I walked into a convenience store today to buy some gas. There was a basket with a sign that said "HOMEMADE CAR FRESHENERS $3.00 EACH. I was intrigued. They were very large Ziploc bags with an interesting substance inside. I decided to look through the basket and see what scents there were as the cashier rang me up. I picked up the first baggie. The sticker on it read SEX IN A HOT TUB. I could feel my eyebrows raise in reaction. I was curious. I didn't realize sex in a hot tub had a smell. I quickly glanced at the cashier to make sure he wasn't watching. I felt kind of naughty. He caught my glance and looked down sheepishly, shoving his hands into his pockets.
I waved the baggie in front of him and said, "Wow! This is an interesting name for a scent."
He kind of chuckled and, still staring at the floor replied, "Yeah. Sorry. My friend makes those. He asked if he could sell them here. Sorry about the names."
I grinned and slid it back in the basket. "A man made these, huh?" I said. That made sense. "Well, now I'm curious about the other scents in here." I rummaged through the basket and pulled out another. The sticker read SEX POISON UNDER MY TONGUE. I nodded as I read it, "Yummy."
The cashier leaned forward, trying to read the sticker. I turned it around so he could see. He scratched his head, nervously shifting on his feet, "Oh man! These are bad. I gotta' put these behind the counter. I'm really sorry, Ma'am. I didn't realize..."
"No. No. It's okay. Look. Here's cherry", I said as I pulled out another, trying to reassure him that they weren't all bad.
"Yeah, I think my friend's a little crazy", he said sheepishly, his face turning a deep purple at this point.
I sniffed a couple more. I'll spare you the names. They were pretty raunchy. The smell was actually really pleasant. Unusual, but pleasant. I liked them - the scents, not the names. I decided to buy one. I placed it on the counter and said, "I'll take this one. It smells good."
The cashier read the sticker name. It read ORGASMIC. Now, before you judge, I bought it because it smelled good, not because of the name. The cashier giggled and I grinned and chuckled.
"Yeah, well...you see that little white car out there?" I pointed to my sad little car sitting at the gas pump.
"Yeah", the cashier replied.
"That's mine. It's a Hyundai Elantra. It's not a bad car, but you get more than 2-3 people in there and it starts to feel like sardines packed in a can."
The cashier nodded in response.
I continued, "You see, I've got four kids that I jam pack in there with me. So, if your friend's homemade scent here is going to make riding in a Hyundai Elantra with a screaming infant and two whiny toddlers in the back seat an orgasmic experience, then he's gonna' end up a billionaire!"
And with that, I took my car freshener, tromped out to my little tin can on wheels, opened it up and placed it under my seat. It smells good...
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Good For A Laugh
I'm a Rob Pattinson fan. I'm not gonna' lie. It's too late for that anyway. I've posted enough nonsense about my drool fests. Can't take it back now. It's on the world wide web.
HOWEVER! This is too funny to not post. We can all laugh about it, right Robby?
HOWEVER! This is too funny to not post. We can all laugh about it, right Robby?
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Heads Will Roll!
Aw, look at my little angel sleeping. Isn't that so sweet?NO!
No, it's not! There's nothing sweet about that! Let me explain:
She just got through doing...
THIS!
Oh, here's a nice little close up shot for ya'.
That's right! She completely cleared all clothing from the rack of her closet, threw down several books from the top shelf (approximately 20-30) and proceeded to try everything on and strew it about the room.I was ready to KILL! Apparently Chloe was her accomplice. No surprises there. This was their little "project" while I cranked out some transcription work today.
Oh, now this is a cute picture. Aww. I love when they snuggle up and read together. Sweet little girls....Wait a minute! Focus!
These children are not sweet! They're evil!
These children are not sweet! They're evil!
Just look at this mess! She actually said she was making pictures for me. Yeah! Can you believe the nerve - trying to pass this off as ART?!?! HA! You know how long it took me to clean that mess up?
Aw, now I remember that. They wanted to wash my car to help me because baby Zander was hurting my belly and they heard me complaining to their papa about how dirty my car was. (Sigh). Those little ladies...so swee....Wait a minute! You're doing it again! Trying to throw cute pictures at me to make me forget how super naughty you are! Well, I haven't forgotten about...
THIS! Do you realize we had to throw out half of our game closet because of you two? Well...we did and I am NOT happy about that!
Stop it! These cute pictures aren't working on me anymore!
I said STOP it!
THAT'S ENOUGH!!!
(SIGH) Oh, I give up! YOU WIN! Okay!?!?! Happy now?!Sunday, August 2, 2009
Terror In The Night!
"Mommy! Mommy!"
My eyelids fluttered. The high pitch of the faint screams slightly roused me from sleep. Though only a narrow hallway separates the master bedroom from the girls' room, the loud hum of the floor fan in my room drowns out almost all sound.
"Mommy! Mommy! Aaahhhhh!" The screams came again. This time my eyes shot open and were immediately drawn to the light of my alarm clock. 3:10 AM.
"Mmmm" I groaned and shut my eyes again.
"Mommeeeeeeee!" I could tell by the screams it was my 2-year-old. She had never awoken in the night like this. The sound of her shrill screams, growing louder by the second, frightened me and I thought something must be seriously wrong for her to be screaming this way.
I attempted to shoot up into a seated position, but my large, rock-hard belly forced me back against the bed. My head hit my pillow with a thud.
"Mommy! Mommy!" The wailing continued, growing even louder. My heart was pounding with fury and my breaths became pants. I attempted to sit up again, but failed miserably. Suddenly I felt a stabbing cramp in my side.
Knowing I wouldn't be able to reach her in time, I threw my arm behind me, frantically smacking at the space behind me, searching for the warm body of my husband.
"Honey. Honey. HONEY!" I finally shouted, continuing to bat at him, awkwardly attempting to awaken him.
"Huh? What? What's going on?" He mumbled deliriously.
"Babe, something's wrong with Chloe. She's screaming and I'm stuck. I can't get up. She's screaming louder and louder. Something's wrong. Please! Hurry! Run!" I pleaded desperately.
He rolled out of bed and clumsily stumbled across the room, nearly tripping over the laundry basket at the foot of the bed. I heard the thuds as he slightly fell against the door and felt around for the handle. As he threw our door open and then the girls' room door, I heard the screams grow louder.
"What's the matter, Chloe?" I heard him mumble.
Her screams and cries continued.
"Chloe! What's wrong?" He tried again, this time a little more coherent-sounding.
"My monkey's on the floor", she sobbed pathetically.
"What?" He mumbled.
"My monkey is on the floor", she enunciated each word deliberately through her sobs.
I heard him grunt as he stooped to pick it up and place it in her arms. Instantly the crying stopped and my poor husband stumbled back to our room and collapsed in the bed.
"What in the world? Is she screaming about her monkey?" I asked in a frustrated tone.
"I don't know. I don't know what she wants." And that was it. He was out. Poor guy.
Just to let you know how ridiculous this whole thing was - Chloe's bed is like 5 inches from the floor. All she had to do was reach her hand down and pick up the dang monkey! Instead she threw a screaming fit, which disturbed our sleep and caused me to have some pretty good, painful contractions for the next hour.
THANK YOU CHLOE!!!!!
My eyelids fluttered. The high pitch of the faint screams slightly roused me from sleep. Though only a narrow hallway separates the master bedroom from the girls' room, the loud hum of the floor fan in my room drowns out almost all sound.
"Mommy! Mommy! Aaahhhhh!" The screams came again. This time my eyes shot open and were immediately drawn to the light of my alarm clock. 3:10 AM.
"Mmmm" I groaned and shut my eyes again.
"Mommeeeeeeee!" I could tell by the screams it was my 2-year-old. She had never awoken in the night like this. The sound of her shrill screams, growing louder by the second, frightened me and I thought something must be seriously wrong for her to be screaming this way.
I attempted to shoot up into a seated position, but my large, rock-hard belly forced me back against the bed. My head hit my pillow with a thud.
"Mommy! Mommy!" The wailing continued, growing even louder. My heart was pounding with fury and my breaths became pants. I attempted to sit up again, but failed miserably. Suddenly I felt a stabbing cramp in my side.
Knowing I wouldn't be able to reach her in time, I threw my arm behind me, frantically smacking at the space behind me, searching for the warm body of my husband.
"Honey. Honey. HONEY!" I finally shouted, continuing to bat at him, awkwardly attempting to awaken him.
"Huh? What? What's going on?" He mumbled deliriously.
"Babe, something's wrong with Chloe. She's screaming and I'm stuck. I can't get up. She's screaming louder and louder. Something's wrong. Please! Hurry! Run!" I pleaded desperately.
He rolled out of bed and clumsily stumbled across the room, nearly tripping over the laundry basket at the foot of the bed. I heard the thuds as he slightly fell against the door and felt around for the handle. As he threw our door open and then the girls' room door, I heard the screams grow louder.
"What's the matter, Chloe?" I heard him mumble.
Her screams and cries continued.
"Chloe! What's wrong?" He tried again, this time a little more coherent-sounding.
"My monkey's on the floor", she sobbed pathetically.
"What?" He mumbled.
"My monkey is on the floor", she enunciated each word deliberately through her sobs.
I heard him grunt as he stooped to pick it up and place it in her arms. Instantly the crying stopped and my poor husband stumbled back to our room and collapsed in the bed.
"What in the world? Is she screaming about her monkey?" I asked in a frustrated tone.
"I don't know. I don't know what she wants." And that was it. He was out. Poor guy.
Just to let you know how ridiculous this whole thing was - Chloe's bed is like 5 inches from the floor. All she had to do was reach her hand down and pick up the dang monkey! Instead she threw a screaming fit, which disturbed our sleep and caused me to have some pretty good, painful contractions for the next hour.
THANK YOU CHLOE!!!!!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sherrif Joe's Got Nothing On Me!
Welcome to Tent City. I decided these ladies had committed one too many offenses and it was time for some prison camp to teach them a lesson.
Let's see what the little inmates are up to right now, shall we?
What's this? WHAT is THIS?! Are you two making moonshine in your bunk?
Yeah. Busted! AGAIN!
Biggest Dilemma Of All Time!
So, I'm gonna' need your help on this one. What do I throw away? The games...or the children?
Sunday, July 26, 2009
What Does The Future Hold?
SO! It has come to my attention that the New Moon soundtrack will be released in early October and more and more bands who will be featured on it are being announced each week. I have not heard from Summit or Chop Shop and therefore am safely assuming I am not going to be included on this soundtrack. In all honestly, I'm actually not that disappointed. I really love the bands who are included on the soundtrack. Well, not all of them, but MOST of them. Also, I did feel extremely stressed about all of the expectations that would come with being featured on this soundtrack, i.e. photo shoots, interviews, music video, etc. and with Zander due to arrive within the next few weeks, I did NOT know how I was going to pull this off. I'm not saying I'm glad I didn't make it on - just surprisingly not as disappointed as I thought I would be.
Now a lot of questions are being raised by friends, fans, my husband and I and, I'm sure very soon - band mates. I have spent several weeks contemplating my next move with the thought in mind that there was a possibility we would not make it on. The competition was stiff and not only are we only really known by a couple of thousand people worldwide, but we have no representation at this time. SO...it's just one of those things. The music business is tough. You have to really want it bad. You have to be willing to fight for what you want with everything you've got and, most importantly, you have to decide how far you're willing to go and what you're willing to sacrifice.
Keeping that in mind and knowing that the future holds many possibilities and nothing is certain, here's what I plan to do:
1. Put the two songs I wrote for New Moon up on Itunes (maybe I can make back enough money to at least cover what I paid in recording fees).
2. Go ahead and lay down the song I wrote for Eclipse and put it out there on youtube and myspace, etc. and go ahead and submit the press kit (there's a new director for Eclipse, so you never know) and probably just put it up on Itunes right now, as well.
3. Focus on recording and finishing up the writing on a full length album, which will be entitled "The Beginning Of The End", which will feature songs about relationships, the state of the world, etc. At least one track will feature a rapper, which is something new I'm trying, but I'm really excited about the outcome of it. And I can't WAIT to hear the drums Bertrand will put with this (his background is progressive hard rock, so that with my sound should be interesting - in a good way).
4. Promote myself and my band as best as I can without sacrificing my family.
I love my kids and they along with my marriage are my priority, so as long as none of them are being jeopardized and I can find the balance, I will get out and play publicly and promote as best as I can. I have often discussed with my husband whether or not I would ever stop writing music and really, I don't think I could if I wanted to. I will always write music and I will always share it with whoever wants to hear it. Whether or not I'll achieve big name status in the music business is yet to be determined, but music is my passion and it's a passion I share with my husband and we will always pursue it in some way.
In the meantime, Bertrand is very seriously considering going back to school for an eventual masters in criminal justice and hoping for a career in crime scene investigation and I am feeling compelled to keep moving the direction I am - transcribing as much as I can while raising four beautiful children and, of course, writing in my spare time - music and books.
I am so grateful to family, friends, and people I don't know from all around the United States and even the world who have supported and encouraged me and continue to do so. That's a big part of what keeps me going - especially when I have my down times, which do happen. Just knowing that people out there appreciate what I've produced so far is very fulfilling and I hope to continue writing music and stories that entertain for years to come.
Now a lot of questions are being raised by friends, fans, my husband and I and, I'm sure very soon - band mates. I have spent several weeks contemplating my next move with the thought in mind that there was a possibility we would not make it on. The competition was stiff and not only are we only really known by a couple of thousand people worldwide, but we have no representation at this time. SO...it's just one of those things. The music business is tough. You have to really want it bad. You have to be willing to fight for what you want with everything you've got and, most importantly, you have to decide how far you're willing to go and what you're willing to sacrifice.
Keeping that in mind and knowing that the future holds many possibilities and nothing is certain, here's what I plan to do:
1. Put the two songs I wrote for New Moon up on Itunes (maybe I can make back enough money to at least cover what I paid in recording fees).
