Friday, July 26, 2013

Maude VS The Month of July

Three years ago this morning I received the call that came far too soon.  It was a call from my brother to let me know that our Dad has passed away unexpectedly the night before.  July 26, 2010. 

We had just moved to Portland to begin a new adventure in a big city, the city where my parents were both born & raised, the city where they met and married, and the city that I always felt at home.

I had seen him last, two weeks before, at the 70th birthday party that his twin sister hosted at her home.  Dad came to stay with me for two more nights after the party and then left. 

Aside from a voice mail from him, I can't recall that I actually spoke to him again before he was gone.  I'll never forgive myself for that.

July is a month of memories, some good and some bad.  It seems like July is the month that "Shit Rains Down on My Family" ever since we got here.  A month that, from here on out, I think should be "The Month We Run Away to Barbados And Hide Until August 1".

I'm not blaming any sort of karma-ic influence, or Portland as a whole, in fact it's quite the opposite.  I think the stars aligned to put us here because of all the crap that was coming down the pike for us.  This is where we needed, and still need, to be.

I could tick off on both hands the number of fortunate and unfortunate events that have transpired in July, but I won't, aside from pointing out that July 2012 was a month of tragedy and triumph, at least there was triumph this time.

July 12 was my life saving bilateral mastectomy, and the official YOU ARE CANCER FREE phone call came on the 19th.  But, July was also a month of misery, worry, and missed opportunities.  I'm not going to lie, that surgery was a bitch, the recovery no better.

So July is, for me, memories of a "series of unfortunate events", good, bad and at times ugly.  I'm not exactly why I am reflecting on any of this today, I'm not a "dweller". 

I work so very hard at putting things behind me, trying to "just keep swimming" and smiling and pretending that everything, at the present time, is all sunshine and rainbows, even when there's a shit storm brewing below the surface.

As it stands, I'm a bit puzzled as to why I am, at the surface today, near tears.  I do know that I am thankful that there are only five days left of this miserable month.  Five days left of remembering what I've lost, what I've gained and what I've missed.

And, right now, I'm missing out on the laughter and joy of two children who will, I sincerely hope, never know of the Bliss and Chaos that has been the norm in the month of July for me.  For us. 

I think we're going to play poker, then read on my bed, and have a good lunch together.  I'm ever hopeful that memories like this will start to outnumber those that break my heart in the month of July. 

Today I'm going to put on my big girl pants, allow myself to be sad for a little bit and then ride off into the sunset with my kids and my husband and focus on what's important: the here and now.

I'll never stop missing my Dad, I'll never stop loving him.  I'll never stop wishing I'd called him one last time, to tell him that I loved him.  I could never have said it enough, and I do know that now.

I'll never stop wishing I could rewind time and erase all the cancer stuff from last summer (new rack being the exception, that part I would keep most definitely). 

One thing I refuse to wish is that I'd spent more time enjoying my family.  So, for today, I'm signing off to go tickle the hell out of said children and hope that I don't use every box of kleenex in the house today....

Love always,


Friday, July 19, 2013

Maude goes to dinner, drinks and (gasp) ice cream with someone famous

Nearly two months ago I was giddy with anticipation because someone that I, Maude, a 40 year old woman, look up to & highly admire, wanted to have drinks with ME and my BRF!  OMG. 

To say she's kind of a big deal in Portland, and in the nationwide (and international as it turns out) mother runner community would be like saying Steve Prefontaine was just another runner.  So, I slapped the date into my calendar and there was nothing, NOTHING, that would stop me from going.

If I had to leave food & water out and barricade the three kids in for the night without a sitter, so be it.  Duct tape would help out here immensely and I've got a lot of it.  They'd be fine. 

What the hell, I mean I've already purchased a lifetime's worth of therapy sessions rather than invest in their college fund (honestly, which will they need more, really?  Therapy, absolutely.  My thoughts exactly.) So what would a couple of hours of abandonment do to them anyway?  Couldn't be much worse....

Last week the hubs (who is a freaking SAINT by the way) let me know that he had some evening work functions all week long, including Thursday night, my night, the girls night, the night that Bonnie & Clyde would meet another local celebrity. 

