Bring in Da Noise, Bring in Da Funk. (and maybe the advice, too)

Sometimes, are you just not sure what you should write on your personal yet public blog? I'm sort of having that experience right now. I am stuck in a funk. I want to write about it, but it is probably way too personal. If it affected only me, or involved only me, it would probably be okay. But when other people are involved, you sort of owe it to them to respect some level of privacy.

Plus, you have to think that mostly, people don't want to hear all your tales of woe. Particularly when they are the same tales that consistently plague you; the kind that make people want to scream at you "GET OVER IT ALREADY."

That said, I suppose a healthy approach would simply be to solicit funk advice. What do you do when you find yourself in a funk? How do you de-funk? What works for you?

Yesterday, I was hired for a full-time position that I was after. I am very happy about this, and start work again on Monday. The down side is that I have to switch schools. The upside is that I can earn extra money and increase my experience. I do, however, worry a bit that my schedule will now feel too demanding. My free time to exercise will be gone. If I want to exercise, I'll have to do it in the evenings, which is nearly impossible between my husband's work schedule and my children's sports schedules. (I can't do mornings because Skip already leaves at 5am. )

Anyway. Hook a sista up. Tell me what you do when you feel overwhelmed, frustrated or confused about life in general. Your reply, however, cannot contain the words "Diet Coke" or "Dr. Pepper", as I'm looking for stuff that I could actually try.

The Best Laid Plans Are Not Surprises.

Can I just start off by saying that about 2 months ago, I bought a new bra on CLEARANCE at Victoria's Secret. It cost $42 with shipping. It was the first bra I'd bought in about 2 years. I'm not going to name names here, but SOMESKIPBODY thought it was OUTRAGEOUS that I would pay that much for a bra!

Anyway. Moving on. Apparently, my husband is not the only one who has recently failed in the "surprise your spouse" department. I recently made the move to wean our family off of red meat. It doesn't work well with my insides, so I figured we should probably eat less of it. I did, in all fairness, tell the family about my plan.
Then I made ravioli for supper. Ordinarily, the ravioli will contain sausage or beef. I whipped up a fabulous marinara sauce, simmered my tender pasta pockets, and served up a meal divine. I sit with the family, and I notice it's not going well. By "not going well" I mean "people are making gagging sounds, eating with clenched teeth, and saying things like 'this is pretty disgusting.' "
So I yell "SURPRISE! IT'S CHICKEN AND CHEESE RAVIOLI!"

No one throws confetti. No one plays "Hail to the Chief". No one even says "Gee Mom, thanks for thinking of our health and replacing cholesterol-laden red meat with a leaner white meat!"

Mostly all they said was, "Do we still have to eat it?"


Maybe we just need to stick with a straightforward approach around here.

To Err Is Human, To Plan a Bad Surprise for Your Wife Is Not a Good Idea and Very Undivine

You will all remember the story of my husband's recent suit purchase. Mm-hmm. Well shortly after that purchase, my husband discovered that the Men's Wearhouse was having a sale: buy one, get one for $100. Needless to say, he phoned the store and squared away the issue toute de suite. We drove up the next day to select his second suit. I was totally on board with this, because now he was getting $1500 worth of suits for only $600. He will wear at least one of these suits when he is buried, and since we are planning a long and healthy life together, I feel this was money well-spent. Also, as soon as he found out, he called Paige to tell her the good news. I kid you not. And she suggested he get a summer suit. He was thrilled with the idea.

The suits are tailored, and we are expecting them via UPS by Thursday of this past week. They never show up. I start panicking, recalling our recent home invasion. I begin to think that someone is watching our home and stealing from us at every opportunity. I call the Men's Wearhouse on Saturday, and after checking the tracking numbers, they assure me it was delivered on Thursday. I am angry at the oddly effeminate clerk, even though it's not his fault. I am less than polite. I spend my entire morning sick over the theft. I finally meet up with my husband in a neighboring town where he is preparing to march in a local parade. I can hardly stand the angst. I tell him my suspicions and how sick I am.

*blink*blink*blink*

"Baby. They came. I hid them and was going to put one on Sunday morning to surprise you."

