Not sure what this means

So, this is what I saw when I was making mashed potatoes tonight.

Doesn't it look familiar?

Where should I start the bids on eBay?

Consumerist addiction

If I'm going to quit the whole consumer hamster wheel, it makes sense to examine the insane ways my money disappears from my wallet.

Let's examine.

Not too bad. Two filled compacts, one of Mary Kay products, one of Arbonne products. Total at this point: 9 eye shadows, 3 blushes.

Skin care. All Mary Kay. Daytime, nighttime, and exfoliant. I'm not horrified or embarassed yet.

Oops. Here's where we see something a little scary. 14 eyeshadows, 4 blushes, 3 eyeliners, 7 lipsticks/glosses, one foundation, one eyebrow wax. Yikes.

One bronzer, one powder, another foundation, a couple of concealers/highlighters, and another ten or so lipsticks. And a homemade lip balm in a tea container. Hey, at least I'm recycling!

Under the bathroom sink. Lots of products. Hair, body, face, etc.




And more products. 90% of them are lotions. Two hair conditioners, and some fantastic ducks!

Here it is. My shame. 14, yes FOURTEEN hair products. 7 of them are curl enhancers. Are they truly different from each other? Not really.

If I added up the cost of these products, even if I only added up what they're worth now (that they're half gone, 25% gone, etc.), I think I could feed my family for a month or more.

Do these products make me look or feel better? Do I use them

Honestly? No, no, and mostly, no. My hair responds best to a weekly shampoo, every-other-day conditioning, and a little massage oil. My skin prefers the soap I make out of chamomile flowers, sage, rosemary, lavender, and unscented Dove soap. I wear makeup MAYBE once a week (but I wore it daily when I worked outside the home).

Which means I obviously have a bit of a problem when it comes to acquisition of products. Part of my year of non-acquisition will be dedicated to not only not purchasing, but also using what I already have. It's clear that I have no business buying any kind of hair or skincare product for myself for quite a long time

I know I'm not alone here. What's your poison? Where do you spend money that doesn't make any kind of sense? What would make you change that pattern?

So, you think you want to be a football mom

I know, I know. This is all I write about anymore. Fair enough. But trust me, this is such a paradigm shift in my household, it's worth further discussion.

So, if you're wondering what it means to be a football mom, here's a bit of information that might help you decide if you can take it.

1. Lots of laundry. Memphis has been through a bit of a rainy spell over the past few weeks (we've gotten about 8 inches of rain this month, so far, compared to a normal monthly total of under 4 inches), and rain means mud. Lots of mud. The team's practice pants are white. And practices/games take place four days a week. And the pants have laundry instructions: no bleach.

2. Even if you're as lucky as we are and your son's team practices in the park that you consider your front yard, you will still have to drive across town for games. And by across town, I might mean into the deep depths of the suburbs.

3. There is a lot of down time between the time your son needs to arrive for a game and the actual start time of that game. Bring a book. There's only so much casual conversation you'll be able to make.

4. If your child is the only white child on his team, you'll be sitting with a few people who might be labeled as "ghetto". Embrace it. Or find another team, which will mean much more driving to practices and games.

5. If your child plays in a faith-based league, get ready for lots of praying at practices and games. If you're the faith represented in the league, this shouldn't be difficult. If you're not, definitely have a conversation with your athlete about respecting other people's religious beliefs. And maybe try to teach said athlete the entire prayer from "Talladega Nights" in case he's ever chosen to lead the prayer.

6. Did I mention the laundry?

7. If your kid happens to be one of the biggest kids on the team, one night, he'll come home and tell you how he got to be the "tackling dummy" during practice. You'll need to remember your Lamaze breathing techniques at this point. Fortunately, he'll be in the shower by the time you realize the entire implications of what he just said.

8. Glasses? Not a problem. The helmet has completely protected his glasses. And his face. I only wish he'd had one of these when he was about 18-36 months old, and was the state champion for head wounds.

9. Watching your child make a game-changing tackle? Is just as great as you could imagine. Even if the team loses the game.

10. Hearing the sincerity in the coaches' and players' voices when they tell your child, "Good game"? Is maybe the best thing a parent could hear.

Yeah, I'll admit it. This theater geek? Loves being a football mom.

Posting like a pirate

The pirate translation of a post a few weeks ago...

