Summer 2013 And The Evolution Of A Beach Trip

Well, as you can see by my lack of posts since May, we have had quite a busy summer.  We were constantly on the go; spending time with friends at impromptu pool parties and neighborhood gatherings.  Sleeping late.  Going to movies.  Gluttonous eating and drinking.  And now it’s over.  I feel like it was yanked out from under us right in the midst of the fun and frivolity.  And yet, it has to end, doesn’t it?  Life has to continue to move forward.  My kids have to go back to school and become educated, productive members of society.  I have to stop barreling toward 300 pounds with the way I’ve been devouring food and drink.  We all have to get back to “normal”.  Normal totally blows.

Not really.  It’s just that we are coming off of such a nice summer.  The kids and I really spent almost all day every day together; never with much of an agenda.  Yet our days always seemed to be filled.  One of my favorite things was we started a new tradition of walking in the neighborhood at night and just talking.  Relating to one another.  It was the one time in the day when the girls didn’t get on each other’s nerves.  We laughed and acted silly and occasionally ran into other neighborhood friends.  The girls’ favorite thing to do on our walks was play “Would You Rather”.  We would ask each other hard-hitting questions like, Would you rather tee-tee in your pants or throw up on your teacher on the first day of school?  Then we would each have to explain our thought process on why we chose the response we chose.  Utter ridiculousness.  But it was such fun.

We travelled some.  Mostly to the lake; many times with friends.  The lake house is great for reconnecting with friends we don’t often see.  I especially enjoy watching our kids become friends with our friends’ kids.  Even though they may only see each other at the lake once a year, they look forward to it and they fall right back in line every time.  It’s nice.  One day/night this summer, we had neighborhood moms and their kids over.  There were 22 of us there – good heavens!  What were we thinking?!  There were bodies all over my house!  And it was an absolute blast.  

We have such great people in our neighborhood.  The girls don’t know how lucky they are to grow up around such a big network of friends.  When I was growing up, it was basically me and my siblings and two sisters at the end of my street.  When we weren’t sparring with the kids across the street, we might occasionally get together for a kickball game, but that was about it.  My kids are growing up in a neighborhood where they walk out their door and have over 10 kids on their street alone.  They could have a kickballtournament with brackets and everything!

In addition to our lake trips, we also went to Chicago – the girls’ first plane ride!   They were so cute rolling their suitcases through the airport.  They thought they were so big being served peanuts and Sprite on the plane.  It never occurred to them to fear any of it.  I wish I had flown at their age. I’ve always been a very nervous flyer.  To this day, I get sweaty palms the whole time and am constantly aware that we are in the air.  But they just sat back andenjoyed the view.  They also had a blast once we got in the city. Of course, the fact that we took them to a two-story American Girl store helped, I’m sure.

Another highlight was taking our annual trip down to St. George Island, Florida.  St. George is a fairly new destination for us.  We have been going to Hilton Head for more than 20 years now with my side of the family.  St. George is where we go with Mike’s family.  I absolutely love it!  It isn’t crowded.  It’s quaint.  Great seafood (of course, what beach doesn’t have great seafood?).  I am never more relaxed then when I am at the beach.  I could sit on the beach under an umbrella with the waves crashing and the breeze blowing every day for the rest of my life and not feel like I had missed anything.  It’s just calming.  Serene.

It’s funny how a person’s trips to the beach evolve over time.  When you are a kid, it’s all about impatiently waiting for your parents to drink their coffee or do whatever it is they have to do before they can take you out to play in the surf.  It seems to take forever!  You make a day of ridingand jumping waves.  You dig in the sand and make castles.  Your castles never look like the show-offs down the beach who have somehow sculpted a palace out of the same sand you were using.  You methodically unfurl your kite and raise it proudly into the air before you realize that it isn’t really terribly exciting.  And each night you go to sleep in a bed full of sand.  Pure heaven.

As a teen, at least a teen girl, you are there for one reason and one reason only: to get a tan.  You are out before anyone else and stay out long after everyone else has tired of the sand sticking to their skin.  Everyday you check your tan lines to be sure they are whiter than they were the previous day.  And if it rains, you are inconsolable.  I guess teenagers are also there looking for other teenagers - a summer romance, if you will.  I never was, because I was always there with my extended family.  They were so entertaining that it never occurred to me to go out and meetsomeone else.  There’s no way they would have been as fun as the people I was there with.  But most normal teenagers do that, I suppose.  I wonder what it must be like to be normal…

Anyway, when you are an ABB (Adult Before Babies) you finally notice how beautiful the water and surrounding scenery is.  It becomes a place of respite instead of play.  The trip focuses more on what you will be eating and drinking during the days and nights.  Of planning meals (if you will be the chef) or picking the perfect restaurant.  Ensuring you’re not our of bloody mary mix for your it’s-5:00-somewhere happy hour.  And while you’re an ABB, if someone else on your trip is an AWB (Adult With Babies) you marvel at how much their trip must suck having to tend to a baby.  It’s great birth control, actually.  You go inside and give Junior his bottle  and I’ll grab the Bocce set for myself and the other ABBs.  Probably the worst part of an AWB’s beach trip is the poopy swim diaper.  It’s always diarrhea and ¾ of it is sand – some of which they’ve consumed and some of which has simply found its way into their pants.

Once you yourself are an AWB, your trip is mainly about how it’s not really your trip anymore.  You can’t stay on the beach all day and relax under the umbrella with an adult beverage.  You’ve got naps to monitor and bottles to prepare.  Plus, you have to spend each and every moment on the beach in pursuit of your one beach trip goal at this point in your life – capturing that perfect baby beach picture.  And it ain’t easy.  A lot of babies don’t like the sand and are therefore grimacing on those rare occasions you can actually get them to look in the direction of the camera.

Once you transition from an AWB to an AWK (Adult WithKids), your focus is more on wanting to foster your love of the beach in your children.  You are planting the seeds of the eventual nostalgia you want them to feel for their childhood beach trip. I see it in my children now.  They love the relaxed pace.  They love the smell of salt in the air.  They could build sandcastles all day.  And it was actually on our beach trip this year when the girls and I started walking together at night.  We used to do that on our beach trips when I was a kid.  It’s just what would happen after we’d eat.  Before anything in the kitchen would be cleaned, the entire lot of us would head out and walk down the beach for 30-45 minutes.  I love being on the beach at night.  The sand is cool.  You can smell people grillingfood.  And everyone around is snapping pictures so you can trade cameras with someone and get a shot of the entire family.  Unfortunately, in our picture, the wind was blowing my shirt against my skin and my belly bulge isclearly visible so we will have to come up with something else for the Christmas card.