Sure enough, there in the garage amidst my potato pearls and red wheat is a box from the Men's Wearhouse. Mm-hmm.

I call the extremely effeminate salesclerk back and apologize profusely for my rudeness. I tell him he can stop trying to track my package, as my husband received it and was planning to surprise me. Mr. Effeminate immediately takes my side and says, "That was a VERY BAD surprise! VERY BAD!!" I tell him I completely agree, and that I love his shoes.

But seriously, how can you stay mad at this:


Sweet mother of Abraham Lincoln. He tried them on today and then made it up to me by allowing me to photograph him in the lost-no-more suits. Back up off the screen, ladies. He's a kept man.

Also, he is awesome because of this:

Referencing the earlier break-in, you will recall my phone was stolen. I resist change. I loathe it, actually. I am a creature of habit if ever there was one. So having to get a new phone was torture for me. I loved my ancient Motorola. Yes, it is thicker than a quarter pounder with cheese, but I love it. So my finely-clad man went on Ebay and found the same ancient model. (Yes, I did inspect it thoroughly to make sure we didn't just buy my actual phone from the thieves themselves. It was missing a key scratch on the antenna. I know these things.)

Anyway. I am happy to have "my" phone back. I know which buttons to push and how it works. I am happy my husband, in spite of his "surprise" of $600 being flushed down the toilet, looks so damn good and is equally as happy.

Life is good again.

How To Survive an Irritating Day

Do you ever have one of those days? You know the kind of which I speak. The kind where for some inexplicable reason, every single person you come in contact with gets on your nerves? It almost gets to the point where you SWEAR people are intentionally trying to aggravate you.
Usually on these days, your kids are quarreling more, your spouse is not appreciating you enough, and the temperature is above 90 degrees. Also, your calendar usually sports no less than eight obligatory events, eight of which you have no desire to deal with.

Well here's my new coping strategy.

1. Go to Jessica's blog and read this post. Honestly, fabulous. Hopefully it will remind me that probably by tomorrow, I will be able to laugh at the immaturity of the squabbles-over-day-to-day-difficulties. Also, as the immortal Rob Base pointed out, it takes two to make a thing go right. And wrong. So maybe I can learn to acknowledge my role in everyone else's annoying behavior.

2. Eat some cheese. Cheese makes me feel better. It has a high salt content, which boosts my strangely low blood pressure, and gives me a little additional energy.

3. Post some pictures that I have taken so that people will leave me obligatory comments about my kids being cute and my photography showing great improvement. This is important because when everyone is getting on my nerves, I am not at all nice, and no one in my house will be offering me nice words of any kind.

So that's it. Sure, prayer and humility would come into play as key factors in ameliorating the situation. But for now, I'll stick with Jessica, Gouda, and fishing for compliments.

Thank you in advance.

Shallow and Insignificant, with Bad Pictures.

So. I've recently tried a new curlier approach with my hair. Frankly, you people have made me blush with your inordinate amount of compliments. Thank you very much. Just be glad you are not my husband, though, because here's how the compliments played out there:

Yesterday, I straightened my hair again for the first time in months.
B: Babe, I really like your hair straight.
Me: Thanks.
Me: Wait. Are you saying you DON'T like it curly?
B: *Blink*Blink*Blink*
Me: Your tone implied that maybe you PREFER the straight to the curly. Is that the case?
B: No? *Blink*Blink*
Me: So you like it both straight AND curly?
B: Yes? *Blink* Blink*
Me: You like it better straight though?
B: Yes?
Me: Oh. Okay.

See how difficult it can be being married to me??

Anyway. I have put together for your reading pleasure a tutorial on how I do my hair. In case you care. First of all, you have to go to a great stylist who does NOT work at Fantastic Sam's. I finally learned that ten bucks will get you just that... a ten dollar haircut. Pay for quality. Get some long layers cut in, and some side-swept bangs.

Then:



Brush only the bangs over to the side, and define your part. Make sure you have a pained look on your face while doing so.


Get some good frizz-controlling mousse (thanks for the tip, Diane). Scrunch the mousse all throughout your wet hair. I do it upside down to loosen the hair a bit.