So I jumped on the phone and texted and called every babysitter I knew.  None, of them and I mean NONE of them were available.   I was crestfallen.  Despondent.  Really considering the duct tape plan.

I contacted friends, friends of friends, thought about an ad on Craigslist, but decided against it because there was no time for a fingerprint/background check/blood test and I'd have to take my chances that any Joe Schmoe willing to watch three children for four or more hours for $10 an hour wouldn't try to sell them on eBay or worse.....

Then my son's baseball game was moved to 7PM, at the same time I should be swilling white wine with the famous & beautiful....  Now I'd have to find a babysitter with a driver's license.  I've learned to trust fate and believe that things will always work out, and thankfully, at least this time, they did. 

I will say here publicly that I sincerely doubt that my sitter will ever step foot in my house again for a paid babysitting gig, or quite frankly for any other reason no matter how lucrative it might be.  I'm fairly certain all three kids tortured her.  There's not enough money in Brady's piggy bank (yes I am THAT mom) to compensate for that...

So the sitter was in place, Brady's ride to the game secure, and it was time to get ready for the evening. 

I own one ONE single summer dress that's appropriate, well marginally so as Bonnie & Clyde are well-featured but maybe not necessarily for a girls night out, but what the hell, like I said I own one summer dress so there you go.

Time for a head to toe assessment, when you're meeting someone you look up to/admire you want to look your best. 

Hair: full of gray, when WAS the last time I colored it?  I can't remember, that's not good.  Too late anyway, I've got 45 minutes until the sitter arrives.  Just slap on some pomade to keep those really wire-y gray hairs flat.  Hopefully.

Eyebrows: out of control, why am I such a chicken shit when it comes to waxing?  Oh yes, here's why: A Story Never Told Guess I better do what I can, which isn't much...hope my eyeshadow covers up the strays.

Teeth: Gotta stop drinking so much coffee, oh well note to self: smile without showing teeth.  Even if you have too much wine, do NOT forget.  (I totally forgot.)

Bonnie & Clyde: Damn this dress and the fact that I have no bra to wear with it and that there's no way to even pad the boob part.  B & C might think it's too cold at any given moment (yes, even if it's 90 degrees), super embarrassing...  Better grab my wrap.

Hands: Oh crap, I re-potted several plants, then made jam, which made my fingernails look like I work in an auto shop.  No time to soak.  Damn.  Maybe I should bring her some jam and then I can explain my dirty fingernails? No, better not, she might think I poisoned it or some crazy stalker thing.  Hope I can wash most of it out.  I could, and I did.  Didn't bring the jam.  Unfortunate too, I have a shit ton of it....

Feet: covered in callouses (so bad that a friend gave me a pumice stone, which told me my feet must look REALLY hideous) that I promise to remove once running season is over.  But, is it ever really over?  Meantime at least she's a runner too, she won't even blink an eye. 

But the toes....damn me and my dark purple polish.  Gave them an emergency coat which close up looks like I was drunk when I painted them, but she's tall too, won't even see them and my BRF would never say anything.  All good.

Oh shit, the mustache.....the Burt Reynolds-worthy 'stache.  Still haven't bleached it....sun hasn't helped.  Hope I'm at the right angle in the sun that it just sparkles like diamonds.....

Slapped in some earrings, grabbed my pretend Chanel purse and waited for the sitter. 

The youngest of the three, our sweet little summer visitor, picked the VERY moment BEFORE the sitter arrived to lose her shit.  I was afraid the sitter would leave.  She didn't, thank GOD.  Note to self: pay EXTRA.  (I did).

My BRF said "get the hell in the car, let's go, don't look back!"  We ran to the car and jumped in like Bo & Luke Duke.  It was like we robbed a bank or something the way we tore out of there....two wheels around the corner in a mini van and everything.

Our evening was totally amazing. I enjoyed talking to another fellow mother runner, (even a FAMOUS one!) who always makes you feel like you've known her FOREVER.  Seriously, the first time I met her at an event for her new book she totally made us all feel like we'd know her for YEARS.  I really like that kind of gal.

