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?

"We've become normal!"

It's funny how we all perceive things differently. This afternoon, we attended a picnic for the kick-off of the scouting year. Yes, the boy is joining Cub Scouts. This was not an easy decision, since we're Unitarian Universalists, and the UUs and the BSA have not been on exactly good terms for over a decade. Despite our ideological differences with the organization, however, we have found that a local pack has very sane and open minded leaders, so we're willing to give them a try.

On the way home, the girl was exclaiming about how normal our family has become. With a boy in football and Boy Scouts, a girl in Girl Scouts and piano lessons, a mom who's a writer and a singer, and a dad who teaches college, we certainly seem pretty conventional, at least on paper. I like to think, however, that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, and I would almost never characterize our family as normal, despite how conventional we may seem.

As diehard urban pioneers, we have certainly chosen an "abnormal" neighborhood for our family. This has created some frustration lately, as many of the girl's friends live in the (in my opinion) far more "conventional" suburbs, and her interests have increasingly become more suburban (the mall being the coveted destination).

Our choice to be a one-car family is further evidence of our deviation from the typical American family. Sometimes having just one motorized vehicle creates stress, or just inconvenience, but most of the time it doesn't really make much difference. At worst, it forces us to be creative. For instance, on Saturday morning, three of us had to be in three different places at almost the same time. The husband had the greatest distance to travel, and he was going to work, so he got the car. The boy had football and had to be at the designated site at 9 a.m. We chose this team because it's so close to the house, so he and I walked there. I had to be at a singing rehearsal at 9:30, and it wasn't terribly far from the house (about 2 miles), so I rode my bike. Everyone got where they had to be at the right time, and we all got home about the same time, too.

I'm definitely willing to say that, at least on the outside, our family is much more conventional than we were when the kids were little and we were cloth-diapering, co-sleeping, extended-breastfeeding attachment parents. We didn't choose homeschooling, which took us out of the more radical fringe of parents of school-aged parents. Our kids are, at least this month, interested in fairly gender- and age-appropriate activities, which definitely exposes us more to the mainstream families.

But we're still pretty far from the mainstream. I've got a pink stripe in my hair that says so.

Whiny

I'm feeling a little whiny this morning. My kids and husband were sleeping when I left the house. Because they don't have school today. And I'm conserving my vacation days, so I didn't take the day off.

And it's raining. Seriously raining. With thunder and lightning. And I walk to work. I considered taking the car, but that would leave my family without a vehicle, and that's probably not a good idea.

But walking to work in a flash flood warning might not be a good idea either. Because my pants? Are soaked to my knees.

I do need to publicly thank my mom for a gift from two years ago. The cherry-red patent leather Doc Martin boots? Are waterproof. So at least my feet are dry.

Hair update: my hairdresser didn't cut my bangs. But she did change where my part is, to maximize one particular curl which she proclaimed her favorite. Even though I slept on it, my hair still looks great. I hope I can recreate it after washing it.

Halfway done!

It's November 15! That means these orgies of writing known as NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo are half over! Exclamation point!


But now comes the time when I take yet another opportunity to ask you, my lovely readers, to help me make life decisions. I've got a few quandaries right now and I'm nowhere near the decision stage. And I need to hurry up. Or toss a coin. But y'all are so much prettier than even the shiniest Tennessee quarter. So HALP!


1. The singing thing. I didn't sing the September concert because I was working extreme hours at work. And then I decided to NaNo and NaBlo and train for a 5K, so I decided not to sing the holiday concert. My in-box started getting some rather flattering emails that I think were more about the group needing alto singers than my fantastic voice. And I hedged and said I'd think about it. It's been a week and I'm no closer to a decision. Should I go to the rehearsal on Tuesday and hope I can learn the music in time for the concert (Saturday, December 8)? Or should I be firm in my decision to sit out? (I do love me some holiday music...I'm torn...) I really need to let them know this week.

2. The hair. Should I keep on growing my bangs or should I cut them?

3. What should I wear tomorrow?

4. Is November 21 too early to hang up Christmas lights on the house?

5. What should I bring to Thanksgiving dinner with friends? Did I mention that the husband in this couple is a former chef? And that makes me a little nervous? Should I make pecan pie, even though it will eventually kill us all with its sugary, buttery goodness?

