Hair Today, Gone to Maui

Hi blog!  It’s been a while.  I’ve…um… been busy?

If I’m being honest, the only reason I’m even writing now is that I’m trying to avoid doing what I’m supposed to be doing and I’ve already used up all my usual go-to procrastination devices. 

I should be preparing for Thanksgiving.  It’s only one week—seven short days!--  from today.  And my whole family will be descending upon my house on Tuesday.  I should be planning menus and making shopping lists and cleaning out the fridge to make room for four kinds of milk, two kinds of orange juice and umpteen bottles of club soda and seltzer (and googling just what the difference is between the two).  A wise hostess would be figuring out who is sleeping where and on what and whether the (clean) sheets in the linen closet need to be washed before they go on the beds.

Instead, I find myself fixated on towels and pillows and worried about whether I have enough of each.  Every time I go to Target (which is obscenely frequently),  I  pick up towels and pillows.  What am I going to do with all these dang towels and pillows after everyone leaves?

The Thanksgivings that we spend with my family have, historically, been held at my brother’s house.  The bar is set very high.  My sister-in-law is a wonderful hostess.  A real Martha.  She stocks the fridge and pantry ahead of time with things each of us likes.  She effortlessly produces meals and copious baked goods practically from thin air.  She has gobs of great rag magazines that I usually only get to read at the nail salon.  And, exceeding the service of any five star resort, she thoughtfully provides hand-picked toiletries in the bathrooms, tailored to the individual’s needs. 

That last one cuts both ways.   I know it’s the thought that counts and all of that—don’t get me wrong,  I am touched that she takes the time (and spends the money) to make me feel at home.  But it is always kind of funny/awkward that the shampoo and conditioner in the shower that I will be using are labeled  for use on hair that is DRY/DAMAGED/CHEMICALLY TREATED/FRIZZY/GOOD GOD DO YOU CHECK THE MIRROR EVER?! 

I’m sure it comes from a place of love.  Seriously.  But it has left me in a bit of a pickle.  I know that my family has come to expect not to have to BYOShampoo, etc.  so, on my latest Target run, I spent a great deal of time in the toiletries section.  As I surveyed the shampoo options I called to mind each man, woman and child that was going to be using our facilities and, channeling my sister-in-law, tried to guess what their individual hair care needs and wants might be.  

Well.  My brother has been somewhat successfully fighting genetics and a receding hairline since forever.  Do I get him the men’s shampoo for “Fuller, thicker looking hair” or is that mean?  My sister-in-law has been fighting her own battle with hair loss.  Do I get her the shampoo for “fragile, breaking, falling hair?”  Is there such a thing as passive-aggressive shampoo?

 Oof.  The towels and pillows are so much easier.  Maybe I should go get some more.

Spell Check in Aisle Three!

Who ticked off the nuts?


Exhibiting great self-restraint (for me), I managed not to pose that question-- or any of the 15 variations on that theme bouncing around in my head-- to the checkout lady.

Sunrise, Sunset

Another milestone I wasn't prepared for...

Back in 2002, early on in my first pregnancy, I went on the internet to search for information about what exactly was happening inside my uterus. I think I was just trying to justify why I was absolutely ravenous and craving buttered bagels at six weeks. I signed up with babycenter.com to get weekly updates on "my baby."

I liked receiving those emails. They were informative and served as mile markers for the pregnancy (they always reminded me what week I was in-- I had "mommy brain" before I ever had kids).

After our son was born, the emails kept coming every week (or so. I stopped reading them faithfully). Your baby is three months old. Your toddler is two years old. Your big kid this week... Of course by then I was receiving two emails a week-- one tied to my son's age and one to my daughter's age.

I delete the emails immediately most of the time. Unless it's a list of the top baby names. But I got one yesterday that caught my eye: "Your 8-Year Old: Wow, where did the time go?"

Ever the sentimentalist, I opened it and learned that I'm being cut off!!!

"Can you believe your child is almost 9? It's been an amazing journey, and we're so glad to have shared it with you. And though you've reached the end of our age-by-age newsletters and articles, our door is still open.... We wish you the best as you parent your tween and teen!"

How will I fill the hole in my life? Okay... the hole in my inbox? Buttered bagels?