I'm sure she was thinking Maude is totally crazy (I tell lots of silly little stories to compensate for being super nervous so I'm sure I seemed like a total tool) but it was so much fun to hang out with her, because she's HILARIOUS.  My kind of lady.

We talked about anything and everything, the three of us mother runners, and it was such a fun night.  It was totally worth the traffic, the crazy babysitter situation, and (almost worth) the fact that my poor son almost didn't get picked up from his baseball game.....oh the shame. 

As the evening came to a close I excused myself to the ladies room as I was trying to stealthily text my husband (who was ordering "espresso" at the time) and the sitter, who already put the youngest to bed to see who could pick him up.  Then his coach called as we were on the Freemont bridge. Oh the SHAME....

The sitter did pick up the boy, as the house guest, in general, refuses sleep when the opportunity initially presents itself, so it wasn't an issue anyway.  Had to swing by the cash machine (epic fail on my part, I only put the credit card in my purse and forgot the cash card) so had to borrow the rest of the babysitting money from my BRF.  Once again, she saves the day....

I do hope that I'll have another opportunity for drinks with Sarah Bowen Shea, she's one helluva Bad Ass Mother Runner and I'm honored that she wanted to hang with me and my bud.  Maude is one happy lady.

Friday, July 12, 2013

Maude VS Maude Part 2: The bike & run

I'm not sure it's been properly noted but I'm calling this Maude VS Maude because A) I'm a head case, and B) so much of what I put myself through was a mental game for me, and likely everyone else.

When we last talked I was headed for the bike mount area of the practice tri.  Before I get to that, I do need to note that as I was racking my bike I saw about 10,000 road bikes, and not one single mountain bike.  Panic set in, as it did when I realized I was also in the minority of the wetsuit or no wetsuit group: no wetsuit.

I had no clips, no little foot cage thingys for my feet, nothing.  It was like I was hopping on my Pee Wee Herman bike for a trip to the store.  I was only missing a bell.  But, I was there, what the hell, I just need to get on that bike and head for those "rolling hills".

I call bullshit, here's a map with the elevation profile:  Rolling hills my ass.  And for a chick who has only been on a road one other time in the last like 40 years, I smoked this all things considered.  Completed it in about 43 minutes and some change. 

But there's a story, as there always is with me.  The lady, who clearly was trying to make me feel better, completely undersold the bike and the trail run. The only thing she was right about was not needing a wetsuit.  The ONLY thing....

I knew enough to put my bike in a low gear to get up the first hill, and then coast down.  I figured that had to be the worst of it.  Oh hell was I ever wrong. 

Every hill climb I slipped into a spin gear (seated hill climb per the spin bike) and I felt like Eliot in ET just peddaling my wheels and floating, but not going anywhere fast.

Every descent was like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, completely out of control, and coasting (had to give the legs a rest you know).

The only, and longest ride to date was 8 miles in Sunriver, and it wasn't this hilly.  I was suddenly disgruntled that my family was there, if they hadn't come I could have wimped out and headed back.  My brain was saying "you're such a dumbass, what were you thinking?!"

So I decided to entertain myself, as long as I'm on a bike for the rest of my life, let's do something fun.  So, I sang.  TOP OF MY LUNGS sang.  I sang Britney Spears "Scream and Shout", Bruno Mars "Runaway Baby", anything and everything.  There was NO ONE NEARBY! (or so I thought anyway)

I passed a couple people, apologizing each time (I passed on the right, but in my defense they were in the road and the rules were STAY RIGHT, and I warned them I was coming, but I still felt bad.....)  Gave a verbal high five to the ONLY other human on a mountain bike.

"Hey! Someone ELSE with a bike like me!" she said.  I replied "Thank GOD! This is my first one of these."  "Me too!" was her reply.  I told her to have a great ride and I never saw her again.  But at least I felt less like a schmuck!

I realized about mile 4 that I forgot TWO THINGS I NEED: Gum in my mouth and lip balm.  When you're flying down hill panting like a hound dog on a sun porch in Georgia on a July afternoon you wish wish wish you had some freaking gum.  I did not.  Totally forgot in my transition rush. 

