A Random Victory

Classroom Window Quick-Release Curtain Tutorial

2013-07-24T20:46:00.002-05:00

My sewing instructor once told us, "You want your items to look 'handmade' not 'homemade.'" Heck, I'll settle for either. I'm all about quick, easy, done. If you are inspecting my seams, then take a step back sister -- you are too close anyway. This tutorial is not at all fussy...just don't inspect any seams.

At school we have classroom windows. This windows are supposed to stay uncovered so administrators can peak in --- unless there is a lock down drill in which case the window must be covered. We aren't given anything to cover it with so last year my door had half a ripped ~~handmade~~ homemade "Don't Do Drugs" poster behind it at all times. It was trashy - with a capital T. I'm doing one better this year with a Quick Release Curtain.

The curtain attaches to the door with a little velcro. The ribbon holds it up so administrators can peak in. Then with a quick swipe of the hand, the ribbon tabs, again with the velcro, release and it falls to cover the window.

Here it is handing on my bathroom door because I don't want to go to my classroom, but you get the gist.

Here are my step-by-step instructions.

1. Start with two 1/2 yards of (45inch) cotton fabric. Mine is light colored and I wanted it to look nice and be opaque --- you know for lock downs and all-- so I got a solid for the back. I used TWO 1/2 yards of fabric because I lined it. If you pick a dark color, and don't care if the back looks nice, you can just hem the whole thing and skip to step 10. Go you! (cheater *eye roll*)

2. Iron the fabric so it looks all crisp and edges line up. (I lurve this pattern. It is remnant from the curtains I made for my classroom last year. Ooh! Matchy-matchy same-same!)

3. Line up the two pieces of fabric right sides together (in sew speak that is the "nice" sides together). Pin along THREE sides...trim any excess. Do not pin the fourth side because you'll need to turn it inside out. See the right sides together here?

4. Do a straight stitch along the three pinned sides leaving about 1/2 inch seams. Doesn't really matter though. I'm okay with homemade.

5. Once you've sewn the three sides, turn it inside out. Make sure to poke out those corners with your finger. :-) Essentially, you should have a giant pillow case now!

6. The edges like to try to bubble in, so pull the seam taut and iron it down.

7. Run a top stich down the top seam about 1/4" from the edge to keep it from bubbling. You really should stitch down all the sides to keep them from bubbling -- especially when you wash it, but I was feeling lazy, so I just did the top.

8. Run back over to the ironing board and make a 1 inch hem and iron it. See that selvedge edge? Yep -- too lazy to cut it off. I just roll it into the hem. Make another 1 inch roll, iron, pin, and sew to form a bottom hem. That 1 inch double roll will be a little heavy and that is a good thing. It will help pull the curtain down when you unfurl it later.

9. It should look like a big curtain now!

10. Attaching to the door is tricky. I decided to do Velcro -- cuz, I lurve velcro --and it makes it easy to take down later. I cut about 3 1/2 inch pieces for the left and right sides. I sewed the soft part to the curtain and the hard "hook" part I will hot glue to the door frame. Ghetto fabulous right? But I can scrape it off with a straight blade later. I may see if those Command Velcro pieces will work for the hook part, we'll see. But I'm okay with hot glue.

11. Sew the soft part of the velcro to each corner. Normally Velcro gets the X stitch treatment because you pull on it, but I doubt I'll be pulling these on and off the door often, so I just went over the edges twice. I also changed out the bobbin color to a cream so it would match the underside when it went through. Stick the hook part to it when you are done so you don't lose it!

12. Pick two 15 inch pieces of complementary grosgrain ribbon.

13. To keep the ribbon from fraying, use "Fray-Check", carefully melt the edges with a lighter, or if you are fancy like me, cut it with a wood burning tool on a piece of glass.

14. Pin the lengths of ribbon to the back of the curtain just inside the velcro pieces.

15. Use a zigzag stitch and go back and forth to attach the ribbon to the curtain. Get it on there good. No need to be pretty.

16. Cut two 1" pieces of velcro for your "quick-release". Wrap the ribbon around the curtain like it will be when done so you know what side to put the velcro on.

17. Pin the velcro piece on the fabric over that gnarly spot where you just attached the ribbon on the other side. Pin the velcro on the ribbon NOW -- because you'll totally forget what side to pin it on later. (Not that my seam ripper and I know anything about that).

18. Sew down the little soft pieces of velcro onto the fabric. Get 'em down good. I should have changed out my thread color, but I was ~~tired~~ ~~forgot~~ ~~messed-up~~ lazy.

19. After seeing that thread I DID change out my thread to match my ribbon for this part because it will show.

20. Stitch down those little pieces of velco pinned on the ribbons. You can X them or just make sure the edges are down good.

21. Accordion fold the length of the curtain and wrap the ribbon around and secure the the velcro tabs together. It is ready to be attached to the door! A quick tug on the ribbons and it will unfurl to cover the window. Tada!

Why Daft Punk Is Up All Night to Get Puppies

2013-06-22T16:38:00.003-05:00

Poor Claire gets both her father's freakishly good general hearing and my freakishly bad ability to understand lyrics from me.

Even though I have a strong musical background: years of high school band, private lessons, college music scholarship, lifelong love of all music, etc., I can't hear lyrics worth a damn.

I'm quite infamous for thinking that Eric Clapton had Jesus Christ on the phone in his classic "Cryin'." You can here the real version here. For years I thought Bon Jovi was singing, "I doesn't make a difference if we're naked or not" in "Livin' On a Prayer" (it is kind of better that way!). Even though it isn't lyric specific, Brad eternally loves to laugh at me for confusing AC/DC with Ozzy Osbourne. They totally do sounds the same. Listen to AC/DC and Ozzy here.

Since it is natural for me not to hear words, I've kind of just "tweaked" the inappropriate lyrics [that I can understand] for my 4 year old when they come on the pop radio stations. Did you know that in our version of Ke$ha's song Tik Tok she will:

Wake up in the morning feelin' like PDiddy

Grab my glasses; I'm out the door; I'm gonna hit this city.

Before I leave, brush my teeth to get rid of the plaque

cuz when I leave for the night, I ain't comin' back.

You might have seen her version of Thrift Shop where she thinks popping tags is "totally awesome."

Our most recent addition to the lyric rewrites has been Daft Punk's "Get Lucky." Claire caught me off guard driving down the freeway when she asked, "What are they talking about? Why are they up all night to get lucky?" Ummm....think quick, Mom! "They are staying up late to play games." I stutter... "they want to win. They are having good fun and getting lucky playing board games!" This got a good eye roll from Dad a few days later. He decided it sounded better if you sing it, "I'm up all night to get puppies." Claire loves it and we all sing "The Puppy Song." I dare you to hear this summer ear worm without singing "We're up all night to get puppies."

If you can't relate to any of this, I urge you to take a look at this piece of greatness. No one knows what they hell they are saying in Pearl Jam's Yellow Ledbetter. Enjoy.

