I'm enrolled in Culinary School.
Almost all of my paperwork is completed, a few dribs and drabs I need to pull together. But I've finalized my finances and been fitted for my uniform.
Putting on the jacket and rolling up the sleeves while I was wearing the checked pants was..........
Let's say it was a moment in my life I'll remember.
I'm going to start the 22nd of August, the day before the kids start their school year. We'll all go back to school together this year. I'll go for my orientation on the first day where I'll receive my uniforms, books and equipment.
Before I can work in the kitchen I'll have to pass a Servsafe exam, so that will be my first class. I'm sure I'll come home and scour our kitchen once I've completed that course.
Then there's an introduction to the food service industry. After that we start in with soups, stocks and sauces. One more class, pantry cooking and cold preparations will complete my 100 classes. 200's include catering ideas, presentation and nutrition in addition to side dishes and veggies.
And so on and so forth with more cooking as the term continues.
I'm also required to complete 400 hours of externship with at least 200 completed by the time I've reached the fourth block of classes. The school helps with placement and this is going to be the big challenge.
My class schedule couldn't be more perfect, 7 a.m to 12:30 p.m. which gives me plenty of time to get home to pick up the kids from school. I can even take the bus to and from. That involves getting up early, but I'm willing to do that now that gasoline is $4 a gallon.
As I said to my excellent Stephanie in an email, I'm so scared and excited I should shit a ferret.
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: Even if you hate manicures, keeping your nails clean makes your hands look prettier.
Sometimes, you have to give life some lipstick and tell it to kiss your ass.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Don't worry, I'll be updating on my pits! But right now
I'm offering the following paintings for sale. Everything is acrylic on canvas:
Golem
Overwhelmed
18 X 24
$100 + shipping
Ecstasy at Eeyore's
18 X 24
$150 + shipping
Foxy Brown
18 X 24
$100 + shipping
Lipstick Skyline
24 X 30
$200 + shipping
Under the Tree of Lights
18 X 24
$100 + shipping
Turning to Salt
22 X 26
$150 + shipping
Golem
18 X 24
$150 + shipping
I like my very part-time job but sometimes......
As I've said here, I like my job doing child-care in a church nursery on Sundays very much. Yesterday, I got an extra $3 an hour since it was Easter. I'd anticipated having more children to play with than the 2 or 3 I normally see.
First service was quiet, as it usually is. I actually relish this hour in my week where I have nothing to do and I'm not shirking any duties by reading "Time" magazine.
Second service, I did have kids to play with including two brothers who had been with their current foster parents for three days only. The boys were 5 and 3 and I was told by one of the foster moms that if the older one could be kept busy to keep him from his thoughts he should be okay.
I gave them a pager from my system that would vibrate if I needed them to come back and told them to enjoy the service.
The boys were okay for about 35 minutes. Then the younger one got into whatever his brother was playing with and the older one placed a foot in his brother's chest and shoved him down before falling on top of him and punching him wherever he could reach.
I knew I wasn't qualified to deal with this. I tried having the older brother sit on my lap while I hugged him and said "It's going to be okay. Shhhhh. It's going to be okay." but he wasn't hearing anything I said so I paged his foster mom. In the single minute it took her to arrive at the nursery, the older brother had attacked his younger brother again.
They took the little guy, clutching his stuffed Mickey Mouse with his thumb firmly in his mouth (exactly what I'd be doing if I found myself in the same situation) into church with them while the older brother stayed to play with me.
Once his brother was out, he was pretty much okay. He didn't interact with any of the other three kids in the nursery with us, but that also meant he wasn't getting aggressive with them either.
The church where I work is a gay church, so foster/adopted children are the norm instead of the exception, but the ones I play with have either been with their foster parents for some time or have been adopted into the family. I rarely see any children that have been with their families less than a week. The last one I can remember was a seven month old baby who just wanted to be held all the time.
After I said goodbye to the boys and their foster parents, I had to try really hard to not cry. I couldn't fault the kid one bit for hitting his brother. It's only been three days in a new house with new adults and when one is only five years old in a frightening situation where control isn't what you have, I can see wanting to hit someone. It's safe to hit your brother.
I'm sure it feels pretty damn good to hit your brother. But you can't be allowed to hit your brother, even if it feels good.
It made my heart hurt to see the anger and hurt pop out like that. But the foster moms are loving, consistent, firm regarding rules and the boys seem comfortable with them.
I have my fingers crossed that they'll get into a better situation and be able to grow up in one place with one family.
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: If it's gotten very hot where you are, as it has here, use extra powder on your face and carry oil absorbing blotter sheets with you to cut down on shine.
First service was quiet, as it usually is. I actually relish this hour in my week where I have nothing to do and I'm not shirking any duties by reading "Time" magazine.
Second service, I did have kids to play with including two brothers who had been with their current foster parents for three days only. The boys were 5 and 3 and I was told by one of the foster moms that if the older one could be kept busy to keep him from his thoughts he should be okay.
I gave them a pager from my system that would vibrate if I needed them to come back and told them to enjoy the service.
The boys were okay for about 35 minutes. Then the younger one got into whatever his brother was playing with and the older one placed a foot in his brother's chest and shoved him down before falling on top of him and punching him wherever he could reach.
I knew I wasn't qualified to deal with this. I tried having the older brother sit on my lap while I hugged him and said "It's going to be okay. Shhhhh. It's going to be okay." but he wasn't hearing anything I said so I paged his foster mom. In the single minute it took her to arrive at the nursery, the older brother had attacked his younger brother again.
They took the little guy, clutching his stuffed Mickey Mouse with his thumb firmly in his mouth (exactly what I'd be doing if I found myself in the same situation) into church with them while the older brother stayed to play with me.
Once his brother was out, he was pretty much okay. He didn't interact with any of the other three kids in the nursery with us, but that also meant he wasn't getting aggressive with them either.