And, didn't reapply lip balm, another one of my little OCD quirks, so in between singing I downed the Nuun in my water bottle to whet my whistle and vowed to take an extra 30 seconds to find those two things during T2.

But the singing, oh the singing, it continued for quite some time until I hit the dam where I saw some of the most beautiful scenery I've ever seen on a bike ride.  Remember, I did ride in Sunriver....

The sun was sliding down on the horizon, spilling light onto the lake like a paint can filled with gold tipped over a blue canvas.  To the east were luscious green fields and rolling hills, neatly trimmed and perfect.   I was immediately thankful that for the time being my allergy medicine was working well.

"It's F-ing GORGEOUS!!!" I exclaimed to no one in particular.  Then I hear "Yes it is!  On your left!" so after that I kind of kept my trap shut.  God knows how long he was back there listening to me belt out some very out of tune songs.

As I rounded the last few miles I caught up to some people.  That kind of made me feel good and gave me some motivation even if I thought my legs would fall off.  I chatted up one guy and said "I'd rather be running a half marathon right now" to which he replied, "You seem to be doing fine, you're quite conversational!"  Guess maybe he was the poor guy behind me that I didn't know about....

I passed him a little later and then passed a girl with 29 on her calf.  If you don't know, they write your age on your right calf, why I have no idea, but they do, and they did, and I was feeling like hot shit when I caught up to her.

She was HILARIOUS!  She's dating a triathlete who kind of made her start doing this stuff, I figure it must be true love and they'll eventually get married and breed a clad of Ironman children, after all who would willingly sign up for this for a dude (or a chick) and go through with it if it wasn't for love.  Or good sex. Whatever.  They'll get married, that's all I'm saying.

We were talking about running pace and she asked how fast I planned to run, I said normally 9 minute miles but after this brutal climb I'm not sure my legs will move.  She said she would run 11s and would just see me at the BBQ. 

I asked if there was beer and she said no, but she did chug one before she started the race.  I like this girl, even if she is 29 and has a real bike.  NOTE TO SELF: maybe a quick shot of something might ease my nerves?  Good plan.

She talked me down (actually up) the final hill until we rounded the "dismount" section and I never saw her again.

Here I am slowing down to dismount.  I think I might be smiling.  The kids were there ringing their cowbells, God LOVE them.  It was a welcome sight.  The lady behind me at the cone was the liar liar pants on fire who told me about the "rolling hills" and the upcoming "trail run" that was on a wide path with no roots or ruts.....

My transition from bike to run was a snap.  Threw my bike on the rack, removed helmet & glasses, found the gum & lip balm (thank GOD) and took off on the run.

The run part was very much undersold as an easy little trail run, wide, compact dirt, no ruts or roots.  Again, I call bullshit.  Holy crap, 90% was a one runner path. I started singing again, composing a new song titled "What the F-k was I thinking" and I sang it through most of the run, much to the delight of others, who I tend to think were in 100% agreement with my feelings at that moment.

I passed a couple runners here and there and I saw that I was going to finish, possibly, in 1:10 if I put the pedal to the medal.  I started out at a 6:30 pace on the run (OMFG cuz I NEVER run that fast) as apparently you tend to go faster off the bike not because you can (your legs feel like tree trunks) but because you're used to flying at high speed and your brain has to adjust.

I did settle in to a more realistic pace as I hill climbed the trails!  But then I floored it, hoping to see 59:59 on my watch as I finished.  It was 59:45 when I passed through the finish line.  I new it was about 10 minutes on the swim including transition which my husband thankfully clocked for me.  I was right on the money, 1 hour, ten minutes, and it. was. awesome.

 Nothing but smiles!
There I am, Little House on the Prairie braids and skinny little legs powering through the finish at a 7:45 pace no less.  I ran 2 miles in sub 8s after putting my body through all that other stuff.  Can't believe it. 

My fuel plan was great, my hydration plan worked, my training is spot on and even though I'm a mental case, I can't wait to do it again, in the real sprint: 1/2 mile swim, 12 mile bike and 5K run on August 3.