Then I pin back my bangs with a bobby pin, so they will dry sleeker. Following that, I release many pent-up frustrations by scrunching my hair in what appears to be a fit of rage.




Then you have to wait and let your hair air dry. This is better than blowdrying, but you have to plan it into your routine. I like to give about an hour, but sometimes I can only spare 15 minutes. In the meantime, I get dressed, apply makeup, eat breakfast, and listen to music.



Once my hair is only slightly damp, I finish off with a light blowdry. Reminiscent of the 80's I also do this upside down. Unlike the 80's, however, I don't shellac it while doing so. Blowdrying upside down gives it more body. Scrunching while blowdrying gives it more curl.



When you finish that step, you will look like this:
This is acceptable only if your last name is Frankenstein. Otherwise, it's time to tame.


I use a one-and-a-half inch barrel curling iron. I only curl the top layers, to keep it looking more natural and less Pollyanna. I spray my hair with hairspray before I curl, which prevents the nasty sticky curls you get when you spray after curling. I curl some towards my face and some away from my face, again to keep it looking natural. I NEVER smile while doing this part.


Then I take the bobby pin out of my bangs, and smooth them with the iron.


Lastly, I separate the curls, which step apparently makes me look constipated.







My hairdresser once used the phrase "back comb" in my presence. ONCE. Back comb and "bump-it" just don't work for me. But a little height does add body and volume, so I take a teeny bit in the front, lift it, and spray.




So here you have it. I can see a few other spots that need attention here, but you get the general idea. It actually takes me less time to do this than it does to straighten.





So if you all want to look exactly like me, now you know how. I am considering starting a small army of hair clones. Let me know if you are interested in enlisting.

Little Moments of Growth

We had Keola's baptism last weekend. It was really very nice. My parents and my niece were here, as well as Jordan and Samantha. It was a pretty emotional day. Keola keeps me on my toes, so it was very touching for me to see him with joy on his face. He was literally glowing at times.



Keola's dad came to do the baptism, and this was the first time we've all actually been involved in a "social" setting together. It started off a teeny bit awkward, but as the day went on, it all worked itself out. This makes me happy for my children.



We had a big family sports day after the baptism. I was the photographer while the dads and kids played football... an arrangement which suited everyone just fine. This was a really big deal for our family, because it showed the kids that we can choose positivity over animosity. I want them to feel secure in all their familial relationships, and it makes me sad when they have to get caught up in adults being childish. Which frankly, we are all guitly of at times.


Also in fantastic and exciting news, my husband was promoted. Here is a picture of us looking miserable and annoyed somber and dignified during the ceremony.

Again, a huge highlight especially for B was having the whole family there. There is no one on earth that would've been prouder of him or happier for him than the people in that room. He gave his little speech and said some really touching things about me and our family. I am glad the kids, especially Jordan and Samie, got to hear that and get a better glimpse of that side of their dad. I also want our kids to see good and healthy ways of expressing love in a marriage. I always worry about the effects of divorce, but I am so blessed to have a husband who loves our whole family unconditionally, and makes every effort to express that. I felt so proud of him during the ceremony for all the work he has put into his career, for the outstanding soldier that he is, and for the good man that I am lucky enough to be married to.

And I'll tell you what. Some people think Scouting is a bit weinie-ish. And maybe in some ways it is. But it makes me happy to see all my guys in a uniform, feeling proud of what they are doing.

WHAT A BARGAIN!

Today my husband and I stopped in at a little establishment known as The Men's Wearhouse. He is in need of a new suit, hence our visit to said establishment.

The guy who waited on us was a teense on the pretentious side for my taste. Here's how the whole thing played out:

Mr. Big Stuff: Let me just measure you here. Mm-hmm. I see. Mm-hmm. Athletic build. Follow me please. Here we have a classic black. Let's give it a try, shall we?
B: I like that. It looks nice.
He proceeds to try on a few other jackets until he finds one that he wants to try on in full.

