Mom to the Screaming Masses

Things I might have told you

I wrote up a ginormous post about my second day at Blogher.  It was a THING of BEAUTY, full of how I went for a run through a homeless camp - by accident - when the front desk guy tried to direct me to a Starbucks, how I went to the mall to buy Benefit cosmetics - because I've never seen them before and I wanted to try them before I ordered them - and Jenny the gorgeous let me borrow her car and I almost killed Chris with my amazing lack of ability to shift gears.  It was a post full of my new found love of Lemon Drop Martinis, my hatred of the fact that the hotel couldn't seem to keep an internet connection, and how I got lost coming back from Starbucks and went two miles out of my way.  And how I had to accost a woman at an ATM at 6:15 to tell me which direction I needed to go.

I wanted to tell you that my inner introvert had come out the day before, after a decade long haitus, and I was finding it surprisingly uncomfortable to be around some people. I planned to tell you that I laid out at the pool for a while, reading an Oprah magazine and contemplating where I wanted to take my life, my blog, and my dirty laundry. 

I planned to tell you about my third day, where I was INTERVIEWED for a big time newspaper, and I met a wonderful woman at a session who may be able to help me crack into magazine blogging.  (hyperventilate.....) I wanted to tell you how I mentioned all my readers - yes, even you over there - when I spoke at the How has Blogging changed your life? panel, when I spoke about body images and how I almost peed my pants in nervousness.  Dude, my voice is totally on a podcast.

I had PLANNED to tell you how I met so many amazing women and now have an incredible pile of business cards to work through and a ton of new blogs to discover.  Women like Karen of Troll Baby, Stacy of Jurgen Nation, Kris of Mama Likey, Heather of No Pasa Nada, Donna of SoCal Mom, Danielle of foodmomiac, Becky of Miss Priss, Lassa, Karianna of the Karianna Spectrum, and so many others that I can't even remember, and need to read through the stack of business cards to discover.  I totally would have told you that I stalked Y and made her nuts, and she came to my room and we ate brownies together. 

If I'd had a connection, I would have blogged about the fact that the meals weren't very good, but they were pretty much hotel food, and I really wasn't eating very much anyway.  I WAS drinking, though.  I would have blogged about the fact that I had my own hotel room and I could have danced naked in my room, if I'd wanted.  Which I didn't, but I totally could have.  I could have told you that I forgot my cord to download my pictures.  That's ok, since I only took 6, I think.  I might have told you that I dumped coffee on another white shirt, right in front of Jenny.  I probably would have told you that I chatted a lot of people up, and they looked at me like I was a freak.

I should have told you that I sold about 25 pieces of tie dye, a deeply disappointing amount.  I would have told you about the little teeny tiny birds in the hotel lobby, in a cage, birds that scared me whenever I walked by.  I would, and probably will, next post, talk about how it felt to meet so many different woman, and wonder exactly what I was doing here.  I probably would have attempted to explain exactly how wonderful Lisa Stone makes me feel, and how I attempted to repay her incredibleness by answering any questions that I was asked about the ad network.

I would have told you that I WAS in the newspaper, TWO columns worth, and I met an incredible woman from iVillage, and changed my seat on the first flight in order to talk her ear off.  I might or might now have told you how I walked through the airport and sat for my four HOUR connection, and how incredibly fast and easy the WiFi was there.  The Hyatt needs to learn a thing or two about that.

I'd have probably said that it was hard to stay on my diet.  I did wear my bathing suit and not feel too bad, so that was a step up.

I might or might not have told you that the woman I spoke about before, who didn't want to tell me her private site and gave me a fictitious name, was wearing a name tag with a THIRD different name on Friday night.  Then she sat near me and listened to my conversation most of the night.  Hmmmm......

But, I didn't tell you any of that since I had NO connection most all of the weekend, and when I did get a connection it would cause my computer to crash.  The Hyatt needs to learn about hosting 700 women with laptops, and actually ALLOWING them to go online more than once every five hours.

So, what would you like to know, my loyal readers?  Any of you that went, what did you think?

Boys versus girls - pool edition

This past week a good friend of my son's spent a lot of time at our house.  He slept over one night and then spent another day with us.  So I had a lot of time to ponder the difference in boys and girls, especially at the pool.