Let's Be Besties

2013-06-14T14:17:00.000-05:00

I have my arms in the air for you Alida (see her post here: Let's Be Besties). It reminded me of my fragmented filter on a field trip to the science museum this year with 5th graders.

While [very impatiently] waiting for the khaki-wearing door nazis to let our group in, one mom chaperone yells at the girls who a jumping on those posts designed to keep you from driving into the museum. She says, "Girls! Stay off the pole!!" I walk over and say, "Good job. I say my main goal in teaching is keeping the girls off the pole, too." She looks at me aghast, smiles politely, and walks away.

Just a few hours later while filing into the Omni showing of "Butterflies" I politely decline my teacher seat because I'm terrified of butterflies (and 20 ft butterflies make me vomit in my mouth a little). This starts a little conversion between me and some parent chaperones.

Moms: You are afraid of butterflies?
Me: Yes, terrified.
Moms: Just butterflies?
Me: No, I hate birds too. Anything with wings really - birds, butterflies, flying insects, heck, I won't even use pads with wings.
Moms: (confused) pads? What?
Me: You know, maxi pads? (blushing now because I'm having to explain this)
Moms: Oh....(little titter)...goodness, I think the show is starting (obviously NOT starting)

I then spent the next 72 hours waiting for the principal to call me into his office where I would have to present a forged document with my Tourette's Syndrome documentation and threaten to call the ADA offices. It didn't come to fruition until the final day of school when "Keep'em Off the Pole" mom saw me at the final party. She says to me, "I can't stop thinking about what you said at the museum that day. I still laugh every time I think about it. You are hilarious --- and now you seem so real. I want you to know I'm going to request you for my 3rd grade daughter when she gets into 5th. Someone has to keep her off the pole."

Moral: Sometimes people don't throw their hands up, jump with you, and become soul mates right away. Sometimes they need time to process just how awesome you are.

MOM!!! You Exploded My Horses!

2013-06-08T20:12:00.002-05:00

In linguistics, idioms are usually presumed to be figures if speech contradicting the principle of compositionality.

In other words, idioms are hard. Especially if you are four years old.

There are believed to be over 25,000 idiomatic expressions in the English language including "hold your horses." That's where all this came from. Claire has heard me say many times, "Claire, just hold your horses.

So yesterday after waiting for many, many hours for the sun to go down and the start of the fireworks she starts physically spazzing out and proclaimed, "I can't do it! My horses are going to explode out! I can't hold them any more!"

We die laughing. She gets her affirmation and decides this is a good avenue for comedy gold. So today on the way to the library Brad and I make a casual mention about a Slurpee. She inhales sharply and squeals, "We are getting a Slurpee!!!" No, no, we explain, we just mentioned a Slurpee. It was only 10am, not appropriate Slurpee time (if you are teaching good eating habits to a 4 year old...I personally thing there is never a bad time for a Slurpee). She deflates and grumbles, "Mom, you exploded my horses." More laughs.

And that, my friends, is how new idioms are born.

Mother's Day Spoons: A reflection

2013-05-12T19:08:00.002-05:00

Mother's Day has me all reflective. I would like to share a short story from several years ago. I always think about it around this time of year.
*******

I was building catapults with my GT kids and needed more plastic spoons. Specifically the heavy duty ones that can withstand a rapid fire propulsion of marshmallows. I started at Dollar Tree, but being regularly questionably stocked I wasn't surprised when they were out. Then I stopped at Walgreens, but they were out too. Ugh. I had to trek to Walmart for stupid spoons.

I was pissed. It was a Saturday afternoon in May. The store was crowded. I hate Walmart in the afternoon. I get to the paper good section to find.....not a goddamn spoon in the place. What the hell! Next to me are two women and I unintentionally start this conversation.

Me: (exasperated) Why are there no spoons!?!?!?!?! Where are they!?
Lady #1: (like, duh) It is Mother's Day weekend.
Me: (very snark-castic) Of course! How thoughtless of me. I didn't think to get my mom any Mother's Day spoons.
Lady #1: (walks away)
Lady #2: Mother's Day barbecues Sweetie.

So I ask you, did you get your mom her Mother's Day spoons?

My Sleep Number is $$$

2012-06-12T20:45:00.000-05:00

I greatly regret getting a Sleep Number bed seven years ago. Really, it doesn't take a rocket surgeon to figure out that your mattress should not become susceptible to mechanical failure. But we had good reasoning:

1. In the coming years I was going to be getting pregnant and women get uncomfortable sleeping during pregnancy. I was never uncomfortable during pregnancy and slept just fine. It isn't hard to adjust when you only gain 17 pounds. I've gained more on during a trip to CiCi's Pizza.

2. We could each adjust the bed to what was comfortable for us without having to compromise. Um, both our sleep numbers are 30. No compromise there.

3. Brad had bad back discs. Reduced pressure points would ease his pain. Still lots of pain. Actually, worse now. And I have ruptured discs too now. Money well spent, don't you think?

Add to these inconvenient truths the fact that the thing is noisy as hell and the tubes rub the paint off the wall and we aren't all that pleased. Now the sides have started to bulge because the foam is wearing out and I've recently started rolling to a saggy part in the middle. This makes my back hurt worse causing me to cradle a body pillow in front of me and put another pillow under my back like a wheel chock to keep from rolling into the pit. Brad accuses me of building a "fortress" around myself so he can't touch me.

Enough was enough today when I woke up with a sore back from rolling into the hammock. While Claire zoned out to Doc McStuffins, I ripped the covers off and unzipped the mattress to examine its grotesque inner-workings. The foam was torn in the middle and on the sides, foam was coming apart, but I couldn't see any gap between the chambers. I sweated and pushed and shoved and zipped everything back up. With no improvement. I still felt like a Plinko chip destined for the $10,000 spot.

A spent and hour chatting with the kind folks at Sleep Number who basically told me that if I sleep alone, I'll roll. But, dear call center employee, I said it happens when I sleep with my partner. OOoooh, well he must be heavier (nope). You need a chamber lift $$ (don't think so). I also need a new foam cover $$$ to replace the torn one. And those pesky bulging sides need to be fixed to keep everything centered $$$. With shipping and tax, we come to about $250. Zoinks.

Well, hello Google & chat boards. Nice to meet you. Seems this saggy middle thing is REALLY common with Sleep Number beds as they age. People kept saying they just needed a stronger piece of foam between the two chambers for support. It was a manufacturing quality issue. So where does one get a piece of high density foam? After some good pondering.... Walmart...$2.

That is your garden variety pool noodle stuffed between the chambers. I'm a genius I tell you.

So it isn't a 100% fix, but it will limp it along until we can save up the cash to buy a mattress that doesn't require pool noodles to work properly. Plus, I'm assured of one more barrier between me and my husband.

Spring Break: A comparative analysis

2012-02-25T13:05:00.004-06:00

The last three days, I’ve been home with Claire while she goes through a cycle of illnesses that only seem to make me tired while has the energy of 100 Jack Russell terriers. I started referring to it as my “pre-spring break” break and realized how similar they really were.

