.
This snow cone truck driver is brilliant. Arriving at the field just as practice for a million kids is ending.
How can you possibly NOT buy your children one when it is still 95 degrees at 8pm?
This is a sponsored review from BlogHer and Valspar Paint.
Drum roll, please…
I have learned that the color yellow is difficult to photograph accurately. It also changes dramatically depending on the time of day and the natural light conditions. Sometimes it looks soft and buttery. Other times it looks almost primary, particularly when it is evenening and the sun is setting. At first I was a little unsure about that, but now I have grown to love the color. It really makes the space warm and happy, two things I wanted.
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I am absolutely in love with my newly painted walls. The house feels so cheery and happy. In fact, when my neighbor stopped by the other day to check out the paint job in progress, I told her that it felt like my house had been bathed in Prozac.
Now I need to think about what I want to hang on the walls. And some new throw pillows. And window coverings.
I know that some of you will want to know about the quality of the paint. I have painted A LOT. Every room in my old house was painted at least once, and there were a million rooms in that house. Give or take a few. As a matter of fact, I have painted so much that I like to think of myself as an expert in paint. I have used crappy paint. I have used high quality paint. I have used paint that promised to knock my socks off and yet delivered nothing.
The Valspar Paint was great. It covered well. The color was exactly what it looked like on the swatch. Each gallon of paint matched the previous gallons perfectly. When you buy paint you are supposed to buy all the gallons that you need and mix them together so that any slight color variations disappear. My project took 16 gallons of paint. About 6 more than I anticipated. If I had actually measured my space with a tape measure I would have known, but I just guesstimated. And, what do you know, I am worse at guessing that I am at math! But my point was that the color, Carolina Inn Lobby Yellow, through all of the gallons of paint was consistent.
I went with an eggshell finish and I am very happy with it. I have already wiped dirty handprints off the walls. And footprints. I don’t even ask anymore. Threatening the children with dismemberment does nothing, believe me I have tried. It is as if they think I won’t follow through on my threats! Luckily, for all of us, the dirt wipes easily off the walls and the color does not.
Tell me what you think. And tell me what in the world I should do with those windows. I am truly at a loss for ideas.
And what about those lighted niches?
And that shelf like area—what should go up there? Other than the popped balloon someone tossed up there– do you see that red thing up above the fireplace? I am going to have to go borrow my neighbor’s ladder again and get it down. Or just ignore it. Ahem.
This has worked out so well I may just ask the Internet for input on all of my life decisions.
I will be picking a commenter at random to win a $500 gift card from Lowe’s and Valspar Paint. You can do a lot of painting and decorating for that amount of money!
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. FIVE-ZERO-ZERO!!!
Gratuitous cute kid photo.
Want to see the projects other people have tackled? Click here for a round of page of all the other posts.
Here is all the nitty gritty, boring rules part of this post.
Rules:
1. No duplicate comments.
2. You may receive an additional entry by linking on twitter and leaving a link in the comments.
3. You may receive an additional entry by blogging about this contest and leaving a link in the comments.
4. This giveaway is open to US Residents, aged 18 and older.
5. Winners will be selected via random draw, and will be notified by e-mail.
6. You have 48 hours to get back to me, otherwise a new winner will be selected.
Winner to be chosen via the Random Number Generator.
If you are interested, a link to the offical rules can be found here.
When you are a child you have no idea how much of your adulthood is going to be spent doing errands. Or that you will utter the word “errands” so many times that it doesn’t even sound like a real word anymore. Several times a week I find myself having to go out and do one of the million thankless errands that I would gladly pay someone else to do should I ever win the lottery.
Miles hates errands. His knees buckle at the very mention of the word. Unless I say we are going someplace that sells donuts. Then he runs out the door as fast as possible.
The other day we were going on a donut errand (what he calls running errands that hold the promise of a donut at the conclusion) and Miles ran outside ahead of me. When I came out the front door, he held this little heart shaped leaf up to me.
Look! I found your heart!
Silly me, I didn’t even know it was missing. I thought he always had it in the palm of his hands.
They both won a prize here.
I did not know this sort of thing still existed. A freak show?
This ride went so fast and bounced up and down so hard that I thought for sure the kids were going to come off of it with back injuries. But no, they laughed and laughed and went on it again. Ah to be young again and not worry about debilitating injuries, chiropractors, and co-pays.
This ride brought you a million feet in the air and then dropped you. I guess people like having their stomachs shoot up to the back of their throat. I am not one of them.
