Happy New Year!

Some people get all the fun!

While stacks of boxes await the dreaded task of putting away Christmas decorations, I was instead on Facebook admiring a beautiful beach scene and wishing I was there. Despite coloring a pair of shoes with a red marker, sprinkling on some glitter, tapping the shoes together three times, and foolishly repeating “I want to be at a warm beach right now”, I found myself still standing in the kitchen staring at the pile of dishes in the sink. Now I know that travel by ruby slipper is just a dream.

I don’t really want to run away to the islands because I would have to leave the family Christmas present – the new Kinect. Dance Central is WAY TOO MUCH FUN and has given me a week’s worth of sore muscles. Little squirt and I have been averaging 1-2 hours a day which amazingly did not wear her out and cause her to go to bed early like it did to me.

Remember Salt-N-Pepa? I was so excited to see them on the list with “Push It”. I have to work off the delicious Milky Way Cake somehow because baking it burned no calories that I’m aware of. Dancing is way more fun than push ups and sit ups, and I figure I’m breaking even on the dance vs. cake calories until it is all eaten.

Ignoring muscles that cry out for rest, I continue with my futile attempts to five star songs such as Soulja Boy’s “Crank That” with self-proclaimed, ultra-awesome dance moves in front of an audience of amused gawkers. I was in my groove when old school moves were required…or so I thought…until I saw the disturbing video evidence that proved otherwise.

Rubbing her hands together in delight, the giggling twelve-year-old girl and her camera had to be stopped before it appeared nationwide. Some chasing and wrestling ensued, but it was a failed attempt to confiscate and erase the performance. I got bids for the tape on my Facebook from none other than my own aunt and sister!! As my dear daughter calculated an offer, I sternly reminded her that I control whether her phone works or not.

My New Year’s Resolution: Finding the time to get back in shape other than chasing down dance tapes.

Did you make a resolution this year?

There is nothing more motivating than to see your silhouette on the screen in all its teletubbie-ishness.

Little One: “Where’s Mom?”

Child #2: “She’s off to find tighter clothes to make her shadow look skinnier.”

*Cue the music* I’m dancing outta here!

To all my readers: Thanks for being so much fun and making me laugh!

Wishing everyone a
healthy and prosperous
Happy New Year!

P.S. I’m pretty sure I look just like this when I dance. Denial is half the fun.

Discovering the secrets

angel wingsThere’s nothing like a new bra to boost the confidence, so I hopped in the car armed with my $10 off any bra coupon and excitedly headed to Victoria’s Secret where I am a proud Angel card carrier thank you very much. That is just because I’m cheap and want the coupons.

My kids refuse to step foot in this store because they find it completely embarrassing and wait outside. Not wanting to make the news in a story about how my children were abducted while I was trying on bras, I went solo. Just mentioning the word “bra” sends my daughter into hiding, so she’s going to be horrified by this whole story when she reads it.

The choices are overwhelming, and I wander around until the saleslady asks if she can help. Since I don’t know what size I am because that fluctuates based on how much candy corn and chocolate I’ve indulged in on a weekly basis, I succumb to her evil measuring tape.

They insist on measuring you right smack dab in the center of the store and yelling out the size for all to hear. I wanted to look around and ask “Did you get that or should she repeat it?” If this is a sales tactic it didn’t work. It made me want to run out of the store with my sunglasses on, and I’m not a shy person. I argued that her measuring tape was off, but she wasn’t listening. She was already on her way to make recommendations.

Hypnotized by the strong perfume smell, I blindly follow her to the push up bra section. She loads me up with 3 “sexy” bras before I could say “This isn’t really what I’m looking for because I’m more of a t-shirt and sweats type of girl”, and two minutes later I find myself standing in a dimly lit dressing room with a bra that looks like it belongs in a brothel. I could hardly see a thing, but maybe that is for my own protection.

Secret #1: What they don’t tell you is the push-up is just a fancier version of stuffing wads of toilet paper in your bra which I remember doing as a teen until it fell out one day and I had to pretend to have a cold while lop-sided. It only takes one time to learn that lesson. Plus there is too much pressure during the rainy season or sweating in PE which can have less than fabulous results on your figure.

