Summer Lovin’


Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 13 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My “Secret Subject” is:

Summertime! Lake, River or Salt Water?

It was submitted by:



Let me start by saying that winter is my favorite season.  Let’s be honest, the bulky sweaters, sweat pants, coats, scarves, hats, etc… cover many faults.  Summer clothing, summer activities, don’t leave much to the imagination and for some of us, this is terrifying.  Just the thought of trying on bathing suits, sends me into a panic induced anxiety attack.  My idea of a perfect day is spent lounging on the couch, under a comfy blanket, wearing pajamas, fuzzy socks or house slippers, sipping a cup of coffee and delving into a good book.  Not exactly summertime friendly.  In the heat of the summer, you’re more likely to find me standing naked in front of a fan…panting, sweating and cursing.


You know those goo-filled toys that kids play with, where you squeeze one side and the other side pops out bigger?  I forget what they are called, but that’s how I feel trying on bathing suits.  I shimmy that lycra/polyester blend over my thighs, hips and stomach, past the boobs, which I have to lift and set into each elastic bordered cup.  I pull the bottoms as far over my butt cheeks as possible, noting that the winter bush looked smaller and better maintained in my granny panties.


If I wore this swimsuit would I still need to shave?

I peer down critically at myself, feeling not that bad, why my stomach looks almost flat from this angle…then I look up.  At first I think, omg who is standing in my dressing room and how the heck did they get in here!


Then I realize it’s me, and not the me I envisioned when I was looking down at myself feeling kinda body positive, even almost on the thinnish side of the overweight curve.  I feel that maybe I’ve been punked by Ashton Kutcher (is that still a show?) and he’s replaced my dressing room mirror with one of the carnival fun house mirrors.  Don’t even get me started on the harsh fluorescent lighting!  I mean seriously, don’t retailers realize I’d buy a ton more clothes with a little mood lighting and a skinny mirror?  Instead of smoothing out my bumps and curves, the small piece of lycra horror has just pushed everything down, out and to the side.  Seriously, in addition to the uniboob, I also have tremendous side boob, underboob and back cleavage.  I don’t even know where to look.  Epic disaster.  I feel the need to dive into some ice-cream head first.  Or cry.  Or both.  Summertime…ugh.

They say fat looks better tanned.  Which brings me to the actual secret subject question I received.  Lake, river or salt water?  So, now that I’ve horrified all of you with mental visuals of me in a bathing suit, let’s break this down.  Careful, you’re about to experience the full brunt of my neuroses, and it’s not pretty.  You’ve been warned.


Lake?  No.  If I’m forced to frolic around in lake water, I’d prefer to do it on the back of an inner tube or jet ski or from the safety of a big boat.  I’m not a fan of swimming around in murky, dank water where I can’t see what exactly is swimming with me, and I’m terrified of getting nibbled by fishy friends.


I feel like my pale, ghostly white skin looks fairly luminescent bobbing just under the surface of the lake, and that to marine life, I might look a bit like a fat worm being dangled enticingly before them, not a mere snack but a full on 6 course meal.  The bottom of the lake floor just feels kinda gross to me, slimy and strange, forcing me to wear swim shoes which gives me a weird foot tan.  The idea of me bouncing around on a inner tube doesn’t exactly feel me with excitement either.  Frankly, I’m not sure my swimsuit would even hold up.  I have visions of sausage casing erupting, spreading out over the surface of the lake and then being gobbled down by the fish or other strange lake creatures I can’t identify.  As I accidentally inhale gulps of lake water in my frantic dash to pull myself back up into the boat or on the inner tube, it occurs to me how many kids/adults have used this very lake as their own personal bathroom. Or dumping ground (pun intended). I can almost feel the unnamed, unidentified bacteria moving towards me in rapid pace as I huff and puff myself back into relative safety.


How I imagine the bacteria to look as it’s coming for me!

So yeah…no lake for me.

River? I picture rivers as something you walk across during a hike, or stop to let your dog play in while you bandage up your blisters from the new hiking shoes you bought because they were cute, and the color matched your hiking outfit, not because they were practical or even comfortable and appropriate for actual hiking.  A river is where you might stop to let your horse drink, if you’re into horseback riding or where you might splash water on your red, sweaty and puffy hiking exerted face.  I guess people float down rivers and stuff on inner tubes but I’d have the same concerns listed above under lake.  So probably no river for me either.

Which brings me to salt…

I noticed pool wasn’t an option, and I have a whole rant on public pools and swim parks, but since it wasn’t part of the question, I’ll spare you.  You’re welcome.

