Socks, Highwaters, and Owls, Oh My!

I was actually excited when I turned 30 a few (okay, six) years ago. For one thing, I like myself and my life better and better with each passing year. I know myself better, too. But the main reason was that 30 seemed sooooo OLD when I was growing up. If someone was in their 30's they were ancient and out of touch. I'm not exactly ancient yet I don't think. But out of touch? Absolutely! I always have been. So turning 30 now makes it allowable, even acceptable, to be lame.

Needless to say, this is good news for someone who has been lame for a very long time. Nowhere is my lameness more evident than in my closet. I've never dressed well. I look back in horror at old pictures of me in high school. I should have known better; of course I should have. But I didn't. And if you've ever met my mother, you know I didn't have much help in the fashion department. My sister had better taste, but she was kind of a nerd until college, so again... no help. And yes, looking back I'm horrified, but I don't really know how to change all of the wrong fashion choices I made. Would I do things differently today? I guess. But what exactly I don't know. So when I turned 30 I figured I could continue dressing badly just as I always had, but now it would somehow look better because it would be more socially acceptable for a person in her 30's to be wearing that shirt, or those shoes. Or have, gulp, that hair!

To this day, I don't really know when it's okay to wear socks with dress shoes. In the spring and summer I think I'm in pretty good shape with my assortment of sandals. But since I have to dress up (somewhat - business casual) for work, I can't wear the clogs I normally wear in the fall and winter. I have to wear close-toed shoes in the cooler months. Is it okay to wear socks with them? I've noticed several of my younger coworkers don't wear them. But then, they wear tall heels with really pointy toes. That looks really painful, so I wear something with a low heel and comfortable sole. This translates into - an ugly shoe. Would socks make them more or less attractive? I just don't know.

There are a lot of times at work when I'm in the restroom where the full-length mirrors are and I notice that my pants come down to around my ankles. I have never viewed this as a problem, but my younger, cuter coworkers never have any ankle showing. Their pants are practically all the way to the floor! I'd trip over my pant legs if I did that! And anyway, the more weight I gain, the higher my pants seem to rise. So for these reasons, I sometimes wear high-waters. A bold fashion move or just a bad look for a thirtysomething has-been? Wait, don't answer that.

I can also tell you - and I'm not bragging here - that I am wearing several sweaters and shirts that I have been wearing for at least seven or eight years now. I'm pretty sure the styles have changed since they were purchased, but I will not be rushed into buying new clothes. Many items no longer really flatter me due to the fact that I'm at least 10 pounds heavier than I was when I bought them. So, I have to stretch them from here to Ohio just to make them fit. But I will not be defeated! I will continue to wear them until they disintegrate, are lost at the dry cleaners, or someone stages a fashion intervention and saves me from myself.

Really, it's not my intention to dress badly. It's just that I have no flair at all for fashion. I truly don't know what works together and what doesn't so I am at a horrible disadvantage. I used to feel some level of guilt about dressing so badly and having such lame taste. But I embrace it now because I'm in my mid 30's. I can proudly wear "mom jeans" and comfortable shoes because I don't have to be attractive anymore. Not that I ever was - but now there's no guilt involved. It's really quite freeing. You should try it. In fact, please do. Then maybe I won't be the only hideous person out there...

Of course I'm thinking of all of this because I was folding my kids' clothes tonight and I came across a couple of shirts with owls on them. What's the rule on owls? Are they strictly a Fall option? I see little girls wearing bunnies year-round and not only at Easter. Are owls allowed the same consideration? Ugh, I just don't know. (or maybe I don't give a "hoot" a-hahahahaha!) This is really hard. I could be shaping my girls' lameness by allowing them to wear something that it completely passe. Someone please help me or, better yet, help them. I'm already a lost cause. But they are young and still capable of being molded into snazzy dressers. Oh gosh! No one even says "snazzy dressers" anymore do they??!! I'm sure "lame" isn't even a cool enough word to describe something lame anymore. I'm probably too lame to know the new word for lame.

Well, please give me some guidance on the socks and the owls. That will at least get me started. And please don't hold my horrendous taste against my sweet children. They are innocent in all of this. I welcome your fashion advice but would appreciate it if you would be gentle with your critiques. I may look lame but underneath the ill-fitting shirts and short pants, I do care.

Fortune Cookie

I am the only person I know who has had not one but two fortune cookies that were empty on the inside. No fortune. No future? Well, this happened in college, so obviously I have had some kind of a future. But really, how sad is that? Sometimes you open a fortune cookie and you get some proverb that really doesn’t say or mean anything and it’s a total disappointment. (example: "Enough is as good as a feast".) How does this fortune motivate me to live a better life or be a better person? The answer is that it does not. But no fortune at all? What does that mean I should do? Just give up and go home to bed? Actually, it doesn't take much to make me go to bed. Now I have a good excuse!

