Amber L. Carter's Blog, page 21
June 11, 2014
Tether. (Part One)
Riding my bike down the long slope-y road, I tilted my head to the sun and closed my eyes for just a minute. I know I should wear a helmet, but sometimes I just need to feel the wind blow through my hair, rush past my ears. I haven’t felt this in a long time, I found myself thinking. There’s a particular sense of lack, a type of longing…I’ve written about it before, but the best way I can describe it is that it’s a warm breeze out of nowhere. For just a moment, the clouds will break and the sun will shine, and I’ll close my eyes and remember everything good about it, about him. And then it’s gone again, like it was never there at all.
We had a summer and I ruined it. That is what I would catch myself thinking, sometimes. We had a summer and I ruined it. And I know I wasn’t ready, that he probably wasn’t either, and I know it wasn’t just all me (if you would have asked me in September, I probably would have told you that it wasn’t me at all) but. Sometimes I really wanted to try again. I wanted it back, I wanted to see if it could be different. And then…I didn’t want to try at all. I’ve read all the books that Greg Behrendt has written…no matter what we might have said before, I’m old enough to know now, and by heart, that a break is really a break-up. And that you can’t actually break up if you weren’t actually ever officially together. We weren’t on hold, and I didn’t want to be, when we talked about it. I wanted to take my year and write, learn how to love myself more, take care of my own goddamn heart. I wanted him to take his year and finish school, do whatever it was that he felt he needed to do.
But as the season drew near, I found myself wondering about it. Another summer. If I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that there’s never any point in waiting for a new one with an old flame. But then I would think about it, and I would think about him, and even just telling myself that…it made me feel a little like crying. Let down. Like standing ready at the door for your prom date, only to have your mom finally break it to you that they weren’t coming.
We had a summer and I ruined it. That is what I would catch myself thinking, sometimes. We had a summer and I ruined it. And I know I wasn’t ready, that he probably wasn’t either, and I know it wasn’t just all me (if you would have asked me in September, I probably would have told you that it wasn’t me at all) but. Sometimes I really wanted to try again. I wanted it back, I wanted to see if it could be different. And then…I didn’t want to try at all. I’ve read all the books that Greg Behrendt has written…no matter what we might have said before, I’m old enough to know now, and by heart, that a break is really a break-up. And that you can’t actually break up if you weren’t actually ever officially together. We weren’t on hold, and I didn’t want to be, when we talked about it. I wanted to take my year and write, learn how to love myself more, take care of my own goddamn heart. I wanted him to take his year and finish school, do whatever it was that he felt he needed to do.
But as the season drew near, I found myself wondering about it. Another summer. If I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that there’s never any point in waiting for a new one with an old flame. But then I would think about it, and I would think about him, and even just telling myself that…it made me feel a little like crying. Let down. Like standing ready at the door for your prom date, only to have your mom finally break it to you that they weren’t coming.
June 9, 2014
Consecration.
I hadn't felt that way in a long time...broken apart, split open, like an egg. Because it's either one or the other, I told myself, later. Either it's simple physical procurement, or it's feelings without the consecration.
You could tell I didn't want to, earlier. That I wasn't ready. I wanted to, but I just...didn't. I've only really felt that way one other time before. Not the wanting-to-wait part...but the dread that comes from knowing that if I do this, if I let you, it will change everything. That instead of keeping you, it may only toss you out into the wind, cause you to disappear into the ether. Because this might mean more to me than to you. Because I don't really believe you, anymore, when you say that you adore me. Because we are not friends, and have never been, really, and so what do we really have? Afternoon hangouts with auxiliary pals. Late nights of wishing you would tell me how this should feel. Mornings when you hold me close to you and I have to tell myself not to sink into it, not to let this be something that I'll miss later. Long days of wondering what to do, with you, now.
I am not the bonder. I don't wait, and I'm almost always ready. I don’t do this often, but when I do, it’s without regret. That’s something that you might not know about me. If you asked me in a honest moment, I would tell you that I just don't see the point in it. I am greedy to just have all of you, right then, because then I won't feel like missed out, later. That's what this – all of that, before – taught me. It's foolish to relax in the knowledge that someone is always going to be around, the next day and then the next, so what's the point in waiting. Isn't it better, then, to hurtle ourselves toward the end, gain as much as we can, of them, while they are still here, while they still exist, right in front of us and beyond.