There were some friends of the family visiting, and they had teenage girls.  I have heard before, and vaguely remember experiencing it a looooong time ago, that girls mature faster than boys.  It never really occurred to me until this week how accurate that saying could be.

The boys were talking about guns - since they had just gone to summer camp.  They were discussing a 12 gauge versus a 20 (?) gauge, how much the "ammo" cost, where was the best place to get it, and how exactly clay pigeons were manufactured.  One boy said how "cool" it was that his friend could fart and belch on command.  Another chatted about his car stereo and a new subwoffer. (I don't think that's spelled correctly, but spell check doesn't pick it up....)  They spoke of getting the cheat codes to solve the levels in a GameCube game.  (You know, to me, the cheat codes kind of defeat the purpose of actually playing the entire game through, but whatever.)  They had spent literally hours playing the game.  They had races to see who could drink the most soda the fastest, and then spent lots of time playing volleyball in the pool, presumably working off all of the caffeine and sugar from the soda.  While playing, they pegged each other in the head with the ball several times, on purpose.  They rode the floats and made gigantic waves. They dunked each other and rough housed with great abandon. In short, they were very typical 14 year old boys.  Little boys in big bodies.

The girls, on the other hand, stood in the middle depth of the pool and chatted. They fussed with their hair and made eyes at the boys.  They admired each other's tans and complimented their hair, nails and bathing suits. They called out comments and giggled.  In short, they were very typical 16 and 18 year olds.  They were adults in many ways.

To the boys, the girls were just there.  Just another couple of people in the great number of people that were at the pool.  To the girls, the boys were an attraction, but to the boys, the girls were just a presence.

Sigh.  I'm not ready at ALL for this dating and attraction stuff......

My Blogher day trip #1

I woke at 4:00, before my alarm sounded.  It was set for 4:30, so I could leave by 4:45, stop at Starbucks when they opened at 5, and be at the airport by 5:15.  My flight departed at 6:45, so I thought that would give me plenty of time, without making me either a)rush or b) stand around forever. 

The Hubster got up with me, to drive me to the airport.  We stopped at Starbucks and I got my coffee, and he surprised me with a $50 gift card to take on my trip.  I bought a $5 gift card to tuck into a gift basket, and he cautioned me not to get them confused.  Remember this caution......

We arrived at the airport, where I was unable to utilize the curbside check in and was told to go to the gate. Alrighty, then, but if I was bumped off, I was planning on being pretty pissed.  I said my goodbyes and I got briefly choked up.  I was quickly brought to my senses when I dumped my cold coffee down the front of my pristine white t shirt and onto my khaki capri pants.  With no Tide to go pen available, or shout wipes, or even time to hit the bathroom, I went to the gate and was given an seat assignment.  1A.  Was I being upgraded to first class?  Holy cow, this was cool! 

Except, it wasn't.  The plane was sooo small that there WAS no first class.  Instead, I was in the very first seat next to the aisle, which meant that I was slapped with each person's carryon as they boarded.  And since they boarded the plane from FRONT to BACK, I was slapped plenty.  The flight attendant, when asked if she could provide me with some club soda, or a wet paper towel and soap, so that I maybe could get the coffee out of my shirt, pronounced herself much too busy to help.  Then she turned and dumped a bag of ice out of the entry door, right onto a crew member loading luggage.  When he yelled, she responded with, "Well, you shouldn't have been there."  She was a LOVELY woman.  She also dripped ice water from her cart onto the bare toes of my across the aisle mate all flight.  Thank goodness it was only an hour flight, particularly for the woman across for me.  I kept trying to joke with her, but her silence and stares ahead soon convinced me that I should shut up.

Other than those delights, the first flight was good.  I got to my location, and hoofed it over to the connection.  Where I overheard a conversation between two other passengers, one of whom indicated that she was going to a blogging conference in San Jose. I wheeled around, and in my super exuberance, I introduced myself.  "Hi!" I blurted out, cheerily.  "I'm going there too!  My name is Carmen, what's yours?"

