As I was driving to the j-o-b today (somedays, “job” just feels like a bad word), I heard a song come on the radio that I hadn’t heard in a while: The Fugees, Killing Me Softly. Now, I’m not a particular fan of the group, or even of the song, but this particular song is special to me.

Ever have a song that is extremely connected to a memory? Something that triggers all senses, where you feel like you are right there again? That’s what this song is for me. It was playing every 15 minutes in the summer of 2006. That is the summer I spent in England.

I was a sophomore in college, 19 years old, and had decided earlier that year that I wanted to study abroad for the summer in England. I researched my options, looked into getting a passport, and, most importantly, starting my advertising pitch to my mom.

My mom, my aunts, and my grandmother were all against it. For one, it was expensive. For another thing, we didn’t have that kind of money, and it was expensive. Get the point?

They tried to talk me out of it:

You’re young, you have plenty of time to travel. (My mom used this one a lot.)
Wait until you’re out of school and you have a job to afford to travel.
You’ll be able to do so much more when you’re older.
Wait until you have more money – then you’ll be able to do more!

I pushed even harder than they did, and eventually I won. (Yes, it’s clear where Cordy’s stubborn nature comes from.) Thanks to the magic of student loans, I left the US in May for Richmond College, in London. I lived two blocks south of Kensington Palace, where Princess Diana took up residence. There was a pub on the corner, and two Tube stops in easy walking distance.

And yes, Killing Me Softly was on the radio all. the. damn. time. My roommate and I would listen to the radio in the evenings. I often walked around London with my portable radio, and it came with me on the many train rides I took to the countryside and to Scotland on the weekends. Of my three months there, that was the song that stuck with me.

When I hear it, I remember the dark dorm room with the single lightbulb, the heavy, wet, green atmosphere that enveloped us, the cool plaster walls, the crowded streets, the noisy, smoky environment of the pub down the street, the pigeons, the architecture, the train rides – my entire experience in England wrapped into one song. The actual lyrics of the song have no meaning – just the song itself. (Ah, the stories I could tell from my time there – they’d fill a book!)

It was my first time being totally on my own, with no lifeline. Yes, I lived on my own in college, but my mom was only a two-hour drive away. Now I was across an ocean from her, and only spoke to her every two weeks on the phone.

I look back on the experience, and I am still very grateful for my stubbornness. As I sit here at work, I think of all of my responsibilities now, and I know I will never have the chance to do something like that again. I will never be able to put my entire life on hold to spend a summer in another country, and honestly, I will never want to do it. My husband and my daughter are very important to me, and I couldn’t imagine being away from them for three months.

But hearing that song takes me back to those days, and reminds me that I did go for it. It reminds me that I won’t look back and regret not taking that trip. I can listen to the song, close my eyes (when not driving), and remember my days in England as vividly as when I was there.

So, to anyone reading this who is considering doing something for themselves that others consider foolish, I say: go for it. Do it, and do it now. As we grow older, we’re only going to gain more responsibilities and more obstacles, and waiting for another chance may cause you to wait forever. Sure, we can all look forward to retirement, if we live that long. Personally, I enjoyed being in London as a 19 year old – I think it won’t be the same when I’m 65.

Do the same for your kids. Encourage them to go for their dreams. Carpe diem!

Oh, and mom? I was so right.

Queen of Spain has started a Hippo Diet club for the month of March. After being told by her son that her butt resembled that of the hippo in Madagascar, Queen decided to do something about it. As often seems to happen in the blogging world, others joined in. And thus the Hippo Diet was born.

The rules are very open and simple. Post a beginning picture, do whatever you want to lose weight this month, and report in at the end.

The hardest part for me is getting started. I said goodbye to my last Shamrock Shake from McD’s this weekend, and spent this morning getting up the strength to post my “before” picture.

OK, here goes:

Here you can see in detail my double chin, my belly that is out further than my breasts, and my upper arms that are larger than some Hollywood starlet’s thighs. I’m certainly not in my best shape. My starting weight is even more embarrassing: 220.

That just happens to be the exact same weight I was at when I was 9 months pregnant. So apparently even though Cordelia is out, my body is still carrying her, figuratively.

Amazingly, I must tell you, this isn’t my heaviest weight ever. When I graduated from college, I was another 25 pounds heavier than this. No, I have no pictures of it. That part of my life has no photographic evidence, and for good reason.

