This means that he’s suddenly taller than me. He eats all the food in our house. And he’s got that funky smell that singes the lining of your nose and yet… he doesn’t notice it or care about it.

It also means that he was kinda sorta overdue for that talk.

You know. THAT talk.

I think my husband put it off far longer than he should. I think his procrastination was in part because from my understanding the sex talk in his house growing up was, “You know about the birds and the bees, dontcha son? The birds fuck the bees.” My father-in-law, ladies and gentleman, a man of many words. That sex talk also involved a lesson in how to put on a condom, now affectionately know as “the broomstick talk” (some parents use bananas, my father in law used cleaning implements).

Which brings me to my arrival home from a trip recently. I dropped my gear in the doorway, put my purse on the chair and went to sort through the mail when I found the above drawing.

Yep, scrawled on the bag of the mortgage company’s envelope was a completely CONFUSING anatomical diagram that apparently was the basis of my husband’s talk with his son.

I’m a mother, I have two kids – I, uh, know how things work… But that drawing? It confused ME. If he was hoping to confuse his son into staying a virgin forever or just make sex look totally unappealing, I think it might have worked.

Me, on the other hand, plan to use sparkly diagrams when my daughters get older. They will NOT learn about sex from Judy Blume like I did. Then again, maybe they will.

And I’m definitely not sexy.

Or at least, I thought not when I first set out to write this post. In fact, I was so set on the topic: I’m too ridiculous to be sexy. On me, sexy is less Victoria’s Secret model and more George Costanza’s Art of Seduction.

So I set out to replicate my buddy George’s famous pose.

First – did you know how freaking hard it is to take a picture of yourself like that? I got dressed in boxers and a tank top and black socks a la George (he skipped the tank top, but I wasn’t going topless for the sake of proving a point). Hit the auto-timer, run to the sofa, pose and hope for the best. Once I figured out the angles, I was able to snap snap snap a few pictures. And sure, they do look goofy, but then…

I couldn’t stop checking out my right leg in one of the shots. It was toned – I could see muscle. It was smooth. It looked strong. (We’ll skip the part where my left leg looked less than fabulous – because that right leg? It was HOTT).

In another picture I noticed the slight curve of my triceps. VISIBLE ARM MUSCLE, ya’ll. And I gazed at myself a little longer.

I was set to prove to y’all that when I try to be sexy, I look ridiculous. Well, that’s kind of right. Sexy isn’t constipated “come hither” looks and complicated lingerie and high maintenance preparation. Sexy is just…being – sexy is bedhead and laughter and strength and comfort and curves and lines and being perfectly imperfect.

As my daughters get older, though, the one piece of advice I give them over and over is this:

Never wait for someone to send you flowers.

If you want flowers, I tell them, you can buy them yourself. Do not deny yourself the joy of something so beautiful because you think that flowers should come only as a gift.

My husband is actually pretty good with the whole flower thing. Not only does he manage to treat me to my favorites (yellow roses!) on all the right occasions – he manages to surprise me with them at times too. And I love that. But there are times when I’m pushing my cart through Costco and I am captivated by the beauty of their flowers – really! Costco has beautiful flowers – and I think, Self. Wouldn’t you just love a bouquet of green daisies on your dining room table today? And I realize that yes, yes I would. I select the bouquet I want and bring them home and plop them in a vase in the middle of my table and instantly my dining room is brighter. As is my mood.

Sometimes there need be no occasion. Maybe the skies have been gray too long and I need a good smash of color to lift my spirits. Sometimes I long for the fragrance of a spring bouquet. Sometimes maybe it’s just the dose of retail therapy. Whatever the reason, whatever the excuse – when the spirit moves me to want flowers, I will buy them.

And I tell my girls – they should too.

My point is not to encourage irresponsible retail therapy (believe me – I’m known for shopping, picking up something and then talking myself out of buying whatever it may be. I’m horrible at spending money on myself!) – but to say that they don’t need to depend on a man for happiness. That if there is something that they want that will bring them joy, they don’t need to wait. Sometimes it’s a matter of the little things making such a huge difference. If that little thing is flowers, why wait?

In other words – my girls ain’t sissies.

It is no wonder that I surround myself with strong women. Even when my mother was married, she essentially carried the weight of our family upon her shoulders. Her life couldn’t have always been fun, and certainly it wasn’t easy – but somehow things got done. And she did it on her own. Without whining.

