You Capture: What Inspires You?

You may recall that a few weeks ago I participated in my first You Capture challenge, which is a photography-based blog carnival sponsored by the blog I Should Be Folding Laundry. Each week there is a theme, and you are supposed to post pictures you took based on that theme. This week's theme is: What Inspires You?

Well, shoot. What the hell should I post? I don't actually know what inspires me, let alone have a photograph of it. I know there are things that motivate me, such as: the welfare of my family, money, not looking like a total idiot, weight loss, coffee, etc., etc., etc. But inspiration is sort of like motivation's more enlightened cousin. And to be honest, I'm not one of those people who is easily inspired. You know, like those people who owned the non-satirical versions of those inspirational posters, with words like "Teamwork" or "Integrity" and then a picture of a sunset or something on them? (I'm looking right at you, college roommate Michele-with-one-L.)

I'm so jaded that usually when somebody does something inspirational, my mind automatically goes to the fact that the person was well-connected, rich, or had a team of personal trainers, so of course he/she achieved that goal. (I'm still sort of referring to a story involving Michele-with-one-L, who once attended a speaking engagement starring our college's most famous alum, Michael Douglas. And Michele went on and on about how inspirational Michael's story was, because he had a dream to become and actor and he just doggedly pursued it until it was realized. And I was like, but, yeah, his father is a famous actor. This retort did not go over well with a person who was also inspired by a picture of a sunset.)

In addition to not being easily inspired, I also have a very jealous streak, so a lot of times one person's inspiration is actually my trigger for jealousy. Take, for example these cheerleaders who cheer about science. Part of me is like, it's great that these women are destroying stereotypes and promoting women in the sciences. But another part of me is like, umm, if I knew you, I would kind of hate you, with your multiple graduate degrees and your stunning cheerleader body.

Okay, so onto the pictures. Now, I should note that photography is not really my medium. I do better with words, which I think puts me at a disadvantage because, hello, a picture is worth a thousand words. Anyway, I took a few pictures, but I'm really just going to use them as jumping-off points to writing about them.

I have posted this first picture before. It's a picture of my friend Katie at the start of the Chicago marathon.
Katie completed the marathon, despite being injured during training. And the thing is, Katie doesn't inspire me to run an actual marathon. I'm just not sure that is a realistic goal for me.

Here is how she inspires me:

You see, like me, I think Katie is kind of an overthinker (sorry, G Money, if that's an insult). And I know that the marathon training was emotionally challenging for her. And she persevered in spite of the struggles. While everybody who runs a marathon probably has struggles, I could relate more to Katie's struggles, and therefore I have more respect for her for overcoming those struggles. And that's why she inspires me.

Now, as I said, my particular goal is not to run a marathon. That is, for sure, a lofty goal, and one that is very impressive to achieve. However, my lofty goal is to become a well-known writer, something I stated in this post about how I want to become one of the Babble's Top 50 mom bloggers. And I just think, if Katie could push through all the pain and self-doubt and still run that marathon, I can sit on my couch and push through my own self-doubt about not being a good enough writer.

In that post about wanting to make Babble's 2011 Top 50, I said I'd like to become the Susan Boyle of the blogosphere. You know, a total unknown who rises from obscurity based on raw talent alone? So, as cheesy as it sounds, Susan Boyle kind of inspires me. Seeing as I don't actually have a picture of her that I took, I present this representation:

Yes, I propped up a CD on Leia, because pictures automatically become better when you add a cat to them!

I think the only other famous person who inspires me is Tina Fey. Not-so-secretly, I long to be Tina Fey. Whether or not it's true, I imagine myself to be kind of like Tina Fey, a sort-of-nerdy, self-conscious woman who uses humor to diffuse awkward situations. I have read that Tina just knew she belonged in the comedy field, and she wouldn't give up until she made it big. Now, I do not possess that level of determination. I give up pretty easily, and I always took play-it-safe stable jobs, rather than taking chances on the longshot endeavor that would leave me creatively fulfilled.

