Vacation Me.

Vacation Me didn't take a single picture, so you'll have to look at a photo from three summers ago.  Vacation Me was a bit lazy.  

Vacation Me watched tons of Real Housewives of [pick your city] just because Regular Me doesn't have cable. 

Vacation Me got bossed around by a three year old every waking moment. Lucky for him, he's cute.

Vacation Me tore her last pair of contacts and had to wear glasses all week. Even during swimming, walking, and zip lining.  Darn you, Vacation Me.  

Vacation Me got a huge pimple. Just like I do on every vacation. No lie. 

Vacation Me couldn't handle baby vomit with any more grace than Regular Me. Especially since it is supposed to be baby vomit, but it looks suspiciously similar to adult voms.

Vacation Me read a ton.  Glorious.

Vacation Me tried to get a tan. Bwahahaha!  It's just never going to happen. White turns to burn, which turns back to white.  It is a really fun game my skin and VM like to play with each other.

Vacation Me enjoyed double sinks and king size beds while they lated.  But Regular Me now remembers how nice it is to be squeezed into the regular old queen sized bed and the one sink with the hubs.  More accidental butt grazes, you know.

Vacation Me swung from the trees like an ape at new ropes course in Williamsburg.  Check it out, here. I thought it was a kids ropes course, and even the website says it is moderate exertion.  False.  It was pretty dagum challenging!   

Vacation Me was forced to promise her nephew she wouldn't poop in the Bounce House. Vacation Me was a liar.  Don't tell the bossy three year old.  


Grey Tank Top

Best buddies

At my old job, there was a girl who could remember people’s outfits. She would recall that you wore a pair of pants last Tuesday, or that cardigan a month ago.

Which for me was no good since I am notorious (??) for recycling outfits. And by recycling, I mean wearing the exact same thing on Monday that I do on Sunday. And in less clean news, I recycle jeans for days.

This type of recycling (although noted by Outfitface McGee) was fine when I worked in a place that regularly had 2-3 people in hoodies and flip flops. But now that I am in a less casual work place, I have not been re-jeaning.

However, my old ways have snuck back in with my grey tank top. 

There is something about this tank. It is crazy soft and holds the sweetest scent of my perfume. It is like my second skin. Which takes on a whole new meaning now that I have been wearing it for five days. No lie.

Monday I wore the grey tank top under my shirt to add length to my outfit. Tuesday I was in a hurry, and grabbed that same tank to wear under my dress in order to cover my rare, but welcome bazoomba cleve. Wednesday, I decided to make a game out of it, and wore the tank again. Thursday came and I could not break my streak! Friday came, and could I do it? Could the tank and I go all the way? All signs point to yes.

My name is Robin, and I cannot refuse a self-perpetrated contest.

Done and done.


Take that, cherry coke.

"Whatcha writing", my husband asked.  

"My blog", I responded.

Husband: Why?  Do you have a story to tell?

Me: Sure don't. 

Husband: Then why do you do it?

Me: Because I like it.

Husband: You should tell them the story of how you threw away my cherry coke tonight.

Me: Should I?

Husband: No.

In unrelated news, Jeff cut off all of his facial hair. This is only the third time in the seven years I have seen his chin.

Unfortunately, this most recent shave has reduced his strength to that of only one mortal man.

Bummer.  I really wanted to watch him toss around tractor trailers this weekend. 



I deactivated my Facebook for a few days.  I had been spending too much time looking at other peoples lives on Facebook and envying them, which as a byproduct caused me to belittling my life.  On the other side of that, I found myself judging other people's lifestyles, and in doing so, elevating myself.  The grossest of gross.  

Oh that's nice (insert name here), while you were chugging tequila on Cinco de Mayo, I was up at 4am putting on a race for women trapped in the sex slave industry.


Shoot.  They look like they are having way more fun than us, and I see they got pregnant.  Buuuh.

In the mornings I would lose myself in other people's posts, and end up missing my time with God, or my time with... well, makeup or breakfast.

I don't hate all that Facebook has to offer.  I do find it quite necessary for sharing photos and pushing my personal agenda (hmmm... still working through that one).

All in all, I am going to try to limit the time I spend on FB, and try to stop the comparisons and the judgement.  Not sure which is going to be harder.  I'm guessing both.

Feel free to judge me for that. :)


Hey, Rodrigo

I felt called to post these videos of nephew #3, since his mother has somehow not posted on her blog for 10 months.  And you think I'm bad... Love you, Ali!

The first video of Elias being a complete and utter parrot.  Pay close attention to the tiny claw he makes when he talks.  That pointer finger has been in full force since the day he was born, and I love it.

This second video is another exhibit of the parroting.  You should know that in our family, at the end of every family night, the boys climb onto Nonni and Papa's bed to dance to music.  Each of them has their own set of moves and I delight in knowing I will embarrass them one day with these videos.  

When the music cuts off both of them point to the speaker closest to them to alert us to the fact that they are not done shaking their diapers.  Most of the time we agree, since we are not done watching.

Also of note; in my family the first lyrics of Brown Eyed Girl, are not "Hey where did we go", but rather "Hey Rodrigo".  Don't ask me why.  I just thought you should know. Take a listen. :)

Have a wonderful Wednesday!