Thanks, everyone. Please number your answers in the comments so I know which question you're answering.

Three of five

Slouching Mom's third question, in a series of five.

Susie is on the cusp of adolescence. Are you ready? Is she ready?

Slouching Mom's got adolescence on her mind, I think. Her son, who is right between my children, is just starting to seem a little less like a little boy and more like a little man. I've been dealing with this situation a little longer (maybe a lot longer, because girls truly do start growing up before boys) and no longer find it shocking.

To be honest, I'm loving the beginning of adolescence, from my vantage point, anyway. Susie is a very sensible, down-to-earth girl who doesn't generate much drama. The physical changes of puberty have been explained to her (in our church's sexuality education program, but also by me, and in a fantastic book that every girl should get when she turns nine, The Care & Keeping of You: The Body Book for Girls) and she seems to embrace those changes. When she noticed that her body was changing, she asked me if it was possible for us to go bra shopping. In the same tone she would use if she needed new shoes.

We've also talked about the emotional changes. We started that conversation when she was just a tiny little girl, when she caught me crying as I read Reviving Ophelia: Saving the Selves of Adolescent Girls. She asked me why I was crying and I told her that it made me sad to think that one day she would be so grouchy and mean and wouldn't like me very much, but that those things are pretty normal when girls get to be that age. She sweetly hugged me and looked into my eyes and told me, "I'll try not to be like that." And I knew that she, in her four-going-on-forty wisdom, indeed would try.

That being said, she has definitely become more sensitive as she's approached puberty. It's easier to rub her the wrong way. It's easier to make her cry. It's easier to get on her nerves. Fortunately for me, it's easy for me to bring her back to the sun.

She's always been my golden child. As a tot, her skin would develop a beautiful golden tan in the summer, while her hair was highlighted from playing outside. She looked like she was made of gold to me. Her disposition was sunny, her laughter infectious.

As she's grown, she's retained that sunny disposition and delightful laugh. Her skin still tans, but it no longer stretches over chubby baby skin. Long, strong limbs have grown from those chubby arms and legs I remember so well, only ten years before. Her hair no longer bleaches blonde from the summer sun, probably because of the purple, blue, or pink streaks we've applied. A few little bumps have scattered on her face, reminding me of my own face, years ago, but also of that newborn acne she had only a few weeks after her birth. (I remember reading in one of the many baby books I read that newborn acne is a protective rash because it keeps parents from taking their baby all around and showing them off. I wonder if adolescent acne isn't protective in a similar way...keeping those fragile tweens from being too perfect too soon.)

Her brain is different, too. Keener in ways. Understanding jokes better. Making jokes better. Making connections. Even understanding the difference in how I explain a math problem and how her teacher explains a math problem (and knowing that if she has a problem with math, that she should ask me for help because she understands my explanations). She understands social obligations better, and has taken it upon herself (she and another girl at school) to help the two boys in the class who have learning problems.

She's also started noticing cars and has some strong feelings about BMW convertibles. Don't even ask me where this comes from. A strange recessive gene is the best I can imagine.

It's interesting territory. I wouldn't trade these years for anything.

What every girl should know

I spent part of Saturday morning imparting some wisdom to my daughter. I was in the mood for one of those "big talks", and she's at the right age for such talks, but she quickly informed me that the sexuality education she's taken at church has left her with no questions or concerns. Yay church, but boo! Because I kind of feel like I missed out on a good one.

So instead we did the monthly internet safety refresher. She already knows the rules and can recite them to me, but I still insist on talking about it every month.

But I realized that it wasn't enough to have that talk. I want to have these deep discussions with my daughter, to teach her the secrets of womanhood, at least as I understand it. Which means I need to figure out what those secrets are. So bear with me as I attempt to clarify my thoughts.

