No more LINGERIE!

I started a new job ('temporary full time') as a visual merchandiser at a large department store....

My task this week is to paint walls and trim in the 'Intimate Apparel' department.
For 3 days I have been scurrying up and down a 10 foot ladder...'buns of steel'!....painting.
For 3 days I have been the invisible chick up near the dusty ceiling----listening and observing.
It has been HILARIOUS!

Needless to say, I have not only 'researched' all the different shapes, styles, and sizes of 'berzeers'...I have also listened to women (and men) discuss their 'preferences'.

---Older Southern women still buy the Playtex 18 hour bras---the ones that come in a BOX....always WHITE....screaming 'white ass white'....as in 'BLEACH the crap outta them' WHITE.
Those big honkin' polyester wonders with the bullet shape and an under wire from hell...and the hook in the back that rivals a corset.
Those puppies ain't goin' NO WHERE!
And if there is an emergency, it can be used as some sort of hammock...or...distress flag...something!
(I will NEVER buy my bras-in-a-box! Just sayin'.)

---I feel sorry for the men who are dragged in to the department with their wives.
(Who takes their husband BRA SHOPPING? REALLY????)
The men wistfully looking at the pretty lacy (itchy) 'just for show' bras and matching undies....they go in to a sort of trance...until the woman starts bitchin' about how she 'never pays more than a coupla dollars for a bra...'
(and she buys her undies in a six pack...white, high wasted, 'granny panties' no doubt.)
'Function' absolutely outweighs 'Form'...poor guys....as they skulk off, heads lowered, looking at their feet....wondering what is on TV tonight.

---Then their is the 'bride'....buying for her 'trouseau'....aka: 'Honeymoon Stuff'.
Now , THAT is ALL 'Form' and NO 'Function'....enough padding and push-upness to be a flotation device....and, oh yay! the THONGS to MATCH!
WOOOHOOOO!
(all those 'pretties' will be shoved to the back of her drawer when she finds out she's pregnant....and then, once the baby comes....SHE will look wistfully at them....hahaha! Oh shut up. I've 'been there'.)

---the next subject of 'wonder' is the bra with the ginormous implants stitched in to them.
Those suckers weigh about 5 lbs. each!
(I only know this because I've had to move them...)
I like to call these:'False Advertising'...
Kinda like a dude stuffin' a sock in his britches...the 'truth' WILL come 'out'....eventually!
(I'm sure there is a great reason someone would sport 5 pounds of 'gel' strapped on to their chest....right?)

---Bras come in all shapes and sizes...as do women.
The 'strapless' version has always intrigued me.
They NEVER stay up...no wonder the engineering department designs them...seriously! They DO!
You've got 'load', 'angle' and 'torque'...very complicated....
Much like designing a suspension bridge.
Saw one today that was a 38 GG...

(I'll give you a moment.)

In the fashion industry, we call that the 38 'Good GOD!'
THAT is magical! THAT is a 'whole lotta woman'....
(Yes, I had to restrain myself from putting one on my huge skull and trying it out as a HAT!)

---There are some bras that are just a whisper of lace...no pads....very sheer. Nothin to 'em.
These are the 'how do ya like my new boobs?' bras...
Hey if you, or he, bought 'em...show those babies off!
(And donate the 'instant implant' ones!---a good tax write off, and always nice to 'give to charity.')

---the final observation is the teenager who picks out brightly colored/crazy patterned undergarments...
...and hides them in a wad so no one will see what she is trying on....
All I can say is, 'Girl...get ya some nude tones so there is no psychedelic party showin' through your white shirts!
(I'm a mom...I know these things!)

By Friday, I will be done painting...and outta there. No more lingerie stories...
It's been real...ummm....educational and interesting!

Friday afternoon I am helping set up a huge Bridal show....I hope I don't get hives.
(I've been married/divorced twice...)
hahaha!

'Hurts like the dickens!'

Little One found a horse fly dead on the sidewalk today...I told her:
'If they bite you, it hurts like the dickens!'
(I use this 'expression' a lot.)
She asked me...'Momma what does 'dickens' mean?'....
Ummmm....
here ya go!
" Do you know where the phrase hurts like the dickens comes from?"


"Let’s focus in on dickens as the important word here, since there are lots of different expressions with it in, such as what the dickens, where the dickens, the dickens you are!, and the dickens you say!

It goes back a lot further than Charles Dickens, though it does seem to have been borrowed from the English surname, most likely sometime in the sixteenth century or before. (The surname itself probably derives from Dickin or Dickon, familiar diminutive forms of Dick.) It was — and still is, though people hardly know it any more — a euphemism for the Devil. It’s very much in the same style as deuce, as in old oaths like what the deuce! which contains another name for the Devil."