One more little side note, I realized this morning that my breast cancer survivor clock started one year ago today.  ONE. YEAR.  And I've learned a lot about myself this past year, and more importantly how much my family means to me. 

Even though this was a practice event, I'm so grateful that they were there, and that they always have been, no matter what torture my body endures: surgery, racing, more surgery, more racing.  The best piece of advice I got for this event was from my husband (and, well Dori in Finding Nemo):  Just keep swimming.  From here on out, that's what I'm going to do.


Thursday, July 11, 2013

Maude VS Maude Part 1 (AKA Maude VS the swim)

So, whatever, I'm insane.  Clinically speaking, I do believe.  As many of you know I've been a "runner" on and off since my junior high days.  I also, on rare occasion, swim.  I almost never, ever, ever ride a bike for pleasure let alone competition.

And yet.....a little over a year ago I signed up for a sprint triathlon, the same year I signed up for two half marathons and my first relay race.  Of the four events I was only able to do the relay because of the whole "breast cancer" thing.

I ate the Girlfriend's Half marathon bib because of my own stupidity in thinking I could keep running while still sick.  Duh.  Lesson learned.  I sold my Holiday Half bib because, well, lesson learned, and I had a scheduled total hysterectomy and boob replacement surgery the next day.  Wasn't gonna be a good idea.

The sprint triathlon was missed because it was a mere 2.5 weeks after my bilateral mastectomy.  And, sadly, in my pain medication induced state I strongly considered doing the duathlon, run bike run, because 2.5 weeks post surgery it's ALWAYS a good idea to tackle a major athletic event.  I've learned so many lessons since then.

Instead, somewhere inside me common sense prevailed and I deferred my entry to this summer.  So far I've crushed my PR for Shamrock and completed my first half marathon in May, thank you BRF.  I switched to tri training one week after the half and I gotta say, I'm hooked.

I love the variety of tri training, granted training for a sprint is really nothing compared to the half marathon, but whatever the bottom line is my old 40 year old body almost never hurts anymore. 

In my infinite wisdom I've been training on a Spin bike this ENTIRE TIME.  You see, not only did I register for the sprint on August 3, but also for a "practice" tri, which I completed last night, and I have no bike.  Well, I have a 250 lb GIANT of a 20 year old bike, that belonged to the hubs in college, but I don't have a road bike, let alone any sort of decent bike to ride.

So yeah, I signed up for these event anyway, hoping a bike would magically appear, much like my kids staring at their clothes in the morning as they gleefully anticipate them just jumping onto their bodies without any effort whatsoever.

Never said I was smart.  Jussayin'.

Fortunately one of my bestest friends in the whole world loaned me her mountain bike last night.  It was only the SECOND TIME I ever rode on the road for training.  The first was on vacation last weekend.  Here's my trusty steed and my bike mechanic:

 (NOTE: I am aware it's a mountain bike, beggars can't be choosers)

Yesterday I woke up in a bit of a panic.  Reality set in that I have only been on the road ONCE, missed a week of training AND, that whole "I've never done anything like this before" fear.  I'm a bit on the OCD side, so I printed a list of things to bring, revised it, reprinted, revised it, printed again.

Then I checked it probably 5 or 6 times to make sure I had all my stuff.  And again right before we left I triple checked.  Honestly, I was less afraid jumping out of a freaking airplane, no lie.  And a parachute, well you'd think that would be OCD-worthy of checking.....

I was concerned about fuel & foot/leg cramps so I ate my weight in bananas (no small feat, this youtube video illustrates my own personal difficulty with the fruit:  and downed a few glasses of Nuun ahead of the event.

The Nuun was an excellent idea, mostly because of my nervous bowels.  Let's just say I had a pretty clean colon by noon AND I was probably 2 LBS lighter, which would help with dragging my sorry ass through open water and then 11 miles on the bike.  More on THAT later.

At about 10AM complete & total panic set in.  I had never really asked anyone to come with me, all along I planned on going it "alone" but then my BRF thought she might be able to make it, and then in the end wasn't.  I never considered asking the hubs because I figured dragging our two children and our bonus child (long story, more on that later too) would be too much to ask.

