You can’t go home again

The 4th of July has always been special to me. I was born just a few days before, on the same day as my grandpa. Our birthdays, and later just mine, turned into a week long celebration. Some of my best childhood memories were made during this time of parades, parties and fireworks.

The home I grew up in was on the main street in a small ocean town, right across from the water. The view was to die for. The house, a Queen Anne Victorian, a masterpiece. It had a turret, original stained glass windows, chandeliers and the most spectacular staircase. It was flawed for modern living though, as all old houses are. There was no family room, no master bath, the washing machine was housed in my brother's room, and its formality wasn't ideal for young kids. But, once a year, for celebrating our countries independence, it was perfection.

The fireworks were set off from a barge directly across from our house. For a dinky little town, we sure knew how to put on a firework display. Each year was fantastic and our porch was the prime location for watching them. My parents would have parties, ranging from large to small. We'd pile on and look below at the folks who had to settle for a street view, vendor's hot dogs and folding lawn chairs. We ate delicious food, wrapped ourselves in blankets and felt like the rich and famous for a night. I'll never forget the sight of the bright colors dancing in the sky or the loud bangs as they exploded above "our" beach. It was the best night of the year.

A few short years after I left my childhood home for college, my parent's divorced and sold the house. My childhood wasn't perfect, but somehow that house represents all things good to me. The year our house was sold, the fireworks combined with the next town over and are now set off there. It gives me closure knowing we were the last family to celebrate with that view.

Every year at this time I feel like a little girl again. I long for my home town. I long for the beach, the fireworks and my whole family. I now have the daunting task of building 4th of July memories for my kids. I'll try, knowing it will be hard to beat what I had.

Impossible, actually.

Lily & Ben Bake Muffins

At some point over most weekends, I like to have the kids help me bake. Nothing beats the smell of something yummy cooking in the oven and the kids look so cute in their little aprons. Although I love to cook, I am notorious for poor baking. My brownies are always over cooked, breads are half raw, cakes fall... My problem is that I don't like to follow directions, and always think I can improve upon a recipe. With baking, that's not the best idea.

This recipe is fail proof, even by me. I always have the basic ingredients on hand, and just add what I feel like: Chocolate chips, walnuts, cinnamon, nutmeg etc. I always freeze bananas and just nuke them to defrost. You can half the butter and use a bit of applesauce too... No matter what they always turn out delicious.

Impossible to Mess Up Banana Muffins
* 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
* 1 teaspoon baking powder
* 1 teaspoon baking soda
* 1 teaspoon vanilla
* 4 large mashed bananas
* 3/4 cup white sugar
* 1 egg
* 1/3 cup melted butter
* (add nuts/chocolate chips/spices etc.)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Combine all ingredients.
Scoop into muffin liners or greased tins. Bake for about 25 minutes.

Super easy. They are the perfect muffins to make when your husband casually mentions at 8:00 PM that you are having guests for brunch the next day. (Yup, that happened yesterday) Of course, that only means that you don't have to share with him, and get more for yourself. Enjoy!

The Suburban Mommy's Retail Trifecta

In most shopping plazas, in most suburbs, in most parts of the country, there can be found 3 stores: Marshalls (or TJ Maxx, if the case may be,) Homegoods and a Grocery Store. The combination of these 3 spots is magic. Many times my car seems to be on auto pilot to the strip mall here that houses them. When there's nowhere else to go, somehow, there I am. With the kids, they are enjoyable errands. Alone?
They are my utopia.

My plan of attack sans children: Go to the grocery store. Grab a coffee
at Starbucks. Leisurely roam the isles. I can go here first, because I'm
not buying milk or eggs or yogurt or and any other perishable necessities. I am here for fun, and there will be no sensible purchases. I might buy an exotic jam, or fancy olive oil or greeting card. What I buy isn't the point. I can actually read labels. Not have to escort children to the potty. Use a basket, rather than a cart. Not hear a chorus of "can we have this?" and "can we have that?" Not have to apologize to the checkout clerk for the little monsters by my side.