The church where I work is a gay church, so foster/adopted children are the norm instead of the exception, but the ones I play with have either been with their foster parents for some time or have been adopted into the family. I rarely see any children that have been with their families less than a week. The last one I can remember was a seven month old baby who just wanted to be held all the time.
After I said goodbye to the boys and their foster parents, I had to try really hard to not cry. I couldn't fault the kid one bit for hitting his brother. It's only been three days in a new house with new adults and when one is only five years old in a frightening situation where control isn't what you have, I can see wanting to hit someone. It's safe to hit your brother.
I'm sure it feels pretty damn good to hit your brother. But you can't be allowed to hit your brother, even if it feels good.
It made my heart hurt to see the anger and hurt pop out like that. But the foster moms are loving, consistent, firm regarding rules and the boys seem comfortable with them.
I have my fingers crossed that they'll get into a better situation and be able to grow up in one place with one family.
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: If it's gotten very hot where you are, as it has here, use extra powder on your face and carry oil absorbing blotter sheets with you to cut down on shine.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
But is it the best Friday?
It's Good Friday today. The Christians observe today as a holy day to mark the day Jesus was crucified.
I have an odd relationship with Good Friday. I was terrified of Good Friday services for years. Why would that be? Allow me to explain.
At my grandparent's Lutheran church, at the Good Friday evening service the choir would sing the Bible verses of the Crucifixion one by one. After each verse one of the overhead lights would be turned off until the church was dark except for the eternal candle over the alter, which was kept in a red chimney. Everyone would file outside to stand and watch the church doors be slammed shut like the stone rolling into place, went home silently and meditated upon the sacrifice and following salvation.
But what REALLY got to me was one service we attended at my godmother's church. The church was pretty big, as I recall it was in a big warehouse that had been finished nicely inside. I even remember the sermon that night, it was how you found the basis of sin in the middle of the word. Keeping your focus on the "I" led to sin.
Anyway, this particular service featured a slide show of reenactments of the Crucifixion complete with blood and sweat and whips and darts and Mary sobbing. The thing that gave me nightmares was a close up of a mummified Christ, still nailed up on the cross. The eye sockets were empty and it was all dried out like it had been left out in the desert for months. It was leaning forward with the mouth gaping open.
I remember cringing back in my chair wanting to cover my eyes but I was too horrified to do anything but cower.
For years I had nightmares about that photo. I can remember lying in my bed trying to make that picture go away and failing miserably.
When Scott was in graduate school, some friends of ours invited me to go to the Good Friday service at their church. I stated I wasn't sure and wanted to know what was going to be happening. This puzzled my friends so I told them what I just told you. No, no. They assured me, nothing like that would be happening. But, they understood where my hesitation came from.
As an adult, I find the celebration of Easter to be so pagan as to be laughable. Oh, it happens AFTER the Equinox! Ohhhhhhh.
Then I have the heavy marketing to laugh at, with it's Matchbox Easter Monster Truck sets. It's strange, Monster Trucks aren't what spring to mind when I think of the Resurrection.
And I have the great memories of getting a new dress, the Easter baskets my grandmother used to put together and watching "Here Comes Peter Cottontail" on Channel 5.
However, Good Friday? Yeah, not so much on the positive side of the ol' memories. And every so often, I'll look at someone with a cross around their neck and have the random thought "Torture device".
Enough of this,I gotta move on, we've got birthday parties this weekend. And Peeps go on sale!
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: If you are getting dressed up for Easter and your slip is sticking to your hose, run a little lotion (not much!) over your hose to keep the two from being attracted to each other.
I have an odd relationship with Good Friday. I was terrified of Good Friday services for years. Why would that be? Allow me to explain.
At my grandparent's Lutheran church, at the Good Friday evening service the choir would sing the Bible verses of the Crucifixion one by one. After each verse one of the overhead lights would be turned off until the church was dark except for the eternal candle over the alter, which was kept in a red chimney. Everyone would file outside to stand and watch the church doors be slammed shut like the stone rolling into place, went home silently and meditated upon the sacrifice and following salvation.
But what REALLY got to me was one service we attended at my godmother's church. The church was pretty big, as I recall it was in a big warehouse that had been finished nicely inside. I even remember the sermon that night, it was how you found the basis of sin in the middle of the word. Keeping your focus on the "I" led to sin.
Anyway, this particular service featured a slide show of reenactments of the Crucifixion complete with blood and sweat and whips and darts and Mary sobbing. The thing that gave me nightmares was a close up of a mummified Christ, still nailed up on the cross. The eye sockets were empty and it was all dried out like it had been left out in the desert for months. It was leaning forward with the mouth gaping open.
I remember cringing back in my chair wanting to cover my eyes but I was too horrified to do anything but cower.
For years I had nightmares about that photo. I can remember lying in my bed trying to make that picture go away and failing miserably.
When Scott was in graduate school, some friends of ours invited me to go to the Good Friday service at their church. I stated I wasn't sure and wanted to know what was going to be happening. This puzzled my friends so I told them what I just told you. No, no. They assured me, nothing like that would be happening. But, they understood where my hesitation came from.
As an adult, I find the celebration of Easter to be so pagan as to be laughable. Oh, it happens AFTER the Equinox! Ohhhhhhh.
Then I have the heavy marketing to laugh at, with it's Matchbox Easter Monster Truck sets. It's strange, Monster Trucks aren't what spring to mind when I think of the Resurrection.
And I have the great memories of getting a new dress, the Easter baskets my grandmother used to put together and watching "Here Comes Peter Cottontail" on Channel 5.
However, Good Friday? Yeah, not so much on the positive side of the ol' memories. And every so often, I'll look at someone with a cross around their neck and have the random thought "Torture device".
Enough of this,I gotta move on, we've got birthday parties this weekend. And Peeps go on sale!
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: If you are getting dressed up for Easter and your slip is sticking to your hose, run a little lotion (not much!) over your hose to keep the two from being attracted to each other.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Do I get health insurance for this?