May I submit to you, a comparative analysis for your consideration:

Spring Break of Other People	Pre-Spring Break at My House

Holding down a giggling girl to pour vodka in her belly button for a body shot.	Holding down a screaming girl to poor antibiotic eye drops in for pink eye.
Trips to exotic locations like Panama City and Daytona Beach.	Trip to exotic locations like CVS and Walgreens.
Sleeping on the floor in the hall because everyone is passed out drunk.	Sleeping on the hall floor because someone is sleeping in peace with the door closed and the other has to stay close to listen for wheezing.
Wild night --- panties are lost – nowhere to be found.	Wild night --- The Beast’s arm is missing – nowhere to be found.
Trying to score some ecstasy in the parking lot of a club because it is the only drug she will do.	Trying to score some orange Triaminic because it is the only flavor she’ll take.
Thinking of creative ways to tell your parents why the car has “sexy lady” spray painted down the side of it.	Thinking of creative ways to tell my husband why he found corn dog parts in the couch.
Experiencing exotic cultures.	Experiencing negative strep cultures.
Often hearing, “Do it! Do it! Do it!” during a keg stand.	Often hearing, “Do it! Do it! Do it!” while she tries to get the dog to eat his own paw (pictured above).
Sitting on a sandy, sunny beach reading a trashy novel for hours on end.	Sitting in a lawn chair in a weed-filled lawn blowing bubbles for hours on end.
Lots of puke – from drinking.	Lots of puke – from mucus.

The Children's Illustrated Guide the 2012 Grammy Fashion

2012-02-12T20:28:00.008-06:00

Here are just some quick thoughts and images from the Grammy Awards tonight.

LL Cool J-
I looked it up. He is 44 freggin' years old. Has this man found the fountain of youth? He looks the exact same age as when he did Encino Man with Pauly Shore in 1992.

Carrie Underwood vs Whitney Houston in "Who Wore It Better" -
Sorry Carrie. Even with your middle school eye make-up, a recently decease pop icon is always going to win this category.

Fergie-
I love orange. And I love Jean Paul Gaulier. But she is putting the "Grammy" into the Grammys with those horrid granny panties. Sure, things needed to be covered up, but fail.

Bruno Mars-
Loved the performance in the gold suit. It made both me and my hubby say, "I didn't know he was black..." Then we did a double take and realized he is actually Filipino, but the old Motown styling was so awesome it did a trick. Also, in this picture. No socks Bruno? Reminds me of the days we used to show up with no black socks for marching competition and have to barefoot the dinkles.

Anne V.-
This barely passes for a swimsuit cover up. This is not a slit. It is a one-legged dress.

I'm sure there will be more to ridicule, but I'm too old and tired to stay up for it. :-)

Thoughts from the Walmart Checkout

2012-02-11T19:24:00.003-06:00

I never go to Walmart on Saturday afternoon. Sunday morning before 9am is my preferred time to show. But since we live in the backwoods state of Texas, and I can't get a bottle of sangria before noon on Sunday, and I didn't want to drag Claire with me, I went out this afternoon.

Big mistake.

I spent from 3:48 - 4:18pm in the checkout line. I kid you not. That's thirty minutes of my life I will never get back. But, since I was at ghetto Walmart I decided to jot a blog on the back of my grocery list in my newly free time.

Here are my observations and thoughts from an afternoon at Walmart:

1. It is the weekend before Valentine's Day so Walmart has rolled out the red (neck) carpet. Bouquets of sad, under-blossomed red carnations are abound. Granted, they regularly carry descent mixed bouquets of flowers, but that is not what I'm talking about. These are pathetic little red carnations. No girl deserves these. If "Every Kiss Begins with Kay" then every Feb 14 domestic violence incident begins with these flowers. There are also bins full of plush red and pink animals and I assume these are for little girls. Oh, but of course not. I see men, grown-ass men, digging through them talking about their wives and girlfriends to each other. The day my husband gets me a neon pink bear made in China is the day I know he no longer loves me. And he can send me pathetic red carnations with the divorce papers.

2. Why....why....why!...must you bring the whole family to the store? I think I was the only person there alone. I understand many parents have to take their children with them because of a lack of childcare. Said children should not be allowed to run free. Put them in the freakin' buggy---or a leash, I don't care. Allow your toddler to walk around and help you pick oatmeal on a Tuesday at 9:45am; not a Saturday at the supercenter. Best of all, leave them at home. And leave your husband (or baby daddy) at home with them. And Grandma. And Aunt Cleo and Uncle Andrew. Why does it take five adults and 6 kids to grocery shop for the week? It doesn't! But yet I see it all over the store as I have to wait for a conga line to pass before I can turn. Keep your ass at home and clear the aisle for sane people. I don't even understand couples who shop together. Honestly, only one of you is cooking -- or you know the meals the other one cooks -- so send one person to the store and get your crap and leave.

3. Hey Lady. Yeah, you. The 300+ pound woman in cheetah print leggings (stretched to the point they have lost opacity) and a short tank top. Yeah, I'm talking to you. Just 'cuz they sell it at Walmart doesn't mean you can wear it here (or anywhere). Just sayin'.

4. I abhor people who just stand in the middle of an aisle staring like they've never seen laundry detergent before, completely oblivious to the people around them trying to get by. Yes, I am a slow coupon shopper and I stop my buggy and dig for coupons only on off hours. That means early mornings or during the week. Never during rush hours. Why can't they just grab a freggin' package of Fig Newtons and keep going?

5. Who are these people who buy entire cart loads of Banquet frozen dinners. I'm not talking, "stock the deep freeze because they are on sale and we have them for the babysitter's nights." I'm talking 75-100 frozen meals. I imagine it is kind of like the Jetson's at their house every night. They pop their tray in the microwave and Rosie brings it over when it is done. Or maybe it rides a conveyor belt.

I'm glad I went on Saturday, because after that trip, I really needed that wine.

Pseudo-Asian Food

2012-01-29T13:15:00.002-06:00

No snark today. Just some good cheap, easy, quick recipes I thought I'd share.

Since I'm home with Claire on my own in the evening, it is really hard to cook a good meal. I'm exhausted and she wants to insert small objects into the electrical sockets while I'm not looking. So I like recipes that 1) are two for ones 2) get cooked in the crockpot 3) make tons of leftovers and 4) don't require expensive or exotic ingredients.

Here is one that I love (and I did this weekend) that is Asian inspired. Because no one cooks Chinese like a Southern woman.