Next stop: Marshalls. First it's the kids clothes. I refuse to buy clothes anywhere else (except, maybe, Target. That's a close second.) The treasures you can find here are unbelievable. Baby CZ Cashmere for ten bucks? Yup, I snagged that up. Petit Bateau, Zutano, Kenzo? All here, if you look. Granted, you may have to dig through loads of crap, and it may take multiple visits, but that's the fun of it. Then it's onto toys to stock up on gifts. Home decor is next, and finally shoes and clothes. I end with clothes, because when in doubt, I buy. My closet is my dressing room, and if I need to return it, that's just another reason to come back.

And, finally, the best for last... Homegoods. A slice of heaven, here, in suburbia. Kitchenware, gourmet food, furniture, beauty products, candles, books, gifts... And all for prices better than wholesale. What more can a girl ask for? Cheesy 80s music? Got it. I could (and have)
spent hours here alone.

I come by this obsession for discount shopping naturally. On any given day, my mom has at least one bag of returns to a store in the TJX family. A few years ago, I ended up in an empty TJ Maxx parking lot with nobody but my mother. We, unbenonst to the other, had each arrived at 9:25, returns in hand, before the store even opened. It was hilarious and frightening all rolled into one.

Apparently, the family tradition continues. Lily loves accompanying me shopping. She seems to think there are three stores. The grocery store, Target and Marshalls. In her mind, anything can be found at one of those (she's a genius, my girl.) The other day she marched in, her doll wrapped in a towel, and happily announced "Don't you like Mac's robe? I got it at Marshall's!"

I laughed, and vowed to let her accompany me the next time I go. Going with her is a close second to going alone. Someday, maybe, it will even be first. Maybe.

You like me! You really like me!

I started this blog as a way to update friends and family with pictures and little stories about the kids. I felt like I was sending out too many photo filled e-mails, and didn't want to be that annoying mom who knows thinks that her kids are the cutest/most beautiful/funny/charming/entertaining little people in the world and can't stop writing about them.

Enter real life friend, Danielle. She introduced me to the world of blogging. Here, I can post as often as I want and people are free to come and go as they like. I was intrigued with the idea, but was totally unprepared for how much I'd love it. That it would become my children's 21st century baby books. That I would enjoy reading other mom's blogs and form these little cyber friendships. That I would have visitors from countries I've never heard of.

To top it off, some moms out there who I've never actually met have called me out and given me these awards. I just love wining things,
so I'm a happy girl. I'm taking their words for it that they are not actually fat, creepy men in basements impersonating innocent Mommy bloggers. They've convinced me so far:

Lipstick at the Mailbox has given me a "You make my day award."
She's even newer than I am, but is sarcastic, witty and pretty.
A winning combination.
Daisie, my favorite UK visitor, presented me with an award for excellence. She's so sweet and crafty and her comments always make me smile.Stephanie (with the hunky chin-up doing husband) has awarded me with a creativity award. It originated in Spain, I think, and is "dedicated to many who nourish and enrich the spirit and creativity..." Me? I do that? Here are the (much abbreviated) rules that accompany her award.
• Choose 5 blogs deserving of this for their creativity, design & material.
• Each award should link to the giver of the award
• Link to the Arte Y Pico blog (the woman who began this award.)
• Post the Rules (I already broke them by abbreviating, but who am I to follow the rules?)

So, I am passing the torch to a five mommy bloggers who I check in with:
Mrs. R
Lit and Laundry
Mama's Losin' It
Classy Chaos
Momma's Tantrum
They are smart, witty and most of all real, despite just being on the other end of a computer screen. And they make me feel like I'm not alone on this crazy ride of Mommy-hood, on the days when it seems
there's nobody in real life around. And that's pretty amazing.