1. Every girl should have at least one gay guy friend. And more than one is even better. And if one of them manages a Victoria's Secret store, even better. (Free bras, ladies. Free bras.) (Yes, this is a shout-out. You know who you are.) And cultivating gay-dar is equally important, because there is genuine heartbreak to be experienced by girls who fall for gay guys (not my own experience, but I've seen some friends go through hell on that one). Plus, when she's at a convention in Vegas and 99.99% of the attendees are women but there's one gay guy who would make a great date for the rest of the conference, she'll find him easily. And she'll have more fun than anyone else. (That one is from experience.) (But I think I'll share all that advice a little later, like junior high or even maybe senior high. Fifth grade is a little young to start accumulating gays. Probably. Maybe I should ask around to see if that's too young.) Maybe I should just buy all the seasons of "Will and Grace" on DVD and watch them with her. That would drive the point home, right?

2. Every girl should have a great friend who "gets" her. (I think Susie has one already. She's lucky. And email and nationwide minutes make the distance from Memphis to Nashville not very long.)

3. Condition the ends, shampoo the roots. Unless your hair is curly like mine. Then condition all of it. And only shampoo when it's literally dirty.

4. Wear clothes that make you feel good. If you feel good, you probably look good. Or at least you look comfortable, which is almost the same thing. That being said, however, it's usually wise to overdress instead of underdress, especially if you aren't sure what to wear.

5. Be nice. There's little to be gained by catty behavior, even though girls seem to enjoy participating in it.

I'll add to this list periodically. And I'm taking suggestions for more items.

Pink

The girl and I had a little punk-rock mother-daughter bonding. (Yes, we're mother and daughter, but no, it would be a big fat lie to say that we're at all punk rock.) (But we fake it sometimes.)

Photographic evidence that I'm a "cool mom."

Apropos of nothing

I've noticed something strange for the last couple of months. Nothing earth-shattering. Nothing worthy of calling the doctor. But strange, nonetheless.


For those of you who've been pregnant, remember how, during pregnancy your nails and hair grew faster than normal? And your hair just changed? I remember it clearly. My hair had been mostly straight, a little wavy, before pregnancy. It got curlier and curlier during my pregnancy, then mellowed a bit.


In 2004, when I underwent radioactive iodine treatment for my thyroid gland, my hair changed again. I don't know if it was the radiation or the very-high-dose-for-many-months prednisone course, but my hair got curly. And it stayed curly through 2005, but then I cut it off. It's longer again, just covering my ears, and if I don't wrestle with blow drier and then straightening iron, it's not wavy; it's curly. This week I decided to quit fighting with it and play up the curls. But I'm still completely baffled by this development.

Someone I know at work is a chemist. When we talked about this odd situation, he told me that it definitely was not caused by the radiation. Instead, he theorizes, the course of steroids activated a dormant gene. That's the only explanation for my hair remaining curly for more than two years after the steroids should have cleared my system. And he talked to another chemist and they both think that's the explanation. Since I have no idea of the chemistry of hair curling (but they do), I've decided to believe them.


But it's not just hair that's different. My nails are growing so fast these days that I have to cut them weekly (in my line of work, long nails are not okay). My nails used to break off and grow very, very slowly. And, TMI alert, I've also gone up almost three bra sizes but haven't gained weight. It's a lot like being pregnant without morning sickness or a baby at the end. So I'm not complaining, just baffled.

So? Perimenopause? I've got a few "official" symptoms of that, and I fit the age group. Anyone else experienced (experiencing) this?

Blue

As promised. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

Why my hands are purple

There has been talk throughout the month of May in my house about blue hair dye. (Wow, three prepositional phrases.....)

My kids, as we already know, sport "fun hair." To me, it's a harmless way for them to explore their individuality and be a little tiny bit subversive. (Because that kind of subversion is okey-dokey with me.) Plenty of people, particularly adults, think Craig and I are a bit strange or indulgent or abusive or just plain nuts to not only permit, but to encourage, this hair thing.

I already wrote about picking your battles. That's my number one rule in parenting. Kids are kids...they're bizarre and illogical and emotional and unpredictable. They don't know better. And they learn, just like everyone else, through trial and error.

