I'm Stealing It #1

I have only stolen one thing in my life and I remember it as clear as day. I was 3 years old and we were in the pharmacy adjacent to my doctor's office. I was with my mom and I sneaked off and took a red Tootsie Roll lollipop. I remember sticking it into my pocket, crawling into our station wagon and slowly unwrapping down by my side. The wrapper was very noisy and I kept stopping and starting so my mom wouldn't hear it.

I could tell she was getting suspicious and so I stopped opening it altogether. She finally asked me what I was doing.

"Nothing," I said sheepishly.

"Robin, where did you get that lollipop?" She asked accusingly.

"Nowhere" I answered. I really thought I had her on that one. But she wasn't fooled.

We drove back to the pharmacy, she marched me up to the counter and made me tell the man that I took the lollipop without paying for it and that I was very sorry. He seemed like he was 1,000 feet tall and I spoke to my shoes the whole time. My mom paid for the lollipop (I had already licked it, what else could she do?) and we left. I have not stolen anything since that day because it left that big of an impression on me. (Way to go mom! Good parenting!)

Well today that is all changing. In these economic times, things are rough and we all need to get creative so I am going to start stealing like crazy. Forget the morals my mother tried to instill in me, I'm going to start taking things that are not mine.

Okay, it really isn't as bad as it sounds. Since I started blogging I've been checking out other people's blogs and talking to friends, etc. and I'm realizing how many amazingly creative people are out there. In a quest to be a more creative, efficient, loving, organized, healthy, intelligent, earth friendly, mom, wife, and person, I'm going to start taking ideas from other people and somehow incorporate them into my life. I will then share them with in case you want to steal them as well.

So begins "I'm Stealing It." Disclaimer: I will give credit where credit is due certainly but sometimes I might hear an idea and not know where it came from or I might not have asked the person if it is ok for me to use their name, so in those instances I won't name names.

I'm Stealing It #1:

Yesterday my doorbell rang. There stood 3 little girls dressed up in costumes. They are sisters that live down the street from us. The oldest said "Hi, I'm ___ you might remember me from the ice cream social" - she was so cute, how could I not? She handed me an invitation and they were on their way. The invite explained that the girls are putting on a play in their front yard tomorrow. Blankets and refreshments will be provided. The play is the Wizard of Oz and everyone on the street is invited. In case you can't make tomorrow's showing, there will be another one on Tuesday. This is so adorable that my children and I might have to attend both showings.

So here is what I am stealing from this:

1) The whole having a play in your front yard idea for when my kids get older. What a cute and creative way to occupy your children's time during the summer! It is fun for the kids and teaches them a great deal about speaking in front of an audience, practicing something, organization of an event, meeting new people in your neighborhood and so on.

2) Stealing the manners. I thought that was so mature of her to say "Hi, I"m ___ you might remember me from the ice cream social" - This little girl can't be more than 8 years old. I was so impressed with her maturity. Don't know if that one will stick with my kids but it is something I will work toward.

So there you have it, that is what I am stealing right now. I can't wait to see this play. I'm sure somehow one of my children will go crazy and knock over the "set" and then I'll have to steal someone's idea for an apology letter.

We're on Vacation

We went to a wedding in my hometown over Memorial Day weekend. It was the perfect scenario as my parents live there and it was my father's birthday so it was a great chance to see the 'rents, go to the wedding and celebrate dad's big 68. Three birds with one stone - my favorite!

On Friday night we attended the rehearsal dinner and so my parents volunteered for kid duty. I find it hilarious how grandparents do things differently than parents do. As the story was told to me, our 4 1/2 year old daughter did all the regular bedtime things: potty, put on pjs, brush teeth, bedtime story, etc. However, apparently her night did not end there.

The first mistake my parents made was asking her what her bedtime was. To be honest I was beyond surprised she came up with a number that is actually a time. My best guess to her response would have been "twenty eighty" because that is her favorite number, but she confidently told my parents it was at 8:30 since she was on vacation. That is actually an hour later than her real bedtime but not too bad considering she has no idea what time she goes to bed. Lord knows where she got that "on vacation" thing.

A better parent might teach their children their bedtime but I like to keep my options open. On days where my kids are driving me crazy I'm a fan of going with an earlier bedtime (I have been known to put my kids down at 5:15 PM but in my defense it was daylight savings and I got completely confused as to what time it actually was) and on nights when we have friends and their kids over my little monkeys stay up obnoxiously late.