But I try, just a little, to channel a little of Tina's drive. I try to take the attitude that I know I have something creative to offer the world, and I'm going to push myself as much as my little suburban housewife self comfortably can. So, again, I don't have a picture of myself with Tina Fey or anything like that (I wish!). So I took a picture of a picture of her on my laptop, which probably presents some copyright disputes. Anyway:




Don't you like that Impressionist-style blurry photographic effect? It's called fingerprints.

All aboard the pain train!

I have signed up for personal training at the gym. Well, partner training, with another mom who works out with me a lot. Doing it with a partner makes it cheaper, and I think a little less awkward, too. Win-win.

Yesterday we went for our initial assessment with the trainer. The word assessment automatically makes me nervous, but it was super easy. When you're paying them that much money, they probably aren't going to make you feel bad about yourself. We walked on a treadmill for 20 minutes and got our heart rates, and there was a questionnaire. Obviously this questionnaire included some questions about your medical history, my favorite of which was, "Can you think of any other reasons why you should not exercise?" Because, I mean I think of reasons for why I "should not" exercise every single day. Off the top of my head, I could come up with it's boring, I'm tired, it hurts, it necessitates an extra shower each day, dragging my kid with me to the gym is a pain ... should I go on?

Must ... resist ... urge ... to ... be ... a ... smartass.

In addition to the medical questionnaire, there was a take-home questionnaire about nutrition. Now, the thing is, doing Weight Watchers, I'm mostly eating the right stuff. (I didn't mention that I cheat on Weight Watchers approximately 3 days a week, which is pretty close to half the time.) I'm rocking the fiber, the low-fat dairy, and the fruits/vegetables. I do okay on the water, although some people have suggested that anything with caffeine automatically cancels out water. Because you cannot win.

Speaking of caffeine, I failed on that part of the questionnaire. The thing is, as I type this, I am drinking coffee out of my gigantic adorable heart-themed mug that Ashley gave me several years ago. I alternate between this giant mug and another giant mug that my dad/stepmom brought back for me from the world's first Starbucks. Both mugs hold two servings of coffee. And if you say, "Wow, Shannon, that is overly honest of you. You should totally just call one cup of coffee one serving," you have to know that I have the Keurig single-serving coffee maker, and I actually run it through twice to fill up this mug. So, right there, that's 14 servings of caffeine a week, before I'm even out of my pajamas.

And then I usually have at least one Diet Coke a day, because what else can you have that's zero Weight Watchers points and tastes delicious and sweet? And I know, I know, Diet Coke is horrible for you. It leeches calcium from your bones! It causes some kind of weird metabolic issues! Diet Coke cans emit tiny gamma rays that are slowly killing your children!

Anyway, one Diet Coke per day equals 7 more caffeinated beverages, so I'm up to 21. And factoring in Diet Coke refills in restaurants, and my occasional mid-afternoon Starbucks visit, I just rounded it up to an even 30 caffeinated beverages per week.

Thirty. It's amazing I still manage to sleep 9 hours a night.

Another form they gave me was about my personal goals. You list a goal, obstacles to achieving this goal, and ways to overcome these obstacles. Now, as a person who overthinks things, I have a hard time filling out forms like this. For example, my first goal was, "Lose 10 pounds by Christmas." Which, now that I think about this, is kind of overly-ambitious, because Christmas is like 5 weeks away, and that's two pounds a week. Anyway, whatever, my point was that it was a goal related to weight loss. So, as one of my obstacles, I put "restaurants/take-out." Now, what on earth am I supposed to put as a tactic to overcome that goal? "Don't go to restaurants/get take-out?" Because, to me, that is the only obvious answer, but it seems like I'm a smart-ass that doesn't take this form seriously. (And hey, if the Asics gel running shoe fits ... )

You might be thinking that another way to overcome my restaurant/take-out obstacle would be to make more sensible choices at restaurants. Is there any more vile term than sensible choices? (Answer: Yes, it's playdate.) And if you are advocating the sensible choices option, you obviously have never had to sit on your hands to avoid eating the Cheddar Bay biscuits at Red Lobster, or watched your skinny friend devour a giant burrito while you pick at a salad that has only vinegar as a dressing.

My point is, I have a hard time at restaurants. Technically you can find something sort of sensible at restaurants. But I dislike being limited to only one menu choice. And I'm certainly not going to have the balls to ask the waiter for a piece of broiled chicken and steamed vegetables that aren't on the menu, as Weight Watchers tells me to.