I’m guessing the next phase in the beach trip evolution- although I’m not there yet - is when you are an AWT (Adult With Teenagers).  Probably that trip is about trying to reconnect with your kids or trying to get them to acknowledge your existence.  Begging them to not make you walk 40 paces behind them if you can actually get them to go on that beach walk after dinner.  What would probably follow would be ENA (Empty Nest Adult), where you’d be there together after not having seen your kids in a while since they are busy building their own lives.  Then would come GPBT.  Grandparent Beach Trip.  Watching your kids play with their kids and wondering how much longer you’ll be making these trips.  Getting home at the conclusion of the week and looking through old photos you took of your babies on the beach; the photos yellowed with age (much like your teeth, if you still have them).  Hoping your kids are aware that these are the good times.  These are the days they and their own kids will remember.  

I guess that’s what is making me reflect on our summer and lament its passing.  I truly enjoyed it.  Every day of it.  In July, I went back to work.  Maybe it made me value more the time I had left with them before school started.  Although it is part-time work, it took away from the time I had to take them to the pool or to the movies or just to sit down and have lunch with them.  As that first-day-of-school date approached, it made me very sad.  I was more aware of time I can’t get back.  Time well spent, certainly.  But time that has passed nonetheless.  

The older we get, the faster it seems that the time goes by.  These are the good times.  These are the days we will remember.  Being an AWB is very tough.  It’s all-consuming.  You’re tired all the time.  Worn out from the constant demands on your time and attention.  But something happens when you become an AWK.  Your children are more capable of doing a lot of things for themselves and your time with them starts to become more about relating to them as the people they are and they are becoming.  And doing that was what made this summer so special and so memorable for me personally.  I miss it so much even though admittedly it’s nice to be back on a schedule.  Soon enough we will all be in the thick of the school year and fall festivities and it will be a distantmemory.  But it will remain a lovely memory and I will recall it fondly when talking with my kids about the beautiful moments in my life.

Infestation

Home ownership blows.  Well, I suppose it doesn't blow, but it can be the source of quite a bit of misery.  Right now, the windows need washing, the gutters need cleaning and, in some cases, reattached to the house, the garage door needs to be repainted and sealed, I think our backyard may be on a sinkhole, our gas lights don't work at the front of the house, there is a mystery leak in the kitchen ceiling, some trees were planted too close to the bedroom windows so they scrape against them while I'm trying to sleep... it's just one thing after another.  And when you are the owner, you are the fixer.  Or, at least, the caller who summons the fixer(s). 

All of those issues are vexing certainly.  But the thing that is the most annoying at the moment is the fact that my home seems to have become a refuge for outdoor critters of all ilk.  It started last fall - our screened porch seemed to become a gathering spot for wasps.  We were out there one night with some friends when all of a sudden, one stung Mike on his stomach and then flew off somewhere to die.  I was glad he (the wasp) died, of course, but there were about 20 more that we noticed were also there, trying to decide whose stomach to attack next.

We had hoped that the issue would resolve itself once the cooler temperatures came, but now it is spring, and it is happening again.  There is no visible nest inside the porch, and yet they are there.  Worse, they are also congregating at the front of my house by the front door, so my five year old is scared to death to go outside.  But it doesn't end there.  They sometimes sneak in when I open and close the garage door.  So Meg is actually afraid to go outside OR into the garage.  It is a production with tears and fit-throwing every time we have somewhere to go.  Not to mention that on the rare occasion it is actually warm and sunny at the same time, I'd like for us to go outside and play.  Can't do that with gigantic red wasps flying around.  Meg has made that clear.

We had a local pest control man out recently to get rid of the wasps which he did, thankfully.  But that's not all he found at the ol' McCallie house.  It seems we have a few other things going on.  You know it's bad when a man who does this for a living says with a hint of amazement in his voice, "Wow!  What else can we find here?!"  While he inspected the parameters of our house and yard, he noted the following things:

For starters, it seems we have been providing shelter to a bat for several months now.  Somehow he (or she - how do you tell?  I'm not getting close enough to inspect.) has found about a 1/8 inch opening between the trim and the side of our house by our downstairs porch.  I had noticed some dark droppings back there a while ago, but just figured it was from the bird that has been nesting on top of our outdoor speaker (which is another problem and yet another thing we must get rid of, but I digress). The thing about the droppings was that there wasn't the typical white substance that you usually see all over your car windshield.  I just assumed the bird was being polite by not being too messy back there as it lay atop our speaker.  But as soon as the pest guy saw the droppings, he knew they belonged to a bat.  I have no idea how it managed to wedge itself in such a tiny space but sure enough, when he shone his flashlight on it, I saw it's nasty little upside down wings expand a little from the light. 

When I saw that, I began scrolling through the rolodex in my mind to see who we knew who might be a realtor as I had every intention of moving.  The pest man explained how I was to get rid of the bat: Wait until nighttime and watch until he flies out to feed (egads!) and seal the space where he has been entering to sleep while he's gone (my gawd, what if he comes back early???).  Okay, alright.  Let me make sure I understand this.  I am to stand guard at his little cave and watch for him to fly out?  What if he flies over to me and mistakes me for his supper?  He could take one look at my hair and assume it's a bird's nest, after all.   Do bats eat birds?  Well, it turns out they eat dirt dobbers which, you won't be surprised to learn, have taken up residence at the same porch as the bat.  I've counted 27 different dirt tunnels they've built back there.  This does not include the ones they have erected at the front of my house.

How does all of this happen?  Why are they choosing my house?  Does one little dobber come dobbing along and see a wall they like and then go tell their friends about it?

Mornin', Earl.  I found a wall attached to a nice house in a neighborhood inside the Chattanooga city limits.  Cul-de-sac.  Quiet neighbors.  Purty view of the mountains.  The schools aren't that great, but there are plenty of private schools close by.  You should check it out.  They got 'em two Waffle Houses and a Walmart real close.