She blinked at me, and muttered out a name.  I asked what her site was, to which she responded, "It's a private site."  Oooh-kay then.  Sometimes, I think I must be too friendly and off putting to people.  The second flight passed without incident, except for the three boys behind me, between the ages of 8 and 12.  They kept kicking my seat, and kicking it and kicking it.  I finally turned around to ask them to stop, and was met with a belligerent, "I'm not kicking you."  Alrighty, then, I was imagining it. When we landed in Vegas and the cool hotels came into view, the Luxor hotel with the Sphinx in from of it was one of the first sited.  The charming child behind me, the kicker, kept everyone in sttches with his constant chatter about the "Schvinxy hotel."  His mother remarked to the father how cute he sounded, mispronouncing the name, which set him off further.  I mainly just wanted to smack him, but sat on my hands and restrained myself.

I deplaned and slowly made my way to the third and final leg of my trip.  After all, I had been sitting for five hours and needed to stretch.  I was amazed by the slot machines that filled the Vegas airport.  They were all full, too.  I resisted the urge to gamble.  Must.not.spend.money.

The third flight was good, and I arrived in San Jose with no further fanfare.  I shared the shuttle with the private blogger, who answered my questions but didn't offer much conversation herself.  I made my way through the hotel, found the incredible Chris, who is so pretty and slim that it should be illegal.  I took over half of her room and made myself right at home. Mir came to visit, and I concentrated very hard on not licking her, even though the closeness of her incredible glamour made me swoon.  I met with Lisa Stone, who looks like a supermodel and is one of, if not THE, nicest people I've EVER met in my life.  I focused hard on not overwhelming her with my incredible awe.  I gave her a small gift basket, which contained the $5 card.  Except, while I was on route to her with the gift, I realized that I had actually stuck the $50 one in the basket, and had to make a discreet swap out.  Classy, yo, that's me.

We rode a bus unlike any I've ever seen - it was called an Land Yacht, and it was basically a limo bus.  We went for heavy (delicious!) appetizers and drinks, and they served the BEST lemon drop martinis that I've ever had.  I discovered that the woman who I had accosted in the airport had given me a fake name.  She was actually someone completely different, so that was kind of weird realization.  There were so many people there, though, and so many were very very famous, that I began to hyperventilate and had to walk out for a while. I wondered what, exactly, I was doing here. I called home to check on the kids.

To discover that Nik's rash has gotten worse, traveled up his arms and across most of his chest.  A conversation wth my mother left me with the knowledge that she thinks he's got poison ivy on top of the sea lice.  (I called the doc today and got him some steroids.  He is miserable.)

Once I'd pulled myself back together, I headed back in to the party and tried to network as best I could.  Mostly, though, I hung out with Jenny and tried hard to remember to give her enough space to breathe.  She was so gracious and kind - I want to be her when I grow up.  She made certain to introduce me to everyone that she was talking with, and I collected and distributed business cards left and right.

We returned to the hotel, I sat by the pool for a while and sold 4 dresses, and then went to bed.  I collapsed onto the HARDEST bed with the MOST FIRM pillow ever, and crashed.  I didn't sleep well, which really bodes well for today.

To be continued............

My BlogHer nightmare

I had a nightmare the other night. 

In it, I dreamt that I was at BlogHer, and we were doing introductions.  I watched and watched, and heard all of these really big time bloggers speak their names and their blog names.  Finally, it was my turn, and I stood.

"Hi.  I'm Carmen, and I blog over at Mom to the Screaming Masses."

Blink Blink.  *crickets chirping*

"You know?  My website is MTTSM?"

and, from the back, a voice spoke.  "Yeah, we know, and the question is, why would anyone want to read YOUR site?"

Can you tell I'm really nervous about this weekend?  Wish me luck......

I'll  be sure to let  you know how it goes.

This is a public service announcement

Never again will I suffer with a cold sore, the likes of which have never been seen. 

Allow me to back track for a minute.  When I broke out with this thing, it was a few days after I had my upper lip waxed and I first thought it was an allergic reaction.  I am pretty sensitive there - who isn't, really? - and I often break out a few days after a wax.  The alternative, though, well, we just won't go there.

But a day or two later and I realized that it was a cold sore.  No problem, I thought, I'll just treat it with Campo-phenique and be done with it.  It not only didn't clear, it progressed throughout the night until it was roughly the size of the continent of Africa.  Ok, no problem, I thought to myself.  It was a bit spendy, but I forked over the change to get the Abreva.  I also began popping enough B complex to turn a river bright yellow.  Nothing.  NO smaller, in fact, it was now even bigger.  It wasn't my imagination - when talking to people, I'd watch their eyes and I could see the instant that they noticed it.  It was clearly visible in their eyes.  A kind of horrified fascination.  Would the thing pop off my face and onto theirs?  Women began pulling their children behind them when I approached.

