Editor’s note: This is a guest post from Kim Sisto Robinson.
All right gals, here’s the dilemma. Half of us are wearing the wrong size bra. That’s right. We’re sauntering around town with sagging, wobbling, drooping boobies and let me tell you…it’s not a pretty sight. Women in America are swinging their ta-tas from side to side like old elephant trunks and it has officially become a crisis situation.
On a recent (repeated) Oprah episode, bra expert, Susan Nethero stated that 8 out of 10 women are wearing the wrong bra size.
“Not only can the right bra eliminate sagging, it can make you appear slimmer and take years off your look,” Nethero says.
One can imagine, after this particular episode, bra stores were swamped with women desperately trying to elevate their shortcomings. Just the words “slimmer” and “years off” will do it for most women (i.e., me). [Read more →]
A few years ago I told my husband that if he ever bought me a minivan, I would personally remove his spleen. There wasn’t any way I was going to be caught dead driving one of those big, ugly, soccer-mom standard-issue, vehicles. Two years later I found myself spending all my free time trying to convince him to buy me one.
When he finally acquiesced, we plopped down the money and picked out the one with the built in sunshades for the baby, the back windows that rolled down and a killer DVD player (which the kids can be watching with headphones in the back while my husband and I jam to tunes in the front – how great is that?).
Later that day, I drove my new, shiny, silver Odyssey into the driveway for the first time (take note that we lived in a neighborhood that prided itself on being hip). As we pulled in, one of our neighbors happened to be jogging by. Upon seeing us, he let out a throaty “Boooooooooo”, and then continued to run down the street. I got a similar response from one of my friends who when told we had just purchased a minivan, responded incredulously, “You did not.” [Read more →]
December 9th, 2008 · 7 Comments
Growing up, when my Mother would get stressed about money (or lack thereof) my Dad would try to reassure her by saying, “If we run out of money, we’ll just go out and make some more.”
Apparently that little bit of wisdom was actually my Grandfather’s, and even though it didn’t seem to make my Mother feel better, I always felt that there was real truth in his statement. After all, it IS just money.
So I try to keep that in mind as I watch our 401K shrink and my eldest son’s college fund cave (at least he has one…my youngest, apparently, isn’t even going).
I also try not to freak out about the What ifs, especially when I hear of yet another company laying off a chunk of their workforce.
This is without a doubt a very stressful time for everyone. We’re all feeling the effects of this economic recession and make no mistake; we’re all paying for it. And it’s easy (and understandable) to let stress and fear ooze into the tiny breaks in our confidence and hold us hostage.
Then I read this article over at the Positivity Blog about the “So What?” mentality. In a nutshell, it dictates that instead of participating in a world that is self-defeating, you help create a world that is uplifting…by being positive.
So What if my husband gets the ax? He’ll get another job. It might take a while and we may miss a mortgage payment or two and my kids may have to eat erasers for lunch, and I may have to get a job at Chic-Fil-A…but it’ll work out. We’ll come out of it, and we’ll be stronger than before (with free chicken sandwiches to boot).
Life truly is an adventure and sometimes the most challenging of times can be the most pivotal. Maybe after being laid off, you decide to move your career in a different direction, maybe a more satisfying direction, or maybe you strike out onto your own. Whatever cards you’re dealt, you can handle it…if you stay strong and if you stay positive.
So if you need a little pick-me-up today, read this post, reset your attitude, and count your blessings this holiday season. Because chances are, if you look around, you’ll see that you’ve got lots.
December 1st, 2008 · 9 Comments
At a recent neighborhood meeting, several people expressed frustration at having to scoop up poop, especially since they didn’t own a dog, and they wanted to see if there was anything that could be done about getting dog-walkers to clean up after their pets.
Well, since my neighbors don’t know that I author a blog, I couldn’t refer them the Cool Broads don’t poop in other people’s yards rule. So instead, I mentioned that I had, in fact, spoken to one repeat offender about cleaning up after her dogs and even gave her a bag to do so when she was “caught off guard” one day as her dogs pooped on my tulips.
“Yeah”, my neighbor said, “she never walks with a bag…but she’s really nice.”
I found that statement odd, so I asked her, “How can you call someone who doesn’t respect your property ‘really nice’?”