So, they're there and now there's a bat there.  And, from what I have since learned, it's almost never just one bat.  Who knows how many squatters we have.  And right next to his little crevice, is the aforementioned bird nesting on my speaker.  A few feet away is a plastic snake whose presence there was to deter the birds from coming.  He's totally fired.  The bird who is nesting?  Yeah, he (she?) had five babies. Five.  There is so much poop on my back porch that the stone is no longer visible.  The only thing that is visible - besides the layers and layers of bird s*#t - is a four foot weed sprouting proudly out of a clay pot that is slowly disintegrating.  And when it's time for each of these five baby birds to build a nest, where do you think they'll go?

Now, I'm not surprised that we have birds.  You see, to the birds, I am The Chosen One.  I think word must have gotten out that I went to great lengths to save what turned out to be a pigeon when he appeared on my door step a few years ago.  Homeless; disheveled.  I made sure he'd have a better life.  And now they flock (if you'll pardon the pun) to me. I also came to the rescue of another bird; a blue bird of some sort; a few weeks ago.  Meg was in the backyard on the trampoline and I kept hearing this scraping and scratching sound.  I just assumed it was the holly trees that are too close to the house and always scratch across my windows, but as I began to pay more attention, it dawned on me that the noise would stop and start.  It would be kind of frenetic for a minute and then it would subside.  I wasn't sure what was going on, so I began to follow the clawing noise I was hearing.  Sure enough, it seemed to be coming from the bottom of one of my gutters.  When I knocked on it, the maniacal scratching started up again.  I realized that it was a bird who had somehow fallen down the gutter and would surely die there if I couldn't free him.

So, I went into the wasp-infested garage and found a screwdriver that I could use to remove the bottom part of the gutter to free him (or her?  Who can tell?).  I successfully loosened and removed the bottom part of the gutter but then... nothing.  He didn't come out.  I wondered if he was somehow injured from scratching a clawing against the gutter for so long.  I had flashes of the Seinfeld episode where George inadvertently saves a squirrel and then the doctors have to use "tiny instruments" to save him.  Once they do save him, he is released into George's care.  (I, just so we're clear, was not about to take in a crippled bird.  No mouth-to-beak gonna happen here.)  I put the end of the screwdriver up to try and shake him loose and was met with a wall of debris that had collected at the bottom that was preventing him from getting out.  So, I began gently scraping away so that it, and my new little feathered friend, would fall out.  They didn't.  I had to get more aggressive in digging due to the amount of junk that had collected there.  Finally, with one last, fateful scrape, the remaining leaves fell out and out came the bird, like a bat out of ...well, I guess, my house.  When the bird whizzed past me, it scared me to death even though I knew it would eventually do just that.  I let out a panicked scream that terrified Meg.  And, you guessed it, now she doesn't want to go in the backyard.  I feel like by the time we discover just how many critters and insects we have around our house, Meg will pretty much have confined herself to a small closet under the stairs.

The bird hopped off looking dizzy and confused, but grateful to be alive and out in the world once again.  I think he must have relayed his terrifying ordeal and the brave, kindly woman who came to his rescue to his friends because now we have another one who is trying everything he can to get inside my home.  I was downstairs in the basement which backs up to the backyard where this daring rescue took place and kept hearing a banging sound.  I walked over to the window, and there was a bird just flying up and down at the window and banging his feet (they're not "feet" per se, but what the hell are they?) against it.  He flew off once he saw me.  I guess I startled him.  But he's there all the time.  Banging away.  There are three windows down there and they all have little tiny scrape marks (footprints?) all over them from where he's trying to get in.  Maybe he's seen the bat and is trying to escape his wrath.  But I think it's more likely he is need of a kidney transplant and believes I will help him as I have so selflessly helped his brethren.  He knows who I am.  I am The Chosen One.  He's heard the stories.  And he wants my kidney.

But it's not all bats and birds and wasps and dirt dobbers.  We have a worm infestation on our cedar trees in the front of the house.  I'd noticed several small cocoons that were dangling from my front gutters so I asked the pest man if he knew what they were.  Why yes, he did.  The are a worm who basically eats and destroys cedar trees.  He went over to the tree and pulled some of the branches to back to reveal about 40 of the same cocoons already attached to the limbs.  He told me I'd want to do something about them if I didn't want to lose my tree.  It made a lot of sense what he was saying.  I was contemplating it as I glanced over and saw the two gaping holes in front of my house where two other cedar trees had been before they had died a mysterious death.  He told me that the only way to get rid of them is to exterminate when they come out of their cocoon which, apparently, is a very short window of time. 

What is it with all of these things? Why can't we have something easy like roaches or something?  Oh wait.  We do.  We have the kind who leave their crispy, crunchy sacks in my doorjamb and hatch a bunch of 'em at at time.  Those are in the garage.  Near the wasps.  Not far from the termites.  Yep.  Termites.  In my garage.  That's it.  We're moving.  Except, we now can't sell a house with termites.  The house is five years old.  It was treated for termites when it was built.  WHY DO WE HAVE TERMITES?  We don't have many, thankfully, and they likely haven't been there to cause any kind of damage.  But do you know how expensive it is to treat your house for termites?  And if you know you have some, you have to treat the whole house and yard so you make sure that you kill those you may not be aware of because you certainly can't ignore them.  Pest man was very thorough and said that it looked to him that they were only present in the garage.  BUT STILL!!! 

For those of you keeping score we have termites, bats, birds, worms, roaches, wasps and dirt dobbers.  Plus, I've got a crazy bird trying to extract my organs and a child who is currently hiding under the ottoman.  Also, I'm seeing familiar looking droppings on my front porch.  Under the trim.  Which appears to have just enough room for a bat to squeeze in.  UGH. 

Reason Number 1738 Why I Hate Walmart

As if I needed a new one...

If you have read many of my previous posts, you will not be terribly surprised to hear that I loathe Walmart. And it's not what you may be thinking - that it's a "big box store" which runs mom-and-pop stores out of business or that they are rumored to use suppliers that abuse animals and destroy the earth.  Those things make them unlikeable, yes, but I do recognize that sometimes it's just awfully convenient to be able to purchase a head of lettuce, a crock pot and a bookcase all in the same store.  Sometimes you just need to go to Walmart.