I’ll be traveling to Puerto Rico in two short weeks where all my deepest fears and insecurities will be put out on display for better or worse.  I love the beach, except for the sand part and I love the ocean except for the salt/shark/jelly fish part.  I love the idea of the beach/ocean combo.  I love the sounds.  I love the natural beauty to be found there. It’s the practical side of nature I struggle with and the beach is no exception. I don’t relish the thought of washing sand out of my hoohah every day or feeling the sting of salt slapping against my razor burns/cuts.  As much as I criticize and poke fun of my various body parts, I’m kinda partial to them and would hate to lose them to a shark.  If I worry that I look like yummy bait to little lake fishies, imagine what a shark would think!??!  All you can eat buffet anyone?


So I suppose if I had to pick one, it would be definitely be salt, but more in a lounge chair by the ocean with a delicious umbrella adorned beverage while I delve into the latest fiction craze on my kindle, lathered up with sunscreen, shielded under the world’s largest hat/umbrella combo, feeling a little bit like a movie star but hoping there isn’t any paparazzi hovering around to take gnarly close-ups, and zoom in on my white, cellulite covered thighs and back cleavage.


Cheers to summer ya’ll ❤

Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts.  Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

Baking In A Tornado              

Cognitive Script           

The Blogging 911         

The Lieber Family Blog           

The Bergham Chronicles        

Southern Belle Charm          

Never Ever Give Up Hope       

The Angrivated Mom          

Not That Sarah Michelle       

Bookworm in the Kitchen        

Part-time Working Hockey Mom 



Tis the Week Before School…

I clearly see what I did wrong now.  Hindsight is truly 20/20.  If I could get a do-over, I would take it.  I don’t know what I was thinking.  Obviously, I wasn’t thinking.  On a side note, I found out that banging your head against the wall burns 150 calories per hour.

What did I do wrong you ask?  (Suspend your disbelief momentarily that I could EVER do anything wrong, it happens people…occasionally, but don’t tell my husband, because he hasn’t figured it out yet and once he is on to me…well, let us get back to the story shall we?)

I decided to take 7 precious vacation days from work the week BEFORE school started.


Ok, maybe not gasp.  Perhaps, the buildup was a little much, I mean it’s not like I sold a kid on the black market or anything.  However, I did burn 7 precious, hard to come by, vacation days to do what exactly?  Sunbathe nude in Bora Bora? (it could happen)  No.  Ride an elephant on safari in Africa?  (not sure if that could actually happen) No.  Surf the waves in Australia?  (dude, I could learn to surf.  Probably) No. Eat my way through Italy?  (now, this I could do) No.

No, I decided to have a stay-cation.  You know, where you stay home and do all those projects you’ve pinned on Pinterest, play games with your kids, celebrate the local flavor by visiting shops, restaurants and attractions you never seem to have the time or energy to conquer.  You devise a workout plan Olympians would envy.  You plan all the amazing meals you are finally going to have time to cook for your family, and they will all fawn over you in adoration and appreciation.  You will don the cape, and take over the world and it will be awesome!  I AM WOMAN, HEAR ME ROAR!

Image from

Reality punches me in the face and laughs at my pain.  Reality is a bitch.  I hate her.  And she’s thin.

I was maybe half a day into day 1 of this glorious stay-cation when the error of my ways led a parade down the middle of my living room, complete with floats, brass instruments and confetti.

Since taking an actual vacation wasn’t going to happen, I should have taken a me-cation and taken off during the 1st week OF school.  You know, when the kids are gone and I have the whole house to myself.  I might not get to bask in the sun on the island of Bora Bora, but I’d get to bask in SILENCE.  Oh, sweet silence.  The mistress we almost never see.

I love my children, and I enjoy them immensely (most of the time).  I just would have preferred to enjoy them between the hours of 2:45 and bedtime.

So, here it is Sunday, and I have only 2 precious days left.  I thought I would spend this time to reflect on what I did actually accomplish off my stay-cation dream list.

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I made the crock pot pulled pork BBQ recipe.  I pinned some gardening ideas.  Ummm.  Yeah, that pretty much covers it.  Wanna see a pic of my awesome crock pot BBQ dinner?  Sure you do.

Oops, apparently one thing I did accomplish was to clean out my iPhoto library.  It was really good.  Very porky and BBQ-y.  In a crock pot.  Yeah.

Remember my blog about the airport security scan, and how I was all concerned about the underwire poking out of my cheap bra?  My bra lost its battle this week, and for some reason, I took a pic of the underwire, so you get that instead of gourmet crock-pottery.

Bra Underwire

Next stop on the stay-cation highway:  CLEANING

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<racking brain>

<still thinking>

Oh I know!  Technically, I didn’t actually clean or organize anything during my fantasy stay-cation, BUT I did take a picture entitled He Said/She Said.  I took a comparison pic of my husband’s side of the closet and my side of the closet.  The purpose of this pic was to display my husband’s annoying OCD-ness.  He color codes and organizes according to sleeve length.  I mean, come on people.  A picture is worth a thousand words.  Judge for yourself.