Over the weekend, I decided that I was going to the Dermatologist.  There had to be SOMETHING that could be done.  I mean, Blogher was in five days, and this thing was just.not.vacating.  NO matter how much I tried to kick it to the curb, it was staying put.

I tried the trick I've taught my kids - when you are concerned that your skin looks bad, or that something is really visible, stand an arm's length from the mirror and look.  9 times out of 10, whatever it is isn't noticeable.  Well, that trick didn't work, this time.  I obsessed to The Hubster repeatedly.  He alternated between making fun of me and reassuring me.  I told him my plan to visit the Derm, and he scoffed.  "What makes you think that they can do anything?  If they could, don't you think they'd be in business strictly for that?  Won't everyone be at the Derm?"

Hmm, maybe they already do.  I mean, I rarely see anyone with a cold sore anymore.

Monday came, and I called for an appt.  I was told that there was nothing available, and I cried and begged explained ny predicament.  "You see, I'm going to this convention, and I'm meeting new people for the first time, and I'm really vain...."

Luckily, they took pity on me and sceduled me in straight away.  Or Tuesday, whichever came first.  Tuesday morning, I chatted with The Hubster, who was insistent that there was nothing anyone could do, and I'd be better off taking my $50 copayment and flushing it.  In his opinion, I'd go in there and the doc would say, "Yup, that's a cold sore.  Just gotta wait it out."  To appease him, I called the nurse and asked her, who informed me that The Hubster was full of, um, stuff, and I should OF course keep the appt.  She was personally aware of at least three things that the doctor would be able to do to help me.

I got off the phone and relayed this information.   To which the Hubster responded with, "Of course they will say that.  They want your money."

Ugh.  Apparently, there was no way to win this one.  I was desperate, though, and I decided to keep the appt, hoping against hope that I'd be the one to say "I told you so" and not him.  I went  to the appt, checked in with the uber perky receptionist, who made a point NOT to look at Mt. Africa there on my lip, sat down and hid my face in a magazine.

Thirty minutes went by.  Forty minutes, fifty minutes.  Fifty five.  I decided that if I wasn't called in 5 more minutes, I'd leave, cold sore or none.  I have better things to do than to sit here, I thought to myself.  And then I remembered what I looked like, when the magazine wasn't there, and realized that I had nothing better to do than sit right there in that chair.  And so I sat for a while longer.

Luckily, I was called next.  Once I reached the room, the doc entered immediately, and opened with this winner:

"Wow, that's some cold sore you've got there!"

Gee, way to win friends and influence people.  He asked what I had been doing, I told him  my treatment thus far, and he kind of nodded.  I then told him why I needed to be cured - namely, that I was about to meet a boatload of new people and wasn't about to look like I had the bubonic plague.  He laughed and said, "So, I guess you've been under some stress lately, which is making it worse, huh?"

Bingo, doc.

He told me that he could, indeed give me a different ointment, but also he'd give me an oral med.  He did need to ascertain that I had no current liver problems before he could prescribe it, though.  That gave me pause for, oh, a millisecond - after all, if it could damage my liver did I really want to take it?

I decided to gamble and agreed to the pill.  Valtrex.  The highest dosage possible, two pills tonight and then two in the morning.  Being of the cheaper more frugal mind when it comes to medicine, I asked for samples.  He gave me enough for that night, and a scrip for the next day.  He said that they'd need to be taken 12 hours apart, so, since it was currently 4, I'd probably want to wait until that night.  That way I could avoid a 4 a.m. wakeup.

I looked at him and said, "I'm taking these in the parking lot, bud.  I don't mind setting my alarm for 4.  5 hours quicker IS 5 hours quicker, after all."

And that's what I did.  Took these huge pills in the parking lot and set my alarm.  The two pills for the next day weren't cheap - $10 each.  But, it's 24 hours later, and the sore is half it's size already.

I think I can breathe about meeting new people now.

_____________________________________________________________

I've left a few new posts for you all to read while I'm gone, but if that's not enough for you, please feel free to revisit my archives.  I've got some (if I do say so) pretty good stuff in there, and I love comments.  I'll be back on Monday with fresh new stuff, and probably a million stories of how I embarrassed myself completely and totally at BlogHer.

