My Words Exactly

I don't discuss my belief in and relationship with God very much in this space. It's a personal choice from which I rarely veer away. I mostly like to keep things light hearted and funny. I've always enjoyed being a class clown and entertaining those around me with my jolly upbeat spin on life. I find the humor and joy in most things. Even in tough things and times I can usually find the silver lining, the "up side", the part that is "glass half full". Sometimes in life if you don't see the humor and laugh about it, then you'll cry.

But...I'm worn.

Maybe I need to let cry happen. Maybe? You see, I'm a fighter...I'm strong...I can get through this and whatever else lies ahead...and I'll do everything within me to help you get through it too. And if I struggle, I'll keep that between me, myself and I. I slap on a bright smile and a contagious giggle and laugh about the crappy hand of cards we've been dealt. No one likes a whiner, a complainer a naysayer, and I don't want to burden anyone else with my struggles. Crap storms happen in life...to everybody, and that's just the way it is. My armor against the world is fastened tightly and securely, and very, very few ever get through to see my tattered beat-up underpinnings.

I'm worn.

For the last three years, I've been in a revolving door of life heaping more and more on top of me. Every time I think I've got a handle on it life sucker punches us again. And somewhere in all of this pre-war, war,  war injury, post-war, unemployment and subsequent salary slashing with uncertainty around every single corner I've lost my way...I've lost my joy...I've lost my will to fight...I've lost sight of God. I can't see Him anymore. I'm not sure where He is in all of this...and I'm "worn". Such a simple word but it encompasses all that I am and all that I feel right now.

I'm worn.

For three of my boys today, I ran to and from their designated venues 6 times. And in those 6 trips in my overly crowded van, I heard the song "Worn" by Tenth Avenue North three different times. Three full times on three different trips. I've never heard a song that spoke to me- or spoke from me- in such an honestly disturbing way. That song is directly from my tattered soul crying out to Jesus. I have no idea how five total strangers could so completely understand and relay thoughts, feelings and emotions that even I can't succinctly vocalize or explain.

I'm worn.

I sit here tonight in the quiet of my over-stuffed house with all 6 boys safely tucked into bed and listen to it over and over and over again with tears staining my mascara-ed lashes and trickling softly down my powdered cheeks. And even in the loneliness of my living room, I'm ashamed of my tears...because I should be stronger, tougher, better at handling adversity and change and challenges. I'm lost...and I can't seem to find the lighted path that leads me home. Where is my soft place to land? Where is our promise that things are actually going to work out for our family? Where is our God? I'm too beat down to cry out...I'm tired of fighting...and my soul yearns for rest.

I'm worn.

Panty Raid

Often the least thought about item of our daily routine is our undergarments. They are rarely seen (at least they shouldn't be seen once you are a female of a certain age) or appreciated. The proper undergarment can lift, separate, smooth, hold, accentuate...pretty much anything you need an undergarment to do you can find one that will fit the bill. I'd like to argue that the undergarment should rank as on of the most important delicacies of which we adorn ourselves.

Men you can turn a blind eye to this matter. I'm sure you could care less who, what, when, where or why it is what it is...I'm most certain your only concern is how the garment comes off! Ladies, however, we need to discuss a very specific piece of our apparel that I think we glaze over on account of it being a slightly awkward discussion. Since I'm not one to shy away from awkward let's open the floor for a discussion about our panties. Prudes and granny panty wearers should probably not involve themselves in this discussion.

Let's first discuss the affinity with splitting the difference and our desire as women to floss our a$$ cracks with the many varieties of the thong. Don't be mistaken, I'm an avid believer in the necessity of a thong...it's vital to our wardrobe even if it isn't always the most comfortable option in our lingerie drawer..especially once you've popped a couple kids through your tunnel. Panty lines can be most certainly avoided when a chica encases her lady bits with this teeny-tiny slingshots...or torture devices. Sometimes a man just wants to see the juicy curves of a woman's badonkadonk without the extra fabric of actual underwear interfering (this thought is coming from Lt Hubby...I may have expounded a little and fluffed it up some. His actual response was more barbaric including a wink, sexy eyes, and an inappropriate innuendo.) Use this information to your advantage!

Unfortunately, it is not as simple as it may sound to find a proper thong, however. Since it will be keeping close quarters with some important areas of your human anatomy, make no mistake that you will want to pick your fabric, fit and design carefully. Pinching, pulling or chafing are not appreciated by the cooch!  If you are a thong virgin, though, I must leave you with a warning...do NOT wear these to bed unless you are hoping and willing to receive some groping from your man. For some reason, they think the thong is an invitation for their "presence"...as if it is a beacon calling them home! It just doesn't provide enough defense to impede advancement and accessibility, but if that's your goal by all means thong it up!