Being a parent is difficult. All parents agree on this fact. Attachment parents, seat-of-their-pants parents, parents who refuse to discipline because it will undermine the child's self-esteem, parents who make their children apologize to those they've been rude to, we all have our own ways of doing things but it's difficult.
Some days are easier than others and some days are downright delightful. But, there are days when your child or children are pushing every button they've sewed on to you. They shout, need to have things repeated several times and still won't respond. Or, they're just wearing on your nerves for no reason at all. They could be being themselves and today it's getting under the skin of your scalp, making you grit your teeth.
My son shouts when he speaks. He's just a loud person, he comes from loud people. Many days I'm able to deal with this fine. Other days, it makes me twitch and say 'Stop shouting. Stop shouting. Stop shouting. Stop shouting I'm sitting right here. Stop shouting.' Then he'll get frustrated that I'm not looking at what he wants me to look at and he'll run over to grab my face. This drives me insane. He stands too close to the television even after being told eight thousand times a day 'Back up please. Back up. BACK UP! Will you back up from that TV!'.
Zoe comes home from school and starts in with her "I'm being a good girl, aren't I mom?" and screaming her brother's name when he won't do what she says. She'll offer to do stuff when her brother is being difficult just to rub him the wrong way.
I'll tell them "One hour and then we're going to do some chores before bath time. Guys, 30 minutes and it's time for chores. Okay, 5 more minutes and we're all going to pick up." then I'll be met with screaming, gnashing of teeth, tearing of hair and loud exclamations of exhaustion. Then I have to make threats to remove various electronic entertainment media from the house for a period of time or dock their allowance to get them to pick up shoes and take dishes to the kitchen.
They take my stuff, leave it outside and don't remember it's outside until I wonder where it is two days later. By then it's too late for me to do anything but cry.
They'll ask me questions then not wait for me to be done with my answer before starting to say "That's not fair!" and other general objections to my judgment. I try to say "Listen. Listen, you have to listen." but mostly I say 'Oh, I love you too much to argue about it.' which drives THEM up the wall. This amuses me endlessly.
I'm sure my kids will be adults telling their friends "My mom used to say 'I love you too much to argue' which meant the conversation was over and she was DONE talking to you." or about my 'This involves me how?' questions. I also say 'I've already said no. You continuing to ask me isn't going to change my answer and is just going to make me angry' and 'It's not what you want? Okay, give it to me I'll throw it away.'.
I'm somewhat ashamed to admit this, but the fact that I have a couple of tricks up my sleeve that drive them nuts the same way they drive me nuts is pretty funny.
It makes my difficult job a little easier.
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: With the weather getting hotter, up your water intake. A LOT.
Some days are easier than others and some days are downright delightful. But, there are days when your child or children are pushing every button they've sewed on to you. They shout, need to have things repeated several times and still won't respond. Or, they're just wearing on your nerves for no reason at all. They could be being themselves and today it's getting under the skin of your scalp, making you grit your teeth.
My son shouts when he speaks. He's just a loud person, he comes from loud people. Many days I'm able to deal with this fine. Other days, it makes me twitch and say 'Stop shouting. Stop shouting. Stop shouting. Stop shouting I'm sitting right here. Stop shouting.' Then he'll get frustrated that I'm not looking at what he wants me to look at and he'll run over to grab my face. This drives me insane. He stands too close to the television even after being told eight thousand times a day 'Back up please. Back up. BACK UP! Will you back up from that TV!'.
Zoe comes home from school and starts in with her "I'm being a good girl, aren't I mom?" and screaming her brother's name when he won't do what she says. She'll offer to do stuff when her brother is being difficult just to rub him the wrong way.
I'll tell them "One hour and then we're going to do some chores before bath time. Guys, 30 minutes and it's time for chores. Okay, 5 more minutes and we're all going to pick up." then I'll be met with screaming, gnashing of teeth, tearing of hair and loud exclamations of exhaustion. Then I have to make threats to remove various electronic entertainment media from the house for a period of time or dock their allowance to get them to pick up shoes and take dishes to the kitchen.
They take my stuff, leave it outside and don't remember it's outside until I wonder where it is two days later. By then it's too late for me to do anything but cry.
They'll ask me questions then not wait for me to be done with my answer before starting to say "That's not fair!" and other general objections to my judgment. I try to say "Listen. Listen, you have to listen." but mostly I say 'Oh, I love you too much to argue about it.' which drives THEM up the wall. This amuses me endlessly.
I'm sure my kids will be adults telling their friends "My mom used to say 'I love you too much to argue' which meant the conversation was over and she was DONE talking to you." or about my 'This involves me how?' questions. I also say 'I've already said no. You continuing to ask me isn't going to change my answer and is just going to make me angry' and 'It's not what you want? Okay, give it to me I'll throw it away.'.
I'm somewhat ashamed to admit this, but the fact that I have a couple of tricks up my sleeve that drive them nuts the same way they drive me nuts is pretty funny.
It makes my difficult job a little easier.
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: With the weather getting hotter, up your water intake. A LOT.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
I've have GOT to get it together, but first Shut up Donald!
Donald Trump is talking about running for Prez next year.
In 2000, he released a book in which he said he was for a single payer health care system, which is cool with me. He also discussed that all tax payers pay a one-time 14% net worth tax that would wipe out the deficit. Since the rich are the ones who would pay the most, that makes a great deal of sense. Good thinkin' Don!
But, since The Don is looking to get in bed with the GOP he's changed his tune to appeal to the anti-Obama crowd. He's now wanting to toss out the health care bill, won't raise taxes, as become an opponent of same-sex marriage because it "doesn't feel right" and has become pro-life in the recent past.
He's also jumped onto the "Obama wasn't born here" bandwagon.
Jeeziz people! Are we still harping in that? If President Obama's father had been a white South African I doubt anyone would be having this conversation. But, because his father had brown skin it must mean that the President isn't REALLY an American. Because Americans don't have fathers who were goat herders in Africa.