On regular evenings with nothing crazy going on I am kind of a bedtime drill Sargent. In our household the rule is that you have a one-time limit on coming out of your room after bedtime unless there is a true potty emergency (Let me clarify, that is for my children only, my husband is allowed to get out of bed as many times as he wants). I should have relayed that information to my parents because apparently our daughter went over that limit by about 17. The excuses ranged from the mundane of needing water, having to potty again and again and monsters on her ceiling. Up to the more creative, blood on her finger (upon inspection my mother found the smallest of dots that was probably from a marker), sleeping bag was too noisy, shoes were walking around the room by themselves, her eyeballs were itchy and what was the evacuation plan in case of fire?

My parents knew she really needed to get to sleep but they were so impressed with how inventive she was that they anxiously awaited what she would come up with next. About an hour and a half later my father coughed twice to which she softly said, "Poppa, you okay?" and then louder "Poppa are you OKAY?" and after hearing no response she shuffled into their bedroom to ensure that he was in fact not choking. He said "Yes, I am fine honey, thank you" and off she went to bed not to be seen again. That is until she crawled into bed with my husband and me at 5:22 AM to ask why cows are brown. We had gotten home just a few hours before after numerous adult beverages and weren't exactly thrilled to see her sweet face at that early moment. I asked why she didn't wait until the clock had a "7" on it before she came into our room (another one of our rules) and she chuckled and said "Mom, we're on vacation." New rule, next vacation kids aren't invited.

My car, the storage container

I guess if I have a blog I should get used to being totally open with my life. and therefore I am going to publicly share the contents of my car that I just cleaned out. I spend a lot of time complaining about my husband's hideous car but maybe I should take a look at myself and realize I'm not so perfect (okay I really have known that for quite awhile, I just forget from time to time).

In my defense, (after you read this list you'll realize I really need one), every single time I walk from my car into my house I have at least one child in my arms, a purse, and either my children's school bags and lunch boxes, or six bags of groceries. It might not be a great excuse but it is the reason that everything that goes into my car stays there until a day like today when I take the time to clean it.

You may be wondering why I am sharing this list with you. Don't blame ya. But I really think the randomness of it all makes it kind of newsworthy. Or maybe not, you decide.

Here is a totally honest list of the items I just took out of my car:
*2 1/2 pairs of children's winter boots
*11 cents
*8 jelly beans stuck to the plastic covering in the back (which can thankfully be pulled out and cleaned)
*1 Easter basket complete with grass
*1 broken kite
*1 purple fuzzy vest size 4T
*1 blue winter coat size 2T
*no less than 58 rocks. (My children are going to be geologists or at least they better be because it will make me feel better that we steal rocks from every landscaped place we patron)
*a multitude of stray Cheerios
*4 coloring books - but oddly no crayons
*1 of my husband's business cards
*1 Tupperware container filled with a piece of cake from who knows when
*3 tennis rackets, 2 in racket cases, 1 not
*1 odd looking machine type part that I cannot identify
*1 can of pink tennis balls
*the letter "Q" magnet from our Leap Frog fridge alphabet thing
*2 water bottles
*1 umbrella stroller - aha! Finally something that should actually be in a car
*5 golf clubs
*1 fishing lure (I'm not really sure what a fishing lure is, but I'm guessing that is what this yellow/orange floaty looking thing is)
*1 Cooking Light Magazine which is hilarious because I don't really cook - maybe that is why it is in my car and not in my kitchen
*1 PB Teen catalog (I don't have teens)
*1 half full bag of Sunflower seeds which had spilled and were everywhere. When I gave my husband a dirty look on this one he blamed it on our 4 year old daughter. Can't really see how it could be her fault they were spilled all over the front passenger seat considering she is always strapped into her car seat in the back...
*1 bathroom towel rack that apparently didn't make it out when we did our last Goodwill drop off
*1 KU visor (Rock Chalk Jayhawk!!!!)
*2 kazoos and a maraca
*1 goat (okay just kidding on that one)
*crumbs galore

Yeah, well that was embarrassing! With all of that stuff you'd think I drive a Hummer, but somehow it all managed to fit in my mid-size SUV and it honestly didn't seem all that messy until it was all strewn across my driveway.

Okay off to get the car professionally cleaned so my children don't contract Malaria (or something of that nature).

