We're back!!
and I are back with another awesome Hellocotton LinkUp!
You thought we forgot right?
Well summer happened, then back to school,
so now we are ready to get the ball rolling again!


In case you don't know Hellocotton,
Lena has put a fabulous description together for us!

For anyone not familiar with Hellocotton yet, you have no idea what you're missing!
allows you to follow for free the most talented women
bloggers out there.
It is the easiest way to discover the latest on
trends and to take on a daily dose of inspiration.
Hellocotton also allows you to comment,
vote and share it all with your friends.
 brings together all inspiring blogs of the moment.
 
All you friends (people you follow) messages
and articles are uploaded in real time to your homepage.
This way, you don't miss a thing.
Scroll the "Headlines" to make sure you
checked out the most popular publications.
Hellocotton is a goldmine, therefore essential.


Create a Hellocotton account, if you haven't already, then come back  here and link up!

The Rules

1. Follow your hosts
{they are the first 3 in the linky and they WILL return the favor!}

2. Follow at least 3 new blogs via Hellocotton
{or more!! and don't be shy, introducing yourself is a wonderful way to make new friends!}

3. Spread the word!
{the more the merrier!  grab the button & add it to your blog, tweet or Facebook about the linkup!  this is not necessary, but would kindly appreciated!!}

Looking forward to seeing everyone on Hellocotton!


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That's it friends!
Easy peasy.
This seems totally doable on a Sunday,
between sleeping in and watching football.
Have a great one!
 


 







Doing Nothing {Coffee Date}


Scenes from our week: Top left to right: Sleepy Mac, 700 Followers, say what?, Bathtime /
Middle left to right: Dear 24 yr old self, Mac's first "pan dulce", Pink Milk in a glass bottle /
Bottom Left to Right: Night owls, Friday night hot spot, MORE sleepy Mac.




I'd invite you over for coffee, but I'm too embarrassed right now.

As we "speak" there is a load of laundry in the washer that has gone forgotten since Wednesday.
I know what you are thinking, but seriously,
 I only remember it when I'm doing something else important.

Like blogging... Or eating, or lying in bed going to sleep,
and the laundry room seems like it's half way across the country.
So it's going to stay there.
The toys on the floor too.
So watch your step if you dare come over and have coffee,
that you will have to make, since I'm not sure how to use the coffee maker.

How about some tea?
I have a kettle.
Super Domestic Diva right?

If we were really having coffee, or tea, or wine,
I'd tell you that I'm not sure what I've gotten myself into.
Officially, I'm a co-room mother.
What does that even mean?
I'm also volunteering 2 days a week in class, and one day a week at lunch.
And yet, the topic of me getting a "real" job continues to come up.
Thoughts on that later, like way later.

I'd tell you life has been so busy.
Late nights and early mornings are now the norm.
A restless child on Monday night kept me up way past one in the morning.
My six thirty call time is doing nothing for me.

So Thursday I checked out a little.
I've got a new book I'm reading, it's fabulous.
Call the Midwife is a look at midwifery in post WWII England.
It's now a PBS series as well, so I can't wait for that!
But the book now has me in it's clutches, like most books do.

I'd tell you that I also had to play "Sophie's Choice" on Thursday.
Grey's Anatomy and Glee are now on Thursdays at the same time.
Why would the pop culture Gods do such a thing?
Greys was watched live, although I was dumb enough to check twitter at 7 pm PST.
Duh, SPOILERS!
It's cool, it was still a great episode.
And I DVR'd Glee, then watched it later.
But the choice at who made DVR standard was tough.

I'd also ask you if you watch How I Met your Mother on Monday nights.
And if you said yes, then I'd ask you if you cried when you saw the yellow umbrella.
Because I did.

Then I'd confess that instead of pushing and pressuring myself to post a blog,
I did nothing.
I read my new book all through the day when the kiddos were playing.
I put away loads and stacks of piled up clean clothes,
but only because I couldn't find clean underwear.
I knew it was under that pile.
I hand wrote this entire post in a notebook, while Caitlin did homework.
I even wrote it in cursive, just to practice.
With some effort the kiddos were in bed by 8:45 so I could watch some EPIC TV.
Which I did.
In the best seat in the house.
In the quiet.