You are sweet with me, when it counts. I like the way you smooth the hair back from my forehead when we are in bed, and the way you pull me into a dark room to kiss me when we are not. But those things can make me feel awful after you've gone and I have to still remember them later. Because I want more than this, and I don’t know how to say that to you. That I want a date, as silly and small as that sounds. I want you to put on a clean shirt and drive to a restaurant and then sit at the table and wait. I want to put on a soft dress and walk in and feel that small thrill that I feel in the pit of my stomach whenever I see you. I want to sit down across from you and I want to talk to you, the way I want to do, all the time, and not just until a polite enough time has passed and we can sneak away from our friends. I want to feel safe with you, and all the time, and I want you to like me, all the time. And then I think about it and I feel crazy, because I don’t say anything, and I just expect you to know. Wish that you did. Tuck everything away in the text messages I don’t send in the morning, think too much about the ones that you send me.
You have seen a Me that I don’t think I’ve shown anyone. The softer kind, the one who is quiet in the morning and gentle in the night. The one who will let you brush my hair back from my forehead, who will move in closer when you want to hold me tight to your chest. And I show you this because I see more in you than I thought I would. I knew who you were – or at least, I thought I did - the moment I met you. You have never wanted for female attention, so you were probably shallow. Conceited. Maybe not all that smart, because you've never really had to be. So I expected that maybe I would get to make out with you, and then maybe that would be it. And then one brilliant fall morning, I swirled my Bloody Mary with my straw and brazenly asked you the questions that you didn’t expect me to ask. And when you gave me your answers, I found myself losing my breath. What if you are the opposite of everything I assumed you were? I didn't expect that I might actually like you, or that you might actually tell me that you liked me. And that sounds so sixth grade, doesn’t it? "You said that you liked me!" But you did. And I didn't expect it. And so I guess it meant more, that way, when you said it. It all did…the way that we could lock eyes and hold the gaze, the way I could wrap my arms around you on the sidewalk and you would kiss me, long and slow, both of us doing so without a second thought.
And so I adore you, and it makes me feel awful. Because I want you happiest all the time, no matter what, and I will pull myself away from you if I feel like what I want to say or do could make you unhappy. And I feel like this could. I feel like this could change it all, could change me, cause it all to slide away, and I am scared of that, and so I am also scared of you.
And so I didn’t want to, last night. I did, but I just…didn’t. And you could tell, and in a small, soft moment as your body hovered over mine, we locked eyes and held our breaths and I knew that this was where I would lose you. That I could do this to try to keep you, but that it wouldn’t really make you stay, not really. That maybe this is what you had been waiting for, and when it was over, you would have gotten all you wanted, and wouldn’t want anymore. And I felt myself break apart as you glided your hand down the side of my face and told me that it was okay, that we didn’t have to, that we could wait. I wondered what we were waiting for, but I couldn’t seem to make those words float from my mouth to your ears from across the dark. And so I simply decided that I didn’t want to miss out on you, and so I will take these feelings that will have no consecration, and give to you the physical procurement. And in the morning I will be quiet when you wake me, holding me close to you, and I will spend the long day wondering, long after you have left my bed empty, what to do with me, now.
You could tell I didn't want to, earlier. That I wasn't ready. I wanted to, but I just...didn't. I've only really felt that way one other time before. Not the wanting-to-wait part...but the dread that comes from knowing that if I do this, if I let you, it will change everything. That instead of keeping you, it may only toss you out into the wind, cause you to disappear into the ether. Because this might mean more to me than to you. Because I don't really believe you, anymore, when you say that you adore me. Because we are not friends, and have never been, really, and so what do we really have? Afternoon hangouts with auxiliary pals. Late nights of wishing you would tell me how this should feel. Mornings when you hold me close to you and I have to tell myself not to sink into it, not to let this be something that I'll miss later. Long days of wondering what to do, with you, now.
I am not the bonder. I don't wait, and I'm almost always ready. I don’t do this often, but when I do, it’s without regret. That’s something that you might not know about me. If you asked me in a honest moment, I would tell you that I just don't see the point in it. I am greedy to just have all of you, right then, because then I won't feel like missed out, later. That's what this – all of that, before – taught me. It's foolish to relax in the knowledge that someone is always going to be around, the next day and then the next, so what's the point in waiting. Isn't it better, then, to hurtle ourselves toward the end, gain as much as we can, of them, while they are still here, while they still exist, right in front of us and beyond.
You are sweet with me, when it counts. I like the way you smooth the hair back from my forehead when we are in bed, and the way you pull me into a dark room to kiss me when we are not. But those things can make me feel awful after you've gone and I have to still remember them later. Because I want more than this, and I don’t know how to say that to you. That I want a date, as silly and small as that sounds. I want you to put on a clean shirt and drive to a restaurant and then sit at the table and wait. I want to put on a soft dress and walk in and feel that small thrill that I feel in the pit of my stomach whenever I see you. I want to sit down across from you and I want to talk to you, the way I want to do, all the time, and not just until a polite enough time has passed and we can sneak away from our friends. I want to feel safe with you, and all the time, and I want you to like me, all the time. And then I think about it and I feel crazy, because I don’t say anything, and I just expect you to know. Wish that you did. Tuck everything away in the text messages I don’t send in the morning, think too much about the ones that you send me.