I have to go there rather frequently.  It is less than five minutes from my house and the most convenient - location-wise - grocery store to my house.  But here are some reasons I do hate Walmart.  Some of them, you have already read about.

There's the fact that I am always behind someone in line purchasing a "feminine care" product.  Most recently, it was a lady on a scooter who was buying - not one - but FOUR cans of FDS.

Aerosol cans.

To really get in there and coat it up real good.

I got to have the visual of this woman going home and blasting herself with the soothing spray of lavender-scented anti-itch product.  Then, of course, there was the elderly woman who was purchasing only two products - bananas and douche.  Again, a lovely visual as I was in line buying ingredients for my dinner.

I also get annoyed with the constant panhandling I am faced with every time I darken the door.  Technically it's not panhandling, I guess.  I assume that these people have to obtain permission to be able to collect money for their charity in front of the store.  I get frustrated at Christmastime because I am at Walmart so often that I end up pretending to be on my phone as I hurriedly slip past the Salvation Army worker asking me for donations.  I give, of course, but I not every time because it can get costly.

At least I know that the Salvation Army is a reputable organization and I can have some assurance that my money is going where I believe it to be going when I donate.  But a lot of these people are trying to send their high school band to some type of event which, the last time I checked, is not a charity.  It's just a bunch of kids with their parents standing there blocking the entrance.  I'm all for helping kids out, but some other school's band members to whom I have no connection is not at the top of my list.  And sometimes, it's just a random dude with a poorly written poster taped to a card table asking for donations for addicts.  I wonder if I'm donating to fund someones habit or if I'm actually donating to an organization who can provide help for people who are addicts.  I'm thinking those people might have a logo or some type of graphic on their poster taped to the card table...

But yesterday, I was reminded yet again of how much I hate Walmart.  And, as usual, it was because of something that happened in the 20 Items Or Less aisle.  Let me set the scene: I had in my possession three items - hummus, pretzel chips, and beer.  I logically headed to the 20 or less line and immediately started standing on my toes and craning my neck to see if there was perhaps a better lane since both "speedy" aisles were about six people deep.  Seeing that there were no better options, I stayed put.  I was behind a charming couple who had too many visible tattoos to count and I was busy trying to read the birth names and dates of what I assume were their children that were lovingly etched into their necks and ankles.  That these two people were reproducing was a concern.  That they had enough offspring that they were running out of body parts to print their names on was downright scary.  And did I mention they positively REEKED of cigarette smoke?

Because I was busy trying to decipher the names of the children and also admiring his delightful t-shirt that had a graphic of a nude female centaur and the tagline, "Continuous Adult Entertainment" that I really wasn't paying attention to much else.  So, when they finally reached the register, I actually had a chance to look in their buggy.  It was obvious that they had considerably more than the 20 items that we, as a society, have agreed upon as the magic number to which we must all hold ourselves accountable if we are going to stand in that line.  I quickly changed from tallying the number of tattoos/children to furiously counting the items that were visible in the cart.  There were, of course, items that were not visible.  They were buried under the bigger, bulkier items.  In under ten seconds, I could discern that they had a minimum of 37 items.

Now perhaps I am being naive in assuming that this couple was capable of counting to twenty.  Maybe they weren't and I was just being a jerk.  Let's say for the moment that they were not.  I imagine that the woman whose job it was to check customers out was capable.  In my opinion, it was not her fault that this couple showed up at her register.  It was her fault that she allowed them to move forward and check out.  As it often happens in these types of situations, those of us who were behind them and therefore on the receiving end of this enormous injustice because instant compadres.  Fighters for the cause.  Perfect strangers became united in our anger and disgust for what was unfolding in front of us.  We were also collectively kicking ourselves for not recognizing the situation sooner because by this time, both of the other 20 Items Or Less lanes were now ten people deep.

We all watched as they placed can after can of Manwich and other must-haves onto the very narrow counter top designed to accommodate 20 OR FEWER items.  They were told their total.  And then the real fun began.  See, they didn't have enough in their account to cover the total charge.  So it turned into a game of What-Can-We-Put-Back-And-Reach-Our-Target-Total.  They began rummaging through their bags and finding items they could live without.  Pine Sol.  (I'm going to go on and bet that their house probably really needed that.)  Dinner rolls.  (Nice to have, but not a necessity.)  One can of baby formula.  (Let's just let Junior have a Manwich.)  The register girl dutifully took them off the bill and then gave them their new total.  This time, they were under their target.  So, you guessed it, it turned into a game of What-Can-We-Now-Afford-To-Put-Back-In-The-Bag.  I am not blaming these people for not being able to guess the prices of the food they had picked out or for not having enough money to cover it.  Unless you really pay attention to that or cut coupons, you may not know what to expect.  But there were clearly frustrated people behind them and these people were completely oblivious or worse - just didn't care that they were inconveniencing all of us.  It was just a complete lack of consideration for other people.

My new-found friend in line behind me, who up until this point had only been murmuring her disgust to me, very loudly gave it a "Oh, hell no" kind of remark and went to another line.  I briefly considered saying something ugly to the couple in front of me.  But I am not good at confrontations and I was so frustrated that I knew I was probably not going to be able to adequately articulate how I was feeling.  Plus, I'm just not very good at really zinging people.  I can do it in a joking manner.  It's the main way I converse with people actually.  But to do it and mean it... I'm just not very good at that.  I knew that if I was dumb enough to get into an argument with these people, that I was dumb enough to lose the argument.  So, instead I turned and followed my Norma Rae who had already inspired others to follow her to a new line.  While in my new line, I bowed my head and said a silent prayer for those who chose to roll the dice and stay in the line.  For within a minute of leaving that line, we witnessed the dreaded sight that no one ever wants to see - the sight of the register girl lifting a hand to turn off the light illuminating her aisle and inviting people to come to her register.

I got through my new line and out the door in under five minutes which was especially good considering there were two people ahead of me.  Or maybe it just felt like it happened quickly since the other lane had been so painstakingly slow.  As I headed for the door, I looked over and saw a manager trying to help the incompetent check-out girl and the inconsiderate patrons.  I almost turned to go over and tell the manager that really this whole thing could have been avoided if the Walmart associate had simply directed them to an appropriate aisle in the first place.  Well, the whole thing wouldn't have been avoided.  There was still the issue of not having enough money and having to decide what should stay and what should go.  But at least it would have been avoided by me.  I decided against it though.  She had probably learned her lesson.  Plus, she was still having to deal with them and I was free.