I think it’s pretty obvious here who has ISSUES.  I was going to organize my side in a gesture of goodwill, but I decided that sometimes in life you have to stand up for what you believe in.  I took a stand.  I’ll hold for applause.  Thank you.  Clearly I am the one truly “living”.

My husband’s favorite hobby is to point out what I like to call my “little quirks”.  For example, not throwing away my Splenda packets after I fix my morning coffee, instead placing my stir spoon on top of them.  I’ve explained how I’m saving the environment, not to mention the counter, by recycling the packets instead of using a napkin or paper towel and saving the countertop from coffee stains.  He just doesn’t appreciate me.  I also leave Pepsi bottles lying around with like 2 swallows left of Pepsi in them, because who likes backwash?  Umm, no one.  At one point, I counted 6 bottles, which would have been a great start to my Pepsi pyramid, but Mr. Buzz-Kill threw them away.  So, when the opportunity presented itself, and I could extract a little revenge AND a blackmail photo, I took it.  Voila!

Peanut Butter

How ’bout we finish one jar of peanut butter before opening another one!  I didn’t buy Peanut Butter at the grocery store because after looking in the pantry, I see 3 jars.  Like any rational person would do, I assumed that 2 jars were unopened.  I was lucky I had enough peanut butter for my snack!  I only get 1200 calories a day asshole, how about you NOT EAT ALL MY PEANUT BUTTER or TELL ME WE NEED SOME AT THE STORE!  He does this all the time.  He will run out of shaving cream, and use mine.  Then he will buy him some new shaving cream, and when I go to use mine, it makes that spitting noise and 1 minuscule drop comes out.  I MEAN, I DID SHARE MY “HAIR” ISSUES, DID I NOT?  So now, Sasquatch has to stomp to the store to buy peanut butter and shaving cream with dirty hair, because HE DID THE SAME THING WITH MY SHAMPOO!

<deep breath>

Okay, I’m all good now.  Got a little off track there.  So, next port at the stay-cation cruise is…

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Local Flavor:  I spent a morning at the Department of Motor Vehicles.  If that doesn’t scream local flavor, I don’t know what does.  I could spend an entire rant on my experience at the DMV alone, but I still have a bit of recapping to do, and this blog doesn’t need to be 5,000 words.

We went to “Meet the Teacher” night at man-child’s school.  We met his first grade teacher.  Here is a pic:

Isn’t she precious?  She mentioned that she went to the same high school as my daughters, and I couldn’t help thinking “what, last year?”  I mean, she is very young.  Her last name is Potter, so another really fantastic side dish of stay-cation goodness was listening to my son walk around all week yelling the phrase “Harry, Harry Potter” in a British accent, and playing the Harry Potter Puppet video over and over and over again.  If you don’t know which video of which I speak, pop on over to my friend Mr. Google and watch it.  It’s a gem.  Thankfully, he didn’t speak to her in a British accent, but her first words upon meeting him were “Oh, I’ve heard all about you.”  She tried to save it by adding “and your blue eyes.”  What followed was really awkward silence.  I look to my husband for a save, but he’s just standing there drooling, and later had the nerve to comment that “teachers didn’t look like that when I was in school.”  Ugh.  My son is 6 and he’s already got a reputation.  I’m so proud.  I fully expect to be able to wallpaper his bedroom with the “I made a sad choice” letters that come home after a spectacularly awesome day of mischievousness and mayhem.  Maybe I can get some ideas from Pinterest.

Afterwards, we continued reveling in local culture by attending my youngest daughter’s Marching Band concert.  Our junior also had a concert, at a different high school at the same time, so hubby and I had to divide and conquer.  Since I was on a stupid decision marathon, I decided it would be a marvelous idea to take man-child with me.  Other than complaining about his hunger pains (apparently sno-cones aren’t filling) and breaking out the dance moves when the band played “Moves Like Jagger”, he was actually a very good boy.  At least if I ignore the pelvic thrust/hip gyrating move he pulled on the poor lady sitting next to me.  She was a very good sport.  God bless her.

There is one photo to commemorate the evening.  A pic of my husband learning how to march with our daughter’s instrument.







He did hear there might be a performance by parent’s sometime during the event, but I’m pretty sure he thought something more along the lines of an impromptu reenactment of the film  “Magic Mike”, so he wore his rip-away tank top and velcro jeans, much to his daughter’s embarrassment.  Not to worry, we’ve got her in therapy three times a week now. She will be fine.  Eventually.  With medication.  I’m only joking.  Partly.

I did work out.  Once.  Unless you count reading as a workout.  Eye strain probably burns calories.  Breathing through your nose burns calories, and I did tons of that in an effort to keep the lid on my temper.  So, Olympians may not be jealous, but I give myself a Gold Medal for stay-cationing with awesomeness.

I believe that wraps up stay-cation week, which is like shark week but with kids not sharks, which is actually kind of the same thing now that I think about it.