2. Go ahead and lay down the song I wrote for Eclipse and put it out there on youtube and myspace, etc. and go ahead and submit the press kit (there's a new director for Eclipse, so you never know) and probably just put it up on Itunes right now, as well.
3. Focus on recording and finishing up the writing on a full length album, which will be entitled "The Beginning Of The End", which will feature songs about relationships, the state of the world, etc. At least one track will feature a rapper, which is something new I'm trying, but I'm really excited about the outcome of it. And I can't WAIT to hear the drums Bertrand will put with this (his background is progressive hard rock, so that with my sound should be interesting - in a good way).
4. Promote myself and my band as best as I can without sacrificing my family.
I love my kids and they along with my marriage are my priority, so as long as none of them are being jeopardized and I can find the balance, I will get out and play publicly and promote as best as I can. I have often discussed with my husband whether or not I would ever stop writing music and really, I don't think I could if I wanted to. I will always write music and I will always share it with whoever wants to hear it. Whether or not I'll achieve big name status in the music business is yet to be determined, but music is my passion and it's a passion I share with my husband and we will always pursue it in some way.
In the meantime, Bertrand is very seriously considering going back to school for an eventual masters in criminal justice and hoping for a career in crime scene investigation and I am feeling compelled to keep moving the direction I am - transcribing as much as I can while raising four beautiful children and, of course, writing in my spare time - music and books.
I am so grateful to family, friends, and people I don't know from all around the United States and even the world who have supported and encouraged me and continue to do so. That's a big part of what keeps me going - especially when I have my down times, which do happen. Just knowing that people out there appreciate what I've produced so far is very fulfilling and I hope to continue writing music and stories that entertain for years to come.
My Baby Boy!
I know, I totally threw you off there. You thought I was talking about Zander. But, today is my firstborn baby boy's birthday - John.
I've decided today I want to take a look back on some funny and some sweet moments about John's life so far.
What's In A Name?
Before John was born, I knew I was going to have a boy. I wanted a boy first because I never had an older brother, but a lot of my friends did and I was so envious. I wanted a boy to lead by example for my younger children. I was thrilled to death when the ultrasound confirmed it.
Name intended for him: Wesley Owen Done (Yes, I tried to name him after Wesley on "The Princess Bride")
Name actually given: John Ammon Done, Jr. (His daddy wanted a junior so bad, he begged for it as I was pushing him out in delivery)
Name he wanted at the age of 6: Jackie Chan (John idolized this man as a young boy. He watched his cartoon, his movies and just really wanted to be named after him)
Names he wishes for now: Zoran or Tormund (He thinks they sound like good, strong military combat names)
My Favorite Phases
John has been through a lot of phases, but two hilarious ones that stand out to me are:
1. The Chinese phase - John used to lament that he wished he was born in China. He just wanted to be Chinese so bad (mostly because he idolized Jackie Chan). He wanted his room decorated in Chinese characters and pictures and he dreamed of being a Ninja. It was so hilarious to me, but I felt bad for him at the same time. I totally understood his dilemma. After all, I always wished I was born an Indian Princess who was then kidnapped. (Don't ask, I don't have an answer for that one.)
2. The spaceship phase - John was obsessed with aliens and spaceships and rocket ships for a while. I'll never forget the time he came home from kindergarten with a little booklet about shapes. Each page had a shape and it said, "It was a circle. Now it's a..." and each student had to think of something they could turn the shape into. John's book went like this:
It was a circle. Now it's a.... face.
It was a square. Now it's a....spaceship.
It was a triangle. Now it's a....spaceship.
It was a diamond. Now it's a...spaceship.
It was a square. Now it's a...spaceship.
It was an oval. Now it's a....(take a wild guess).
I started laughing and John was immediately offended. I felt so bad, but it was so hilarious to me. I laughed so hard, I cried. I really wish I would have kept that booklet. It was too cute!
The Chosen Path
Some of us have dreams for our kids - dreams of what they'll be someday. I've often wondered this about each one of my kids and tried to guess what they might become. John has always pondered on this subject and voiced his desires since the age of about 5. Here's how his career choices have evolved.
Age 5:
John - Mom, when I grow up can I be a garbage man?
Me - A garbage man? Really?
John - Yeah!
Me- Why, honey?
John - Because I like garbage trucks. They're fun to drive.
Me - Have you ever driven one?
John - Not, but I really want to.
Me - Okay, honey. If you really want to be a garbage man, you can.
Age 6: Ninja.
Age 8:
John - Mom, I really know what I want to be now when I grow up.
Me - Okay. What is it?
John - An Army field medic.
Me - A what?
John - An Army field medic.
Me - What is that? I've never heard of that.
John - It's someone who goes out in the field and helps wounded soldiers and takes them back to base to do surgeries on them and get them better.
Me - How do you even know about this stuff?
John - I read about it and see it on TV.
Me - Wow! Okay. But that's really dangerous. You could get killed on the battlefield while trying to rescue someone.
John - (Shrugging) Well, I just want to help people, so I've gotta' take that risk sometimes.
Me - (Speechless).
Age 9: Detective/Spy. He begged me to subscribe him to a Junior Detective magazine (and I did) that came with spy gear and he loved playing spy and detective.
Age 10: History professor. He's a HUGE history buff. He loves to read about history and he watches The History Channel on a regular basis.
Age 11:
John - Mom. I know I've changed my mind about stuff a lot, but I really, really know what I want to be now.
Me - You don't want to be a history professor anymore?
John - No.
Me - (Whining) But why? Honey, you're so smart and you know so much about history and when you tell me about it, it's very interesting and I want to hear more and I HATED history in school. You should really be a history professor. I think you would be great!
John - Mom. Listen, I know I love history and stuff, but I don't want to be a history professor.
Me - (Sighing) Okay. What do you want to do then?
John - I want to be in the Marines.
Me - WHAT?!?!?!
John - I want to go to Westpoint.
Me - WESTPOINT?!?!
John - It's a military academy.
Me - I KNOW what it IS! But WHY!?!?!
John - Because, mom. I just really want to.
Me - You have to work really hard in school and be an excellent student at the top of your class to get in there.
John - You think I can't do it?
Me - No. I KNOW you can do it, but...really?
John - (Annoyed) Yes!
Me - Okay, well it's gonna' be tough! I mean, they're gonna' work you over! Some nights you might be lying in bed crying for me and wishing you were back home.
John - (Rolling his eyes) Mom. Whatever. I'm not a baby.
Me - Grown men cry, John. The military is TOUGH!
John - I know, but it's what I want to do.
Me - WOW! Okay then! Go for it! You can do it!
He's stuck by this now for two years. Today he is 13. He approached me a couple of weeks ago and requested that I sign him up for Krav Maga classes. I had never heard of it. It's Israeli Defense Military Training. Again I asked him how in the WORLD he even knew about that. He does a lot of reading and research and watches a lot of military and history shows. So, we found the best Krav Maga studio with the #1 expert in the country, which fortunately happens to be right here in Arizona and we've spoken with them and they are going to give him a complimentary training course in six weeks and if it's what he really wants, we're signing him up.
He's still adamant about wanting to attend Westpoint someday. And he's still adamant about joining the military and working his way up through the ranks. According to the Krav Maga expert, having four years of extensive training in Krav Maga will look amazing on his resume and open up many opportunities for him. Apparently it's used in military and law enforcement, which is right up his alley.
Honestly, it's scary to think about my son out there involved in battle. I'd much rather see him in a nice, safe classroom teaching history to college students. But, if this is what he wants, and he seems awfully determined (he takes after me), then I have to support him in it.
Favorite Sweet Moment:
When John was about 6 years old, I was a single mom and the two of us lived alone in a new condo I had just purchased. I told John he was the man of the house - not to put pressure on him, but to try and make him feel important. He took this role very seriously. One weekend I became very ill. I think it was the flu, but it was an extreme case. I couldn't get out of bed - AT ALL! I couldn't move. I couldn't take care of my son.
John came into my room and said, "Mom. You sleep and I'll take care of everything, okay?"
I said, "Honey, it's okay. Just play with your toys and watch some cartoons and I promise I'll feel better really soon and come out and take care of you, okay? You let me know if you need anything."
He said, "No, mom. You let ME know if YOU need anything." Then, with that, he shut my bedroom door and I fell into a deep sleep.
I awoke a couple of hours later to John entering my room. He had a big tray in his arms with some cold cereal and some other food items on it. I can't remember what they were, but he said,
"Mom. Don't worry. I cleaned the whole house and I made you some dinner."
It still brings tears to my eyes to think about that day. My sweet boy has always been very thoughtful and caring like that. He's always concerned about everyone else and how they feel and what they need. I'm thankful for such a sweet, loving son.
I can't believe he's 13 already. These 13 years have been full of laughter and tears, joy and fear. I look forward to the next 13 and I am excited to watch this young man continue to evolve. Happy Birthday, John!
I've decided today I want to take a look back on some funny and some sweet moments about John's life so far.
What's In A Name?
Before John was born, I knew I was going to have a boy. I wanted a boy first because I never had an older brother, but a lot of my friends did and I was so envious. I wanted a boy to lead by example for my younger children. I was thrilled to death when the ultrasound confirmed it.
Name intended for him: Wesley Owen Done (Yes, I tried to name him after Wesley on "The Princess Bride")
Name actually given: John Ammon Done, Jr. (His daddy wanted a junior so bad, he begged for it as I was pushing him out in delivery)
Name he wanted at the age of 6: Jackie Chan (John idolized this man as a young boy. He watched his cartoon, his movies and just really wanted to be named after him)
Names he wishes for now: Zoran or Tormund (He thinks they sound like good, strong military combat names)
My Favorite Phases
John has been through a lot of phases, but two hilarious ones that stand out to me are:
1. The Chinese phase - John used to lament that he wished he was born in China. He just wanted to be Chinese so bad (mostly because he idolized Jackie Chan). He wanted his room decorated in Chinese characters and pictures and he dreamed of being a Ninja. It was so hilarious to me, but I felt bad for him at the same time. I totally understood his dilemma. After all, I always wished I was born an Indian Princess who was then kidnapped. (Don't ask, I don't have an answer for that one.)
2. The spaceship phase - John was obsessed with aliens and spaceships and rocket ships for a while. I'll never forget the time he came home from kindergarten with a little booklet about shapes. Each page had a shape and it said, "It was a circle. Now it's a..." and each student had to think of something they could turn the shape into. John's book went like this:
It was a circle. Now it's a.... face.
It was a square. Now it's a....spaceship.
It was a triangle. Now it's a....spaceship.
It was a diamond. Now it's a...spaceship.
It was a square. Now it's a...spaceship.
It was an oval. Now it's a....(take a wild guess).
I started laughing and John was immediately offended. I felt so bad, but it was so hilarious to me. I laughed so hard, I cried. I really wish I would have kept that booklet. It was too cute!
The Chosen Path
Some of us have dreams for our kids - dreams of what they'll be someday. I've often wondered this about each one of my kids and tried to guess what they might become. John has always pondered on this subject and voiced his desires since the age of about 5. Here's how his career choices have evolved.
Age 5:
John - Mom, when I grow up can I be a garbage man?
Me - A garbage man? Really?
John - Yeah!
Me- Why, honey?
John - Because I like garbage trucks. They're fun to drive.
Me - Have you ever driven one?
John - Not, but I really want to.
Me - Okay, honey. If you really want to be a garbage man, you can.
Age 6: Ninja.
Age 8:
John - Mom, I really know what I want to be now when I grow up.
Me - Okay. What is it?
John - An Army field medic.
Me - A what?
John - An Army field medic.
Me - What is that? I've never heard of that.
John - It's someone who goes out in the field and helps wounded soldiers and takes them back to base to do surgeries on them and get them better.
Me - How do you even know about this stuff?
John - I read about it and see it on TV.
Me - Wow! Okay. But that's really dangerous. You could get killed on the battlefield while trying to rescue someone.
John - (Shrugging) Well, I just want to help people, so I've gotta' take that risk sometimes.
Me - (Speechless).
Age 9: Detective/Spy. He begged me to subscribe him to a Junior Detective magazine (and I did) that came with spy gear and he loved playing spy and detective.
Age 10: History professor. He's a HUGE history buff. He loves to read about history and he watches The History Channel on a regular basis.
Age 11:
John - Mom. I know I've changed my mind about stuff a lot, but I really, really know what I want to be now.
Me - You don't want to be a history professor anymore?
John - No.
Me - (Whining) But why? Honey, you're so smart and you know so much about history and when you tell me about it, it's very interesting and I want to hear more and I HATED history in school. You should really be a history professor. I think you would be great!
John - Mom. Listen, I know I love history and stuff, but I don't want to be a history professor.
Me - (Sighing) Okay. What do you want to do then?
John - I want to be in the Marines.
Me - WHAT?!?!?!
John - I want to go to Westpoint.
Me - WESTPOINT?!?!
John - It's a military academy.
Me - I KNOW what it IS! But WHY!?!?!
John - Because, mom. I just really want to.
Me - You have to work really hard in school and be an excellent student at the top of your class to get in there.
John - You think I can't do it?
Me - No. I KNOW you can do it, but...really?
John - (Annoyed) Yes!
Me - Okay, well it's gonna' be tough! I mean, they're gonna' work you over! Some nights you might be lying in bed crying for me and wishing you were back home.
John - (Rolling his eyes) Mom. Whatever. I'm not a baby.
Me - Grown men cry, John. The military is TOUGH!
John - I know, but it's what I want to do.
Me - WOW! Okay then! Go for it! You can do it!
He's stuck by this now for two years. Today he is 13. He approached me a couple of weeks ago and requested that I sign him up for Krav Maga classes. I had never heard of it. It's Israeli Defense Military Training. Again I asked him how in the WORLD he even knew about that. He does a lot of reading and research and watches a lot of military and history shows. So, we found the best Krav Maga studio with the #1 expert in the country, which fortunately happens to be right here in Arizona and we've spoken with them and they are going to give him a complimentary training course in six weeks and if it's what he really wants, we're signing him up.