Me son started fifth grade at a new sword fightin' academy 'tis month. He knew a couple 'o lads at th' sword fightin' academy, so th' transition was easier than it could have be. He be, however, me sensitive child. While I won't call him shy, I do acknowledge that he takes longer than his extra outgoin' sister to jump into social situations. Which be why I was stunned when, while watchin' th' elementary boys practicin' knife throwin' in th' park across from our ship, he told me he'd like to join that knife throwin' team. But I shouldn't really be surprised. 'tis be th' same jim laddie who decided to take hip-hop dance as his afterschool activity in third grade. So what if he was th' only jim laddie in th' tavern? So what if he was th' only white laddie in th' tavern? He wanted to dance, 'n he did! Perhaps th' knife throwin' be a way to fit in. Perhaps he's simply lookin' fer somethin' physical to do.

Thanks to Post Like A Pirate for the fun.

Just call me Taylor Swift

Nobody

puts Baby in a corner.

Rest in peace, Patrick Swayze. Not only did I lose money on you, but I really, really liked you.

NaBlo less of a fail

Seriously, there is almost certainly H1N1 going on at my house. My daughter's teachers kids have it. My son's BFF from preschool's family has it. And I'm pretty darn sure my daughter has it. And my husband. And maybe me.

But September's NaBloPoMo topic is "Beautiful" and there's nothing beautiful about swine flu. So instead, I'll tell you a story.

Tuesday, I was at the post office. I go to the post office a lot, because I'm selling lots of eBay stuff. But there was this guy in line. He was probably about 20 (if you're keeping score, that's about half my age) and completely beautiful. One of the prettiest boys I've seen in a long time.

And then he answered his cell phone. That mini-crush I had going on? Was completely gone.

See, here's the thing. I value manners. Which is why I live in the South. And this beautiful boy? Needed a visit with Emily Post, stat. He discussed his finances, his academic issues, his finances, his rent money, his career dreams, and more, all in line at the post office, surrounded by people. As his conversation progressed, I caught more and more people commenting to each other on the ridiculousness of the conversation. Seriously, once he was gone, people started talking to each other about how annoying he was.

So, as my grandfather would say, "Pretty is as pretty does." Please, please, please, if you must speak on your cell phone in public, keep it short and vague. The rest of us really don't want to know about your rent money or career aspirations. If we did, we would ask.

Vehicular

I want one of these MADSEN Cargo Bikes a lot.

We're looking at replacing our well-loved and well-worn minivan soon, and the replacement vehicle will be smaller and more efficient. I was thinking about the new car yesterday, when Craig and I were running errands in the minivan. A Smartcar drove by, and I was a little envious, because it would have been just right for what we were doing (returning library books, picking up a bag of sand and a few plants). A few minutes later, a person on a Vespa also caught my eye, because other than the sand, all our items would have fit in a scooter's cargo area, too.

But the cargo bike? Genius. Especially for those of us who love to bike to the farmers' market but then buy too much and have smushed produce from overpacking the backpack.

So click that there link up top and let's all try to win me a bike, okay?

Absurd

Bullet points to illustrate why being a mom is so much fun:

• When discussing my daughter's reading choices, I pretended to throw up in her mouth.
• On the way home from the grocery store, said daughter and I fantasized about awesome pet names. Since our current dogs are named Biscuit and Gravy, we decided their successors should be named Mr. Waffles and Beignet. But the true winner of awesome dog names is what she (at age 6) originally intended to name Biscuit: PUPCAKE! (The name was vetoed by my very heterosexual husband.)
• Being on instant message with the same daughter, discussing how the satellite wasn't working because it's raining. A transcript follows....

She: the satellite is out
me: Is raining
She: yes
is
me: right
sometimes the satellite doesn't likey the rain
She: ha ha
me: so yeah, that
She: Why are we chatting on gmail when we are in the same house?
me: good question
She: WE ARE LAZY BUMS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
crap i dont wanna be a lazy bum
me: then come downstairs, silly
I'm a wet lazy bum
She: ha ha did u just walk the dogs?

So apparently, we're lazy, I'm wet, and that's funny.

My plans, let me share them with you

After a few busy weekends, the family calendar has very little ink this weekend. Which is a good thing - I don't strive to fill up every extra moment. The kids started school on Monday, and that's cut into their down time (as well as totally destroying their preferred sleep schedule, which resembles the sleep patterns of teens more and more). Seeing as I'm the self-appointed creator of the pajama day, down time is something I encourage.

But not this weekend. At least not tomorrow.

My feed reader brings me news of local events, and this one I'm not missing. Mainly because it can be done as a family, and it can be done however we choose.

As a lover of Memphis, this is an opportunity to create a visual love letter to my chosen hometown. It's also an opportunity to encourage the kids to look at their city with a different eye. To examine what they see.

