Feelin' Hot Hot Hot

"Welcome to GNC, my name is Nick. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes, hi, Nick. I was wondering if you have something for hormonal imbalance."

"As a matter of fact we do. Do you mind telling me what is going on? What kind of symptoms are you having?"

"Mostly, I am having hot flashes. My doctor told me I was most likely in perimenopause and that he doesn't like to treat that with hormones. He suggested I look into natural remedies for relief from my symptoms."

"Ahh, yes. We have this product right here that is specifically for menopause that includes fish oil for cholesterol and heart health, a multivitamin helping to retain bone density and some herbs that help with the hot flashes. Are you having any mood alterations?"

"No. Other than I'm hot. And I'm really pissed off about it."

"Ahh.. okay. Well, this should do it. It is on sale right now and very reasonably priced."

**I decide to go with it and we proceed to the register so that I may pay for the item**

Nick again- " I really think you will be pleased with this. It will take a few days before you start seeing results, but it really does work. I took this home to my mother (!!!) and it just knocked her symptoms right out!"

**AWKWARD PAUSE**

"Okay, Nick. Thanks. Oh, and do you perhaps have some St John's Wort? Because NOW I'm depressed."

Identity Crisis- A Reference for My Daughter's Future Therapist

If you read THIS post, then you know that I color my hair. I was a dark brunette up until Zoe was about six months old and I decided to go red. I have been a redhead ever since. That is, until July. We sent the kids to Texas to visit the grandparents and I decided I was tired of the same look I've had for the past four years, so I decided to go back to the dark side.

A few days before we headed to Texas to pick the kids up, it occurred to me that they didn't know that I had changed my hair color and I sent a picture so that they could be properly prepared. I expected Noah to have trouble with it, because he doesn't handle change well, but I was not expecting Zoe's reaction.

My mother showed them the picture of me and they both immediately complained they did not like it. When I arrived in Texas, they told me again that they were unhappy with my choice. But, Zoe wouldn't let it go.

The third day in Texas, Zoe came up to me and said, "Mommy? Is my hair turning black like yours?" It didn't occur to me that she might not understand the process and associate my hair color change with her own hair. She has red hair, so somehow she thought hers might change colors too. She checked in the mirror several times and required my assurance that her hair would not turn black.

At some point, I explained to her that I dyed my hair and she still did not understand. So I told her I "colored" it. She asked me later that same day when I was going to "paint" it back to red.

Now, here we are three months later and Zoe is still having an identity crisis. She still checks every now and again to make sure her hair isn't turning black. She still asks me when I am going to paint my hair back to red and now she has stepped up her lobbying efforts. She keeps coming home with artwork like this:

When asked to explain everything she always points to the others (always minus hair) and names them as Daddy, Noah or herself. Then she always points to the one with the mop of red crayon on top and says, "And that is Mommy, with her beautiful red hair!"

I wonder what she would do if I went Sinead O'Connor and shaved it all off?

How have you managed to screw up your kids?

Don't Fence Me In

The East Texas sun was high in the sky when he stepped out of the house. Noah had been sleeping well past any respectable time to wake up and when he finally rolled out of bed, he found the house empty. He decided to investigate further and stepped out the front door into the blinding sunlight and heat that sucked the very breath right out of him. He blinked several times, looked around and finally spotted his father and uncle working on the tractor. He panned the property and spotted his mother cleaning out the van with his sister happily supervising the process.

After a few moments, he walked over to his father and his uncle, sighed and said, "I'm bored." They looked at him incredulously. "There is a pool, endless toys, a sister, a cousin, a trampoline, and a wide expanse of pasture. GO PLAY! ", replied his father.

"BOY! If you want something to do... get to work..." replied his uncle, "...there is plenty to do around here. Feed the chickens, feed the ducks, feed the dogs, help with the tractor..."

"Can someone take me for a ride in the golf cart?"