You have seen a Me that I don’t think I’ve shown anyone. The softer kind, the one who is quiet in the morning and gentle in the night. The one who will let you brush my hair back from my forehead, who will move in closer when you want to hold me tight to your chest. And I show you this because I see more in you than I thought I would. I knew who you were – or at least, I thought I did - the moment I met you. You have never wanted for female attention, so you were probably shallow. Conceited. Maybe not all that smart, because you've never really had to be. So I expected that maybe I would get to make out with you, and then maybe that would be it. And then one brilliant fall morning, I swirled my Bloody Mary with my straw and brazenly asked you the questions that you didn’t expect me to ask. And when you gave me your answers, I found myself losing my breath. What if you are the opposite of everything I assumed you were? I didn't expect that I might actually like you, or that you might actually tell me that you liked me. And that sounds so sixth grade, doesn’t it? "You said that you liked me!" But you did. And I didn't expect it. And so I guess it meant more, that way, when you said it. It all did…the way that we could lock eyes and hold the gaze, the way I could wrap my arms around you on the sidewalk and you would kiss me, long and slow, both of us doing so without a second thought.
And so I adore you, and it makes me feel awful. Because I want you happiest all the time, no matter what, and I will pull myself away from you if I feel like what I want to say or do could make you unhappy. And I feel like this could. I feel like this could change it all, could change me, cause it all to slide away, and I am scared of that, and so I am also scared of you.
And so I didn’t want to, last night. I did, but I just…didn’t. And you could tell, and in a small, soft moment as your body hovered over mine, we locked eyes and held our breaths and I knew that this was where I would lose you. That I could do this to try to keep you, but that it wouldn’t really make you stay, not really. That maybe this is what you had been waiting for, and when it was over, you would have gotten all you wanted, and wouldn’t want anymore. And I felt myself break apart as you glided your hand down the side of my face and told me that it was okay, that we didn’t have to, that we could wait. I wondered what we were waiting for, but I couldn’t seem to make those words float from my mouth to your ears from across the dark. And so I simply decided that I didn’t want to miss out on you, and so I will take these feelings that will have no consecration, and give to you the physical procurement. And in the morning I will be quiet when you wake me, holding me close to you, and I will spend the long day wondering, long after you have left my bed empty, what to do with me, now.
June 5, 2014
This will probably be the most important thing you read all day. Probably.
Okay, so I know I owe you guys, like, five Candida Diaries posts and three Bachelorette Recaps, but I have something that I want to talk about right now that's a little more important.
My boobs have fallen in love with a sports bra, and it's become a revelation.
Being a rather busty gal, I've spent most of my adult life strapping those babies into thick, structured, tight, and molded bras. Because you gotta - having those big balloons bouncing around with every step is not only slightly obscene - think of the children, you guys - but it's also kind of painful. In the past few years, I've also taken to sleeping with some kind of support - super soft cami's with the built-in shelf bras are choice - because there are few things more uncomfortable than having those things flopping all around when you're trying to drift into dreamland.
Basically, when other girls talk about the joy of taking their bra off at the end of the day, I have no idea what they mean. My girls basically live their life in a perma-bra existence.
But this past winter, I started wearing yoga clothes more often so I could drop onto the mat in the middle of the day or slid into my meditation chair whenever I needed to refocus (it became a whole, awesome thing, and it was largely responsible for helping me to quit smoking back in November). But I resisted the thought of wearing a sports bra because my entire life's experience has taught me that sports bras are ultra uncomfortable - if you've got a healthy rack, you're usually stuck with ones with thick straps and tight material, which cut into your shoulders and make your neck ache after a hour or two of wearing them. But wearing a normal bra while doing downward dog...it doesn't really work (or it does, but only if someone of the male gender is around to appreciate it).
So I decided to give two super soft, stretchy sports bras a try. One was neon orange with the usually wide straps, and the other one was a soft black one with thin straps. I was a little worried about the black one, thinking that thinner straps would only cut into my shoulders more and would be less supportive.
But oh holy wow, you guys. The orange one is actually pretty great, but the black one...it feels like my boobs are being gently held up by a SOFT YET TOTALLY SUPPORTIVE CLOUD.
This is what all you other girls are talking about, when you talk about the beauty of not wearing a bra, isn't it?!? Like...freedom. I don't have anything cutting into my sides, I'm not bouncing around all the time, my chest feels like it's being given a friendly-but-things-could-also-get-romantic-if-we're-both-feeling-that-we-might-want-to-go-there hug all day, and I can actually wear the thing in public without feeling like I'm tuning into Tokyo*.
