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!

Careful What You Say...

I was in a store with my Little One the other day.

She decided she wanted to ride in the basket, instead of walking...fine.

Then I turned around and she was standing UP in the cart, holding on to the sides and rocking it!

(*gasp*)
'You better sit down young lady---if that cart tips over you will kill yourself!', I said.

(we were in an aisle with a ton of glass things...all I could imagine was the cart tipping over, her crashing in to a vase, falling to the floor amidst shards of glass...lacerations...blood...oh my GOD!)

She sat down really quickly and had this ashen look on her face...

I told her I was sorry I got upset, but that she had scared me...and I gave her a hug and a kiss.

And she said:

'I'm sorry Momma...I don't want to die before Santa comes!'

(then we both started laughing! hahaha!)

WHEW!

Had to post...Pregnancy Pictures.

What are people thinking? Seriously...especially the nude couple ones---ICK!
(hahaha!)
http://pregnantchicken.squarespace.com/pregnant-chicken-blog/2010/12/10/awkward-pregnancy-photos.html

~Swimming with Fishes~

All things...

once thought

could...

would...

'be'

... done...

and

then...that.

Now

....nothing.

Broken glass scatters

across the floor

... barefoot.

Sacrificing her soles...

to get there.

He...

... turns away.

Crossing the line...

Once...

and again

...to swim

with a fish...

from a past dead sea.

Hooked...

Lied...

Sank her.

Washes up...

but is never clean.

Sun dries

...a heart dies.

Gasping...grasping...

Dead cold eyes.

The gull is picking his soul clean.



'I'm not afraid to die...'Big Betty' will be there.'

Driving around with a kindergartener in the back seat always lends itself to 'interesting' conversations.
Today, out of the blue, Little One asked me 'how did your dad die, momma?'
After taking some deep cleansing breaths....
I told her 'He died in a war...trying to help people be safe...'
'What did he do?' she asked....
Again...deep cleansing breath...

'My dad, your Grandfather, was an officer in the Navy...his job was to protect our country and also to help other people who needed to be saved from the bad guys....'
(Long silence from the back seat....)
'...but how did he die?'....
'He was hurt really badly...he had a BIG 'ow-ie'...' I explained.
'I love my Grandfather...I want to see him.'
I told her 'someday you will...'
'When I go to Heaven, momma?'
'Yes...when you go to Heaven....a LONG time from now.'
(Long silence from the back seat....)
'Momma...are you scared to die?'
'No...',I told her,'...because I hope to see my dad again...and you know who else is in Heaven?'
'Who?' she asked...

'Zeusy Boy...' (our dog)...
'AND!' she chimed in,' BIG BETTY!' ('Big Betty' was our hamster)
(hahahaha---thank God for comic relief!)
'I'm not afraid to die either Momma...cuz, I'll get to see my Grandfather....and BIG BETTY!'

My 'alarm clock' weighs 8 pounds...

My cat, Sylvia, weighs 8 pounds...maybe.
This morning at 3 a.m. she started 'waking' me up...
I heard her jump down from my dresser---(which of course is her new 'favorite' place to sleep)---sounding like a 500 pound gorilla falling out of a tree.
She must have  been wearing her tap shoes because every step she took sounded like 'tip....tap....tip....tap...' on her luxurious stroll to the bathroom.
Next I hear 'CRUNCH...dig,dig...CRUNCH'...(she was having a snack.)
Sylvia must have poor eyesight, because whenever she gets ready to drink her water, she tips the bowl to make the water move so she can see it.
Sounds a bit like a cap gun going off...makes my heart practically jump out of my throat.
I was still in that 'I'm-asleep-don't-ruin-it-for-me-now' haze....(hoping to go back to a really good dream I was having...)
3:45 a.m....she jumps back on my dresser, sliding out in to perfume bottles, the mirror, my change jar....
I opened one eye, waiting to hear glass breaking...nothing. I could see her silhouette in the shadowy darkness, standing there like a puma on the hunt...and she was looking at me like, 'What...?'
She waited until I was just about back to sleep, and started the 'morning grooming' session.
Lick, nibble, slurp....chew, chew...lick...lick...all the while bumping in to my Grandmother's marble based,  red glass, lamp (my favorite since I was a kid).
I could hear my beloved lamp scooching closer and closer to the edge of the dresser...the thumping of the shade against Sylvia's head as she washed her foot.
I got up and moved the lamp. (she, of course swatted me as I did so...)
Back to bed...again...I am thinking I have 2 hours before I have to really be awake...and now I can't go back to sleep.
Sylvia must have sensed this as she leaped across the room from the dresser, and landed on my bed like a trapeze artist landing on the net below.
I have a big bed.
There is plenty of room for me and an 8 pound cat.
Sylvia, with great fanfare, curls up on my PILLOW with her face right next to mine...breathing little cat breaths on me...(lovely.)
I scooted her off my pillow...which apparently did not suit her.
She came back with a vengeance...purring like a lawn mower...this time walking on my side as though she is practicing her tightrope act...her claws ever so slightly digging in to my skin.
I gingerly picked her up and put her on the other side of the bed....
....and again, the purring lawnmower started advancing across the  'battlefield'.
Changing her tactics, she headed for my feet...(I knew where this was going.)
She must have thought my feet were cold as she spread her warm furry little body across them...still purring...but now digging her claws in to my ankles.
She felt like a hot water bottle with thorns.
I was awake...and NOT happy. It was 4:25...a.m.
I picked her up off my feet, and put her on the floor...she 'huffed' at me...ears back, tail swishing around furiously.
She gave me about 20 minutes...and then Sylvia started scratching the door with her nails, and 'mewing' in her baby cat voice. I knew my dog Roxy would hear her, and soon be waiting on the other side of the door...'puff barking' and wanting to get to that 'squirrel' I keep in my room.
I let her out and she did her commando run---low to the ground, stealthy---down the stairs to the front door....
I got the locks undone and got her outside just as Roxy rounded the corner...
Sylvia, once again, cheating 'death' to escape in to the night.
(It is now 6 a.m....and I am on my 3rd cup of coffee...)