One of my most favorite styles of undies would be the cheeky variety. I've found these to be quite comfortable but not always practical in avoiding that panty line. And occasionally, depending upon the cut of them, one may suffer from a wedgie. Avoid the temptation to adjust one of these if you are in public! One must also make sure there is proper support and not too high of a cut for your girly parts. You'll know what I mean if you've ever found yourself with the misfortune of some overhang...kind of like when a dude needs to adjust a nut...sometimes girls' parts "get out of line" as well. Ours, however, are much harder to adjust. In channeling Larry the Cucumber (from Veggie Tales), "I love my lips" and if they're happy, then I'm happy!

Of course one of your Go-To items needs to be a bikini or brief. Some days our lady bits just simply don't feel the need to impress anybody...everybody needs a day off occasionally and why should we overlook the vajayjay. The brief is a perfect accessory for a laundry or cleaning day. These might also be used during workouts. This one is more of a personal preference., but I've learned since competing at hurdles that having "things" slip out of position can lead to unfortunate wardrobe malfunctions. Proper undergarments for exercise, workouts or sports is not just an option, it's a necessity. And nobody wants to see a "slip of a lip" in yoga or kickboxing class! Keep that business under wraps.

I think it's safe to say that out options are vast and wide but make the wrong choice, and your day could be ruined. Invest in some quality panties and let your lips do the talking!

I've Got The Moves Like Jagger

  Getting back into previously worn skinny jeans either post baby or post workout-boycott is never an easy task. Very few exercise programs have proven to be able to hold my attention for the duration of actually achieving the skinny-jeans-and-booty-shorts physique I desire. My arsenal of workout tapes, programs, and equipment reveal much about my insecurities about my physical appearance. It also proves that I am a sucker for an infomercial...I beleive every claim, however silly or crazy it may be. Nonetheless, I want any and all workout routines, programs, machines and the like. Variety is the key to life, right? Lt Hubby claims that I am simply obsessed...I'd actually like to think that I'm an avid believer in health and wellness and appreciate having a vast variety of options at my disposal...or I have a slight disorder. Whatever. Potatoe, potahto.

Since Lt Hubby insists on censoring and monitoring my purchasing power when it comes to (everything!) exercise paraphernalia, I have many options taking up residence on my "to purchase one day" list. Until money starts falling out of my butt (or I start roaming our streets at night adorned in my stripper heels), I am forced to request my desires for birthday and Christmas gifts. One such request resulted in me being the proud owner of the Zumba workout program! I was so excited! I was convinced that after successfully completing this program, I would indeed resemble one of those saucy Zumba workout chicas (as a side note, this is how every single infomercial sucks me in. I am always convinced that I am going to look like on of those sex kittens flaunting their stuff in the ad.)

Not everything in my head, however, plays out like I envisioned. I've never been one that has possessed a strong musicality when it comes to body movement in conjunction with intentional dance. But it's not for a lack of trying! I desperately want to display grace in movement, rhythm, and sexy on-trend dances. What plays out in my brain, however, doesn't translate to my hips...or feet...or general body movements. Don't get me wrong, I can race to the death, beat down a punching bag, and hold my own in a push-up and pull-up challenge. But I can't "shake my groove thing" in an intentionally sexy way. Think Elaine from Seinfeld....that's the image I create...so perfectly wrong and awkward that it almost looks right in a weirdly, off-beat and uncoordinated kind of way. Yep...that's exactly what I look like...a blonde haired Elaine-dancing fool.  And I foolishly thought I looked somewhat ok until my overly honest minion informed me otherwise. Devastating? Yes! Embarrassing? Obviously! Not only was my ego scarred so were the eyes of my unsuspecting boys as they unknowinglymoseyed  down the stairs. I'm sure the image of their mother trying to Reggaeton, Salsa, and Merengue was burned into their brains for evermore! These hips weren't made for dancing!

So until I can finally figure out how to translate movement that's in my head to the rest of my body, I will keep my dancing to the confines of my basement and only when there is no other person in the house. As long as I'm blissfully unaware of  (and no one witnesses) my inability to perform the correct moves, I think I should continue to shake my groove thang as best as I can. Unless there's an uber sexy, hot dancer out there that wants to volunteer his time in helping me get my hips in sync...I'm probably on my own.