Separated at Birth

The Donald and Owen Wilson: Same squinty eyes, sucking-a-lemon pursed lips and floppy hair. Let's take a poll: Who would you rather have as your President?

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'...

Miss Crankypants

I remember reading Miss Lonelyhearts in high school and being inspired to write a daily column on things that bugged me. But then I got distracted by all the AP Calculus I wasn't understanding and forgot about my pet peeves. Or at least about sharing them.

Well, no more! My time has finally come.

Today's gripe: Why do packaged loaves of bread always have an odd number of slices? Wouldn't you assume that most people are using sliced sandwich bread for..... I don't know, sandwiches?! A single slice of bread is of exactly no use to me. And if you've ever been left literally holding the bag (as I was this morning) you know the desperation of trying to cut the heel enough to make it pass (upside down, natch) as a regular slice of bread.

I can imagine how that will go over in the lunchroom. What could be less appealing to a kid who-- much to my chagrin/bemusement-- carefully eats every morsel up-to-but-not-including the crusts, than a whole piece made up of nothing but crust?

And while we're fixing the loaves of bread, why not just leave off the ends altogether? Lop them off at the factory and recycle them right there into breadcrumbs or stuffing. Does anyone eat the ends or do we all just reach past the heel to get to the good stuff underneath? (Strangely, I never throw away that top end until the whole loaf is otherwise finished-- I've always treated it as the protector of the other slices or something).

I'm feeling better already.

Clothes Encounters

We were invited to a family party two weekends back - no, I'm sorry, per the invitation it was an "event" - and far too late to do anything about it, we discovered that our older daughter has absolutely NOTHING to wear except sweats. We cobbled something together out of clothes of mine that shrank in the wash (I swear) and vowed to go shopping together the following weekend.

So last Saturday we went to the mall. The problem was, neither of us knew where to shop anymore. Gap was too "young" for her (really? 'cos you're 10), Crewcuts was too fussy and designed for stick figures, and Justice was just plain nasty (my eyes actually hurt from all the tacky colors).

Finally, we found Abercrombie and, as I would have been at her age, my daughter was in heaven: Skinny, stretch jeans, plaid shirts, cute cardies, tiered skirts, Justin Bieber blaring (Baby, Baby, Baby, Oh!), a miasma of perfume wafting through the air!

We grabbed armfuls of clothes and headed for the changing rooms where we were stopped short by a very ditsy shop assistant who informed us that only one person was allowed in the changing room at a time.

"But I'm her mother and I want to see how everything fits!" I spluttered.

"It's store policy ma'am" (Oh no you didn't!).

The policy is probably aimed at tweens/teens on a shoplifting spree but this girl clearly couldn't work out the difference and I didn't feel like pushing it. She said what she was told to say. I guess a store that sells padded bikini tops to seven-year-olds really has a pretty twisted view of the world.

Of course, we'll go back.

How to Tick Off Your Kids

Step one: Tell them it's a snow day.

Step two: Wait for them to get all excited.

Step three: Say "April Fool's!"

Tried and true.