If The Shoe Fits...(I Guess.)

I LOVE shoes as much as the next gal...but, as a 'mom', my strappy stilettos are gathering dust (in their pretty boxes) on the top shelf of my closet. I miss you snake skin pumps with the patent leather kick ass heels...and you too my superhigh suede boots with the pointiest toes ever...

I wear flipflops pretty much 3/4 of the year now...my worn in comfy cowboy boots or Danskos when the weather gets chilly...(and I do have some leopard galoshes for yard work...HOT!)

Basically my footwear must remain relatively waterproof, barf proof, able to be wiped down, stepped on---repeatedly...and,yet, give me the 'gazelle' like sprinting capabilities one might need, say, if a child were to fall off a piece of playground equipment...and you need to break a land speed record to get there to 'catch'.

(all you Mommas know what I'm sayin'!)

Anyway...I do still like to browse really pretty/funky/groovy shoes and boots.

Here are some shoes I can pass on...I mean...REALLY?

Iris Schieferstein 'Hoof Heels'

"This German artist uses dead animals in her work...if taxidermied, wearable hooves are your style, these have your name on them!"
OK, as a Costume Designer, I can see how these could come in handy for some shows...but can you imagine the Vegan uproar that would ensue---what chaos! Fainting, throwing scripts...the stomping out of the studio...just not worth it.

So did you know that UGGS and Jimmy Choo have collaborated?

(NO? *gasp* Like...OMG!)

How 'FABOO!'

Actually I have dubbed these the 'U-Choo' boot. Just like cockroaches...UGGS will NOT go away. Don't they look like knock offs that have been 'BeDazzled'?

(and YES, kids, Mommy STILL wants a BeDazzler for Christmas---hint-hint!)

...and the kicker, yall...they sell for $795.00
(Oh you KNOW I'll get black AND brown!)

 

Since we are on the subject of 'price points'....these little 'Uggs-meets-Easter bunny booties'

by Louis Vuitton...???

Oh darlin', these babies will set ya back $2080.00.
(I am NOT joking!)

Equally as amazing---on a WHOLE different level are the booties I like to call 'who-notices-your-bad-dye-job-when-you-wear-these-shoes'...

OK,OK! ...I know this is a 'statement shoe'...

...but what, exactly, is the statement? Goat Herders Anonymous?

Or are these the orthopedic shoes that all the River Dancers have to wear after being on the road with Michael Flattley too long...???

Next we have a leopard/fish lace up...that I actually think are pretty cool---and my kids would HATE it when I wore these 'surf and turf' wonders to pick them up at school...or..sported them to a soccer game...yeah...(mmmWHUHUHUh!)

Ahhh... a girl can dream...but for now...I'll stick with my comfy red boots!

'Have you seen this child?...'