Two-fer Meal:
Asian Chicken Tacos ($7 for about 15 tacos)
Chicken & Veggie Egg Rolls ($5.50 for about 15 egg rolls)

Morning:
Crockpot for 8 Hours:
2 large chicken breasts (or 3-4 small ones) ($4ish--buy on sale and freeze)
1/2 bottle BBQ sauce ($.50)
cover with water

Evening --- Meal #1 Asian Chicken Tacos:
Crockpot chicken
1/4c. BBQ sauce ($.25)
handful cilantro ($.50)
1/2 bag pre-shredded cole slaw mix (no sauce) ($.75)
1/8 c. Asian salad dressing (Kraft makes a toasted sesame one that is good and widely available) ($.50)
corn tortillas ($1.50)

1. Fork shred chicken. It cooked so long it should fall apart.
2. Remove and store about 3/4 c. chicken for Egg Rolls.
3. Add about 1/4c BBQ sauce to shredded chicken. Set aside.
4. Chop a handful of cilantro. Add to half the cole slaw mix. Mix with 1/8 c. Asian Sesame Dressing.
5. Warm corn tortillas
6. Fill tortillas with chicken mix and top with slaw.

Meal #2- Chicken Veggie Egg Rolls
1/4 onion - chopped fine ($.25)
2 ribs celery - chopped fine ($.25)
1 carrot - grated ($.25) ---there is some in the mix, so skip if you don't have it on hand
2T butter
1/2 bag cole slaw ($.75)
soy sauce
sesame oil (if on hand)
egg roll wrappers ($2)
frying oil ($1)

1. Saute onion, celery, and carrot in 2 tablespoons butter until soft.
2. Add remaining half bag of cole slaw mix, add 1/4 c. water to steam. Cook until soft
3. Add about 4 tablespoons of soy sauce & a little sesame oil if you have it on hand
4. Finely chop reserved chicken and mix it in. Remove from heat
5. Roll into egg roll wrappers; sealing with a moistened finger.
6. Heat about 1 inch of oil in a pan on medium heat. Cook egg rolls in small batches until golden brown. Makes about 15 --- -and they are good reheated even if they aren't still crispy.

For dipping, I don't like any of the Sweet & Sour sauces available in the grocery store. Soooo...when Claire gets McNuggets I request Sweet & Sour for dipping. Then keep it in the fridge until egg roll time. There is a gray area between unethical and frugal don't you think?

Inked

2012-01-24T19:01:00.003-06:00

The obsession began almost 4 years ago. Being five-months pregnant Brad dragged me to a dirty tattoo parlor on the East side of Fort Worth.

Okay, so actually Brad said he was going to get a tattoo while I was getting my hair cut and I BEGGED him to let me go so he couldn't do anything crazy. But that is close to being dragged, right? And might I add, while tattoo studios aren't known for their upscale clients and sparkling facilities, Randy Adam's studio has cleaner bathrooms than the Babies R Us.

Brad had a small ying-yang tattoo with fluidity arrows in yellow and gold on his shoulder when we met. Now, facing the end of his life being "cool" after having a baby he wanted to have his tattoo added on to. I was TERRIFIED! He didn't know what he wanted and I didn't want him all scarred up with a picture of Carmen Miranda on his bicep. However, the very skilled artist added some nice flames and re-did the bland monochromatic of the original work and I was mesmerized. I've wanted a tattoo ever since.

It came up at work this summer. One of the teens at Academy was saying she wanted ivy up her side from her hip to armpit. Very pretty, but I interjected, "If you ever plan on having babies, you might wait. Otherwise it will look like a plant that hasn't been watered in a month." She scoffs, rolling her eyes at the old woman I have become and counters that "you don't stretch on your side when you get pregnant." No. No, you don't. I was wrong. I'll help you pay for it even. Let's go after work.

So any place on my body that will stretch or sag is off limits. I also don't like other body parts because they don't work for me. I have a square build, so no shoulders. That is too manly. I'm not big of foot tats either. Unless I want a moon man jumpping into a crater, the thighs are strictly off-limits. And if I want anything on my bikini line it will need to meld with the Van Gogh-esque squiggle lines of stretchmarks. Maybe a nice Edvard Munch "The Scream". That might work nicely.

I wear my hair in a pony most of the time, so the neck isn't going to work. Not to mention I get cysts there, so I get sliced open by my doctor alot. I can't imagine having a Tweety bird on my neck only to have him decapitated by my dermatologist. I'd have to go in and getting another tattoo of Sylvester with a bloody knife added next to him.

In addition to where, I need a what. It has to have meaning -- either deep or ironic -- to fit me. I don't like cartoons or verses or even other language symbols. Do you think Asians have English tattoos on their chest? It makes me wonder if they just like the way the letters MEAT look and have them stamped on their bodies.

A friend asked what my favorite book was to find inspiration, but somehow "Team Edward" seems a little dated and fickle. I mean, what if I decide later I'm more of a werewolf girl?

So help a girl out. You know me better than I know myself. Give me a what and a where. I promise to consider it....even if I know good and well I will never follow through on any of it.

There She Is....Miss America

2012-01-15T20:37:00.008-06:00

Like most little girls, I grew up watching the Miss America Pageant on TV and wondering what life would be like when I was their age. Now, at 31, I still watch and wonder what life will be like when I am their age --- because they look like they are pushing 40.

When Miss Tennessee's age pops up at the bottom of the screen as 19 years old, I am dead shocked. Her bleach blond, over-teased hair with an orange tan, sinewy muscles, decorated with enough eye liner to make an 8th grade girl jealous and a shade of red lipstick only my grandmother could love make her look like a tramped up trophy wife of a car wash magnate. I didn't see one in the competition last night that looked under the age of 25 --- and I was being generous. Most of them looked like they were in their late 30's and weren't dealing with their aging. Add to that the fact that their teeth are so over whitened they look inhuman, and they just look odd.

Don't get me wrong. Their bodies are pretty smoking. I don't have the guts to get up there in a swimsuit. (No, literally, I don't have the guts. My gut is all squishy and white. They have very nice guts you could probably bounce a quarter off.) But the Miss America organization has, for several years, put limitations on the swimsuits that make them look even more off. They have a "no side-boob" policy so the swimwear looks quite "industrial." If they are going to make these girls prance around in heals and a bikini, at least let them pick one that looks good!

But maybe letting them chose wouldn't be the best idea. The winner, Miss Wisconsin, chose a fabulous black evening gown with lace top and cap sleeves. The back was to die for. However, Miss Alabama showed a little less style. The kind of style that Clinton and Stacy normally intervene in.
I screamed, "Oh no! That is a Christmas tree topper, not a shoulder adornment!" Brad said, "She can scrub all that make-up off with that loofah when she's done." This picture doesn't quite do it justice.

After the first hour I start to lose interest, but the talent segment was surprisingly good. If I were in the pageant, I would have to enter my talent as snarky blogging. I was pleased there wasn't so much bad singing (yes, there was some). Most of the talents, I have derived, are things the girls did until 6th grade. Then a few years later, when they enter the pageant circuit, they have to have a talent, so they pick it back up. Hence, all the horrible interpretive dance and bad pointe ballet. Unfortunately, Miss Texas, picked a lovely talent that she looked horrible doing.
You really should think twice before picking a talent that has you looking like Montgomery Burns. She was all hunched over and her man-hands were all pointy. Although, I have to give her mad props for working the pedals in spikes and chiffon.