Free to be accosted by the teenage girl (with no poorly written poster or signage of any kind) holding a bucket for donations for her church standing just outside the door.

Maggie McCallie's 2013 Oscar Fashion Review

Yes, folks.  It's that time of year again.  Time for a girl in a used-to-be-white, pit-stained t-shirt and even-more-threadbare-than-last-year flannel pants to rate the stars' fashion at the Oscars ceremony.  Forget Joan Rivers.  Sure, her show is entertaining.  But every comment she makes is meant as a set up to a big joke.  I wonder half the time if she's really critiquing the clothes or just doing a  stand-up routine.  Plus, she's also not a "real" person.  And I don't just mean all of the synthetic stuff that's in her face.  She's been in Hollywood too long.  She's jaded.  She knows and understands fashion,  She's not like the rest of us.  Plus, her face has been pulled so tight from all of the plastic surgery, that I'm not convinced she can even see out of her eyes anymore.  The evidence:

So, I am forced to be the voice of the average person to rate how the stars did on Hollywood's biggest night.  Let's get to it.

I'd like to start with this year's winners. The first female winner of the night was Anne Hathaway.  She is a tremendous actress although not so great at acting like she's humble and doesn't expect to win.  There's something about her that's a little too self-important for me to truly be happy for her.  Here is her look:

I'd like to thank the Academy, the cast and crew, and, of course, my pert breasts.

She always looks great, but I didn't care for this look.  First of all, the neckline of the dress was too high to add a necklace - particularly one as chunky as this.  And then there's the obvious focal point - the tatas.  We all know you have breasts, Anne.  Anyone who had the misfortune of seeing Love And Other Drugs saw the hell out of them.  I didn't need to see them again tonight. 

Moving on.  Best Actress went to Jennifer Lawrence who I have to say I didn't much care for until I saw her in Silver Linings Playbook.  She just seemed a little too pouty.  Too "over" all of the glitz and glam that you just know was the reason she got into acting in the first place.  It burns me up when someone who has found success in Hollywood acts so ungrateful for it.  (I'm talking about you, Kristen Stewart, but I'll get to your dour ass in a minute.)  So here is Jennifer:

She looked stunning. Not at all pouty.  She looked young, which she is, and glamorous.  One of the best dressed ladies of the night which, in my opinion, were few.  She nailed it.  Her hair was flawless and the dress was a perfect choice for her age and skin tone.  She even managed to look good like this:

Would you not DIE if this happened to you at the Oscars?!  Joan Rivers even quipped that she's not the first girl to get on all fours on her way to an Oscar.  Good Lord.  Something like 40 million people watch this show.  At least she didn't do anything stupid.

Like this person:

I shouldn't say she looked "stupid".  I mean, on my best day I look like Naomi Watts probably does when she has a stomach bug and has been standing outside in the humidity after not having showered for a week and a half.  But what was with this dress?  Why the boob cut-out?  The color was pretty and her hair and make-up looked nice.  I just felt like the designer inadvertently forgot to finish making it and didn't have the heart to tell her once she had it on.

Let's move on to past winners.  Here's my Auburn girl, Octavia Spencer:

Just beautiful.  Joan and her cohosts kept making comments about how she looks good and knows how to dress "for her size".  I'm sorry but she looks great regardless of her size, height, hair color, toe length, favorite book or secret mole.  The dress is gorgeous and she wears it well.  The color is pretty against her skin and her jewelry goes nicely.  Good job, Octavia.  And War Eagle!

Here's another past winner:

 

 

 

I like this dress very much.  I, myself, am a fan of the capped sleeve.  Plus, Sandra Bullock is one person who appears to not have had major work done.  She is aging gracefully for someone in Hollywood which is commendable.   There was just one thing I thought was weird.

 

 

 

Why does she look like she had a bedazzled hearing aid?  I suppose this was a hair clip, but I kept waiting for her to answer a call on it.  It was awkward.  Not quite as awkward as when she did this:

 

 

 

... but awkward just the same.

 

Let's move to Nicole Kidman.

 

 

 

 

Nicole has had so much Botox that these days she looks like she's wearing a Nicole Kidman mask.  Luckily, she seems to have toned it down and her face doesn't look so weird.  I wasn't wild about the dress, but it was fine I guess.  The main thing I noticed was the size of her boobs.  She's shown 'em before in a movie or two.  She doesn't have much.  (Which is perfectly acceptable since I find myself in the same boat.)  So, what is all of that that is spilling out of the top of her dress?!  To me, this look screamed "Aging Star Who Wants To Still Try To Be Sexy But Is Really Past All Of That And Should Just Embrace The Roles As Channing Tatum's Mother That Are Likely The Only Ones Coming Her Way".  I should probably just be grateful I only had to put up with her boobs instead of Angelina's stupid leg from last year.

 

 

 

 

I love Reese Witherspoon but I don't love this dress.  She looks great, of course, and she had a baby like, 16 minutes ago.  But I didn't like the black at the top and at her ribcage.  I guess maybe it was meant to be slimming since she does have a newborn, but I would have liked it better if the whole dress was blue.  Also, Joan and her crew said that Reese had the best hair on the red carpet.  I have to disagree.  This hair looked like a Price Is Right Model from 1982.  I kept waiting for when she would direct someone toward the Plinko board and it just never happened.



 

 

 

Oh, gosh!  There it is again!

 

 

How about the pre-awards-show shows?  I only watched the one on ABC hosted by Kristen Chenowith and a slew of ABC personalities.  Most notably, Robin Roberts.

 

 



 

 

How great does she look?  What a year she's had.  She's such a neat lady and beautiful as well.  She's had medical issue after medical issue and all I can think of is, "Why don't my arms look like that?".  She looks terrific.  She is rocking the short hair and looks fabulous in that exquisite blue. 

 

But speaking of Kristen Chenowith, I would be remiss if I didn't address her interview with Adele.