Because sometimes doing nothing, is actually doing something.

How was your week?

Linking up here.



PS: Bloggy Notes
There will be a Hello Cotton Hop that goes live late Sunday!  Yay!
Dirty Secret Saturday is on hold until after the New Year... But feel free to confess anyway.
Many September Ads expire tomorrow, Features are five bucks, Mediums are four, and swaps are always FREE!

Wore: Sweat

 
 
 
Yeah.
Sweat.
Did I ever tell you that I hate exercise?
Like not a fan at all.
Marathons?
As in my favorite show?
Oh, you mean running?
Not me.
 
Until everyone was doing it.
So yeah, I jumped on the bandwagon.
Because it was insinuated that I wouldn't.
And that's when I'm at my most aggressive.
 
Please tell me, "You can't", or "You won't".
It's my biggest motivator.
 
So I bought some running shoes and a sports bra.
I downloaded couch to 5k.
And I took off.
 
I haven't finished C25K, but no big.
I'm joining some friends at Color Me Rad this Saturday.
 
And guess what?
I'm running that bitch.
For the most part.
I may walk a little.
But I'll also run.
Running is what's making all the difference.
 
When Caitlin was born, I called my BF and told her,
"I feel as if I could run a marathon.  This body can do anything."
Because I grew a HUMAN.
Twice.
Like a boss.
 
Well now I'm putting that idea to task.
Can this body really do ANYTHING?
 
Of course with the right music...
 
 
 
How does Gwen always know what I'm thinking.
Whether I'm 18, 23, or 34.
She sings right to my heart...
 
"I'm fine... Nothings gonna knock this girl down"
 
 
As Mac said a few weeks ago,
 
Run Mommy, run.
 
I plan on it.
 
 
 

You wouldn't believe me...

 
Imagine being able to go back.
Back to when you thought you had it all figured out.
When the world was your oyster.
The point in time where you were no longer a "young" adult, but an actual adult.
Working.
Paying Bills.
With no summers off.
What would you say to that person?
That person who is now ten years older, somewhat wiser, but still a work in progress.
I have a few ideas.
 
In 10 years, none of this will matter.
Not the booze.
Not the cigarettes.
Not the "friends" at work.
That nasty boss of yours?
She's pretty tame to the one you will have four years from now.
Be ready.
 
In 10 years your friendships will change.
Some for the better.
Some for the worst.
You will hurt, and they will be hurt.
Just try to take it in stride.
 
Right now, you think you know exactly what you want.
Exactly who you want to be.
Exactly who you want to become.
Get ready to have that notion rocked.
 
In 10 years this back and forth dating with this guy will be laughable.
No, it will seriously be dinner conversation among friends,
and everyone including you will be laughing.
It will seem so silly and unimportant.
The most important thing will be that he finally agreed to marry you.
 
Someday soon, you will be in Target and witness a toddler of terror.
You will roll your eyes and give their mother a death stare.
Watch yourself.
10 years later you will pay an obscene amount of money for a toy
that will enable you to buy toilet paper and tampons in silence.
No, this isn't a joke.
 
In 10 years you will no longer care about those 10 extra pounds.
You will leave the house without make up.
You will grocery shop un-showered and in last nights pajamas.
And, it won't bother you one bit.
 
In 10 years you will know that marriage is a job.
That there is a serious level of work that goes into it being successful.
Right now it seems so romantic and very much like a fairytale.
You have to build your happily ever after.
It's totally worth it.
 
In 10 years you will have come back from the brink.
The hardest job you never wanted will now be your first choice.
Everything has been challenged.
Your thinking.
Your beliefs.
Your self worth.
But in the end something magical happens.
They call you mom.
 
In 10 years you finally do something you really want.
Write.
For yourself.
For others, at times.
You realize you have a story to tell.
And you will.
But, don't start earlier, because you aren't ready.
And even though you feel like you squandered time,
you didn't.
It takes time to get here.
 
