I love a good party, just as much as the next gal…but this is taking it a tad far. Chicken pox is a somewhat common occurrence and it wasn’t until the 90’s that we had a vaccination for it. In the good old days kids got the pox and dealt with it. We wanted to scratch and sometimes we did and we have the scars to prove it. Well, now they have a vaccine and children everywhere are spared the embarrassment and inconvenience that only a good case of the chicken pox can provide. You don’t want to get this disease when you are older, because it can be very harmful and sometimes even deadly. Somewhere in suburbia a group of mothers decided that it was better to get the disease and be immune for life, rather than vaccinate and take a chance on getting a mild case in later years. There solution? Hold a chicken pox party. Johnny has the pox? Send him over! Invite your friends! Everyone will be infected before you know it! That’s one evite I would have to ignore.
Gonna have to face it—your addicted to technology! May 7, 2009
Since when have we lost all ability to control our actions? Are we so weak that the mere glimpse of a computer screen renders us helpless to its charm? Can we go even 1 hour without technology interrupting our thought processes? What have you done today to move one more step toward technology addiction?
Here are some signs that you may have a problem:
[1] You are at home. You are upstairs and your spouse is downstairs. You decide to text them instead of hollering over the banister when you need to tell them something.
[2] You find out you are expecting a child. You log onto Twitter to alert your “followers” before calling your family.
[3] Your battery in your cell phone dies and you actually start crying b/c your charger is nowhere in sight.
[4] You take the day off of work to attend a MLB game and update your status on FB at the top of every inning.
[5] You suffer from delusions of grandeur when contemplating whether you can take on Ashton Kutcher on Twitter.
[6] You can now text without even looking at the phone.
[7] You have disowned or are temporarily ignoring family members who haven’t joined FB.
[8] Google is your main source of information for EVERYTHING.
[9] You justify the hours you spend on your computer as “work”, when really you are pimping your FB page.
[10] You can’t remember the last real conversation you had, that did not involve emoticons, status updates and tagged photos.
The problem is that everything we do now always comes back to the computer. We receive communication from friends, family, co-workers and our children’s teachers and coaches via email. We join organizations, sign up for little league and donate to our church via the internet. We don’t have time to go to the mall so we window shop online and order there too.
Technology will most likely play a key role in our daily lives from here on out, but it doesn’t have to rule us. So if you find yourself being drawn into the abyss that is the internet—set a time limit, take a break and most importantly find someone you love and have a face-to-face good ol’ fashioned conversation, no keyboard necessary.
Barely there Barista wear April 27, 2009
I live in the coffee capital of the U.S. We are known to be coffee drinkers and we like it that way. I personally don’t drink coffee, but am surrounded by coffee lovers. I quite like the smell, just not the taste. Because we are a city that loves coffee, there are coffee huts on every corner [practically]. One day, I was driving home from running some errands and stopped at a red light. My eyes wandered while sitting there and stopped abruptly on a sign in front of a coffee hut. It read “Pasties MWF”. I thought to myself, surely they misspelled pastries, right? Then I remembered all the reports I heard on talk radio about bikini coffee huts and lingerie coffee huts. I thought for sure the Pasties would be illegal. Well, I have my resources in the police department and asked about the legality of baring your breasts in public. I was told that it is not illegal to show your breasts as long as your nipples and areola are covered. My chin dropped to the floor, my eyes had glazed over and I was in complete shock!!! So the sign must not be a mistake, there are actually topless baristas. What is this world coming to? According to city ordinace they are not in violation of any laws as long as they wear shoes. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather have my barista barefoot and fully clothed.
It was the THUD heard round the world January 10, 2009
I’d like to think I’m pretty steady on my feet. My feet have supplied me with great balance for 30+ years and I have come to rely on them. They have, however, become wider and flatter since having kids, thus the custom orthotic inserts. Add to that my complete fear of falling, fear of heights and anything more exciting then stepping off a curb and you’ve got a recipe for disaster. Occasionally, I will be shopping in a mall and walk past a railing on the 2nd floor. I suddenly see myself being thrown over the railing and falling to my death or at least severe injury. Some of you may read that and think, Okay FREAK! Well, I admittedly call myself a freak, but I’m a safety freak not a run-of-the-mill lock your doors and hide your valuables FREAK. You may look at a situation and see fun, excitement or exhilaration. I see impending danger and accidental dismemberment. I’m not exactly sure what all contributed to my safety freakishness but I did suffer from extreme trauma as a child. My dad took me on the JUDGE ROY SCREAM rollercoaster after I begged him not to make me. I had snot and tears dripping from my face, I was practically hyperventilating and he still took me. I never quite recoverd from that fearful experience and it took me 20 years before I would even consider riding another rollercoaster. I have relaxed over the years and having 3 kids definitely helps because you can’t control everything all the time. I do remind them of the simple pleasures of life, like wearing a helmet while riding your bike, looking both ways before crossing the street and the most important—don’t share hair brushes or hats or I will shave your hair off if you come home with lice!