Miles is one of those people. He loves rides. He went on his first “big” ride at Disney World right before his fourth birthday. He screamed the entire time he was on the Tower of Terror. I thought he was surely traumatized. As soon as it ended he screamed, “AWESOME! Let’s do it again!” Unfortunately for him, he is often too short to go on many rides.
I took this photo when we were stopped at the top of the Ferris Wheel. The seat kept rocking back and forth. And Miles kept STANDING UP. And I was all hyperventilating. I am not sure why Ferris Wheels irrationally frighten me so, but they do. The kids kept telling me to look around at the scenery behind me, but I was using all my mind powers to keep the seat from flipping over upside down and spilling us out. Which worked by the way.
See my foot in the photo? I was pinning Miles to the seat with my leg.
And right here? $24 worth of icecream. I believe my exact words were, “You better enjoy the shit out of those cones.”
Here we are watching a monkey, dressed in cowboy attire, sitting in a tiny saddle, riding on the back of a dog, herding goats. I know. I KNOW!
And if that doesn’t make you laugh you are dead inside.
It had been loose for awhile. Hanging in her mouth all crooked and twisted.
I am just going to reach in there and yank it out.
But we both know I won’t do it because pulling out teeth kind of makes my stomach turn.
It fell out while she was eating a tortilla smothered in Nutella. The baby tooth that cut her gums while she was still a nursing baby. The little tooth that bit my nipples bloody.
Today was one more cut in the umbilical cord. One more step away from the baby I can still see in her face.
You are never going to have that baby tooth again! Your new teeth are going to be permanent. And all big and goofy.
I say the big and goofy part in my head.
I’m going to miss your baby teeth.
Why? I’m going to grow new teeth.
Cue eye roll.
Well, at least we hope you are.
What?
Yesterday I had to bring my highschool aged son to school after a doctor’s appointment.
Do you have to walk in with me?
Yes, actually I do.
Cue eyeroll.
I laid my hand upon his forearm, one that looks like it belongs to a man, not the boy I still see in my mind’s eye, and very seriously said,
It’s okay. Everyone knows ninth graders still live at home with their parents.
He laughed. His desire to be independent has already moved past the stage of the sheer embarassment at even HAVING parents. He is now in the stage of not wanting to appear to NEED parents. Because doesn’t everyone know that 14 yr olds can drive themselves places, do their own laundry, and prepare their own meals. Like, duh?
Over at the elementary school today, I saw my 10 yr old son. He was way too cool to be excited to see me. I got a cursory wave and a “Hey.” As if it is a totally normal everyday occurrence to see me at your school assembly. Then he pretty much ignored me.
When I saw my daughter her face lit up and she came running over and hugged me. And hugged me again. Then she kept looking over at me and smiling. When it was time to leave she threw her arms open and mouthed, “hug!” I squeezed her hard. Then she turned and marched off with her class, her head bent to her friend in a conversation that I was not privy to.
Miles and I walk out of the school hand in hand. Half way to the car he stepped in front of me.
Carry me.
I think of a million reasons to say no. You’re too heavy. I’m too tired. My hands are full. I don’t want to. You are a big boy. The car is just right over there. I think your legs work just fine.
All of the things that I have said at one time or another.
Instead I scoop him up and onto my hip. I won’t be able to carry him much longer. His long legs hang down banging into the back of my knees. He rests his head on my shoulder. I kiss his cheek.
The good parts go by way too fast. It feels like the blur of scenery on the side of the highway. I know I have been down this road before, but I just can’t really remember it.
I hardly take any photos at BlogHer. Probably because I am too busy talking to people and drinking free wine. And laughing. The laughing is what interferes with the photo taking the most, all that shaking makes blurry photos.
This photo makes me smile. It was from the Suave party at The Wit. I mention those two things because they are examples of things done right. The party was low key. A beautiful bar with free drinks and fabulous appetizers. There was no swag handed out at all. The party itself was the swag. How refreshing not to have feel guilty about throwing good things away or trying to jam stuff into your suitcase.
The Suave representatives did not try to make us talk about their products or pitch us anything. But honestly, I do buy Suave shampoo because it costs $1 a bottle and my children are fond of pouring shampoo down the drain. Probably not the sort of PR that they would be looking for, but it is the truth. I am cheap.