Also, it makes my boobs look great. I can show cleav' in public without feeling obscene, because I'm all like, "You can tell from the sporting of this sports bra that I obviously work out and do yoga, so this is functional cleavage."
Me, rocking the sports bra in public. (Photo courtesy of my pal Erik, who thought he was just taking a photo of me being, "hey, me!" and not "hey, boobs!") I'm probably never taking this thing off. I mean, I will, when I have to shower and stuff, but I'm ordering one in every color to coordinate with every outfit. It's like...I never knew it could feel this good. I never knew a bra could feel this way, and so now I never want to lose this feeling.
Also, I'm probably not going to be making out with anyone for another 12 months, so I guess these babies gotta get their kicks in somehow, right?
When makeout land is in the middle of a drought, just get yourself a sweet and fancy sports bra, ladies!**
*Please refer to one of the greatest movies of all time, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, starring a young Sarah Jessica Parker and Helen Hunt, for the meaning of this phrase.
** For more great life advice, please stay tuned for my upcoming book entitled, "He Doesn't Like You That Way: The Amber L. Carter Story"
My boobs have fallen in love with a sports bra, and it's become a revelation.
Being a rather busty gal, I've spent most of my adult life strapping those babies into thick, structured, tight, and molded bras. Because you gotta - having those big balloons bouncing around with every step is not only slightly obscene - think of the children, you guys - but it's also kind of painful. In the past few years, I've also taken to sleeping with some kind of support - super soft cami's with the built-in shelf bras are choice - because there are few things more uncomfortable than having those things flopping all around when you're trying to drift into dreamland.
Basically, when other girls talk about the joy of taking their bra off at the end of the day, I have no idea what they mean. My girls basically live their life in a perma-bra existence.
But this past winter, I started wearing yoga clothes more often so I could drop onto the mat in the middle of the day or slid into my meditation chair whenever I needed to refocus (it became a whole, awesome thing, and it was largely responsible for helping me to quit smoking back in November). But I resisted the thought of wearing a sports bra because my entire life's experience has taught me that sports bras are ultra uncomfortable - if you've got a healthy rack, you're usually stuck with ones with thick straps and tight material, which cut into your shoulders and make your neck ache after a hour or two of wearing them. But wearing a normal bra while doing downward dog...it doesn't really work (or it does, but only if someone of the male gender is around to appreciate it).
So I decided to give two super soft, stretchy sports bras a try. One was neon orange with the usually wide straps, and the other one was a soft black one with thin straps. I was a little worried about the black one, thinking that thinner straps would only cut into my shoulders more and would be less supportive.
But oh holy wow, you guys. The orange one is actually pretty great, but the black one...it feels like my boobs are being gently held up by a SOFT YET TOTALLY SUPPORTIVE CLOUD.
This is what all you other girls are talking about, when you talk about the beauty of not wearing a bra, isn't it?!? Like...freedom. I don't have anything cutting into my sides, I'm not bouncing around all the time, my chest feels like it's being given a friendly-but-things-could-also-get-romantic-if-we're-both-feeling-that-we-might-want-to-go-there hug all day, and I can actually wear the thing in public without feeling like I'm tuning into Tokyo*.
Also, it makes my boobs look great. I can show cleav' in public without feeling obscene, because I'm all like, "You can tell from the sporting of this sports bra that I obviously work out and do yoga, so this is functional cleavage."
Me, rocking the sports bra in public. (Photo courtesy of my pal Erik, who thought he was just taking a photo of me being, "hey, me!" and not "hey, boobs!") I'm probably never taking this thing off. I mean, I will, when I have to shower and stuff, but I'm ordering one in every color to coordinate with every outfit. It's like...I never knew it could feel this good. I never knew a bra could feel this way, and so now I never want to lose this feeling.Also, I'm probably not going to be making out with anyone for another 12 months, so I guess these babies gotta get their kicks in somehow, right?
When makeout land is in the middle of a drought, just get yourself a sweet and fancy sports bra, ladies!**
*Please refer to one of the greatest movies of all time, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, starring a young Sarah Jessica Parker and Helen Hunt, for the meaning of this phrase.
** For more great life advice, please stay tuned for my upcoming book entitled, "He Doesn't Like You That Way: The Amber L. Carter Story"
May 14, 2014
(The Candida Diaries) Winning The All-Important Daily Battle Against Those Goddamn Totino's Party Pizzas
This is the face of triumph.I'm sitting in the living room of the house where I've been nannying this past week, waiting for the parents to get home.I don't mean to be cocky, but...I AM NOW A MASTER OF MY TREATMENT, EVERYBODY, SOMEONE GIVE ME A MEDAL, BECAUSE I FLIPPIN' OWNED THIS GIG ALL WEEK LONG!
No slip-ups, not even when Totino's Party Pizza was being made.