Convenience Store Cuisine

I've mentioned my husbands taste in food a few times here (he doesn't have much, in case you missed those posts.) When I look at his childhood though, I really can't blame him. His mom hasn't cooked since 1985 (a New Year's resolution that she stuck to) and his Grandmother cooked most of the meals he fondly remembers. I love her dearly, but 90% of the ingredients in his favorite family recipes can be found at a gas station convenience store (for the record, she does make killer brownies from scratch.)

However, her stuffing consists of Ritz crackers, chicken & rice soup, an onion & canned mushrooms. Hawaiian chicken is salad dressing, onion soup mix and jelly. Salmon croquettes? Canned salmon. When Jeff's mother did cook, a dessert called "Yodel Pie" was her signature recipe, made almost entirely of one of the least nutritional foods on earth.

There is one concoction that I absolutely adore, and proudly serve at every party we host. It's called "Kahlua Dip" and consists of 3 ingredients that you can grab from a 7-11. Kahlua, Cool Whip, and Hershey's milk chocolate bars. When they combine, however, the result is pure magic. His family served this treat as as a dip with Pirouette cookies, but I prefer it as a mousse, garnished with raspberries and mint. It's also wonderful in those little chocolate cups as a bite-size dessert. (Or, better still, straight from the mixing bowl with a spoon. Because those calories don't count.)

How to make it: Grate 3 Giant Hershey's Milk Chocolate Bars (you only need about 2 1/2, so feel free to nibble.) Mix into 1 tub of Cool Whip.
Add 1/2 cup of Kahlua. That's it. It's best refrigerated overnight before serving. If you eat enough, you can get a nice little buzz and forget how exactly much saturated fat you just consumed. Perfect!

Reunited (and it feel so good)

Dear Readers, it is my pleasure to introduce you to the fabulous Miss Emerald, the first Barbie Doll I've purchased for myself Lily. I am so excited for her arrival. I cannot wait. For my daughter's sake, I mean.
Of course.

I love Barbie. Always have, always will. My oldest friend, Jess, and I played with our Barbie dolls for years longer than any other girls we knew. It was our dirty little secret, but we simply could not part with them. Mine (Kate,) had the minivan and the salon and the family with twins. Jess had the basement sink that we transformed into a spa, the tree with berries the girls dined on and all the best dresses. She'd drive me crazy mixing her Barbie (Courtney Whales,) with "Little People" furniture and Lego's (Hello? They are totally different scales! Duh!) And I'd drive her nuts decorating houses whose furniture outlined the rooms. But, we loved it and would play with them for hours.

I have always found Barbie backlash amusing. My Barbie lived on a farm (?) and jetted into the city to work as an ad executive. She had a booming career, a hot husband and drove a functional, yet pink, minivan. So, her dimensions were 36-18-38, an obviously unattainable ideal. She was also a doll. Did the Smurfs make me want to turn blue? Did I aspire to grow a "snork" when watching the Snorkles? Did I want to dress up as a Strawberry and draw black dots on my nose? No. She was a doll who brought me countess hours of entertainment. Never for a second did I want to be her.

Jess kept hers neat and pristine (and I'm willing to bet they are still in her basement.) Mine all had Mohawks and one arm by the time we sold them in our driveway for fifty cents. I've always regretted getting rid of them and welcome the opportunity to relive my youth through my daughter. I hope they bring her as much joy as they brought me. I hope she listens when I tell her that their hair will not grow back once it's cut. I hope she doesn't attempt to shorten the skirts, give perma-blush with a pink Sharpies and use push pins as earrings. None are a good idea, and I speak from experience.

Mostly, I hope that she is smart enough to hang on to hers, long after she thinks she should. Because, as I've learned, a girl never really outgrows her Barbie.

Edited on 6-18-2008 to add:
"Annabel Lena" arrived today. And Lily is mixing her with the plastic Disney characters. Breathe, Jill, breathe.

Rubber Ducky, You're the One

Once I get something in my head I become obsessed. Obsessed
with a capital "O" (as those who know me are well aware.)