 

 

 



Kristen's interview style was a little hero-worshippy for my taste.  And I'm pretty sure I heard her tell two different Best Actress nominees that she wanted them to win.  But it was her interview with Adele that made me wonder, When does Jack The Giant Slayer come to theaters?  I mean, these two people standing next to each other do not look like they are from the same species!  Adele recently had a baby, but why is she eight feet tall?  I guess Kristen is just really small.  Seems like I read that she rode to the ceremony in Jack Nicholson's pocket.  This was just a strange visual.  Not as strange perhaps, as this one:

 



 

 

You know what wasn't a strange visual?  This:

 

 

Jessica Chastain looked gorgeous.  Which was hard to imagine after this:

 

 

But her hair, her dress, her make-up - everything - was just right.  The color of her dress seemed like it was made for her skin.  She looked so good that I might actually be able to forgive her Golden Globes hair.

Another stunning look of the night, not surprisingly, was Charlize Theron.   What's interesting is that I am mistaken for her like, all  the time.  It's to the point where I have to go out in public wearing disguises.  Things like ill-fitting, outdated clothes and bad hair; so people won't think I'm her.  Anyway, she had to shave her head for a movie role and her hair has only recently stated growing out.  Look at this.  Are you kidding me???

 

If I shaved my head, this is what I would like:

 

 



 

Another gorgeous lady:

Has Halle Berry ever looked bad?  Well, I didn't care for her Golden Globes one-boob-out look:

 

 

It was kind of weird.  But even with that, she is gorgeous!  As with the Globes, I wasn't wild about her dress.  I kept thinking she was about to board the Starship Enterprise.  But still, Halle's worst day blows my best day off the map.

 

Now let's tackle two people I wish hadn't even shown up.  First, there's the incomparable Kristen Stewart.  First of all, why was she invited to the Oscars?!  She had just won several Razzies the evening before for whatever idiotic vampire movie she made last year.  She's mostly famous for sleeping with her married director.  She plays the same pouty, angst-ridden character in every movie she's in.  Why does she have an acting career?  She is not the least bit charismatic as she showcased during her grumbling presentation at the Oscar podium Sunday.   She seems like she has the sourest personality.  In fact, here she is doing her best smile:

 



 

 

In this shot, someone has just told her that they've found a cure for cancer.

 

 

Here, she's learned that they solved the decades-old mystery surrounding the death of JFK.

 

 

 

 Here, she's just learned of a horrific, fiery bus crash:





 

 

Ugh.  She has got to go.  She needs a sense of humor.  Like this person:

 

 



Finally, our "national treasure" Barbra Streisand.  I know Hollywood just loves this woman and that her surprise appearance was a highlight for all of them, but UGH.  I'm over her. She looked like she was shooting a movie where she would play a wicked queen.  Observe:

 

 

 

 

I'm going to cook you and eat you for my supper!!!

 

She is too old for long hair and a butt-cut.  And where are her breasts?  On the floor?  Look how low that dress is!  C'mon, Babs.  When you sing "Memories" I am wishing it was in reference to your career.  A distant memory.

 

 

Overall, the Oscars were nice, but certainly not the most glamorous I've seen.  And I know glamour. 

 

 

 

 

Seth MacFarlane was funny and the musical numbers were great (except for the lip-synched "All That Jazz" which showcased the fact that Catherine Zeta Jones hasn't had to move like that in the ten years since the move was made).  The In Memoriam part was weird (thanks, Barbra) due to the fact they left so many notable people out.  Andy Griffith?  Phyllis Diller?  And the show was excruciatingly long.  Don't they realize that no one cares about Best Documentary Short Subject?!  Get to the meaty stuff we all tune in for.  But I still love it and look forward to it every year.  Just as I'm sure you look forward to my insightful and meticulous reviews of the fashions.  Until next year... that's a wrap!

 

Disney Magic

I actually began this post prior to writing "Guilt"but never finished it until now.  Pardon the errors in continuity.



Happy New Year!  We are now into February and I have missed several opportunities for hilarious blog posts already this year.  Let's see, there was the Golden Globes - the fashion disasters and odd speeches were enough for two posts!  There was the news of a Kim Kardashian/Kanye West baby - a sure sign the world must be coming to an end.  And speaking of baby bumps - all of Britain (and, inexplicably, America) were on the edge of their seats trying to catch a glimpse of Princess (Duchess?) Kate's new baby bump.  But all of it pales in comparison to my family's third trip to Disney World.

Okay, maybe the Kim and Kanye baby is a bigger deal than what's taking place in my small section of the world (I mean, can you imagine the level of confidence that kid will have??), BUT, there is something about Disney that just brings out the kid in everyone and our family has such a great time every time we go.  I must start out by saying that I am not the type of person who usually likes a Disney-type phenomenon.  I am sarcastic and cynical.  I don't get into things like that.  It's hard for me to relax and enjoy something that is, by nature, so ridiculous and over-done.  I like my space.  I like solitude.  I don't like a tremendous amount of heat and humidity.  I loathe large groups and cliches - both of which are a huge part of the lure of Disney.  And yet, I cannot say enough positive things about being there with my family.

The three times we have visited Disney have all been in January.  Since Mike also doesn't like crowds, we figure that that's the time when the fewest amount of people will be there.  (Why should we expose ourselves to a situation that requires that we interact with anyone?!) The weather is cool or, at the very least unpredictable which keeps people away.  It's right after people have spent a bunch of money on Christmas.  Kids are back in school.  It's PERFECT!  The longest lines (with a Fast Pass) have traditionally been only about 30 minutes for us.  That's unheard of during the warmer months.  We stay off property - onto which , I have found, people look down their noses.  But, as I mentioned before, we like our space.  I am not interested in sharing a room with my kids.  I like our occasional spend-the-night parties as much as anyone, but after a long day of traipsing around Disney brushing up against B.O-riddled foreigners, the last thing I want to do is go to sleep with a bony knee crushing my ribs.  So, we stay in a condo off property and have a good amount of space to ourselves for a fraction of what it would cost to get to say, with our heads held high, that we stayed "on property".