In 10 years you will be living a life you didn't know you wanted.
Wife.
Mother.
Writer.
You never set out to be these things.
You didn't know if it was possible.
I'm here to tell you it is.
 
You wouldn't believe me if I told you, but your best is yet to come.
Have fun being 24.
Party.
Drink.
Smoke (occasionally).
Enjoy it.
Although, you won't miss your 24 year old life one bit.
Promise.
 
 
 
Linking up over here today.
Mom2MemphisandRuby

Nerds, Pinterest, Motherhood, Your Welcome {Friday Letters, Instagram}

 
 

 
Dear Entertainment Weekly,
You are my nerdy boyfriend.
You slay me with all things TV, movies, books, and music.
After years of mooching my Aunt's copy,
I've finally committed to you.
Knowing that you will be in my mail box every
week makes my heart sing.
 
Dear Big Bang Theory,
I love you.
That is all.
 
Dear Kindergarten Teachers every where,
There is a special place in Heaven for you.
There has to be.
I'm one day into my volunteer session, and guess what,
I could never do that job.
 
Dear Room Mother's every where,
I was so naive.
Your job looked so koosh and cool.
I now know the truth.
Will you let me into your club of Room Motherhood?
 
Dear Candy Corn,
You are the conversation hearts of Halloween.
I adore your stripes, your sunny disposition,
and your deliciousness.
Little did I know that the rest of my family adored you as well.
This little piece of Pinterest may not last until Halloween.
 
Similar tutorial here
 
 
 
Dear Pinterest,
I am totally and shamelessly addicted to you.
You make me want a better home, a better wardrobe, a better life.
However you keep me from a shame spiral by providing tidbits like this.
Thank you.
 
Pinned Image
source
 
 
Dear Michael's,
How do I adore thee?
Let me count the ways.
Ribbon, and felt, and glitter?
Oh, my!
You are doing nothing for my Pinterest addiction.
Dare I say you are my dealer?
I've turned into an arts and crafts supplies hoarder.
Your Welcome.
PS: could you please hurry and stock some
burlap Christmas stockings?
 
Dear Pumpkin Spice Lattes,
I hear you are amazing.
I hear you are to die for.
I hear that you are the greatest thing since the "red cup".
Unfortunately, we shall never meet.
You are not on my diet of clean and allergen free eating.
So to make it seem like I'm enjoying you,
I made this.
In your honor.
 
Tutorial here

 
Dear Costco,
You got me this week.
Twice.
Fine I needed important things like diapers and wipes.
But when I had to go back for printer ink,
I bought this:
 
 
And left without the printer ink.
It was worth it.
PS: Just a thought, could you please sell cookies at your food hut?
It would make bribing my kids out of all your Christmas stuff a lot easier.
I'm sure you'd have no problem selling them for a dollar each.
Heck, a desperate mom like me would buy them for five dollars a piece.
Just sayin.
 
Dear Fresno Fall,
Dare I say you are on your way.
Did you realize you are missing out on opportunities to wear a scarf?
I know, me too!
I know that most would think celebrating over 80 degrees is crazy,
but 70 degree mornings are glorious.
The evenings are wonderful.
Perfect for mud pies.
 

 
Dear Running Shoes,
I know.
We did it.
Who would have thought.
 

 
Dear Mac,
The whole monkey on my back is super cool.
Especially when I'm trying to blog.
Or eat.
Or do something productive.
This is your favorite place as of late.
Please for the love of all things holy,
don't get big.
 
 
 
Dear Motherhood,
Again, words allude me.
Just when I think I know you,
just when I think I have it down...
You throw me a curve.
That's cool.
I plan on hitting it out of the park.


 
 
 
Linking up
Here
and
Here

I love {thoughts on Thursday}

 
I love a tapping keyboard in a quiet house.
 
I love 70 degree mornings that are gracing us with their presence.
 
I love long conversations with my bestie that go from serious, to funny,
to raunchy in less than an minute.
 
I love good books that hold me hostage on late nights and early mornings.
 
I love fabric stores and their endless possibilities.
 
I love empty notebooks for the same reasons.
 
I love that writers block sends me into my craft room with no raft.
 
