A Complete Idiot’s Guide to Trophy Wife-ing

My trophy wife data comes from observing a good handful of Las Vegas women who have forgotten they’re not Kardashians…

A COMPLETE IDIOT’S GUIDE TO BECOMING A TROPHY WIFE

Regardless of your social media platform of choice, avoid taking selfies without Snapchat filters. Use only the dog or flower crown filter lest you should reveal your age (and pores).

If your Starbucks order is not to your liking, or if the drive-thru employee put the order label over the cup’s logo AGAIN, thus ruining above mentioned selfie with your drink, address the issue. Let your complaints fly off of your lips with the same sharpness as the needle that has just injected them. If that sounds harsh, you’re better suited to hang out with the soccer moms, not the trophy wives.

Make an effort not to furrow your brows in your Starbucks scolding. Never show signs of emotion, specifically on your face. Trophy wives everywhere look to Victoria Beckham for inspiration. Not only will this impassiveness keep you mysterious, it will also prevent you from draining your Tom Ford fund on Botox. A few more laugh lines and you’ll be shopping at The Rack.

Although some may interpret this unexpressive attitude as heartlessness, it’s better than being considered sweet. Trophy wives should never like anything sweet, unless it’s the agave-based dressing on sugar-free, gluten-free, dairy-free, organic kale. Anything made without this sugar substitute will later be carved off by a surgeon.

In the rare and unfortunate event that this should happen, clothe yourself in as much Lululemon as possible to distract eyes from any healing scars. Better yet, accessorize your Lululemon with jewelry, preferably something with a giant designer logo. Sparkly Chanel logos are best. This is a typical trophy wife defensive maneuver used to blind those that seek proof of plasticity.

Plus, nothing says, “I work out hard,” like Lululemon and Bvlgari jewels.

Below, trophy wife fail. Fail fail fail.

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California-ing and Wondering When Webster’s Going to Employ Me

Vacation mode. I want to say something like, “It’s where your mind is, not where your feet are,” but my mind wanders away from me exponentially more often than I’d consider myself vacationing.

Currently: trying to figure out how to sleep my little family in one room, with a two and three-year-old who both still nap, and a two-year-old who is a little big for the pack and play but won’t go to sleep without one, climbs out sporadically, and spends an hour at bedtime trying to find other people in the dark room using echolocation style squawking.

In fact, I’m writing this at 6:40am as I’m feeding that little two-year-old Goldfish crackers to keep him quiet. Low volume cartoons aren’t helping the cause with the occasional, “I WANT THAT,” at every commercial.

Sooo I’m not sure if he caught the vacation mode drift.

I’m readjusting my original vacation mode statement to, “It’s not where you are, it’s where your child who doesn’t sleep later than 8AM is.”

Roscoe sure is a cutie, though!

Other than being a little tired, Gus and Roscoe have been having the time of their lives. You can tell by the photos that Roscoe is still lukewarm about beaches…

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To My Stay At Home Mom Friends: You’re My Heroes

To the moms that refer to themselves as “just a mom”:

You are everything that I hope to become.

This can further be summarized by saying, “You’re the (little poo emoji)!”

Instead, I’ve chosen to use more eloquent (mature?) words, because this has become a personal, deeply moving topic for me. You stay at home moms have been on my mind often the past several months.

Let me back up before I continue.

I was raised by a father who grew up farming. I legitimately don’t know if you’ve ever seen a man with bigger calves or more muscular, callused hands. The ability to earn a living was often discussed, with emphasis on “earn.” His fatherly preaching? Don’t stumble over feelings of entitlement, work hard, don’t expect to always be taken care of, education is crucial, and women developing a skillset that will give them the ability to financially support their families know what’s up with Survival 101.

(I’m sure that went over my head for a good while, but when I spread my wings, I was grateful for the realistic perspective.)

My dad wasn’t necessarily a feminist, but he very much applauded and encouraged women’s self-reliance, married or not. (A woman empathetic to the effort required to make ends meet makes a great partner, right?)

Because of that, I have MAJOR admiration for women in the workforce. Whether they’re employed out of necessity or by choice, their representation in every sort of job fills me with pride.I could go on and on about women with successful careers. For a long time, I was one of the “work by necessity and don’t stop at Marshall’s on your way home because you can’t even afford cereal” type. I worked six days a week, and now, with kids, I’m relieved to be down to part time (which somehow still exhausts me with two little guys at home).

Working as a mom is tough, emotionally as well as physically.

But, even as I work part time, do you know who I am REALLY in awe of?

Stay at home moms. The “just a mom” moms.

Motherhood shouldn’t overshadow their capabilities. They are just as strong, determined, educated, and powerful, yet honorably decline the workforce. All those student loans? Unrealized dreams? A promising potential career path? Affording a different lifestyle?

Do you know how much faith that takes to watch these things fade in the rearview, even if they’ll be revisited in later years?

I’m so amazed by these women (and very specific women who I hugely admire) and their steadfast decisions to just to stay home with their children.

