Seven Weeks Till Summer

The time to start has come … again. And frankly, I’m over with starting over, I’m done with not being done, and I’m finished with beginning … the redundancy makes me ill. Nevertheless, I find myself at the starting line once more.

Now, a little self-talk: enough with the defeatist attitude Erin, the life is greener anywhere but here bull***t, and the I’ve already lost before starting rhetoric must end this instant.

Ok. Better.

The deal is this: I readily accept fitness, I welcome tightness, and I want full body strength. I need health. I need energy and mental wellbeing. I need to feed my body good things and work it the way it was intended (i.e. more than a little and less than a lot). I must  push-on towards the muchiest version of myself.

I have 7 weeks until the first day of summer, enough time to pull it together for some intense (not gonna lie) shizzle (are people still izzle-ing? if not they should, because it’s awesome).

I must make this clear though – over the next few months you are going to hear a lot about getting ready for  bikini season. I do not want to be another voice among the many saying you are gross in less than an overcoat if you aren’t a certain size or heaven forbid you have certain unseemly textures to your skin. The whole thin-obsessed culture we live in is effing ridiculous.

Here’s the real deal – last week I wore a bikini to the beach, when I bent over to pick up sand toys or sunscreen-up my kid a decent fold of stretch-marked skin hung over my bottoms, also my thighs rub generously when I walk, and neither of these things make me unsuitable for bikini wearing. The only prerequisite for bikini wearing (or anything wearing really) is a body. I do not want my goals of fitness and health to be mistaken as goals of striving for an ideal body, which in my case would be a thinner body.

There are no ideal bodies.

There are only bodies.

Body confidence means being present and grateful in the body I have right this very moment, without making excuses or expecting more than what my current body offers to me. My body does not owe a standard of beauty to anyone, ever, without exception.

Seven weeks from now I plan to have a healthier body, I will not have a more valuable, lovable, or beautiful one.

I constructed eating and exercising guidelines, taking hints from all of my favorite health gurus (Tone It Up, Bob Harper, Paleo), as well as, listing specific dates between now and June 18th (my birthday) which will provide challenges for following said guidelines. JR suggested I do this, and like most every other suggestion she’s had for me over the tenure of our friendship, she has proved to be right once more. She also suggested I keep a journal of my progress. I will try.


In order to celebrate my body’s capacity for health and fitness we are re-releasing our Weekly Plan Printable updated in color and font with the same superior design including tear-away shopping list, 5 meal structure, water goal bubbles and workout section.

Until next time, keep hydrated.


CLICK HERE FOR PRINTABLE: two thirtysomethings weekly plan


Currently Crushing // Erin’s Swaxy September

Here at 230somethings our favorite thing is favoritism. We’ve all got it, we just gotta own it. I have a favorite day of the week (wednesday, always and forever), some favorite people (husband, besties, the vlogbrothers), more than a few favorite foods, a couple favorite bands (john mayer, U2, jason mraz), at least two favorite colors (mustard, cobalt blue) … we (humans) love preference. So, in the name of picking favorites here are mine this month (check out JR’s here):


Eleanor & Park by: Rainbow Rowell

this book gave me all the feels

Like so much in my life recently, what I want to say has already been said by epic YA novelist and internet guru John Green. He says, “If you read a lot, you can get jaded. You can forget how a reader has to be generous to a book as much as a book has to be generous to its reader. You feel like maybe everything worth doing has been done, and nothing will ever blow you away ever again. And then you read a book like Eleanor and Park, and you are shocked out of your complacency and grateful to be alive.”

So, yeah, that. Read it. No really, go right now to Amazon and purchase this book. (ProTip: Rainbow  released another novel called FANGIRL this past week – it is getting great reviews and is already on my shelf waiting to be read immediately following the JG book I’m reading now)


Pop it. Lock it. Make it a double.
Pop it. Lock it. Make it a double.

I cannot stop drinking espresso, over ice, in my own kitchen. It’s called Nespresso and I am in love with a machine … hold a sec, I’ll be right back … ok, I had to make one and its frothy aroma is captivating. Delicious.