You won Land Cruiser

I'm sorry Land Cruiser. You won. I will not speak ill of you anymore. I see the magic powers you clearly have and now understand why Dan's family won't get rid of you. They are afraid of what you might do...

One silly light hearted blog about your not so quiet noises and exterior imperfections and you retaliate. Very creative how you acted just fine like nothing was bothering you while we headed to the airport bound for my 36 hour whirlwind work trip to Puerto Rico. So sneaky you are. I guess you needed those 36 hours to plot your revenge.

I know you just giggled about the fact that my first flight heading back was late leaving me 7 minutes to run through the world's busiest airport to get to my connecting flight. Very clever how you let me make that flight by a millisecond and then settle in comfortably and land safely in KC about 10:15 PM. Looking back now, I think I heard your snickers as I strode through the brisk night air of the airport parking lot so excited to get back home to my family. I bet you could barely contain yourself as I hopped confidently into you turned you on and NOTHING. Dead. Not a light, sound or anything.

I admit defeat. Message received. The $70 taxi cab ride home was a great incentive for me to shut my mouth. I take it all back. Dan and I will head back to the airport parking lot this morning to do whatever it is that we need to do to make you feel better and have you work for us again. I'm sorry that I hurt your feelings.

Car Snob

My dad owned one of the greatest businesses imaginable for a teenage kid in the Midwest. It might be cooler to have a dad who is the head of a movie studio or who owns a popular nightclub, but where I grew up having a car dealership in the family was fantastic.

I got my license in the early nineties. For years leading up to it, a yellow 1978 Country Squire station wagon with fake wood paneling sat in our driveway as a threat. My parents had kept that car since it’s birth to warn my brothers and myself that if our grades weren’t good enough, that thing would be our ride.

The rule was that a 3.5 GPA would allow us to pick out an age appropriate and safe car from the dealership on our 16th birthday. Being the youngest child and daddy’s little girl, I never believed for a second that my father would force me to drive that monstrosity. Come my birthday, I had a 3.3 GPA, which I figured was close enough. But my dad is not a “close enough” kind of guy. Curfew is 11:00 – not 11:01, etc.

My friends continually joked about me driving that wagon. They all knew how my parents operated, but I reassured them that my father was a car dealer and he wouldn’t do that to me. Plus, he was a businessman and it is bad advertising to have his child driving that embarrassment around town. Clearly I was in denial. At my birthday party after eating cake and opening presents, my dad presented me with an oversized plastic keychain and said, “here you go, I put a new stereo in it for you”. Horror! I was now the not so proud owner of that blight in our driveway. I vaguely remember something about the party ending with me in tears screaming about how my parents were the worst parents on the planet.

A friend of mine and I had agreed that once I got my license I would carpool her to and from school. The next morning on the way to her house I noticed the speedometer wasn’t working. Score! Running into her house, I called my dad and said “Dad, I can’t drive the station wagon today, the speedometer isn’t working.” This was so great! It was my way out of this car for at least one more day while he got it fixed. He wouldn’t want me to drive an unsafe vehicle, right? His response: “You will be fine. Drive the same speed that everyone else is.” Click. Phone went dead. I have told many people that story over the years and they have all said without ever even having met him, based on that alone that they really like my dad. No one seems to see the torture he put me through.

The guys in my high school class really liked the car. They had ambitious plans of shaving off the top, making it into a convertible, spray painting the sides and putting astro turf in the back. They never got that chance though because my next report card had a shiny 4.0 GPA.

I kept my grades up and for years had pretty much any car I desired, thus the notion that having a father who is a car dealer is just awesome. In the summers I would drive convertibles and in the winter I would drive SUVs. Our family drove “demonstrators” and so every couple of months I had a brand new vehicle. This continued into my late 20’s.

I like to think the chance to have such fun cars over the years have given me great humility. I’ve matured quite a bit since the days of the station wagon drama and I really don’t care what kind of car I drive anymore as long as it gets me around safely. I am not a car snob and have self-righteously preached that for years.

Unfortunately, I recently met the car that unearthed that screaming 16-year-old girl. My in-laws purchased a Toyota Landcruiser back when my husband was in high school. At the time it was an extremely nice car. His parents drove it for several years and then passed it around to other family members. Eventually it was going to be sold but my husband has some abnormal attachment to the vehicle and wouldn’t let that happen. We bought it for $1 and honestly I think we might have overpaid.

