i'm not always a coward. well, come to think of it, i am.

this is basically what i looked like everyday, but if the car was blue...

every year for my birthday and christmas my grandma jeanie gave me $100. that's a lot of money when you're six years old- heck its a lot of money today! so much so, that i didn't totally grasp how much money i was really raking in twice a year.

however it wasn't a couple years later, when i was eight years old, and my brother was 15 that i realized i had a plan for this money. while he was busy trying to find a way to convince my parents to buy him a car, i watched and listened carefully. i can remember several long arguments as he pleaded his case. i vowed then and there i would not have to go through that. i decided to open a bank account and save all the money grandma jeanie gave me, so that on june 20, 1995 i could not only get my license, but also have my own car.

so for the next eight years, i dutifully took that check from grandma and walked over to the ol' sesloc and deposited that 100 bucks (except one christmas when i was ten years old, the weberstown mall beckoned me to buy my first leather jacket- a must when you are ten years old, but also a bit sketchy cuz afterall you are in stockton). since the math might be too difficult, i'll spare you- by the time i was 16 years old, i had close to $2000 bucks.

lucky for me, my mom's friend was selling an old volvo. not just any old volvo, but a 1982 sparkly blue turbo. this thing was bad A-S-S. not like the range rovers and beamers you see crowding the parking lots of SLOHS, this thing was growly, chunky and pure awesomeness. clearly the hottest thing to grace that parking lot in a long time. i can't tell you how cool it was to have my OWN car. FREEDOM!

after acing (that's right i got 100) on my driving test, i hit the open road. i immediately paid to get a cd player installed so i didn't have to do the ol discman with tape adapter biz my friends were wrestling with. i blasted indigo and sarah, smoked newports and just drove.

life was good.

but of course, like all new drivers i found myself in a new world. from learning to pull over for ambulances, to letting the car to your right go first at a stop sign, there was lots to learn. there was also lots to get pissed off about. like most teenage drivers i rolled through stop signs, sped, cut people off, and even flipped the bird more than i should have. this sort of behavior not only landed me some tickets and accidents, but also a few other incidents.

it was a tuesday afternoon and i had just pulled out onto johnson near SLOHS. as i pulled into the left lane i saw a car come speeding up super fast behind me. i pulled in front of it and accelerated as not to piss them off. however, she had other ideas. i should have clued into the 80's red camero and realized that this was not gonna end well. she came up super fast on my tail and started honking and waving, like i'd run over her cat or something. i was looking at her in my rear view mirror as she ranted and raved. i didn't feel like i had really done anything so wrong, so i decided to piss her off by going super slow. this really made her angry, so she decided to pass me. as she was passing me, i sped up and she got caught between me and two cars. by now she's super pissed, so much so, that she slows down and rolls down her window yelling at me to pull over. at this point i started to get a bit nervous, cuz my last altercation didn't exactly prove me a winner. so i tried to ignore her and just speed up. but instead, she got behind me and just kept yelling and motioning for me to pull over. this went on for what seemed like forever. i kept trying to loose her, but she was committed to settling this.

finally i realized that she was not gonna let this go. so i signaled to the right and pulled over on pismo st. i'd just calmly explain to her that i was sorry and we could just forget about the whole thing. she quickly signaled and pulled up right behind me as i came to a stop. i waited in my car as she opened her door. as soon as her door had closed and she began to walk my way, i saw that she was still clearly very pissed-- no raiders bomber jacket, but she was easily in her early 30's and quite possibly high on angel dust (or so i thought). just as she was about 5 feet from my window, i sped away. i watched in my mirror as she ran back to her car, but there was no way. she was safely behind me. another disaster averted, this one without tears, but a pounding heart nonetheless.

so with that said, please, do tell.