I'll share pictures once we've got them. We can't start until 12:01. I'm making a list of what I want to photograph. Keep your fingers crossed that we see a bunch of Elvis impersonators.

Opening Ceremonies, or the moment I know I'm raising my children right

I'm a dork. I admit it. Every four years (well, now every two), I anticipate the opening ceremonies of the Olympics. I watch, I get teary-eyed, it's great.

Nobody in my family shares my enthusiasm (even the dogs look at me crazy), but at least Craig is tolerant (especially because he can watch a DVD on the laptop).

The ceremony last night was conveniently timed to begin right before we had dinner (taco salads, in true international spirit), so I paused the program (thank you, TIVO!) and made the kids watch with me. They were interested, sort of, for the first few minutes. At least anytime there were flashing lights or explosions.

My darling daughter, the model of refinement and elegance, made a cultural observation:

"If Memphis hosted the Olympics, we'd ghetto it up real good!"

And her brother, with impeccable timing and wit, added:

"It would be the Ghett-Olympics!"

The BlogHer Blues

As the sporadic nature of my posting might suggest, I've been mostly absent in the blogging community lately. Work's been busy, life's been busy, and it seems like I've lost my flair for snark. I don't remember the last time I participated in an open thread at MamaPopTalk, and I've been guilty of opening my feed reader, seeing a three-digit number in the unread posts, and marking all read.

I attended BlogHer last year, when it was held in Chicago, mainly because Chicago is an attainable trip for me. My brother and his wife live there, it's an easy train ride away, and it fit very nicely into my family's summer travel plans.

This year, however, it's in California. I can't drive to California, and I don't have the money to fly.

And now I see that a lot of the people I wanted to meet last year, but who didn't attend for varying reasons, are going to be there. And that ugly little paranoid voice inside my head tells me that they're coming this year because I'm not. (To which my mother would sensibly reply, "Um, sweetie, you're not that powerful." Which I'm not. But it does bum me out just a little that this year's conference looks to be better-attended than last year's. And that I'm going to miss it.

Anyway.

So I'm two for two in my NaBloPoMo efforts in food blogging. You can read my whiny rant about my daughter's public diss on my baking skills over here.

St. Patrick's Day

Instead of the typical "drink enough green beer to think you are actually IN Ireland" approach to St. Pat's, my family did something truly unique today.

We participated in (or at least witnessed) the creation of a new world record.

And even updated a Wikipedia entry.

Hold on loosely

So I had the kids go upstairs early last night, mainly because I really needed to get some things done, but also because I wanted them to get started on packing for our trip. I didn't tell them to pack, just to get their things ready to pack.

And Alex got ambitious, apparently. Because he called down the stairs that he already had one suitcase entirely packed and was working on his second. And he finished the second, too.

Alex is a well-intentioned boy, but he is just eight.

Any bets as to the contents of these suitcases? Keep in mind they'll be gone a week, need swimwear, and will be in Michigan.

My money is on the following:
Eight shirts
Two pair pants, both sweats
Ten pair underwear
No socks
One swimsuit
Pajama pants
No toothbrush
No toothpaste
Soap
Mini-size shampoo

I can't wait to see how close I am.

The Secret

The characters: Craig and I


The setting: Saturday night, in the rare situation of the children being at a sleepover. We've run some errands, eaten dinner, and are heading to the video store.


Him: We should go to the other video store, because I'm in the mood to watch weird videos, not really a movie.


Me: But I really don't like that video store, and we're already in the parking lot of the other one.


Him: Whatever. You sure you even want to rent videos?


Me: (thinks of renting all seasons of CSI so I can watch them in order) Yeah.


Him: Let's see what we can find.


We enter the video store and start with new releases...and keep going, and going, not finding anything, until...


Him: Hey, it's the DVD of The Secret! Woot!


Me: Isn't that the book about magic? That Oprah likes?


Him: (sarcastically) Duh! Yeah! This'll be hilarious!


Me: ... ?


Him: You can get season one of CSI over there.



We check out, amused by our bizarre combination of rentals which Craig determines makes us "Yuppies."


Scene 2: A little later, with wine and The Secret playing


Him: Where's the wacky sketches? I want something silly to happen.


Me: The opening menu reminds me of Harry Potter a little.


Him: Isn't that guy the brother of a sportscaster?


Me: Probably. And what kind of job is "metaphysician" anyway?


Him: That's the guy who wrote that book about men being from Mars. Hey, didn't we watch that show with him on PBS? When he pretty much castrated all of mankind?


Me: That's the one. Oh, that guy is a "philosopher". Isn't that a nice way of saying "unemployed"?