It’s like a love letter to music and those who listen to lots of it. It is a paid service if you want it on your phone or without ads. I’ve been subscribed for almost six months and I’ll never go back. I don’t buy music any more, but am still suporting the artists who make the musak I love. I am a little obsessed. Click here to hear my favorite recent playlist (spoiler: it is a working playlist of my main male character currently named Bryan)


Outlast Lipstain in Wild Berry Wink

it’s a winking berry, a beautiful berry who’s winking at you. what the what does that mean?

Photo on 9-11-13 at 4.55 PM

you know what’s awk? taking a selfie in red lipstick, that’s what.

It works like a marker and doesn’t bleed into my newly acquired lip lines (thanks aging, you’re a gem). While my mister doesn’t like red lips, I think they are super swaxy and make a normal greasy mommy day feel fancy. The mauve one is also worth the $$


Watsky. Watsky. Watsky.

If you are an internet human, particularly a YouTube internet human, you already know Watsky. But, for everyone else he is pretty unknown. George Watsky, to his mother, is a spoken word poet-slash-rapper kid from the Bay and is on every one of my current mixes from workout to contemplative. If talent had a name it would be Watsky.

Also, Imagine Dragons.


I am tempted to say Friday Night Lights (because I always say FNL), but instead I will recommend Teen Wolf for highest honors (you weren’t expecting something highbrow were you? for shame).

You may be aware that the Netflix homepage gives categorical suggestions. After scrolling through “Talking Animal Cartoons” and “Movies based on Children’s Books” and “Because you watching Dragon Tales” I get to two consecutive categories just for me: “Teen Drama” and “Shows about Teens”. It is a subtle but important difference (no, really, it isn’t though).

my heart beats only for teen wolf gifs

Since the passing of The O.C. I’ve been waiting for a replacement. Gossip Girl: same writers, NYC-Love, couldn’t hold a candle. Hart of Dixie: the same writers, great feel, but wrong again. Then I stumbled upon Teen Wolf, an MTV creation about boys who are wolves, and BAM! there it was:  a well written, self-aware, teen drama with lore and, total bonus, a Seth Cohen redux in the character of Stiles.

his vicious rhetoric too

So, there it is: My Swaxy September list. That was fun, right? Let’s do it again next month with Obsession October, wherein I will geek-out about all things YouTube and quote the Vlogbrother’s some more.

Maybe our favorite quotations say more about us than about the stories and people we are quoting

– John Green

How to write a novel // Part 1: My Tale of Getting Started

By: Erin


at starbucks taking selfies of my writing process today

There are so many excellent blogs and articles and books on this topic. As someone who has not finished even one manuscript I cannot tote myself an expert – not even a little bit. But, I assume if you are reading this you are curious about the novel writing process, or maybe just mine. So, here goes…

How I got started…

When I was six my first grade teacher asked our class what we wanted to be when we grew up. A lot of boys said Firefighters or Policemen or Pilots (not the lawyers or store managers or electrical engineers they would become) and a lot of the girls said Nurses, Mommies, and also, Firefighters (maybe the girls were a little more reality-based than they boys, but that’s a blog for another time).

I said “I want to be an Author when I grow up.”

You should know that in 1st grade my favorite foods were camembert cheese and abalone. So yeah, I was a weird kid.

Once I learned to read I loved stories about fairies, fantasy and magic. Teachers were instructed to turn me away from windows, particularly windows with trees, because I would spend class time making up stories in my head about all the little people who skipped between branches and stole kisses behind green leaves, instead of listening to directions on how to fill out grammar worksheets.  I can think of much worse ways to spend one’s easily distracted childhood. For nothing came as close to touching the magic in stories as the making of the stories themselves.  Though, in retrospect I could have used the grammar lessons.

I spent years trying to reign in the ole’ imagination so I could, you know, learn how to do the simple math my phone now does for me. But, all joking aside, somewhere along the line I forgot that I wanted to write. Going through years of higher education with too much required reading and even more required writing distracted me. I learned a trade. I became an intellectual expert in sitting down with people who are suffering, called myself a therapist. I would get good at it, I would work, and then, maybe, with enough street-cred, I would retire as a writer. Become a memoirist, or something.