Staring at my image in the mirror, I realize this looks nothing like it does on the model in the giant wall size photos all over the store. False advertising! Does this come with that body, too? Because I’m willing to pay extra for a size 6. They should use some really ugly people in the ads so you will look in the mirror and say, wow I look way better than the model. Now that would work!

Secret #2: Ah ha!! The dark room is so you don’t notice that you were not instantly transformed into an Angel.

Carefully dodging the pushy sales lady, I return to the sales floor to look on my own for other choices. That’s went I noticed there are three types of men in VS:

  • The uncomfortable ones

    “I don’t want to be standing in a sea of underwear” types that have been forced to wait for their partners while they are in the dressing rooms. They are staring at the ceiling.

  • Kid in the candy store

    The excited boyfriend type that can’t contain his excitement over a see-through nightgown, and is actually embarrassing his girlfriend. He can’t stop talking about how he would love to see her cooking breakfast in it, and you get the feeling he’s going to be single shortly after the mall trip.

  • The Creepy ones

    Lurking about the store solo, they are checking out which size drawer you are picking from. I throw those off by opening several drawers and selecting 5 different sizes.

They could do us all a favor and ban men from this store.

Now loaded with 15 choices, most not in my size, I’m confident that I have confused the creeps who are now drooling over the wall posters, and I head back into the dressing room. The results were the same.

The biggest secret of all

I left VS empty handed but confident in the knowledge that Victoria’s secret is airbrushing.

Flattery will get you a new dress

fancy dress

Age is a matter of perspective

This week I will be celebrating turning 25…again. I figure you are only as old as you feel. To tell the truth, that varies from day to day.

Little one and I were discussing age on our way to the consignment shop this week. As I got in the car I said “Ow! My foot still hurts.” (The day before, I had kicked a metal item by accident and bruised it.)

“And your back hurts?”

“No, but mommy does seem to be falling apart. How old do you think I am?”


“Really? Some days I feel 13.”

“No silly you are 12!”

“Well that would make me the same age as Sissy, so do you think that is right?”


After pondering that for a minute she blurted out, “Wait! That means she should be working like you.”


Age poll

I took a quick poll while writing this, and here are the results of how old I am:

  • little one: 12
  • my daughter: 65 – She is grounded now.
  • my son: the correct age – Mr. Mathematics is always correct, and that’s why I asked him…to find out myself.

Anyways…back to the story.

Shopping with a Prima Donna

We arrived at the consignment shop to see if there were any cute outfits she liked.

Miss Shoe Obsessed Preschooler couldn’t tear herself away from the shoe area. I showed her the only pair in her size, but that didn’t stop her from holding up 10 more pairs and asking if they fit. Finally I was able to lure her to the small 5 foot wide rack of clothes in her size.

She browsed through them with all the disgusted, picky attitude of a teenager. “That’s not fashionable.” Coming from someone who will wear the most uncoordinated outfits, I have a feeling I’m going to have an issue with her choice.

Then…she saw the dress. The orange and yellow fancy dress with a built-in jacket that should be reserved for Easter Sunday. Despite my explaining there was nowhere to wear a nice dress like that, she had to have it.

It was only $5, so I got it; but only because she said I was 12 on a day I was feeling more like 85. She twirled and spun around in the dress for the next two days. Then I found her painting while wearing it, so now it’s a $5 fancy painting smock.

Good news Sissy! We are twins!

Sissy was not as excited as I was about the news. Her reaction could be better described as horrified, embarrassed, and shocked. I excitedly explained how this justifies our wearing matching jeans on the same day, which is something she is careful to avoid.

Later I found her in my bathroom rubbing some Oil of Olay lotion on her face.

Back to school blues

shoppingI was shocked to discover there are no country songs about back-to-school shopping. The level of pain involved ranks up there with heartbreak doesn’t it? I guess it’s too hard to rhyme lyrics to “three ring binder” and “pencil pouch”.

My ballad

If I were a singer, I would start off the song with: “I lost the last two inch, three-ring binder to the lady with the large handbag in aisle 4.” Sung with all the heartfelt sadness of losing the one you love mixed in with my original North Carolina twang of an accent, I’m sure it would be a hit.