Now, the thing is, I don't mean to suggest that I'm unwilling to make sacrifices for my greater goals. I'm just not willing to make those particular sacrifices. I'd rather choose the sacrifice of not going to a restaurant or getting take-out, because no matter what you get there, it's always higher in Weight Watchers points than eating at home. Obviously I can't I go to restaurants and get take-out sometimes. Restaurants are a reality of life, and also a big part of my social life, so I can't totally give them up.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. My point is, I'm going to be the dumbass with a stupid packed lunch at every single venue I go to, including the airport and McDonald's. And my other point is, forms are dumb.

Too Many Irons

When you look at my basic bio, I live a fairly uncomplicated life. One child. No paying jobs. Pretty simple.

But I do try to find all kinds of activities for the boy and me to do, and lately it has started to feel IN.SANE.

Between the gym, preschool, storyhour, Gymboree, playdates, blogging, and the basic functions required to sustain daily life for 3 humans and a cat, it feels like I'm going, going, going all day long. Run a quick errand after Spin class, and it's time to start making lunch. And my so-called free time while Nathan is at preschool? Forget it. By the time I go to the gym, shower, and do some errands, I'm rushing to pick him up.

And lately I have been creating a lot of stress for myself based on blogging-based activities. This button I created yesterday took up every single between-activities period I had yesterday. By the way, do you want one?



Copy and paste the code below:


<a href="http://www.sameoldshannon.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://i1184.photobucket.com/albums/z326/sjcapanna/002.jpg" border="0" alt="Same Old Shannon" /></a>

Anyway. It's frustrating that I'm spending so much time on blog-based tasks that I'm not sure will ever translate into any kind of revenue for me. But, this blog makes me so, so happy. Getting to write and share with you, and getting your feedback, gives me something better to think about than parenting struggles and dieting problems. And it makes me feel like I am so much more than just some lame suburban housewife. It makes me feel like I'm destined to do more.

So, buoyed by the good vibes from this blog, I would like to announce two new online endeavors:

1. I have a new ChicagoNow blog, Parenting Gone South. ChicagoNow is an online community affiliated with the Chicago Tribune (though sort of in the way that Old Navy is affiliated with Banana Republic). Parenting Gone South is a guide to fun stuff to do in the south Chicago suburbs, with a little bit of trademark Shannon smart-assery thrown in. I realize many of you don't actually live in the Chicago suburbs and this will be of no interest to you, but I had to pick a blog niche that ChicagoNow hadn't already covered. Also you can join my Facebook group here.

2. The blog I used to write for, Chicago Moms Blog, which is part of the larger SV Moms Group, has been resurrected in the form of a new women's channel on media conglomerate Technorati. So we have all been invited to write for that. And you know how I said that I don't routinely use the term uniques in my day-to-day speech? Well, Technorati allegedly gets 179 million uniques per month, which would be a lot of people reading my stuff. Er, maybe. Of course, there's a lot of competition on there, so I'm not an automatic shoo-in for World's Best Blogger (as Farrah comically referred to my goal).

And, in conclusion, I am sorry if you thought this post was going to be about ironing. As previously mentioned, I don't really do that.

My Lofty Goal

"Make no little plans. They have no magic to stir men's blood and probably will not themselves be realized."
--Daniel Burnham, famous Chicago architect

-------------------------------------------

Babble is a popular parenting website. Every year, Babble makes a list of the Top 50 Mom Bloggers.

And next year, I will be on that list.

It's a lofty goal, for sure. It's like training-to-swim-in-the-Olympics lofty. But what's the harm? I mean, in the case of the swimming thing, the harms might be: subjecting myself to the inevitable crushing blow of defeat, lots of money/time spent on private coaches, general exhaustion that renders me incapable of carrying out life's daily functions, perpetually chlorinated dry skin that no lotion can cure, etc., etc., etc.

But I meant there's no harm in trying to make it on Babble's Top 50 Mom Bloggers list. I'm typing this stuff anyway, and it's free, and there's no risk of skin damage. And to quote a magnet on my mother-in-law's refrigerator, "Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars." (The actual source of this quote, according to the Internet, is motivational speaker Les Brown.)