Later in the evening, Claire started throwing a cross between a screaming tantrum fit and a mosh pit dance. Daddy threw down the, "What in the world are you screaming about!" She replied she was doing a dance and singing. It was the "Tomato Pup." We laughed as she threw her arms around and moaned and screamed. Brad and i looked at each other like she might have completely lost it. After about 10 minutes, Brad put it together..."Are you singing Opera like that girl?" (Tomato Pup? Opera? You only notice the similarity when you have a preschooler) Yes! She was.
All the contestants talk about how they are role models. Well, congratulations. You have modeled to my daughter to wear way too much makeup and how to sing the Tomato Pup. Thanks for the fun of the 2012 pageant.

Saving Money....or How I Cheat My Family

2012-01-08T14:13:00.004-06:00

I am a horrible cheapskate. My mom always said I could pinch a penny so tight you could see through it. I coupon and bargain shop, and I really enjoy it. Sometimes it goes a little too far.

You know it is bad when you take money advice from Roseanne Barr. I remember this episode from the show in the 90's where Roseanne gets caught by John pouring store brand "CoCo Charms" into the empty CoCo Puff's box. She tells him she's been using the same box for years and the kids don't know the difference.

Here is my interpretation:

The premium stuff in the carafe is $3 when you can find it on sale! The frozen concentrate is $1.87, plus, I don't have to wag home that heavy bottle. Sure, I could save another $.50 if I got store brand, but orange juice companies use personalized flavor-ants to ensure consistency. That is why Minute Made always takes like Minute Made. Name brand ensures my family doesn't catch on to my scam. (And I'm pretty sure they don't bother to read my blog, so we are good.)

After making my fake-out juice, I went to Dollar Tree to get flash cards and stuff for alphabet games. Here is the pack I got. Notice anything strange?

Thirty-six cards? How does THAT work? I thought maybe there were some activity cards so I tore into the pack like a wild wolverine (notice the taped up box as an afterthought?). There are all twenty-six upper case letters. Then ten random lower case letters. I figure his is why low-income kids often have trouble with early literacy. Their parents can only afford Dollar Tree learning products. Let me just say Dollar Tree, I couldn't spell the name of your store with the letters you provided, so let's work on that.

But Dollar Tree is how we came to know about Claire. I half-ass realized my period was late and wanted to take a pee test just to rule out the possibility of an embryo causing it. I had a Dollar Tree test and it was positive. Shocked the shit out of me. I ran up to Brad and rambled one long word that should have been divided into words to form a sentence or sentences. "Brad-I-just-took-a-pregnancy-test-and-it-came-back-positive-It-was-a-dollar-tree-test-so-maybe-it-is-wrong-but-if-not-we-are-having-a-baby."

Love my husband. He was so calm. He smiled, calmed me down, and said we would go out and get another test that cost more than a grab bag of Doritos and try again. But the Dollar Tree test was right.

Life can be fun on the cheap. But I'm pretty sure that pack was missing the h and f, so we'll be having "un on the ceap."

God Told Me to Eat a Cookie

2012-01-07T21:30:00.002-06:00

Minus a recurring affair with homemade egg rolls, I'm being good. Healthy. Weight-conscious. Yesterday, I had a lovely mixed green salad with fruit for lunch. Then my brother invited me over for turkey tacos. Being a guest, I can't show up without dessert. So while at Albertson I pick up a bag of their bakery cookies which are, by far, the most awesome cookies ever.

I load the groceries into the back hatch, start the car, and organize my purse and phone for easy access. Then I'm over-run with my brain having a fight. It was like I could literally HEAR the angel and the devil on each shoulder duke-ing it out.

devil: I want a cookie!
angel: No, it is 4:45. You can have one after dinner.
devil: No, I neeeeeed a cookie.
angel: I've been good all day.
devil: Exactly, good all day. Won't hurt now.
angel: No, this is ridiculous I'm not getting out of my running car to get a cookie.

The devil won. I was compelled (I don't use this word lightly) to get out of my car and go get a cookie. When I get back there I see a man, cowboy mid-60's, whose spur strap has come undone. He is crouched behind my car trying to fix his boot.

Guys, I totally would have backed right over him. It wasn't the devil on my shoulder, but God. God told me to eat that cookie so I wouldn't run over the cowboy!

Eat a cookie. Save a life. Share the news.

I've Been Slushied

2010-06-23T19:01:00.002-05:00

I drive like a grandma and I don't care what you think. Actually, it's not that bad, but I don't drive like a raging maniac like most people on the road.

I go to the speed limit (especially construction zones).
I yield at those triangular signs.
I REFUSE to pull into the "turn lane" in the middle of a busy roadway when making a left out of a parking lot --- that is not what they are for.
I don't block intersections, even if my light is green.
I stop at a red light before turning right on red.

Don't honk at me when I follow the rules of the road. You are the ass-hat (I stole that from someone who knows about ass-hats!).

So imagine my surprise last week when I was zipping along going about 63 in a 60 and an ass-hat starts riding my bumper. I am considerate. I will pull to the left, but there was someone to my left. Sorry ass-hat. You'll have to wait 1/4 mile so this guy can get past me. But he gets closer.

Tailgating is irritating and dangerous and I have my toddler in the car with me. I'm scared and mad. He is driving a full-size van and is SO CLOSE that I can only see his windshield. No hood. No bumper.

Then I see we are driving into a construction zone marked 50 miles and hour. He is so close, if I tap my breaks, he will rear-end me. I just take my foot off the gas to slow down. I glance in my rear view mirror to see ass-hat having a seizure of rage. He is shaking his hands, screaming, and then he begins to honk. Geez Louise!

Guy to the right of me is disregarding the posted speed limit and continues at about 65mph. Now the right lane is clear, but ass-hat is honking and I'm wondering if he is having the same terrorist issue that Keaneu was having in Speed. I'm actually scared to change lanes now. You know how idiots will whip around you even though you have your signal on? So I put my hand up and urge him to go around and pass me by using an arch shaped hand motion.

I glance over at ass-hat when he passes because I feel like he is glaring at me. As I look he throws something at my car! It makes a soft thump and I can only assume it was a soft drink or slushy a la Glee.

Heeeeelllll no! That is vandalism of property and throwing things from a moving vehicle is a misdemeanor. I speed up just enough to memorize his license plate and pick up my cell phone:

911: 911 What is your emergency?
Me: CVS-*** that is the license plate --- write it down before I forget.
911: What happened.
Me: This guy threw a slushy at my car because I wouldn't speed in a construction zone.
911: Where are you?
Me: I'm going NW on Southwest Blvd. He just exited on Bryant Irvin.
911: I'll let the officers in the area know.
Me: Can you make him pay to wash the slushy off my car?
911: That will me a matter for the officer.
Me: Can you tell the officer that I only use the quick wash, so if the guy is willing to fork over $4 I won't put him in jail.
911: I'm not sure slushy throwing is an imprisionable offense.
Me: It should be. My car is sticky. And he is an ass-hat.
911: Thank you ma'am. Have a nice day.