My generation is among the first to grow up in the post-civil rights United States. I know we're still dealing the the fallout of integration and the fact that we elected a man of color into office less than sixty years after Martin Luther King and Malcolm X gave their impassioned speeches still fills me with pride.
The blatant racism that has come to the forefront saddens me as much as the fact that a reality television star has a shot at running my country.
A reality television star who is going to essentially run on the slogan "Because I'm rich and I'm awesome" and is turning himself into what the conservatives want. Sort of the way Priscilla changed herself for Elvis.
The Don's (current) politics will continue to keep the rich rich and punish the poor for not trying hard enough, women for having sex and the elderly for being old.
I foresee Mr. Trump supporting cutting corporate taxes, which won't make much difference since some of them don't pay taxes despite billions in profits. Farming corporations will continue to be paid to do nothing. Assistance to middle eastern countries will be given with the caveat that we will get their oil.
And, of course, he'll talk a lot about how the man running the country is very likely not an American. Thanks Don, way to keep the fear going.
As I've said before, it's going to be a fun campaign! Get the popcorn!
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: If you have nails that chip easily when polished, there is a gel manicure that will last almost three weeks. (Pedicures as well) This is a great option if you treat yourself to these luxuries only occasionally as it helps you get the most of out of your investment.
In 2000, he released a book in which he said he was for a single payer health care system, which is cool with me. He also discussed that all tax payers pay a one-time 14% net worth tax that would wipe out the deficit. Since the rich are the ones who would pay the most, that makes a great deal of sense. Good thinkin' Don!
But, since The Don is looking to get in bed with the GOP he's changed his tune to appeal to the anti-Obama crowd. He's now wanting to toss out the health care bill, won't raise taxes, as become an opponent of same-sex marriage because it "doesn't feel right" and has become pro-life in the recent past.
He's also jumped onto the "Obama wasn't born here" bandwagon.
Jeeziz people! Are we still harping in that? If President Obama's father had been a white South African I doubt anyone would be having this conversation. But, because his father had brown skin it must mean that the President isn't REALLY an American. Because Americans don't have fathers who were goat herders in Africa.
My generation is among the first to grow up in the post-civil rights United States. I know we're still dealing the the fallout of integration and the fact that we elected a man of color into office less than sixty years after Martin Luther King and Malcolm X gave their impassioned speeches still fills me with pride.
The blatant racism that has come to the forefront saddens me as much as the fact that a reality television star has a shot at running my country.
A reality television star who is going to essentially run on the slogan "Because I'm rich and I'm awesome" and is turning himself into what the conservatives want. Sort of the way Priscilla changed herself for Elvis.
The Don's (current) politics will continue to keep the rich rich and punish the poor for not trying hard enough, women for having sex and the elderly for being old.
I foresee Mr. Trump supporting cutting corporate taxes, which won't make much difference since some of them don't pay taxes despite billions in profits. Farming corporations will continue to be paid to do nothing. Assistance to middle eastern countries will be given with the caveat that we will get their oil.
And, of course, he'll talk a lot about how the man running the country is very likely not an American. Thanks Don, way to keep the fear going.
As I've said before, it's going to be a fun campaign! Get the popcorn!
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: If you have nails that chip easily when polished, there is a gel manicure that will last almost three weeks. (Pedicures as well) This is a great option if you treat yourself to these luxuries only occasionally as it helps you get the most of out of your investment.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
It itches!
I had a great day this last Saturday. The mother's club I'm involved with has a retreat every spring. It's open to anyone who would like to attend either for the whole weekend, just one night or to come out for the day.
It's usually at a local retreat that features nice pools and restaurants on site. There's also a spa attached but I haven't heard of any of the moms I know dropping $200 on a massage yet.
I went out for the day on Saturday, just to sit by the pool and have a couple of $3.50 club sodas and talk with my friends. We all love our children and husbands and homes and lives, but a break is nice.
After sitting in the shade of a pool umbrella all day, getting up to swim or float around the lazy river in an inner tube with the other women to talk about a whole lot of nothing I got changed and headed for home. While I was waiting for a quick dinner at Sonic I scratched at my upper left arm and felt bumps there.
What th'? Did I get bit by a bug? Uh, there's a lot of them. That's not bugs, what is that?
I went home and went to bed early since I was so relaxed. The next day I admitted it was a rash. It was on my chest, both arms, up the sides of my neck and on my face. It looks like chicken skin.
Doesn't itch much though, which I'm grateful for because I will scratch. I'll scratch and pick and gouge until I'm a bloody mess. I have a divot in my scalp because I selected a spot up in my hair to scratch when I had chicken pox at the age of 13. I had them horribly too. I had them on the edges of my eyelids, in my nose, on my tongue, in between my fingers, in between my toes, in my woman parts, it was awful. The worst was the insides of my elbows and the backs of my knees, it drove me crazy. I knew I'd scar up my face if I scratched it so I picked this one space on my scalp that I clawed at when I wanted to scratch. I had a huge scab up there and now I have a depressed scar there.
Anyway, it doesn't itch much and I'm glad for that. But I am self conscious about it and it wasn't any better this morning so off to the doctor I trotted. It took her all of ten seconds to diagnose me with polymorphous light eruption, formerly known as sun poisoning.
I don't go in the sun very much and when I do I put on sunscreen because I don't want my mom to call me. I stopped tanning when I was 18 after I heard about that sun damage causes a person's face to age faster. Was I concerned about elongating my life by trying to prevent skin cancer? Nope, not me! I said to myself 'Wrinkles! Ew!" and started staying in the shade.
And as I live in Texas, we actually have more than one season here. There was an actual winter here not that long ago with freezing temperatures that kept many of us indoors.
I arrived at the resort around 11:30 and didn't leave until it was almost dark, a little over eight hours that I spent by the pool. Yes, I was shaded by an umbrella but I know there were UV rays doing that reflective, disco ball type bounce off the concrete and onto my skin where it created a bump.