As an adult, I gravitate towards women of strength – women who are strong and independent, yet not brusque or harsh. She may be the one who fixes the kitchen sink or unplugs the toilet rather than scrambles for help, perhaps she is the ones championing and advocating for her kids in the school systems or medical realm, maybe there’s just crap going on in her day to day life. These women get things done. But make no mistake – they still have heart. These are not cold women. They are not so focused on the end-goal that they cannot see what surrounds them. Oh no, they are totally in tune with the world around them. And so even when she herself may need lifting, she’s out there supporting others. Her focus isn’t self-absorption – she is a woman on a mission, yes – but each one’s world is big enough to encompass more than what is on her plate.

The term “steel magnolias” is often used to describe such women – particularly women like this from the south. I use it too because the state flower of Michigan is likely the dandelion, and “magnolia” just sounds prettier.

I am blessed to have many such magnolias in my life – such strong, independent, focused, loving, caring, passionate and fantastic women encompass my circle of friends. And I am lucky.

photo credit: xlordashx / CC BY 2.0

A few weeks ago, someone mentioned New Kids on the Block – now, I was a huge fan IN THE DAY. Donnie Wahlberg? Oh yeah, he did swoony things to my twelve year old heart. Waaaay back when, I saw them in concert. Opening for NKOTB was Dino. Do you remember him?

If you don’t remember Dino, maybe you’ll remember the lyrics “That’s the way it has to be cuz that’s the way I like it…”. Maybe you’ll remember his blonde permy shoulder length man-do?

WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO DINO?

So this month, my playlist revisits those peeps – the “OMFG, I totally FORGOT about that song!” or “You mean, he’s NOT dead?” people.

1. I Like It – Dino

2. Girlfriend – Pebbles

3. Lost In Emotion – Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam

4. Live And Learn – Joe Public

5.  Sukiyaki – 4 p.m.

6.  Days Go By – Dirty Vegas

7. Standing Outside A Broken Phone Booth With Money In My Hand – Primitive Radio Gods

8. Where My Girls At – 702

9. One More Try – Timmy T

10. Roll To Me – Dell Amitri

*I kid. I can listen to Sarah McLachlan all day. Deep down inside I am still an angsty, Lilith Fair attending, twenty year old.

**And, yes. Those are affiliate links. You click them and in ten months, I’ll have earned enough to download one of these songs for myself.

First things first: They are not referring to the Monistat you use if you have an itchy-burny-yeast-infection. Not that stuff. The Monistat in question is the Chafing Relief Powder-Gel which apparently prevents inner thigh, bikini area chafing. A tube of this chafing gel runs anwhere from about $6 to $8 for a 1.5 ounce tube. Smashbox Primer on the other hand, runs about sixteen bucks for a half an ounce. Even if you’re not super great with numbers, you can see why I was eager for this experiment.

The economy sucks, y’all – but a girl should still have her primer, right?

I was very scientific about it – day one, I tried the Monistat on my entire face underneath my regular makeup. No discernible difference. No hives. No cooties. Nobody pointing and saying I had thigh cream on my face. Day two, Monistat on one half of my face, Smashbox on the other.

Sure, there was a smidge of a difference in that my make up went on smoother, actually on the Monistat half – however with my REAL primer side, the make up seemed to sit more at the surface rather than soaking in at all. Hmmm.

When all was said and done, there wasn’t a huge difference between the two. Except in the price tag.

(If I was all science-y, I’d tell you it’s because they share similar silicone-type ingredients which is what helps your makeup glide on like buttah and keeps your inner thighs from rubbing together on summer days – but I’m not a scientist. Just a frugal lady who likes her primer.)

Affiliate links used so that for every time YOU buy Monistat, I’ll know it. Mwaha-hahahha.

Also, it’s an easy habit to have when you wear a lot of black.

In my closet NOW about 40% of the shirts hanging (arranged by color and then sleeve length. Shut up) in my closet are green. I love the color green – it’s my favorite. I even bought a green laptop solely for the color, a mistake I won’t repeat next time around. Here I am, lots of green shirts, but…

No green underwear. No green bras. I have black, pink, white, nude, more black, more white, blue. But no green.

My first step in remedying this sitch was a trip to Target – they have damn near everything. Suddenly, it’s becoming clear to me why I have no green underwear. Ice cream sundaes? On my ass? REALLY? (Writer’s note: Please excuse the horrid quality of this photo. Do you know how hard it is to take pictures of underwear in Target without seeming like a total creeper?). Okay. So maybe Target doesn’t have everything.

