This is me: Rita. 30 years old, which seemed ancient at one time. It's hard to know what to say about myself, except that I'm probably a lot like you. I have my quirks, but all in all I'm a pretty average chick. I always wanted to be both a writer and a mother; a harrowing five-year struggle with infertility made me question whether I'd ever achieve the latter, but finally, I've managed to do both. I just wasn't aware it would be a dangerous recipe for frumpiness - which I battle (weakly) on a regular basis. That's why I'm writing this blog: because I know I'm not the only frump-fighting mama. It's dedicated to all my sisters who once took pride in their appearance, but who now feel accomplished simply by getting dressed - and to all those women who managed to avoid the frump (I hate you), but who get a good laugh out of "that" type of mom.
So without further ado, let's get on with the rest of the introductions.
This devastatingly handsome dude is my husband: Curtis.
He's ... older than me, but only by a couple of years (shh ... he's one of those guys that became a little sensitive once he hit the big 3-0). And everybody? This man is awesome. He will stop the car to help a turtle cross the road just because he knows it will make me happy. He's seen me gain 100 pounds and give birth to children, endured my "bitch-for-absolutely-no-reason" days, and knows that my hair looks like a nest when I don't straighten it - and he still loves me. We've been together for over a decade - twelve years, to be precise - which is a long damn time when you consider that it all started when I was seventeen. I'm not gonna lie - there are times when he aggravates the you-know-what outta me - but I'd never know what to do without him. Then there are my gorgeous older boys, who are simultaneously the lights of my life and the thorns in my side: Colin (4) and Cameron (2). (And in case you're wondering, yes, this picture is totally typical of them.)
Colin is almost certainly a geek-in-training (and I say that with the utmost affection ... I don't want to pay psychiatrist bills later on). When he plays, he's pretending to be one of several things: a praying mantis he calls "Manty," a Venus fly trap, a volcano, or British naturalist David Attenborough. Yes, seriously. He has a "favorites" list on YouTube which includes, aside from the things I just mentioned, videos about the anatomy of the foot (and the eyeball, the vocal cords, the heart, and the spine), the urinary system, the respiratory system, centipedes, and the harmful effects of smoking. Oh yeah, and The Mom Song, because he thinks it's hilarious. His intellect is amazing, surpassed only by his extreme sweetness. (And his attitude, 'cause, you know, he's four.) Cameron is our little roughneck. I hope I'm wrong, but I predict a broken bone by the time he's three: the child is perpetually plowing into/jumping off of/climbing on something. He's most likely going to be the athlete of the family (which he certainly did not inherit from me), considering one of his first words was "baseball." He has a strong, exuberant personality, but is also quite the affectionate little teddy bear. And he is always singing.
Then there's the newest addition - our baby, Coby (born mid-September 2009).
He's a happy little dude with soulful brown eyes, content to watch his older brothers - who he thinks are the bee's knees (a perception that will surely change once he gets old enough to be pushed around).
So there you have it: my family. My life. My motivation. The people who'll be regularly
If you stop by, let me hear from you! I welcome any comments, questions, etc. (unless you're going to be an ass, in which case, direct it elsewhere). If you'd like to contact me privately, it's ritatempleton(at)gmail(dot)com.