My issues are less about the looks of this car; they are more about the noises that it exudes. On the outside it is still pretty attractive if you overlook that the front bumper is missing, the windshield has a very long winding crack in it and there is no gas tank cover. The real issue is that there is no muffler and it truly sounds like you are turning on a jet engine each time you start it. I can only imagine how the mothers on our street curse my husband each morning as he turns it on and wakes up their sleeping babies.

There is a car dealer who has owes my husband car repair work in trade for some advertising that his company created for them. Yet he still chooses to live without a muffler because he finds it hilarious. Even though I don’t get the joke, I can live with it because it isn’t my car and I don’t have to drive it. In the evenings when I’m cooking dinner, the kids run into the kitchen excitedly yelling, “daddy is home!” It takes a good five more minutes for him to walk through the door as the kids had just heard him chugging along as he turned into the entrance of our neighborhood several streets away.

I began traveling for work recently and when I head out for a trip I have to leave my noise free, parts intact car at home because as it has the children’s car seats in it. In turn I have to drive that loud hunk of junk to and from the airport. Unfortunately my route to the airport includes a beautiful street filled with multi-million dollar homes and serves as a populated route from our neighborhood to downtown. I spend the entire drive praying no lights turn red so I won’t be caught in this shaking sputtering vehicle next to someone I know.

The worst is paying to leave the airport parking lot. I pull up to the booth in my nice business suit, manually force the driver side power window to go down and pay to get this car out of hock. The person behind the desk probably wonders why the heck I want it back and might even say so but the loud moaning of this vehicle prohibits any conversations within a 100-yard radius.

To sum it up, my husband’s business partner told me the other day that he recently drove the noise on wheels and kept looking for a hole in the floorboard because it was so loud inside. Honestly, I’d be shocked if there weren’t holes in the floorboard.

My husband’s odd sense of humor has made me re-examine myself. I guess I have to admit now that I am a car snob. I’m considering making the 30-mile trek to and from the airport by foot. Even a 1978 yellow Country Squire with fake wood paneling sounds pretty good about now.

And the Worst Mom of the Year Award goes to...

Yesterday afternoon my daughter, son and I were sitting on our front porch enjoying a beautiful day and licking ice cream cones. It was one of those idyllic suburban scenes where we waved to the neighborhood folk as they walked by with their dogs or rode past on bicycles.

My daughter was snuggled up to me and we were just enjoying "being". It was a moment where I paid close attention to all the details so I can remember it forever. That is until our conversation took a turn and now I'd like to forget it all.

My daughter turned to me and said "Mom, we can't make the world a better place" surprised at that, I said "Of course we can honey" to which she responded "but it is already so great!" My heart swelled. In this horrible economic climate and unsure time, I loved her sweet and innocent look on life and I loved that she was clearly enjoying this moment as much as I was.

She continued, "Well we can make it a better place by not glittering and by turning off the water when we are brushing our teeth so we can save electricity."

She had gotten a few things mixed up there. Glittering is what she has always called littering and I'm not sure how much electricity you are saving by turning off your water, but I clearly got the idea and was so proud of her for trying to be environmentally conscious.

I thought this was a good time to take it a step further. "You know honey those are great ways to make the world a better place but there are other things we can do as well - like always be nice to other people."

She turned to me with a sincere look in her eyes, took her soft little hand and cupped my chin in a very condescending way as if to say "silly woman" and answered. "Moooom, no that is not right. We are only nice to other people so Santa Claus will bring us presents."

Apparently I've failed as a mother.

Glamour Girl

I have been a mom for 4 1/2 years working in a work from home job and holding it together pretty well I think. But recently that has all changed. Apparently throwing one little kink in the situation is just what was needed to throw everything off balance.

In January my position was changed drastically and now I am super glamorous and get to travel quite a bit for my job. I gotta tell you it has been beyond challenging to juggle my travel schedule, kids school schedules, etc. In prepping for this trip I took to Houston yesterday I spent so much time and energy organizing getting the kids here and there, packing school bags and planning dinner, that apparently I forgot completely to worry about myself.

This particular trip was one of those fun ones where I flew to Houston for a 1 1/2 hour meeting and flew back. I have made this trip twice since January and in trying to rack up Southwest Airlines credits I have had to spend the night in Houston each time because timing didn't work out to get there and back again the same day. For yesterday's trip I decided to do it all in one day but that meant having to utilize two different airlines. No biggie right?