Mommy's Drunk

2010-06-20T21:40:00.003-05:00

My friend Booyah says she has words. She likes to read words and she likes to write words. Sometimes she is overpowered by the need to write her words. I totally get it. Summer makes me want to write my words. Here are some words about today.

My grandfather died yesterday. He was 85 and lived a long, full life. He went peacefully. I'm not ready to use my words about it yet - I'm not really a sad word user. I'm more of a road rage and coupon shopping word user. But you will need to know that to understand the rest of my day.

It was also my sister-in-law Kristy's birthday this week. We planned to celebrate birthday / father's day today by going to dinner. My dad had $100 in gift chips (apparently this place is too hip to use gift cards) to this Mexican place not far from my house. Mexican. Margaritas for the girls & the guys drive to my house for cake after. Sounds great.

So I hear my mom tell the waitress "...on the rocks with salt." Oh Mom! You know how to do it. Only tourists and 19 year olds with fake IDs get frozen. I tell the waitress, "Ditto."

Waitress then brings out a giant margarita. Mom ordered large (go mom, btw). I take a sip and it has some zip. I space it out with sweet tea and lots of chips, but my eyes start to get buggley. You know the feeling. Buggley - they get kind of shakey and feel like they kind of bug out a little.

***I might should chose an aside that I am a total light-weight. I never drank in college. I've been "drunk" all of twice in my life. The first time was off wine at a family wedding. I was with my mom and dad and my brother caught me as I tried to fall down the escalator of the Worthington Hotel downtown. Dad had to help me in the truck and do my seat belt for me. Not exactly what they show in the teen movies of the late 1990's.***

The hubs tells me my eyes are glazed over and maybe I should drink some tea. So I do. And then go back to the bottle. It's the salt. It makes me crazy. All the sudden I go from Buggley Eyes to The Giggly Feeling. Oh no. Two drink Kortnye is coming out. One drink makes me mellow and want to sleep under the table. Two drinks makes me want to dance on top of the table.

I lean over to Brad, "Oh gosh. I'm schnockered! *giggle*" I start kind of watching the room. I can't imagine most people feel this way when they are drunk. It feels like what they portray an Ecstasy trip on TV like. Lights are flashing. Peoples voices sound all funny. I can't focus. Start sweating. In fact, I'm fanning myself (grinning like an idiot) and my brother looks over and pronounces to my mom and dad that I'm toast. The hubs takes the baby for a walk and everyone finishes their dinner. I vaguely remember talking about Spanish translations and how I can speak better Spanish when I'm drunk on tequila. Gotta remember that one for my resume.

We left and my wobbly steps got me to car -- baby in tow. The sun and air conditioner feel good and my serious buzz starts to wear off to a minor buzz. We get home and I'm comfortable enough to let the rest peter out naturally.

The best part is when I walk in and Bean declares, "Mommy's drunk!" She thinks it is hilarious and she gets a great reaction out of her crowd so she continues. Let's hope this doesn't memory doesn't flare up at Target and she sticks with the less CPS-prone "Chia Pet!" that she thinks is so hilarious.

After everyone leaves, I go to my closet to prepare for visitation and funerals for the next few days. I have one skirt and blouse that will work, but not for both events. I will have to either wear something seasonally inappropriate or dig something out from deeper in the closet.

The closet turns up one dress that makes me look like I'm wearing a black pillow case -- it is that figure flattering. And one dress from about 20 pounds ago, but it is stretchy, so I try. The fabric actually laughed at me. I looked like a cross between Morticia Adams and the before picture on a Spanx box. Then I remember my go-t0 dress. It is black and white, but subdued enough for a funeral. I LOVE this dress. It is conservative enough for winter, but cool enough for summer. It is great for working all day and then hitting an award banquet at night. It is PERFECT. It fits. And it is maternity -- so what. You absolutely can't tell and that is probably why it is so awesome.

And this dress is missing. How does one LOSE a dress. At what point did I take off my clothes in a strange location and leave them somewhere? I don't go to the gym. I don't change clothes at friends houses. It isn't in my car. It isn't in my closet or any laundry hamper. WHERE does a dress just disappear to? So I'm down to begging a friend to raid her closet or going to Target to find something cheap.

We'll see. But I'm betting my dress is somewhere near a bottle of tequila.

I really shouldn't say this...

2010-05-05T20:10:00.002-05:00

I really shouldn't. I've been ask, told, and even reasoned with not to share, but I think it is really freggin' funny.

A couple of days ago, Claire got to the babysitter's house and immediately peed so much she peed through the diaper. No, it didn't leak. It was actually the water-resistant fibers bursting at the seems. She has done this on a few occasions, but she usually saves it for the slide so we get to clean urine off her slide too.

DAY 1 of Pee Pants:
The sitter put her in a clean pair of shorts and tied up the pee-pants in a walmart sack and let me know I needed to bring a fresh emergency outfit for the next day. She left the pee-pants on the dryer and I didn't see them, therefore didn't get them.

DAY 2 of Pee Pants:
When I drop Claire off, the pee-pants bag is waiting in the hallway. I don't want to leave the pee-pants in her entry hall all day, so I take them with me. In the parking lot at school, I decide it is not a good idea to leave the pee-pants in the car on an 80+ degree day or else I will likely have pee-car. So I grab the walmart sack in my load of stuff and truck into the school.

As I walk into school, I very habitually stop by the kitchen and put my lunch (in a walmart sack) in the communal fridge. After a couple of hours, I notice my lunch on my table and think, "I thought I put that in the fridge?" Oh, you know where this is going. I walk down and put my lunch in the fridge to find the pee-pants. Good lord. I remove them discretely and take the now chilled pants to my room and place them next to my purse so as not to forget them.

Of course, I forgot them.

DAY 3 of Pee-Pants:
They hang out in my classroom yet another day and I remember to bring them home. However, I have left them in my car for several hours having forgotten about them. I have already done baby laundry for the night ---- sans pee-pants.

I see this day ending with a SECOND load of laundry consisting only of a single pair of baby pants. Either that, or I will forget them.

Kiss Me

2010-04-21T20:24:00.006-05:00

I noticed on my way home today there is a new store opening in my neighborhood: Kiss Beauty Supply.

I can't decide what I want to buy first.

A "RastaPride" backcombing tool to get my hair at maximum altitude OR:

a Gene Simmons "Demon" make-up set.

I've been wanting to experiment with eyeliner lately. I'm glad that Kiss Beauty Supply will be here to help me out.

Rock on Tom Jones

2010-04-13T17:47:00.002-05:00

Today kind of rocked.

I wouldn't normally say that jury duty is awesome, but it was today. I came prepared. Even the security guard laughed at me because it took two trips to get all my stuff through the x-ray machine. I told her, if nothing else, I was efficient. Staking our a chair next to a credenza so I could splay my crap, I was able to grade, scale, score, norm, and record a whole set of second grade IQ tests (which does seem oxymoronical). Following that I created spreadsheets of all my students for the next 4 weeks for accurate record keeping. Two hours later, I was ready to dig into Jen Lancaster and try not to snort in the jury room.