This week, for many (many) hours after the kids have been tucked in,
I've been all about gift buckets. I needed a new baby gift-- the perfect excuse to tackle the bath bucket! It's filled with all sorts of bath goodies-- soap, lotion, diaper cream, wash cloths, brush and of course, a rubber ducky. Michael's sells those adorable little rubber ducky clothes pins, which were perfect to add on. (Clearly, I went a bit crazy in the end.)

I also plan on making a "Fun in the Tub Bucket" for older kids. Filled with toys, bath crayons, colored bubble bath and detangler spray, it would be the perfect birthday gift. Oh, the fun I'm having (way, way too much, I fear. I need a life.)

Should you decide to try a bath bucket for yourself, here is the blank label I designed. It's yours for the taking.

Just download the original size and print it out (you can personalize it on the computer or by hand.) I've found that printing them on sticker paper and trimming is the easiest, but you can also tape it on with double stick tape.

Have fun, and let me know if you give it a try!

My Wild & Crazy Saturday Night

For some time, I've been wanting to come up with a birthday present that was cute, original and useful to give as my token gift for the oodles of parties that the kids have. Something I could make ahead of time and personalize. Something that cost under 15 bucks. Something that the kids would enjoy and would invoke parental whispers about just how creative I am, and where on earth do I find the time? (Because, you know, it's all about me.)

I figure all kids can use more art supplies; I know we can never have enough. So, last night I put together my first (er, Cannon's) signature birthday bucket. It's filled with finger paints, watercolors, play-doh, paper, home-made crayons (remember those?) fabric balls and stickers.
I repackaged some of the junky looking supplies in cellophane and raffia.
I put a vintage "C" sticker on the front of the bucket along with some ribbon and decoupaged over it. Stuffed the bottom with bright tissue paper, went a little ribbon crazy, wrapped it up and voila! (Next time I'm going to make a personalized "Blank's Rainy Day Bucket" or "Blank's Art Bucket" label instead. Live and learn.)

Anyway, I had fun making it last night and and plan on perfecting them over the next few months. Next up: "Bath Time Bucket" complete with rubber ducky, bath paint and toys, bubble bath, wash cloth and duck soap. Stay tuned.

Help me out, folks

It's been about 3 months since I started this blog, and I'm loosing steam.
I started out writing everyday and now it's dwindled down to a few times a week. I have some good topics in my head, only to stumble upon another blogger who's already covered the subject. Coming to terms with being a minivan driver... The ridiculousness of the word verification process... Those posts were in my head, and now they're out the window. I'm at a loss.

So, here is where you all come in. I need some help. Give me some suggestions of things to blog about. Funny book? Tidbit of news? Something that drives you crazy? Whatever. You will get one entry for every suggestion you give, so the more the better.

In return I will randomly choose one of you to win a most amazing prize from my short lived little store, "Bread and Butter" (a cute little kitchen shop filled with fabulous goodies found at stores like Anthropologie and Pottery Barn) The prize consists of an enamel toiletries bowl, soap bowl, 2 adorable hand embroidered bee guest towels, a hen dishtowel, a set of hen napkin rings and a secret bonus. It's valued at well over $75, and I'll even wrap it up all nice and pretty.

So, you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours, ok?
Make sure to check back Monday, June 9th to see if you've won!

Update: And the winning contest entry is... Laura: "What you are cooking- I LOVE finding new, quick, easy recipes. You can do a weekend menu, a full week menu, or just something fun you cooked and post when you feel like it."

Thank you all the great ideas, I had lots of fun reading them.
I will be racking my brain for a fabulous recipe to share!

Tag, I'm it.

There is a game in this blogging world called tag. Danielle tagged me weeks ago and I blew it off because I couldn't come up with answers that I deemed post worthy. Lauren tagged me this morning, so in an effort to kill two birds (or at least shut them up) with one stone I'm combining the two games. Here goes.

The Rules:
Each player answers the questions about themselves. At the end of the post, the player tags other people and posts their name, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they've been tagged and asking them to read your blog. Here goes nothin'.

