We’re headed to San Diego, where we will be for a while.

We’re still nomads at heart, but Max is getting older, and needs stability. He can’t fear we’ll move every year. So we’re dedicated to staying around for a while so he can build roots.

As for me, I’m thrilled. I’ve always wanted to live in San Diego. It’s like Orlando, only moderate temperatures year ’round (I can do without humidity). There are so many things I want to do there, like visit all the museums at Balboa park, shop at the green, eco friendly grocery stores, enjoy the sunshine, take Max to Legoland, learn to surf (after the snowboard incident I may wait a while on this goal)…and we’ve got time to do it all.

I actually have a long-time friend in San Diego, so that’s an added bonus. And there’s an IKEA! Heaven.

I’ll miss a few (very few) people here, but I’m grateful for the bonus time I’ve gotten to spend with people like my mom, best friend and her family.

Meanwhile, my house is emptying out and I can’t find anything.

Mom is driving with Max and I to California then flying back. We’re going across Route 66 for an adventure. I’ll be taking lots of photos w/ my new camera, so stay tuned for that (but forgive me if I don’t have time to post them!).

Wish me well. See you across country!

I keep telling people this story, so I have to share it with you guys.

Learning to ski, naturally, I had my fair share of falls. After Day 1 when I failed miserably at snowboarding and fell on my tailbone, I was understandably wary of falling again. Still the day progressed and I was okay.

Until…

I was zigzagging down the baby hill, doing my thing, when panic set in. I was going too fast. I tried to snow plow (apparently the hub was yelling “Snow plow, Susan, snow plow!” My thighs hurt so bad, I thought smoke was coming off them.

I was headed toward a snow bank, so I thought, “Ok, worse case is I break my fall by running into that bank.”

Heh.

Somehow the snow bank turned into a ramp and I skiied right up it, twisted around and sat down with my skis tilted above my head.

I come to my sense and see a horrified guy on a snowboard headed my way. And then I see my husband, snickering. I start laughing, since I realize I’m fine, just stunned. The guy goes the other way. Husband untangles me. I was fine.

Skiing is so fun.

I was thinking how scared we get as we get older. There were these little kids, like 2, who were skiing with no problems. Yet fear inhibited many of the adults in the beginner class. Why is that? I fell and I was fine. We lose that confidence somewhere along the line.

The hub surprised me at Christmas with a trip to Montreal and nearby Mont Tremblant to learn to ski and snowboard for our anniversary. It was perfect. Let me share that story.

As far back as September, when we were still working things out, I’d get a letter in the mail every week. In it was just a paper that said “MMIM?” He wouldn’t tell me what it meant, and I couldn’t figure it out. I forgot about it.

At Christmas, I opened a box that had all this fleur de lis stuff in it. It’s a French symbol, and one they use in French speaking Montreal. There was an envelope with “MMIM?” on it.

He wanted me to Meet (Me) Him in Montreal.

AWWWWWW.

He’d been planning it forever.

Flash forward to the trip. So romantic.

I hated snowboarding and ended that day by falling on my tailbone, which, 2 weeks later, still hurts. Skiing, fortunately, was much easier. It was both of our first times. We stayed in a beautiful condo nestled into the mountain and ate lots of delicious wine and cheese. Seems like all we did was eat, after burning calories all day. We had fires. We talked. We reconnected. It was good.

We headed back to Montreal and braced ourselves against the bitterly cold wind in search of Indian food.  When we finally found it, it was well worth it. Best damn Indian food we’ve ever had.

We got to speak French, which is rare for us, but we love it.

See for yourself. Great times.

I’ll write about my vacation soon. This was more pressing.

So I’m scrolling through my @ stream on my Twitter account, as I do for my business. I see some comment from someone I don’t even know, insulting a recent post I wrote on Mashable. The jist was “how can people get paid to write this drivel, basic stuff?” Clearly, she was not my intended audience if she already knows everything I wrote about. Move on. Get over it.