Photo shamelessly stolen from Metalia. See that woman sitting next to me? That is Kristen. I adore her. I had never met her before this weekend, neither had Susan though she works with her. Our first day in Chicago we invited her to our hotel room to share our 4 bottles of Two Buck Chuck and hummus with chips. After that we forced her to go everywhere with us.
She sent me the first text message when I arrived home:
Not ONE WAITER has come by with a tray of food. And I’m having to pour my own wine.
I know. It is such a let down.
Our waitress realized I was not eating any of the food she asked what wrong. I told her about the whole gluten free thing she brought the chef out who made me special food. Fabulously delicious food.
I am not sure what Susan was saying that was so shocking to Sarah and Metalia. But please note Metalia’s bedazzled iPhone cover. It is has pushed right past tackiness into a class of awesome all by itself.
The laughter. I should have abs of steel, but see the avocado and wine mentions. (Danielle and the PORN! skirt.)
I don’t want anyone to think that Blogher was not a worthwhile experience. It was. The conversations with smart people. Not having to explain what a blog is, or why you chose to write one. People with whom you connect, even though your lives could not be more different. The sessions, this one in particular:
and I am not just saying that because I adore and respect every single one of these women and count them among my friends. The genesis of this panel was a comment Stefania made during a panel on which I was speaking in 2007.
I know I have already posted this salad before, but in keeping with my habit I ate this 4 times while in Chicago. The fifth time I went to the restaurant I had guacomole and chips. Apparently I require avocado in every things that I eat.
Quote from one of my many gluten free friends:
“You know I hate asking about gluten free food. It has become such a fad. I feel like a trendy asshole.”
One night I walked in on Susan in the bathroom and she was rubbing deodorant on her feet. I looked at her our of the corner of my eye for a minute while I was putting on my lipstick.
“Do you have a foot sweating problem or something?” I asked.
After she recovered from laughing she revealed to me that the deodorant prevents your shoes from chafing.
I immediately kicked off my black heels and rubbed my deodorant all over the places my shoes were already pinching. I did pause for a moment before I did the second foot to see if she was just messing with me. I am happy to report that I wore those 3″ peep toe heels the entire evening and had no problems at all.
(photo from Yvonne)
The next night Heather and I were in my room getting ready to head out somewhere when she said her feet hurt. I helpfully told her about what Susan had said. She was skeptical but since she had gotten approximately 5 million sticks of deodorant as swag she decided to try it. Now, let me say I did not notice what sort of shoes she was wearing, nor did I watch her do it.
(I am laughing so hard remembering this that my children think I am having convulsions)
We leave the hotel room and are walking down the hallway when Heather says, “I don’t know about this. I think I was expecting a miracle or something.”
“Really? I thought it worked well.”
“My feet feel all slippery.”
For the first time I look down at her feet and realize she is wearing thong sandals. I stop in the hallway and grab her arm.
“Did you rub the deodorant on the bottom of your feet?”
“Well, yes. That’s where my feet hurt. Isn’t that what you said to do?”
It was then that I fell over right there in the hallway I was laughing so hard.
Once we both recovered I said, “At least your feet won’t smell bad, right?”
I realize I am a party pooper by not wearing my McDonald’s hat, but it kept falling over my eyes. And that was interfering with my wine drinking.
At one point during the party Yvonne handed me the tray of burgers so she could photograph the security that was coming to break up the party. There is a photo somewhere I saw of of Metalia and I with the burgers that neither of us could eat. (It was Ali’s photo, link here. God, too funny.) We were saying that next year at BlogHer they should serve Kosher, gluten-free, vegan food to kill three birds with one stone. But then the more we thought about we realized that would probably just be cardboard.
Equally funny was when a bunch of men showed up at the party. When one of them said it was his bachelor party I was all, wow I am so sorry you have such lame friends that they couldn’t even plan you a party of YOUR OWN. You know, one with naked girls, or gambling, or something.
The MamaPop party was the best party of the entire weekend. It was awesome, like a wedding but without that pesky bride and groom. Make sure you read this post that Tracy wrote about Blogher, especially the last paragraph. Spot on.
There were so many more people I was thrilled to see again. Or meet for the first time– WOMBAT!
I know I am leaving lots of stuff out. And forgetting to mention people that I had fun with. And suddenly I am going to be all, Oh NOOOOO, I can not believe I forgot to mention that person. I loooove them. So if I forgot to mention you, please do not be offended. I have just… run out of words.