I decided to shift my shopping endeavors to that of the internet variety. I found the lovely Shamrock thong from Old Navy, pictured above. Hmm. Seasonal and quirky, but not really what I’m going for. They also had the same print in a boy short. Fabulous. Next.

Victoria’s Secret. Her secret is that she doesn’t really like green. Except the variety of the green from your wallet going to her cash registers. I had no luck finding green – because I stubbornly refuse to consider “chartreuse” to be green. And hey, Vicki? A “Search By Color” function would be fabulous.

At Gap Body (My favorite, y’all), I did find a cute pair – green stripey bikini undies, but admittedly was so tuckered out by the search, I have yet to buy them. They’re just sitting stubbornly in my cart.

For some reason, green just isn’t a popular color for underwear. It’s a fashion mystery that completely boggles my mind and destroys my plan to become the hyperactive underwear-matchy-girl again. It’s a shame, really.

But I’m not giving up my dream. Oh no, not me. I still have hopes of a drawer full of green drawers.

Someday.

I temper this with knowing that I bake circles around most people (moist, delicious chocolate chip circles, if you will) – and that my cookies are so good, it’s just not fair to other cookies JUST HOW GOOD mine are.

But then again, my cooking skills are merely passable.

That means I’m drawn to EASY recipes. This one is easy. It involves basically opening cans and jars – and it’s tasty, particularly when you squash up tortilla chips in it. Word of warning: it’s SPICY. Can you handle it?

Ingredients:

1 jar salsa verde (here’s where the spice comes in. Yeah, it’s hot. Also, GREEN)
2 cans chicken broth (I use low sodium so I don’t bloat like a Thanksgiving day balloon)
1 can cannelini beans – rinsed and drained
1 cup cooked, shredded chicken (this is an awesome use for leftover rotisserie chicken)

Whatcha do:

Simmer your salsa in a pan for a few minutes. Add your broth, beans and chicken. Let it simmer, stirring occasionally for about twenty minutes.

I usually serve this with half a jumbo sized bag of Tostitos squashed in it or with a side of quesadillas. And it’s so easy that even I can’t mess it up.

I think in song lyrics. Most of the time when something happens, I relate it to the lyrics of a song I know – usually a song I love, sometimes just a random song that fits.

My love of music is why I’m taking on this month’s Playlist. With a theme of Green, I coulda gone all interpretative: jealousy, money, queasy. I went literal. These are songs with GREEN in the title (I could have also listed a million more – mainly because country music likes to talk about green grass, green tractors, and other assorted green nature-y stuff).

The links included are to download the MP3 on Amazon (which is usually a smidgey-bit cheaper than that other place *cough*).

Pretty Green – Mark Ronson ft Santo Gold

O Green World – Gorillaz

Green Heaven – Red Hot Chili Peppers

Green Eyes – Cold Play

Green Shirt – Elvis Costello

Green Eyed Love – Mayer Hawthorne

Green Disease – Pearl Jam

Big Green Tractor – Jason Aldean

Where the Green Grass Grows – Tim McGraw

Blue In Green – Miles Davis

So, while I’m that annoying girl who says, “Ooooh, I want a milkshake SO BAD RIGHT NOW!” generating a chain-reaction of milkshake cravings – try it on Twitter, you’ll see – the odds of me actually getting in the car and hitting the drive-thru at MickeyD’s to get a frosty milkshake are pretty slim. Yeah, I want a milkshake but I’m pretty sure I’m too lazy to get one.

Because my cravings are persistent and loud, though, I had to come up with my OWN do-it-yourself milkshake, and really, it’s so easy and so NOT horrible for you, you can totally justify covering it with a metric ton of whipped cream.

Add one packet hot chocolate mix (I use sugar-free, natch), 1 cup skim milk, and three ice cubes to your blender.

BLEND. Then blend some more. I use the “Whip” setting on my blender. I can’t really tell the difference from one setting to another, so I’m basically just fooling myself.

Pour into a nice tall glass (or two if you’re nicer than I am and willing to share).

Don’t forget the whipped cream. Lots of it.

Image source

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Sarah is a wife, mom and stepmother who writes This Mom’s Wired. A gadget geek, book nerd, endorphin junkie, music dork, coffee lover AND a complete and total goofball, you can find Sarah on Twitter tweeting about cookies as @SarahInMI.