If you don't count the landing in Houston that was so hard it knocked the wind out of me, all was uneventful and fine with my meeting, etc. Oh and you know what was super fun? When I turned my rental car in, walked into the airport and found out the airline I was flying home was not at the airport I was currently standing in.

Seriously? Houston has two airports? Who knew? What is wrong with me? How did I not know that? Looking back upon this now, I did know that but it never occurred to me to check if that would be an issue for me.

The lovely Airport Customer Service lady told me a shuttle could get me to the other airport in an hour. That is neat and all but my flight was leaving in 1 hour and 13 minutes. The bad thing was that I still wasn't even sure if the other was the airport I needed. I had looked at my itinerary the day before and vaguely remembered seeing something about my flight being operated by Express something or other - not my actual airline.

I went to the Taxi stand and asked him how long it would take to get there. He said he would get me there in 45 minutes. Well what are you standing around for, let's move then! I honestly still didn't know if this other airport was even the right place to be going and so I called Dan. I do these things to him all the time, I throw problems on him that he has absolutely no power to fix. He still talks about the time I called him in a panic while he was on a business trip in LA and told him our dogs had escaped from the back yard. Really, what was he to do?

Yesterday was no different, I called him to see how he could fix it. He is clearly the rational one in this relationship. He told me to hang up and call the airline to figure out where I needed to be. How did he get to be so darn smart?

So I called the airline while my taxi driver was zipping down the highway possibly toward the right airport.

Here is a recap of my call to Continental Airlines:

Automated Machine "Hello, thank you for calling Continental Airlines, please enter or say your Confirmation code or if you don't know, say "I don't know it""

Me: "I don't know it"

Automated Machine: "I'm sorry, I could not understand you, can you please say it again?"

Me: "I don't know it!"

Automated Machine:"I'm sorry, I could not understand you, can you please say it again?"

This goes on for like 5 minutes and I used every variation of that sentence that I could.
"I don't know it"
"I don't know"
"I DO not know"
"I do NOT know"
"I do not KNOW"

Either I surpassed my allotted number of chances or their machine is programmed to recognize profanity but either way I was moved along on to the next menu which told me my wait time for a customer service representative would be 15-20 minutes. Really????

Finally by holding my computer with my left hand wrapped around my head sitting on my knees backward, I was able to get Internet service while we were speeding down the highway. I found my itinerary and realized we were heading in the right direction thankfully!

I chilled a little bit knowing we were at least going to the correct place. Now if I was going to make my flight was a whole other issue. When he could see I was calming a smidge, my cab driver said "How did you do this to yourself?" I started laughing hysterically like a mad woman at that. Stress does weird things to me.

Luckily I didn't have any bags with me other than my work bag since I was there only for the day and so I had nothing to check which would help with timing. Unluckily I didn't have any bags with me other than my work bag since I was there only for the day and so I had nothing to wear if I were to miss my flight.

I probably called Dan like 15 times throughout that cab ride. I later found out he had a friend over that evening and they were working on fixing a guitar. I bet they had some pretty major laughs at my expense.

We got to the airport, I tipped the cab driver like $1,000 and gave him a hug. I got to my gate as they were boarding, huffing and puffing I sat down in my seat, ordered a drink and reflected on how glamorous it is to be a world wide traveler for work.

Bruiser

Who knew a not even 2-year old boy could look like a tough guy? I totally deserve it though. I spent so much time fretting about getting my hair done at a salon other than the one I was used to, that it is karma for me spending brain cells on myself.

Friday afternoon my daughter had a tennis lesson. As my son and I were playing a fun game of "don't steal tennis rackets from people we don't know" I realized he was in desperate need of a haircut. Both of my children were blessed with thick hair and when his gets too long it gets very large and poofy. His bangs were in his eyes and he had enough hair to knit a small blanket. This kid is super cute and sort of has a surfer dude look. He wears exclusively vans and plaid shorts. He also wears his hair a little bit longer hair than the average 2 year old.

Normally I take my children to a haircut place intended for children. They happily suck on lollipops, sit in bright red fire engines and watch Little Einstein videos completely oblivious to the fact that someone with sharp scissors is cutting around their ears and eyes. It is a pleasant experience for everyone but my checkbook. On this doomed day driving home from tennis I made a snap decision. Bad idea.