Now, for sure, I'm coming from behind here. I'm like Susan Boyle, or the Mighty Ducks, or any other situation where the underdog wins. The following are reasons why I'm not even qualified to be on the same Internet as the existing Top 50:

1. Most people haven't heard of me.
2. I have 11 followers on Twitter. (Follow me, @sameoldshannon, won't you?)
3. I don't make any money off advertisements.
4. I don't have a private blog designer.
5. Nobody ever asks me to review anything, give anything away, tour their facilities, or have a free dinner (in the name of my blog, I mean).
6. I do not routinely use terms like "hashtag," "SEO," or "uniques."
7. I don't do a good job of "marketing my brand."

So, you know, I'm kind of a longshot for the Top 50. But stranger things have happened. So, Babble, I'm throwing my hat into the ring!

Help me, will you? If you tell one friend about me, and each of those friends tells one friend, and each of those friends ...

This sounds like a pyramid scheme.

But seriously, you guys are doing the most awesome job of telling your friends about me, and please keep up the good work! I love you guys, and it makes me so happy to get all your comments.

And if you feel so inclined, please grab my new blog button for your own site! It's over to the right, and for today only (and probably some other days, too), it's right here:



Copy and paste the code below:


<a href="http://www.sameoldshannon.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://i1184.photobucket.com/albums/z326/sjcapanna/002.jpg" border="0" alt="Same Old Shannon" /></a>

And yes, I'm aware of the irony that I am the underdog, but that's a picture of a cat. That's to signify that I'm so much an underdog that I'm not even a dog at all. Also I just like cats better.

In closing, let me note that I'm aware of the insanity of this goal. But, to quote every single person in a bar looking for a justification to order more drinks ...

Go big or go home.

Scientific and Industrious, Part 2

As I mentioned several posts ago, the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry is the greatest museum ever. Yeah, that's right, I said greatest museum ever. Take that, Louvre. What does the Louvre have? Look:

Okay, you've seen the Mona Lisa. Now you've been to the Louvre. I just saved you thousands of dollars in plane fare. You're welcome.

But, see, the Museum of Science and Industry is a multi-sensory experience. You don't just look at stuff. You touch it, hear it, taste it, and smell it. (Okay, the tasting and smelling are largely confined to the museum cafeteria, the Brain Food Court.) But try to lick the Mona Lisa and you know where you'll end up? Right back here, reading this blog, you weird masterpiece-licking loser. Or else dead from The Plague, because they didn't really wash their hands in Leonardo da Vinci's era. And those germs still linger on the surface of paintings.

Anyway, yesterday Katie and I (plus Nathan) went to the Museum of Science and Industry. I call Katie "G-Money," but don't ask why (seriously, don't, because I have no idea why). Anyway, G-Money, the Monkey, and I totally ruled that museum. We saw almost everything.

Muppet exhibit? Check. Simulated combine ride? Check. NetWorld? Check, although it was pretty dumb, and don't I go out to museums to get away from the Internet? (Answer: No, because I have the Internet on my phone. Duh.)

We saw the disgusting video of pigs being born. We went in the fairy castle. We even got to see my favorite antique main street, where I learned they sell the cutest shoes for $1.85.

And the giant, human-sized hamster wheel? We kicked that thing's ass! Well, Katie did. She's a marathoner. I just took a photo.


Don't you guys think somebody should market a child-sized version to parents of overly-energetic children?

But my favorite part of this museum trip was getting to meet the museum "roommate," Kate McGroarty! So, the deal on Kate is that she was chosen out of 1,500 applicants to spend a month living at the museum. She has a blog, and a Facebook page, and a Twitter account about her experience. She lives in a little room outside the public viewing area, and then she has an office out on the main floor. And she's like a huge celebrity there. She posts her schedule, and everybody lines up to see her in her office. I was very excited to get a picture of Katie with her:

As you can see, Kate has an orange "Month at the Museum" shirt on. She has one for each day at the museum, printed with the day number on the back. She was on Day 25 yesterday, so she's almost done.