Mr. Big Stuff: Follow me into my office please. Mm-hmm.
His office is a fitting room with lots of mirrors.
Mr. Big Stuff: Let me get a darker pair of shoes and a different shirt for you to try on. What size shoe is the gentleman?
B: Twelve.
Mr. Big Stuff: Twelve. Mm-hmm.

My husband tries on the suit in full, with the shirt and shoes. He looks good. Mr. Big Stuff begins to mark the suit for alterations.

Me: So apparently this is the suit we're getting?
Mr. Big Stuff: Yes. This is a custom-tailored blah blah blah with horse hair lining, made by blah blah blah in some uppity country yadda yadda for five hundred dollars.

My husband is now changing, and I am left with Mr. Big Stuff.

Me: Five hundred dollars? How much are the alterations?
Mr. Big Stuff: Five hundred dollars is an outstanding price for this suit.

My husband comes out of the changing room. He loves the suit. I tell him it's entirely up to him. He is thrilled. We go to the counter to pay.

Us: Do you give a military discount?
Mr. Big Stuff: Our prices are already deeply discounted.
Me: So in your own veiled way, you're trying to tell me that you don't offer a military discount?
Mr. Big Stuff: Our prices are already deeply discounted. Do you know how much this suit would cost at Nordstroms? I suggest you make a trip and find this same blah-blah-blah brand name suit on a rack there. The $900 price tag will be hanging from the sleeve.
Me: So you're insinuating that I will feel better about dropping five hundred dollars if I see that someone else may have paid nine hundred for the same item?
Mr. Big Stuff: Sir, how will you be paying for this?

Obviously, I was glossed over. We pay, step out to the car, and I tell my husband that five hundred dollars is a lot for a suit. He says (and I am not making this up) "Maybe you should talk to Paige about this."

Pulling out of the parking lot, we pass a building that says "Community Cremation Services". I point it out to my husband, who says "What the heck? What is it, like discount cremation or something?" To which I reply, "Yeah. Do you know how much that same cremation would go for at Nordstroms?"


At least they're shipping the suit to us after the alterations so I don't have to go back up there and listen to Mr. Big Stuff imply that I am cheap and difficult.

You're So Skinny, You Make Me Sick. Gee, Thanks.

Click here to read an interesting post on us women and our weight issues.

A Friend, Fish Lips, and Fuzziness

When I lived in Oklahoma, I worked at Bath and Body Works for awhile. I met this fabulous girl there named Ann. She was fun to work with, and always brought good music for late nights stocking the back room. She recently moved to the Seattle area, and it was totally a treat for us to crash at her place for a few days. Plus, I got to meet her baby, who I had only seen pictures of until this point.


Would you not take a vacation just to get your hands on this piece of heaven? And he let me snuggle him and cuddle him... most babies dislike me because my bones poke them. I usually make them cry. He laughed and laughed at me. Which is okay when the guy is only 8 months old.


We flew Jordan and Sam up here for the second half of our summer with them. Also, my niece Jade came in as well from Connecticut. She's here with my parents, but since we are way more fun than they are, we kidnapped her while they went off to visit their friends on the West Coast.

So we decided to go up the Space Needle. Frankly, it was a bit of a disappointment. You spend a decent chunk of change, ride an elevator to the top, walk once around it and look at the city, and then the kids say, "So can we go now?" You feel ticked that they are not more appreciative, but secretly, deep down, you totally get it, and realize you are probably ticked because you just spent that money on fifteen minutes of mediocre entertainment.




Pikes Place is always a treat. The kids were freaked out by the funky sea creatures, and since it was closing time, the guys were great about letting the kids touch everything.

So has anyone wondered yet why all these pictures are beyond horrific in quality? Have you? I can hardly stand it myself. I FORGOT TO BRING MY CAMERA. Seriously. Me. I take pictures of every breath that comes out of my kids' mouths. And I forgot my camera on their big trip around Seattle. So I bought a disposable. And since it only had 27 shots on it, I was like a miser with the shutter. "I can't take a picture of that, I only have 27 shots! I have to be careful what I take pictures of!" In the end, I only ended up taking about 15 pictures. Which may be better in the long run than the 426 I probably would've taken with the digital.

Bah.