 
I love that I have been blessed with children to yell at, and a husband to nag.
 
I love that they love me anyway.
 
I love that I can always fold laundry tomorrow.
 
 
I love this little corner of the world that is all mine.
 
I love that I can share it with you.
 
Even when this writer is blocked.
 
 

Showing my age {The Annual}

 
I'm really hoping that this isn't your first visit to Absolute Mommy.  This place is usually pretty classy.  I try really hard to keep it clean and lady like, but not today.  No, today, I'll be talking about that dreaded yearly appointment. 
 
The Annual.
 
You know, that once a year visit to get the baby maker in order.  To make sure that every thing is status quo, in working order, doing what mother nature intended.  As usual I was delighted to see the Questionnaire.  You know the one, to confirm that your sexual partners hasn't increased or changed (that was fun to answer in college).  The questionnaire that asks you if you've ever had the bubonic plague or traveled to Thailand ala the Hangover.  (No Dr. V, I haven't had relations with Mr. Chow). 

Normally, I take all these elements of the visit in stride.  No problem, just another doctor's visit to make sure I'm fine.  Just a half an hour of my time.  Just a few moments in cold stirrups, exposed to the world.  No big deal.  Nothing exciting about that, right?
 
Right?
 
This year, my annual was completely depressing.  It must be because I'm on that downhill slope to 40.  It's time for the baby maker to retire.  To hang up the saddle and put this mare out to pasture.  I'm being dead serious.  The OBGYN at 34 or older, I've decided,  is a lesson in aging gracefully, or as in my case, not.
 
First let's talk about birth control.  For the first time since stepping into their office over 5 years ago, I felt a tug at my uterus.  Like a serious, honest to God, tug.  You see when you visit the gyno, there are unusually lots of pregnant women waiting to see the good doctor.  Pregnant women are usually happy to be there, to get another peek at little jr, all happy and swimming in their amniotic fluid.  Once in a while there will be a crying baby.  Like today, a perfect little 6 week old baby, screaming that baby scream that they do, that makes your eyes tear and your uterus tug. 
 
Available uterus.  Party of one.
 
So with my emotional uterus, trying to convince me that I need another one of those babies in the waiting room, I go in to talk to the nurse practitioner about birth control.  Since I'm looking for non hormone birth control, the idea of tubal ligation comes up.  Usually when tubal ligation is in the conversation, the NP or the OB say that it's something to think about.  Something to mull over, to take my time, to make sure I'm done having babies.    You wanna know what the NP said today?  "Well, when you are ready, just call to schedule your pre-op.  Then we can get you scheduled at the hospital".  Because apparently 34, isn't young and vibrant, it's old and uninhabitable.
 
Awesome.
 
Next were the stirrups.  Even after 17 years, this is the most evasive and exposed situation that can happen south of the border.  Seriously me and the Hubbs rarely get this up close and personal anymore.  I understand that it's important to do, so I try to be as relaxed as possible.  Telling myself, don't look at the tray of medieval tools.  Don't even let your eyes wander.  Just lay back and look at the ceiling and pretend that there isn't a person with their head stuck between your legs, who is now talking you you about the dryness that comes with perimenopasal women.  I have no idea who or what she is talking about.  I'm not in the category of perimenopasal women, I'm 29.  Wait, I'm not 29?
 
Here is where I lost all sense of myself.  All ideas that I'm still in my early 30s, went out the window with the breast exam.  I know they are important.  We should do them every month.  So while she's doing the honors, she informs me that next year, being that I will be 35, I get to graduate to the big girls club.  The big girls club having nothing to do with my "girls" who after a failed attempt at breastfeeding are now quite small.  No, take a guess what's on the menu for 35 year old me.  A base line mammogram.  And while I welcome it, I truly do, because breast cancer isn't something to thumb your nose at, I seriously don't feel old enough.  How on earth am I on tap for a base line mammogram?
 