Having a mohawk, having purple hair, having neon blue hair, having piercings, having tattoos, wearing all black...all of those choices have consequences. Now, the consequences may be very different depending on what kid you're dealing with. Getting stared at? Might be awesome for a kid who likes attention. Might be horrible for a kid who'd rather blend into the woodwork.

Part of my job as a parent is to let my kids learn how to be adults in a safe way. Like learning to swim in a shallow pool. Allowing, and facilitating, this kind of exploration is a big part of the job.

Am I saying that every parent should dye the kids' hair blue? Heck no! I'm feeling safe saying that most kids don't want blue hair. Most kids don't want mohawks. What I'm saying is that when there's no good reason to forbid something, why forbid it? Having neon-colored hair does not pose any health or safety risk for the kids. It does not hurt them socially. It does not impact their academic progress (especially since Tuesday is the last day of school).

I also firmly believe that kids who are encouraged to safely explore turn out pretty great. My son's teacher has talked to me at length about him. When he came to her classroom on the first day of school with a mohawk, she didn't know what to expect. But he's been a model student. And she sees that the "fun hair" is nothing more than fun. It's not a statement. It's not defiant. I'm quite willing to admit that if my kids were troubled or difficult or anything besides who they are, I may not be so willing to dye their hair fun colors or give them wacky haircuts. But since they are so confident, well-adjusted, and well-behaved, the fun hair gives them a bit of edginess that really suits them.

So this morning, at 6:00 a.m., we broke out the blue dye. We had intended to do their hair last night, but it didn't happen. Alex was the first to get the dye....he has a mohawk already, so there wasn't much hair to color. I only did the ends of his hair because he's got fairly thin hair and I didn't want to get blobs of blue on his scalp.

Susie has long hair and we already know that it absorbs color very well (the "washes out in 8 shampoos" purple we did in January stained her hair pink permanently....when I bleached streaks in preparation for the blue, the pink part remained pink, just lighter). I was careful to get as much of her hair as possible, knowing that different parts of her hair would accept the color differently.

The rinsing, shampooing, showering portion of the process was stressful. Blue everywhere. Blue hands, blue faces, blue necks. I was really, really worried that their skin would be horribly stained (like my hands). And Susie has SO MUCH HAIR! We used about half a bottle of shampoo to get as much of the colorant out as possible. I darted from bathroom to bathroom (shampooing Alex's hair was a breeze) and was so relieved to return to Susie and see that her skin was not blue anymore. We conditioned her hair, rinsed it, and decided we were done.

Two (dark) towels each, then dressed. When my daughter looked at her hair after it was rinsed, shampooed, rinsed, shampooed, rinsed, shampooed, rinsed, and towel-dried, she gave me a big hug and said, "I love you! You're an awesome mom!"

I wasn't prepared for how beautiful she would look with blue hair. She really, really looks amazing. It sets off her fair complexion and it's so shiny and lovely. We predicted that everyone at school would want to touch her hair at least once today.

So, in summary: blue hair, good! Mom who helps kids get hair blue, thanked! My hands, purple! Lesson learned? More gloves next time. (I'm really hoping for a next time. This was fun.)

This is the time that I really should post a picture, but I had to get ready for work so didn't take one. So I'll add one later.

What makes me so pretty?

Synchronicity. This evening is that girl scout meeting I'm still feeling so conflicted about, and today is the CHBM carnival topic: Favorite Beauty Secret/Product.

So what's my secret? My favorite product?

I walk at least 30 minutes every day. I wash my face with Arbonne RE9 cleanser twice a day, every day, no matter what. I moisturize, use sunscreen, and mineral powder foundation. That's it. Oh, except the lipstick. I really almost never leave the house without lipstick. And it's mostly reddish-brown.

Oh, and I also use a ceramic straightening iron to straighten my hair and I use glossing serum. Because I like shining.

That being said, however, I think I need to write more. Because I'm much more beautiful than my skin or my hair.