'have you ever road raged someone?'

meat might still be murder

why yes, i did just throw up in my mouth

when i was 12 years old i went to my aunt's house for the week to visit my cousins. my aunt was fresh out of a divorce and exploring some alternative ways of living. after the typical greetings and chitchat with the family, my usual june cleaver sort of aunt led me into their tv room to watch a little video.

this little video single handedly changed my life. ol johnny boy had his share of all that casein with baskin robins and was ready to blow our minds. he was kind of like the original micheal moore-- exposing the underbelly of what makes america taste so good...

anyway, the next 45 minutes my little sixth grade mind began to burst at the seams. seeing chickens and cows slaughtered in such a carnal and gruesome manner seriously traumatized me. i vowed then and there to never eat meat again. EVER.

and i didn't. for a good 10 years i stayed away from all forms of meat. i wore my vag badge proud much to the demise of many around me. it wasn't until i met b that i started to slip. he lured me into the meat trap once again (that's what she said) with whispers of bacon.... as he always says, 'pork is the gateway meat-- it will bring you back to red meat in the blink of an eye.' it wasn't long till i was slammin down sliders at applebee's with the best of 'em. no amount of threats from my brother about trichinosis could touch me now, i was makin up for lost time. supersize me seemed like a great idea, not to show how nasty mc'd's was but just cuz you got to eat that much mcdonald's... that was how far i had fallen.

with my mouth dripping with the sweet, salty gristle of bacon, i turned my eyes, ears and heart from the continued warnings... every once in awhile i'd catch glimpses of that sunny afternoon in my aunt's house, or flash back to uptain sinclair's the jungle, but for the most part the vag in me had died- just like the chickens getting electrocuted in those big drums of water. i would never be a vegetarian again.

but before i knew it suddenly it seemed ol mr. robbins was on to something. movies like food, inc came out pleading with us to stop poisoning ourselves and watch what we eat. yet i had turned, and i just wasn't sure i could come back. i started to rebel. not just in my actions, but in my heart. i wasn't gonna fall for this hoopla, these people were annoying. i had to shut them out... meat can't be murder! i love it too much!

maybe its the semi annual mr. micheals fur haters, or the fine folks over at fox news, or maybe even all those tree huggin liberals in berkely. whatever the case, i want to know...

'which activists are the most annoying?'

six month biscuits

six months seems to be a good marker for kids. they have finally exited the newborn stage, can hold a toy or two, flirting with solid foods, but still have the innocence of a new baby. tali is just past six months old, and seriously i tell her almost daily that i want to fold her back up and put her in my tummy just to freeze time. i CANNOT get enough of her. she really is scrumptious.

back when oz turned six months, i put this post up. looking at them then and looking at them now is crazy. back then i thought they looked pretty different... today they undoubtedly look like brother and sister. since they have been about the same height for a year now, i get asked almost daily if they are twins. when t hit the scene people tried to say she looked different. now that she's six months, how bout you guys weigh in?

and then i saw these similarities...

i think the biggest thing we can take from these last few pictures is that with three kids, we've had to make some sacrifices... bottles to cans... we do what we gotta do to put beer food on the table.

tightropes are slippery

if this is your first time reading this blog, you should definitely click on the column on the right... i promise i'm not always this crazy...

but its been one of THOSE weeks days... you know the ones.

my life is pretty good. sometimes it feels like its too good. chris calls it common grace, and honestly i like that approach rather than thinking its so good that something bad is bound to happen.

last mothers day we had brunch at robins in cambria. there were lots of little kids around having breakfast with their families. we were no exception, but for once our kids were surprisingly decent. in fact as i watched a little 14 month old toddle around picking up food off the ground being chased by his dad, i actually had just a twinge of nostalgia (forgetting of course that that will be us again in 6 short months). but still, i rarely wish my kids would stay little, so it was somewhat noteworthy for me.

then the next day it all came crashing down. i felt crazy dealing with the kids all day. i ignored, i threatened, i cried, yet nothing seemed to work. they fight, they hit, and we all feel just plain ugly.

i realized a few weeks back that when i have days like that its usually because i am at home more than usual, and i'm trying to accomplish other things. imagine that-- a stay at home mom actually trying to do something else!

and that's when it hit me- the hardest thing about being a stay at home mom is trying to do anything else.