I texted a simple "I wish you could come tonight" and sobbed when I received a "let's do it!" response in reply.  He was willing, and I mean NO hestitation willing to drag three surly children to Hagg Lake around their bedtime for what could amount to three hours of his life that he can never get back.  But he did.  And I cried so hard when he said he was coming.

We arrived at Boat Ramp C and I grabbed all my gear and the bike and rolled over to start asking really stupid questions about what the hell to do.   Terrified doesn't begin to describe my feeling.  I've been training for awhile, swimming, running and spinning.  It isn't like I physically couldn't handle a 300 yard swim, 10 mi bike and 2 mile run, but the mental game is a WHOLE different story!

This is my self portrait mere moments before I thought I would puke my guts out, and was in the "what the hell was I thinking I have no business being here" frame of mind.

The whole point on this event anyway was to test my training, practice transitions and just get some of the nerves out.  I fussed and fussed over my gear, laid it out, rearranged, remember, OCD.  Here's my stuff at the ready:

I arrived WELL in advance of the event and then it ran 15 minutes late.  OMG.  Repeated trips to the restroom.  REPEATED.  And they ran out of toilet paper!  GAH!!!!!!!!!  Nothing like a good delay to get your nerves (and bowels) REALLY worked up.

After the official "meeting" I had about 7 minutes to slap on my swim cap, strip down to my suit and head to the water for the start.

My strategy was to let the pack get in the water, then slip in at the back and swim freestyle.  Thankfully the rope & buoy were on my breathing side.  NOTE TO SELF: practice breathing on both sides during the next swim, you got lucky this time.

Here I am at the ready chatting up another lady who was VERY kind and VERY sweet and gave me lots of good tips, and said YES when I asked if it was normal to want to barf BEFORE getting in the water:

NOTE: I'm the only idiot in a Speedo suit and nothing even remotely triathlon worthy for a swim.  This SCREAMS "newbie!"

Hagg Lake was WINDY as hell with ocean like swells.  OK, maybe not THAT big, but it has  been 17 years since I did an open water swim (remember, I signed up for this without a bike so this should be no surprise!) and they seemed HUGE.

I let about 75% of the swimmers go and hopped in 30 seconds after the start.  It was very windy and choppy and I started sucking in water doing freestyle.  I had previously and mentally prepared myself to swim the breast stroke if needed, knowing that it's only about 10 seconds slower than my freestyle pace.  At least I've been in a pool recently!  I went ahead and made the switch and was very thankful.  You can roll with the swells easier when you can see them coming.

This is me swimming freestyle, you can't see me really well, but I'm the first swimmer to the northeast of the lady still standing there in a blue wetsuit.  At least my stroke was looking good even though I abandoned freestyle.  And I don't feel one bit bad about that AT ALL.

I treaded water just twice for a nano second to adjust my goggles which took on water on the left side.  I frequently swim through equipment malfunctions specifically for this purpose so I didn't panic when it happened, cuz I KNEW it would.  Phew.

My body was screaming "what the HELL were you thinking?!" as I rounded the buoy.  Then the sunlight was so bright, I heard people complaining and I just said "just keep swimming" as my husband told me to do.  So I did just that.

At this stage, I felt like I'd been in the water for 20 minutes so imagine my surprise when I saw 7:07 on the clock when I got out on the VERY SLPPERY MUDDY SHORE.  I swam 300 yards in 6:37 with the breast stroke in choppy water.  OMG.  Guess I CAN do this....onto the bike.

I scrambled up the hill to T1 and in under three minutes was wheeling my bike to the "mount" section.  One of the coordinators warned me that the ride had lots of "rolling hills" and to pace myself.  Rolling hills my ass.  And, it was no 10 mile ride either......

Maude VS Maude part 2: The Bike will be posted as soon as I can write it.....

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

I shouldn't complain.....but.......

OK I know this is NOT a post I should pen, I am sure I'll take some heat, but with all the hot flashes I get, I can take it.  BRING it bitches.  Ha ha ha.....