He's still adamant about wanting to attend Westpoint someday. And he's still adamant about joining the military and working his way up through the ranks. According to the Krav Maga expert, having four years of extensive training in Krav Maga will look amazing on his resume and open up many opportunities for him. Apparently it's used in military and law enforcement, which is right up his alley.
Honestly, it's scary to think about my son out there involved in battle. I'd much rather see him in a nice, safe classroom teaching history to college students. But, if this is what he wants, and he seems awfully determined (he takes after me), then I have to support him in it.
Favorite Sweet Moment:
When John was about 6 years old, I was a single mom and the two of us lived alone in a new condo I had just purchased. I told John he was the man of the house - not to put pressure on him, but to try and make him feel important. He took this role very seriously. One weekend I became very ill. I think it was the flu, but it was an extreme case. I couldn't get out of bed - AT ALL! I couldn't move. I couldn't take care of my son.
John came into my room and said, "Mom. You sleep and I'll take care of everything, okay?"
I said, "Honey, it's okay. Just play with your toys and watch some cartoons and I promise I'll feel better really soon and come out and take care of you, okay? You let me know if you need anything."
He said, "No, mom. You let ME know if YOU need anything." Then, with that, he shut my bedroom door and I fell into a deep sleep.
I awoke a couple of hours later to John entering my room. He had a big tray in his arms with some cold cereal and some other food items on it. I can't remember what they were, but he said,
"Mom. Don't worry. I cleaned the whole house and I made you some dinner."
It still brings tears to my eyes to think about that day. My sweet boy has always been very thoughtful and caring like that. He's always concerned about everyone else and how they feel and what they need. I'm thankful for such a sweet, loving son.
I can't believe he's 13 already. These 13 years have been full of laughter and tears, joy and fear. I look forward to the next 13 and I am excited to watch this young man continue to evolve. Happy Birthday, John!
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Sense of Humor Required!
I'm 35 weeks and 2 days along today. I have been dealing with extreme sciatic and ligament pain, as well as false, but very painful and debilitating contractions for about two months now. I swear with every baby the pregnancy becomes more and more difficult and the contractions and major end-of-pregnancy discomfort starts in earlier each time. (That's why this is my last).
Friday afternoon I was having a particularly difficult time. It was really painful to walk, the contractions were constant and I was desperate to find some sort of remedy because I just had a feeling this was not real labor. I struck a deal with my husband - I'll take the girls on a drive to the bank (40 minutes round trip) so you can unwind and play drums, and then I'll bring them back, you serve them dinner and bathe them while I go to my parents' house and relax in their pool to get some pressure off, and then you put the girls to bed, I'll pick up a nice dinner for us and we can eat in peace and relax and enjoy the evening. Deal? Deal.
Upon arrival at my parents' house, I dipped in the pool, floated around a bit, heaved big sighs of relief, started feeling REALLY good and decided "I need to exercise. I am just so huge and I haven't come here and exercised in a while." Feeling invincible, I proceeded to do some light water aerobics in the pool. I was feeling good. It felt good to be able to move around any way I wanted with no pain. I started working up to a rigorous pace and before I knew it, an hour had passed and I had performed a pretty good workout routine. Satisfied, I glided over to the pool steps, closed my eyes, and breathed in the peaceful night air. The darkness began to close in around me and there weren't any lights on outside (and I was completely alone), so I decided to get out and head home with that nice dinner I had promised my husband.
I stood up in the pool and began to make my ascent. The first step up was fine, the second one felt a bit heavy and my stomach started to cramp, I took the final step up out and fell to my knees in pain. Extreme pain! The cramping and contractions were heavy and I could barely breathe. "Oh no", I thought. "What have I done?" I proceeded to crawl along the pool deck, each movement agonizing, but there was nobody around and I had to get to a chair at least. I finally made it after several excruciating minutes and pulled myself up into a deck chair. Eventually I felt good enough to get up and try to walk. I stood up and the cramping and contractions were there, but had definitely eased enough to the point where I could at least hobble.
I let myself into my parents' house and placed an order from their phone to Applebee's for take out - a nice steak and potatoes for my husband, a light chicken and salad for myself. Finally, I arrived home about a half hour later, having suffered some pretty good, hard contractions on the drive there, but luckily this is my fourth and I know how to breathe through them so I didn't have a wreck.
I hobbled into the house, grunting and groaning and Bertrand helped me set up for dinner. Several minutes later, I had to stop. I couldn't eat anymore. The contractions were regular and seemed to be coming on harder. Bertrand asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital, but I knew from my past nightmare experience with Chloe's delivery that I didn't even want to go NEAR a hospital until I was 100% sure this was real labor and at 35 weeks I felt there was a chance this was just the horrid false labor pains that put me out of commission and I could probably stop them. I requested a big glass of water and put my feet up on the couch for an evening of TV to try to relax and get the contractions to stop.
Three hours passed. With each passing hour the contractions began to come on harder and more painful. Then the back labor started in. I was exhausted from the constant laboring and sick of lying in front of the TV. There were so many things I wanted to accomplish that night - three hours of reality TV was not one of them.
It was nearly midnight and my poor, exhausted husband, facing a day of work in the heat the following morning, just wanted his bed.
"Let's go to bed, Babe." He suggested.
"Oh, honey," I replied. "There's no way I can sleep like this. I'm in so much pain and I'll just keep you awake. Why don't you go to bed and I'll get some transcription work done."
"How are you going to work with contractions?" He asked with concern.
"Oh, I'll be fine. Really. I'll just breathe through them. Work will keep me occupied at least, but I know I can't sleep like this."
He shrugged his shoulders and reluctantly agreed and headed off to bed. I pushed myself up into a seated position on the couch and began to rise onto my feet. I had to stop midway because of a heavy contraction, but breathed through it and stood straight up. Then I took a step forward and nearly fell to the ground. The pain that shot down the front and back of my left leg was so excruciating, I could barely stand it. I cried out and Bertrand came running.
"Are you okay? What's going on?" He called as he ran back out to me.
"Honey, I can't walk." I moaned in pain.
He stood there looking me up and down. "Well, what are you gonna' do?"
"I don't know, but I seriously cannot walk." I started to sob in frustration. "I hate this! Why does this have to be so awful?"
"Well, it's the last one, Babe. You're almost done. Maybe the baby will come this weekend." He tried to reassure me, but the tears flowed harder.
He asked me where I wanted to go in the house and, worried that I might not be able to make it back there later on, I requested the bedroom. Bertrand began to turn around in circles and look about the house - trying to form an idea of how to get me there. There was no possible way he could carry me, so he mustered up his creativity to find another way.
His eye suddenly caught our overstuffed chair full of fresh, hot towels he had recently pulled from the dryer. He picked one up, eyed the tile floor and began to lay it out before me.
"What are you doing?" I furrowed my brow and thought, "Oh no. This isn't what I think it is, is it?"
"Hop on. I'll pull you." He offered.
I contorted my face and then burst out laughing. "Are you serious?" I giggled.
"Yeah."
"Oh my gosh! You're gonna' break your back, Babe. You can't pull my weight on that thing." Now the tears flowing from my eyes were from my hysterical laughter.
"What? You think I'm weak?" He teased.
"No, I think I'm fat."
He tossed the towel back onto the chair and began scratching his chin, looking around for another idea.
I had one. "Honey, how about I just hold onto your arm and use you for support?"
He instantly offered up his arm and I began to take a step. I cried out in agony again and froze. Heaving a defeated sigh I moaned, "Oh my gosh! This is really bad. I really cannot take one more step."
"I've got it!" He said with excitement. "John has a big walking stick in his room. I'll grab that."
"No, honey. I would have to walk. Remember? I can't walk. I need to find a way to get to the room without taking another step because my left leg just isn't going to work right now. I really wish we had a wheelchair or something."
Then it hit me. We have two office chairs on wheels. "Babe!" I called out excitedly. "That's it! One of our office chairs. You could push me down the hall on that!"
His eyes widened, "Perfect. Hold on." He grabbed my office chair and wheeled it to me. I sat down and he proceeded to push me down the hall, both of us laughing at how pathetic this whole situation was. I felt so stupid. I buried my face in my hands and moaned in embarrassment. "This is just ridiculous!"
Finally! 12:30 AM. After a glass of water and some pain pills, I situated myself in bed, trying to find a comfortable spot, breathed through a few more contractions and before I knew it, I was out...and so was Bertrand. I slept really well until 8:00 AM when my girls came bursting through the door demanding chocolate milk. I sat up and then stood up from the bed feeling no pain. "Wow!" I exclaimed. Then I proceeded to walk down the hall at a brisk pace, my girls in tow - NO pain. NO problems. AMAZING! It's so interesting to me that I go from a night of heavy contractions and unbearable nerve and ligament pain to being perfectly fine! (SIGH) Ah, the joys of pregnancy!
All I have to say is - thank GOODNESS we have a sense of humor around here!
Friday afternoon I was having a particularly difficult time. It was really painful to walk, the contractions were constant and I was desperate to find some sort of remedy because I just had a feeling this was not real labor. I struck a deal with my husband - I'll take the girls on a drive to the bank (40 minutes round trip) so you can unwind and play drums, and then I'll bring them back, you serve them dinner and bathe them while I go to my parents' house and relax in their pool to get some pressure off, and then you put the girls to bed, I'll pick up a nice dinner for us and we can eat in peace and relax and enjoy the evening. Deal? Deal.
Upon arrival at my parents' house, I dipped in the pool, floated around a bit, heaved big sighs of relief, started feeling REALLY good and decided "I need to exercise. I am just so huge and I haven't come here and exercised in a while." Feeling invincible, I proceeded to do some light water aerobics in the pool. I was feeling good. It felt good to be able to move around any way I wanted with no pain. I started working up to a rigorous pace and before I knew it, an hour had passed and I had performed a pretty good workout routine. Satisfied, I glided over to the pool steps, closed my eyes, and breathed in the peaceful night air. The darkness began to close in around me and there weren't any lights on outside (and I was completely alone), so I decided to get out and head home with that nice dinner I had promised my husband.
I stood up in the pool and began to make my ascent. The first step up was fine, the second one felt a bit heavy and my stomach started to cramp, I took the final step up out and fell to my knees in pain. Extreme pain! The cramping and contractions were heavy and I could barely breathe. "Oh no", I thought. "What have I done?" I proceeded to crawl along the pool deck, each movement agonizing, but there was nobody around and I had to get to a chair at least. I finally made it after several excruciating minutes and pulled myself up into a deck chair. Eventually I felt good enough to get up and try to walk. I stood up and the cramping and contractions were there, but had definitely eased enough to the point where I could at least hobble.
I let myself into my parents' house and placed an order from their phone to Applebee's for take out - a nice steak and potatoes for my husband, a light chicken and salad for myself. Finally, I arrived home about a half hour later, having suffered some pretty good, hard contractions on the drive there, but luckily this is my fourth and I know how to breathe through them so I didn't have a wreck.
I hobbled into the house, grunting and groaning and Bertrand helped me set up for dinner. Several minutes later, I had to stop. I couldn't eat anymore. The contractions were regular and seemed to be coming on harder. Bertrand asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital, but I knew from my past nightmare experience with Chloe's delivery that I didn't even want to go NEAR a hospital until I was 100% sure this was real labor and at 35 weeks I felt there was a chance this was just the horrid false labor pains that put me out of commission and I could probably stop them. I requested a big glass of water and put my feet up on the couch for an evening of TV to try to relax and get the contractions to stop.
Three hours passed. With each passing hour the contractions began to come on harder and more painful. Then the back labor started in. I was exhausted from the constant laboring and sick of lying in front of the TV. There were so many things I wanted to accomplish that night - three hours of reality TV was not one of them.
It was nearly midnight and my poor, exhausted husband, facing a day of work in the heat the following morning, just wanted his bed.
"Let's go to bed, Babe." He suggested.
"Oh, honey," I replied. "There's no way I can sleep like this. I'm in so much pain and I'll just keep you awake. Why don't you go to bed and I'll get some transcription work done."
"How are you going to work with contractions?" He asked with concern.
"Oh, I'll be fine. Really. I'll just breathe through them. Work will keep me occupied at least, but I know I can't sleep like this."
He shrugged his shoulders and reluctantly agreed and headed off to bed. I pushed myself up into a seated position on the couch and began to rise onto my feet. I had to stop midway because of a heavy contraction, but breathed through it and stood straight up. Then I took a step forward and nearly fell to the ground. The pain that shot down the front and back of my left leg was so excruciating, I could barely stand it. I cried out and Bertrand came running.
"Are you okay? What's going on?" He called as he ran back out to me.
"Honey, I can't walk." I moaned in pain.
He stood there looking me up and down. "Well, what are you gonna' do?"
"I don't know, but I seriously cannot walk." I started to sob in frustration. "I hate this! Why does this have to be so awful?"
"Well, it's the last one, Babe. You're almost done. Maybe the baby will come this weekend." He tried to reassure me, but the tears flowed harder.
He asked me where I wanted to go in the house and, worried that I might not be able to make it back there later on, I requested the bedroom. Bertrand began to turn around in circles and look about the house - trying to form an idea of how to get me there. There was no possible way he could carry me, so he mustered up his creativity to find another way.
His eye suddenly caught our overstuffed chair full of fresh, hot towels he had recently pulled from the dryer. He picked one up, eyed the tile floor and began to lay it out before me.
"What are you doing?" I furrowed my brow and thought, "Oh no. This isn't what I think it is, is it?"
"Hop on. I'll pull you." He offered.
I contorted my face and then burst out laughing. "Are you serious?" I giggled.
"Yeah."