No more scissors for our family

From now on, everything that we need to cut will be ripped, instead.  We will no longer have scissors in our house.  At least, freely available scissors.  I'm thinking about locking them up in the attic, and making the big kids check them out, and leave a cash deposit.

You may ask, what has brought on this new form of rule?

Witness exhibit #1:  This is what I found when I went into the playroom yesterday.  Emma said that she and Riley were "tired of their hair in their eyes", so she pulled the bar stool over and climbed onto the counter to get some scissors.  They went into the playroom and Emma cut great chunks of hair from each of their heads.  She piled it all up and stuck it in an envelope for me.  Except that it was too much for the envelope, and so she just left it there. 

I dunno, if I was tired of hair hanging in my eyes, I'd probalby go get a hair band, or a clip, or something.  Maybe I'm just weird that way.  That pile of hair measured about 8 inches across and was about, oh, 3 inches deep.  Neither girl had ever had a hair cut.  Until now.  Emma's hair was down to her bottom, and it was gorgeous.  Dark, shiny, with a perfect amount of wave.  Riley's hair was past her shoulders, and thin and fine, but still pretty.  The drama to Emma's hair, though, made me cry.

So off we went to Supercuts today. 

And this is what we ended up with: 

Emma's is actually kind of curly, which is cool.  Riley's looks the same, straight as a stick and super fine, but still really cute.

How many scissor adventures have your kids put you through?

He's aggravating, but I'll keep him

You all know that I've had battery issues with this Toshiba laptop.  My new one finally came, and I decided to install it and let it charge for a while.  I was so glad to have a battery that would maybe work for longer than 20 minutes.  Sometimes, it's amazing how the little things can make me happy. 

All went well. The battery slid right in, it began to charge, and all was well.  I sat down to IM with Chris for a while, and The Hubster came home from work.  It was late at this point, and I closed down my convo with her to talk to him.  All of a sudden, I noticed that the battery indicator was lit on the display.  Hmmm, it shouldn't have been, as the laptop was plugged in and it should have been drawing from that.  I fiddled with the plug - no change.  I pulled the plug out, and blew on it.  I have no idea why I did that, but it might have helped.  Still nothing.  The power cord was completely dead.  I tried different outlets, different rooms, nothing.  If the battery dies, I thought to myself, I'm toast, since there will be no way for the battery to recharge. 

I began to freak out, and not in a small way.  "Oh, my God!  I can't believe this!  I finally get all of the problems solved - the new battery is here, I've got my business cards, my money situated, a doctor''s appt for this thing on my lip - and now I have to get a NEW problem.  What the hell?"  I began to flap my hands and hyperventilate, moving from room to room and outlet to outlet. The Hubster looked at me askance.

"Just call Toshiba.  Ask them for advice." 

"Yes, that's what I'll do.  At this time of night?"  But, I decided to do just that.  I called and was promptly connected with the Service Department from the  Great Country of India, with a rep who had great trouble understanding just, what, exactly, he was supposed to do for me.  During our chat, I heard a noise upstairs and by waving my hands and gesturing wildly, The Hubster got the message and he went to investigate.  Apparently, Allegra had come out of her bedroom and started yelling, "Throwing up!".  At which point in time, she laid (lay?) down on the floor in the hallway and hurled all over the floor, just three steps from the toilet.  Because she just couldn't make it further.   Without prompting, The Hubster cleaned her up, got the scrub brush and the carpet cleaner, and went to work.  I was never so thankful to be dealing with an uncooperative service rep in my life!

Fifteen minutes later, I hung up in frustration.  "That's it.  I give up.  I'll call my friend (who's son is a computer whiz) and see if he can help me."  Shooting the computer the evil eye, and muttering under my breath, I went upstairs to shower.  I passed The Hubster, thanked him for cleaning, informed him that I was now computerless AGAIN, and went to my bathroom.  WHY.  Why me.  I finally thought that I had alllll of my hurdles jumped over, all of the lines on my list crossed off, all the problems solved, and now this.  Still cursing angrily, I stripped and grabbed the shower knob.  Soaping and scrubbing, I didn't hear the door open. 