The first person known to use it was that great recorder of Elizabethan expressions, William Shakespeare, in The Merry Wives of Windsor: “FORD: Where had you this pretty weathercock? MRS PAGE: I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my husband had him of”. That pun relied on the audience knowing that Dickens was a personal name and that what the dickens was a mild oath which called on the Devil."

(Thank you Google for once again, solving the riddle of Life's questions...hahaha!)

The 'Muthah' is...GONE!

If you grew up in 'Vah Beach' when I did...I have some HORRIBLE news.
The Jewish Mother---aka: 'Thah Muhthah'---has been torn down...

(take a moment...bow your head...it's OK...I feel ya....)

I remember going to 'The Muhthah', way back when, as a mere 5th grader(I think)---when it was only one small, 'shot-gun' style, restaurant...NY style deli...
(The neon purple lights in the window gave it an awesome glow).
Yeah---they had plastic plants...an awesome deli case...and the BEST hot pastrami on rye sandwich in town...complete with macaroni salad and a dill pickle.
...they also had cheesecake...(which at the time I was so not 'in' to.---foolish child I was!)

The Jewish Mother was the first place that all the 'moms' would let us 'Beach Girls' go and eat without being chaperoned...
(Margaret L., Caroline P., Virginia S., and me...the Boogie Board Surfin' QUEENS!)
The booths had those bouncy naugahide seats....that left you sitting lower than the table.
We were Smokin HOT in our Pete Smith's Surf Shop T's, OP corduroy shorts---and later in our Alligator shirts with safety pins through the Reptile...because we were so 'punk'...and wedge flip flops, no doubt!

We then all 'graduated to boys who wore original Vans and surfed'....(Hello Gray!)

In High School...we took our 'dates' there...we were so damn 'edgy'...educating all those land-lubbers to 'Life at the BEACH'!
Remember movies at Lynnhaven Cinema...and then a hot fudge brownie at the 'Muhthah'???...
(Home by 11pm!)
(ahhhh---Syer and Dotalo---yeah you do! hahaha!)
I had my first 'legal' beer there when I turned 18---with 'LOOCH' and 'Hammy'...
(there is a pic somewhere around her...)

In my College years (aka: Madonna wannabe)...

several 'break ups' happened on the hallowed grounds of the 'Jew Moo'...
(sorry Frank R....mom said you were too 'old' for me...)
Throughout the last 30 years...The Jewish Mother has always held a special place in my heart---and 'history'.
Now she is gone.
'Sad' does not even begin to 'cover it'.
(And let me tell you...if they tear down the 'Pocahontas Pancake House'---there WILL be a revolt!)

Letting Go.

"To Let Go does not mean to stop caring;

it means I can't do it for someone else.

To Let Go is not to cut myself off,

it is the realization I can't control another.

...

To Let Go is not to enable,

but to allow learning from natural consequences.

To Let Go is to admit powerlessness,

which means the outcome is not in my hands.

To Let Go is not to try to change or blame another,

it is to make the most of myself.

To Let Go is not to care for,

but to care about.

To Let Go is not to fix,

but to be supportive.

To Let Go is not to judge,

but to allow another to be a human being.

To Let Go is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes,

but to allow others to affect their destinies.

To Let Go is not to be protective,

it is to permit another to face reality.

To Let Go is not to deny,

but to accept.

To Let Go is not to nag, scold, or argue,

but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.

To Let Go is not to adjust everything to my desires,

but to take each day as it comes, and cherish myself in it.

To Let Go is not to criticize and regulate anybody,

but to try to become what I dream I can be.

To Let Go is not to regret the past,

but to grow and live for the future.

To Let Go is to fear less,

and love more."

 

(I did not write this....found it as a 'quote'...good stuff to remember.)

I love my dog....I love my dog....

Today was a typical Spring Saturday for me...

I spent at least five hours working on my yard...cleaning out the beds...recutting the borders...raking...using my leaf blower...even had a dead dogwood taken down---which I, myself, hauled to the back yard...
(isn't 'log tossing' a sport? I think it should be, if not.)

As the sun was setting over 'yon',  I was gathering my tools, ready to go in...I noticed my dog, Roxy, standing on the wood pile.
(She loves the 'vantage point' on TOP of the wood pile as she surveys her domain.)

~Some background on Roxy the Foxxy Beagle: She is a rescued beagle mix, aka: 'buffet hound'. She keeps the moles in check in the yard, and is NOT afraid to stick her FULL head down in to any hole she has dug...snorting...coming out all muddy and smiling.~

I saw that Roxy was very gingerly pulling something out of the wood pile...daintily with her front teeth.
She then turned around slowly---like a kid who THINKS you are NOT watching them as they steal the last cookie off the plate---and she went galloping off across the yard.