"Oh my gosh! You're gonna' break your back, Babe. You can't pull my weight on that thing." Now the tears flowing from my eyes were from my hysterical laughter.
"What? You think I'm weak?" He teased.
"No, I think I'm fat."
He tossed the towel back onto the chair and began scratching his chin, looking around for another idea.
I had one. "Honey, how about I just hold onto your arm and use you for support?"
He instantly offered up his arm and I began to take a step. I cried out in agony again and froze. Heaving a defeated sigh I moaned, "Oh my gosh! This is really bad. I really cannot take one more step."
"I've got it!" He said with excitement. "John has a big walking stick in his room. I'll grab that."
"No, honey. I would have to walk. Remember? I can't walk. I need to find a way to get to the room without taking another step because my left leg just isn't going to work right now. I really wish we had a wheelchair or something."
Then it hit me. We have two office chairs on wheels. "Babe!" I called out excitedly. "That's it! One of our office chairs. You could push me down the hall on that!"
His eyes widened, "Perfect. Hold on." He grabbed my office chair and wheeled it to me. I sat down and he proceeded to push me down the hall, both of us laughing at how pathetic this whole situation was. I felt so stupid. I buried my face in my hands and moaned in embarrassment. "This is just ridiculous!"
Finally! 12:30 AM. After a glass of water and some pain pills, I situated myself in bed, trying to find a comfortable spot, breathed through a few more contractions and before I knew it, I was out...and so was Bertrand. I slept really well until 8:00 AM when my girls came bursting through the door demanding chocolate milk. I sat up and then stood up from the bed feeling no pain. "Wow!" I exclaimed. Then I proceeded to walk down the hall at a brisk pace, my girls in tow - NO pain. NO problems. AMAZING! It's so interesting to me that I go from a night of heavy contractions and unbearable nerve and ligament pain to being perfectly fine! (SIGH) Ah, the joys of pregnancy!
All I have to say is - thank GOODNESS we have a sense of humor around here!
Monday, July 13, 2009
Oh Yes, They Did!
Mmmm hm. This is gonna' be my next career - betting all my money on this game - me against you. I win. You lose! Happy Birthday to me.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
I'm Not Really Sure What To Make Of This!
I just walked around the corner one morning and this was the bold fashion statement I beheld. I'm not really sure what she's trying to say with the naked, one-sock look, which, by the way, belongs to her 12-year-old brother...(the sock, not the look)
but when you're trying to outdo your former high-heeled boot, no pants look, you've got to get REALLY creative!
Or perhaps it was a tribute to Michael Jackson and his one-glove look, but she couldn't find a glove, so she went for the sock. Not really sure. Anyway, it's the gutsiest fashion statement I've seen so far and I wish her lots of luck.
but when you're trying to outdo your former high-heeled boot, no pants look, you've got to get REALLY creative!
Or perhaps it was a tribute to Michael Jackson and his one-glove look, but she couldn't find a glove, so she went for the sock. Not really sure. Anyway, it's the gutsiest fashion statement I've seen so far and I wish her lots of luck.
So Helpful....sometimes.
Sylvie is my little momma in the making. She just wants to do all of the things that I do and, believe me - I want her to do all of those things right now too. Wouldn't that be fabulous?
Yes.
Yes, it would.
HOWEVER...
There are times I just have to smile and say, "Oh, wow! Thank you, ladies!" even though there's water all over the floor and they're not REALLY cleaning these dishes. (SIGH) if only this illusion were a reality.
And now - the big brag! My 3-year-old did this herself. I had no hand in this. I'm not kidding. She folded ALL of this laundry AND separated it into the piles. I taught her how to do this several months ago because she's always begging to "help" me and it's not really help at all. In fact, it usually just creates more work for me or prolongs the housework, which I hate with a passion and just want to get over and done with, so I'm begging her to "PLEASE not help mommy" all the time (If she were smart she'd videotape this now and use it against me when she's a teen and I ask her to help).
ANYWAY, she had a complete breakdown one day several months ago. She was just devastated that I would not let her help me, so I heaved a big sigh and called her back into my room and held her in my arms and said, "Okay, baby girl. I'll teach you how to fold." Her eyes just lit up and boy did she learn fast. She now folds the laundry for herself and Chloe, as well as folding papa's handkerchiefs, towels and washcloths.
Oh, and just to top it off - she hugged me and kissed me and THANKED me for letting her fold the laundry! HA! I should videotape THAT and show it to her when she's a teen!
Yes.
Yes, it would.
HOWEVER...
There are times I just have to smile and say, "Oh, wow! Thank you, ladies!" even though there's water all over the floor and they're not REALLY cleaning these dishes. (SIGH) if only this illusion were a reality.
And now - the big brag! My 3-year-old did this herself. I had no hand in this. I'm not kidding. She folded ALL of this laundry AND separated it into the piles. I taught her how to do this several months ago because she's always begging to "help" me and it's not really help at all. In fact, it usually just creates more work for me or prolongs the housework, which I hate with a passion and just want to get over and done with, so I'm begging her to "PLEASE not help mommy" all the time (If she were smart she'd videotape this now and use it against me when she's a teen and I ask her to help).
ANYWAY, she had a complete breakdown one day several months ago. She was just devastated that I would not let her help me, so I heaved a big sigh and called her back into my room and held her in my arms and said, "Okay, baby girl. I'll teach you how to fold." Her eyes just lit up and boy did she learn fast. She now folds the laundry for herself and Chloe, as well as folding papa's handkerchiefs, towels and washcloths.
Oh, and just to top it off - she hugged me and kissed me and THANKED me for letting her fold the laundry! HA! I should videotape THAT and show it to her when she's a teen!
Make It Yourself!
I've been trying to find fun summer activities that don't cost too much. The other day I found this bouncy ball kit at Fry's for $4.00. It has enough materials to make several small or a few large bouncy balls. You simply pour the colored crystals into the mold (either solid or mix it up a bit) and then hold the mold in cold water for a few minutes, let it dry, then pop your ball out and bounce away.
Well...that's actually because there's nothing left to break in the house. They've already broken everything. Anyway...
Chloe with her small ball.
Here's a shot of the larger one Chloe made.
(This is Sylvie counting to 60. She counts to 10 six times and holds up a finger each time. As you can see, she's reached 10 so far...it's gonna' be a while...)
Now, they don't bounce as well as a regular bouncy ball, but they're pretty bouncy and just the fact that they made it themselves made it all the more fun. It kept my ladies occupied for a couple of hours and amazingly they didn't break anything in the house.Well...that's actually because there's nothing left to break in the house. They've already broken everything. Anyway...
Chloe with her small ball.
Sylvie with her small ball.
Here's a shot of the larger one Chloe made.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Now THIS Is Creepy!
This is another ghost story, so if you don't like it, click away from this site immediately.
Last night I went to bed at midnight. Everyone else was in bed at this point and I walked into the kitchen for my usual glass of ice water and dose of pain pills before bed. The kitchen was clean. There was nothing on the floor. I took my pills, shut off the light, and went to bed.
Amazingly, I slept like a baby last night, perhaps due to the fact that I haven't slept AT ALL the past two nights.
This morning I awoke at 7:00 AM- the first one up, as is usually the case. I entered the kitchen and grabbed a glass for my morning glass of ice water. I opened the fridge to look for something quick to grab for my breakfast as I began my morning typing ritual (trying to crank out as many reports as possible before my children awake only to interrupt me every 5 minutes).
I found some already sliced cantaloupe, dumped it into a bowl, grabbed my glass of ice and turned to exit the kitchen. That's when I noticed something small and dark in the middle of the kitchen floor. I squinted my eyes and leaned in for a closer look. It was a cockroach. A smashed cockroach, right in the middle of my kitchen floor. I furrowed my brow. "Who would leave a smashed cockroach right there in the middle of the kitchen floor?" I thought to myself.
I set my bowl of fruit and glass of ice down on the counter and grabbed a paper towel, then scooped the cockroach and his guts up and threw him in the trash. Then I scratched my head and thought, "Oh well, I'll ask Bertrand and John when they wake up. Must have been one of them and they decided just to leave it there this time."
I then went back to work.
7:45 Bertrand arose. I asked him if he had gotten up in the night. He responded with "No, why?" I asked again, "Are you sure? You didn't get up and go into the kitchen at all last night?" Again he responded with, "No! Why?" I then explained about the smashed cockroach. He shrugged his shoulders and walked on.
8:30 John arose. I asked HIM if he had risen in the night and gone to the kitchen for anything. "No," he responded. "Are you sure, John?" I pressed. "You're not in trouble or anything. I'm just wondering about something. I'm just curious."
"Mom!" he insisted. "I didn't get up. I'm telling the truth. What's going on?"
I told him about the cockroach smashed in the middle of the kitchen floor this morning. His eyes got a little big and he said, "Told you, mom. I knew there was something in this house."
We have no pets and there is NO WAY my 2 or 3-year-old would have gotten up in the night, smashed a cockroach to that degree and not screamed. My girls don't get up in the night and leave their bedroom at all. I'm sure of this.
So, that leaves only one explanation, really - unless you can think of another reason why this cockroach would be smashed in the middle of my floor.
I do know that this presence we've all felt does tend to hang out in the kitchen a lot at night because that's where we hear most of the noise coming from. And I have spent a few nights on the couch in this house - the couch right by the kitchen - and have heard shuffling footsteps and things moving around on the counter.
I guess I should be grateful if it is in fact the ghost man we all sense around here. At least he's helpful.
Last night I went to bed at midnight. Everyone else was in bed at this point and I walked into the kitchen for my usual glass of ice water and dose of pain pills before bed. The kitchen was clean. There was nothing on the floor. I took my pills, shut off the light, and went to bed.
Amazingly, I slept like a baby last night, perhaps due to the fact that I haven't slept AT ALL the past two nights.
This morning I awoke at 7:00 AM- the first one up, as is usually the case. I entered the kitchen and grabbed a glass for my morning glass of ice water. I opened the fridge to look for something quick to grab for my breakfast as I began my morning typing ritual (trying to crank out as many reports as possible before my children awake only to interrupt me every 5 minutes).
I found some already sliced cantaloupe, dumped it into a bowl, grabbed my glass of ice and turned to exit the kitchen. That's when I noticed something small and dark in the middle of the kitchen floor. I squinted my eyes and leaned in for a closer look. It was a cockroach. A smashed cockroach, right in the middle of my kitchen floor. I furrowed my brow. "Who would leave a smashed cockroach right there in the middle of the kitchen floor?" I thought to myself.
I set my bowl of fruit and glass of ice down on the counter and grabbed a paper towel, then scooped the cockroach and his guts up and threw him in the trash. Then I scratched my head and thought, "Oh well, I'll ask Bertrand and John when they wake up. Must have been one of them and they decided just to leave it there this time."
I then went back to work.
7:45 Bertrand arose. I asked him if he had gotten up in the night. He responded with "No, why?" I asked again, "Are you sure? You didn't get up and go into the kitchen at all last night?" Again he responded with, "No! Why?" I then explained about the smashed cockroach. He shrugged his shoulders and walked on.
8:30 John arose. I asked HIM if he had risen in the night and gone to the kitchen for anything. "No," he responded. "Are you sure, John?" I pressed. "You're not in trouble or anything. I'm just wondering about something. I'm just curious."
"Mom!" he insisted. "I didn't get up. I'm telling the truth. What's going on?"
I told him about the cockroach smashed in the middle of the kitchen floor this morning. His eyes got a little big and he said, "Told you, mom. I knew there was something in this house."
We have no pets and there is NO WAY my 2 or 3-year-old would have gotten up in the night, smashed a cockroach to that degree and not screamed. My girls don't get up in the night and leave their bedroom at all. I'm sure of this.
So, that leaves only one explanation, really - unless you can think of another reason why this cockroach would be smashed in the middle of my floor.
I do know that this presence we've all felt does tend to hang out in the kitchen a lot at night because that's where we hear most of the noise coming from. And I have spent a few nights on the couch in this house - the couch right by the kitchen - and have heard shuffling footsteps and things moving around on the counter.
I guess I should be grateful if it is in fact the ghost man we all sense around here. At least he's helpful.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
I'll Make You Sorry!
This is truly a tale of horror!
Now don't go frantically grabbing at your mouse, trying to click out of here quick because you don't want to read another ghost story. This is definitely not a ghost story. It's a horror story of another dimension.
Let's just say, you definitely do NOT want to interrupt my shower. That is my ME time. My 5-10 minutes of peace...okay and singing practice time (I sound amazing in there, but I guess you'll never know as I won't be giving any concerts from that location).
ANYWAY, not a minute passed from the time I closed the bathroom door before I re-emerged, naked, pregnant body covered in soap with a pile of soapy hair on my head. Despite my pleas with my screaming ladies to PLEASE stop screaming and fighting because "mommy is trying to shower right now. I'll take care of your issue as soon as I get out. Give me two minutes PLEASE!", they insisted on screaming louder and I had Sylvie shouting my name incessantly at the bathroom door and pounding, accompanied by Chloe screaming.
"Oh that is IT!" I shouted. I smacked the faucet off, threw the shower door open, unlocked the bathroom door and whipped it open - revealing my pregnant belly in its naked glory. The look of terror on my girls' faces was PRICELESS!
Now, I'm not really sure how to define it. I couldn't tell if they were thinking:
1. Oh my gosh! We are in SO much trouble now!
OR
2. Oh my gosh! Is THAT what I'm gonna' look like when I'm a mommy because if so, I don't think I want to be a mommy anymore!
Either way, soaking the carpet in soapy water, I grabbed both girls by the arm and tromped across the hall to their room, set them on their beds and yelled, "Now you will sit there until I am done showering. THAT was RIDICULOUS! You can wait just a minute for mommy to shower! You stay on your beds until I get out!"
They've been laying low ever since. Good choice, my ladies. Good choice.