Proof It

The principal at my children's elementary school is not what I would call charismatic. Or a man of the people. Or warm and fuzzy. If pushed (fine, if given any opportunity), I'd say he's a little twitchy and a lot awkward.

As I was preparing to send an email referencing an upcoming school meeting with the principal, I noticed, to my delight, that my iPad had auto-corrected the man's name to read Mr. Aloof.

Oh, auto-correct. You cheeky monkey.

Someday Is Not A Day Of The Week

There is an article in this month's Real Simple magazine about procrastinating and how to stop. I haven't got around to reading it yet but I plan to. It's very frustrating to know full-well what you have to do, whether it be sending an email to that long-neglected friend or cleaning out your closet of things you haven't worn for five years or more, or putting your family photos in an album, and yet still not be able to bring yourself to do it.

For example, my son really needs a tie for his first Communion. I tried one store, weeks ago, then gave up. He's probably going to end up wearing the Gryffindor tie that was part of his Halloween costume two years ago. Is that offensive? The Church of England refused to allow the Harry Potter films to be set in Canterbury Cathedral because of the witchcraft theme, so I'm assuming the Catholic church isn't too happy about it either.

Mostly I procrastinate when it's something I don't like doing. I would rather do almost anything else but grocery shop, for example, so sometimes we literally have nothing in the way of real food in our house. I'll finally get up the energy to go and then be diverted by the first phone call suggesting a coffee break. I'm not talking 'Glass Castle' here (no one actually goes hungry), but we've had Lean Pockets for dinner. Once or twice.

Other times I put off things that seem like they would require a lot of logistics; going away on a girls' weekend or learning how to play the guitar. I have nothing but admiration for people who know what they want and make it happen. I have good friends who are like that - how can they can stand me?!

So I'm going to read that article and see if I can motivate myself to be a more efficient, organized person. As soon as I've finished folding the laundry. And watching 'Iron Chef'...

Home Alone (with two kids and one incredibly needy dog)

Another week, another snow day...

Today we were pinned inside by grey skies and icy, sleety rain. Silver lining: my son's birthday was yesterday so we had a bunch of new games to play and legos to build.

At about 4PM, the house of brotherly (and sisterly) love started to show signs of an imminent cave-in; I decided to put on a movie. Yes, I get all my parenting tips from Roseanne.

Weeks ago I had Tivo'd Home Alone, figuring that its Tom and Jerry-like violence would appeal to my kids. I was not wrong. My kids howled as the Wet Bandits repeatedly fell victim to the booby traps set for them by crafty eight-year-old Kevin McCallister. Woo-hoo! Kids rule, grownups drool! I totally get it.

Interestingly, their big take-away from the movie was not the iconic shot of Mac dousing himself with after-shave and shrieking. It was not even the montage of Kevin doing all the things a kid would do if no parents were home to stop him (jumping on the beds, eating a giant ice cream sundae, etc.). No, it was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it line uttered by Kevin as he paws through his brother Buzz's things: Kevin picks up a framed photo of a girl, winces, and says "Buzz, your girlfriend-- woof!"

It's been about three hours since the movie ended and my kids have quoted that line no less than 100 times.

Please, please, please let there be school tomorrow. No whammies, no whammies, no whammies......

This is "Great"

No, seriously. How could I not have created this site?

http://www.unnecessaryquotes.com/

(Sorry. I can't make the link button, you know, "work")

Bingo!

In law school we played a game called B.S. Bingo (I hear they play it in boardrooms too): imagine a bingo card-- except, instead of numbers, the squares were filled with overused catchphrases or buzzwords. You would mark off a square anytime one of the words or phrases on your cards was said in class. If you completed a row, you'd say (or cough) something that sounded like bingo.

I haven't seen a B.S. Bingo board in a while but if I were playing with my friends and we were goofing on ourselves (as we often do), these are the kinds of things that would fill up the spaces on our boards:

"wait-- what was I talking about?"

"Do you see that I'm on the phone?" (said to a child)

"That's ridiculous"

"That's awesome"

"It's driving me crazy"

"I couldn't believe it. Can you believe it?"

"Why would anyone do that?"

"Are you serious?"

"Are you kidding?"