Now we’ve come to the meat of the story where all the “safety first” tips in the world wouldn’t have saved me from my impending doom. I was at my son’s basketball clinic where for almost 2 hours around 30 boys run wild and practice a variety of basketball skills. By the way, they’re 7, so you can imagine the amount of energy bouncing around the room. The facility is huge and they have an upstairs area for the parents to sit and watch their children and/or socialize with the other parents. The seats are screwed into the ground and set up on about a 4 inch platform to make it easier to see over the railing. On the railing in front of every other seat there are signs that say “Watch your step. There is a small step behind you” I looked up and down the row of seats and took notice of the vast quantity of signs asking us to watch our step. As if we were the clumsiest set of people know to walk the face of the earth. I laughed out loud and thought, wow they must think we are all just going to simultaneously fall off this tiny 4 inch step and break something. As they say [and I happen to agree], everything happens for a reason. So somewhere out there God was trying to tell me, “Hey! You! Read the sign! Pay attention! It could happen to you!” I stood up near the end of the training session, thinking I would grab a quick snack from the vending machine for my son and then we’d be on our way. I reached into my purse and grabbed my wallet and turned without thinking of the 4 inch drop I would be encountering. The next thing I knew I was doing a face plant on the ground with my legs splayed in opposite directions and my dignity laying there on the floor completely spent. It was a hard fall, not a slip. It was a complete collapsing of my limbs not a simple trip. It was without a doubt, THE THUD HEARD ROUND THE WOLRD! I stood up completely stunned and embarrassed and did the walk of shame all the way to the vending machine. Let this be a lesson to all of you—READ THE SIGNS and FOLLOW THEM!
I’m Drinking the Kool-Aid November 24, 2008
Yes, you heard me right. I’m drinking the Kool-Aid and have finally joined the Cult that is FACEBOOK! I was asked by a friend to check out her profile and I was quickly drawn in by all the familiar faces. That’s how it starts right? You read someones bio and ask them to be your friend and suddenly you are surrounded by another dozen people you knew at some point in your life. My husband has been a member for some time and I blew it off by saying, “Nah, I don’t need to do that” or “Why would I do that”? Well, now I’m officially addicted and I want to add pictures to my wall and bling and adopt a pet. It’s my own virtual world that I can create and decorate just for me. I’ve lived in my current house for 6 years and still haven’t fully decorated my master bedroom and certainly can’t start now because I have way to much to do on my Facebook page. I’m sure the newness will wear off at some point, but right now I am having a blast reading about my friends lives, seeing their spouses/significant others in pictures, adoring their kids’ pics and of course browsing through their friends to see if I know any of them. It’s a never ending cycle. I’m a competitive person by nature and felt the need to talk trash to my darling husband regarding his friend count. I’m not sure if I have surpassed him yet, but it doesn’t matter because I am having a blast, tripping down memory lane! The flip side of this is, of course, you are setting yourself up for rejection all over again. As if jr. high and HS weren’t enough you put yourself out there every time you request someone to be your friend. You add a personal message, hesitate about what exactly you want to say, close your eyes and press SEND. You may wait days or even weeks depending how long they take to respond to your request. After your reach a certain point [10 or more days] you give up, wondering if they just pressed ignore and hoped you’d go away. I’m still waiting on several responses, so we’ll see what happens. Until then, CHEERS, ’cause this Kool-Aid is G-O-O-D!
5 Second Rule November 2, 2008
As a mother of three, I feel like I live in my car. If you saw the inside, you would probably agree. My kids aren’t the tidiest creatures, which is evidenced by the state of my vehicle. I am always running them to basketball, soccer, football or swimming. Then there’s the doctors appointments [orthodontist, dentist, eye doctor, general physician, dermatologist], grocery store and other miscellaneous errands. Basically, I do live in my car. Luckily, it’s quite comfortable although the gas mileage could be better. I have been known to eat in my car on many occasions. But there is always the time when you are out rushing around from place to place and you forget to eat a snack or a meal before leaving the house. You are driving on auto-pilot from destination to destination all the while growing hungrier. You have exhausted your supply of cough drops and sugar free gum and you a wanting some real food. The left over water bottle, from your early morning visit to the gym, satisfies you temporarily but you must have REAL food soon, or else. Then your mind wonders at a red light, what if the kids left a few crumbs in their snack bag from earlier or maybe they dropped a french fry on the floor last night after soccer practice. When, during your moment of weakness you gave in to their pleas to eat fast food. You will immediately invoke the 5 second rule, even though it would have been hours since the food has hit the floor of your car. You hope against all hope that some morsel of food was left in the car before you start eying the guy in the car next to you whose munching on a serious burger. You must have food or you will DIE!!! Finally, the light turns green and you are rehearsing your speech that you will give the officer who pulls you over for speeding. You are explaining to him how your blood sugar drops drastically and if you don’t eat soon someone WILL get hurt. But, at last, you make it home from running your endless errands to find the Holy Grail–or what’s commonly referred to as PB&J.