I am not a mommyblogger. I have never definied myself that way in the past, though others have. As if the very act of pushing a baby out of your vagina automatically makes “mommying” be the sole thing that defines you.
I have been writing and deleting the same few sentences over and over again. Trying to encapsulate this weekend at BlogHer.
From the bloggers who thought it was perfectly acceptable to to get in your face, interrupt your conversations, and tell you who sponsored them to come to the event. No one cares.
to the bloggers who stampeded the parties and hotel rooms grabbing bags of swag with no regard to other people (INCLUDING A BABY WHO WAS ELBOWED IN THE HEAD!),
to the people who started the Nikon hates babies bruhaha because a mother with a small baby was not permitted into a party that Nikon was holding at a bar. Because it is the policy of the bar (something to do with the liquor license I believe, but I could be wrong. Also, it doesn’t really matter why the bar didn’t want a baby there.) Nikon doesn’t hate babies. Nikon probably didn’t think that anyone was going to bring their infant to a crowded noisy invite only party at a bar.
I am not being all judgy here, either, honestly I am not. I really do not care what anyone does or doesn’t do with their own children and babies. (People I happen to like and respect very much brought their babies and handled it with grace.) But you are not entitled to anything. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that you are.
To all of those people I say, “Shame on you!”
Shame on you for once again bringing the entire community into a negative light. That we are a bunch of silly women with nothing more important to do than get our panties all tied up in a knot.
Shame on you.
*****
I didn’t come home with bags and bags of swag. Not that I wouldn’t have liked a couple of the things that were being given away. But there was no way that I was going to associate myself with people who had such a feeling of entitlement and complete disregard for other people, not to mention behaving in a completely unprofessional manner A little tip here… if you want to be treated as a professional, you have to behave like one.
I didn’t go there with the intention of getting free stuff. I went to sit in on panels, to maybe learn a few things, to catch up with old friends, to become re-inspired to hone my writing skills and be a better writer.
Instead I went home thinking that no one had better ever associate me with “mommyblogging” again.
I am not really sure how the past few years of blogging have devolved so far. How as a community we seem to have moved away from good writing to product grabbing, endorsements, and money, money, money. What happened to the story-telling? What is up with the sex toys at a professional conference? Isn’t this a professional conference? Or is it girls gone wild meets Black Friday bargain hunters? To quote my lovely friend Susan, “Professional development and dildos do not go together. Unless you are a porn star. The End.”
I have talked to many, many, many, many, many many friends about this over the past year. When will all of this end?
This past weekend, Susan, Melissa and I were sitting in our hotel room.
“I think that in the end good writing will win out. It has to, right?”
“I used to think that too. Now I am not so sure anymore.”
We all breathed deep sighs and shrugged.
*****
I don’t want to think about SEO when I write titles to my blog posts.
I don’t want to insert words in my posts to make them more SEO friendly.
I don’t want to know what my readers want me to write about. It is my life. I don’t take requests like a DJ.
I began writing this blog as a way of sharing my story. My unique story of raising my children. I never thought anyone else would really read it aside from a few friends. I thought that one day I could point to it and my children would have a glimpse of what my life was like at this point in time. A glimpse of what their lives were like.
And you know what? All of you have stories to tell. They are all unique and fascinating in their own ways. I believe that good writing transcends our differences. I believe in all of you to write and tell your stories in your own voice. Don’t be distracted. Tell your story. That the reason marketers were interested in us in the first place. Focus on that. Please.
*****
Now I am going to make dinner for my kids. I am going to listen to them LOUDLY talk to me about the past few days when I was away from them. At one point I will wonder where the the waiter is with the tray of appetizers and wine refills. That would make motherhood so much easier, wouldn’t it? But then my ears will start to bleed from all the talking and I will be distracted.
Tomorrow will come and I will take photos like I do everyday. And then I will write something. Then I will do laundry, and cook, or clean, or any of the other millions of mundane tasks that I do everyday. I will swear too much, lose my patience, sigh loudly when my train of thought is interrupted for the hundredth time in an hour, but I will also laugh a lot. Probably more than most people. (At least that is what I tell myself. Shhhh, don’t spoil the illusion, it is what keeps me going)
At the end of the day I can hold my head up high because I never elbowed a baby in the head to get a purple vibrator.
Updated to add: Both Susan and Kristen have written about the same thing. Great minds and all. And so have Kelly and Liz.
My daughter came home from playing at her friend’s house yesterday telling me that I have to bring her to church. She thrust a full colored postcard out me.
