New Year's Resolutions

You can run, but you can’t hide…yes, Y-O-U. You who promised to go to the gym more. You who swore to lay off the caffeine. You who pledged to eat healthier and floss after every meal. You who proclaimed that you would stop dropping the “F” bomb (oh, wait…that was me last year). None of you can hide from the New Year’s resolutions that you promised yourself, but yet, somehow just didn’t maintain. They will find you. They will riddle you will guilt and leave you with a feeling of incompetence.

I feel for you. I genuinely do. I, too, have work, family, and life demands that make it virtually impossible to maintain any semblance of a New Year’s resolution.

That’s why, this year I decided that I wouldn't just scoff at the New Year’s resolution concept. I decided that failing by mid February was not acceptable…I would embrace the New Year’s resolution concept. And exploit the hell out of it.

And embrace it, I did. Except this year, I decided to apply the New Year’s resolution in a way that I felt was mutually beneficial. I felt, after 34 years of disappointing the New Year’s resolution Gods, I would resolutely identify a resolution that I could not only adhere to, but a resolution that would lead to greater family harmony and peace.

That is why…on July 15th I am delighted to report that I have steadfastly maintained my New Year’s resolution.

And what was this impossible task, you ask? Well… I decided this year NOT to focus on the extra 20 pounds, the lack of patience with my kids, my incessant use of the “F” word. Nope. This year, I decided to focus on something that would lead to a happy mom and wife.

I decided that this year my New Year’s resolution would focus on one thing and one thing alone:

My New Year’s resolution was to accessorize.

And, boy, have I ever. Since January I have invested in fun jewelry, funky and sassy shoes and, of course, purses. Now, I know what you are thinking…sounds expensive. But, I have found a way to do this all on a budget.

Seems strange? Well…let me explain.

I wanted to focus on something that would make me feel cute, fun, and sexy. Sure…weighing 125 pounds would do that, but at what cost? I wanted to choose something that I could control. Time to go to the gym or hit the bike path…What, are you kidding? I have 2 kids under four, I don’t own my time. And, let’s be real…the “F” word…well, I just wouldn’t be Amanda without that.

So, as crazy as it sounds, the New Year’s resolution to accessorize has been my greatest resolution achievement to date. It has given me permission to spoil myself in a limited (and budget-friendly way). It has boosted my self-confidence and sassiness quotient. And, best of all…it is a resolution that I can stick to.

So, even though it is only July 15th, I challenge all moms, wives, partners, bosses, employees, carpool drivers, troop leaders, whatever...set a mid-year resolution that does something great for you. Something you can stick to. Something with sparkles.

Fireflies, General Motors, and Fudge

We just wrapped a 10-day family vacation. And yes, we survived. Really, it was an 8-day vacation since two full days were spent wrangling the kids on nine hour flying days courtesy of Northwest Airlines. We went back initially under the pretense of my father-in-law’s 70th birthday party, but we ended up using the time away as a trip to the decompression chamber.

When I tell people that I am heading to a small town in northern Michigan to visit my in-laws for a family vacation people usually feel sorry for me. Charlevoix, Michigan is a great town. The appeal? The town sits between Lake Michigan and two inland lakes, the boating, beaches, golf, small town charm, amazing white fish dinners, and a Dairy Queen like no other. It houses 3000 residents year-round, but in the summer the population swells upward of 10,000. Entire sections of the town are made up of huge lakeside mansions. Some holdovers from 100 years of wealthy vacationers from Chicago and Detroit. Some are newer summer homes built with granite kitchens and designer wine cellars. Legions of families and couples make their up every summer, summoned for relaxation and, well, relaxation.

And what thanks to the masses of tourist get for supporting the local economy? Well, they are rewarded with the distinctive label of “fudgies”.

Fudgies because they wander down Bridge Street popping into fudge shop after fudge shop (OK, I am exaggerating…there are really just two, Kilwin’s and Murdick’s) slobbering fudge all over themselves. The women all wear expensive sandals and carry designer handbags. The men sport their uniform: polo shirt tucked in, knee-length khaki shorts, and topsiders without socks (Paul pointed this out). The kids all look suspiciously like kids from an L.L. Bean catalog. Maybe more like kids from a Pottery Barn Kids catalog. Yeah, definitely Pottery Barn Kids.