What I'm going to tell the girls this evening, and what I truly, truly believe, is that beauty comes from the inside. There's a magic to girls on the brink of womanhood that is easy to spot, even through the pimples and the awkwardness and the strangely-proportioned adolescent bodies. Girls that age (and I'm referring to late elementary school age, so ten and eleven years old) have not become inhibited by self-consciousness. They're smart enough to carry on interesting conversations, they're clever enough to understand and make good jokes, and they're confident enough to speak up. They're at the top of their game. You see the sparkle in their eyes because they'll look you in the eye. They're comfortable in their bodies and love to run and skip and jump.

But we (and I mean society, the media, etc.) do something to make them stop. We show them images of supermodels whose bodies don't look remotely like their own. Those supermodels don't have pimples or hair under their arms or stringy hair or spaces between their teeth. Those supermodels aren't real. But the little girls don't understand that.

I look around at this group of girls and sometimes I feel sad and scared. Sad and scared because the awesomeness of who and what they are today is so fleeting. In just a year or two, one or two of them might be fighting an eating disorder. Or, less seriously, might just really not like what she sees in the mirror. Their posture will change, and that wonderful, confident eye contact will be gone.

We all do it, right ladies? We look in the mirror and find that thing (or those things) that we hate. Thighs, hips, butt. Or that one scar from chicken pox or picking at a pimple.

So, do you want to know my real beauty secret? The honest-to-goodness one?

I know I'm prettier than those supermodels. Sure, I have my moments of wishing I looked different - taller, thinner, whatever. But I'm not going to model that attitude to my daughter. No. She looks too much like me. If I look in the mirror and say that my _____ is so awful, she's going to start hating hers, too. So I choose to be happy inside my own skin and enjoy the body I've got, imperfections and all. I smile a lot. Even though I didn't wear my retainer long enough and I don't have perfect teeth. I wear the makeup that makes me feel pretty even if it's not the "perfect" color. And I wear clothes that make the most of my good points.

Because life doesn't have an airbrush.

Birth order

Almost everything I hear about birth order rings true to me.

Having only two children, and being from a family with just two children, I don't have much to report about middle children. However, the more I read about the traits of eldest children and youngest children, the more I see myself and my brother, and, even more so, my daughter (eldest) and my son (youngest).

When Susie was a baby, only six months old, someone told me that I didn't have a baby, I had a robot. While that was a bit of an overstatement, I must admit that she was an amazingly easy, "good" baby. She cried little, smiled much, hit her milestones at precisely the appointed time, and had 100 words before she was eighteen months old.

As she's grown, she continues to be "good". And maybe a bit driven sometimes. She gets great report cards. Her teachers think she's "a delight to teach". She was tapped to be in the All-City Chorus - the only fourth grader to be selected from her school. And last week her piano teacher picked her to participate in the All-City piano recital, adding another hour per week of lessons to focus on one piece. Our phone rings at least once a night for her....generally another kid in class needing help with homework. Last night, she told us that anytime she doesn't make an A on a test (the teacher announces the A's), the rest of the class looks at her and makes amazed noises. She gets stressed about school.

Eldest children are reputed to be adult-pleasers, perfectionists, achievers, conformists. Youngest children are said to be the entertainers, the charmers, the rebels.

And Alex is charming. And definitely has a different perspective than his sister. He'll try anything once. Any strange food, any activity. He's funny as can be - making crazy faces or dances, singing silly songs of his own invention. But there's a bit of a dark side to that. He's fussy and difficult and sometimes doesn't know when his joke isn't funny. He teases his sister too much sometimes.

He's a quiet kid at school, which means his wacky sense of humor is easily missed by the adults. He also enjoys classwork (seriously), which makes him a "pleasure to have in class." His teacher this year seems to have a better understanding of him; she commented to me the other day that he's really a funny kid. I was delighted that she noticed, as the teacher last year never did seem to get inside his head.

As a baby, Alex was much more intense than his sister. His highs were higher, and his lows were much lower. Did he have colic? I still don't know for sure, but he definitely did a lot more crying than his sister. He smiled earlier, talked earlier, potty trained earlier, refused solid food for what seemed forever, and nursed longer. He loved to be held in a sling (Susie didn't ever take to it). His first laugh was so different from hers. Susie had a sweet, musical laugh (she still does). When he first laughed (in the car, at his sister who kept saying "PBJ Otter!"), we honestly thought he was choking. It was a wheezy, bizarre laugh that consumed his entire body. He has a lot of different laughs now, some of them quite forced-sounding, like machine gun fire.

