Love this Super Bowl ad– and I think a lot of women will, too.
Husband of the Year
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Author Archives: Liz K.
Momfriends and A Grand Jimmy John’s Adventure
I recently read this good old fashioned debate about whether or not there is an underlying hostility between mom and non-moms when it comes to making and maintaining friendships. Since I recently switched from one team to the other, I thought I’d weigh in. There is no denying that friendships change after a baby– and relationships basically break down into three categories:
Old Friends Who Get More Distant: It’s sad but true. Almost overnight, the girls who you would jet off to Vegas with for the weekend continue to jet off, but without you. It’s a little heartbreaking to realize that you’ve become less of a go-to for fun times, especially because free time becomes so much more precious and needed. The thing that makes it easier is to realize that instead of feeling dumped, you have to trust that the Circle of Life is constantly changing, and one day your old pal will have a Simba of her own and you’ll be back in the saddle together again instead of just the occasional dinner.
Old Friends Who Become Closer: It might seem pretty obvious that your friends with kids suddenly move up closer to the top of your rotation. What’s surprising is that you find out which ones of your no-parent friends are baby-obsessed and start calling more often. And come bearing boxes from Baby Gap.
New Friends: True, just because you both have kids doesn’t mean you’ll be besties. But at a time when convenience is crucial, there is nothing wrong with giving someone a shot. Every time I take Posey out for a walk, I fully admit that I check out everyone I see pushing a stroller to see if I might want to strike up a conversation. And I did just meet two other stay-at-homies who literally met on the street, so it happens. But it’s not just about findinging new mom friends. I recently befriended a 27-year-old single former Luvabull who was the LAST person I thought I’d hit it off with. But I think what happened is that since she didn’t know me PP (pre-Posey), in her eyes, I haven’t changed. I’m just the 33-year-old she wound up trespassing onto restricted federal airspace with while on a hunt for Jimmy John’s who happens to be a mom. And in that moment, me having a baby didn’t affect that fact that we needed a police escort out.
So…Fellow Moms– Agree or disagree? Have your friendships changed?
A for Effort.
Posey and I take a class once a week at The Old Town School of Folk. 
But really, when you’re four months old, what are you really getting out of it? We sing songs babies can’t sing. We do dances babies can’t dance. What this class is really about are these three things:
A) Moms want to get out of the house.
B) Moms want to feel like their time off is meaningful and enriching their children.
C) Moms want to compare themselves and their children to each other.
I think as long as everyone admits this, we’ll be ok. Aside from learning how to jiggle like a little sack of sugar, this week I learned that my daughter was the only one lying there like a lump.
Still love her, though.
Cat breading: all the rage
Cleansing Thoughts.
On the first morning of my Retirement four months ago, I laid in bed, drank coffee, and awaited the arrival of my cleaning lady.
I didn’t have a kid. I wasn’t THAT pregnant. And I surely had nothing else to do that day besides maybe go out to lunch. Why on earth couldn’t I clean my own home? Answer: I didn’t want to.
Anna came today, as she does every other Monday. At this point, I don’t know if it’s the mildew-free shower or the company I look forward to most.
No streaks!
What life luxury can’t you let go of?
The workout pants too good to wear to the gym…
Behold the Lululemon Relaxed Fit Pant:
Day 1: My mom asked me if I lost weight.
Day 2: My husband asked me if I was wearing Spanx. And yes, that is a compliment.
Liz Lemon, I presume.
Over the last week, I decided to do something completely unlike me. So I took a short-term job working at lululemon‘s first U.S. warehouse sale. And by “took a job,” I don’t mean signed on as a PR consultant or advised them on their media strategy. I straight up unpacked boxes and worked the cash registers. I made chit chat with guests. I asked them if they found everything ok. I used their first names after I saw their credit cards. I made eye contact. Sort of. It was good, honest, on-your-feet work, and I liked it. Until I saw people I knew from high school.
I used to have an Important Career. Four months ago, I gave it up. There is a part of me that isn’t ready to accept that I am now a stay-at-homer. Or a warehouse-sale-in-a-convention-center girl. Was I embarrassed to be spotted there? Not really, because it was a cool event. But what if the people who saw me thought, “That’s all she’s up to?” Would I care?
Would you?
Multi-tasking
I’m not sure what the ultimate mom multi-tasker looks like, but probably not like me.
Because I dripped gravy on my baby today.
Wait, you’re ALL ordering the small salad?
Took the baby out to lunch today with three former co-workers, all with kids under 14 months. Being the lady that I am, I planned on ordering the chopped chicken salad (entree portion, of course). But I ordered 3rd. Behind the other two women who ordered the small version. Dressing on the side.
Crap.
I upped the ante by asking for NO dressing- don’t even bother bringing it! Take that.
Over lunch, we had a delightful conversation about our wills and who would raise our children if we weren’t around. Also, what our husbands would do without us.
Just a little pleasant salad talk.
Then I went home and ate my second lunch.
I feel like I’d be lying to you all if I didn’t tell you I went to a Zumba class last night.
It’s true.
In my quest to lose the remaining baby weight that requires me to fasten my pants with a jerry-rigged hair band, I’m trying anything. So last night, I stood in the back right corner of the Zumba room at my gym and sweated to the beat of A Man Named Victor. Depending on who you talked to, Victor is either a revered genius, a samba-ing Joel Osteen-meets-Ricky Martin, or a really terrible teacher.
Pro-Victor: Women were lined up early, squealing to tell me how I lucky I was to be there, as the regular teacher was absent and a sub was teaching.”VICTOR IS THE BEST, OMYMYGOD YOU CAME ON THE BEST NIGHT!”
Anti-Victor: After shaking her head in disgust and grapevine-defiance for 25 minutes, the woman next to me literally stormed out of the class after telling me that “THIS is NOT Zumba.” She assured me that the truest, purest form was only to be achieved on Friday nights at 6:30 with Jessica. This sentiment was backed up by another woman, who interestingly enough was one of the women who, just minutes before, assured me I was in for the best 55 minutes of my life. A Victor defector.
I may never know who was right. I may never know which side of the fence I stand on. The only thing I DO know is that Victor was wearing this:
Except it was the tank top version.
Posey Pie Productions 