i guess i'm realizing that the kids are still so young... they are not only emotionally demanding (never goes away i'm told) but also physically. that, in combination of being up so much nursing the baby, and being 'on' for the older ones all day, by the time 2 rolls around, i need a serious break. however, since they don't nap anymore, most days i feel like i want to break windows.

i don't want to sound ungrateful. i love being able to stay at home. its an honor and a privilege, and i wouldn't have it any other way. but so much time with the kids can began to consume me so much, that i worry its beginning to define me.

and honestly, that scares the crap out of me. i can't, i won't become one of those moms so wrapped up in their kids lives that one day i wake up and they are gone, and i can't remember who i am.

what kind of music i like (actually i don't even know that now), what my hobbies are? my passions? who and where my husband and friends are? i liken it to breaking up with the high school boyfriend and wondering who you are... you hear yourself ask yourself questions like i really do like blink 182 right?

3 kids is hard.

its hard not being able to meet all their needs. its hard wrestling with the guilt of loosing it on them. its hard when you don't feel like they hear anything you say. i want to be a great mom, but there is so much more i want to do.

i want to make running grrrl's great. i want the time to answer emails, and organize runs and reach out to the community. i want to have a joyful heart in hosting the bible study at my house for my dear girls on monday nights. i want to notice when my husband gets a haircut, or remember my good friends birthdays.

i want to write.

i really want to write. i want this blog to be great, and a place where people can laugh and cry and maybe have a bowel movement... whatever. i just want more and i want to do it without it being at the expense of my kids.

balance has never been as hard as it is right now. time feels so elusive and so very sacred. i know i'm not alone in this, and for that i am so thankful. we all have our own unique struggles and today, now you know mine. thanks for listening.

when therapists can't help you...

elevators.

elevators seriously used to make me crazy. from about age 6-12 i'd almost have a panic attack if i had to go in one. due to the fact that my parents were going through a divorce around that time, i was graced with countless hours in a therapists chair. i got to draw lots of pictures of how i felt, and what i wanted my family to look like... and then one day she asked me if there was anything else i would like to talk about. as she likely braced herself for some profound confession of abuse or teary admission of sin, i simply looked at her and said 'elevators.'

elevators?

'yes, i'm terribly scared to go in elevators. not just like claustrophobic scared, but like i'm almost positive that if i step inside one i will get trapped and it will just so happen to be in the twin towers and airplanes will come crash into them (premonition?)'

so maybe i didn't say it exactly like that, but in my mind that was definitely what was going to happen.

she listened carefully as i told her about all the hysteria surrounding elevators for me. after giving me some line about how its a metaphor for how i feel trapped by my parents separation... she quickly realized that this was the kinda situation that no amount of xanax could help.

soooo like any good psychologist she told me she would have some ideas on how to fix this next time we meet (cuz who the hell teaches you in school how to counsel a 10 yr old kid on overcoming elevator fears-- this was clearly going to take some deep research).

fortunately for me riding in elevators was not part of my daily living. but i tell you what, the day i walked out of her office, i had the utmost confidence that my problem would quickly be solved. that whole week i avoided them at all costs, which wasn't hard cuz growing up in SLO there was like maybe 6 in the whole city.

tuesday rolled around and i took my seat in that stiff wicker chair and awaited my instructions.

...(cue soothing therapist voice) 'so, holly, after what we talked about last week i was thinking it would be a good idea to discuss some solutions to your fear of riding in elevators. (pause for effect) i don't know if you know this, but (drum roll) all elevators have inside them a certificate of inspection. its standard, and once you step inside (hello that's the problem biaatch) you can always read the certificate to insure that it has been properly inspected and cleared for use by a certified elevator inspector. finding this paper in the elevator will allow you to have the peace of mind knowing that nothing will go wrong on your short ride to the second floor (big smile)'

really? is someone really paying you for this? cuz that advice seriously sucked.

the happy ending (no thanks to her) is that i'm now 30 and have overcome my fear of elevators. this may or may not be because i grew up and married a a man who is an engineer, then birthed his son who is apparently wired just like him and has enabled me to spend countless hours in elevators cuz that's pretty much his favorite thing to do. whatever the case, these days there's no elevator to small, shaky or tall for me. i'm happy to say i am more than a conqueror... with no thanks to some shady, wrinkly notice of inspection.

with that said, this week i want to know...