Now don't go frantically grabbing at your mouse, trying to click out of here quick because you don't want to read another ghost story. This is definitely not a ghost story. It's a horror story of another dimension.
Let's just say, you definitely do NOT want to interrupt my shower. That is my ME time. My 5-10 minutes of peace...okay and singing practice time (I sound amazing in there, but I guess you'll never know as I won't be giving any concerts from that location).
ANYWAY, not a minute passed from the time I closed the bathroom door before I re-emerged, naked, pregnant body covered in soap with a pile of soapy hair on my head. Despite my pleas with my screaming ladies to PLEASE stop screaming and fighting because "mommy is trying to shower right now. I'll take care of your issue as soon as I get out. Give me two minutes PLEASE!", they insisted on screaming louder and I had Sylvie shouting my name incessantly at the bathroom door and pounding, accompanied by Chloe screaming.
"Oh that is IT!" I shouted. I smacked the faucet off, threw the shower door open, unlocked the bathroom door and whipped it open - revealing my pregnant belly in its naked glory. The look of terror on my girls' faces was PRICELESS!
Now, I'm not really sure how to define it. I couldn't tell if they were thinking:
1. Oh my gosh! We are in SO much trouble now!
OR
2. Oh my gosh! Is THAT what I'm gonna' look like when I'm a mommy because if so, I don't think I want to be a mommy anymore!
Either way, soaking the carpet in soapy water, I grabbed both girls by the arm and tromped across the hall to their room, set them on their beds and yelled, "Now you will sit there until I am done showering. THAT was RIDICULOUS! You can wait just a minute for mommy to shower! You stay on your beds until I get out!"
They've been laying low ever since. Good choice, my ladies. Good choice.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Watch What You Say!
Oh boy! Here we go again. Kristin said something REALLY stupid in front of her little ladies and it came back to haunt her. Are you surprised? Probably not. So here's the story:
I decided to go to McDonald's today for lunch with my ladies. Now, Bertrand, I know you're reading this and I know what you're gonna' say at this point.
Yes, I remember the conversation we once had about how me taking the girls to McDonald's to eat was grounds for divorce because you will not sit back and watch me slowly kill our children by feeding them propane-dipped chicken nuggets, etc., etc.
HOWEVER, when you grilled us steaks the other night, you got lighter fluid all over them and you were expecting us to actually EAT them like that, so what's the difference?
ANYWAY, we can discuss this later. I have a story to tell and I'm sure you'll be pleased to discover this does NOT have a happy ending. Oh, wipe that smug look off your face!
SO, where were we? Ah yes - McDonald's. Drive-thru to be exact. I don't like to actually go into those places unless I feel the need to punish my children for being particularly unruly. Just because they don't see me throwing them into the greasy, germ-infested plastic tunnels (which, by the way, are becoming unhinged at one particular McDonald's) as punishment, doesn't mean it isn't.
A truck came around the corner from a different direction, cut me off and dashed ahead of me into the drive-thru line. I thought, "Okay, whatever" and continued to pull forward when just then ANOTHER small truck comes around that same corner and cuts me off even worse than the first truck. I'm thinking, "Okay, it's OBVIOUS I was next in line. Clearly this person is just plain rude!" So I slammed on my brakes very deliberately and dropped my jaw and said aloud, "WOW! That's INCREDIBLE!"
I heard two little voices behind me inquiring, "What mommy? What's indec-a-lubble?"
"Nothing," I replied.
"MOMMY!" the little voices persisted. "What's indec-a-lubble?"
I heaved a big sigh and decided to explain since the truck two spaces ahead who had initially cut me off was taking FOREVER to order. "Well," I started in. "There's a disgusting old lady with missing teeth in front of us who just cut us off and mommy is NOT happy."
"A ugly old lady, mommy? I wanna' see her!" My daughter said with excitement and started trying to wriggle in her carseat to get a better look. "I wanna see missing teef!"
I know! I know! NOT a nice thing to say and so out of character for me...well, in front of my impressionable children at least. Look, I know this is not an excuse, but:
1. I'm big and pregnant and miserable (And no, I will not stop complaining about that until this baby finally gets out of my belly).
2. It's stinkin' hot out!
3. It was a particularly horrid morning with my girls fighting constantly, I had accomplished next to nothing and I was dead tired.
Besides, she did look like this:
I'm not kidding! No, she was definitely a woman. I could tell. Barely, but I could still tell. But she seriously looked like this guy. It's the first thing I thought of when I saw her.
ANYWAY!
So, the girls kept straining to see this "ugly old lady with missing teef" and never could get a good look. I tried to change the subject and convince them to drop it, which eventually ended in success...or so I thought.
After lunch I decided to take the girls to the Fry's by our house. They LOVE going there because the carts have mini cars attached to the front, so they can pretend they're driving me around the store to where the good food is....or both try climbing out the front windshield space, hitting each other, screaming, sometimes falling out the front or sides, etc. It was fun the first few times, but now they've just taken it for granted and drive me NUTS! Anyway, we only needed a few things, so I decided to just tough it out.
So, we're standing in the checkout line finally and I'm spacing out, skimming the magazine headlines, trying to decide if I'm so desperate for an escape, that I'd be willing to drop $3-4 on a magazine about the Desperate Housewives of...I don't remember. Name a city where there AREN'T a bunch of desperate housewives.
Suddenly, I hear a little voice, repeating something over and over, bringing me out of my temporary lobotomy.
"Mommy, is dat da ugly old lady wif missing teef?"
It was my 2-year-old. Suddenly my 3-year-old started chiming in. They continued to ask over and over. I furrowed my brow in confusion and started glancing around, very slowly coming out of my retarded condition, trying to figure out what they were talking about. Suddenly, my eyes fell upon an old, puffy set of ankles riddled with varicose veins. I could feel my eyes widen in their sockets. My breathing became slightly labored, my heart pounding furiously. My eyes slowly moved their way up the body of this person in front of us until they reached the face. It was indeed a much older woman. One who could easily be classified as "old lady". The panic set in. She did NOT look amused.
"Uhhh....." I panted. Their interrogation continued. "That's enough, ladies!" I shouted. But it didn't stop.
"MOM! E! I saaaid...is that a ugly old lady?" My 3-year-old enunciated each word in defiance. I could have choked her.
"SYLVIE-FAYE! I said that's ENOUGH!" I snarled. "That is NOT an ugly old lady! Don't you EVER talk like that AGAIN!"
"Yes she IS a ugly old lady, mommy!" Sylvie insisted. If I could have shot laser beams out of my eyes at that moment and reduced my child to a mere puff of smoke, I just might have. I was shocked and humiliated and completely thrown off guard at my daughter's beligerence. This could only have come from one source. I couldn't bear the thought of it. I knew very well where this behavior came from - ME!
I wanted to die a thousand deaths. I've drawn this story out long enough, so let me just end by saying that I apologized profusely to this old lady, begged her forgiveness on my daughter's behalf and insisted I had no idea why she was saying these things (I'm a terrible liar, I know - even to strangers). The lady was not so forgiving and I can't say that I blame her. She paid for her groceries and stormed out of there completely miffed!
I wish I could say it ended there.
(SIGH)
I pushed forward, my face a deep purple at this point, fighting back tears of humiliation welling in my eyes. "Oh my gosh! I'm so embarrassed right now." I unloaded on the poor cashier.
"That's okay," she replied, then bent down to my daughter's level and said, "She WAS an ugly old lady, wasn't she? And mean too."
I clenched my jaw and grimaced. My daughter nodded her head and said, "Yeah. She's a mean, ugly, old lady!"
"Yeah," my 2-year-old chimed in. "She a mean, ugly....(hesitating, trying to remember the rest of the adjectives)..."
My 3-year-old decided to help, "Stupid, old lady!"
"Sylvie! No! No!" I scolded firmly.
My panting returned. I was completely emotionally exhausted at this point. I just wanted to get back to the safety of my own home. Obviously my children are not completely fit for social interraction. Time to return to the cave and start over.
The End
HA! I WISH!
We got outside the store and made our way through the parking lot. Moving down the aisle at a somewhat moderate speed, my eyes caught sight of the woman from the store. I felt that pins and needles sensation of instant fear set into my skin. At this point I'm already sweating and panting.
"Mommy, look! That's the stupid, ugly, old lady!" Sylvie just wasn't gonna' let it go.
"Yeah stupid lady!" Chloe added.
They both started giggling. I glanced over in horror at the old lady. I could see her attempting to shoot laser beams out of her eyes at this point, but luckily they short circuited and I made a successful dash to my car, narrowly avoiding an early death.
AAAAHHHHHH!!! Let me tell ya' - my girls got the lecture of a LIFETIME on the way home from the grocery store and they were sent immediately to bed for a nap!
I decided to go to McDonald's today for lunch with my ladies. Now, Bertrand, I know you're reading this and I know what you're gonna' say at this point.
Yes, I remember the conversation we once had about how me taking the girls to McDonald's to eat was grounds for divorce because you will not sit back and watch me slowly kill our children by feeding them propane-dipped chicken nuggets, etc., etc.
HOWEVER, when you grilled us steaks the other night, you got lighter fluid all over them and you were expecting us to actually EAT them like that, so what's the difference?
ANYWAY, we can discuss this later. I have a story to tell and I'm sure you'll be pleased to discover this does NOT have a happy ending. Oh, wipe that smug look off your face!
SO, where were we? Ah yes - McDonald's. Drive-thru to be exact. I don't like to actually go into those places unless I feel the need to punish my children for being particularly unruly. Just because they don't see me throwing them into the greasy, germ-infested plastic tunnels (which, by the way, are becoming unhinged at one particular McDonald's) as punishment, doesn't mean it isn't.
A truck came around the corner from a different direction, cut me off and dashed ahead of me into the drive-thru line. I thought, "Okay, whatever" and continued to pull forward when just then ANOTHER small truck comes around that same corner and cuts me off even worse than the first truck. I'm thinking, "Okay, it's OBVIOUS I was next in line. Clearly this person is just plain rude!" So I slammed on my brakes very deliberately and dropped my jaw and said aloud, "WOW! That's INCREDIBLE!"
I heard two little voices behind me inquiring, "What mommy? What's indec-a-lubble?"
"Nothing," I replied.
"MOMMY!" the little voices persisted. "What's indec-a-lubble?"
I heaved a big sigh and decided to explain since the truck two spaces ahead who had initially cut me off was taking FOREVER to order. "Well," I started in. "There's a disgusting old lady with missing teeth in front of us who just cut us off and mommy is NOT happy."
"A ugly old lady, mommy? I wanna' see her!" My daughter said with excitement and started trying to wriggle in her carseat to get a better look. "I wanna see missing teef!"
I know! I know! NOT a nice thing to say and so out of character for me...well, in front of my impressionable children at least. Look, I know this is not an excuse, but:
1. I'm big and pregnant and miserable (And no, I will not stop complaining about that until this baby finally gets out of my belly).
2. It's stinkin' hot out!
3. It was a particularly horrid morning with my girls fighting constantly, I had accomplished next to nothing and I was dead tired.
Besides, she did look like this:
I'm not kidding! No, she was definitely a woman. I could tell. Barely, but I could still tell. But she seriously looked like this guy. It's the first thing I thought of when I saw her.
ANYWAY!
So, the girls kept straining to see this "ugly old lady with missing teef" and never could get a good look. I tried to change the subject and convince them to drop it, which eventually ended in success...or so I thought.
After lunch I decided to take the girls to the Fry's by our house. They LOVE going there because the carts have mini cars attached to the front, so they can pretend they're driving me around the store to where the good food is....or both try climbing out the front windshield space, hitting each other, screaming, sometimes falling out the front or sides, etc. It was fun the first few times, but now they've just taken it for granted and drive me NUTS! Anyway, we only needed a few things, so I decided to just tough it out.
So, we're standing in the checkout line finally and I'm spacing out, skimming the magazine headlines, trying to decide if I'm so desperate for an escape, that I'd be willing to drop $3-4 on a magazine about the Desperate Housewives of...I don't remember. Name a city where there AREN'T a bunch of desperate housewives.
Suddenly, I hear a little voice, repeating something over and over, bringing me out of my temporary lobotomy.
"Mommy, is dat da ugly old lady wif missing teef?"
It was my 2-year-old. Suddenly my 3-year-old started chiming in. They continued to ask over and over. I furrowed my brow in confusion and started glancing around, very slowly coming out of my retarded condition, trying to figure out what they were talking about. Suddenly, my eyes fell upon an old, puffy set of ankles riddled with varicose veins. I could feel my eyes widen in their sockets. My breathing became slightly labored, my heart pounding furiously. My eyes slowly moved their way up the body of this person in front of us until they reached the face. It was indeed a much older woman. One who could easily be classified as "old lady". The panic set in. She did NOT look amused.
"Uhhh....." I panted. Their interrogation continued. "That's enough, ladies!" I shouted. But it didn't stop.
"MOM! E! I saaaid...is that a ugly old lady?" My 3-year-old enunciated each word in defiance. I could have choked her.
"SYLVIE-FAYE! I said that's ENOUGH!" I snarled. "That is NOT an ugly old lady! Don't you EVER talk like that AGAIN!"
"Yes she IS a ugly old lady, mommy!" Sylvie insisted. If I could have shot laser beams out of my eyes at that moment and reduced my child to a mere puff of smoke, I just might have. I was shocked and humiliated and completely thrown off guard at my daughter's beligerence. This could only have come from one source. I couldn't bear the thought of it. I knew very well where this behavior came from - ME!
I wanted to die a thousand deaths. I've drawn this story out long enough, so let me just end by saying that I apologized profusely to this old lady, begged her forgiveness on my daughter's behalf and insisted I had no idea why she was saying these things (I'm a terrible liar, I know - even to strangers). The lady was not so forgiving and I can't say that I blame her. She paid for her groceries and stormed out of there completely miffed!
I wish I could say it ended there.