Scavenger hunt

I’m down to the fourth school supply shopping trip and hope this is my last. Every time I return and proudly hand over the bag of supplies with the smile of success, another list gets shoved in my hand and causes the wrinkle on my forehead to grow a bit deeper.

By the fourth trip, supplies are scarce and it becomes more like a scavenger hunt at Walmart. I approached the school supply aisle which resembles the crumbled aftermath of a war zone. Shelves are disheveled, and items are in the incorrect bins. I tried to recall if my four year old had been here looking for a lost Barbie shoe because the mess looked awfully familiar.

I quickly located the five items clearly defined as “I can’t live without them one more day or I will fail school” by my son.

While in the checkout lane, I grab a bottle of Tylenol to help the pain in my hand from filling out 3 schools’ worth of vital information the night before. Five hours of filling out the same information over and over again can cause severe damage to your hand and mental status. I grabbed a dark chocolate Snickers for that.

I seem to recall noting that I’m on the verge of a school shopping mental breakdown in the section marked “Other things I should be aware of” on the form for my daughter’s science teacher.

My shining moment

Triumphantly I returned home with my bounty. Surely they can appreciate how difficult it is to locate specific items like an orange 3-prong plastic folder without Justin Bieber’s face on it.

I can only imagine the kids will lift me up on their shoulders and cheer for my super momness. They will adorn me with a cape and crown, chant my name, and proclaim it to be “Mom Day” for the rest of the evening.

In reality I got a thanks and a “By the way, I forgot to tell you. I need dry erase markers, too.” I’m considering disowning him at this point.

Shoe shopping fun with my son

Tennis shoes

He needs shoes soon

Is there anything more painful and useless than trying to talk a teenage boy into going shopping with you? Unless, of course, it is to pick up the newest, greatest game on release day.

I gave up a long time ago. He describes what he wants, and I go get it. He isn’t very picky so he never complains about my choices. However, he is a big boy at six feet tall, and shoe shopping requires you actually try on the shoe.

Last year…

I’m dreading the shoe shopping ordeal thanks to last year’s experience.

I announced we were taking a quick trip to the store to get shoes. I tried to sell my idea by claiming we could be back within an hour and would even splurge for a refreshing smoothie.

In a desperate attempt to avoid accompanying me on this venture, he came up with a solution.

Leaning in his doorway, keys in hand, I asked if he was ready to go. “Yep,” he replied while handing me a tracing of his foot. “Get the same thing I have now in white.”

Not in the mood to argue, I painstakingly cut out the foot. This is my artistically-challenged child, so the tracing was a bit off. The shape resembled a potato, so I created toes to make it more realistic-looking.

The paper foot and I headed to the store. This trip had all the excitement of shopping with a cardboard cut-out of my child. The conversation in the car was lacking, but there were no complaints about the music playing.

Trying on shoes

Browsing through the shoe department I was approached by an athletic, young salesman who asked what I was looking for. “My son needs new shoes,” I replied. He grabbed the measuring tool and looked around, assuming my son was wandering around the department somewhere.

I removed the foot from my purse, unfolded it, and lay it on the measuring device. “Do you think that is a size 12 or 12.5? He’s definitely a wide.”

“I want to try on a size 12.5 in this shoe,” I said as I held up the sneaker I had selected.

He looked shocked and confused as he politely advised, “Ma’am, that isn’t going to work.”

“Just let me see if I can fit the foot in it. Humor me.”

He returned with a box of shoes and a strange, amused look on his face. I imagine this was going to make for some great conversation in the break room later.

I proceeded with trying to fit the paper foot in the shoe. As shocking as this may seem, it didn’t work very well. I couldn’t tell if the toes were crumpled at the end. Since the foot couldn’t argue that it didn’t like the blue stripe, I bought them and hoped for the best.

This year

I’m not accepting paper feet in place of a live person again. This year he is going with me, we’re going to have a lovely experience, and he will enjoy it whether he wants to or not.

That is…unless he bribes the girls into molding his foot to make a paper mache version.

I don’t care if it is a masterpiece that is painted and glitter-covered. I refuse to take that to the store!