I thought she had a stick...but I walked after her to make sure.
(Yes, I walked...I was tired and had been sporting my saucy leopard galoshes all day---with my jeans tucked IN to them because I was cleaning out snake habitats...my 15 year old fashionista daughter just rolled her eyes at me.)

As I finally reached her, Roxy looked at me sideways, keeping her head down...hands across 'whatever' she had.
(If she could whistle, should would have.)

That's when I realized...ICK...she had a mouse.
Poor 'Mrs. Tittlemouse' had already lost her ears, and feet, and Roxy was eating the tail like it was a piece of tasty licorice.

'ROXY THAT IS SO GROSS!' I told her...she did not care.
She picked up her mouse and trotted to a leaf pile...nestled in, and continued with her 'treat'.

I thought about getting it away from her...yes, I did.
However, knowing that she loves the 'I-have-something-gross-in-my-mouth-and-you-can't-catch-me' game...I just let her be.

I went back to gathering my tools...all the while imagining what Roxy was thinking.

'Hmmm...I enjoy the 'al dente' feel of the ears and feet....the tail...a bit chewy...but OK. Oh, look! A surprise inside---a burst of freshness...delightful!'

(After a few minutes, I noticed my enchanting hound rolling on her back on top of 'Mrs. Tittlemouse'...or....what was left of her...)

'Ahh...yes. If...I...could...just...squeeze out this...last...bit...here...I can create my own enjoyable scent...to share with my mom....and---if all goes well tonight---by the morning time? FRESH rawhide!...I am a GENIUS!'
Yeah.
I left her outside for a bit....
It figures that I, as an artist and thrifty gal in general, would have a creative dog.
I love my dog....I love my dog...I love my dog....

9 Pounds of LOVE:The story of my son's birth...(hahah!)

(*DISCLAIMER*---In the interest of Motherhood, and the fact that embarrassing your kids makes them STRONGER...I submit this amusing birth story.)

My son will turn 13 tomorrow.
I cannot believe it. My favorite (and only son---soon to be the 'perfect man') is growing up....
But, alas, my beautiful boy...I must share how you arrived in my world...(Oh, stop. You will thank me later!)
The whole time I was pregnant with my 'boy-child' was a different experience than being pregnant with 'girl-child#1'....
I craved salty stuff...I would knock you DOWN to get to the home made onion dip and Ruffles with Ridges...and I was running after 'Girl Child #1' (GC1) who was a two-year-old...beautiful,wild and a 'biter'....not to mention 'potty training'. Yeah!
Since my son was the second inhibitor of my 'womb', he had plenty of room to stretch out and grow...I swear he stayed in a 'pike position' much of the time with his foot squarely planted on my rib cage.
(Yes...he actually BROKE my ribs, and created a wonderful freakish look to my ribcage...hence, the end of my bikini wearing days.)
I also had an 'ingroinal hernia'---that was 'fun'---'good times'...(but you were worth it, my love!)
My 'freakishly large belly' invited the general public to comment on my girth.
'Are you havin' twins? No way you are only having ONE baby'...
Oh. Thank you kind STRANGER...(at least I knew I had a BABY in my belly...and I was not just FAT like YOU!...hahaha!)
Moving along....
The night before I was to be induced---so my son would not be a 'leap year baby', I was chastised on the phone by a wicked woman who thought I had 'dissed' her grown up/screw up of a son...NICE!
Seriously?...did she know I was having a BABY the next day? Priorities....PRIORITIES!
I had been sleeping in the baby nursery for weeks because of my 'bulk'...peaceful, and the kitties slept on either side to make sure I was OK...(quite frankly, they were preferred company!)
Long about 4a.m....I started feeling 'funky'...(any mommas out there, know what I mean...)
My H, at the time, luckily had not gone out with the boys that night---(as he had the night I went in to labor with GC1) and drove me to hospital at 6:30a.m.
It was all business when I checked in...got to put on that sexy hospital gown, and got hooked up to monitors...anti-pain drugs galore!
Guess WHAT! I was in labor! (Imagine THAT!)
My doc---who I LOVED---came in...and GIGGLED at me!...(Love him as I did...I still wanted to throw something at him! hahah!)
So, the waiting started....
...and went on and on....
I knew I was getting ready to pump out 'a big baby'---(yes, thank you nurses for letting me know that! DUH!)
15 hours of labor...epidural...pitosin...GAME ON!
My son's heart rate dropped drastically and there was a flurry of C-section preparedness going on...
Good GOD! Everyone was throwing on scrubs/masks/gloves...shit!
Things were dinging/binging/ringing...I was freaking out...
'You need to lay on your side!'
(OK, people! I am numb from the waist down! LITTLE HELP!)
My son's heart rate stabilized and everyone chilled out....
...more waiting...and 'checking'...(any Mommas know how much FUN that is!---GEEZ!)
Time---FINALLY!---to push!
Seriously...so ungraceful/unladylike when a nurse and H (now X1) hold your feet so you can 'push and count to 10'...
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD...his head was out!
And, then...'1-2-3-4-5-...!'
My Doc...(and I kid you NOT) put his FOOT on the table to pull Boy Child's shoulders out!
(and with that...my lower...non-active---half was hanging off the table!)
Again: 'Lil HELP here people!'...and they shoved me back on to the bed/table...
And...my BEAUTIFUL son was born---screamin' his head off! (He was pissed off because he was cold...he hates being cold to this day!)
Happy! SOOOOO HAPPY!
(and yeah---he weighed in at 8lbs. 15oz's...and he pee-ed on the way out (sorry, hon, but you did.)...so, I claim him as my '9lbs. of LOVE!)
My doc held him by the foot like a chicken and flopped him in to the 'french fry lights' bassinet...
He was OK...he was PERFECT!