Fine, I'm 34.  I feel like I'm still 29, most days.  I can maintain an overall sense of self, and be happy about the woman I've become.  I've come a long way friends, and I feel like I'm just beginning.  I hear that the 40s are the new 30s, or 20s, whatever.  I've been ready to tackle it.  Until my annual.  Being slapped in the face with statistics is a reality check I didn't want.  I'm happy blisfully thinking I was in college 10 years ago.  Which, if you must know, isn't the truth. 

If I sound like I'm complaining, I am.  With no rhyme or reason.  Am I healthy?  Yes.  Am I afraid of any bad pap results?  No.  I'm just venting, because,  that try as I might, I can't deny that I'm going to be 35.  I had no problem turning 30.  I embraced it.  I tell everyone who is turning 30, to embrace it.  30 is fun, it's the new 20s right?  Well it is, until you turn 35, get a free pass to the tubal ligation station, and are told that your are on deck for your baseline mammogram.  How am I supposed to age gracefully?  Because I got the eye cream, I dye the grey away, and I moisturize.  What more can I do?
 
Maybe the key to aging gracefully is to appear younger than your uterus.

The baby maker can't lie about her age. 

She knows we ain't 29 anymore.
 

This Guy {Life Lately}

 
This is how we look when I know he's BS-ing me.
 
 
It's a rare occasion that the Hubbs and I get a fancy date night.
Where I'm showered with shaved legs.
The Hubbs forgoes a ball cap.
Where neither one of us is wearing Fresno State red.
A tried and true date night.
 
We were lucky enough to get one this past weekend.
It was fabulous to go out on the town.
In a fancy dress and heels.
With my hair done.
With my eyebrows penciled in.
(So you know I meant biz-nass)
 
We had dinner with other adults.
Although you couldn't tell since we were being immature.
Cracking jokes, indulging in an open bar, and taking cell phone pics.
Because every occasion calls for Instagram.
There were no spilled sippys at the table, or refusal to eat the fillet.
Just a bunch of us, dressed up, and free to have fun.
 

At a very fancy wedding, obviously.
 
 
Nights like these remind me why I married this guy.
 
This guy knows how to have fun.
This guy who likes to dance in the car and sing Billy Joel.
Then Elton John.
Then Fergie.
This guy who hates taking pictures for Instagram,
but does it anyway.
This guy who made sure I had plenty of water on the rocks with a lime.
This guy who told me to take at least one sip of the free champagne.
This guy to told me I looked hot, then grabbed my ass all night.
This guy who took me out to the dance floor,
and then left me for the flower girl who was about Caitlin's age.
Who twirled that flower girl and made her laugh.
She had the time of her life.
And so did I.
 
This guy, who, after all the fights, tears, and years,
will still do this:
 
Eyes up, Crutchfield.
 
 Yeah, he's looking down my shirt.
 
 
This guy, who just threatened a cease and desist,
since he didn't approve these pictures.
 
Yeah, this guy.
 
 
Linking up with Alli

Mac grows up...

 
top l to r: Mac and her BF; M&M bribes for the dr visit
bottom l to r: Red rocker; Dance Demo; Late night cuddles
 
 
Mac has been forced to grow up.
It's not funny, ok?
I'm not ready.
But it was really out of my hands.
 
According to the Crutchfield Parenting Guide circa 2007,
Mac should have given up her bottle by her 2nd birthday.
April came and went, and because she asked for it in the sweetest voice,
how could I refuse?
With a face like that?
So she kept having her "bubbas".
And I kept dodging the questions the hubbs was throwing my way.
Until June.
When she threw up from Midnight to 8 am.
So of course milk was out for a few days,
and so I thought this is a great time to wean her since
she can't have milk in her bubba.
So that's what we did.
And after a few days it wasn't a battle.
But in all honesty, if she hadn't gotten sick,
she may still be getting that bubba today.
 
So as we went along over the summer,
the question about her "choo choo" aka her pacifier came up.
Questioning looks from people at dance class,
school meetings, birthday parties.
I guess they thought she might be younger, but no,
Mac's 2.5.
I know, waaaay too old for a choo choo.
But I was not ready for that battle.
No way.
She was like a junkie spinning out of control when she lost one.
So I was prepared for the battle on the eve of preschool,
and then slipping it to her every chance I got.
I never said I was perfect.
 