What was I doing 10 years ago?
Hmmmm... Junior year of college. Can't remember much. It's all hazy, man.

6 Non-important things/habits/quirks:
1. I absolutely cannot stand the sight of veins, especially the bright green wrist ones.
2. The sound of a spoon scraping a Styrofoam dish drives me absolutely crazy.
3. I hate it when Jeff doesn't stay on his side of the bed; If I could draw a line in the middle I would.
4. I don't discourage Lily from biting her nails, because having to trim them would give me another task to do.
5. My eyes are one feature of mine that I'm always happy with.
6. I love making lists. I make them all day and re-write them entirely once I've accomplished something.

Five Foods I Enjoy:
1. Pad Thai. I could eat it for every single meal.
2. Pizza. Plain and oozing with cheese.
3. Lobster. But just the easy, good parts because I'm too lazy to dig.
4. Reece's Pieces
5. Brie cheese

Things I Would Do If I Were a Billionaire:
1. Hire a full time nanny
2. and chef
3. and masseuse
4. and maid
5. and personal trainer

Five Places I Have Lived:
1. Massachusetts
2. Missouri
3. Tennessee
4. Washington, D.C.
5. Italy

Five blogs I'm tagging:
1. Oh, the Joys
2. Ashley's closet
3. In the trenches
4. Playgrounds are no place for children
5. Noble Pig

Honey, I'll cook tonight. Really.

Jeff did 3 loads of laundry last night. And he folded it and put it away. I was out for dinner at a friend's house with the kids and came home to this news, which he shared with me 2 seconds after I walked through the door. His face beamed with pride, displaying the same joy Lily's does when she masters perfectly writing a new letter of the alphabet. Naturally, I was suspicious. What does he want from me? Nothing, he said. There was laundry everywhere so I thought I'd help. Huh? This was a first.

Jeff does not clean. He does not cook. He does not run the dishwasher or the laundry machine or empty the humidifier. I'm sure he has no idea where the cleaning supplies are or how to clean out the vacuum.
Ask him to find a salad bowl and he'd be clueless. Grab a set of serving spoons? No way. But, the house is my domain and I'm fine with it.

On the few occasions when he's gone grocery shopping I've returned at least 5 items to the store the next day. (When I say fruit, I mean fresh, not neon colored and canned with syrup, for example.) And then there was the time he cooked dinner. I have a cornflake chicken recipe (milk, butter, cornflakes.) Couldn't be easier. I also marinate another recipe's chicken in Italian dressing and coat with breadcrumbs. On the night, many years ago, when Jeff decided to treat me to a home cooked meal, we were out of both cornflakes and breadcrumbs. I was on a big granola kick. Granola with dried fruit. Cereal is cereal, he thought, right? Wrong. I was served chicken marinated in Italian dressing at coated in granola. It looked, tasted and smelled absolutely revolting. He insisted on eating every last piece just to prove to me that it was in fact edible. Barely.
Needless to say, I haven't let him cook since.

I do appreciate the effort. It's sweet, in a pathetic sort of way. But, I'm home with the kids. I expect to do those things. And most of them I like doing them. And at least when I do them I know they're being done correctly (or, rather, the way I want them done.) I don't need to run the wash again, or return to the grocery store or remake the bed. It's just easier.

I do realize that by being this much of a control freak I'm discouraging him from helping around the house and stomping on any domestic inclinations he has. And that's totally ok. That's just the way I want it.

Little Mozarts

We have a beautiful piano that was given to us as a hand-me-down (score!) Both kids like to "play" it every now and then. Lily bangs the
keys carelessly and gives me headaches, resulting in very short sessions. Ben, on the other hand, pays close attention to the sounds he's making. As much of a wild animal as he is, (he does roar as much as he talks) he can also be very restrained and concentrated. He sits on the bench for twenty minutes at a time, carefully hitting each key and listening to the sound it makes. It's really sweet to listen to.