Sunday night, Mike and I took the girls to Shogun for dinner. We hadn’t been to a Japanese Steakhouse in a while and I thought (mistakenly as it turns out) that the girls would get a kick out of it. So, at the end of the meal, Mike and I were sufficiently stuffed and the girls had hit their time limit on behaving in a public place. The wait staff was passing around fortune cookies which seemed to delight the girls. That is, until they actually tasted the "cookies" and realized that they were not cookies at all but rather flavorless, stale pieces of bread. At any rate, Meg being too young to understand why there was a piece of paper inside her cookie, promptly discarded her fortune onto the floor. Kate, however, was interested and wanted to know what her little slip of paper had to say. I read it to her: A lucky surprise is coming to you in the mail. She got excited thinking that she was about to get some sort of gift, so I tried to distract her by telling her that it was Santa who would be bringing this treasure and she’d have to wait a few more weeks AND would have to be good (since he’s watching and all).

Kate, while very timid and shy with new people or in crowds, is actually a playful little girl. After I read her the fortune tucked inside her cookie, she took it from me and began pretending (or “buhtend” as she says it) to read her fortune. She told me it said, “I Love My Mommy.” She smiled sweetly as she said this. It made my heart melt (well, that and the heat from the still-simmering cook top before us). I then began to envision how this fortune would change in her mind as the years passed. Fast forward 5 years and she’ll say her fortune reads, “I hate my mom”. Fast forward another 5 years and it’ll be, “My mom doesn’t understand me at all.” Fast forward maybe three years and it’ll be tempered somewhat to, “My mom is a total embarrassment” or “Why can’t my mom dress like the other, more attractive mothers?”. Hopefully a few years after that it will be something like, “My mom did the best she knew how to do.” I guess I'll know I've done a good job with her if down the road it reads, “My mom loved me no matter what.”

As things happen to me now, I try to think of a way I can write about it, making it deep and profound for the readers of my blog. I was sitting there in that restaurant, brushing Kate’s bangs to the side of her face with my gentle and loving fingers, looking deep into her eyes – lost in thought as I pondered these future fortunes (again, painting a picture of a profoundly reflective moment in my parenting for the purpose of this story…). I was suddenly bolted back to reality when I realized she was now saying that her fortune said, “Poo Poo Bottom”. So much for my blog-worthy, beautifully crafted moment with my adorable and loving child.

At any rate, my fortune for the evening was something lame like, "Doors will be opening for you" and it was actually a lady at our table who was the recipient of the cookie with no fortune at all. (I still have her beat, though. I had two in one sitting!) When I got home, I found that Kate’s fictitious fortune was correct. Her sister had a dirty diaper (the aforementioned “poo-poo bottom”) that I was lucky enough to get to clean.

The point of this story? There's not one, of course. Much like all of my other posts. Just my wish for you the next time you open a fortune cookie; a quote from Marcus Aurelius, "Very little is needed to make a happy life; it is all within yourself, in your way of thinking".

Hope you had much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving!

I giggle every time Kate refers to her girly part as a "Ba-gina", therefore, I am too immature to be a parent.

Yes, it's true. Not only have I told Kate that that particular body part is called a vagina (there's just really not a good word for it, is there?), I also giggle when she mispronounces the word. What are some other things that prove I am a sub par parent? Sadly, it won't take long for me to think of examples...

For one thing, I am a voice-raiser. I am conscious of it when it is happening, and yet I allow it to happen. How else am I going to get the girls' attention, though? Really?! Perhaps they are misbehaving because they didn't hear my initial requests for them to stop whatever it is they are doing. So, I raise my voice to make my point and they end up winning whatever issue it was because I am now reduced to a 2 year old or 4 year old level.

I also use bribery in order to accomplish what I need them to accomplish. I said I'd never do it, but here we are. I have watched other parents beg and plead with their child(ren) to get them to cooperate and then ultimately give them some kind of goodie in exchange for their cooperation. Who is the parent here? I would wonder to myself. I wonder the same thing when I promise gummy bears if they will smile for a family photo. What I should do is allow them to act like the little monsters they can be so that later I can point out to them how they ruined every Kodak moment when they were kids. Which brings me to my next struggle:

Sarcasm. If there's one thing kids "get", it's sarcasm. (That, incidentally, was sarcasm.) I use sarcasm all the time with my kids. I am very calm and sweet with them as I chastise them with my words. And I do it with a smile on my face. The day they learn to do this back to me will not be a good day. When I use sarcasm with them, I am teaching them to use it with others. I happen to love sarcasm and think it is hilarious. However, it is an adult way to communicate; not for young little minds who want nothing more than to please their parents. Like I need to tell you what sarcasm is (again, that's sarcasm).