I feel like I’m in high school and someone just said something rude to me. My heart is racing. My blood is pounding. Bad words are coming from my mouth. How dare she bad mouth me when she doesn’t know me? There are thousands, no millions of articles out there that are a base intro to something I already know well. Do I criticize? No, I think, “This is written for someone who wants a basic understanding of this topic. It’s not for me.”

She inferred that I got paid for it. I don’t. I guest blog on Mashable as a way to share my knowledge with an audience who doesn’t know how to use social media to market. Clearly she is the guru of all social media, so she doesn’t need Mashable or to read my articles. Go read a rocket science blog, babe.

When is too much too much?

Look, I’m all in favor of Twitter as a means of communication. It’s great for business and personal use. Hey, I even found out some pretty disturbing things about my marriage through Twitter. But why are we (and by “we” I mean that girl) using it to bash people for no reason?

It goes back to high school. Most of us  haven’t cut someone down like that since we were 17. Those of us who are mature, anyway. I mean really. If we were all in one giant office, working together, would someone be like “Wow, that really sucks.” ?? Or would we find more diplomatic ways to address problems?

The internet is big enough for all of us. If you don’t like something, move on. There’s no need to get personal.

I have been promising myself a nice camera ever since. Somehow I always find other things to spend my money on. Until recently. While it’s not as nice as I wanted, I have bought a Nikon D3000. I realized maybe I’m not ready for a $1000+ camera and could do quite well with one half that price.

So far I love it. I’m dredging up creativity I thought was lost with the opening of my womb to another being. I’m seeing photo shots everywhere, whether I have my camera or not. I’m so looking forward to trying it out on our trip to Montreal, because my favorite shots are those I take when traveling. Which I haven’t done in as long as I haven’t had a good camera.

I have a theory. In our 30s (or mine, anyway) we rediscover our creativity, if we had it. In high school, my goal was to go to Kansas City Art Institute and become a professional artist. I later realized I didn’t have what it took to cut it (and even later realized that “professional artist” is not a true, money paying profession), so I went other routes. The sketch pads got put away. The portfolio gathered dust. But in the last year, I’ve started working on art projects, and adding photography to that just makes me feel whole again. I didn’t know what I’d been missing.

Art comes in and out of our lives as we need it. Apparently right now, I need it.

Looked out window. Saw snow. Snow?? Snow was NOT in the forecast.

“Hey Max. It snowed. Uhhh, I better make sure you have school.”

School cancelled. Great. I don’t have to pretend to get dressed.

We’re leaving for our trip to Montreal Wednesday, so mother-in-law, hereto referred to as Granny, was due to arrive this afternoon at 4. Cleaning spurts ensue in between bouts of work.

2 o’clock rolls around. She calls. Her connecting flight from Houston is cancelled. Hopes to get on the 7 pm flight. Doesn’t happen. By 7 pm she is comfortably nestled in the in-airport hotel and our nerves are shot. All plans shot to hell.

And to top it off, the snow is slushy and no fun. Spent longer getting suited up than actually playing in the snow.

A nice dip in the temperature means she’ll probably miss her early flight tomorrow, and who wants to mess with ice-covered slush-snow? Sigh. Hope we make our flight on Wednesday.

While it looks a little like french fries covered in marshmallows and syrup, I am sure poutine is delicious, given its popularity. There are variations, like an Italian version with spaghetti sauce. Or Mexican, with sour cream and guacamole.

I am making it my mission to seek out the poutine and experience it. Multiple times. And photograph it. And report back here.

Stay tuned. I know you can’t wait. Me neither.

Valentine’s Day is our 11th anniversary of being together. Obviously this one is special because a few months ago we weren’t sure we were going to make it to this one. I’m really excited to take our first vacation alone in 5 years (er, the last time was when we eloped in Vegas. A story for another day) and to learn something new.