Kate has a to-do list for her time at the museum, the scariest of item of which is "hunt for ghosts in the U-505." The U-505 is a German U-boat captured during WWII, and it's one of the biggest exhibits in the museum (literally and figuratively). It scares the crap out of me. Seriously, it's Nazis. And dead people. And, on a lighter but no less disgusting note, the museum displays a can of bread that was found on the submarine. A can of bread. From 1944.

So, hunting for ghosts in the WWII German sub at night, alone in a giant cavernous museum, would not be at the top of my to-do list. (But if I did find ghosts, I would direct them to the Brain Food Court to get something to eat, because their bread expired a long time ago.) Generally speaking, there is a lot of stuff that I would find scary while alone in a giant museum at night, which is probably why they didn't pick me to be the museum roommate. (Also, I did not apply. Because, you know, my kid and all.) And I'd have to greet people and be all chipper, which ranks very low on my list of personal strengths.

But museum roommate Kate was very chipper, and didn't seem at all traumatized by the bread-hunting ghosts. And I was pleased to note on her recent blog that she went out running, because I was concerned about her Vitamin D levels holed up in that museum for 30 days. (I don't think the sun simulator in the solar-powered car exhibit would really get you your recommended Vitamin D.) But mostly she sticks around the museum and goes out on press junkets. And according to the literature on the Month at the Museum website, she has very limited contact with family and friends. Like, they confiscated her cell phone. Now, last night in the car I became panicked that I was like 4 feet away from my cell phone, so confiscating it for a month would be like OMG, life force removed.

And on that note, I am going to end my museum recap. Happy Sunday, everyone!

The Ladies' Computer

Hello, my loves! Your comments make me so happy! Leave more, leave more!

So, it's Saturday, and that's not a popular blog-reading day. So I don't think that I will come up with something important and profound to say today. Instead, more out-of-the-ass talking!

Yesterday was estate sale day! (Man, I'm using a lot of exclamation points today! Top of the Muffin to Ya!) And we went to three estate sales.

The first one was the best one. It was filled with all kinds of musty-smelling, neat-o antiques. Nathan really wanted an electric train set, but he doesn't totally understand what "$650" means.We did get out of there with a few treasures, though we passed on something called a "nasal douche." Nathan got a basket of Pooh-based stuffed animals, and I got some pretty pink cloth napkins for going green and whatnot. Plus I got some gifts for a couple of people I know who collect interesting items. It was just a really fun, treasure-hunting sort of experience.

Estate Sale #2 was lame. I seriously can't imagine how a person could amass an entire collection of belongings, all of which are ugly. Like, "Oh look, a bunch of jewelry! Yay!" And then it's all ugly.

Estate Sale #3 was small and uneventful. They had an adorable garden cat sculpture, and I was thinking the house's owner was a cat lover, but there was no other cat stuff. The funny thing was, the first house had a hint of cat things outside, but not a single cat thing for sale. Maybe the cat people scoop up all the stuff early, since their nagging hungry cats wake them up so early in the morning. Like this:



The only thing that was funny at the third estate sale was that they had a sewing machine there, and the box for the sewing machine said "The Ladies' Computer." So, I am typing this blog post from my "ladies' computer," which is awesome because right afterward I'm going to use it to sew myself a laptop cozy using fabric I bought at an old lady's estate sale.

Hope you all have a nice weekend!

Potpourri, and finally, Potent Potables

I realize the last week or so of my life has been a little strange. Last Tuesday I sort of came closer to witnessing a crime than I like to, then Friday I experienced my child's worst medical scare to date. Saturday I completed my very first organized running event. And in addition to all this, or perhaps because of all this, I have been battling some low-grade depression.

All of this is to say that for the last week I have had no problem coming up with Issues to blog about. And it's good to have blog fodder, because I'm doing this whole NaBloPoMo thing. But at the same time, I miss my old, pull-a-bunch-of-random-stuff-out-of-my-ass style of blogging.

So, today, I pull a bunch of random stuff out of my ass.