“Well,” she said, “I guess it just doesn’t really bother me.”
“It bothers me,” her husband barked (no doggie pun intended).
“Do you think it’ll bother you when your 3 year-old steps in a pile of dog poop and tracks it in your house?” I asked.
“Maybe, but I think it’s more important to maintain a friendly relationship with your neighbors than to risk offending someone and possibly create an awkward situation.”
I was aghast. I immediately wanted to tell this women that there was a word for people like her…doormat. [Read more →]
Tags: attitude · observations · the rules
In a recent interview with the British morning show “GMTV,” Angelina Jolie admitted that she struggled with breastfeeding her twins, Vivienne and Knox, and confessed that she quit after three months. “(That was) about as much as I could do.”
“There’s this football hold — it’s a lot harder than it looks in the books,” she said in the interview. “You think, ‘Ah, if anybody can do that, I can do that.’”
Funny…that’s EXACTLY what I thought. I mean, how hard could it be?? And as the oldest of four kids, I remember watching my mother breastfeeding my younger brother and sister, so there was never a question that I would breastfeed my children…I just always knew that I would. And I also knew that I’d do it for at least a year (I mean, come on, if the American Academy of Pediatrics says that’s how long you do it for…hell, that’s how long I was going to do it for…I’m nothing if not a rule follower).
Unfortunately, it didn’t work quite out like that for me.
Here’s a somewhat brief synopsis of my breastfeeding experience:
- Baby hospitalized at one week old for “failure to thrive” because apparently, my milk hadn’t come in and he was STARVING; Doctor prescribed some drug (can’t remember the name) to jumpstart my milk production; Rented heavy duty pumping machine from the hospital to get those mammaries a goin’.
- Drug turned my boobs into hot lava boulders hanging precariously from my body by…oh, that’s right…SKIN! If anyone touches me…I scream.
- Milk finally comes in.
- Baby is still starving. Visit lactation consultant at hospital. She weighs baby before and after I feed him. It appears after nursing him for 20 minutes on each breast he only consumed one oz. of milk. She’s confused. Looks at my breasts…good nipples. Checks baby’s sucking reflex…good strong suck. Sends me home with some feeding contraption with a long thin tube that I fill with breast milk or formula and then tape to my boob so that both the baby and my breasts think they’re breastfeeding and “won’t get lazy”.
- Breastfeed with feeding contraption. Major hassle…have to clean tube thorougly after each use, so in addition to giving the baby supplemental breastmilk or formula AND pumping after each feeding, I have morphed into a human cow. Haven’t washed my hair in a week.
- Despite following every breastfeeding book I could get my hands on, the constant pumping (which on a really good day yielded only a couple of ounces of breastmilk), the feeding contraption, and not giving the baby a pacifier or a regular bottle so he wouldn’t get “nipple confusion”, I’m still unable to exclusively breastfeed my son. Something I always expected (and wanted) to do. I feel like a failure.
Now that my rugrat is almost 10 years old (and the healthiest kid I know despite being fed, dare I say it…FORMULA), I can almost think back to those painful months without crying. My breastfeeding experience wasn’t what I’d hoped for and to be honest, I feel jipped.
But despite the major beating I inflicted on myself, I still suffered from judgemental looks and comments from friends and other new moms when they found out that I’d weaned my son after only 6 months (which to be honest, I view now as a major accomplishment). These women should have been my biggest support. Instead, they were the biggest reminders of what I’d deemed at the time to be my biggest failure.
So, as I read about Angelina and her breastfeeding struggles and the subsequent comments and criticisms from bloggers, I find myself wishing they’d just lay off. True, maybe she opened herself up to the grief after making her breastfeeding a public affair (see picture above). And I, for one, HATE celebrities that put out this life-is-totally-perfect-and-wonderful image when in reality they’re dealing with the same crap we all have to deal with.
But I give her credit for being honest about the difficulties she experienced. Why? Because when you’re struggling with something that so many well-meaning moms take for granted as “natural”, or something that some people have a tendency to pass judgement on if you decide not to do (or for whatever reason, cannot do), there’s no lonelier place. And sometimes it’s a little comforting to know that you’re really not alone.
Click here to subscribe to That Cool Broad.