I get to live with this condition for about a week until the bumps go away. Opinions are split as to whether I should avoid the sun to keep the rash from coming back or if I should increase my sun exposure to let my bod know that the sunny weather is here.
It doesn't much matter because I'm going to first be spending time shopping for a big hat and then wearing a big hat so my rash won't come back for at least a while. We'll see what happens when we head off to California this summer.
Hopefully, nothing I can't exfoliate away.
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: If you sweat, like I do, waterproof mascara is great in the summertime.
It's usually at a local retreat that features nice pools and restaurants on site. There's also a spa attached but I haven't heard of any of the moms I know dropping $200 on a massage yet.
I went out for the day on Saturday, just to sit by the pool and have a couple of $3.50 club sodas and talk with my friends. We all love our children and husbands and homes and lives, but a break is nice.
After sitting in the shade of a pool umbrella all day, getting up to swim or float around the lazy river in an inner tube with the other women to talk about a whole lot of nothing I got changed and headed for home. While I was waiting for a quick dinner at Sonic I scratched at my upper left arm and felt bumps there.
What th'? Did I get bit by a bug? Uh, there's a lot of them. That's not bugs, what is that?
I went home and went to bed early since I was so relaxed. The next day I admitted it was a rash. It was on my chest, both arms, up the sides of my neck and on my face. It looks like chicken skin.
Doesn't itch much though, which I'm grateful for because I will scratch. I'll scratch and pick and gouge until I'm a bloody mess. I have a divot in my scalp because I selected a spot up in my hair to scratch when I had chicken pox at the age of 13. I had them horribly too. I had them on the edges of my eyelids, in my nose, on my tongue, in between my fingers, in between my toes, in my woman parts, it was awful. The worst was the insides of my elbows and the backs of my knees, it drove me crazy. I knew I'd scar up my face if I scratched it so I picked this one space on my scalp that I clawed at when I wanted to scratch. I had a huge scab up there and now I have a depressed scar there.
Anyway, it doesn't itch much and I'm glad for that. But I am self conscious about it and it wasn't any better this morning so off to the doctor I trotted. It took her all of ten seconds to diagnose me with polymorphous light eruption, formerly known as sun poisoning.
I don't go in the sun very much and when I do I put on sunscreen because I don't want my mom to call me. I stopped tanning when I was 18 after I heard about that sun damage causes a person's face to age faster. Was I concerned about elongating my life by trying to prevent skin cancer? Nope, not me! I said to myself 'Wrinkles! Ew!" and started staying in the shade.
And as I live in Texas, we actually have more than one season here. There was an actual winter here not that long ago with freezing temperatures that kept many of us indoors.
I arrived at the resort around 11:30 and didn't leave until it was almost dark, a little over eight hours that I spent by the pool. Yes, I was shaded by an umbrella but I know there were UV rays doing that reflective, disco ball type bounce off the concrete and onto my skin where it created a bump.
I get to live with this condition for about a week until the bumps go away. Opinions are split as to whether I should avoid the sun to keep the rash from coming back or if I should increase my sun exposure to let my bod know that the sunny weather is here.
It doesn't much matter because I'm going to first be spending time shopping for a big hat and then wearing a big hat so my rash won't come back for at least a while. We'll see what happens when we head off to California this summer.
Hopefully, nothing I can't exfoliate away.
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: If you sweat, like I do, waterproof mascara is great in the summertime.
Monday, April 11, 2011
A week?! I went a whole week?
Well, we did have a lot going on. I'll start with the most dramatic.
Last week Wednesday, my kids and their friends from next door were breaking apart a hunk of styrafoam, which is no big deal. It's a mess they get to make as a treat because it vacuums up easily. Will wanted to take a couple of the big pieces in the tub and we didn't see anything wrong with that. If it made a mess it made a mess. We could always give him a colander and have him skim the pieces all out.
He did break some pieces off, as we anticipated. What we did not anticipate was his shoving the pieces into his ears. When Scott exclaimed that Will needed to get those out of his ears, Will stuck his pinky fingers in to shove the stuff in farther. Oh yay!
Next morning, off to the doctor we go! The really fun part was that I'd just been there the day before so Zoe could have a check up, I was back less than 24 hours later! Yee haw!
Our regular doctor in the group is a wonderful Indian woman who's great with the kids and doesn't speak to me condescendingly or make me feel like I'm wasting her time. She took a look in my son's ears and said that he did indeed have stuff in both his ears that needed to come out.
Then came one of those really fun mom moments when I had to climb up on the exam table to hold my son with my legs around his legs while pinning his arms to his sides. Even so, he moved around too much for the doctor to get the long tweezers in to pull the foreign debris out. Next, she had the nurse flush his ears but since the styrafoam doesn't absorb water, it didn't budge. We had to go see an ear, nose and throat specialist.
Our doctor made the arrangements for Will to go in to the ENT's later that afternoon. I made Will go to preschool, which he claimed was totally unfair. Then I called Scott to tell him that we had to go to another appointment and would he be able to come with us please?
I made phone calls until I found someone who would be able to pick Zoe up from school and babysit until we got home.
Scott and I took him to the ENT, a very nice guy who checked out the situation and took us to another room with a bright light and a microscope viewer that would allow him to see what he was doing without having to peer through an eye-o-ear-o-nose-o-scope.
And Will wriggled around so much the doctor couldn't get the stuff out. He turned to us and said "Well, we've got two options. There's velcro, which means we can get this taken care of today for the price of admission. Or, there's general anesthesia which means a couple of days and an increase in costs of about three thousand dollars." We opted for velcro.
It's still called a papoose board, a padded board about eight inches wide with very wide padded straps that are wrapped around a person and velcroed into place. It makes one look like a bundled baby but it doesn't come undone.
So, my son got strapped down and a woman held his head still while the doctor pulled hunks of styrafoam the size of pencil erasers out of each ear. And he screamed. I'm sure it echoed down the hallway, frightening kids and making parents shake their heads wondering who's horrid child was making that ungodly noise.