Not even when there was chocolate all over the place.
Not even when I was stomach-monster-growling hungry and had to make chicken nuggets and french fries and stare at mini-cupcakes the whole time while I was doing it.
Not even when I was at Treelands this weekend - on Friday I had a bloody mary with Meg (treatment approved), and on Saturday, even though I wanted a beer so bad, I had two gin & tonics, and the rest of the time I had tonic water with lime (and funny thing? I actually preferred the tonic water with lime).
I took my vinegar shot every day, did yoga, got my probiotics in, and overall, I felt great. I felt like I had it on lock, in fact. A big motivation was the fact that, even though I haven't weighed myself in probably two months, I could tell that I was looking better. And I could feel it, too...I just felt lighter. And every day that I didn't slip, it just made it easier to keep going on through the next day.
The big challenge this week is my baby niece's birthday party and baptism. I'll be staying in Chicago with my brother and sister-in-law over the weekend, and it looks to be a weekend filled with lots of people, lots of food, family, fun, etc.
i.e., cake, chocolate and wine.
The wine I'm okay with - thanks to my father's foresight (thanks, Dad!), there should be plenty of white available, and I'll probably bring some tonic water and limes just as a safety net. The cake and chocolate...I was thinking about it today, and I kind of told myself the thing that I always do when faced with stuff like this: For the rest of my life, I can have cake whenever I want. There will never be a time, in the foreseeable future, when I won't have access to cake. Keeping that in mind makes it that much easier to stick to my treatment and pass up the cake until I hit my goal (i.e., when my gut is fully healed and/or my body's finally at a place where a piece of cake isn't going throw it into total and complete wack).
The only other thing that I'm apprehensive of is not being in control of what's available. The thing about these eating modifications is that they kind of make you feel like an asshole. I dread going to a restaurant now and asking for a zillion modifications to my meal, much less going to someone's home and being all, "Yeah, thanks for taking the time to make this thing that I can't actually eat." Since I've been doing it since January, my family's pretty well up-to-speed on the whole candida thing, so I know they kind of get it, but there's also the fun part of having to deal with other people's questions and unsolicited advice and jokes when they notice that I'm being a "picky" eater or am not having cake like everyone else. There's some weird human thing that makes people really uncomfortable when everyone else is drinking but you're not, or when everyone else is eating ice cream but you're not. Which makes it super sucktown to be that person who's not.
So yeah. It will be fun (?) to work at navigating that stuff, but for the most part, I'm just excited to hang with my family and see my baby niece and celebrate with everyone who loves her.
May 13, 2014
Tinder Date.
Tinder date brought me a flowerSo today I had my very first-ever Tinder-arranged date.For those of you not in the know, Tinder, according to Wikipedia, is:
a phone app that is a location-based social discovery app that facilitates communication between mutually interested users. Using Facebook profiles, Tinder gathers users' basic information and analyzes users' social graphs to match potential candidates who are most likely to be compatible based on geographical location, number of mutual friends and common interests. Based on the results of potential candidates, the app allows the user to anonymously like ("swipe right") or pass them ("swipe left"). If two users like each other then it results in a "match" and Tinder introduces the two users and opens a chat.So yeah. Basically, it's like a glorified version of "Hot or Not."
After spending the fall and winter doing some hard work on my own stuff - I was doing me, you guys. Just doin' me! - when spring rolled around, I started to feel like maaaaybe I was ready to start dating again. I tried online dating for, like, a week - and it totally, totally blew. Tinder wasn't even on my radar as a serious dating tool - Maybe it'd be cool if I still lived in Minneapolis, I told myself, where I could easily meet up with matches for a drink, but when most of the guys I was matching up with lived 70 miles away? Yawn. So mostly I just went on there when I was bored and wanted to look at cute guys.
But then, the more great matches I started to collect, the more I started to take it seriously. First, I'm just going to be honest and say that it was a super great ego boost...and as someone who's fought a hard battle with her appearance and self-esteem the past couple of years, I'm totally not embarrassed at all to admit that that was nice. The thing that makes it different from online dating is that there's a bit more instant gratification: Instead of seeing that a guy looked at your profile 15 times but still didn't message you, leaving you to wonder if he actually digs you or if he's just showing your profile to his friends so they can all laugh about it, you know right away if a guy you dig digs you back.
Then, I was kind of hit with some truth-telling that made me realize that...maybe I needed to open myself up more to different types of guys. It couldn't hurt to be more open to chatting with and maybe meeting men who weren't necessarily my "type." Mostly because...when it comes to my outlook on relationships and my goals for them, I'm way different than I was even a year ago. Thus, I needed to set my mind on being open to a different kind of man.