(SIGH)
I pushed forward, my face a deep purple at this point, fighting back tears of humiliation welling in my eyes. "Oh my gosh! I'm so embarrassed right now." I unloaded on the poor cashier.
"That's okay," she replied, then bent down to my daughter's level and said, "She WAS an ugly old lady, wasn't she? And mean too."
I clenched my jaw and grimaced. My daughter nodded her head and said, "Yeah. She's a mean, ugly, old lady!"
"Yeah," my 2-year-old chimed in. "She a mean, ugly....(hesitating, trying to remember the rest of the adjectives)..."
My 3-year-old decided to help, "Stupid, old lady!"
"Sylvie! No! No!" I scolded firmly.
My panting returned. I was completely emotionally exhausted at this point. I just wanted to get back to the safety of my own home. Obviously my children are not completely fit for social interraction. Time to return to the cave and start over.
The End
HA! I WISH!
We got outside the store and made our way through the parking lot. Moving down the aisle at a somewhat moderate speed, my eyes caught sight of the woman from the store. I felt that pins and needles sensation of instant fear set into my skin. At this point I'm already sweating and panting.
"Mommy, look! That's the stupid, ugly, old lady!" Sylvie just wasn't gonna' let it go.
"Yeah stupid lady!" Chloe added.
They both started giggling. I glanced over in horror at the old lady. I could see her attempting to shoot laser beams out of her eyes at this point, but luckily they short circuited and I made a successful dash to my car, narrowly avoiding an early death.
AAAAHHHHHH!!! Let me tell ya' - my girls got the lecture of a LIFETIME on the way home from the grocery store and they were sent immediately to bed for a nap!
Sunday, June 28, 2009
I've Gone International
Gotta love Youtube. I've been able to reach a lot more people, most from other countries. I would say more than 50% of my subscribers and fans are from the UK and now joining the ranks are Bahrain and Panama City.
Recently a young girl from Bahrain wrote me and asked permission to make a music video for my song "Don't Walk Away". In her e-mail she wrote, "I'm sure you get this request all the time" (I don't. She's the first) and "I know you have millions of fans" (That's my fantasy, but I can only claim a very small fraction of that number). Anyway, I was completely flattered, of course, that this young girl was such a big fan and wanted to help promote me, so I granted her permission to use my song to make a video and this is what she came up with.
I think it's really sweet and she wrote me again asking me to please comment and rate it. So, to show my appreciation, I'm promoting her video. Please go watch it and leave her a nice comment if you can. She's just a young girl and I think this is all really cute. She's just helping me live the fantasy that I'm some big rock star from the US.
Recently a young girl from Bahrain wrote me and asked permission to make a music video for my song "Don't Walk Away". In her e-mail she wrote, "I'm sure you get this request all the time" (I don't. She's the first) and "I know you have millions of fans" (That's my fantasy, but I can only claim a very small fraction of that number). Anyway, I was completely flattered, of course, that this young girl was such a big fan and wanted to help promote me, so I granted her permission to use my song to make a video and this is what she came up with.
I think it's really sweet and she wrote me again asking me to please comment and rate it. So, to show my appreciation, I'm promoting her video. Please go watch it and leave her a nice comment if you can. She's just a young girl and I think this is all really cute. She's just helping me live the fantasy that I'm some big rock star from the US.
This is a joke, right?
Is it just me or is this latest advertisement on TV extremely disturbing?
It's for Latisse. It's a prescription you need from your doctor. It makes your eyelashes grow and thicken and darken. Sounds fabulous - especially for someone like me who has practically non-existent eyelashes and lately they seem to have shrunken. I'm not kidding. It's very sad. I have to pack on the mascara and buy the kind that supposedly extends your lashes, but that doesn't even seem to work anymore, so I see this commercial and I think, "Oooh. Sounds awesome. I wanna' try it..."
Until they list the SIDE EFFECTS! HELLO!
First of all, EVERYONE who uses the product should expect red, itchy, irritated eyes. Okay, maybe not TOO bad. Hopefully after the treatment, all of that will stop and it will have been worth it. However, it is recommended you use this product for something like 18 weeks.
And the side effects are:
1. Discoloration of eyelids, which MAY be reversible. "MAY" being the keyword here.
2. Discoloration of your IRIS! May cause them to turn brown - permanently! ARE YOU SERIOUS, PEOPLE?
I read the review on-line from people who have used this product. They say they wake up the morning after applying and they look and feel like they have conjunctivitis. One woman said her eyelashes were falling out!
What is this world coming to? What are we doing to ourselves? It's all about looks, apparently. Inner beauty? Pff. Who cares. Give me some Botox and collagen lip injections, a spray on tan and now LATISSE! No pain, no gain, right?
I heard a sad prediction a few years ago that eventually the USA would reach a point where such a large percentage of the population would be indulging in plastic surgery and aesthetic procedures that those who decided to age naturally would look plain and hideous. That's pretty sad.
I imagine if I used Latisse, my result would turn out something like this:
It's for Latisse. It's a prescription you need from your doctor. It makes your eyelashes grow and thicken and darken. Sounds fabulous - especially for someone like me who has practically non-existent eyelashes and lately they seem to have shrunken. I'm not kidding. It's very sad. I have to pack on the mascara and buy the kind that supposedly extends your lashes, but that doesn't even seem to work anymore, so I see this commercial and I think, "Oooh. Sounds awesome. I wanna' try it..."
Until they list the SIDE EFFECTS! HELLO!
First of all, EVERYONE who uses the product should expect red, itchy, irritated eyes. Okay, maybe not TOO bad. Hopefully after the treatment, all of that will stop and it will have been worth it. However, it is recommended you use this product for something like 18 weeks.
And the side effects are:
1. Discoloration of eyelids, which MAY be reversible. "MAY" being the keyword here.
2. Discoloration of your IRIS! May cause them to turn brown - permanently! ARE YOU SERIOUS, PEOPLE?
I read the review on-line from people who have used this product. They say they wake up the morning after applying and they look and feel like they have conjunctivitis. One woman said her eyelashes were falling out!
What is this world coming to? What are we doing to ourselves? It's all about looks, apparently. Inner beauty? Pff. Who cares. Give me some Botox and collagen lip injections, a spray on tan and now LATISSE! No pain, no gain, right?
I heard a sad prediction a few years ago that eventually the USA would reach a point where such a large percentage of the population would be indulging in plastic surgery and aesthetic procedures that those who decided to age naturally would look plain and hideous. That's pretty sad.
I imagine if I used Latisse, my result would turn out something like this:
Thursday, June 25, 2009
It's Baaaack!
I know I'm totally posting this to the wrong blog, but I think most have forgotten about my other blogs since I haven't posted there in ages, so here goes:
There was a man here. He disappeared. And now he's back.
It was mid afternoon. A weekend. Bertrand was away. I expected him home in about an hour. The girls were asleep. I fell asleep. No one else was around....or so I thought. I eventually stirred out of my sleep and stretched. I rolled over and checked the clock. It was 5 minutes past the hour I expected my husband home. Then I heard something - the clicking of keys. Keyboard keys. To a computer. Bertrand's computer, to be exact - in the room right across the hall.
"Hmmm. He's home already," I thought. Then I drew in a deep, cleansing breath and closed my eyes, nestling into my pillow to catch a few more Zs. The intermittent clicking of the keys followed by clicking of the mouse, along with the occasional squeak of movement in the chair continued. Not to mention, there were a few sniffs in there, as if he was clearing his nose.
After a few moments I heard the carport door unlocking and opening. I opened my eyes and listened intently. "Where's he going?" I thought to myself. Then I heard the footsteps moving down the hall - moving in my direction. I laid very still and listened. Then Bertrand appeared in the doorway of our bedroom.
"Hey, hon. Have you been sleeping?"
I furrowed my brow and studied him - thinking. Bertrand continued into the room and began changing his clothes. "Hmmm?" He inquired after my unresponsiveness.
"Honey? Did you JUST come home? As in just now?" I asked.
"Yeah. Didn't you hear me come in?" He responded casually.
"Ummm....yeah." I glanced toward the doorway, thinking, worrying. Was he back?
"What's up, hon?" Bertrand asked. He could tell something was going on in my head and my responses weren't the norm.
I drew in a long breath and sighed. "I swear you've been at your computer, typing, clicking the mouse, moving around in the chair, and....sniffing for the last little while."
"Sniffing?" He asked, chuckling slightly.
"Well, you know - that noise you make when you're clearing your nose. Everyone does it. But, yeah - definitely a sniffing sound."
"Well, I just got in", he reminded me.
"Yeah. I know, but then....who's been on your computer?"
He shrugged nonchalantly and went about his business.
Creeeeepy.
So, here we are several days later. My sister came over with her toddler son and something was clearly bothering him. He kept staring at a certain part of the room and fussing and clinging to my sister. My sister turned to me and said, "That's so weird. It's like there's something over there that he sees and it's bothering him." Could it have been....'The Man'?
Time to move.
There was a man here. He disappeared. And now he's back.
It was mid afternoon. A weekend. Bertrand was away. I expected him home in about an hour. The girls were asleep. I fell asleep. No one else was around....or so I thought. I eventually stirred out of my sleep and stretched. I rolled over and checked the clock. It was 5 minutes past the hour I expected my husband home. Then I heard something - the clicking of keys. Keyboard keys. To a computer. Bertrand's computer, to be exact - in the room right across the hall.
"Hmmm. He's home already," I thought. Then I drew in a deep, cleansing breath and closed my eyes, nestling into my pillow to catch a few more Zs. The intermittent clicking of the keys followed by clicking of the mouse, along with the occasional squeak of movement in the chair continued. Not to mention, there were a few sniffs in there, as if he was clearing his nose.
After a few moments I heard the carport door unlocking and opening. I opened my eyes and listened intently. "Where's he going?" I thought to myself. Then I heard the footsteps moving down the hall - moving in my direction. I laid very still and listened. Then Bertrand appeared in the doorway of our bedroom.
"Hey, hon. Have you been sleeping?"
I furrowed my brow and studied him - thinking. Bertrand continued into the room and began changing his clothes. "Hmmm?" He inquired after my unresponsiveness.
"Honey? Did you JUST come home? As in just now?" I asked.
"Yeah. Didn't you hear me come in?" He responded casually.
"Ummm....yeah." I glanced toward the doorway, thinking, worrying. Was he back?
"What's up, hon?" Bertrand asked. He could tell something was going on in my head and my responses weren't the norm.
I drew in a long breath and sighed. "I swear you've been at your computer, typing, clicking the mouse, moving around in the chair, and....sniffing for the last little while."
"Sniffing?" He asked, chuckling slightly.
"Well, you know - that noise you make when you're clearing your nose. Everyone does it. But, yeah - definitely a sniffing sound."
"Well, I just got in", he reminded me.
"Yeah. I know, but then....who's been on your computer?"
He shrugged nonchalantly and went about his business.
Creeeeepy.
So, here we are several days later. My sister came over with her toddler son and something was clearly bothering him. He kept staring at a certain part of the room and fussing and clinging to my sister. My sister turned to me and said, "That's so weird. It's like there's something over there that he sees and it's bothering him." Could it have been....'The Man'?
Time to move.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
A Disturbing Discovery
Today my daughter Sylvie, at the tender age of almost 4 had to learn a very scary truth. I don't know if she'll ever be the same after this. She may require therapy later on. Only time will tell...
Now, I've written before of the many spirits that seem to haunt this place we currently inhabit. We've all witnessed them. But now it seems there is yet another sort of creature that inhabits this place and my poor, sweet daughter was the first to catch sight of it. This one makes a snarling, grunting sort of noise. It's positively frightening when you hear it - especially the first time. It totally catches you off guard. It comes from behind a certain doorway down the hall. Here's how it was first discovered:
This afternoon I had to come home early from church. The pregnancy is wearing on me and I had an episode where I felt really dizzy and shaky and short of breath and had to just come home and lie down for a bit. My husband was left with the two girls and of course they wanted to stay with me, so he left us three in the master bed with a movie so we could relax and hopefully doze off.
Fifteen minutes later the girls were restless and I was exhausted. I could tell we all needed a nap, so I directed the girls to their own room and followed close behind to tuck them in for a nice afternoon nap. All was quiet and we all fell into a deep sleep.
The rest of this story is according to my husband who witnessed this horrific occurrence with my daughter. He told me later that when he returned home from church he was on his computer and suddenly he saw Sylvie in the hallway. She slowly crept out of her room and tiptoed cautiously onto the tile floor of the hall, particularly interested in the sound coming from behind the doorway across the hall. She didn't see her daddy behind her on the computer. She was so engrossed in discovering what the noise was behind the door. Bertrand, hearing the noise and seeing Sylvie creep closer to it, got up quickly from his chair and followed close behind.
Bertrand claims at this point Sylvie turned and saw her daddy behind her. Her eyes were wide as saucers and she whispered loudly, "Papa! There's a monster in your room!"
He explained to her that it was just mommy - SNORING!
"No, Papa. It's a monster!" She insisted very adamantly.
"No Sylvie", he replied. "It's just mommy snoring. Come with me. I'll show you."
He took her into our room and she peered around the corner, still cautious, and saw me lying in the bed, and heard the horrible, loud, snorting noise.
She then turned to him and said, "Wow, mommy makes a lot of noise."
When I awoke later, Bertrand relayed the story to me. I was so mortified and it sounded so funny, I laughed until I cried. I called out to Sylvie, "Hey, did you hear mommy snoring today?" Sylvie nodded her head with big eyes and said, "Yeah, mommy. You gotta' stop doing that."
THAT is what poor Bertrand has to sleep next to every night. Apparently the more pregnant I am, the louder and more obnoxiously I snore. It's so mortifying, but this story was too funny not to tell. So there you have it - there's a ferocious beast that lurks in the master bedroom and it's called MOMMY SLEEPING!
