Tag Archives: friday night lights

Call Me Coach

I signed up to coach pre-k soccer this April. I don’t know how to play soccer, but it seems like when you’re coaching 5 year olds, the only rule is HAVE FUN!!11!!!!1 We won’t keep score or have goalies.

We signed Robin up for soccer because she’ll be attending school in our farm town this fall and we don’t know many kids around here yet. I wanted her to have some familiar faces in her kindergarten class. Plus, sports are a huge deal here, for better or worse: I think about 1/5 of the town’s population is signed up for summer rec teams. Seriously.

Maybe I’m nuts but I think it will be fun. I can think of some silly games we can do, and it’s only for 5 weeks. Just one more hat I’ll be wearing, I guess!

We’re still waiting for my niece/nephew to come into the world, still waiting for spring, too. But life is good in Iowa! How about you?

Fashion Tips for New Moms: How to MacGyver Your Way Into Being Publicly Presentable

In the spirit of our repudiation of lifestyle blogging and our interest in representing life as we life it, rather than as we wish we live it, I bring to you my New Mama Fashion Tips. These can work for any mama, but are especially useful to mothers in that transitional time after birth, when your body is lumpy, your boobs are leaky, and everything feels exposed and uncontainable and uncertain.

I’m not a fashionista, or even a nice-clothes-ista. On my first date, at age 16, I wore Mom jeans and a boxy, striped t-shirt. I kid you not. My idea of dressing up was brushing my hair and putting on lip gloss. I’ve never developed a personal style or look or signature accessory. I don’t even have pierced ears (I decided in jr high I’d rather spend my money on CDs). Motherhood has only made this aspect of my personality worse, because it’s the best reason to not look nice. First of all, no one faults you for wearing the same jeans every day when you sleep less than 3 hours at a time and have enormous, leaking breasts and look like you might cry. They are not worried about your jeans at that moment. Second of all, there’s absolutely no point in wearing that nice sweater because it’s going to get puked on or peed on, or jelly-fingered, or snot-wiped, before you leave the house. I never struggled against this inevitability, I simply assumed/hoped no one would notice. Continue reading