For awhile I was having a really hard time finding a job. Blame the economy, blame the job-market, blame pain old bad luck – whatever it was, it was totally frustrating. I had these abilities that I wanted to utilize and build upon, and yet I was having the hardest time finding any openings in my chosen field (communications and media).

I have finally realized a long-standing desire of mine: I hired a personal trainer. Her name is Morgan, and I know she’s going to totally change my life. She’s not only going to get me into the best shape of my life, she’s also going to design an eating plan for me. She’s going to call me on the days we’re not training to make sure I’m doing the at-home stuff I’m supposed to do. Her program is designed around the training that boxers do, with some yoga and Pilates thrown in the mix. By the time I hit 40 next Spring, I hope to have defined abs…and possibly arms like Angela Bassett...

Reason #2)      The Psychological Benefits are False. The conventional wisdom was breastfeeding led to a more focused, less hyperactive child adept at forming peer relations. However, an exhaustive study recently proved these assumptions wrong.  Experts and laymen presumed that the constant physical closeness involved with breastfeeding would do all kinds of psychological wonders. Nope.

I am officially part of the 21st century.

And as this is my first blog, it’s a starting point. I’m 24 and am absolutely thrilled to have the opportunity. I’m trying to learn as much as I can. On the side, I also write for Oregon Bride magazine and occasionally dispense fashion advice at a high-end retail chain. So, I’m busy, but why not? I’ve got no kids or husband, so I might as well do everything I like as long as I can. I think there are very few times in one’s life where one gets to be selfish. For me, that time is now.

When people hear that my boyfriend is 12 years younger than I am, they usually slap me on the arm playfully and say, “You cougar!”  It’s all I can do not to smack those people right across the face. I realize this is just a catchphrase people find hilarious, but I think it’s so disrespectful. “Cougars” go out on the prowl in search of younger men, not serious relationships. That is so not me.

First of all, categorizing me as a cougar belittles our relationship and our commitment to each other. My boyfriend and I met during the most difficult time of my life. I was just beginning divorce proceedings. I didn’t know what would happen from one day to the next. On paper, I was probably any man’s nightmare. Not many guys would want to date a woman in her mid 30s who was in the midst of a tense divorce. Add to that two young kids (my sons were 6 and 2 at the time); I figured I wouldn’t get a date for a good, long time. What guy would want to listen to me wrangle custody arrangements with my ex? Who wants to deal with the emotional roller coaster that is divorce?

Ben won’t eat.

Okay, he eats. But he’s five. He eats maybe six or seven different things. And it’s starting to wear on me.

Ben will eat:

French toast (but only when I make it for him);

tuna salad (ditto. And no celery, no anything in it but a bit of mayo);

fries (which I’ve scaled WAY back on);

chicken (both grilled and fried, finger-style. Guess which one I’m always pushing on him?);

fruit (bananas, bananas, bananas. And also strawberries, apples, and possibly melon, but only if it’s cantaloupe, and only if we’re at Red Robin)

pizza (and if it doesn’t come from our favorite place, it’s a battle to get him to eat it)

frozen blueberry waffles (I foist the NutriGrain kind on him; he protests, but he eats them)

He used to eat a lot of Raspberry Fig Newtons, but I won’t buy them anymore since I realized the very first ingredient is high fructose corn syrup. He also recently tried hamburgers, but he picks them apart so slowly that by the time he’s done, you can’t really recognize it as once having been a burger. I have followed advice from every parenting magazine, as well as fellow parents. I have tried they’re food advice ten times, to no avail. He flat-out refuses to try. I don’t want the dinner table to become a battlefield, but the kid needs to eat something fresh, natural, and not full of preservatives.

Last night, I broke the cardinal rule of mealtime: I made a meal from scratch and wouldn’t let him get up from the table until he finished everything on his plate.