The plus side is that it was over inside of five minutes and my child had recovered by the time we got back to the waiting room. The ENT also told us that leaving that in there would have been really bad and getting the hunks out inside of a day had saved us a great deal of heartache. He also confessed that his main concern with restraining children is really the parents.
After we got into the car we agreed that Will had earned a donut. Then what did the kid pick? Dunkin' Donuts. Not Krispy Kreme, but Dunkin'. I indulged this request, even though I disagreed with the location.
I am really hoping we can get through this week without any foreign objects winding up in any of my children's various, oh what word to use, orifices? Oh you know what I mean!
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: If you are going to be spending a lot of time in the pool over the summer and do your own hair color, you might think about skipping the color treatment just for the swimming season. You'll have to do your hair about twice as often and the chlorine will make it very dry. Skipping color treatments for the summer will save you some damage.
Last week Wednesday, my kids and their friends from next door were breaking apart a hunk of styrafoam, which is no big deal. It's a mess they get to make as a treat because it vacuums up easily. Will wanted to take a couple of the big pieces in the tub and we didn't see anything wrong with that. If it made a mess it made a mess. We could always give him a colander and have him skim the pieces all out.
He did break some pieces off, as we anticipated. What we did not anticipate was his shoving the pieces into his ears. When Scott exclaimed that Will needed to get those out of his ears, Will stuck his pinky fingers in to shove the stuff in farther. Oh yay!
Next morning, off to the doctor we go! The really fun part was that I'd just been there the day before so Zoe could have a check up, I was back less than 24 hours later! Yee haw!
Our regular doctor in the group is a wonderful Indian woman who's great with the kids and doesn't speak to me condescendingly or make me feel like I'm wasting her time. She took a look in my son's ears and said that he did indeed have stuff in both his ears that needed to come out.
Then came one of those really fun mom moments when I had to climb up on the exam table to hold my son with my legs around his legs while pinning his arms to his sides. Even so, he moved around too much for the doctor to get the long tweezers in to pull the foreign debris out. Next, she had the nurse flush his ears but since the styrafoam doesn't absorb water, it didn't budge. We had to go see an ear, nose and throat specialist.
Our doctor made the arrangements for Will to go in to the ENT's later that afternoon. I made Will go to preschool, which he claimed was totally unfair. Then I called Scott to tell him that we had to go to another appointment and would he be able to come with us please?
I made phone calls until I found someone who would be able to pick Zoe up from school and babysit until we got home.
Scott and I took him to the ENT, a very nice guy who checked out the situation and took us to another room with a bright light and a microscope viewer that would allow him to see what he was doing without having to peer through an eye-o-ear-o-nose-o-scope.
And Will wriggled around so much the doctor couldn't get the stuff out. He turned to us and said "Well, we've got two options. There's velcro, which means we can get this taken care of today for the price of admission. Or, there's general anesthesia which means a couple of days and an increase in costs of about three thousand dollars." We opted for velcro.
It's still called a papoose board, a padded board about eight inches wide with very wide padded straps that are wrapped around a person and velcroed into place. It makes one look like a bundled baby but it doesn't come undone.
So, my son got strapped down and a woman held his head still while the doctor pulled hunks of styrafoam the size of pencil erasers out of each ear. And he screamed. I'm sure it echoed down the hallway, frightening kids and making parents shake their heads wondering who's horrid child was making that ungodly noise.
The plus side is that it was over inside of five minutes and my child had recovered by the time we got back to the waiting room. The ENT also told us that leaving that in there would have been really bad and getting the hunks out inside of a day had saved us a great deal of heartache. He also confessed that his main concern with restraining children is really the parents.
After we got into the car we agreed that Will had earned a donut. Then what did the kid pick? Dunkin' Donuts. Not Krispy Kreme, but Dunkin'. I indulged this request, even though I disagreed with the location.
I am really hoping we can get through this week without any foreign objects winding up in any of my children's various, oh what word to use, orifices? Oh you know what I mean!
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: If you are going to be spending a lot of time in the pool over the summer and do your own hair color, you might think about skipping the color treatment just for the swimming season. You'll have to do your hair about twice as often and the chlorine will make it very dry. Skipping color treatments for the summer will save you some damage.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Housekeeping! A new system! Let's see how this works!
I live with three other humans and two canines, the six of us can make quite the mess. I'm often a little (or a lot) overwhelmed by the amount of cleaning that needs to be done.
I like the Flylady system and I'm trying a variation on that today. Instead of breaking the cleaning down by time, I'm breaking it down by items I pick up. Everything counts, every little piece of paper I pick up and toss, every toy I put away, every piece of laundry I put in the laundry room, every dish I put in the dishwaser is counted. When I get to 100, I mark in on a piece of paper. After I pick up 200 things, I do a bigger task like sweeping, swapping the laundry or taking out the trash. At 500, I take a break to eat my lunch and exercise.
Then I repeat the above process until I reach 1000, then I'm done for the day.
I really need to find something that's going to work for me with our Laundry Monster. I keep trying to defeat the smelly thing, but it's persistent. And I dislike doing laundry. I'm fine with putting in the washer then moving it to the dryer. It's the folding, hanging up and putting away that makes me groan. I'm especially bad about the kids' clothes.
I'm going to try my new 100 Items System (because I think in infomercial terms don't ya know) on the laundry later this week. Each piece of clothing put away is counted until I'm done or I get to 1000.
Maybe the Hip Housewife can get this place looking like a housewife actually lives at Casa de 'burbs.
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: Don't forget to take a warm shower and exfoliate before you remove any body hair!
I like the Flylady system and I'm trying a variation on that today. Instead of breaking the cleaning down by time, I'm breaking it down by items I pick up. Everything counts, every little piece of paper I pick up and toss, every toy I put away, every piece of laundry I put in the laundry room, every dish I put in the dishwaser is counted. When I get to 100, I mark in on a piece of paper. After I pick up 200 things, I do a bigger task like sweeping, swapping the laundry or taking out the trash. At 500, I take a break to eat my lunch and exercise.