But the good news is, I do have a lot of positive things I want to bestow upon my children. I figure that because I have some good, valuable lessons I want to teach them that even with all of the yelling, bribery and sarcasm, they still have a shot of turning out okay. Plus, their father is a wonderful person. Hopefully his influence will outweigh mine. Here is a sampling of what I hope to teach my girls as they age through my words and more importantly, my actions:

1. Value each other and love having a sister. I have loved having mine.
2. Value family. Invest time with your family as you grow and even as your peer group changes over the years.
3. Seek out a husband who is a loving as your father. Don’t ever settle for less than that. It is better to be on your own than with someone who is less than wonderful to you.
4. Value your mind and body. Demand that other people value and respect it as well.
5. Appreciate what you have. Don’t focus on what you don’t have. (Happiness is wanting what you get.)
6. Don’t get married right out of college. Spend some time on your own developing your own identity.
7. Be nice to everyone. Treat everyone with respect and dignity. It’s better to be known as a nice person than to be labeled as “popular”.
8. Be comfortable doing your own thing. This requires comfort in your own skin.
9. Love the name you were given. It was special to your parents and it should be to you.
10. Surround yourself with people of quality. Recognize that quality comes in all shapes and sizes and from all types of backgrounds.
11. Read to develop your knowledge and interests.
12. Have hobbies.
13. Never let a boy/man come between a good friendship. Better to lose the man.
14. Care what adults think of you. Carry yourself with strong character, class and impeccable poise.
15. Don’t ever take up smoking. Not all people who smoke are trashy, but all trashy people smoke.
16. Insist on a sober driver, or be it yourself. Your life and the lives of your friends depend on it.
17. Never be out of control of yourself. If you are vulnerable to others, they may take advantage.
18. Never let your sister or your friend be out of control of herself and vulnerable to others. (My kids will know who Natalee Holloway was.)
19. Be a good listener. (Most importantly, listen to me!)
20. Whatever you do, do a good job. Yours should be tough shoes to fill.
21. Tell someone if you are unhappy. You don’t have to live in a cloud. There are things that can help.
22. Don’t let fear hold you back; but practice caution.
23. Problems do not go away by failing to acknowledge they exist.
24. Know that behind every lecture your father or I might subject you to, is love.
25. Despite mistakes your father and I make along the way, you are loved and our intentions were always pure.

I'm sure there are more, but that's a start. Parenting is the most important thing I have ever done in my life and it is the one I approach with the least amount of knowledge. We make this up as we go along, don't we? If we invest our time, energy and love into it, though, our kids will realize (through lots and lots of therapy probably) that we did the best we could do.

If I still have readers out there, tell me some of the things you want to teach your kids and I'll add them to my own list (if they're good). I had to end with some sarcasm...

Um... YUM!

I made these tonight and they are de-lish. I promise to have something witty and poignant for the next post. I figure, though, that every once in a while I'll post a tasty recipe and maybe if I do it often enough, Meryl Streep and Amy Adams will make a movie about me. So, here's the first:

S'Mores Cookie Bars

1 stick (or 1/2 cup) of butter, softened
3/4 cup sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup graham cracker crumbs (I actually probably used a little over a cup)
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
4 HERSHEY's Milk Chocolate bars
1 thingy of Marshmallow creme

Directions:
1. Beat butter and sugar until fluffy. Add the egg and vanilla, beat savagely. In another bowl, stir the flour, graham cracker crumbs, salt and baking soda. Add to the flour mixture and beat it until it begs for mercy. Press half of the dough into a greased/buttered 8x8 baking dish.

2. Arrange the Hershey bars on top of the dough (you'll need to break some of 'em to make 'em fit). Spread the marshmallow creme on top of the chocolate bars. This is the hard part because the candy bars want to stick to the spoon or whatever you're using to spread the seemingly un-spreadable marshmallow creme. Also, the marshmallow creme will somehow find it's way to things and objects you never knew it ever even made contact with. As I type this, it's on my wrist and on the recipe itself. I'm sure next time I use the computer, it'll be stuck all over the monitor...but I digress. Spread the remaining dough on top of the marshmallow creme and press it to form a layer of sticky, doughy goodness.

3. Bake at 350 for about 30 minutes or until lightly browned. The dough itself is kind of a light brown color, so you may not notice when it is lightly browned. Just leave it in until you get scared that you may be burning it. If it is really brown, you've ruined it. Nice going.