There's really not much I'd change about the way things have worked out for me at this point.  Well, I'd probably forgo breast cancer entirely, but I'd still like to keep Bonnie & Clyde.  Getting a new rack was my just dessert for having my old ones turn on me. 

That said, I think I got a little bit greedy when selecting the finished product.  When you've spent your whole life without any boobs (save for pregnancy and also the time I was fat, for like years) I'd estimate about 30 of my 40 years my chest area looked like a teenage boy.

So when presented with the opportunity to actually have a new front porch, I was reluctant at first to go big or go home.  No, at first I felt a little guilt at thinking I might like a nicer pair that what was removed.  But, I got over that.  QUICK.

You don't REALLY know how big they'll be during reconstruction until all is said and done, the implants are in and the swelling goes down.  I cried, literally CRIED when the lady (ironically named Tami, which was the nickname I chose for my tamoxifen induced alter-ego) told me my size.

You spend your whole life at a negative cup size, and suddenly you're a freaking D?!?!  I won the booby lottery peeps!  And, I got three new TOTALLY FREE bras (thank you insurance) from one of the best places to buy bras: NORDSTROM!

This was all in January, WELL before summer season and bathing suit weather.  So here's the complaint, and it's ALL good mind you, but oy.  What an adventure.

I am 6 feet tall.  I weigh less than I should (I'm not sayin' cuz my Mom reads this blog and she'll tell me to eat more) so sporting a D makes it kinda hard to find a bathing suit top.  And it's partially because of the size and also because, well, these suckers don't MOVE.

Normal boobs can sort of get mushed around into a bra or swim top.  Try it, you'll see.  Implants, well they really don't go anywhere.  There are benefits, more on that later, but trying on swimsuits was an epic adventure.

I have one tankini that I can wear to the pool, and I really wanted to add another one into the rotation.  The college boys at the pool this week have seen far too much of me, as has the kid who just graduated from the high school where I work.  Let's just say Bonnie & Clyde have been getting plenty of Vitamin D....

I made the mistake of buying a top "off the rack" at Old Navy.  Got it home and slapped it on and my lady junk BARELY fit into the cup, and I mean the cups only covered the bottom third of my boobelies.  RETURN.

Thinking the molded cup option was out, but anything else was fair game, Kaylee and I hit Target last night for summer shorts for her and a tankini top for me.  I tried one on, and yes, it looked FANTASTIC on Bonnie & Clyde, but not 40 year old mother of two with a job at a high school fantastic, it was 20 something with perky tits and no children have sucked the life out of them fantastic. 

I took a picture and texted it to Mark to get his opinion.  I figured if he thought it showed too much (he's quite proud of them actually) then it was not the right choice.  Unfortunately I received the following text in reply to my query of too revealing?:  "Little bit.  Plus, your son saw this text.  He's traumatized."

Poor kid.  But, they did look spectacular.  And not at all real.

So back to the drawing board, Kaylee and I snagged 6 more tops to try on of a variety of shapes & sizes.  I was DRIPPING WITH SWEAT at the end, it's hard to squeeze into tankini tops over and over and over and honestly I couldn't really find one that was appealing.  For the most part, if the boob area fit me, the rest of the suit looked like I was wearing a tent, or a maternity suit.

If the rest of the suit fit, the top looked like it was straining to keep things contained.  Bonnie & Clyde were wanting to run free if ya know what I mean.  So I KNOW this is a random and COMPLETELY selfish rant, I mean who the F should complain that their new boobs are too big for a bathing suit?  But I just found it more amusing than anything else. 

I should note that eventually I DID find something that is somewhat acceptable in the end, but it was an hour long process and I think Kaylee fell asleep during the whole ordeal.  Poor girl.  Now I've officially traumatized both kids as she was stuck in the dressing room with me....

Oh well, add it to the list of things they can discuss with their therapist when they are grown.  Anyone have some referrals for me yet?

So you take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have me running around without a bra today.  FREEDOM! (remember me telling you there IS a benefit to boobs that don't move?)

I promise to never ever ever ever complain about my new lady junk, I just had to share this, because, you know, I'm just a giver.