Allergies 101 November 2, 2008
I developed allergies in my late 20’s, to typical things like dust and pet dander. I had a mild allergy to cats in college, but only found out when faced with a friends cat collection. I ended up leaving her house looking like Rocky after a fight. My allergies were always something I could easily handle with an over the counter remedy. Things are much different now. I live in the Great Northwest. It’s a really beautiful area unless you have allergies to some of their favorite things, like Evergreen trees. I had lots of headaches, my ears popped all the time and of course the lovely drippy nose. I finally decided to take serious action and move beyond the typical remedy, allergy pill and nose spray. I decided to get weekly injections of what I was allergic to, in order to become immune. I know, it sounds crazy. They say it works wonders. The only catch, it may take up to 3 years to take affect. I made an appointment first to see what I was allergic to and waited a week or so for my results. It turns out, I am allergic to the state of Washington. Every tree, grass, mold and weed, plus dogs and cats. That’s discouraging. So I have been getting weekly shots for about a year now. I have noticed a slight difference. I have less headaches, but still the dripping nose and popping ears. Week after week I have endured being shot in each tricep with a witch’s brew of my allergens. There is some consolation after each visit when I am allowed to pick from the sticker or candy basket to ease my pain. I typically get a knot anywhere from the size of a grape to a small plum. It gets hot and sometimes stays hot for more than a day. OUCH! I guess after having kids, it puts my pain in perspective. It could be worse, right? There are certain rules you have to follow when you go to the allergy center. Absolutely, no perfumes or scented lotions. When I first started going, I forgot about the smell-good stuff and went fully lathered in warm vanilla sugar body butter. I was reprimanded for my glorious smell and told “please don’t wear lotions or perfumes to our office again”. I was slightly embarrassed and never forgot again. Well, there was that one time when I showered on shot day. I got out and, not thinking about what day it was, sprayed my body spray and spread my body butter all over. I was so afraid of getting in trouble again, at the shot center, that I showered again. I have never been that well exfoliated in my life. In addition to no smell goods on shot day, you would think that no pets allowed would be a given. Well, I guess no one told the man I saw this week. I walked in, signed in for my shot and took a seat. Seated several seats away from me on a love seat was a man. He was probably late 60’s early 70’s. He had a stroller in front of him with a canopy over it. I assumed there was probably a grandchild inside and he was being a dutiful grandfather. Upon closer inspection there was a D-O-G in the stroller. That’s right a DOG! I was infuriated, because if he could bring his dog, surely I could spray a little body spray on, right? I told the ladies in the back, when I went for my shot, but I guess I overreacted. They weren’t phased by the presence of a dog, I guess he doesn’t use body spray.
I parent, therfore I sit October 26, 2008
My daughter is on the swim team. This inevitably means you have to go to swim meets [at least once a month]. There is definitely a different atmosphere at swim meets than most other sports. You sit there for 5+ hours, just to see your child compete for less than 10 minutes. The climate inside the swimming pool area is very humid and that, in and of itself, could put you to sleep. I also tend to swell, when sitting for long periods of time, and the humidity adds to the water retention experience. There’s really nothing like a swimming pool induced hot flash and good old fashioned pool sweats.
People arrive early to reserve seating [mark their territory] in the most desirable places. They set down large towels or blankets that you will eventually be tripping over whenever you decide to leave your Holy Seat for a snack, a stretch or to use “the facilities”. Be careful, when leaving your seat. Inevitably, when you return you will have been moved or at the very least condensed to accommodate another swim meet attendee.
Swim meets, in a way, are like road trips. I want to snack non-stop while I’m waiting for my daughter’s 10 minutes of competition. They have incredibly tempting snack bars too. They are filled with licorice, chips, muffins, candy, soda and usually nachos, burgers, hot dogs or another fun-filled entree.
I make the most of the meets and bring books, magazines, a journal to write in and an iPod. My mantra of “I shop therefore I am” has been replaced with “I parent, therefore I sit”. I have concluded that there are certain sacrifices that are worth it. Especially when you see your child beat their previous time or come in first in their heat.