4. Let it cool and then cut it into bars. It may be so enticing that you eat it straight out of the dish. It's up to you. Just remember that if you put your entire face into the dish, you're going to get marshmallow creme all over your face and in your hair and then onto your brush and your pillow and so on.

5. Act coy when people tell you how wonderful they are. Hide your face in your hands and blush as though you are embarrassed by the praise being heaped upon you even though you are secretly relishing it. Tell them that it's really nothing and it took you no time at all. Tell them you just threw a bunch of items from your pantry together and voila! Tell them they are so easy to make that even they can do it. But, if they suck, for God's sake don't tell them I gave you the recipe.

Enjoy!

Helpful Parenting Advice

Prior to having children, I was every other mother's worst nightmare: I was a childless, judgemental know-it-all who freely dispensed advice to people who actually had children. If I wasn't giving out helpful advice I was shooting dirty looks to parents whose children were ruining my food shopping experience by running wild in the grocery store. If my sister's kids were acting up and she was beyond frustrated, I would simply tell her how the situation should be handled. I'm sure she was most appreciative of such wisdom. Free advice at the ready from someone with absolutely no experience in child-rearing - who wouldn't want that?!

In the almost four years that have passed since I became a mom, I have wondered exactly how many times I should apologize to my sister and others for being so completely ignorant and insensitive. (If you add in all of the other stupid stuff I've done, the answer would be, I'd have to do it 24 times a day for the rest of my life.) Something happened to me today that reminded me just how annoying I must have been to other mothers around me for all of those years. Here's the story:

We are having a photographer come to our house Friday morning to do a photo shoot of our family. Because of that, I had the girls at our salon this morning to get Kate's hair cut and my eyebrows yanked out in a desperate bid to be attractive by Friday. When we arrived, Mike was there in Ms. Stacey's seat getting his hair trimmed (took about 6.5 seconds). With the girls in tow, I breezed past the sign at the front of the establishment that reads: For the safety and comfort of our guests, please stay in the waiting area until your stylist can see you.

I plopped down in the empty chair next to Ms. Stacey with Meg in my lap and Kate scaling my leg to try and grab a spot next to Meg. We chatted with everyone - stylists and patrons - for a minute or two when Meg decided she had had enough of me and kicked and wriggled her way off of my lap and onto the floor. People were telling us how cute the girls are (which is so true) and how much fun they must be (sometimes that's true). They remarked about how similar they look (also true) and how sweet they were (not at all true).

Kate was being very coy and kept burying her face into my chest every time some spoke to her or even looked her way. She's very bashful just like I was at her age. Meg, on the other hand, was performing. She was dancing around for everyone; smiling sweetly and waving at everyone in the room. People would compliment her and she would tilt her head and say. "Kank Yew!" to which everyone would reply "Awwwwww".

I am always filled with such pride every time someone compliments my girls. They do have sweet dispositions. They are adorable. They are both very silly and very funny. Who wouldn't be proud? Of course, it never dawns on me how many times I've said these things to other parents just to be nice. It did dawn on me today, however, after one stylist said, "Maggie, could you pick her up? I don't want someone to trip over her."

What?!! Trip over her cuteness? Trip over her blonde, bouncing curls? Trip over her huge personality? You don't mean she's in your way, do you? But...But... She's Meg. She's not that nasty kid in WalMart with no shoes and Kool Aid all over her fat, filthy face. She's too cute to be in someone's way. She's too sweet to be...gasp!...annoying.

How did I miss this? I am always very tuned into the needs and feelings of others, particularly when it comes to the volume of my kids' voices and their heightened energy level. I always wondered how parents could be so oblivious to the fact that their child was misbehaving - could it be that they viewed it as "cute" behavior and assumed others thought it was as precious as they did? Or was I right all along and they truly are just all terrible parents and this was just a rare occurrence for me? I'm just sure it's the latter.

I grabbed Meg up into my arms, embarrassed, and apologized profusely. I noticed that there was not one, "Oh, that's okay" in the crowd. We walked over to the waiting area with Kate following close behind. I was acutely aware of both girls' behavior for the rest of our time there and I have to say, they were pretty well-behaved. Kate sat very still while Ms. Stacey trimmed her hair and even gave her a sweet, sincere "thank you". I apologized again as I paid for her services with Kate standing next to me and Meg zipping in and out of the "tunnel" of my legs. I pondered this important lesson that I was fortunate enough to learn. I decided to never again purport to be a better or more considerate mother than others and I would certainly be smart enough going forward to keep my opinions to myself.