Someday we'll have them take piano lessons, and I hope they enjoy it more than I ever did. Someday Ben will be able to get up and down from the seat on his own. His chubby little fingers won't be so clumsy and I won't need to worry about the cover slamming down on them. Someday
(I hope) that Lily will make music and not just noise.

For now, though, I'm happy to listen to their sounds and watch the two of them playing side by side, with their little toes dangling 2 feet from the ground.

The madness is over

Thank you, dear friends and family for putting up with my insanity. Thanks to your votes (and mine on countless public library computer labs) I now have 3 contest winning prints of my children.
They are hanging outside of their rooms and I think they are fantastic, and well worth my driving you all crazy. Hope you agree!

Food, glorious food

I really love food. I love eating at fancy restaurants. I annoy Jeff by walking down city streets and stopping to read every single menu posted outside. The thought of a 5 star, 5 course dinner gives me chills. Despite clipping coupons and gripping about gas prices, it's an expense I can totally justify. I still think fondly (and often) about the few really stellar meals I've consumed. I even love reading about other people's fine dining experiences.

I love cooking, too, especially when I have someone other than my taste-less husband to cook for (and, honey, no--taste is not subjective, you just don't have any--sorry.) I spend a good deal of time looking at food porn and drooling; I must have 300 recipes bookmarked, and look at them throughout my days.

One person who shares my passion for food is my oldest and dearest friend, Jess. Thirty years ago, our moms were members of a gourmet dinner club together, and we're continuing the tradition. The last time she was here, she introduced me to the incredible Chicken Marbella,
and my life hasn't been the same since. She arrived last night for a 5 day visit and we already have each night's menu written out. Tonight it's appetizers, Thursday is crab legs, Friday is Mexican (and craft!) night and Saturday is strawberry salad, beef tenderloin, stuffed tomatoes and potatoes au gratin. Yum.

So much for not eating past 6 o'clock this week. It's just not gonna happen. But at least when I'm starving again next week, I'll have some really good meals to look back on. And until her next visit, some really yummy sites to visit and drool over.

The best job I've ever had

What do you do? It's a question asked of me at least 5 or 6 times a week. It's small talk, I know, and an easy conversation starter at the play-
ground. People don't seem to know the inner turmoil it causes in me.

My answer to that deep, dark query is usually, I'm at home with the baby for now. Or, I'm with the kids and do graphic design on the side (um, yea... the last 3 things I designed were my children's birth announcements and party invitations, but don't tell.) Sometimes I'm vague, I work from home, I say, mysteriously. Or I pretend to spot one of my children tumbling from the jungle gym, and dart off to check on them, thus avoiding an answer all together.

The bottom line is that I stay at home. I am a stay at home mom. A, (God can I even type it?) housewife. A homemaker. I take care of the baby, the "big" kids, the lunches, the laundry, the grocery shopping, the dishes, the diapers, the errands, the scheduling etc.

And I love it. I love it like I've never loved a job before. And, admittedly, I've held some really cool jobs. I was an art director at a major department store where I got to direct fashion shoots with models flown in from NYC. We ate catered lunches and talked about their guest appearances on Sex in the City and Friends. I did store design for my favorite store ever, and got to dictate the entire look of the space (and get a big, fat discount to boot.) I've done graphic design for companies, large and small and seen my work flipping through magazines and on buses driving by. I was even, a million years ago, offered a job working for my idol.

I don't miss any of it. I don't miss setting an alarm clock. I don't miss high heels, nylons or or dry cleaning. I don't miss collaborating with other adults or water cooler conversation. I don't miss traffic or public transportation or conference calls. I don't miss having a desk, an office
or time to myself. And I really don't miss having a boss.

Maybe someday I will open the store I dream about. Or maybe I will actually utilize my hundred thousand dollar 4 year degree in graphic design. But for now, I am thrilled to spend my days in pj's getting crayon marks off the walls and eating grilled cheese sandwiches in my back yard. My co-workers are pretty damn cute, and the benefits can't be beat.