Along the way, I also forgot how much I loved to read. I was that kid that would come home from school, sit down with a book in the den, and read until mom had to come by and turn on a light. Sometimes I would skip dinner.   I don’t know when I stopped doing this.  I figured I had a hard time reading as much as I used to because I harbored a secret fear that I would love the world of my books more than my real life. Either that or it was because my real life was pretty damn busy and I had no time for reading like a child. Whatever it was, I had forgotten something intrinsically me.

Then, exactly a year ago our little family went to Hawaii for a month. (I know. I know. Hawaii. For. A. Month!!! It’s crazy and you can be jealous. Hell, I am jealous of 2012 Erin right now. I could tell you that leading up to the trip we had a total sh*t year and we deserved it, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. We did have a horribly stressful year, but no one deserves luxury. We are lucky and blessed and insanely grateful. That’s it.).  I made a single goal for the trip: to read 10 books.

2 of the books I read were written by friends of mine (both worth a read, by the way).   It was in their reading that I realized something terrible about myself over the last decade. I was a pissed-off cranky reader.  I had stopped being generous, I had stopped enjoying the process.  It was because my friends were so like me that I was sent into a tailspin of insane jealousy. Like, so out-of-mind covetous. And it wasn’t just Megan and Anne, it was every author I ever read. I was, so effing sick with envy that I had suppressed my childhood insatiable desire for books. It wasn’t that I had been busy. It wasn’t the fear of real life being less real that fictional life. It wasn’t even the pages upon pages of research paper writing. It was pure raging, green as jade, gouge out my eyeballs, jealousy.

While reading a entirely different YA fiction and after the hundredth audible groan/sigh/growl by me, Mr. Man said, “Erin, what is your problem?” only kinder (he is always kinder than I report).

I responded, “I think I need to write a book.”

To which, he said, “Ok. Then why don’t you do it already.”

So, I started writing my thoughts in a moleskine journal. They were all over the place.  I knew I wanted to write about a teenager. I knew I didn’t want to write a dystopian novel (though i heart them muchos). And, that was about it.

I wrote at night and kept a google-doc open on multiple devices around the house, adding sentences here and there. In February I started writing one full day a week, thanks to my sister watching my kiddos. I made headway. I picked up more books to read. I feel back in love with reading.

And, frankly, if I never finish this novel, if it never makes its way into a stranger’s hands, if it just sits in my computer title-less, I will still be grateful. Because, I am trying, and I am writing, and it feels like breathing.

I loved words. I love to sing them and speak them and even now, I must admit, I have fallen into the joy of writing them

.Anne Rice

Stay tuned for How to Write a Novel // Part 2: My Tale of Finding a Character Worth Loving

I’m Not “Ready for some Football”

Ah, football season is upon us and I could care less. I can’t believe I spent a decade of my life cheering for a sport I don’t even enjoy watching. Obviously that is why I was always facing the other direction and shaking my booty to the beats. But my cheerleading days are behind me and my husband loves watching football. Most of our Sundays will now look like this: My hubby managing his fantasy team, my kids bopping around asking for snacks and me feeling a little cray cray. So I must find a way to survive the season.

Here is the game plan:

1. Watch Musicals and Period Dramas

Our living room has our computer in it. Perfect location to sneak off to and stream something wonderful. Call the Midwife is my current obsession.

2. Get Crafty

If I feel like i want to be fairly present and be in the same room as the game, I can save myself from total boredom by keeping my hands and brain mostly occupied. Perfect opportunity to whip up a beanie.

3. Become a Domestic Goddess

People love to eat when they watch football. I love to bake. Great time to try out a new recipe. This Fall I will create the ultimate Paleo Pumpkin Bread.

4. Invite the Besties

Misery loves company. Hubbies can watch the games together. Kidlets entertain eachother. Mommies sneak onto the front porch with a glass of vino.

So I’m hoping this will work and I will somehow survive to the Superbowl. I love the Superbowl. Seriously, Madonna, Beyonce, Britney….doesn’t matter. I live for the Halftime Show.

So do you love or loathe football?