“Do you even know what church is?” I asked her.
“Yes. [Friend] told me all about it. A helicopter flies over and drops millions of candy onto the ground and you run around and get them. That’s church.”
“Uh, what about the part where you pray and talk about Jesus and stuff?”
“No. They don’t do that.”
“No?”
“They just drop candy on you. That is church.” There may have even been eye rolling here.
“I think there is more to it than that, honey.”
“You just don’t know.” She was so exasperated with me and her plight of having a mother who just doesn’t understand what seems so painfully obvious.
And I guess I really don’t know. I could have missed that part of the Bible. Maybe when Jesus rose from the dead he did so with his fists full of Peeps and mini-Snickers. Maybe this church worships the god of confectionery goodness.
“So can we go to church?”
“Ask [Friend] if they will also be dropping Mimosas from the sky at 8am. Then I’ll let you know.”
The Washing Machine
This morning I went to do laundry and noticed that the load I had out in the wash yesterday morning was sopping wet, sitting in a little pool of water. I didn’t think much of it since the on and off knob is on the front of the washer and we all frequently lean against it and turn the machine off. So I turned the washing machine back on and went on my merry way.
I came by it a little while later and realized that running the washing machine again had not solved anything. The clothing was sitting in a pool of water and the machine wouldn’t spin.
As someone who does endless laundry, I had no other choice than to pull the machine out and attempt to fix it. Even though, honestly, I had no idea how to actually fix it.
Long story short, I pulled the washer out from underneath the counter, took the drain hose off and cleaned it out. In the process spilling water that smelled like an old swamp all over the floor and myself. Then I cleaned out the little pump motor thingy. Turned out the frigid weather had caused some ice to form in it. No, my washer is not outside. Yes, it is located inside an interior room of my house. Imagine me shrugging my shoulders.
I heated the little pump motor thing up with the hair dryer. And then hit it with my screwdriver really hard a few times.
And viola, it began working again. (I’d like to pretend that I typed viola on purpose like it was my own saying, “Violin! Harpsichord!” But alas I really did mean voila, with the little accent mark that I do not know how to type.)
My daughter was fascinated by this process, jumping around just out of the room asking me a million questions.
“How do you know how to do that, Mommy?”
“I don’t, sweetie. Like everything else in life, I am just making it up as I go along.”
And sometimes just smacking the crap out of something with a screwdriver really is the answer.
Every single morning Miles, my newly turned 4 yr old, eats instant Quaker oatmeal. Every. Single. Morning.
Even if I am making something else for breakfast like waffles or pancakes or omelettes (oh, shut up it does so happen) he insists on having his bowl of oatmeal first. “Just a widdle snack!” he says.
So when I was contacted about blogging about Quaker oatmeal and their campaign to end hunger, I thought how could I say no. Their goal is to give 1 million people a healthy bowl of oatmeal. That is a lot of people. And a lot of oatmeal. Probably as much oatmeal as I buy in a year.
For participating I have been given 2 coupons to give to two commenters for some oatmeal, as well as a case of oatmeal to go to my local food bank. I’ll pick two people at random from the comment section to send the coupons to. They are going to send them to you directly so you don’t have to wait for me to mail them to you. Because that would happen, uh, never.
But the best part? The reason I said yes to doing this, the blogger that gets the most comments on their post will receive $5000 for the hunger charity of their choice. So leave me a comment. I want to win because I am competitive like that.
Join the Facebook group and upload a photo of yourself with the Quaker Oats man, if you want. But, uh, you can’t deface him in anyway. Or do anything nasty with him. Not that you want do anything to the wholesome Quaker man, just sayin’. Download your own Quaker Man here.
He blows so hard that often the oatmeal goes flying across that table/. I can not tell you how much his siblings LOVE that.
What? What??? I’m just tryin’ to enjoy my oatmeal.
Mmmmmmm, no I will never grow tired of eating oatmeal for breakfast. How dare you suggest such a thing!
It’s like heaven in a bowl. Even if my mouth gets stuck together like glue.
Maybe one day I will branch out from the Maple and Brown Sugar oatmeal. But not today. And probably not tomorrow either.
Wouldn’t it be great if all children, everywhere, could push back from their breakfast table, full and content?
Updated: Apparently when I agree to do things I should read better. The comments that count toward the $5000 for charity have to link to your facebook photo with the Quaker Man. Gah, I know. I know.