By the way…I don’t like fudge. Too sugary for me. I also feel that since I married a local, I should be able to safely avoid the disparaging scarlet “F”. My kids are locals by bloodline. For the record, though, they do like fudge.

Being in Charlevoix is unlike any experience I have ever had. Because my husband grew up there, he runs into former classmates all the time. OK, so they are 43 years old and bagging groceries, but he does run into them (really, this happened). My father-in-law is a great guy who has lived in town since the 70s so he…knows…everyone. Seriously. There were over 100 people at his birthday party. Everyone knows him and likes him. Paul and I borrowed his summer jeep to scoot around town and everyone waved. About mid-wave they figured out it wasn’t him. They just looked at us, confused. Who the hell are they?

But…then they put it together. They start stopping by the house. They just had to see the girls. Ava and Carmen have a local celebrity status due in large part to their pictures placed in prominence on their Papa’s golf bag.

The girls are also getting to be annual regulars. This trip was Ava’s third visit and Carmen’s second. I counted, and this vacation was my fifth trip in the nine years Paul and I have been together. I have loved every visit.

Each time we go back, Paul and I plot our eventual retirement escape…buy a place with a water view. Bike, hike, boat, golf. Thanks to massive motor industry layoffs and a failing Michigan economy…we’ll probably get that water view. The houses that had for sale signs when we began this fantasy are still on the market..now with a 40% drop in list price.

This year, the girls were fully into the trip. Five beach days, constant spoiling from grandparents/aunts/uncles, geocaching, ice cream, candy, hot dogs, and fireflies. The fireflies. Boy, did they love to the fireflies. Even if they were totally confused on the concept. You try explaining it to a four-year-old who incessantly asks "why".

And to top it all off, we get to stay in the guest quarters of a $1.7 million lake house of some friends of my in-laws. Lake view and deck. A deck perfect for enjoying morning coffee with some bald eagle watching.

We go back in the summer to enjoy all of it. And enjoy it we did. When Ava started crying three days before departure about not wanting to leave…ever. It was so sweet. Watching her fall in love with Paul’s home town. By the last morning at 4:30 AM trying to get up and to the airport for our 7:30 AM flight…well, the crying and fit-throwing-about-leaving wasn’t so cute.

Paul just looked at her at said “You love it so much…well, I’ll bring you back in February”.

Did I mention that we only go back in the summer?

Learning to Love My Butt

My butt and I have had a love-hate relationship for years. For about 20 years. Ever since I was about 15 I have been aware of my butt. Even at a size 6, my butt didn't look like other size 6 butts. It was wider. It was flatter. It wasn't cute or perky.

Part of the problem has always been by long torso and short legs. They have been locked in an evil conspiracy with my butt. A conspiracy to make my butt look bigger and flatter through an optical illusion.

So...the love-hate thing. I hate my butt and my butt loves to torment me.

This week on our relaxing beach holiday to my husband's beautiful home town in northern Michigan, something amazing happened.

I started to appreciate my butt.

Now, this is no small task. No small task because my butt is no small butt. In the last 6 years (and I say 6 because I know the pre-wedding fanaticism with which I was focused on maintaining a size 6) my butt has gained in prominence.

Two kids, 20 pounds, and three (gulp) pants sizes later, my butt is a force to be reckoned with. Up until now, the only upside was the increase in my breast size that occurred simultaneously with the extra weight. As Rosie O'Donnell's character in Beautiful Girls notes "...big *ss, big t*ts...small *ss, small t*ts. God's fair."

So now, I've got a little more T&A but what I don't have is more love for my butt.

No love, but I do have a new appreciation.

Why?

Well, this week of bathing suits and beach time I realized something. Ava (my four-year-old) has my butt. The same butt that I can't stand on me, that makes me want to spend 100 straight hours on the elliptical machine, looks adorable on her.

I want her to learn to appreciate her butt and I don't want her to ever think she is anything but perfect just the way she is.