Ron Swanson's "The Breakfast Club"

In honor of The Breakfast Club's 30th Anniversary, 
let us throwback to 2012 when I Photoshopped this number...


...and it went kinda-sorta-viral...ish. I've since deleted my Tumblr, but if you Google "Ron Swanson's Breakfast Club," you can still find a few sites that shared it. 

I still remember watching this movie and Sixteen Candles with my Mom when I was a teenager. She loved John Hughes and recalled these movies as fun and innocuous flicks over which she could bond with her teenaged daughter. And then there were boobies. Cue the embarrassment! "What's the big deal, Mom?" I remember thinking. "We both have them."

A re-watching of Sixteen Candles in my adult years had me less shocked over the 'shower scene' nudity than I was over the racial stereotypes and nonchalant handling of what was unarguably date rape.

I think this author best summed up my feelings on that particular Hughes movie:
"I enjoyed Sixteen Candles as a teenager who doesn't latch on to any morals, but as a thinking individual, I had serious reservations."   

And while a repeat viewing of John Hughes's The Breakfast Club several years ago was a tad less jarring, I still found myself following the drama through a different set of lenses. I was occasionally bristled by the dynamics between characters and (yeah, yeah) a little put-off by the language.

But, regardless of how my feelings on movies of all stripes may have changed over the years, when you think "Ron Swanson," you think "breakfast food." And when you think "breakfast food," you think "The Breakfast Club." ...And if you're decent with Photoshop, then those two things just have to go together. It's a natural progression.

So if you see a Ron Swanson's Breakfast Club movie poster making its rounds, you can tell everyone you know the gal who did it. Hey! It's almost like we're famous!

BONUS! Here's the Leslie Knope version for y'all to enjoy too:
This one wasn't as big of a hit, and I still can't quite understand why. 
It's Leslie Knope. And breakfast foods. And Reddi-Wip. C'mon, people.

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Mom-Crying in Public Places (Part 2)

You can read Part 1 here. Part 1 even has super-awesome illustrations. 
Part 2 does not, because TODDLER. Ain't nobody got time for 
illustrations when there's a maniac toddler in the house.

I've always been a creature of emotion. 

Add to my emotive and emotional disposition the rollercoaster of motherhood + not sticking to my PCOS diet + an incredible need for sleep, and you have all the ingredients for another super-awesome public cry-fest. 

Oh, but not that it hasn't happened more than once between Part 1 and Part 2. Are you kidding me? Motherhood makes your heart so full, your eyes will become leaky dams one "AW!" away from yet another demolition (Kleenexes are your friend).

So last night, we were in Aldi grocery shopping as a family, and Little Mouse was helping me pick out a box of strawberries. But he didn't want to take them to Daddy together - no, *HE* wanted to carry the strawberries to the cart (which was a good distance away) all by himself.

Holding the carton ever-so-delicately, Little Mouse trekked across the open area between the produce and dairy, readjusted the berries to free a hand, and tugged on Daddy's pant-leg. 

"Daddy. Sraw-bees," he said, obviously quite pleased with his accomplishment.

Daddy got down to his level and remarked how proud he was that he carried them all the way over from Mommy so carefully. Little Mouse just beamed, so proud of himself.

And I. Freaking. LOST. IT.

Standing alone in the produce aisle, watching this precious interaction between father and son, tears streamed down my face and my hands flew up to cover my "ugly cry" smile. You know the one.

But I just couldn't help myself; I couldn't have held
in that emotion if I had tried. There are simply some moments that drop-kick your heart so hard with love that the reaction is unavoidable. Like a spaceship venturing too close to a star whose plasma suddenly bursts forth from its magnetic field, you get caught in the shock wave, hit with approximately 10 billion tons of material at roughly one million miles per hour. In situations like that, there is no hope for survival (SCIENCE.).
I think anyone who has raised kids or are raising kids or is about to raise kids would understand completely...they may even commiserate. When you witness a parent-spawn "AW!" moment, you can't help but take pause and bask in the joy of that interchange. It doesn't matter if it's a video from one of those annoyingly-titled links on Facebook ("I thought I might punch something if I saw one more headline in this format. But this one? AMAZING!" [thanks to Emily Barry for this gem!]) or if you're there and seeing something first-hand - those fleeting events are something to be noticed and cherished.

That night, I witnessed my 20-month old take charge and be independent, and my amazing husband be warm and receptive to his son's miniature triumph.

...I also witnessed an older lady give me the stink eye for letting my son walk on his own to Dad, and a pair of eyes from a teenaged couple stare at me like "Thaaaaa heck is wrong with that woman? Is she CRYING?" Meh...either they get it or they don't. C'est la vie. 

Little Mouse will never be this little again; every day that passes is a step closer to independence. So I will not take a single second for granted or hold back my awe at this tiny human who is not only still alive (which is no small feat), but also is learning unbelievable things I never thought myself capable of teaching him. 

Visiting a helicopter at a local park. Elijah was ecstatic, and kept signing "helicopter" while exclaiming
"BIIIIIIIIG heh-coct-cah!" Now that's all he'll talk about when we try (key word: TRY)
to wind down for naps or bed. That little trip made quite the impression!

Motherhood so far in my limited experience can be summed up as a non-stop, incredibly hilly roller coaster. 
You scale the hill of uncertainty in your own competence and parenting skills, only to be met with an incredible, enjoyable free-fall when your little one blows you away with how amazing they are in spite of your misgivings. 

I do not, however, ugly cry on roller coasters.

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