There was a SuperCuts or something of the sort on the route home and it had a large sign that said $6.99 haircut special. I was so excited, the neon yellow sign was calling out to me knowing that my child looked like a shaggy dog and it wanted to help. So in we went.

He was hesitant from the get go and I should have left right then. He was looking around for the bright colors, fun music and toys galore. The Tupperware container of gnawed on books and broken Lego's just wasn't cutting it. So when it was his time for the cut no wonder he was less than pleased. I figured it would be easier if I held him in my lap. He calmed down and the haircut lady began to cut. Z-man wiggled a bit so she went with another strategy of pulling out the razor clipper thing just to shape up around his ears. I wasn't stressed about this since I had seen people do this to him before. But then disaster struck. He started wiggling some more because he did not like the sound of that razor and haircut lady got frustrated. In one swift motion she said words that still haunt me "I'm going with number 2" and took a swipe across his entire head. It was like a scene out of a movie when everything is in slow motion and you can't stop the horrible thing from happening. She buzzed my little guy's hair. Apparently "number 2" is a type of razor or clipper or hair eater, I'm not sure but I do know if anyone ever says it to me again near my precious boy's head, I am going to punch them.

I was speechless. We were at the point of no-return. Edward Scissorhands had to go through and do the entire head. It has been 4 days and I still don't see my sweet little baby when I look at him. I see a 22 year old Army recruit.

We met my husband out for dinner that night with some friends. The dads had all been golfing and were meeting the mom's and kids afterward. I told my friends that if I was not sitting at that table that my husband would walk right past Z-man and not know it was him. When my husband walked in, he said hello to everyone, gave me a kiss on my cheek, looked at Z and said "is that my kid?" After awhile Dan assessed that Z looks like a little "bad ass" - not exactly what I want is my sweet snugly guy. My mom now calls him Bruiser.

You know when a dog gets a funny haircut and looks embarrassed? That is how poor little Z is now. You can tell he doesn't feel right. He keeps running his hand across his head as if he is looking for something. When he looks in the mirror at himself he says "uh oh" "uh oh" - and uh oh is right. Lesson learned: $6.99 is entirely too expensive for a horrendous haircut.

This next statement is the kind of thing I say out loud and then am horrified I said it, but I have got to admit, I'm glad I did that experiment on him and not my own head. He is much cuter than me and can pull off a crappy hair cut.

God and the Eiffel Tower

You know how sometimes the universe sends you those little those not so subtle hints that you need to take action? I got one of those the other day, loud and clear.

My husband and I often debate taking our children to church. It is not for a lack of belief that we do not spend our Sunday mornings with something much larger than us. It is pure laziness. Don’t get me wrong, I want my children to be wonderful people who have a strong faith and think beyond themselves. I am actually very comfortable with my relationship with religion but that is because I grew up going to church and Sunday school and was able to form my own opinions. My faith-stunted children haven’t had such a chance. But my husband and I work very hard and we all have such little time together as a family as it is that a Sunday morning spent getting the kids dressed and their faces jelly free to make them sit and be quiet, seems a little unbearable at this point in our lives. To be honest, we really just enjoy our lazy Sunday family snuggle time. The kids hop in bed and watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse while my husband and I share secret smiles at their giggles.

I have often felt very guilty about this lack of church attendance but I was able to justify it to myself that my children are so young they won’t be absorbing anything at Sunday school anyway. Plus, I do send them to a Parents Day Out and Pre-school program at a church so that counts right? Never mind the fact that I am constantly reminded each month when the tuition bill comes that as a non-church member I pay more for my children to go school there. I am able to push that nagging guilt down by justifying that it is a different denomination than the church I was brought up in and so even if we did go to church, we would not go there anyway.

That was all working for me until the other day. My daughter is really smart and I have been impressed at how much she is learning at pre-school. So I was not surprised at all when we were snuggled up looking through a magazine and she identified the Eiffel Tower. Her sweet faced beamed up at me and said “I know what that is! The Eikkel Tower!” It is actually pronounced “Eiffel Tower” I thought but didn’t want to squelch her excitement and I told her she did a great job in recognizing it. I went on to explain how it resides in Paris, France and was built for the World’s Fair, blah, blah, blah, not really knowing if I knew what I was talking about but she seemed to be buying it. She got really excited and said “Oh Oh! I know what else! That is where God lives, he lives in the very tippy top!”