Had my first 'milk carton moment' today...
(Little One is fine, by the way...)
So, here's how it happened...
Little One was late to school this morning because she had a check up at the Doc's...
Walked her in to the front office...following protocol of the public school system, I handed all the necessary paperwork to the office secretary...signed her in to school---on the computer....
(Little One was thrilled that the 'pink slip' matched her outfit perfectly...)
Then there was a moment of awkwardness...
I wanted to walk her to her classroom that is about 300 miles from the front office to make sure she got there OK---(she has only been at this kindergarten for about 8 days now)...being cautious because God knows I would die if anything happened to her betwixt points A and B.
The office lady kind of poo-pooed me as being an overly emotional/way too cautious/psycho hover mother 'new parent'...and asked Little One if she knew where her classroom was...
(they encourage independence for the 5 year olds.)
Of course my big girl nodded 'yes'...and looked at me...
(as office lady was looking at me like, '...see?')
SO...
against my gut feeling, and trying to 'go' with the 'flow'...I let her go.
I...let my 'big girl' go....
I watched her wave to me through the glass doors....her skinny little legs walking toward her classroom....
(all the while thinking '...no. This is not right.')
Then thinking to myself,'OK...she is fine...stop over reacting...she's fine...she will be fine...'
45 minutes after I was home...my cell rings.
It is the Principal from her school.
She was doing all the obligatory intros, and had Little One's teacher on speaker phone...and was it ok if they put ME on speaker phone----
(All I can think of is 'what the HELL is going on! WHAT! WHAT!!!!)
Turns out, Little One never made it to her classroom....she LEFT out a side door and went on the playground!
Thank you God for the teacher who saw her and took her in to her class...
She was not scared....just said 'I got lost'.
Needless to say...with my heart in my throat...she was fine.
(...but what if she had wandered in to Lynn road? What if she had happened across someone who wanted her to 'see the puppies I found'...)
Hopefully, after this, the school will take seriously a mother's intuition...or at least take 10 minutes out of all the paperwork on their desk, and WALK a child to their class!

11 Facts of Life (by Bill Gates)

(I am posting this for my kids---and any of you 'grown-ups' out there who need a kick in the rear! Peace. Kat~)

."Rule 1: Life is not fair - get used to it!

Rule 2: The world doesn't care about your self-esteem. The world will expect you to accomplish something BEFORE you feel good about yourself.

Rule 3: You will NOT make $60,000 a year right out of high school. You won't be a vice-president with a car phone until you earn both.

Rule 4: If you think your teacher is tough, wait till you get a boss.

Rule 5: Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity. Your Grandparents had a different word for burger flipping: they called it opportunity.

Rule 6: If you mess up, it's not your parents' fault, so don't whine about your mistakes, learn from them.

Rule 7: Before you were born, your parents weren't as boring as they are now. They got that way from paying your bills, cleaning your clothes and listening to you talk about how cool you thought you were. So before you save the rain forest from the parasites of your parent's generation, try delousing the closet in your own room.

Rule 8: Your school may have done away with winners and losers, but life HAS NOT. In some schools, they have abolished failing grades and they'll give you as MANY TIMES as you want to get the right answer. This doesn't bear the slightest resemblance to ANYTHING in real life.

Rule 9: Life is not divided into semesters. You don't get summers off and very few employers are interested in helping you FIND YOURSELF. Do that on your own time.

Rule 10: Television is NOT real life. In real life people actually have to leave the coffee shop and go to jobs.

Rule 11: Be nice to nerds. Chances are you'll end up working for one."

Fairy Stone Park

I took my son 'Bobby' and my Little One to Fairy Stone Park today...

Little One and I were chatting before she went to bed last night and she was 'so excited' to find some Fairy Stones...

'Are they all blue and sparkly?' she asked...

'Well, not really...they are beautiful, but they are usually muddy and very small'....I told her.

'Oh...' she said...kinda disappointed.

Then I realized, really, her whole life is like a Disney  film...

'Fairy'=Tinker Bell, the Fairy Dust, and little pixies with unusual body proportions...

My son and I just 'went with it'...as they say.

He asked her if she was 'gonna look for Fairies at the Park?'

'YES!...and if I find Tinker Bell, I will put her in the jar with my silly bands...but I will take out the silly bands so she has room to fly around!'...

Oh my sweet little imaginative 'fairy' girl!

(You are all Love...sprinkled with Pixie dust!)

First Day of School

(I heard this on the radio this morning...reminds me of Little One....although she is not riding the bus...but still...)
I Trust You'll Treat Her Well

By Dan Valentine

Dear World,

I bequeath to you today one little girl in a crispy dress with two blue eyes and a happy laugh that ripples all day long and a flash of light blond hair that bounces in the sun when she runs. I trust you'll treat her well.

She's slipping out of the backyard of my heart this morning and skipping off down the street to her first day of school. And never again will she be completely mine. Prim and proud she'll wave her young and independent hand this morning and say "Goodbye" and walk with little lady steps to the schoolhouse.

Now she'll learn to stand in lines and wait by the alphabet for her name to be called. She'll learn to tune her ears for the sounds of school-bells and deadlines and she'll learn to giggle and gossip and look at the ceiling in a disinterested way when the little boy 'cross the aisle sticks out his tongue at her. And, now she'll learn to be jealous. And now she'll learn how it is to feel hurt inside.