Basically, everything I thought I knew about who my "type" was and how to judge whether a guy was for me...I had to toss all of that out the window and start all over again. I'm not really looking, anymore, for the hottest guy ever who can also dance and will make me laugh and who will like all the same music I like and who will think I'm adorable even when I'm being super annoying. That stuff would be awesome, but mostly, I'm looking for a good man with some character whom I like being around and whom I will eventually want to kiss at some point. I know to some of you, I sound so mature right now (thank you!) and to others I sound so boring (I know, right?) but it's not like I'm ruling out hotness (and I've asked God not to rule it out either...right, God? *elbow nudge* Good guys can be super hot, too, right?!) or any of my old preferences...they're just no longer priorities, dig? They're like...that super great icing on the Dairy Queen Ice Cream Cake, if you will.
So on my date today, it felt super weird, to sit there and realize that I didn't know anything anymore. That everything I would have judged him on in years past - was he hot? Did I want to kiss him right away? Could I see him hanging out with my friends? Was he funny? Did he think I was funny? Did he fit into my fantasy of what I wanted a relationship to look like? - were now things that I know better than to make snap judgements on. The date was nice. We have a lot in common, we had a lot to talk about. I worked on keeping myself in the present and enjoying our conversation instead of sitting there and envisioning what our lives would look like together 20 years down the road and then either deciding that This Man Will Be Mine, Oh Yes, This Man Will Be Mine or Oh Hey, NEXT. Which is just...HUGE progress for me, you guys. So yeah. Good date. Can I see us going out again? Sure.
I think this whole dating thing is going to be really fun, this time around. Now that I've handled all the weird stuff I used to get so mired and mixed up in, I'm kind of psyched to see what's in store.
(And hopefully, some of what's in store will be kissing. Because it's been since August, you guys. I barely even remember what it's like anymore.)
May 11, 2014
The Hey-Hallmark-You-Suck Mother's Day Card.
Every Mother's Day, I like to give a little shout-out to all the women who mother in the nontraditional sense. Foster moms, step moms, adoptive moms, neighborhood moms, church moms, dog moms, den moms, moms-to-be...women who watch out for the young and tender hearts in their world, who care and guide them into fuller, wiser lives.
I had an amazing mom, but there were so many women in my young life who took an interest in me and cared about shaping me for the better, and I am grateful every day for their influence. I also consider myself lucky, in my adult life, to have gotten a glimpse of the trials and triumphs involved in caring for someone else's child (stepmoms: I get it now. You have my ultimate respect, and I am continually in awe of those of you who cherish your role and do it well).
And this year, especially, my heart has been cracked opened for another family of women: Those mothers-to-be who know firsthand the struggle and the perseverance it can take just to bring another little being into this world, and the mothers-of-angels who know the grief and grace it takes to have had to give a child back. Sometimes it can break your heart, to simply get to the motherhood of things...so more than anyone, I wish you this day.
Caring without obligation or reward is pretty much one of the most amazing things a person can do on this planet. So here's to you, ladies: Happy Mother's Day.
The world is grateful for you, and so am I.
I had an amazing mom, but there were so many women in my young life who took an interest in me and cared about shaping me for the better, and I am grateful every day for their influence. I also consider myself lucky, in my adult life, to have gotten a glimpse of the trials and triumphs involved in caring for someone else's child (stepmoms: I get it now. You have my ultimate respect, and I am continually in awe of those of you who cherish your role and do it well).
And this year, especially, my heart has been cracked opened for another family of women: Those mothers-to-be who know firsthand the struggle and the perseverance it can take just to bring another little being into this world, and the mothers-of-angels who know the grief and grace it takes to have had to give a child back. Sometimes it can break your heart, to simply get to the motherhood of things...so more than anyone, I wish you this day.
Caring without obligation or reward is pretty much one of the most amazing things a person can do on this planet. So here's to you, ladies: Happy Mother's Day.
The world is grateful for you, and so am I.
May 10, 2014
Adventures in Nannying
Friday Morning:
So on the way to school today, my little nanny charge wanted to know why it hurt so much to have a baby.
I turned up the Kidz Bop, rolled down the window, and tried to act like I didn't hear her.
Unfazed, she followed it up with, "And if it hurts so much, then why do girls keep doing it?"
"To get on Maury."
"Who's Maury?"
Successful subject change for the win, ladies and gentlemen.
Friday Evening:
After a curious and suspect 15-minute silence, I call her into the living room.
Her, running in, breathless: "Sorry I looked at your bras!"
Me, stunned at first, but then: "That's okay. Lots of people want to look at them. I'm used it to by now."
Her: "Why do you have so many of them?"
Me: "Because that's the fun part of being a girl. When you grow up, maybe you'll get to have tons of bras, too."
Her: "Well, hopefully. If I'm not poor."
Me: "Even poor people manage to have a bra or two."