My life as an internet addict

I spend far too much time on the computer. I sell on e-bay obsessively and check e-mail constantly. I browse mom chat boards. I can't even remember the last time I read a paper newspaper. I google everything.
I do all of my shopping on-line, and even get my groceries from peapod.com. It's easy, convenient and I can do it in my pjs at 3 am.
The internet was made for stay at home insomniacs like me.

I've developed some issues, though, thanks to spending so much time in front of my beloved Mac. I frequently find myself thinking in computer lingo. I often see the letters BAER* in my head when my husband speaks. I think of the kids as DD, DS1 and DS2*. They can be PITAs*, but I adore them. When I make a stupid mistake, swear in front of Lily, or miss a highway exit, my first thought is to hit "open apple z" and just undo it.

And then there's this blog. I spend my days observing little moments to write about. It's taken the place of baby books for my kids and it allows me to see the humor in situations that would have otherwise irritated me. And I really love that when I receive unsolicited advice here, or a post is taking a lame turn into family banter, I can simply send that comment straight to the garbage. It is quite liberating to be able to
trash criticism with a simple click of a button. How nice it would be
to do that IRL*.

I don't want to hear that you think I spend too much time on the computer. I like it and I'm just fine and dandy. Tell me I'm witty and charming, and that my children are GFG*. Share your experiences. Tell me the weather where you are, or what you ate for breakfast. But don't be preaching unwanted parenting advice to me on my blog. If I want it, I'll ask for it, TYVM. And should you not listen, you can always be trashed with a quick click on my keyboard. Or, even worse, I can blog about you.

TNT*...

* Big ass eye roll, Dear daughter and dear sons, Pain in the ass, In real life, Gifts from god, Thank you very much, Til next time.

Little Miss Sunshine

That's me today. Why you ask?
Because we leave tomorrow for Captiva Island for the week.
Whoo-Hoo!!

Along for the ride are Mister Mischief, Mister Noisy, Miss Bossy,
Miss Chatterbox, Mister Chatterbox and Mister Impossible.

Wish me luck.

Mommy's got some issues

I am the farthest thing from a stage mom. I let Lily go to school in some incredibly questionable outfits that she's picked out herself. I barely brush her hair and never do anything fancier than a sloppy pony tail (poor girl has a mom who never learned how to braid.) Toddlers with earrings make me cringe and I would rather eat blindfolded at a Chinese buffet than enter her in a beauty pageant. But, there is one feature of hers that I am dying to groom.

Girl's got some serious eyebrows. It is something she has unfortunately inherited from both Jeff and I. I can't even imagine what they will look like when she hits puberty (actually I can, I remember mine, and it wasn't pretty.) I am dying to get my hands on them and clean them up. I've decided 10 is an acceptable age to introduce my trusty Tweezerman, but it is going to be torture to wait that long.

I have issues with the baby too... Evan was born with a beautiful thick head of dark hair. Last week it started falling out and has now left him half bald. That wouldn't be so bad if some pieces weren't almost a foot long already. It has resulted in a very unfortunate baby comb over, in addition to the major bald spot in the back. I am so tempted to give him a little baby trim, but have thus far resisted. Is 4 months really too early for a haircut?

And it doesn't end there. Ben has bumpy arms that I'm just dying to exfoliate. Evan has the occasional baby whitehead that simply begs to be popped. I use q-tips to clean their ears (Yes, Dad, I remember the rule, sorry) and let's not even talk about cradle cap. I just can't help myself.

As I write this, my hair is slathered in an olive oil/egg yolk mixture (really the best remedy for dry hair) and my face is covered in a moisturizing mask. And while I think nothing of leaving the house in an old painting t-shirt and yoga pants, I would never let my eye brows go ungroomed. I realize it doesn't make too much sense. Clearly, Mommy has some issues and I am surely passing them on to my innocent offspring.

What else is a good mother to do?

My hair: A story of love & hate

My mother in law is here for a visit. Not only do the kids get to be spoiled by Grammy for 3 days, but I get all the free babysitting I want. I'm taking advantage of this and getting my (very neglected) hair done today. For lack of a better blog subject, I thought I'd take this opportunity to take a walk down my hair's memory lane... It's a very colorful journey.