First of all, you have to make this dip. I got the recipe from an issue of Family Circle magazine that my mom left at my house over the summer, but I didn't make the dip until this week. Basically, it's a low-fat peanut butter dip that allows you to enjoy peanut butter even if, say, you are on Weight Watchers. Here's the recipe:

• 3/4 cup low-fat vanilla yogurt
• 1/2 cup reduced-fat peanut butter
• 1/3 cup raisins (optional, in my opinion)
• 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

Mix all the ingredients together, and use it as a dip for celery, pretzels, or apples. The dip itself is 43 calories and 4 grams of fat per tablespoon. That's 1 point on Weight Watchers, so you could have two tablespoons and some celery for just 2 points. The given calorie count is for the recipe with raisins, which I am lukewarm on to begin with, and I don't think they really work in a dip.

You know what else is good? Wine.

In other news, I can't believe I'm saying this, but the running is actually going ... well. The 5K gave me a little bit more confidence to keep going with my running, and I feel like I can run longer without the psychological weight of worry resting on my shoulders. To be fair, I have only run once since the 5K, although I've been to the gym every day for the last 5 days, thankyouverymuch. Twice to swim, twice for Spin, and once to run.

I am planning on going to the gym later this morning for my second run of the week. And other than that, today is relatively unstructured. Fridays are pretty open for us. So, what we usually do is go to garage sales. As the weather gets cooler, I think the garage sales will more or less disappear, but we still have estate sales.

Let me tell you how it was that I ended up shopping at estate sales. See, awhile ago, for some unknown reason, I kind of got into Depression glass. For those who don't know and don't feel like reading that Wikipedia link, Depression glass is a style of glassware produced around the time of the Great Depression, when cheap mass-production of glass first became possible. What I think is cool about Depression glass, other than that it is generally pretty, is that during the Depression, you could acquire glassware in a package of oatmeal or powdered laundry detergent, much in the way that you can get a total plastic piece of crap in a cereal box today. Additionally, movie theaters tried to lure people in by having "glassware nights" where you could collect one piece of a matched set of glassware every time you went to the movies. That's just cool.

Anyway, somebody suggested I sign up for e-mail notifications on estatesales.net, and put a special alert on "Depression glass." So now I get all these e-mails about estate sales in my area. I click on the pictures, and if they don't look too ugly, I might go to the sale.

Here's the thing about estate sales, though. It used to be that when I heard the term estate sale, I imagined a situation where some billionaire collectors tragically die in a plane crash, and the world is free to come into their homes and bid on their priceless collectibles. In actuality, it's more like an elderly lady dies in a senior living community, and other old people invade her home to buy her sewing supplies.

And sometimes the stuff at estate sales actually is nice, but then it's not like a garage sale where you can get furniture for a quarter. Instead, it's all, "This is an original piece of Chippendale furniture from the 1700s, and it's $500." (And isn't it cool how snooty people from estate sales can actually include hyperlinks in their speech?)

Also at one estate sale I went to, somebody was buying a Waterford crystal decanter and referred to it as "yummy." Barf.

Anyway, I should note, for purposes of accuracy, that my collection of Depression glassware is a collection in spirit only. While I am interested in Depression glassware, I don't actually own a single piece of it. For one thing, I checked out a Depression glass pricing and identification guide from the library, and I felt like it was too confusing to try to identify the different patterns. For another thing, the shipping on Depression glass on ebay is usually more than the glass itself. And speaking of things being fragile, I have a 3-year-old. Oh and also, much of the glass contains lead.

Win-win-win.

So, I switched my preferred alert term on estatesales.net to "Fiestaware," which has so far not showed up at a single local sale. I still get the general alerts on sales though, and I think the boy and I might check a few out today. (Nathan, by the way, is not a huge fan of estate sales, inasmuch as most elderly people did not own toys at the time of their deaths.) I'll let you know if I find anything good and/or yummy.

In closing, I would like to note that all phone messages left by 3-year-olds sound kind of like drunk dials. Nathan and I have a tradition (custom?) of leaving a voicemail for Bill on Thursday nights when he teaches his night class and doesn't get home until after Nathan is asleep. Observe last night's message, and tell me it could not have been left by an intoxicated person:

"Hiiiiiiiiiiii ... I loooove you ... I'm leaving you a message ... I'm in bed now with the covers, and I have my feet under the covers. [long pause] Okay bye."