I always feel like I can’t afford travel. I put it at the bottom of my list. But not any more. I am so excited about this trip, and I know that it doesn’t have to be the only trip I/we take. It’s all in my mindset. Still working on that about money.

So wish us well. Max will be contentedly nestled between two grandmas while we ski the slopes…or fall down them. At least there’s hot chocolate spiked with alcohol to look forward to, next to a roaring fire.

And I can use my French! Because, of course you know they speak French in Montreal. You knew that, right??

Totally what I look like. Bringin’ it back.

Then the hub gave us a trip to Montreal for Valentine’s Day to go skiing. Great except…I don’t want those mountains to kick my ass. So right after the New Year I started my 2nd project of walking 5(ish) miles every day and not eating carbs or sugar. Fun times. Plus it’s cold out, which means I can’t walk in my neighborhood the way I like. So I go to the Y.

And I stay there for 2 hours. It takes me about 1 hour and 15 minutes to walk my 5 miles. If there’s yoga, I do that too. Hub introduced me to a fun but brutal thing called the Bosu Ball. So I tear up my ab muscles and try to stay balanced on that for a few rounds of exercise.

I see the same people every day. I jet past the old people on the track (look people, if I have to walk 5 miles every day, I do NOT want to be there all day! Get out of my way!). I see the same meaty guys working out. We nod quietly to one another, more focused on our desire for health/fitness/poppin’ muscles than socializing.

And then I step back and look at myself and say, “Who the hell are you and what have you done with flabby, no-exercise Su?? 2 hours a day of exercise?? You’re crazy.”

And I am. But I’m also trying to lose more weight. Primarily because I bought ski pants that are a lot wee uncomfortable and  I need to fit in them or skiing will be no fun.

So whoever I am, I like it because it’s working. I feel fit, and I weigh less than I have in 10 years (with the 6 month exception of breastfeeding but I can hardly compare eating 2000 calories a day and losing weight to what I’m doing here, now can I?). I now wear a size 10 and am pretty damn close to a size 8. I like that. Today I bought my first pair of skinny jeans. Who’d have thunk?

So you know what? Being a gym rat ain’t so bad.

I am an obstinate person. If you say black, I’ll say white and even prove why it’s white. So in high school, when all my size 3 friends were bemoaning the size of their thighs, I said to myself, “I’m never going to let my weight bother me. I’m so much more than what the scale says, and it’s silly to diet to try to lose weight.” Of course, being 120 pounds didn’t really necessitate me thinking otherwise.

When I made my New Year’s resolutions, I never, ever had “lose 10 pounds” on the list like other women. I prided myself for being okay with myself.

In 2008, I weighed 155. I noticed I had “be okay with my weight. Really.” on my resolutions. Small warning sign. Then when I went camping and saw a picture of myself in my swimsuit, my world changed. I realized I’d been lying to myself about being okay with how I looked. Now, I know at 155 and 5′1″ I wasn’t obese, but the fact that I was uncomfortable with how I looked made me realize that me judging my thinner friends for wanting to be even skinnier was unfair.

After all, it’s all about you. You need to be comfortable in your skin, at whatever weight you are. If you’re not, you have the power to change it.

This was revolutionary thinking for me, the rebellious anarchist. And so I began my journey last fall and lost 10 pounds. I was so excited to see the weight come off and my pants get looser (although that then puts me in the predicament of not having properly fitting clothes). Still, at the end of the 10 pounds, I felt I wanted to lose 10 more, but decided (wisely) to wait until after the holidays.

And here I am. I’m currently working off the 5 I gained enjoying copious amounts of cookies, cheeseballs, and wine over the holidays but will soon be working it all off. It’s easier this go ’round, but yesterday I had a crisis of faith and almost ate a bag of one cute pita bread bites. My husband is cheerleading me along the way.

And at the end of this 10 pounds a ski trip in Montreal is awaiting me. It’s his Christmas present to me. At least with all the exercise I won’t get my ass kicked too badly on the slopes (my first time ever).