Her: "But why don't you just have one and then wash it every day?"
Me: "Because washing it all the time would make it lose its shape, thus eliminating the whole point of a bra."
Her: "What's the point of bras?"
Me: "To drive boys crazy."
Her:: "But how do you do THAT?"
Me: "Let's add that to the list of things for you to ask your mom when she gets home."
So on the way to school today, my little nanny charge wanted to know why it hurt so much to have a baby.
I turned up the Kidz Bop, rolled down the window, and tried to act like I didn't hear her.
Unfazed, she followed it up with, "And if it hurts so much, then why do girls keep doing it?"
"To get on Maury."
"Who's Maury?"
Successful subject change for the win, ladies and gentlemen.
Friday Evening:
After a curious and suspect 15-minute silence, I call her into the living room.
Her, running in, breathless: "Sorry I looked at your bras!"
Me, stunned at first, but then: "That's okay. Lots of people want to look at them. I'm used it to by now."
Her: "Why do you have so many of them?"
Me: "Because that's the fun part of being a girl. When you grow up, maybe you'll get to have tons of bras, too."
Her: "Well, hopefully. If I'm not poor."
Me: "Even poor people manage to have a bra or two."
Her: "But why don't you just have one and then wash it every day?"
Me: "Because washing it all the time would make it lose its shape, thus eliminating the whole point of a bra."
Her: "What's the point of bras?"
Me: "To drive boys crazy."
Her:: "But how do you do THAT?"
Me: "Let's add that to the list of things for you to ask your mom when she gets home."
May 7, 2014
The Candida Diaries: Beer Blues & Prince GIFs.
Regina The Cat is super proud of me, too, guys. Making my re-commitment to my treatment last week was kind of the best thing ever. Having a fresh start really made a difference: I felt better, I looked better - 
Prince thought so, too. and it was that much easier to stick to eating clean, even when I was out with friends.After my post last week, a couple of people reached out with their own stories of how challenging this stuff can be, which really helped. I wouldn't wish this kind of lifestyle on anyone, but it's really nice to know that I'm not alone in this shiz. It was also helpful to talk over game plans with other people who've done it. For instance, I decided to amend my drinking policy. Like my almond coconut milk lattes, being able to have a glass of wine with my friends every now and then is something that makes me feel human. The thing about this treatment is that there are so many things that I can't have that it kind of makes all social interactions a bit challenging...and I noticed that, when I first went on this treatment, my social life practically died because I knew I couldn't go out with my friends and *not* want to drink. Especially now that summer is coming...if I can focus on ways to keep it in balance and manage it wisely within the paradigm of wanting to keep my body clean as a whole, then I think my outlook for long term lifestyle change will be a lot more successful.
However, I noticed this weekend that alcohol has a much stronger effect on me than it ever has before. I don't know if it's because I'm not eating carbs anymore and/or my body is literally starved of sugar, but on Monday I had two and a half glasses of wine and apparently I was slurring my words by the end of the night! The good news is that I didn't struggle with any Bread & Cheese Everything cravings, which is the big battle that I face anytime I go over 2 drinks. Some girls are tempted to text their ex or kiss inappropriate men when they've had too much to drink. I just want Subway.
The other super fun thing that happened this week is that I discovered that, when ordering coconut and almond lattes, one of my favorite baristas thought I meant coconut and almond flavoring. I discovered this on Tuesday, which means that I've been inadvertently consuming a lot of sugar all week. I didn't notice any effects on my health or anything, but...it was kind of funny, how all this week I thought I was doing so awesome and was so on par with my treatment, and here I'd been downing a sugar-laden latte almost every day.
But, according to multiple sources, I look like I've lost weight this week, so... No bigs, y'all!
So after I realized that, I hit the reset button on my started 30 resolution period, starting today.
Today I start another week of nannying/housesitting. I feel really strong in my resolve to stick to my treatment (despite the fact that there is chocolate EVERYWHERE and a huge supply of Totino's Party Pizza in the freezer, which is the you're-no-good-for-me-but-I-miss-you-every-day ex-lover equivalent of comfort food for me), and I know that if I can make it through this week, I can make it through anything. I also have a big weekend planned at the Treland Challenge, a big fishing tournament up here in the Northwoods...which, in my past life, used to mean a big beer and boy fest for your old pal Amber. I miss beer every freaking day. I especially miss beer every time I think of summer in the Northwoods. Beer has become the new mocha latte when it comes to my new treatment-based life...it's kind of not fair that I can't have it anymore, and that kind of pisses me off. And like with lattes, I struggle with giving up the long-held positive associations that I have with it - I loved being a girl who loved good beer. I loved just the act of hanging out around a bonfire with a bottle of Canoe Paddler, you know? Ron Swanson is entirely correct when he said that clear liquor is for rich women on diets. I mean, a gin & tonic in the summer is refreshing and all, but not as much as a cold beer.