You know those moments when you are stuck between laughing at your children and being horrified all at the same time? I have those moments daily but usually the horror is directed at my children’s behavior albeit humorous. But this time the horror was directed toward myself. How is it that my 4 ½ year old daughter thinks that God lives at the tippy top of the Eiffel Tower? I have been to the tippy top of the Eiffel Tower on more than one occasion and I just didn’t see him there. There is a saying that if you go all the way to the top of the Eiffel Tower you will see someone that you know. Well, apparently I wasn’t looking hard enough.

I’ve gotten pretty good at this and I could launch into a whole justification about the view from the top of the Tower is a religious experience or how I pay good money to that school and they should cover the basics like the fact that God does not live in the Eiffel Tower. But really maybe it is time to for me to get my lazy bones out of bed and get my children to church. We might have to find a place that offers services several times a week as I think we have a lot of lost time to make up for.

The life of a blond

I recently found out that my mom started highlighting my hair when I was about ten years old. Yes, you read that correctly. I have vague memories of sitting in her bathroom with a tattered towel draped around my shoulders while she did a “conditioning treatment.” Little did I know what was really going on. Apparently I was a dumb child. When I discovered this little nugget of information and called her out on it she said she did it because in my awkward years, I just “needed a little help”. Now before you call Child Protective Services on her, I have to admit she was right. I had these humongous coke bottle glasses that covered my entire face. As my husband likes to say when I take my contacts out at night and don the frames, "you can see the future with those things". He says that about the 2009 very advanced technology “thin” lenses that I have. You can just imagine what I looked like back in the early 80's. I keep laughing about what Mrs. Holloway must have said to her friends in the teachers lounge on the days I came to school sporting fresh highlights as a 10-year old.

Honestly at this point of my life twenty-something years later I don’t even know what my true hair color is. My parents funded my highlighting addiction until the day I graduated college and then I was on my own. Ouch! It is expensive but after college with no mortgage, husband, children, etc. I continued to highlight until my heart’s content. There was a disastrous time that I tried to do it myself but quickly realized it is something better left to the professionals.

Fast forward to now. We have some friends' wedding coming up and I am in need of a serious touch up. Originally I made an appointment at my usual salon, but then my children’s summer camp tuition came due and the expenses for traveling to this summer's family reunion hit, and my son’s birthday party costs started piling up, and so on and so forth.

So I decided to do my part in this time of economic turmoil and make an appointment at a place that isn’t a shi shi salon. I recently read an US Weekly article about all these stars who go to SuperCuts or something in L.A. Really if it is good enough for them, it is good enough for me, right? So I started checking into such places - but apparently they don’t even offer highlighting. Maybe I should be happy about that and now the more I think about it I think it was only men in Hollywood who were getting their hair done at these cheap-o places.

Apparently I was trying to go too ghetto on my first hair expense cost cutting excursion. I spent like 2 hours research salons in the surrounding KC area to see what their pricing is and what reviews I could find for them. Seriously this is hard work, if my hair looks horrible when I'm done with this exhausting venture I'm going to be miffed. I think in general highlighting is an expensive addiction. But probably not as expensive as a drug addiction, right? Oh I like that justification, I'm going to use it when my husband complains about bills.

I didn't find anything as low priced as I wanted but I did find a place whose top tier stylist was about $30 less than my normal place's bottom tier stylist. Why do they have different level stylists anyway? Are they saying you are risking your locks if you pay less and go to a lower tier stylist? Doesn't that seem like a strange business model? Or maybe it is genius because how can you complain when you know going into it that the person you are using is sub-par?

Anywho, I'll let you know how it goes. Kind of ridiculous timing to try this experiment as we haven't seen some of the people attending this wedding in a long time. Oh well, if it looks like hell, I'll just drink too much and make a fool out of myself so no one will notice my hair.

I have a blog?

So here I am writing a blog. Very interesting. Are you even allowed to write a blog if you just got on Facebook recently and don't Twitter? I don't know what I'm doing and even worse people might not care one iota about my life, but at least this entertains me. Also one day my kids can look back and see all the insane things they put me through.

I am a work from home mom of two crazy kids, two crazy dogs and two crazy husbands. Okay that last part is not true but I like symmetry. My life is really no more interesting or exciting or busy than anyone else's but I can see the humor amongst the chaos and hopefully writing about it will keep me from running screaming to hide underneath my bed.

Enjoy this snapshot into my life.