On the way home, we had to make a quick trip into WalMart. We were in line behind this woman whose two kids were SCREAMING and demanding that she buy them some "Bubba" Gum (we live in Lookout Valley where this is the common pronunciation). As I looked at this harried woman, I felt her pain and I thought to myself, Someone should really tell her to shut those kids up.

The Post With The Most

Well, I was wide awake last night at 2:00 a.m. so I did what any other normal person would do. I "Googled" myself.

I started with my current last name. My Facebook page came up. Okay, harmless. It also turns out that I am a flutist in Missouri (I'm not. Some other, better Maggie McCallie is.). Pretty impressive. Also, interestingly, I was married to Alexander McCallie in Scotland in 1746. Cool! Then I searched under my maiden name. My Facebook page came up again as did several links to information from my time working in Student Affairs at MTSU (Go Blue Raiders!).

One entry that came up under my maiden name was something that I had hoped over time would be eternally lost in the myriad of sites out there in Webland. Something that has plagued me in the 11 years that have passed since it occurred. Something that to this day causes me a great deal of personal shame and regret. It requires explaining so here goes:

I was living in Knoxville in graduate school (Go Vols!) at the time and I had my first laptop in order to type and print papers and projects. I was just becoming aware of this new phenomenon called "the internet". (It wasn't exactly new at the time; it was simply something I had resisted becoming acquainted with because I thought it was just a trend.) A neighbor I had a crush on that never amounted to a darn thing helped me create a username and password in AOL. He told me I would need a username that was unique to me but that also didn't have too much personal information in it. He worked in a security business so he tried to steer me away from having my first and last name present in my email address. So, I did what any other normal person would do. I created a username that paid homage to my dog. Clearly I didn't have a lot going on in my life since that's the best I could come up with.

At any rate, my username was the catchy, maggiejrt@aol.com - the "JRT" stood for Jack Russell Terrier. As I began to navigate my way through this "internet", I did what any other normal person would do. I looked up dirty stuff. At the time, I kept hearing about all of these porn sites and I just couldn't imagine that there were pictures of that kind of thing on display for people to see. Once I was able to see that, in fact, there were millions upon millions of sex sites out there in cyberspace, I began searching for things I was actually interested in. I went to my undergraduate university's website (War Eagle!). I looked up celebrities I liked as well as lyrics to songs I couldn't figure out on my own. Then I did what any other normal person would do. I visited Jack Russell Terrier sites. (I think I may be starting to understand why nothing ever happened with my cute neighbor.)

Yes, on nights and not surprisingly weekends, I had puh-lenty of time to search several pictures of all kinds of Jack Russells. Short ones. Tall ones. Some with floppy ears. Some with pointy ears that stood straight up. Some with smooth coats. Some with rough coats. Some with smooth coats AND floppy ears, etc...

So apparently (well, not "apparently" - it is time-stamped for all the world to see) one Thursday evening in June 1998, I was just chillin' at my pad, kickin' it on a JRT site when I did what any other normal person would do. I decided to "Sign the Guestbook". Why I felt compelled to do this, I will never know. What I do know is that in a state of complete loss of my mental faculties, I wrote the following:

Your website is great! My JRT, Dudley, and I enjoy looking at all of the cute photos of other great JRTs.

And of course, in order to make it completely discernable that is was in fact Maggie Prugh of Birmingham, Alabama (even though I was in Knoxville at the time) that wrote this, I signed my name to it.

I am picturing this lonely, single girl with her dog in her lap spending hours upon hours crying and scouring the internet for the best pictures of dogs while never leaving the comfort of her pajamas. In reality that wasn't exactly the case. I was single, yes. I did have a dog. And I was going to dog-related websites. All of that is true. But I wasn't as much of a loser as the post would suggest. But of course, there was no guestbook to sign at an "I Promise I Am Not a Total Loser.com" site.

So what image do you think this conjures up for previous boyfriends? Certainly not one of "the one that got away". No, this post screams of "Thank God I dumped her"!!! What would this post leave enemies from high school and sorority days to assume? "She is the failure I always knew she would be". And you know they've Googled me. I've Googled them, so I know they've Googled me. That's what losers do.

So, every once in a while I will search for my name in hopes that this site has been shut down or removed so I can go on and live a peaceful - and very full, despite what the post would suggest - life. And every time I am disappointed to see not only the link, but my actual post come up in the results of my search. You may be asking yourself how full my life could be given that I continue to Google myself and have searched for former boyfriends. I don't think I'll address that question. Let's just move on.

So how did I combat this and ensure that my privacy is protected and that I don't post anything stupid out there in cyberspace again? I did what any other normal person would do. I started a blog.