'what fear have you outgrown?'

matthew patrick

i've always wanted a big family.

the bulk of my childhood was just me and my mom. i know God makes no mistakes, and the time we had together truly was priceless. my mom and i have a bond and an intimacy like very few. its something that sustains and encourages me on a daily basis, and for that i am eternally grateful. however i can't help but wonder sometimes what it would have been like if my parents had stayed married and i got to re-capture those formative years with a sibling...

not just any sibling, but my only sibling...

my brother matt is seven years older than me. when our parents divorced, i was eight and matt was fifteen. he went to live with my dad and i stayed with my mom. but regardless of the divorce, our age difference was so vast that we never really stood a chance to connect in our youth anyway. while he was shaving his head and 'cruising for chicks' i was playing with care bears and kittens, and as he smoked his first joint, i got to drink my first soda pop. his idea of bonding was a solid punch in the arm or flicking boogers at me. in its plainest form, i had nothing to offer. and honestly, with the age and gender gap, i wasn't even sure what to think or do with him. and then before i knew it, he left SLO all together and what little contact we had pretty much vanished.

with that said, i do have quite a few memories of him in those years. matt has always pushed the limits... whether its playing with matches one to many times and lighting our whole backyard on fire, or taking me for rides on his motorcycle with no helmet...

if i had to sum it up, my brother was cool.

not like jonas brother's cool, but like john bender from breakfast club cool. he played hard, and partied even harder. after he left SLO i know very little about his years in colorado and florida. the few stories i have heard, don't even rival me on my wildest night.

however, time has a way of giving us back what we lost, cuz after 2 pitiful years at UCSC i came back to SLO and moved into a little house on church street with my mom. not 2 months later my brother landed back home in one piece ready to get his s*it together. he began his academic journey at cuesta. even though it took him a little bit longer than some of us to get back to school, once he did take the plunge, he really found his calling-- a calling that has landed him his own incredibly successful consulting firm at the young age of 35.

our time on church street really allowed us to get re-acquainted. it was an incredibly formative time for myself as i was exiting a grueling 3 yr relationship with my high school boyfriend and trying to find myself again. it wasn't long before i quit pinching from his stash and turned in the ol peace pipe for a bible. i'm sure it was incredibly confusing for him to watch what little ground we had gained be lost in his mind, as i launched into a world he knew little about.

as our time on church street ended and matt made his way to the heart of the redwoods to finish his schooling, the distance came upon us again. this time not due to age or gender, but simply due to proximity. now adults, we talked on the phone every so often, but it wasn't until he got married and had his first child that i feel like things really changed.

my brother scored. he married an amazing woman. someone who is able and willingly to love him un-conditionally... and if that wasn't enough god gave them an absolutely delightful little girl. since my sister in law is a teacher and my brother's consulting firms season is the summer, it enabled him to be almost a full-time stay at home dad. with him being at home, he began calling me all the time. it was awesome. we'd talk about everything... parenting, god, marriage, drugs-- nothing was off limits. i felt like we connected on a whole new level, and an intimacy was forged between us that i know cannot be altered.

in this time i got to know my brother again. there really is so much to love. the guy is first of all hilarious- like most of us on the richmond side. b always trips out on how weird and funny we all are when we get together. but like his funny side, matt has a real sensitive side as well. we often joke that he's like mom and i'm like our dad. quick example- when the swine flu hysteria hit, both of them bought their masks on the first day and stocked their pantry's for the impending epidemic, while my dad and i sat back and watched the hysteria die. matt was the first person to ever tell me why i should eat organic, and why i should care about the earth. he's not just green like trader joe's or new frontiers, he's green like food co-op's and bags of weird herbs (yes that one too) and grains. recently when he came to visit he was taking shots of clay every morning. yes clay, like in pottery class clay people. he was the first to tell me about pork parasites and the mucoid plaque, and the first to love me enough to tell my why all of this matters and not just shout it in my face.