But I worked at it, and within a year and a half, I took off about 70 pounds. While not my lowest (stress can really be a bitch holding a cream puff), I think I looked pretty damn good at our wedding and on our honeymoon. This I do have proof of:

(Yes, we’ve got mouse ears on – we were on our honeymoon and giddy – shut up.)

I would love to see myself like that (or something similar) again. I’ve never aspired to reach the status of model thin, or even bottom-of-the-recommended-weight for my height thin. I’d be happy at the top of the “healthy” range.

So, my goal for this month is to get rid of 10 pounds. That’s a lot for a month, but then again, I’ve got a lot I’m certainly not using. I want to get back into the habit of exercising again. (Not everyday, mind you. Even once a week would be a start.) And I plan to reduce my portion sizes and make better food choices.

Wish me luck!

Sure, everyone’s talking about the Academy Awards today. And guess what? So am I!!

Keira Knightly – Beautiful, and I still can’t believe she’s not even old enough to drink.

Michelle Williams – Further proof that God doesn’t distribute the “weight loss after baby” gene fairly. Although I think Heath seems to have put on a little bit of the Daddy Weight, no?

Jon Stewart – Loved him! It’s a shame that many people in the audience didn’t get half of his jokes. Lighten up, people!

The Makeup Award – Chronicles of Narnia won, and there were two makeup artists. Was it just me, or was anyone else hoping that Tami Lane whacked Howard Berger in the head with her Oscar as soon as they got off stage for not allowing her to get in one thanks during their 40 seconds? He took the time to tell a story about his childhood, thank Disney, and thank his 1,000 friends. Dude, let the lady at least thank her family! I think he’s got one less friend this morning.

Reese Witherspoon – I want her dress. I really want her dress. I love it.

A Mama’s Rant is having another contest! This time she’s giving away copies of the BusyBodyBook family organizer!

For those who don’t know, here’s a bit about the BusyBodyBook:

It’s the perfect solution to keeping track of a family’s numerous and varied activities, such as birthday parties, sports and dance practices, library story times, as well as Mom’s work commitments and appointments. It’s an old-school alternative to digital organizers that’s custom made for families.

Joan Goldner, a mom from New Jersey, developed the BusyBodyBook with family organization, time management, and goal-setting in mind.

In other words, it’s a dayplanner for a mom, designed to keep track of family activites as well as your work schedule. As someone who is chronically unorganized, I can see something like this being a big help. So get on over to A Mama’s Rant and see how to get your copy!

Cordelia and I had the day to spend together (daddy had a film shoot), so we visited my mom and grandmother.

This morning, as I tried to put her coat on her (and we know how she feels about that), she stomped her feet up and down and shouted, “Nnnnnaaajjj nnnaaagggghhhhh!” in her deepest, most growl-y (is that a word?) voice ever.

The tone and inflection in her voice sounded like toddler-ese for “Back the hell off and put the damn coat down!” Stunned, I let go of her coat and just looked at her as she let out a big huff and glared at me.

Later, while at lunch with my mom, I said, “I think Cordy cursed at me today.”

“Really? What did she say?”

“Well, I don’t know. It wasn’t any actual curse words. More like swearing in some baby language.”

“She may have been upset, but I doubt she was swearing at you.”

At this point, it’s mid-afternoon, and Cordy is wearing down fast. We go back to my grandmother’s house to install antivirus updates on my grandmother’s computer. I swear I’m my family’s tech support.

My mom attempted to grab Cordy to take her shoes off, and was met with flailing toddler arms and a sharp, deep, growl-y, “Aaaaaannnyyyaagghhhhyyyyjjjjnnnaag!” Mom let go of her and Cordy gave a stomp of her foot and a huff, as if to say, “That’s right, bitch. I said leave me alone.“

Mom looked at me, and then we both burst out laughing. “She really is swearing at us!”

“I told you!”

“You were right – we’re being cussed out and don’t even know what we’re being called.”

So what do you do when a toddler swears at you in gibberish? I know we probably shouldn’t laugh at her, but it is so damn funny, and she’s so serious about it. The growl in her voice is almost primal, and her little eyebrows knit together with her angry glare. I certainly can’t punish her for it, since I have no idea what she’s saying. For all I know, “nnnnaaayyyyggghhh!” could mean, “Please remove your hands from me.”

For now, I’m just trying to stifle my laughter and ignore the behavior. After all, if this is how she acts now, we’re in for it once she begins to mimic others and is stuck in traffic with her daddy.

I think we’re one step away from a sailor suit and a cigar for our little foul-mouthed tot.