Two days before we were scheduled to leave, Kate came down with strep throat.  She was kind of puny and had a headache so, as a precaution, I took her to the pediatrician.  She had no common symptoms of strep so I was shocked that that was the diagnosis.  I was relieved, though, because those antibiotics have my kids feeling better within 24 hours.  So, I felt as though she would be in the clear by the time we got there.  Unfortunately, the day we left for Orlando, Meg began coughing and becoming feverish.  Her symptoms were completely different from Kate's and she was, in fact, much worse.  Kate had a mild fever.  Meg was burning up.  She was so stopped up that she couldn't breathe.  She was miserable.  I felt so sorry for her.  We used almost an entire box of Kleenex on her on the ride down.  She was squirting baby nose drops every couple of hours to try and bring some relief, but there really was none.  I was able to get a prescription called in for her, but it took her a lot longer to get over it. 

I really think Meg's issues were related to a cold and not strep.  The reason I know this is because I eventually caught it from Meg.  She started the week miserable, and that's how I ended the week.  Good health was not on our side.  But I have to say that both girls, while they felt pretty crummy, really rallied and did not allow it to interfere with their ability to enjoy Disney and have a good attitude about being there while sick.  Because of their resilience, I was forced to also rally when what I really wanted to do was sleep - uninterrupted - for about a day and a half.  But they didn't complain, so neither could I.  They were very good examples to me and I was grateful for it.  I also had Mike's voice playing in my head for much of the trip.  Early in our marriage, something had happened - can't remember now - but he commented that he was impressed that I hadn't let it get to me and was able to enjoy whatever it was we were doing despite the bad circumstances.  Since then, I have done everything possible to keep up the illusion that I am a "trooper" when, in actuality, nothing could be further from the truth. 

At any rate, this was our first trip in which our children understood that the characters were simply that: characters.  They knew that it wasn't really Snow White that hugged them, but someone pretending to be her.  (That's not really the Mad Hatter; just a perv in a costume who makes money by hugging children.)  And the way I figure it, most of the people in the costumes have to be men.  I mean, obviously the princesses are women, but how would it be if your child hugged Mickey Mouse and felt a pair of breasts rub against them?  Wouldn't they think that odd?  So, who knows who is  really underneath all of the costumes.  Doesn't matter really.  That's the magic of Disney!

Our trip differed in another way as well.  Kate was hungry for adventure.  Up until this trip, we had gone on rides like Dumbo that are kid-friendly.  This time, she labeled these as "boring" and went after every roller coaster she could ride due to her height.  She even made me ride Everest which is a scary-ass roller coaster at Animal Kingdom.  The ONLY reason I rode it was because I really don't want to pass along my fears (both the rational {sharks} and the irrational {the roller coaster is going to fly off the track and crash into a crowd of people and probably a shark will swim over and kill me}) to my children.  I want them to be curious and adventurous with a healthy dose of caution.  I don't have a healthy dose of caution.  I am as cautious as a mo-fo.  It's kind of a problem.

I worried that the trip would be "totally lame" to her and that she would be able to convince Meg that it wasn't as great as we all remembered it.  To my surprise and delight, as we got out of the car that first day, Meg held my hand and skipped all the way to the monorail.  I don't even know if she was aware she was doing it.  I looked ahead at Mike and Kate and realized that Kate was doing the exact same thing.  She was pulling her daddy's arm as she skipped off trying to get there as fast as she could.  I was getting a little weepy and we weren't even in the damn park yet!  They both had the Mickey ears on as they raced toward the action.  They hugged the princesses and characters (sweaty pervs) and acted like it was their very first trip. 

I don't know what it is about that place.  It's the happiest place I've ever seen.  They obviously have made an art out of tourism.  Everything runs smoothly with probably thousands of employees with a, "Have a magical day!" at the ready.  The shows are impressive.  The grounds are clean.  The lines are controlled.  They've got it down pat.  We have never had a bad experience there.  Our kids love it.  We love it.  It truly is a "magical" place.

Below is a picture I took during our first trip.  It is of Kate watching a show where Maleficent, the evil queen from the Sleeping Beauty story, shows up in a huge puff of smoke.  This perfectly encapsulates the magic.  See for yourself.

And this was Kate and her sister this year.  Not much has changed.

Everyone needs to take their kids at least one time to experience it.  It is truly one of our family's treasured memories.

Guilt

Question: What is one thing that all mothers share regardless of age, race, creed, (gender doesn't count here, right?  We are all mothers.), religion, yada, yada, yada?

I suppose I've already tipped my hand by titling this post "Guilt".  But yes, guilt, is the correct answer. Every mother I've ever known has had it.  Mommy Guilt they call it.  It's a real, actual thing and regardless of whether you work or stay at home, volunteer at the school, go to every ballet practice or soccer game, you have it.  I've not yet met a mother who doesn't feel guilty about something.  There is some comfort for me in knowing that I'm not the only one, but over time, I find that there are way too many things to feel guilty about.  I find that I am devoting entirely too much time feeling guilty.  It seems like what little time is left after doing all of the things that cause me to feel guilt in my parenting and my life in general is spent feeling guilty about doing those things.  (Did you follow that?)  

So what kinds of things are we mothers feeling guilty about?  Plenty.  Here are some examples of the guilt I, personally, felt this past week.

For starters, I got annoyed because I was having to ask Kate to do something for the fourth time with no response from her.  So, I did what any other patient and loving mother would do.  I raised my voice to her.  Okay, I barked at her.  Yelled.  I didn't say anything mean.  But I did yell and it scared her because normally we laugh and joke and I can get a response without having to see that kind of childish behavior (coming from me, mind you, not her).  So I experienced Lost Temper Guilt. 

I allowed my children to have canned, sodium-filled chicken noodle soup for dinner twice last week. because a. they like it and b. (and more importantly) it's easy.  Not exactly steering them toward sound nutrition.  Plus, when you consider the McDonald's I had let them have last week as well, I realized I was experiencing Contributing to America's Obesity Problem Guilt. 

One night this week, I put my kids to bed as I usually do - together in the same room.  They have been doing this for a couple of years now and I love it so much.  I think it is so sweet that they sleep together in the same room when they each have their own bedroom.  However, Kate is getting older (well, they both are I suppose) and wanting to sleep by herself which I know will devastate her very dependent sister.  At any rate, It was the end of the day and my tank was beyond empty.  They were arguing over how light their nightlight should be.  Kate likes it dark; Meg light.  I told them they needed to "compromise" and work it out themselves.  Of course, neither of them knows what it means to "compromise" and I didn't bother to explain what the word means.  Instead, I got madder and madder at Meg's unreasonable (yet totally normal) fear of the dark and Kate's inflexibility.  I told them just to work it out.  Laissez Faire Parenting Guilt.  After an hour, they were still cracking and uncracking the door and neither of them were even close to being asleep.  Well played, Mama.  Well played.