There is nothing that causes me as much grief as my hair. We have quite a love/hate relationship, my hair and I. The hate aspect began at age 13. Until then, my hair had treated me pretty well. I had adorable ringlets as a baby, and it straightened out nicely for most of my childhood. It was was a nice golden blond, thick with a nice wave.
No complaints from me.

When I was 13, my world was rocked over night. Hormones are a bitch and I pretty much woke up one morning with curly hair--it was dreadful. Nobody in my family had curls and I received no guidance or education in the use of gel and deep conditioner. I suffered for 3 long years until I discovered LA Looks deep hold gel in high school. My hair may have been crunchy and looked soaking wet 24/7, but the frizz was gone. Life was good again.

Soon after, I entered the world of hair color. It began innocently with some "Sun-In" the summer of '93 and escalated to full highlights when I began college. During those 4 years, it went through phases of being platinum blond (with a lovely tinge of green) black, red, a horrible shade of orange, highlighted, skunky, chunky... pretty much every shade it could be. Around graduation I finally had it right again.

Given that Jeff and I move pretty much every year (no, we aren't military, we just act like it) I am constantly having to find new hairdressers. My hair is crazy thick and it never reacts the way the hairdresser thinks it will. Getting my hair done is always an all day ordeal, the hairdresser will start out chatty and friendly and then inevitably turn cold and irritable when they realize just how much
hair I actually have.

A few months ago, pregnant and hormonal, I decided I'd had enough. I've been coloring my hair for well over a decade and I was sick of the time and money it took. I bought a box of Nice and Easy and vowed to make my days just that. With Jeff rolling his eyes (this was hardly the first time I attempted at home color, and it never ended well,) I took the plunge. It was a disaster-- uneven, orange... really bad. And the worst part? I now how stubborn greys that didn't take to the color. Kick me while I'm down, huh?

So, back to salon. This time, though, I found someone who got it. Katie is a heaven sent celestial being who was somehow able to bring my hair back to the color it should be. The color it was when I was 2. And in record time. Getting my hair done in no longer a traumatic experience, and it only takes 3 hours. I will not be moving again, not because I love this area so much (which I really do,) but it's taken me 12 years to find a good hairdresser, and I'm not giving her up.

While I do feel sad that Lily did not inherit my curls, I am happy that she will be spared years of suffering. It has been a long, bumpy road, but I can finally say that I am happy with my hair. And I will be, that is, until I inevitably decide it's time to go dark again.

The battle of the baby weight, round 3

"I'm not really fat, I just keep having babies"
I'm thinking about getting t-shirts printed up. It has quite a ring to it, no?

Lily asked me last week, quite excitedly, if there was another baby in my tummy. When I said no, she responded,"sure looks like it, Mommy."
Thanks, Lil. Love you, babe.

Evan is now 4 months old and I am having a hell of a time with the weight. Impressively, I manage to gain 50+ pounds with each pregnancy, despite puking non-stop for the first trimester. It's actually a medical marvel. I do totally deserve to be suffering now; I did consume enough onion rings, pad thai and nutella to last me well into my 40s. Between the stretch marks, nausea, insomnia/exhaustion, discomfort, stress etc,
it was my (hershey kiss filled) silver lining.

My last pregnancy weight came off easily and I was back into my Seven jeans by the 6 month mark. I could even zip them up standing and breathe! It lasted 8 fleeting months and I was knocked up again.
So, here I go, one more time, buying baby carrots in bulk and not eating a thing past 6 pm.

I'm moody, it sucks, and I am longing for the days of eating without abandon. But, it was fun while it lasted. And I would do it all again...
What I got from those 9 months are certainly worth suffering for, and you really can't beat nutella from a spoon at 3am.

Edited to add:
I love the internet. Now you can buy that shirt I spoke about.
Cool, huh? I sure think so.