We we dismissed at lunch without providing any service besides getting a mo'fo' of a backache from a crappy plastic chair.

Noon and no plans to speak of? No baby? No husband? Freakin' party!

My windshield has a crack, so i decided to take care of that. But the guy is a friend of my Dad's and I didn't want to embarrass him, so I headed to the U-Do-It car wash. I run it through, only to remember I need to get my door fixed because it leaks water when it rains or in car washes. Like cars are supposed to be waterproof anyway.

I can't help but think I am the nerdiest girl at the car wash in the ghetto. While I'm going through the drive, I pull out my Windex and paper towels, climb around the car and clean all the interior windows. It is a sight to see, I'm sure. Then I pull around to the vacuums and the other two vehicles in bays have their doors open with music blasting gangsta rap. I'm not sure whether this kind sharing was intended to scare me or make me think, "Wow, he must have huge testicles to listen to that kind of music."

The culture of opening windows to blast your music is an odd one to me. I don't get it. One - I don't like loud music. Two - I don't expect others to like the music I listen to, at least at the exact same time as me. Whether it is your apartment, your car in front of your house, at a stop light, or at a car wash, turn that shit down!

With my sense of irony intact, I decide that I too have the right to play my funky music white girl. I stop vacuuming Cheerios and goldfish out of the back seat long enough to scroll through my iPod and crank my Ford factory stereo. What might my friendly new car wash neighbors like to enjoy with me? I pick the whitest music I can find that isn't country (that is too easy). Hello Tom Jones! He would like to ask you what is new, Pussycat.

Of course, the music alone isn't enough. Please imagine me with my mini-SUV with clearance rack diapers spilling out, my own bottle of Windex, in a pair of mid-thigh length khaki shorts belting along while I clean, "WHOOOOOA, WHOOOOA, WHOOOOA....Pussy cat, pussy cat, I love YOU! Yes, I do! Wooopppeee Doooooo!"

Word to your mother.

Thoughts on Sheep

2010-04-08T20:03:00.003-05:00

Bean watches "Shaun the Sheep." A LOT of sheep. She is quite obsessed with sheep (and cows --- moooo! --- for that matter).

The sheep cartoon got me thinking: Do overweight sheep make more wool that their healthy-weighted peers?

Side A says that an overweight sheep would create more surface area and hence, more area for wool in which to grow.

Side B said that overweight sheep are set with a genetically predetermined number of hair (wool) follicles. When said sheep packs on the pounds, the skin stretches and more widely distributes the set amount of wool.

That said, if side B is correct, are fat sheep then less warm that their svelte counterparts? They have more surface area to warm, but less wool per square inch.

Oh, the things I think about. I probably could have cured cancer by now.

Pretty soon I won't say huh

2010-04-03T08:09:00.004-05:00

Booyah, you have inspired me to write again. Sorry I couldn't give you the topic, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't apply to you.

Spring Break was two weeks ago and I'm still recovering. Leaking washing machine, exploded swimming pool, sick family, and more. It sucked. The best part was my hearing test.

Brad has been harassing me for years that I'm deaf. I know I don't hear as well as other people. So what. I'm an Eagleton. My maiden name is "huh?" I've always thought that Wierd Al was the King of Greatness because I can understand his lyrics and he hears them like I do. It took me years to realize that Eric Clapton's hit "She is Crying" (she is crying....she is crying on the floor) was actually "Jesus Christ - Jesus Christ - Jesus Christ is on the phone." But it is normal. Brad just has freak super-sonic hearing.

To humor him I made an appointment with an audiologist for a full-scale hearing assessment. I would come home, doctor's note in hand, that stated HE WAS WRONG!!! Muuhahahaha!

It didn't go exactly as I planned. During the appointment I was locked in a soundproof box and asked to perform all kind of monkey experiments including the famous push-the-button-when-you-hear-the-beep test. I've never felt more unsuccessful during a test in all my life. I knew there were supposed to be beeps in the silence. Should I just push the button? Surely there was a beep there.

Emerging from the box, defeated, I was informed I have moderate to severe hearing lose in both ears. Alas, not the result of loud Weird Al concerts or marching band competitions or elementary school field trip buses, but rather a genetic juvenile neuro hearing loss -- late onset. I know I'm always late. it sure is nice to have "juvenile" in your hearing loss diagnosis I must say.

I have developed coping mechanisms during the last years. Turns out I don't hear a lot of consonants when people speak. AEIOU (and sometimes Y) don't leave you with a lot of room for comprehension. I use what I can hear with context clues to figure things out. My brain works overtime constantly. That is why I asked the teacher in the lounge what happened to her grandmother she looked at me with a funny face and said, "These cramps hurt like a mother!" Oops. Got that context wrong.

I also read lips. Seriously! I have an undiscovered super-spy, ninja skill! When the audiologist asked me to repeat after her a list of words I did great. Then she covered her mouth with a folder and she sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher. Now I notice myself doing it all the time. It is also the reason I hate cartoons. Their mouths don't match. Screw you Fraggles.

She asked me if I would like to try out some hearing aids. Oh, dear God. Hearing aids at age 29. I can have those nice beige plugs my PaPa has. But luckily the kind I need are totally different. I don't need plugs, because I can hear low frequencies pretty well, I need something amplify the high pitches. So I get a cool little do-dad's that sit behind my hear with the world's tinies ear bud that runs into my ear canal. Ok, so not cool but not to bad at all.

Once I try them on, the world is clear. I feel my whole body relax after about 30 minutes of not having to focus on every sound. Downside? They are $7000 a pair. Ouch. It takes a couple of days to figure out my insurance only covers a $1000 and I'm supposed to be thankful for that. A repeat appointment to find a cheaper pair reveals the fancy pants pair I tried the first time is the same as the cheaper $3000 pair minus blue tooth technology. So what!

At that appointment I had to take Claire with me. I was worried at first, but it was really great because I got to hear different sounds while I was trying them out. I heard the air conditioner in the building kick on. Claire grabbed some cereal from the cup in my purse -- I could hear her crunching her food! Did you know you can hear other people chew in a quiet room? I didn't.

It will take a few weeks for my insurance to cough up the cash so I can get my new ears, but pretty soon I won't say "huh?" for every other word. Hearing aids were not on my list of things to do before 30, but since I've decided against a torrid affair with the lead singer of Muse (for moral convictions only --- there is nothing wrong with Matt), I might as well make a swap out.

I Am My Mother's Child

2009-09-19T09:53:00.002-05:00

I'm a hoarder. Nothing in my life has caused me to live a fear-based hoarding life, but I hoard. So does my mother. I learned it from her. We talk on a regular basis about how we re-arrange the canned goods in the pantry because you can't find anything.

I shared with my Mom this week how I panicked after a news story on hoarders --- real hoarders with basements and storerooms full of food in the case of an economic meltdown. The reporter came back to tell viewers that while the people featured were extreme all families should have at least THREE....and I start to panic. Three weeks of food? I don't know if I have three weeks of powdered milk. I know we could live for three weeks, but would I have all the food groups covered?.....DAYS worth of food, water, and medications. I sighed. I have enough food and water in the back of my car for three days. Because I hoard.