Then I repeat the above process until I reach 1000, then I'm done for the day.
I really need to find something that's going to work for me with our Laundry Monster. I keep trying to defeat the smelly thing, but it's persistent. And I dislike doing laundry. I'm fine with putting in the washer then moving it to the dryer. It's the folding, hanging up and putting away that makes me groan. I'm especially bad about the kids' clothes.
I'm going to try my new 100 Items System (because I think in infomercial terms don't ya know) on the laundry later this week. Each piece of clothing put away is counted until I'm done or I get to 1000.
Maybe the Hip Housewife can get this place looking like a housewife actually lives at Casa de 'burbs.
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: Don't forget to take a warm shower and exfoliate before you remove any body hair!
Monday, April 4, 2011
The Hip Housewife talks politics and fashion
I've been enjoying the return of the retro look, as you would assume. (don't worry, I don't think you made an ass out of u and me) I think designers are, number one, doing the opposite of what we had in the last decade. A parade of celebrities flashing the cootchie-snorcher and nip slipping is being countered with longer skirts with Spanx underneath. And the influence of Mad Men has been huge.
What follows is my opinion: I think Mad Men was, and is, a big success because it's set in a time when gender and race roles were well defined. Everyone knew where they were supposed to be and what they were supposed to be doing. If you were going to break those rules, you either did it behind closed doors or you put forward a charade to cover it up.
The world changed in a big way in 2008. A brown person took over as the leader of the United States of America. We finally put our money where our mouth was. And people got frightened. After eight years of the oil-rich, good ol' boy, who maintained the Republican stereotype, a man was elected into office whose actions couldn't necessarily be predicted.
He immediately played hard-ball politics by nominating an Hispanic woman to the Supreme Court. Anyone who opposed her was not only sexist but racist. That was followed up by a Jewish woman nominee. Opposition? Anti-Semetic.
At least with W, you had a good idea of what he'd do next. His wife, the First Lady, kept her opinion to herself and smiled, the antithesis of Hilary Clinton.
God was in his Heaven and everyone was in their proper place.
Now, our country is still shaken up from the lending fiasco, people are giving up the American Dream and the glimmer of a more socialist society is starting to appear. With all this unstable shifting around, a show where men are men and women are at home helps comfort those who are frightened. That was a time when values mattered. Why not show support of a time when America was exactly what it should be? Women are putting supportive undergarments back on. They're looking womanly while being covered up.
Not just a fashion statement, but a political one.
Perhaps I'm the only one to combine politics and fashion without a t-shirt, but I'll stand by my idea in floral, peep-toe wedgies. Not because I'm frightened, on the contrary, I'm so excited about what our country could become I just feel like getting dressed up!
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: If you are going to try the retro look, a powder finish on your face is essential. A liquid to powder foundation or just powder will work.
What follows is my opinion: I think Mad Men was, and is, a big success because it's set in a time when gender and race roles were well defined. Everyone knew where they were supposed to be and what they were supposed to be doing. If you were going to break those rules, you either did it behind closed doors or you put forward a charade to cover it up.
The world changed in a big way in 2008. A brown person took over as the leader of the United States of America. We finally put our money where our mouth was. And people got frightened. After eight years of the oil-rich, good ol' boy, who maintained the Republican stereotype, a man was elected into office whose actions couldn't necessarily be predicted.
He immediately played hard-ball politics by nominating an Hispanic woman to the Supreme Court. Anyone who opposed her was not only sexist but racist. That was followed up by a Jewish woman nominee. Opposition? Anti-Semetic.
At least with W, you had a good idea of what he'd do next. His wife, the First Lady, kept her opinion to herself and smiled, the antithesis of Hilary Clinton.
God was in his Heaven and everyone was in their proper place.
Now, our country is still shaken up from the lending fiasco, people are giving up the American Dream and the glimmer of a more socialist society is starting to appear. With all this unstable shifting around, a show where men are men and women are at home helps comfort those who are frightened. That was a time when values mattered. Why not show support of a time when America was exactly what it should be? Women are putting supportive undergarments back on. They're looking womanly while being covered up.
Not just a fashion statement, but a political one.
Perhaps I'm the only one to combine politics and fashion without a t-shirt, but I'll stand by my idea in floral, peep-toe wedgies. Not because I'm frightened, on the contrary, I'm so excited about what our country could become I just feel like getting dressed up!
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: If you are going to try the retro look, a powder finish on your face is essential. A liquid to powder foundation or just powder will work.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
I got sort of dehydrated yesterday
It was a banner day yesterday at Casa de 'burbs. We started by zipping downtown to the Children's Museum to goof around. I renewed our membership last month, giving us another year of visits for $75. When we were done pretending to make tamales, using golf balls to test the laws of physics, building with blocks, making cars with big Tinker Toys and riding up and down in the elevator we went over to Toy Joy.
Toy Joy is the best toy store in the world. http://toyjoy.myshopify.com/ We could easily spend one thousand dollars every time we go there. That's why we don't go very often, but when we do it's a big treat. During yesterday's visit we got the added bonus of seeing a woman in the shop wearing denim hot pants, cowboy boots and carrying 2 little yappy dogs and saying "....I'm just really overwhelmed right now." to the older woman behind her that I'm assuming was her mom. I always have to bite the insides of my mouth to keep from laughing at people in some of the funkier places around town who are obviously not enjoying themselves. I have to wonder why they come in if they're not comfy with it. Why not just wait outside with the yappy dog? And, by the way, it says right on the big sign painted on the window that the soft serve is vegan.
It's gotten hot and humid here and I haven't gotten into the habit of drinking enough water. Yesterday, when we got home everyone else rested while I ran an errand to Lowe's for some stuff we needed. I realized I was low on liquids as soon as I was back in the car and got an iced tea. No, not the best thing but better than nothing.