And by “just to stay at home,” I mean join their kids hand in hand on the front lines, battling a scary world. These moms are wise, and know that, if they can afford it, their time is most valuable teaching their children before sending them off to the world.

“Just a mom” is a woman, who, by choice:

braves the isolation that comes with young motherhood.
makes do with just a little less than she might if she worked.
is completely, utterly, painfully selfless.
stretches herself to be everyone’s everything, constantly.
never stops.
never gets a break.
is always, always on the clock.

Before I had kids, I asked of stay at home moms, “What do they do all day, every day?”
Now, I wonder, “How do they do it all day, every day?”

Although I’m not ready to throw in the towel with my job, I wonder if I am brave enough to become “just a mom.” For years, I’ve found enjoyment working outside the home. Am I brave enough to let go of years of schooling and hard work? Am I that selfless? Will I lose myself? Maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s the refining process that creates the unsung heroes of every family.

You “just a mom”s are everything I aspire to be.

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Taking a Minute to Remember Sue

The other day ended with Brian happily swatting flies out of our kitchen with a (new and pretty, I must add) dish towel, and telling Gus, “That fly can run but he can’t hide from the inevitable. Can you say ‘inevitable’?”

Brian’s face while he playfully whipped the flies (and our bums) with the towel reminded me how most men are, deep inside, boys. Youthful, funny boys.

I’m jealous of that inextinguishable playfulness, and hope that, with three boys in my house, it will rub off on me.

On second thought, much of Brian’s youthfulness may be attributed to genetics. His grandma, who recently passed away, was eternally young.

Literally. I don’t believe I will ever see a woman in her late 80s bounce around like Sue Scurr. The word unreal comes to mind.

I will forever think fondly of Sue. I had the pleasure of meeting her the same day I first met Brian’s whole family. We were headed to his sister’s wedding reception, so I was a little “EEEE” about meeting his whole family at one time. Any feelings of nervousness dissipated after I was suddenly arm in arm with this immaculate, stylish woman! Sue seemed about twenty five. She was bubbly, lively, bright, and made me laugh. Good humor always bridges generational gaps, doesn’t it? I felt so welcomed! I’d made a new friend, even.

Before I knew that Sue had a name other than “Grandma,” I knew she had a late husband she deeply missed. Within moments of meeting Sue, she spoke fondly of Harry. While I was trying to remember people’s names at the wedding reception, she told me all about Harry. Never, ever, ever did I have a conversation end without her mentioning how she missed him.

That’s why this photo brought the happiest tears to my eyes. After twenty years, her reunion with Harry must have been indescribable.

(I also hadn’t realized that Harry and my son share a birthday! That makes me smile.)

Although I wasn’t able to attend the funeral, these beautiful photos from my awesome in-laws made me so grateful for family. Isn’t Sue beautiful? I’m not sure what she’s holding, but I wouldn’t doubt she needed an iPhone to take selfies of her glamourous wardrobe.

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Baby Showers: The Ghost Expense in my Wallet

I love babies, and am kind of obsessed with watching my friends become parents. Truly. Witnessing my best friends experience parenthood is, unexpectedly, one of the biggest joys in my life. I get emotional thinking of the new love that reroutes their lives, the parenting inspiration they are to me, and…

I am wiping tears right now, so I’ll just stop there.

Consequently, I enjoy celebrating with them at baby showers.

Modern times (and Pinterest) also call for baby “sprinkles,” which are usually thrown for second, third babies, etc.

This is all great, unless you’re Mormon, like I am.

THAT’S A LOT OF BABIES.

Showers and showers mean we LDS women make it rain more than Lil Wayne.

Weddings and babies, man. I don’t know if I can afford this religion. I definitely can’t be forking out money for everyone’s Dock a Tot registry dreams for five people a month without signing up to be an Uber driver. How about a nice box of breast pads?

(If you’ve seen me at a shower lately, don’t worry. Now you know that I REALLY wanted to be there. 🙂 )

If you haven’t been to a baby shower or baby sprinkle recently, let me lay it out for you:

The expectant mother’s mom squad is always there, talking in high voices about baby names they love, that, in my humble, I-named-my-child-Gus opinion, are not names. If there are multiple X and Y and silent Zs and stuff, that’s just not a name, or even a word, but I’ll be by the brownies.

There are not brownies at showers these days, only mini donuts. I wish they were full size donuts. I know cronuts are too much to hope for, so I won’t even address that.

Expectant mothers love flower crowns, which I also like! Flower crowns are pretty, until someone gets carried away with foliage…in which case, I am reminded of Jesus. Don’t be offended. Overzealous flower crowns remind me of Jesus’ crown of thorns, but maybe that’s just because I’m just super holy all the time. Who am I to say? I feel guilty about my thoughts being borderline sac religious, so I look for brownies again, just in case I missed them.

My next baby, I am throwing a party called the “Fat Ash Bash,” and there will be brownies. In lieu of gifts, there will be a donation for postpartum mom reconstruction, because, what the.

Hold me to it.

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