back Sunday morning and have coffee with these women. I want to pick their brains more. I want to snuggle their babies. It’s like that “Too Nice” boyfriend that you took for granted, now he’s gone and all you can keep thinking is, “What did I do? And how do I get him back?”

But I know this isn’t Back To The Future and I can’t go back.  I can, however, and will keep nurturing these Cupcake friendships via their blogs, email and Twitter.  And in addition, I will use all the gobs of inspiration they have given me.  By reading their posts the Writer’s Block that has been crippling me for months has broken wide open. I lay awake at night writing blog after blog in my mind. Granted I can’t remember jack the next morning but just that feeling alone is wonderful.  I’ll never have the talent that so many in this group have but watch out Cyberspace, consider yourself warned. 

So my lovely Cupcakers, until we meet again… I bought this page a day calendar to keep me in cupcakes for the next 351 days.

Wordless Wednesday

This past Saturday found me at my very first Blogger Convention; Cupcake. Although, as many other more experienced Cupcakers explained, this was really more of a “hangout retreat” than a stuffy convention. Whatever it was, I’m hooked. Sign me up for more!

I knew I had hit the big-time when I arrived. Here I was mingling with all these wonderful women whose blogs I had recently become addicted to.
Not to mention everyone TOTALLY knew me. “OH MY GOD! Can I touch you? Are you really the famous Princess Mikkimoto? Where is your crown?” 

Ok so maybe that only happened in my dream the night before but I was pleased when I introduced myself as “Becky” got a polite but blank stare and then promptly said, “Princess Mikkimoto?” to which the awkward look became a smile and a “Oh yeah! HI!”

Heather, Steph and Allison booked the most gorgeous lodge for the weekend.

There were 30 women who attended from all walks of life. Some wore their babies,

some took pictures

and some just ate, talked too much and made sure the Cupcake wine didn’t go to waste. (raising hand sheepishly)

Even though I was only there for Saturday, I met such amazing inspirational women. Some old friends (Ann, you aren’t OLD I just knew you beforehand) and now some new. Some close by, and some (sadly) far away.  (There are so many fantastic blogs that I didn’t have room for on this post. For the full list of Cupcake 2010 members head here.)

It was a wonderful day and one I’ll always remember. So will my ass from all those champagne infused cupcakes.

Oh and thanks again for the awesome swag bag.  Someone got really into it.  Literally.

See you all at Brownie ‘11!

**These beautiful pictures are courtesy of the amazing Crooked Eyebrow. Except the one of The Punk. That’s all me.

Dead fir, spruce and evergreen trees line the streets, left for the garbage man on of piles of dirty snow and ice.

Taking a deep breath in the below zero night air burns the inside of your nostrils.  It’s like a perpetual “ice cream headache.”  Driving in your ice cube car creates physical pain.  Somehow it’s colder in the car than outside as your seat has frozen during the night.  Once you finally reach your destination there is finally a hint of warmth.

People walk down the street looking like bank robbers in their face masks.  Caring less about their fashion violation and more about preventing their precious skin from the biting cold air, for just a minute out in the elements creates tingling and pain.

When your alarm goes off in the morning, it’s dark out.  Could be 2:00am, could be 6:30am, it’s impossible to tell by anything but the red numbers on your alarm clock.   You leave work in the late afternoon again in the dark.   The only time to get some light is during the day – an escape over the lunch hour.  Of course you know all too well the evil irony of sunny days in the winter. The sunnier it is, the colder it is.  Clouds block the cold.  So either way, you never win.

It’s only January 7th.  Not even through the first week.  You know you have days and weeks and weeks of this left.   The sense of humor you once had?  Long gone.

During these cold depressing days of winter you look within and say, “Why the hell do I live here?  I chose to live in this God forsaken state.  I PAY TAXES HERE!  WHY!? I could move.  People like Kelli are laying out in Southern California on the same day of the year that I am trying to scrape this ice off my windshield!”

And then you pick up your child at your parents house who invite you in for a warm dinner.  Now you remember the reason you live here, despite the brutal winter.  Family.  Family and friends.  And as miserable as it may be, they are worth it.  Snot icicles and all.

Moving to the tropics might not be in the cards but taking a month long vacation in January 2011 sure as hell is!

*I promise this will be my last post complaining about winter.  For awhile anyway.  It’s just, it’s snowing today. AGAIN.