When I'm not fully hydrated and I get that dried out loopiness I cuss a lot when I talk to myself. Yes, I talk to myself. Quite a lot actually. Because, I just gotta talk even if no one's around to listen. I'm driving my car, gulping my iced tea, talking out loud about something I can't remember but I do remember I was cussing fluently.
I walked in to the store through the garden section and thought 'Wow, it's fucking busy. Don't these people know you shouldn't work in the yard when it's this shitbomb hot? Wait until it's goddamn cooler before you start dragging 25 pound bags of goddamn potting soil around. Where the fucking wheelbarrows? If we buy another pile of dirt we need our own damn wheelbarrow. And I want one with 2 friggin' wheels' cause last year I had a fucking back ache. Wow! Look at that fucker! How much does this shit cost? That's not bad. Cool. I need a funnel. Where would I find a goddamn funnel? If it was an auto parts store I could find a motherfucking funnel. Jesus h, where's the funnels? Dammit, I don't want to wander around in tools all fucking afternoon. ' and many more minutes of f-word peppered thoughts.
I almost got online to blog a stream-of-consciousness entry just to see what would happen, but, I had to start dinner and by the time I was able to sit and blog I was hydrated and thinking with fewer bad words.
I had to go to Lowe's because the condensation line that drains water from our air conditioning unit was clogged. It's something that happens, it can be prevented by treating the line with bleach once a month but we forget. Since the water couldn't drain away it was puddling at the bottom of the closet where the forced air unit lives and then leaked into the house. The first thing we were going to try was a little bleach down the line and we needed a funnel to do that.
After Scott tried the nasty chemical and figured out that that didn't work, we knew the next step was to snake it out. But we didn't have a plumber's snake. While Scott used a wet/dry vacuum we borrowed from the neighbors to try and suck the blockage out, I tried to think of what we had around that we could use to poke down the pipe.
We have a dead vacuum cleaner in our garage that is going to go out with large item pick up at the end of this month. I cut the cord off and suggested Scott try using that, as I thought it would be flexible enough to manipulate down the pipe but would be stiff enough to push any blockages out.
I ran around the side of the house to see if any water came out where the draining is supposed to happen. About 30 seconds later a big blob of grey stuff came out like it'd been popped from a zit followed by a gush of water. Ka-pow!
I went and told Scott the pipe had given birth. We were very proud of our Macgyver like problem solving. Then we had lasagne, put the kids to bed and loafed around the rest of the evening.
As I said, it was a banner day.
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: Get a cute wide brimmed hat to give yourself some extra sun protection while you're outdoors.
Toy Joy is the best toy store in the world. http://toyjoy.myshopify.com/ We could easily spend one thousand dollars every time we go there. That's why we don't go very often, but when we do it's a big treat. During yesterday's visit we got the added bonus of seeing a woman in the shop wearing denim hot pants, cowboy boots and carrying 2 little yappy dogs and saying "....I'm just really overwhelmed right now." to the older woman behind her that I'm assuming was her mom. I always have to bite the insides of my mouth to keep from laughing at people in some of the funkier places around town who are obviously not enjoying themselves. I have to wonder why they come in if they're not comfy with it. Why not just wait outside with the yappy dog? And, by the way, it says right on the big sign painted on the window that the soft serve is vegan.
It's gotten hot and humid here and I haven't gotten into the habit of drinking enough water. Yesterday, when we got home everyone else rested while I ran an errand to Lowe's for some stuff we needed. I realized I was low on liquids as soon as I was back in the car and got an iced tea. No, not the best thing but better than nothing.
When I'm not fully hydrated and I get that dried out loopiness I cuss a lot when I talk to myself. Yes, I talk to myself. Quite a lot actually. Because, I just gotta talk even if no one's around to listen. I'm driving my car, gulping my iced tea, talking out loud about something I can't remember but I do remember I was cussing fluently.
I walked in to the store through the garden section and thought 'Wow, it's fucking busy. Don't these people know you shouldn't work in the yard when it's this shitbomb hot? Wait until it's goddamn cooler before you start dragging 25 pound bags of goddamn potting soil around. Where the fucking wheelbarrows? If we buy another pile of dirt we need our own damn wheelbarrow. And I want one with 2 friggin' wheels' cause last year I had a fucking back ache. Wow! Look at that fucker! How much does this shit cost? That's not bad. Cool. I need a funnel. Where would I find a goddamn funnel? If it was an auto parts store I could find a motherfucking funnel. Jesus h, where's the funnels? Dammit, I don't want to wander around in tools all fucking afternoon. ' and many more minutes of f-word peppered thoughts.
I almost got online to blog a stream-of-consciousness entry just to see what would happen, but, I had to start dinner and by the time I was able to sit and blog I was hydrated and thinking with fewer bad words.
I had to go to Lowe's because the condensation line that drains water from our air conditioning unit was clogged. It's something that happens, it can be prevented by treating the line with bleach once a month but we forget. Since the water couldn't drain away it was puddling at the bottom of the closet where the forced air unit lives and then leaked into the house. The first thing we were going to try was a little bleach down the line and we needed a funnel to do that.
After Scott tried the nasty chemical and figured out that that didn't work, we knew the next step was to snake it out. But we didn't have a plumber's snake. While Scott used a wet/dry vacuum we borrowed from the neighbors to try and suck the blockage out, I tried to think of what we had around that we could use to poke down the pipe.
We have a dead vacuum cleaner in our garage that is going to go out with large item pick up at the end of this month. I cut the cord off and suggested Scott try using that, as I thought it would be flexible enough to manipulate down the pipe but would be stiff enough to push any blockages out.
I ran around the side of the house to see if any water came out where the draining is supposed to happen. About 30 seconds later a big blob of grey stuff came out like it'd been popped from a zit followed by a gush of water. Ka-pow!
I went and told Scott the pipe had given birth. We were very proud of our Macgyver like problem solving. Then we had lasagne, put the kids to bed and loafed around the rest of the evening.
As I said, it was a banner day.
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: Get a cute wide brimmed hat to give yourself some extra sun protection while you're outdoors.
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