After the news story, I took stock of my cabinets, fridge, freezer, and medicine cabinet. Honestly, outside of clean unbottled water (we could always bucket the pool for flushing) I think we have enough supplies to go three months. Maybe more. Sure, we would eat dry cereal and beans without bacon (oh, wait, I have a jar of bacon fat in the fridge for flavor), but we could survive - and pretty easily.

Even Claire would be in diapers. Take a look at her closet:
That is 8 (yes, eight) boxes of diapers in her current and future size, plus 5 plastic "jumbo" packs. There are even two small boxes of swim diapers if we got really desperate or the emergency was of an arc nature. The plastic tub on bottom is her entire spring/summer 2010 wardrobe bought off the dollar rack at Walmart when it clearanced out in the past weeks.

The primary reason I stock pile is I buy a LOT when I get things cheap. My mom has approximately 12 jugs of Gain detergent in her garage. We call it the "Gain Army" because they look like little soldiers lined up. She got it when it was on sale and had coupons. My diaper closet was stocked by a walmart sale, plus grandma discount, plus coupons. Those boxes were around $10 each. Seriously? I have 6 boxes of Electrosol (now Finish) dish tabs because they were free after coupons. How can you not store them when they are free? I have 5 boxes of Kashi cereal because I got them for $0.33 a box. They don't expire until Aug. 2010, so if there is an Apocalypse, we will have organic breakfast cereal as the world crashes in around us.

Neurotic? Yes. Practical? Mostly. Cost efficient? Definitely.

The Star Telegram Saved me $200 today!

2009-09-13T15:28:00.003-05:00

Beanie's allergies are acting up. I don't know what is going to happen first - I'm going to drive her crazy, or she is going to drive me crazy.

It has been a fun weekend none the less. I got my hair cut (nothing new) and we hung out at the house Saturday watching the rain and playing with Beanie. Toward the end of the day, Brad went upstairs to take a bath. Men aren't *supposed* to take baths, but he regularly soaks his sore muscles. He's not painting his nails, waxing his chest, or looking for men on Craigslist, so I think it is perfeclty manly for him to enjoy our big garden tub.

I went up this morning to clean the tub and couldn't:

"I (heart) Beanie & Mommy & MoMo & Batman" written in bubble letters using Claire's bath crayons. It was so cute and so hilarious, I had to leave the bathtub cleaning for another day.

After Claire woke from that nap, she and I went to Target to get Brad's migraine medicine. Brad lost his insurance coverage at the begining of the month and we were worried about how to pay for this medicine. Brad looked into a program at CareNow which for $20 a month, you get discounted CareNow services including a discount drug program. Sure, it isn't insurance, but it is better than nothing. While he was investigating the possible savings, I walked in and recognized the website. Thinking I'd been there before I checked the Fort Worth Star-Telegrams subscriber reward's program, PressPass, and there it was! We already got a drug discount for subscribing to the paper (a luxury for us).

Excited, I went to Target to pick up Brad's meds. They had originally rung up his 9 pills off-insurance and our price was $217. Ouch. I gave them the discount card, they re-rang it, and the new total was only $36. Score! This is only a few bucks more than when we were paying with insurance.

Additionally, I used the Target ad and a few coupons to get the following items for only $4.31.

5 Kashi Cereal - $2.88/bx (reg price $4.39)

used 5 $1.50 Honey Sunshine coupons (from VocalPoint)

got $5 Target card for buying 5 Kashi products

2 Goldfish Crackers - $1.88/bag

used 1 $1/2 peelie

1 Johnson's Buddy Bar - $.99

used $1/1 from 8/13 coupon inserts

I'm really excited about the Kashi cereal. It is full of fiber, low sugar, and Brad and Claire love it.

Now I need to keep Napless the Wonder Child happy until bedtime.

Let me explain the menstrual cycle to you...

2009-09-08T20:26:00.002-05:00

It has been a while since I blogged. A loooong while. I update my Facebook status in small increments and it keeps my creative outlet open, but isn't nearly as satisfying as a good blog. Cathartic.

So today I had to explain how the menstrual cycle works to an employee of Blue Cross Blue Shield. I'm on The Pill and my insurance allows me to refill prescription every 30 days. However, the female cycle, like the moon, phases every 28 days. Meaning, if you wait until the last minute to pick up your pills at Target two months in a row, they aren't ready for you. I needed to start a new pill pack on Sunday, BCBS wouldn't authorize a new scrip until Tuesday.

I called BCBS and told them I needed my prescription covered because my menstrual cycle is 28 days and I'm not on the bureaucrat schedule. Paul didn't get my humor and I was a little feisty today, so I continued. Once I explained to Paul how birth control pills work, he told me to hold while he talked to his superior. His supervisor gave me the protocol to request an "override". I have to detail my request, in writing, with my doctor's instructions and fax it to some number. Then my request would be reviewed and a decision given within 10 business days. I continued my sass in poor paper-pushing Paul.

"GREAT Paul! Thanks for you help. One more question...Do you realize that a pregnancy and delivery will cost your company tens of THOUSANDS of dollars because you don't want to cover the extra $9 for my generic birth control pills?"

He didn't have anything to say.

On the plus side, the Pills are just a back-up for my neurosis. We've had a full vasectomy back in early June (that "we" being the same "we" that delivered a baby last August). Nothing is working up in there, but still, I can't quiet give up the security blanket of my little nightly pill. Maybe I need the hormones. Actually, after my lack-of-hormone filled call to Paul, I think the poor guy might actually pay for my hormones out of pocket -- possibly to keep me from breeding anyone else who could call him again and talk about their period.

Pimpin' Ride!

2009-07-28T13:32:00.003-05:00

Claire's got wheels. She loves this car. It was found, covered in grime and God knows what else, in her Great-Grandmother's shed (shudder). After a bleach washing in Grandma's bathtub, it is good as new. She loves pushing it around and putting things in the trunk which is on the front like her momma's first Volkswagen bug. It even coverts, a la Transformer, to a full blown push toy. The rear end elevates and a handle appears. It is totally cool for screaming and ramming into Diesel.

Today she learned how to actually *sit* on it. So cool. I came into the living room and she was doing this...

Granted, it wasn't going anywhere, but she was pulling her feet up and screaming like she was on a crotch rocket flying down I-20. I was laughing so hard I can't believe the picture isn't blurry.

So an updated list of favorite toys of the month? Sorry to all of you who bought expensive baby shower gifts:

6. Mom's dirty bearcat flip flops
5. Cardboard bottom of the collapsible toy basket
4. Salvaged toy car
3. Ripped up 2007 calendar from our Realtor
2. 4 inch yellow plastic spatula, hand-me-downed from a student of mine's play kitchen
1. Sock Monkey

If you bought her something for her upcoming birthday, save the receipt. I'm sure she'll enjoy the present, but she might enjoy eating the receipt more.