At this point, his father told him he would have to wait until later when the adults were done working but his uncle said, "You are big enough to drive that golf cart yourself. There's nothing you can hurt around here, get on it and get gone!"

And so he did. He took off in the golf cart down the road that divides the property into two pastures.

His mother got nervous and walked to the end of the driveway to watch him. Just as he was instructed, when he got to the end of the pasture, he turned around to come back. His mother observed as he then did what can only be described as an eighteen point turn and started back up the road toward the house. She sighed with relief. The eighteen point turn was funny and bordered on ridiculous, but at least he was being cautious.

His little sister then called for their mother's attention and his mother reluctantly- but partially confident that he was on his way back up the straight road- went to see what the little girl needed. As soon as she reached his sister, there was a loud bang followed by the sound of the boy crying in the distance.

She yelled for the boy's dad as she was sprinting down the driveway and then down the road. She arrived first to find Noah standing in the middle of the road crying. The golf cart was straddling the pasture fence. She did a quick assessment and discovered that Noah was crying more because he was afraid of getting into trouble than because he was in pain and she then calmly got on the golf cart and backed it off the fence to assess the damage.

By that time, his father and uncle had arrived. Noah was dubbed the "fence wrecker" and they began discussing repairing the fence and that it would have to wait until later in the day when it was cooler since the fence was in the direct sunlight.

Luckily, there was a spare fence post in the garage and all of the supplies needed to repair the fence were lying around the property so Noah didn't have to contribute any money from his savings. His mother did, however, require that he be present for and help with the repair.

We are thankful Noah was not hurt, that our family was such a good sport about the destruction of their fence and a mental note has been made by all not to let Noah get a driver's license until he is AT LEAST 21.

I still have no idea how he fell off of a completely straight road.

{the battle scar}

Coming Soon

I have just spent the last two weeks on-the-go, in Texas visiting family and have pretty much been without my computer the whole time. I have been quickly checking email and Facebook with my phone, but have not had the time to get the laptop out. We head out in the morning, on our trek back to New Jersey and when we get back and get settled in, I have plenty to talk about.

In the last two weeks, we have gone on little outings, attended a fabulous family reunion, visited with family and friends and taken loads of pictures! My son has: acquired three hermit crabs (much to my horror), neglected three hermit crabs, buried three hermit crabs and was deemed proficient enough in golf cart driving to drive my sister-in-law's golf cart all around the property by himself. And, by the way, that didn't end well. There is a story there. There are also photos.

See you soon.

Jinkies

Alright, so I get bored every once in awhile and totally change my hair. The fact is, it is a miracle that I have kept it red for as long as I have (about three and a half years now). And when I change it, it is always drastic.

So, a couple of weeks ago, I decided to go back to the dark brown I had several times before, but the last time I had it was when I was pregnant with Zoe. I printed pictures I had of myself with the dark brown hair and showed them to my stylist. She said she was clear on what I wanted and when it was all said and done, it was black. It is always hard to tell with the lights in the salon, so I came home and examined it in my bathroom- still black. I looked a little like Gene Simmons.

Thanks to Facebook, I received tips for fading it quickly- and they worked, but not as fast as I would have liked. It still took almost a week to fade it to where I am not so self-conscious. It is still a tad dark for my taste, but I like it- it isn't black anymore.

This brings us to last night. The kids are in Texas and my husband and I decided to have a real date. We have a local restaurant I LOVE that has live entertainment on Friday nights out on the patio. I booked the reservations, put on a hottie sundress, some makeup and out we went.

The live entertainment was a comedian. To be fair, he busted on everyone in the audience and I know how comedians are, I've been to shows before. But, he pointed to me and said, " You- with the glasses. God bless those glasses, they are so hot! You look like Velma from Scooby Doo." There was actually more to the joke, but it was R-rated and I try to keep this blog PG, so I will leave it out. It was funny, I am not a bad sport, but I couldn't get past the Velma thing. My husband tried to tell me Velma was hot to make me feel better. And I was like- come on! She's the homely one with the bowl hair cut and baggy clothes. She's the one in orange.