And now she'll learn how not to cry.

No longer will she have time to sit on the front porch steps on a summer day and watch an ant scurry across the crack in the sidewalk. Nor will she have time to pop out of bed with the dawn and kiss lilac blooms in the morning dew. No, now she'll worry about those important things like grades and which dress to wear and whose best friend is whose. And the magic of books and learning will replace the magic of her blocks and dolls.

And now she'll find new heroes.

For five full years now I've been her sage and Santa Claus and pal and playmate and father and friend. Now she'll learn to share her worship with her teachers which is only right.

But, no longer will I be the smartest, greatest man in the whole world. Today when that school bell rings for the first time she'll learn what it means to be a member of the group with all its privileges and its disadvantages too.

She'll learn in time that proper young ladies do not laugh out loud or kiss dogs or keep frogs in pickle jars in bedrooms or even watch ants scurry across cracks in sidewalks in the summer.

Today she'll learn for the first time that all who smile at her are not her friends. And I'll stand on the front porch and watch her start out on the long, lonely journey to becoming a woman.

So, world, I bequeath to you today one little girl in a crispy dress with two blue eyes and a happy laugh that ripples all day long…and a flash of light blond hair that bounces in the sun when she runs.

I trust you'll treat her well. .

Words to LIVE by....

"To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children...to leave the world a better place...to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded."
Ralph Waldo Emerson

My UN-Love Affair with Math.

My oldest daughter needed some Algebra review over the summer...
As I printed out worksheets for her...I got that old icky feeling again.
Math and I are not good friends...we are hardly even acquaintances anymore.
It all started with Addition in first grade...which was fine...
I love apples, pears, and oranges....and I can add them together, subtract them...I am comfortable with fruit salad.
Then the Multiplication Tables came into the room---and blew me away.
Remember those 'timed multiplication table tests'?
(aka: 'Instant Anxiety attack for a 9 year old...cloaked in that stupid piece of paper.')
I would get sick to my stomach, my head would ache, and the 'tick-tocking' of that stupid stop watch! OH MY GOD!
(I would have rather burned my coveted Wacky Packages than do that test.)
Then, the ultimate 'gut grabber' was the smacking down of the pencils as everyone else finished...scooching their chairs back as I sweated through the third of four columns to still be finished...Mrs. Mack would call 'time'...and it was like a slow mo action shot from a film...'NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO'!!!!
I did (finally) learn my multiplication tables after getting really tired of adding up 7+7+7+7+7+7+7...etc.
Fractions were friendly to me because I could visualize the apples, pears and oranges divided in sections---though I don't know that all my fruity doodles were all that appreciated on my tests.
Decimals sucked.
Long Division was friendly.
My kids learned some kind of weird division in school, and I gave up trying to help them with homework.
(Bring on the Creative Writing, or a Pilgrim Village built from Popsicle sticks! I'm the 'Diorama Diva!)
I gave up a Study hall in 9th grade so I could sit through 2 simultaneous bells of Algebra with Mr. Rullman---King of the Levi flat front corduroys.
He even dragged my desk (with me sitting in it) to the board one day when I did not understand something----(THANKS for THAT Rodney!)
Oh, yes...and then there was Geometry with Mr. Everheart...a guy that no one was ever sure if he was not high...or something.
(And thank you Julio for making the 'bong noises' in to your canned Coke during class...you smelled like pot, and the giggling did not help my fleeting concentration.)
I always miraculously 'forgot' my notebook, or geometry book...and would ask to be excused so I could 'go to my locker'....(and flirt with the senior boys on the way back....okok! I admit it!)
*Note: another way to get 'excused' from his class would be to clutch my purse, and ask to go to the Ladies room...you know...'female emergencies' totally freak out male teachers! hahaha!
So all my shenanigans earned me a spot in Summer School at First Colonial HS...aka: Surfer-Boys-A-Go-Go'...geometry was easier there...and I passed the class.
(Although, that was the summer Chris Hearn slammed his 1978 Bronco (with a lift) into my Chevette...and I subsequently slammed my head in to the steering wheel---2 reconstructive septum surgeries later, I am OK...thanks.)
I took Algebra 2---twice...my Junior and Senior years...nice.
(and thank you to all my Physics tutors who helped me graduate---my payback was all the awesome illustrations I did for you of the dead pig in Biology---so, we are even!)
I actually made it through 6 years of college without taking Math!
(I did have to take Biology for 'Non-Science Majors' my Senior year---and thank you to the professor who passed me---I still love you.Glad we had that talk, and you thought I was 'charming'.)
I can say this, though.
I graduated with a BFA in Fashion Design...and I can measure the heck outta some fabric...fractions and all.
I can also tell you how many yards you need to reupholster a sofa...
(20 yrds. depending on the repeat)