Him: Huh. This isn't as funny as I thought.


We watch the video in silence for a few minutes, learning all about the Law of Attraction.


In a few minutes, on my second glass of wine...


Me: Okay. I get it. If I sit here and think about how I want a ba-billion dollars, I'll get it.


Him: Seems right to me.


Me: Hey Universe! I want a ba-billion dollars!!


laughing


Him: One problem. There's no such number as a ba-billion. You're just confusing the Universe.


Me: Okay, Universe. You probably can't handle that request. I guess I'll settle for a trillion. By next week, okay?


Him: Better.


We pause to reflect on that


Him: Hey, what would we even do with a trillion dollars?


Me: I'm sure we'd sort it out.


Him: You'd get mad at my answer.


Me: What? Strip clubs? Hookers?


Him: No! Ew! No, I think I'd walk around in bad neighborhoods and give people some serious money. Not like $20 or even $100.


Me: Like $20,000?


Him: Yeah. That would be cool.


Me: Yeah, it would. But also money would go to church. They could name a building after us. The ba-billion building.


Him: I wouldn't want to move to a really big house.


Me: Just say no to Mc-Mansions.


Him: And I don't really care about cars.


Me: I'd buy new cars. But nothing fancy, I promise. We'll be the humblest ba-billionaires ever.


Him: Trillionaires.


Me: Whatever. Let's watch CSI.

Fessing Up

Since I subjected you to this meme last week, I thought it would only be fair to give you the correct answers. I know your anticipation was killing you. And I couldn't stand increasing the body count. See how much I love you?

1. I modeled nude, for money, during my second pregnancy. I earned about $200. For sleeping.

That one is absolutely true. I modeled for life drawing classes at two colleges after reading a newspaper article about the difficulty art teachers were having finding models. I figured a pregnant body would be interesting to draw. It was fun. If you're wondering, no, it's not cold. They crank up the heat for the naked person. And after the first two seconds, it wasn't even remotely awkward. I was able to carry on conversations with the instructors and also, yes, sleep. I fell asleep many times. Laying completely still. Except my belly, which sometimes wiggled.

2. Even though I've lived out of the country and traveled pretty extensively during my childhood, I haven't left the United States since a year before I got married.

My mom outed me on that one. It's false. I've left the country several times since 1992. Mostly to Canada, but also to the Bahamas.

3. I've never voted for a winning candidate, whether in a major or local election. Turns out, I'm just not in the mainstream. Period.

Lie. I voted for Clinton in 1992, my first presidential election, and we know how that turned out. That being said, I've lost many more than I've won.

4. Until I started dating the man who later became my husband, I was a rabid college football fan, and even missed dinner in the college refectory if a game went into overtime.

Very true. I toy with the idea of getting into football again, but I really don't have time.

5. I dye my hair so frequently that I honestly have no idea what my natural color is. Or if I have any grey hairs.

False. I know my hair color. And how much of it's grey. Which is too much. Hence the hair color.

6. I'm unreasonably afraid of tornadoes.

Nope. That's false. Weather doesn't really scare me.

7. I won't eat organ meat. Of any kind. It's gross.

False. Liver is one of my favorites.

8. I've tried, but never succeeded, at giving blood. One time I was denied because I was under the required weight (110 lbs.) and once because I still had the sniffles. As a result, I force my husband (definitely more than 110 lbs.) to give blood since I never can.

False, but barely. I've only successfully given blood twice. I tried to give platelets at work, but that was a disaster. A painful disaster. With a lot of bruising. And heat packs. And did I mention pain?

So now you know the story. Hope it was worth the wait.

In lieu of a real post

Here's a meme (or something like it) that I shamelessly lifted from Hola, Isabel. And, without further ado, six lies and two truths about me:

1. I modeled nude, for money, during my second pregnancy. I earned about $200. For sleeping.

2. Even though I've lived out of the country and traveled pretty extensively during my childhood, I haven't left the United States since a year before I got married.

3. I've never voted for a winning candidate, whether in a major or local election. Turns out, I'm just not in the mainstream. Period.

4. Until I started dating the man who later became my husband, I was a rabid college football fan, and even missed dinner in the college refectory if a game went into overtime.

5. I dye my hair so frequently that I honestly have no idea what my natural color is. Or if I have any grey hairs.

6. I'm unreasonably afraid of tornadoes.

7. I won't eat organ meat. Of any kind. It's gross.

8. I've tried, but never succeeded, at giving blood. One time I was denied because I was under the required weight (110 lbs.) and once because I still had the sniffles. As a result, I force my husband (definitely more than 110 lbs.) to give blood since I never can.