So, if you are looking for me, I might be either playing with sharp objects or hanging out with my head in the oven.

Jinkies!

{taken the first day, when it was still really dark}

Deep in the Heart (Corner) of Texas

The kids are in Texas with family and DJ and I are back in New Jersey, kid-free and not entirely sure what to do with ourselves. We are currently camping at the Jersey shore in our pop-up camper. It sure is quiet, and peaceful without the kids to contend with.

Last night, we spoke to Noah and Zoe on the phone. So far, everything seems fine, I have not heard of anyone crying for home, but Zoe does make it a point to mention during every conversation, "I want to stay with you guys." I keep reminding her that we will be there in a few weeks, and she lets it go.

Noah, on the other hand, has slipped right into life in the Lone Star State. Or perhaps not so much.

It becomes more and more apparent to us as the years go by that Noah is a Jersey boy through and through. Yesterday, he told his MeMaw he wanted some "water ice". She looked blankly at him and after some confusion and clarification, she took him to a sno cone stand. It was here that Noah gave the man working there a lesson in water ice and how it was made. And then proceeded to inform him that he had no idea why the product this man was pedaling was called a "sno cone" because it did not resemble snow in the least. He asked the man had he ever seen real snow and assured him it was nothing like this shaved ice he was placing in a paper cone for Noah.

What is "water ice" you ask? First you must learn to pronounce it properly- /wooder ice/. Now that you have the proper pronunciation down, you can educate yourself here and here. It is a regional name (Philadelphia area which includes South Jersey) for Italian Ice. It is like a slush or a sno cone, but smoother and with more liquid. Whereas with a slush or sno cone, you tend to suck all the juice out, leaving ice, this doesn't happen with a water ice.

So, if you are in the great state of Texas and you run into a small, scrawny boy, about 4' tall looking lost and confused and demanding his "wooder ice", please tell him his mother says hello.

And that she's eating a Rita's water ice as you speak.

A Hair Raising Tale

Okay, if you have been reading this blog for more than ten minutes, you know that my daughter is a little headstrong. She also has her own unique way of doing things and she expects everyone else to get on board or else get left behind. (She's three)

This way of thinking about things extends even to her hair. I really can't remember when she started assigning her own names to her various acceptable hairstyles, but I know it has been going on since at least last fall. The fun began the first time I had to figure out what kind of hairstyle she wanted based on the name she was giving me. This isn't as easy as it sounds.

Many a morning was spent with tears, tantrums and fits while she tried to convey to me how she wanted me to fix her hair and I tried to understand what it was she wanted from me. I believe I have finally cracked the code (at least until she comes up with another one) and have compiled a list of her favorites. The original reason for this list is because we are meeting some family members halfway between our house and theirs this weekend (we live 1500 miles from our families) and for the first time, our kids will go home with our family for the summer without us. I am excited and nervous, but mostly, I fear for my family members and the days they will spend trying to figure out what it is that Zoe wants from them. I made a little flip book to send with her for reference and I wanted to share the highlights with you.

#1- Ariel Hair



This is the term she uses simply to mean that she wants to wear her hair down.


#2- Ariel Hair with Barrette

This just means she wants to add a barrette to pin her bangs out of her face.


#3- Belle Hair

The sides of her hair are pulled back into a half ponytail with the back hanging down.


#4- Cinderella Hair


She wants to wear a headband.


#5- Ballet Hair

This would be a ponytail.


#6- Dance Hair or sometimes Ballet Hair with Dance Hair

In addition to the ponytail, she wants her bangs french braided to the side, away from her face and into the ponytail.


#7- Picnic Hair

Two french braids down the side of her head.


#8- Rapunzel Hair

This can either be one regular braid down the back or one french braid down the back.
(I do not have a picture of this)


And there you have it, should you ever run across Zoe, angry in a dark alley wielding a hair elastic and a comb, you will know what to do to appease her.

Good luck!

And may the force be with you.