So anyway. That's going to be tough. But I have a game plan...which is mostly tonic water with lime for most of the day/evening, with maybe two gin & tonics sprinkled in. Tonic with lime looks and feels like I'm drinking a cocktail, so it's still fun (as opposed to, you know...water) but it'll keep me level enough so I'm not tempted to go "Okay, maybe juuuust one beer won't hurt." I'm also wearing a very carefully crafted outfit that will require that I *not* have a bloated beer belly in order to look awesome in it.
Cause there's gonna be boys there.
So that's the scoop with this week. Still rocking the apple cider vinegar shot, the greek yogurt with flax seed, the lean protein and veg, and I've upped my intake of coconut oil. Besides helping to kill any and all sugar-related cravings, my friend Stacy (who has been SUCH a help through all this) reminded me that it's great for burning fat, so yeah. I've been pretty much making out with my jar of coconut oil on a regular basis this week.
The End.
May 4, 2014
This is why I love my baby brother and why I also like to beat him up.
This is also the same kid who - whilst strolling past a bridal shop after a dinner out in LA - pointed to one of the wedding dresses in the window and said, "Maybe one day you'll get to wear one of those, too, Amber." Then he smiled sweetly at me and added, "But probably not."
May 2, 2014
The best of what's to come.
Your whole life could feel like this, if you just let it.Today is glooooorrriiioouuusss. The sun is shining, it's warm out, it is actually an honest-to-god, even-though-it's-May-I-still-can't-believe-it spring day. Right before I sat down to write today, I hopped over to the coffee shop on the corner for my usual coconut almond milk latte. Walking back, I gazed at up my building and thought, "Do I really want to leave all this? It's so nice, being here on days like this. Living right on Main Street in a gorgeous space, where I can walk everywhere in this pretty small town. Everything is kind of easy here." But then, as I thought more about it, I heard a voice reminding me that if I lived on the West Coast, *all* days would be like this.
It's so easy, sometimes, to talk ourselves out of what we want, or to lower those expectations. To stay where things feel safe, and easy, even if that safe and easy is not at all what we really want.
Not long after I made my declaration that I was moving to the West Coast, I found that I kept trying to prepare myself for some crappy, cramped apartment. "You probably won't have space for that," I would find myself thinking, as I stared at some beloved object. "You should enjoy all this while you have it, because our next place is probably not going to be this nice." And then I would catch myself and ask, "Why the fuck would it NOT be this nice?!" Every single time I've moved, it's been a better place than the last (with the exception of the time when I moved to the suburbs for love. That place objectively sucked, but I was there for love and so in that sense, it was still a step up from the place I was in before). And the space I'm living in right now is really ridiculously awesome, but the most important thing it's taught me is that, when I need them to, things just kind of fall into place for me when it comes to moving.
I may be unlucky in love, but I'm damn lucky in living spaces.
So I sat myself down and wrote out a list. You know how some people do that list of things they want in a soulmate? I decided to do that with my West Coast living space.
1) Lots of light
2) Clean, white space (white walls, etc)
3) Feels airy (could totally be a studio space, as long as it has something that makes it feel spacious, like lots of windows or high ceilings, etc)
4) Has windows I can open
5) A space outside where I can read or do yoga in the morning
6) Walkable distance to a coffeeshop
7) Short drive to the coast
8) Allows pets
9) Washer and dryer inside the apartment
10) Has a tub
11) Exposed brick or hardwood floors would be nice, too
12) A skylight would be super primo, but definitely not required
I made the above list and found myself thinking of how, with the exception of a couple things, finding a place I'll love actually seems pretty easy now. And it changed everything - instead of worrying about kind of crap hovel I might have to settle for when I make the big move, instead I get to dream about what kind of airy, beachy, beautiful bungalows I might find myself in.
Whether you're literally moving into another living space or just moving into another dream or phase in your life, don't talk yourself out of wanting exactly what you want. I'm a big believer in putting things out to the universe: Once you get clear about what it is you really want, you make it that much easier for the universe to bring it to you. And that's why we move, right? That's why we change. To get to the Better of what it is that we have now. Sometimes I find myself questioning a change because I don't want to lose the good of what I have now. But I'm kind of living proof of the fact that, every time I've made that leap, my life has changed in miraculous, magnificent ways...and the good you have now can and will stay the good you have later.
At a certain point in your life, week, year, it's time tell that jerk cautionary-tale voice in your head to beat it, and teach yourself to expect the best of what's to come.
What's the Better you're trying to talk yourself out of?
Make a list, a collage, or a kickass soundtrack of what the Dream looks like.
(And then start believing' in it, Dream Weaver.)