Now, I've written before of the many spirits that seem to haunt this place we currently inhabit. We've all witnessed them. But now it seems there is yet another sort of creature that inhabits this place and my poor, sweet daughter was the first to catch sight of it. This one makes a snarling, grunting sort of noise. It's positively frightening when you hear it - especially the first time. It totally catches you off guard. It comes from behind a certain doorway down the hall. Here's how it was first discovered:
This afternoon I had to come home early from church. The pregnancy is wearing on me and I had an episode where I felt really dizzy and shaky and short of breath and had to just come home and lie down for a bit. My husband was left with the two girls and of course they wanted to stay with me, so he left us three in the master bed with a movie so we could relax and hopefully doze off.
Fifteen minutes later the girls were restless and I was exhausted. I could tell we all needed a nap, so I directed the girls to their own room and followed close behind to tuck them in for a nice afternoon nap. All was quiet and we all fell into a deep sleep.
The rest of this story is according to my husband who witnessed this horrific occurrence with my daughter. He told me later that when he returned home from church he was on his computer and suddenly he saw Sylvie in the hallway. She slowly crept out of her room and tiptoed cautiously onto the tile floor of the hall, particularly interested in the sound coming from behind the doorway across the hall. She didn't see her daddy behind her on the computer. She was so engrossed in discovering what the noise was behind the door. Bertrand, hearing the noise and seeing Sylvie creep closer to it, got up quickly from his chair and followed close behind.
Bertrand claims at this point Sylvie turned and saw her daddy behind her. Her eyes were wide as saucers and she whispered loudly, "Papa! There's a monster in your room!"
He explained to her that it was just mommy - SNORING!
"No, Papa. It's a monster!" She insisted very adamantly.
"No Sylvie", he replied. "It's just mommy snoring. Come with me. I'll show you."
He took her into our room and she peered around the corner, still cautious, and saw me lying in the bed, and heard the horrible, loud, snorting noise.
She then turned to him and said, "Wow, mommy makes a lot of noise."
When I awoke later, Bertrand relayed the story to me. I was so mortified and it sounded so funny, I laughed until I cried. I called out to Sylvie, "Hey, did you hear mommy snoring today?" Sylvie nodded her head with big eyes and said, "Yeah, mommy. You gotta' stop doing that."
THAT is what poor Bertrand has to sleep next to every night. Apparently the more pregnant I am, the louder and more obnoxiously I snore. It's so mortifying, but this story was too funny not to tell. So there you have it - there's a ferocious beast that lurks in the master bedroom and it's called MOMMY SLEEPING!
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Record Contract Competition
I've just recently entered the MySpace Rock The Space record contract competition. If you like my song, please help promote me by going to this link and placing this widget on any of your sites or emailing the link to it to people you know. I need all the help I can get!
And thanks to everyone who has supported and encouraged me thus far!
http://adsupport.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=rockthespace.fan&sproutid=EQAD08YeBZ83cDtQ
Don't forget to vote!
And thanks to everyone who has supported and encouraged me thus far!
http://adsupport.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=rockthespace.fan&sproutid=EQAD08YeBZ83cDtQ
Don't forget to vote!
Sunday, May 3, 2009
This Is Why I Can't Sleep At Night!
Because I have stuff like this buzzing around in my head. I seriously was not trying to write another song for "New Moon". It just happened...in my sleep...literally. So, I got up, laid it down on my Korg and went back to bed. Over the next couple of days I played around with effects and sounds and tweaked it a bit. Finally, on the third day I saved it to disk and called Brian, my bass player, because he has a recording studio in his house and he's the only one who's recorded me so far.
So, I'm all excited to finally get this one down because the second I record it, I can actually relax again. It's weird, but it's like my music hounds at me until it's recorded and then I can move on with my life. I get down there to his studio, we get all set up, I go to load up my song, expecting to push play, let it record, then sing along to it, and be out of there within 30 minutes.
NOT SO! Because NOTHING is allowed to be easy in my life EVER! I go to load it up - no song. Disk has an error. NO STINKIN' SONG! I'm like, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!?!" I think I scared Brian. He was afraid of what I might do next like destroy all of the equipment of burn the studio down. Something drastic. I AM pregnant and emotional. I took a few deep breaths and said, "Okay, you know what? This is NOT going to stop me. I'm doing this anyway because I want to sleep again at night".
Thanks to Brian's enormous amount of patience, I was able to lay it down. Funny thing is - it sounded way better doing it track by track. I think this recording actually came out way better than what I had recorded, so we've decided this came about due to perhaps a little heavenly intervention.
ANYWAY, so I'm now also submitting this for consideration to Summit. Tomorrow I'm sending out not one, but three packages with letters, lyrics sheets and CDs.
This song is called "My Plea". It's Bella talking to Jacob - basically letting him know the fabulous news - "Even though I've totally clung to you for months on end and it seemed like you had a chance with me, you didn't. I still want Edward". It's all very depressing and in case you're wondering - no, I don't do happy songs. There are no happy songs in me. It's all depressing. Welcome to my world. I thrive on the dark side of things. My husband is one amazing man to be with me. I'm not an easy personality behind closed doors.
So, I'm all excited to finally get this one down because the second I record it, I can actually relax again. It's weird, but it's like my music hounds at me until it's recorded and then I can move on with my life. I get down there to his studio, we get all set up, I go to load up my song, expecting to push play, let it record, then sing along to it, and be out of there within 30 minutes.
NOT SO! Because NOTHING is allowed to be easy in my life EVER! I go to load it up - no song. Disk has an error. NO STINKIN' SONG! I'm like, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!?!" I think I scared Brian. He was afraid of what I might do next like destroy all of the equipment of burn the studio down. Something drastic. I AM pregnant and emotional. I took a few deep breaths and said, "Okay, you know what? This is NOT going to stop me. I'm doing this anyway because I want to sleep again at night".
Thanks to Brian's enormous amount of patience, I was able to lay it down. Funny thing is - it sounded way better doing it track by track. I think this recording actually came out way better than what I had recorded, so we've decided this came about due to perhaps a little heavenly intervention.
ANYWAY, so I'm now also submitting this for consideration to Summit. Tomorrow I'm sending out not one, but three packages with letters, lyrics sheets and CDs.
This song is called "My Plea". It's Bella talking to Jacob - basically letting him know the fabulous news - "Even though I've totally clung to you for months on end and it seemed like you had a chance with me, you didn't. I still want Edward". It's all very depressing and in case you're wondering - no, I don't do happy songs. There are no happy songs in me. It's all depressing. Welcome to my world. I thrive on the dark side of things. My husband is one amazing man to be with me. I'm not an easy personality behind closed doors.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Crazy Mind Games
It's official. I have major insomnia - that crazy/beautiful state of mind I find myself in every morning at around 3:00 AM. So, here's how it goes:
My round ligament pain starts in, piercing and throbbing and I begin to toss and turn, trying to find a comfortable position, but alas I fail. I flip over and check the time. 3:10. And here's how the conversation in my mind goes. In fact, I think sometimes I'm so delirious, I actually mumble it because sometimes my husband mumbles, "Huh, what?" half asleep and I mumble back, "Sorry, babe. Nothing."
Anyway, so here's how my half-functioning brain torments me:
3:10 - 3:10? Oh, yeah. That's in a movie. 3:10 to Yuma. I heard that's good. Maybe I should see it. Bertrand really likes it. I remember he pointed it out at the store the other night.
3:11 - 311. That's a cool band. How does that song go again? Oh yeah. (Begin singing in head) I know a drugstore cowgirl. So afraid of getting bored. She's always looking for something. So many things ignored. I try to be not like that. Some people really suck. (humming because I don't know the words at this point)...chalk it up to bad luck. (Humming the lead guitar part).
And repeat a few more times. Then turn over and fade back into sleep.
3:45 - 3:45? What can I do with that? Nothing. 20 more minutes and it will be 3:65. There are 365 days in a year....wait a minute...but the clock won't say 3:65 because there are only 60 minutes. Huh. Okay. Anyway, well soon it will be 4:00 and there are some things I know that start with 4.
I toss and turn a bit more, trying desperately to fall asleep before this psychotic mind game continues. But alas, I fail again!
4:09 - 409? (Moaning). Oh! Oh! Wait. Formula 409. Cuts grease. Yeah, that's a good cleaner. I haven't used it in a while. I used to buy that all the time. I wonder why I stopped.
4:11 - 411. Anyone got the 411? (chuckling to self) I wonder who came up with that. That's so weird. Oh, hey maybe it's because you have to dial 411 to get information, so somebody thought it would be cool to say, "Hey, give me the 411" meaning give me information (Yeah, I actually explain things out to myself - remember, I'm completely delirious!)
Moaning and groaning, I toss and turn some more.
(Whining) I don't know any more things that start with 4 right now. I'm so tired. PLEASE go to sleep. Go to sleep brain. Go to sleep. Oh, please don't let this game go until 5:00. Please.
Eventually I give up around 4:30 every morning, get up, go to the family room and watch TV until I'm so dead tired I can't stand it (about one hour). Then I go collapse in bed again for another two hours. Then I drag all day. Nice, huh?
Sorry, but I HATE pregnancy! Hate it! I love having the baby. I actually like the labor and delivery part. I'm a freak of nature! But, the nine months of torment and not being able to sleep - NO THANK YOU! Somebody just shoot me!
My round ligament pain starts in, piercing and throbbing and I begin to toss and turn, trying to find a comfortable position, but alas I fail. I flip over and check the time. 3:10. And here's how the conversation in my mind goes. In fact, I think sometimes I'm so delirious, I actually mumble it because sometimes my husband mumbles, "Huh, what?" half asleep and I mumble back, "Sorry, babe. Nothing."
Anyway, so here's how my half-functioning brain torments me:
3:10 - 3:10? Oh, yeah. That's in a movie. 3:10 to Yuma. I heard that's good. Maybe I should see it. Bertrand really likes it. I remember he pointed it out at the store the other night.
3:11 - 311. That's a cool band. How does that song go again? Oh yeah. (Begin singing in head) I know a drugstore cowgirl. So afraid of getting bored. She's always looking for something. So many things ignored. I try to be not like that. Some people really suck. (humming because I don't know the words at this point)...chalk it up to bad luck. (Humming the lead guitar part).
And repeat a few more times. Then turn over and fade back into sleep.
3:45 - 3:45? What can I do with that? Nothing. 20 more minutes and it will be 3:65. There are 365 days in a year....wait a minute...but the clock won't say 3:65 because there are only 60 minutes. Huh. Okay. Anyway, well soon it will be 4:00 and there are some things I know that start with 4.
I toss and turn a bit more, trying desperately to fall asleep before this psychotic mind game continues. But alas, I fail again!
4:09 - 409? (Moaning). Oh! Oh! Wait. Formula 409. Cuts grease. Yeah, that's a good cleaner. I haven't used it in a while. I used to buy that all the time. I wonder why I stopped.
4:11 - 411. Anyone got the 411? (chuckling to self) I wonder who came up with that. That's so weird. Oh, hey maybe it's because you have to dial 411 to get information, so somebody thought it would be cool to say, "Hey, give me the 411" meaning give me information (Yeah, I actually explain things out to myself - remember, I'm completely delirious!)
Moaning and groaning, I toss and turn some more.
(Whining) I don't know any more things that start with 4 right now. I'm so tired. PLEASE go to sleep. Go to sleep brain. Go to sleep. Oh, please don't let this game go until 5:00. Please.
Eventually I give up around 4:30 every morning, get up, go to the family room and watch TV until I'm so dead tired I can't stand it (about one hour). Then I go collapse in bed again for another two hours. Then I drag all day. Nice, huh?
Sorry, but I HATE pregnancy! Hate it! I love having the baby. I actually like the labor and delivery part. I'm a freak of nature! But, the nine months of torment and not being able to sleep - NO THANK YOU! Somebody just shoot me!
Monday, April 27, 2009
This Is What Pregnancy Does To Me!
So, I found this video and I can totally relate to "Edward" in it. I want to control myself when it comes to fast food, but pregnancy ruins everything. I don't know that I would have the self-control to do what "Edward" did in the end, though. He is truly the master!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
My First Attempt
So, I've been sitting around trying to promote myself for the last month, approximately. And I feel that with this Friday being the start of the new moon (check your calendars, people. I lieth not), this is the perfect time to submit my song and letter of intent for the upcoming movie "New Moon".
Okay, seriously, I didn't plan it that way. I just happened to look at my calendar and I was like, "Well, look at that. It's the start of the new moon. What a coincidence".
Anyway, here's a pic of what I put together. Very basic, I know, but it's all I've got and I'm hoping that my passion will show through in the letter.
And now...I will hold my breath.
Okay, seriously, I didn't plan it that way. I just happened to look at my calendar and I was like, "Well, look at that. It's the start of the new moon. What a coincidence".
Anyway, here's a pic of what I put together. Very basic, I know, but it's all I've got and I'm hoping that my passion will show through in the letter.
And now...I will hold my breath.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
The Twi - LIGHT- iest Fan of ALL!
This is so stinkin' hilarious! I HAD to post it! This guy is awesome! Makes me wish I lived in So. Cal right next door to him so we could be best friends forever!
Saturday, April 11, 2009
My New Campaign!
I wrote this song for "New Moon". It's called, "Don't Walk Away" and I (actually my younger brother who knows way more than I do) put it on youtube and garageband.com and soundclicks and myspace and...well...just trying to get it out there and heard in order to reach my goal.
The CEO of BMI in Nashville has heard it and likes it and supposedly is going to try to use his connections to get it in, but I don't expect people to make things happen for me, so I'm also campagining on my own. Here's my song! If you like it, go to youtube, rate it, pass it on to everyone you know. If you don't, just roll your eyes and ignore me. I'll never know. LOL. But, I'm HOPING you like it!