"I don't know why but I'm so tired today"

"Coffee?"

That last one would have to be the "free" space.

The Real Funny Pages

I grew up in a New York Times house. I'd even go so far as to say that my dad is addicted to the Times. If my parents are away from home he'll settle for national editions or even the Times Digest (nee the Times Fax), but as soon as they return to local soil he will actually go back and read-- cover to cover-- the papers that were delivered in his absence.

As a kid, the Times wasn't all that enticing-- no funny pages, no jumble, no horoscope. I didn't even like touching the paper (I didn't like the way the ink and paper felt. It's better now, they changed the ink I think).

When I was about ten, my mom started writing pretty regularly for a section in the Sunday Daily News, which meant that on Sundays there was now a choice of newspapers. I don't want to overstate it but remember that moment when Dorothy opens the door to the technicolor of Oz?? Not only did I get the aforementioned comics (in full color!), jumble and horoscopes but there was Parade Magazine and coupon circulars and the TV guide. I spent hours poring over all that junk.

These days I read the Times online. I don't miss the jumble or the horoscopes. But even though I don't follow the funny pages anymore I am loving The Comics Curmudgeon

Read a few of the old posts. Read some of the comments even. It's hi-larious. It kind of makes me want to pick up one of the "lesser" papers for the comics. Don't tell my dad...

Really?

Sometimes I feel like Seth Meyers and Tina Fey are perched on my shoulders like the angel and devil in cartoons:

"You just spent ten minutes rearranging the dishwasher to make room for that one little bowl that you could've washed by hand in less than a minute? Really?!"

"Instead of ironing that clean shirt you just threw it back in the hamper? Really?!"

"Chicken nuggets? From the freezer? For dinner? Really??!"

"You're going to let the kids skip their bath because at least they went swimming today? Really?!! Isn't the pool the most persuasive argument in favor of a bath? Really!?"

"Your kid found some of the "art" projects that you stuffed in the recycling bin and you blamed the cleaning people? Really?!"

"You spent all day complaining about how bloated and fat you felt and now you're going to sit there and eat peanut butter off a spoon? REALLY??!"

Really.

After This I'll Go to Bed. Unless Someone Good is on Letterman.

Morning Me really, really hates Nighttime Me.*

*Years ago I heard a comedian (I wish I could remember who it was) doing an extended bit on this very topic and it totally stuck with me. If I had to pay the guy some kind of royalty each time the thought of “nighttime me vs. morning me” popped into my head I’d no longer have room in the budget for pricey lattes.

Morning Me has lots of things to do in a very small window of time: workout; shower; get ready; make breakfast for the kids; pack lunches; make sure the kids are dressed with teeth brushed and shoes on; find homework folders, library books, and bus notes/permission slips; and, most importantly, get to the bus stop on time.

There is not one task on that list that wouldn’t be easier, go more smoothly or be accomplished more quickly if I could just get a decent night’s sleep.

Yawn, coffee, yawn, yawn, coffee, yawn through the morning and the late afternoon and then… suddenly… I’m up. It’s like once the kids go to bed, Nighttime Me doesn’t want to miss a single minute of blissfully uninterrupted (quiet) time. Somehow, even though mere hours earlier a nap would have been like heaven on Earth, after dinner sleep loses all appeal. There's no reason for me to be up late. I’m not really doing anything important until all hours of the night— mostly just surfing the internet, watching TV, or reading. And, of course, making life harder for Morning Me.

Morning Me likes to quote my dad circa my high school years: “Six o’clock comes very early….”

Nighttime Me is blogging at 11pm.

Sit, Ubu, Sit. Good Dog.

I dig this video.

But I was surprised to learn that this is just one very talented guy, not twins, because the one on the right seems to be cuter. I showed the link to my mom and sister and they agreed. We then tried to isolate and identify why the same guy would appear to be his own more attractive brother. Is it that playing the guitar is somehow more happening? Is it the white shirt (maybe like a Darth Vader vs. Luke Skywalker thing? Or Spy vs. Spy? Or simply fashion?)? Or does he maybe have a bit of scruff on the right? Whatever. It's a fun video. Enjoy.

Can you identify what the title is from? Hint: It's not a theme song.