Well, it's not going to be an issue any longer.
Why?
Last Wednesday,
Mac threw what is now the tantrum to end all tantrums.
Because this one will go down in the record books, baby books,
and dental records.
Mac threw herself on the kitchen floor, fell face first into said choo choo,
and bloodied her face, bruised her nose, made her gums and upper lip swell,
AND
as of 3 o'clock Monday, loosened both her top front teeth.
As in they are probably dead,
will turn grey,
and at some point before they are ready,
FALL OUT.
I'm thinking she will make a cute jack-o-lantern for the next 5 Halloweens.
My BF Krysten has coined her "Mac o Lantern".
Is it bad that I'm still laughing about this?
 
In any event, the dentist has put the kibosh on the choo choos.
In fact, he scared me straight when he said the pacifier could
help pull the teeth out and she could choke.
Scared straight!
 
So let's recap.
My last baby, who is 2.5 years,
has been forced to grow up.
No more bubbas, no more choo choos,
and soon no more diapers.
 
I wasn't ready for this chapter of motherhood yet.
I knew it was coming, but I was procrastinating, like always.
I seriously didn't think Mac's baby years would end this quickly.
As much as I've lamented about having another baby,
I'll be honest,
my uterus is weeping.
 
 Pass the tissue, so am I.
 
 

WORE {Confidence}

Maxi Dress: Ann Taylor Loft Outlet
Stripped tank: Forever 21
Dirty bathroom mirror: Mac, age 2

 
 
Confidence is an old friend of mine.
We haven't talked in awhile.
She pops up from time to time, puts me back on track.
 
Before I had babies, I had a grip on "me".
I was finally comfortable with me.
My jeans size, my hair, how to put on make up,
that didn't make me look like a side show act.
Confidence was my best friend after college.
I was a working gal, drinking cosmos at happy hour, and enjoying "me".
I didn't question my moves, my successes, or my self.
 
Then I had a baby.
 
Confidence said her goodbyes in the delivery room.
She couldn't be bothered with breastfeeding, bottles, and poopy diapers.
She wanted nothing of PPD and sleepless babies.
She was so disappointed in me and my every three day shower routine.
And she was mortified that I wore make up less than once a month.
 
Slowly I got her back.
A full eight hours of sleep.
A date night.
A toddler who liked to watch movies while mom showered.
So by the next time I was in a delivery room,
Confidence sat in the waiting room.
She came in my room that night and watched as I did the mom routine with out a hiccup.
She came home with me and watched me as I fell into life as a mom of two.
She stuck around this time, no longer afraid of crying babies and lots of poop.
She comes and goes, making sure to drop in when I need a reminder.
 
Yesterday, I got up.
In the quiet of the morning I got ready.
With what passes for make up these days (beauty balm, bronzer, gloss),
and new hair product to make me look "done".
I looked for something to wear that would keep me cool in 95 plus temps,
but would also cover unshaven legs.
Because I didn't have time for that.
I found a maxi with a too low for kindergarten drop off neckline,
and a stripped and wrinkled, one more wear won't hurt, tank top.
 
It was perfect, a why didn't I think of that sooner, match made in heaven, outfit.
 
I felt GREAT!
 
So great that I tackled Target in the morning with Mac.
And Michael's with both girls in the afternoon.
We shopped, we had fun, and nobody cried.
I felt like I was doing something right.
I actually liked that person I saw in the car window.
 
Let me reassure you that a year ago, two years ago, this would not have happened.
I'm the mom who knows her limitations.
Shopping with two kids is a panic attack waiting to happen..
Like a cold sweat, yelling at kids from another aisle, panic attack.
 
Was it really just my old friend Confidence making an appearance?
Is it really that simple?
Can a little bit of beauty effort go a long way?
 
Is it weird that I think I'm just finally accepting the "mom" me?
That this is who I am, and while I'm not the confident adult I once was,
it's totally acceptable that I'm this.
This being a mom with confidence.
In how I look.
How I mother.
How I live.
 
Yesterday, my friend Confidence was with me.
She's changed, but so have I.
 
And we are finally ok with that.