Funny thing: My Doc and X1 held him and had a pic taken before I even got to hold him! I was like: 'Hellooooo----I did all the work here!...Gimme my SON!'
The nurses nicknamed him 'sumo'...his pediatrician later nicknamed him 'Brick'...MY BOY!
I nicknamed him 'Monkey Boy' because he snuggled up around my neck for the next 5 months and stayed there!...sweet...easy going...beautiful.
I love you, my son...you are the best 'man' in my life...God help the girl who wants to marry you someday...(She's got some high standards from 'yo momma' to live up to...I'm not letting you go to just anyone!)
and, PS: Hope I did not embarrass you too much! xoxoxoxMomma~

Evolve Studio

As a photog myself, I can highly recommend Evolve Studio.
Kim has 'shot' several of my friends families...newborns and group shots...all are beautiful...all are works of ART.
Here is the Link to her site:
http://www.evolvestudiophoto.com/
She is here locally in Raleighwood...GOOD STUFF yall!

My Future Fighter Pilot...

I am the mother of two really awesome girls ages 16 and 6... my girls (and my son)  can do anything they set their minds to---whatever it is...I never want them to hold back. 'No fear'.
GO FOR IT!
I believe that physical, and mental, 'toughness' is learned through experience...and also having a parent willing to let a child make 'mistakes', take (reasonable) risks and encourage them to 'see what's out there'...
My 'Little One' is one 'tough cookie.'
She's not afraid to climb higher, get dirty/sweaty...handles bugs, worms and frogs--no problem!
She is super strong and can run really fast---(something she is pretty proud of!) Even when she wipes out and gets banged up...she NEVER cries...and always jumps right up and says: 'I'm OK!' She is really brave.
I call her my 'Little Fighter Pilot'. I really can see her flying jets...some day.
Yesterday she had her first encounter with a boy bully.
She (as usual) was running with the 'big boys' after school...climbing on playground equipment...jumping off the top...running fast and playing hard. No worries...and a lot of laughter.
Her good friend 'D' is a really sweet boy who is pals with Little One...he ran over to me and said my girl was 'beewing booweed by some big boyees'...from where I was, she looked OK...but she was really still...staring down this bigger kid...fists clenched...eyes locked on her target....(I think I even saw little steam puffs coming out her nose---but it was cold...so...)
The closer I got, I realized she was REALLY upset---which is unusual.(She usually just gets 'pissed off' when she hurts herself.)
Then I saw her eyes...one little tear coming down her cheek...(uh oh.)
She turned on her heel away from the boy bully...fists still clenched by her side...spine straight as an arrow...head held high...and walked my way. The boy bully fled the scene...
As soon as she saw he was gone, she let me hug her...and she crumbled into my arms and sobbed...
'He pulled my feet when I was up high on the equipment...then he pulled my coat and I fell on the ground...I hurt my leg.' (Obviously nothing was broken/sprained/twisted...but it scared her to death.)
Of course I said all the 'Mommy things' you say to your child when she is hurt...my little brave girl!
She 'got over it' on the ride home...but the 'residue' was still in her thoughts...I could see some 'deep thinking' going on in the back seat...
'Are you my little fighter pilot?' I asked her...
She smiled and said 'YEAH Momma!'
(all I can say 'boy bully'...you bettah watch out! SHE'S BACK!)
hhhahahah!