Coach Conspiracy October 26, 2008
I don’t know about you, but I love designer handbags. Coach fits perfectly into my lifestyle. It’s not a total budget buster to buy Coach bags, especially if you get them at the Outlet Malls. Don’t let my husband know this, but I’m growing tired of buying Coach handbags. To alleviate my designer “pain” I decided to branch out. After a good friend bought me a Coach necklace, I wanted to add to my collection. I spent countless hours at the store trying on bracelets rings, looking at other accessories [i.e. shoes and hats]. Well, as it turns out, I can’t even get my hand through the bangle bracelets. The rings only go up to size 8, and I wear a 9. Forget about the hats, I have an unusually large [unfeminine] head. It’s invisible to the naked eye, but get me anywhere near a hat and then it’s blatantly obvious. Their shoes only come in “B” width so that leaves my Fred Flinstone type feet out of luck. I’ve concluded that it is a huge Coach conspiracy against those of us with large wrists, fingers, heads and double wide feet. I will grudgingly go back to purchasing handbags, wristlets and various other keychains and scarves to alleviate my urge to cry out “Coach Conspiracy” whenever I frequent their store.
It’s My Potty and I’ll cry if I want to! September 28, 2008
Public restrooms are a necessary evil. Without them we would be in serious trouble. Nonetheless, I still hate them. Unfortunately, after having several children I must use them more often then I would like. I have also been known to hover over a Honey Bucket or two [that's a port-o-potty FYI]. I carry anti-bacterial wet wipes in my purse for just such an occasion. I also have an OCD disorder when it comes to clean hands, but that’s a whole other story. There are many reasons why I loathe the public restroom. This is also the place where mom’s change their babies dirty diapers. So every once in a while you find your self “in the need” and before you realize what’s hit you, a wall of undeniable stank has bathed over your entire body. You are left feeling uncontrollably grossed out, all the while trying to maintain composure in front of the doting mom. Choosing a stall is like playing the scratch tickets from the lottery. You don’t know what’s behind each door. You may open one where someone forgot to flush, tinkled on the seat or heaven forbid had their monthly visitor and wasn’t aware there is an appropriate trash receptacle for that stuff. Sometimes I am in too big of a hurry because I’m about to wet my pants and you sit down only to find that there is no toilet paper. And the backup roll is gone too! What’s a girl to do? You cringe, hesitate and grudgingly reach behind you to grab a toilet seat cover. It’s not nearly as soft as regular tissue, but there’s no way your risking a drip dry. Who wants to spend the rest of their day feeling like they wet themselves? Not me! You finally make it through the actual act of relieving yourself and you are off to wash your hands. There you are faced with several kinds of faucets. There is the automatic kind that you have to have your hands positioned in the exact spot to get the water you so desperately desire. There’s the push down kind, where you are rinsing fast and furiously before it shuts off and you have to do it all over again. Occasionally you luck out and get an old fashioned twist type where you have all the power to turn it off and on. The soap is equally as frustrating. It’s either foamy or liquid but you have to fight for it. If it’s automatic, they never give you enough to get a good lather going. If it’s foam you feel like it’s barely enough and pump non-stop until you have enough for a good old-fashioned bubble bath. At some point, your hands are finally clean, but now you have a new problem…they’re all wet! Now you’ve got two options, blow dry or paper towel. Paper towels are never soft. They are never thick [unless you are at a fancy place]. You must pump out a good 3 feet of towel to get your hands sufficiently dry. The air blower obviously saves paper towels, but then your left there for a good 5 minutes rubbing your hands together repeatedly. After all that, you still have to do the gratuitous wipe-off on the jeans you are wearing. If you are lucky, by the time you’ve finished you won’t have to go again. The most annoying thing about public restrooms is not the restroom itself, but all the crazies you meet while in the restroom. Theres the crying toddler who protests too much saying loudly “I don’t need to go potty mommy”. Meanwhile the mommy in her best I’d liked to beat you but instead I will talk to you in a condescending baby-talk tone, tries to convince the child of their need to pee. Then there’s the people that try to carry on a complete conversation with their friend who is outside the stall, while doing their business. Please! The one that gets me the most, is when you are stuck next to a person who is on THE PHONE. Seriously? Really? A phone conversation while you are on the toilet, in public? What is this world coming to? I do not want to hear you talking on your cell, while I am shopping at the grocery store, waiting in line at the Post office and especially while I am using the restroom. So the next time you enter a public restroom remember my words. No talking while peeing. Clean up after yourself. And if you hear someone in a stall crying, that’s probably me. It’s my potty and I’ll cry if I want to!