I spend a good deal of time on the computer.  I used to be on it all day at work - back when I was an important cog in the wheel of something other than American Girl trivia.  So I am used to checking my email.  Now, I look at the headlines - Have they released that poor hostage in Alabama?  What is up with this crazy weather?  Al Roker did WHAT at the White House?!  I check Facebook.  As time-wasting and intelligence-depleting as Facebook is, I guess I do have a certain addiction to it.  I can't help but get sucked in to the Praying for So-And-So pages that my friends "like".  I end up reading all kinds of depressing stories that concern people I've never known or will ever know.  Yet, I have to know and understand their plight so I can feel awful for them and be thankful for my own family's good health.  I also suffer from an uncontrollable urge to comment on things.  If I think it is funny, I simply cannot help myself but to post it under your picture or status update.  The problem is, I do this instead of spending time with my precious children who I quit my job for in order to stay home and be a "present" mother to. 

I didn't realize my Facebook use was as frequent as it apparently is until I read a recent school journal entry from Kate.  The question to which she was supposed to reply was something about what does Santa do when he's not busy Santa-ing.  Kate wrote a detailed essay about how he interacts with his elves, eats dinner with Mrs. Claus and checks his Facebook page.  The only reason she knows what Facebook is, is because Mama spends an exorbitant amount of time on it.  This is a phenomenon known as Ignoring Your Children In Favor of Absolute Drivel Guilt.  This is also known simply as Facebook Guilt. 

Further, when she completed an assignment where she was to name characteristics of her mother, two words/phrases she used were "lazzy" and "takes naps".  Now, she didn't know that "lazy" carries with it a rather negative connotation, but she couldn't even spell it right,  Perhaps if her mother would quit napping, she could help her spell words like "lazy".  Napping Too Frequently Guilt.  She did say I was "nice" so there's that...  That was obviously before I yelled at her.

I have been getting emails all week about the girls' Valentine parties at school. I've done nothing to contribute to either party. This is why I stayed home from work -  to be an involved parent - and I have no idea what's being planned, what's been done, and what I need to do. Part of the issue is that I've gotten so many emails about all of it that I can't keep them all straight. How did I ever manage 450+ employees before? I used to get easily over 100 emails a day and now the 6 that I get today that aren't junk totally confound me.  In fairness to me, I've been sick.  I've been unable to shake this stupid cold I have and I have had no energy at all.  I must say though, I'm a little concerned that I am using this cold as a convenient excuse to be lazy.  True Colors Guilt.  I'm A Lazy Sack Of Crap Guilt.

You know, now that I'm thinking about it, guilt may not be limited to just mothers.  I am just now realizing that I've never met a woman who doesn't feel guilty about things she is doing or things she hasn't done or things she may do at some point.  Heck, women feel guilt about things over which they have absolutely no control.    Right now, I am having a self-conscious thing about the bags and dark circles under my eyes.  I know Mike has noticed.  AND, I'm turning 40 this year so I feel like it'sall anhyone can see when they look at me.  I Apologize For Actually Aging Guilt. My face may be haggard, but I will say that I'm probably in the best shape Ive ever been in (which, sadly, isn't saying a lot).  I am exercising at least four days a week and I am eating better.  More lean protein; more fiber.  Which, of course, leads to the worst thing for a marriage.  Flatulence Guilt. 

But, why am I feeling all of this guilt?  Other people in this house do things that they should feel plenty guilty about.  Take Dudley, our elderly Jack Russell Terrier.  He pees in the house AT LEAST twice a day.  Guess who has to clean it up?  Yep.  Me.  He doesn't appear to feel bad about it at all.

Mike disrobes at night before going to bed and leaves his clothes wherever they fall - usually right in the path to the bathroom.  He has to literally step over them in the morning.  Which he does.  Without moving them.  They are left for me.  Or for him if I decide to stand my ground and not move them.  But how long can I go with a pair of men's underpants on my floor for the world to see?  Not long.  I usually move them.  Where is his guilt? 

And don't get me started on the girls.  They make messes.  They spill food.  They are loud when I need them to be quiet.  It's like they are children for crying out loud!  Why don't they feel bad about that?  Ugh.  So frustrating.  Frustrated That My Kids Are Kids Guilt.  I mean, what gives? 

Of course, when I get really frustrated with Mike he does something very sweet for me and I experience I Am Such A Bitch Guilt.  And when my kids frustrate me to the end of all reason, I take a step back and realize that one day all of that noise and mess in the room will be gone.  Not Thankful Enough For What I Have Guilt.  And poor Dudley.  He'll be 16 this year.  He's on a limited time budget with us.  He was my firstborn.  I have been his Mama for almost 16 years and I can't clean up a little tee-tee?  PETA Is Gonna Douse Me In Paint Guilt.

Sadly, this post is pointless as I do not have the cure for all of this guilt.  Part of reconciling it is admitting you have a problem, right?  And perhaps part of overcoming guilt is recognizing what it is, when it rears its head, and what you'd be missing if you didn't have the things in your life that bring it on.  Deep Thought Guilt.

So all of you moms and women out there, relax.  Ease up on yourself and know you are doing the best you can.  Everyone ends up in therapy at some point anyway, right?  Moms just help their kids - daughters especially - get there faster.  Your Best Will Never Be Good Enough Guilt.  Enjoy what you have when you have it.  Most of us have more than we could have ever dreamed we would have.

Crappy Post Guilt.  My apologies.




 

Must. Have.Wine.

At the risk of sounding like a self-promoting ego maniac, I'd like to direct your attention toward this book written by a new friend of mine, Leah Speer and her writing partner Katrina Epp.  Great stories about motherhood - some poignant, some funny - all relatable.  I was lucky enough to have a story chosen for it and am luckier still to have read the words of other moms who are trying to the best by their kids every day.  Following is a link:

http://www.amazon.com/Must-Have-Wine-Toast-Motherhood/dp/0615716792/ref=lh_ni_t