as my kids get older, i finally get to see their small age gap working in my favor... though they fight like banchi's, they love just as hard. i see lily guiding and encouraging oz, and i see oz helping lily to break away from her dolls and polly pockets and cut loose with thomas or crash monster trucks together. the other day i was wasting copious amounts of time on fb paying bills and i heard lily and oz in their room playing trains. it was so sweet to hear their little imaginative train voices as they created scenarios on the island of sodor. i felt such a longing, and just a twinge of envy as i realized that i missed so many years of that with my own brother. but then i remembered that god heals us in time, and now i have in a brother more than i ever could have imagined...

so on your 38th birthday matt, i want you to know, i love you more than ever. and i am so thankful that God gave me you as my one and only sibling.

boom, splat, spray

so i thought i'd try and lighten things up a bit this week. i guess i'm trying to get back to what i think i do best... embarrassing myself. thanks to last weeks post, i feel like you guys have a pretty good insight into my soul and innermost being.

this week...

welcome to my bowels.

your welcome.

now, you may just want to stop reading if you are easily offended by words such as hemorrhoid, diarrhea, fissure, IBS, constipation, or assquake...

cuz this juicy (no pun intended) post has it all.

if you know me at all, you know i got issues downstairs. i'll spare you the gritty details, but the long and the short of it is ever since three rabid badgers came tearing out of my area, things have never really been the same.

there are times, like a lot of you when things are easy peazy downstairs. no need for sitz bath's or miralax, or copious amounts of tums. you might call them good days... for me they are the glory days. however, more than ever, those glory days have become more and more rare as my body has been in full rebellion... making me a slave to the porcelain throne.

we've all had our times, you know the ones... on an airplane, in your wetsuit, or stuck in traffic. its like all of the sudden it literally feels like gremlins are multiplying in your stomach and you seize up knowing that something similar to that green slime on nickelodeon is about to come shrieking out of your booty. your hands start sweating, your armpits are instantly wet... your mouth is dry, dizziness starts to overcome you. you feel a craving for relief like no heroin addict ever knew. you need to get your badonkadonk on the toilet ASAP.

a friend of mine told me the story of her boss who was on a quick commuter flight with no bathroom to a business meeting. the trots came like the rushing wind and he had no choice but to literally diarrhea his pants. did i mention it was a day trip? no change of clothes handy... just your prospective clients waiting for you at the airport. cuz nothing says, 'i got my sh*t together' like my khaki's are full of green apple nasties!

as much as i'd like to claim that one as my own, mines not nearly as glamorous. it began with your basic day trip to santa barbara. it was me, b, lils and oz. i was about 6 months pregnant with tali. me and b were talking casually when all of the sudden the whistle belly thumps began, my stomach started churning, and i knew that i had exactly 47 seconds till colon blow. there was no time for finding a starbucks bathroom, or even a dingy hole in the wall gas station... we're talking straight pull this mother over and get me to the side of the road. NOW. fortunately for all of us, we were in that dead area between santa maria and orcutt. so b maneuvered to an exit, where i literally opened the car door and copped a squat with only the car door as my shield. no time to find bushes, or wrap a towel around me. full blown highway 101 dooce. b starts cracking up, the kids are asking incessantly if i'm okay, but for me, i honestly never felt so happy. relief in its purest form. i grabbed a kirkland wipe, dug a little hole for the wipe and hopped back in the van with a smile on my face. it wasn't till we had turned around and were heading back to the freeway that i saw some sort of 'work crew' basically just south of where i took care of biz... for a second i was mortified. then i just laughed realizing these guys prolly hadn't seen a naked booty in years, and i knew i'd never see them again... so in a lot of ways, it really was a win - win.

so after that full disclosure and waaaay more detail than you could've wanted, please, do tell...

"where's the worst place you've had to relieve yourself?"

oh, and don't try and cop out with some measly pee in the alley story. i want the pee out your a** story!