Craig and I are both the eldest in our families, and we generally relate to the characteristics of eldest children (but not entirely). We live a fairly conventional life, albeit with quirks. I'm definitely a "pleaser" (sometimes too much, Craig would say), and we were both good students who attended a good college. We've also found, to some amount of surprise, that almost all our close friends are also the eldest children in their families. Craig's mother is also an eldest. My parents, however, are both second-born, my mother of two and father of three. Growing up, I felt like my father probably had the easiest time relating to both me and my brother, since he had grown up with an older sister AND a younger brother, so he knew what each of us was going through.

My brother, however, was much better at physical tasks than I was. I was dismally bad at ballet and tap and still am a pretty horrible dancer. I remember my brother would build models that required a great deal of fine motor control. (EDIT: he says his models mostly sucked. I say that's not the point - the point is he had the patience and the fine motor skills to make them at all.) He also ran cross-country, earning team MVP his Freshman year of high school. (EDIT: It was his Junior year, and he was also team captain and more.) Academically, we both coasted a bit more than we should have, but I was more of a conventionally successful student, getting a degree and most of a graduate degree. My brother never did finish college, but has forged his own path in a fairly new field (digital imaging). He's definitely more of a rebel than I will ever be. (EDIT: did you notice that he totally didn't argue with me on that one?)

So if the studies I've seen are correct, Susie will go on to lead a fairly conventional life. She'll do well, even very well. She'll have a house and a dog and a cat and 1.8 children and she'll probably be the president of the PTA and have a great job. Alex, however, might live up to the shirt I gave him for Christmas and do something entirely different. With cool hair.

So tired

Another night with the human radiator has left me completely useless. The kids are still running fever, which means no field trip today for Susie, and no girl scouts tonight. She's heartbroken. I wish I could just snap my fingers and make everything okay, but I can't.

Since my work area is slated to begin renovation next week (!!), I am smack dab in the face with a drop-dead deadline. Office must be packed by 9 a.m. tomorrow. Period. Doesn't matter that we have meetings and department parties and the like today. I generally manage my workflow pretty well, so I'm hoping to not wind up staying late to finish today. Because I really want to go to bed very very very early so I'll be fully rested by the time human radiator visits the bed.

Did I mention that he's wiggly? And that he doesn't sleep? Just thrashes around? Yeah.

My parents' Christmas card arrived, which means that my mom's holiday letter also arrived. As the only good, recent, digital picture of the children was of the first day of school, she included a paragraph disclaiming the Boy's haircut. I love that she says that parents who let their kids have mohawks have nice kids. Especially because I was trying to get that point across to her twenty years ago. So see, teenagers? Your parents are listening.

School Picture Day

When I was a kid, school picture day meant that my mother got out the steam curling iron, picked out a pretty dress for me to wear, and burned my head making my hair resemble Shirley Temple's. There are a few memorable shots, like the one in first grade when I had no front teeth. Like all four were gone at the same time.

Today's school picture day, and Susie asked me to curl her hair. (I declined, choosing to make two braids instead.) She asked me last night what she should wear (they normally have to wear school uniforms, but not on picture day). Since tonight is her Girl Scout Investiture ceremony, I suggested she wear her brand-spanking-new Junior Girl Scout uniform. She looks so darn good in it - and good timing - the Brownie uniform was too small!

The Boy was similarly befuddled as to fashion choices for the day. We started with this really cool bowling shirt, but realized that (a) it's missing a button and (b) it looks REALLY STUPID tucked in (and shirts must be tucked in). Moments later, he returned to my room, clad in a navy polo along with his navy shorts, looking pretty darn sharp. Did I mention that he has a mohawk? When given the choice between spiking it up or combing it down, he chose gelling it down because "I want to look really good for my picture, Mom." He also brushed his teeth twice. Wonder how long this one will last - I like the new interest in hygiene.

Let's hope they don't blink or make a stupid face. I'd love the pictures to turn out good on the first try.