So, if you think you know the truth, comment. I'm missing the comments. Please?

Long distance

I'm not usually a phone person. I'm much happier with a quick email conversation most of the time. Or even an open thread while watching television. But occasionally I really jones to talk to one of my girlfriends, the two most crucial of whom live far, far away.

It's been far too long since I spoke to the friend in New York. With three kids, she's way too busy to keep up her blog, and it was time to break the silence, despite the hour's time difference. So I called her tonight, while on the way to yet another Starbucks (yes, I'm scouting staff).

We talked for pretty much the whole car trip (20 minutes), then continued the conversation after I got home. The phone was affixed to my ear when I tucked the kids into bed, and she finally cut it off at 11 p.m. Eastern time. I didn't look, but I'm pretty sure we talked for about 2 1/2 hours tonight.

There's something magical about long-term friendships. J and I have been friends since I was fifteen, and, because of that history, we can talk in shorthand. I know most of her secrets, and she knows mine. When we talk on the phone, the laughter starts way before the punch line. And a lot of steps get skipped in getting to that punch line. I know her parents well enough to get the family issues. I've known her sister since she was a pre-adolescent, and she's known my brother long enough to have been one of his very early crushes. There's a depth to that kind of friendship: she knew me before my husband knew me.

But she's been geographically distant for years now...sufficient years that she has two children I've never seen in person (though I saw the middle child in utero, years ago). She is my daughter's godmother, and she received a shock when she called me back and got Susie on the phone. Apparently Susie has grown up a bit since they last spoke on the phone.

All that to say...I miss my girlfriends. My two best both skipped town a few years ago. While I have lovely people surrounding me, that deep intimacy that I share with J and K has not yet been recreated. I doubt either of them will move back (ever), but it would be great if someone local took their job. Because Sprint is only free after 9 pm and weekends. And Eastern time is an hour later.

Unproductive time

I had such lofty goals for my time in Birmingham. I was going to work on my NaNoWriMo book. I was going to work out every day. I was going to venture out to exciting restaurants.

Bet you're dying to know what I've accomplished. Yes?

I've become completely addicted to C.S.I. Specifically, the Las Vegas version.

It began innocently enough. My lovely family dropped me off at the Birmingham airport, and I drove away in my rental car, hotel-bound. We'd just spent the better part of a week together, half the time driving to and from Orlando, Florida. We'd ridden roller coasters and other thrill rides. We'd spent quality time with my parents. We'd braved a rare cold front in the usually-balmy Sunshine State.

I was, sad to say, a little tired upon my arrival to the hotel.

And I switched on the television. I don't know exactly what happened, but I watched most of a pretty lame movie starring J. Lo, then ordered some lovely Chinese food (the only nearby restaurant listed on Delivery.com), and somehow the television found itself on an episode of C.S.I.

Then another.

And another.

Turns out Spike runs FIVE episodes of C.S.I., back to back, on Sundays.

The rest of the week's evenings have been spent in fervent searches for more episodes. I'm telling you, it's like crack.

As a result, I've not ventured far from my hotel room, other than attending the training I'm here for. I've eaten nothing wonderful. All dinners except one have been consumed in my room, in the chair I'm currently occupying, with the television just four feet away.

I found an episode at 7 this evening, but haven't found one at 8, so I'm drooling while watching Jamie Oliver on Iron Chef America. I'm pretty sure E.R. is new at 9, but I know I'll get two more C.S.I. episodes at 10 and 11.

And I'm eating from the same Chinese place. There was a tornado warning this afternoon, and it's still windy and rainy and I didn't feel like going anywhere.

BUT! I did work out as soon as I got back from "work." So that's something, right?

And I've got dinner plans with my "co-workers" next week. On two days!

But I'll be getting "home" early, because I'm a junkie.

(Is it totally horrible that I'm looking forward to getting back here on Sunday night?)

Last post of 2007

I'll probably be posting sporadically over the next few weeks, what with business travel (and fun vacation) being the story of my life until Martin Luther King, Jr. weekend. I'm excited about this new chapter in my professional life. I'm also excited about my per diem and my corporate card and having a hotel room all to myself.

Bets on how quickly the novelty wears off? I'm thinking around Thursday.

I'm entertaining the notion of becoming a bizarre food blogger while I'm on the road. Photographing my restaurant meals and writing about them. Because seriously? Without my kids and husband and neighborhood for material, I'll be scraping the bottom of the barrel.

But I'll tell you one thing...this training? Will result in me being very jacked up on caffeine. I can assure you of that.