The CEO of BMI in Nashville has heard it and likes it and supposedly is going to try to use his connections to get it in, but I don't expect people to make things happen for me, so I'm also campagining on my own. Here's my song! If you like it, go to youtube, rate it, pass it on to everyone you know. If you don't, just roll your eyes and ignore me. I'll never know. LOL. But, I'm HOPING you like it!
Friday, April 10, 2009
Trying To Figure This Whole Thing Out!
So, I've had a problem applying makeup properly. I've never really figured it out. I remember when I was about 13 we moved back to the United States from Scotland and over there you can't wear makeup at school. OR shave your legs. It's just not allowed. Not that you would really need to shave your legs anyway because you're required to wear thick, woolly gray or black tights with your thick, woolly skirt, so you could have forests growing there and NOBODY would EVER know.
And, I mean, it's good and bad because you don't have to worry about shaving your legs like EVER, but at the same time, if you don't ever have to, then how would you ever learn? You know what I mean? ANYWAY, I'm off on a tangent already.
FOCUS!
I came back from Scotland and all of my old friends were wearing makeup and shaving their legs and I was like, "Wow! That is so cool! I need makeup!" So my mom took me down to Walgreen's with my friend, Diana, and I was looking at the wall o' makeup and I was like, "What do I do?" So my friend was all, "Just get like your favorite color and that can be your eyeshadow. And look, they have like every color of mascara. It's totally cool!" And I was like, "Do they have blue?" and she was all, "Yeah" and I was all, "Awesome!" So, I bought blue eyeshadow, blue eyeliner, and blue mascara and I was really excited.
Anyway, apparently my great aunt in Illinois who happened to own a Merle Norman cosmetics store saw a photo of me and she realized that a major intervention needed to happen ASAP, so she came down here with her trailer of makeup and showed my sister and I how to apply it properly. She even left us samples so we'd have some decent colors to wear for a while.
But it ran out and also I could never quite apply it the way she did. I've always been a bit of a slow learner.
Okay, so anyway, I did this pageant thingy in high school because everybody else was doing it and it was like the cool thing and I kind of wanted to, but I also felt stupid. Anyway, I did it. And they had to teach us how to apply stage makeup. And I'm pretty sure somewhere in the tutorial they explained that this was stage makeup, but I missed that key word. So, when the pageant was finally over (and no - I did not win - ANYTHING), I started wearing this really gaudy, bright makeup and some guy at school was all, "Why do you wear your makeup like that, Poulsen? You look weird." I was devastated! That was it! I went to browns and really neutral stuff and just didn't wear much at all because I didn't even really know how to wear it anyway.
Years went by and I just kind of barely made it through, still never wearing my makeup properly.
My husband started to complain that my makeup didn't seem right and was even "boring". I didn't know what to do. Then my little sister, Larkie, came to the rescue. She would apply my makeup like every day and my husband would come home and be all, "Wow. I like your makeup. Did Larkie do it?" And I was all, "yeah".
But then, like all good things do, the daily ritual died....like a new grapevine that you just planted and were all excited about, but then your son sprayed weed killer on it and it died. Just shriveled up and hung there dead. (Yeah, I'm still bitter about that vine).
ANYWAY! Despite my efforts to imitate my sister's work, I have not been able to pull it off. My husband no longer comments on my makeup because...well...it sucks and he knows Larkie isn't doing it anymore because he can just tell. It's not hard.
Wow! You're still with me? Cool. Okay, this is the end part. I promise.
The conclusion to my "Lack Of Makeup Skills" saga came this afternoon. I was on youtube because I was trying to find more Rob Pattinson videos. WHAT?!?! You know you do the same thing.
Anyway, by some freak accident (actually, they say all things happen for a reason) I came upon this makeup tutorial and....all I can say is WOW! WOOWWWWW! Amazing! I love it! I can't wait to try it! I had to include the video because it's just...words cannot describe. So, here you go. Check it out! And watch for my new look. (She said it's even appropriate for church - I'm so excited).
And, I mean, it's good and bad because you don't have to worry about shaving your legs like EVER, but at the same time, if you don't ever have to, then how would you ever learn? You know what I mean? ANYWAY, I'm off on a tangent already.
FOCUS!
I came back from Scotland and all of my old friends were wearing makeup and shaving their legs and I was like, "Wow! That is so cool! I need makeup!" So my mom took me down to Walgreen's with my friend, Diana, and I was looking at the wall o' makeup and I was like, "What do I do?" So my friend was all, "Just get like your favorite color and that can be your eyeshadow. And look, they have like every color of mascara. It's totally cool!" And I was like, "Do they have blue?" and she was all, "Yeah" and I was all, "Awesome!" So, I bought blue eyeshadow, blue eyeliner, and blue mascara and I was really excited.
Anyway, apparently my great aunt in Illinois who happened to own a Merle Norman cosmetics store saw a photo of me and she realized that a major intervention needed to happen ASAP, so she came down here with her trailer of makeup and showed my sister and I how to apply it properly. She even left us samples so we'd have some decent colors to wear for a while.
But it ran out and also I could never quite apply it the way she did. I've always been a bit of a slow learner.
Okay, so anyway, I did this pageant thingy in high school because everybody else was doing it and it was like the cool thing and I kind of wanted to, but I also felt stupid. Anyway, I did it. And they had to teach us how to apply stage makeup. And I'm pretty sure somewhere in the tutorial they explained that this was stage makeup, but I missed that key word. So, when the pageant was finally over (and no - I did not win - ANYTHING), I started wearing this really gaudy, bright makeup and some guy at school was all, "Why do you wear your makeup like that, Poulsen? You look weird." I was devastated! That was it! I went to browns and really neutral stuff and just didn't wear much at all because I didn't even really know how to wear it anyway.
Years went by and I just kind of barely made it through, still never wearing my makeup properly.
My husband started to complain that my makeup didn't seem right and was even "boring". I didn't know what to do. Then my little sister, Larkie, came to the rescue. She would apply my makeup like every day and my husband would come home and be all, "Wow. I like your makeup. Did Larkie do it?" And I was all, "yeah".
But then, like all good things do, the daily ritual died....like a new grapevine that you just planted and were all excited about, but then your son sprayed weed killer on it and it died. Just shriveled up and hung there dead. (Yeah, I'm still bitter about that vine).
ANYWAY! Despite my efforts to imitate my sister's work, I have not been able to pull it off. My husband no longer comments on my makeup because...well...it sucks and he knows Larkie isn't doing it anymore because he can just tell. It's not hard.
Wow! You're still with me? Cool. Okay, this is the end part. I promise.
The conclusion to my "Lack Of Makeup Skills" saga came this afternoon. I was on youtube because I was trying to find more Rob Pattinson videos. WHAT?!?! You know you do the same thing.
Anyway, by some freak accident (actually, they say all things happen for a reason) I came upon this makeup tutorial and....all I can say is WOW! WOOWWWWW! Amazing! I love it! I can't wait to try it! I had to include the video because it's just...words cannot describe. So, here you go. Check it out! And watch for my new look. (She said it's even appropriate for church - I'm so excited).
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
It's How You're SUPPOSED To Be!
Okay, here's some more movie fun for ya'. But this time no review.
Bertrand and I settled into bed for yet another night of movie-watching until midnight when we both have to rise between 6:00 and 7:00 the next morning. I know, I know - totally irresponsible. I didn't say we were smart. We just like movies, okay?
So, this time we watched a semi-foreign indie film (we love those). It's about an American girl and she has no luck with dating. Her friends are all engaged or married or in serious relationships and she can't seem to find anyone and she's totally beautiful and intelligent - just has bad luck.
She's finally HAD it with dating. She tells her friend she's done (that's when you always find someone - the second you're done, right?), but she has this coworker guy who keeps bugging her to come to his party, so she finally gives in and gets dressed up and goes to his party...and it's totally lame, so she tries to leave, but suddenly this French guy shows up and he's all charming and romantic and forward, but in a good way. So, he's trying to get her to stay and she can't resist. I mean, who CAN resist a Frenchman? Look at me! I certainly couldn't.
ANYWAY, this guy is very forward about wanting to kiss her and telling her how he feels and he's just so romantic it'll just melt you right through the screen.
I heard Bertrand chuckling softly to himself, so I sighed and turned to him with a raised eyebrow and said, "What?!"
B: That's so ridiculous.
K: Why is that ridiculous?
B: That's not how we really are in France.
K: Really?
B: Yeah.
K: I don't believe you. I think that's EXACTLY how Frenchman are...except for you. I got cheated!
B: Nope. You're wrong. That's just how Americans THINK we are.
K: Well, you know what? That's how you're SUPPOSED to be, SO TAKE NOTES!
And with that, I got up and stormed into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
Of course, this was all in fun - sort of. I really DID want him to take notes, though.
The next morning he put it into the envelope to send back to Netflix and I was like, "What are you doing?! Is that my movie?"
B: YOU'RE movie?
K: I love that movie. You better not be sending it back right now.
B: You're gonna' watch it AGAIN?
K: YEAH! Of course! I LOVE that movie. That French guy in it is amazing! I want to watch it again and again!
Funny thing...he kind of started acting like the guy in the film.
YAY! I win! I got my stereotypical, American-movie-version Frenchman after all!
Bertrand and I settled into bed for yet another night of movie-watching until midnight when we both have to rise between 6:00 and 7:00 the next morning. I know, I know - totally irresponsible. I didn't say we were smart. We just like movies, okay?
So, this time we watched a semi-foreign indie film (we love those). It's about an American girl and she has no luck with dating. Her friends are all engaged or married or in serious relationships and she can't seem to find anyone and she's totally beautiful and intelligent - just has bad luck.
She's finally HAD it with dating. She tells her friend she's done (that's when you always find someone - the second you're done, right?), but she has this coworker guy who keeps bugging her to come to his party, so she finally gives in and gets dressed up and goes to his party...and it's totally lame, so she tries to leave, but suddenly this French guy shows up and he's all charming and romantic and forward, but in a good way. So, he's trying to get her to stay and she can't resist. I mean, who CAN resist a Frenchman? Look at me! I certainly couldn't.
ANYWAY, this guy is very forward about wanting to kiss her and telling her how he feels and he's just so romantic it'll just melt you right through the screen.
I heard Bertrand chuckling softly to himself, so I sighed and turned to him with a raised eyebrow and said, "What?!"
B: That's so ridiculous.
K: Why is that ridiculous?
B: That's not how we really are in France.
K: Really?
B: Yeah.
K: I don't believe you. I think that's EXACTLY how Frenchman are...except for you. I got cheated!
B: Nope. You're wrong. That's just how Americans THINK we are.
K: Well, you know what? That's how you're SUPPOSED to be, SO TAKE NOTES!
And with that, I got up and stormed into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
Of course, this was all in fun - sort of. I really DID want him to take notes, though.
The next morning he put it into the envelope to send back to Netflix and I was like, "What are you doing?! Is that my movie?"
B: YOU'RE movie?
K: I love that movie. You better not be sending it back right now.
B: You're gonna' watch it AGAIN?
K: YEAH! Of course! I LOVE that movie. That French guy in it is amazing! I want to watch it again and again!
Funny thing...he kind of started acting like the guy in the film.
YAY! I win! I got my stereotypical, American-movie-version Frenchman after all!
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
You Can't Please 'Em All
We changed our family night to Tuesday night (just for this week) and I decided that I needed to come up with something fun just to kick off our return to scripture study. See, I get all ambitious and decide we're going to get back into the routine of studying - I mean really studying - and then it all falls apart very shortly thereafter.
I have this great book that's a study guide for the Book of Mormon. This book takes you through from title page to the end and breaks it all down and has ideas for activities to keep it interesting, so I sit and plan out the lesson each day and we do it at night and it really only takes about 15-30 minutes, but there's fun involved.
So, tonight I decided to kick off our return with a little game called Scripture Categories (a knock off of Scattergories). I sat down at the computer and typed up each letter of the alphabet with a line coming out from it so we could write something in each space. A through Z. Then I sat down with John and Bertrand at the dinner table this evening (the girls were in bed this time -Hallelujah - little monsters) and I told them the rules (very similar to Scattergories rules). I gave us all 15 minutes to complete the task and no scriptures were allowed. By, the way, this included ALL scriptures, any word, name, etc. found in the scriptures for each letter of the alphabet.
I thought it was fun. Bertrand thought it was fun.
John thought it was lame and moped away from the table immediately afterwards. I don't know if it had anything to do with the scores (26 pts for me, 22 pts for Bertrand, 19 points for John). Teenagers! He's not even a teenager yet and he already gives me grief. Everything is lame. EVERYTHING! Oh well...I tried. At least Bertrand and I had fun. And now we're ready to dig back in and feast on the good word! At least, Bertrand and I are...
I have this great book that's a study guide for the Book of Mormon. This book takes you through from title page to the end and breaks it all down and has ideas for activities to keep it interesting, so I sit and plan out the lesson each day and we do it at night and it really only takes about 15-30 minutes, but there's fun involved.
So, tonight I decided to kick off our return with a little game called Scripture Categories (a knock off of Scattergories). I sat down at the computer and typed up each letter of the alphabet with a line coming out from it so we could write something in each space. A through Z. Then I sat down with John and Bertrand at the dinner table this evening (the girls were in bed this time -Hallelujah - little monsters) and I told them the rules (very similar to Scattergories rules). I gave us all 15 minutes to complete the task and no scriptures were allowed. By, the way, this included ALL scriptures, any word, name, etc. found in the scriptures for each letter of the alphabet.
I thought it was fun. Bertrand thought it was fun.
John thought it was lame and moped away from the table immediately afterwards. I don't know if it had anything to do with the scores (26 pts for me, 22 pts for Bertrand, 19 points for John). Teenagers! He's not even a teenager yet and he already gives me grief. Everything is lame. EVERYTHING! Oh well...I tried. At least Bertrand and I had fun. And now we're ready to dig back in and feast on the good word! At least, Bertrand and I are...
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