"I've fixed it.  When you get done muttering, come downstairs."  I heard over the running water.

What?  That's impossible. How did you do that?"  and then I remembered exactly WHO I was speaking with.  The Hubster.  Otherwise known as the fixer of all things impossible to fix. It's maddening, really.  I can work and work and WORK on something, and he comes over and within a minute, he's got it solved.  He claims that he's mechanically inclined.  I'm (obviously) mechanically dis - inclined.  What ever it is, he gets it all done.  Every time. 

Let me repeat.  EVERYTIME.  It's become kind of an issue with me, kind of a sore point.  I try as hard as I can to solve a problem, spending hours and hours of time and dealing with loads of aggravation, and he steps in and snaps his fingers, and all of the misbehaving parts just lay down and cooperate.

It turned out to be a short in the cord, and he fixed it.  After he had cleaned the carpet and all of the mess.

He's a good guy.  An aggravating one, to be certain, but a pretty good guy to have around.

Skin, skin, beyoootiful skin

On Wednesday of last week, Nik went to the beach.  On Friday, he started complaining of some itchiness on his arms.  I looked, didn't see anything, and went on my way. 

Saturday, Sunday.  Same thing.  Except now he had raised red dots.  It was kind of hard to see the dots, because his skin was so red from all the itching.  Hmmm, well, let's give you some benadryl for all the itching.  It has that unfortunately sedating side effect, but I think we can struggle through it. 

When he woke today, the rash had spread.  It looked completely different from our case of hot tub folliculitis two weeks ago, so I pulled up my trusty friend Dr. Google.  I was immediately grossed out, looking at all the disgusting possibilites.  I called the doc and made an appt, and we were at the office right on time.  Actually, we were early - 11:15 for an 11:30 appt.  The front desk nurse looked at his arms, the spots on his neck, and the ones on his stomach.  "We've seen a lot of weird stuff lately. Lots of skin rashes.  Especially from people at the beach.  I'll bet it's sea lice."

Wh-what?  I'd never heard of such a thing.  Sea lice, indeed.  We weighed and measured him and were sent to the room to wait.  He sat on the table.  He stood on the table and discovered that he wasa tall enough to touch the ceiling.  He laid down on the table.  He walked around the very spacious room.  He opened the cabinets, playing with the gauze pads and the ear cleaner outer things.  (Yes, that is the medical term.  Shut up.) He opened up the door and stuck his head outside.  When I yelled at him, he walked away and left the door open. 

Ten minutes, twenty minutes.  Tick, tick.

He laid back down on the table, and put his feet on either side of the door, swinging it back and forth from one sweaty foot to another.  He rubbed the door handle with his feet.  He jumped up on the table and tried to push the ceiling tiles up, and discovered that the space up there was empty.  I fantasized about hiding out up there. 

Thirty minutes.  Forty minutes.  Tick, tick, tick.

He opened up the blinds and stared at the people sunbathing in their backyards that abutted the back of the office building.  He criticized the reading selection and made fun of the Highlights magazine.  He grabbed a rubber glove and blew it up and released it, letting it fly around the room repeatedly.  He balanced a tongue depressor on his nose and read the LAB order out loud twice, in different voices.

Finally, FINALLY, the door opened and the doc walked in.  Two minutes later, and we had a diagnosis.

Sea lice, indeed.  Different from the HTF that Riley had, but caught at the same place - the beach.  I'm beginning to think that the beach is not for us.  We left with the advice that you really can't do anything about it, but he could take 20 mgs Claritin in the a.m. and then 3 T Benadryl in the p.m., and coat it with hydrocortisone.  Just to make it stop itching.

The entire time we were there, I could hear other parents dealing with their kids.  Almost all of the patients today were young, and there was lots of screaming and crying.  I promised the Doc that there would be no screaming in THIS room, unless it was done by me.

Taking a teen to the doctor is so different than a baby, but at the end of the visit, I was still stressed out, sweaty and tired.  Just like when he was small.

A week of colorful fun

This has been a whirlwind week of color.  Being that there is going to be a  place to sell stuff at BlogHer, and also being that I am a tie dyeing SUPERfreak of nature and have alllll kinds of free time, I decided to make stuff to sell.  After all, when people go away, they usually bring gifts home to their kids, right?

So here is some of what I did this week.......

I've got 48 shirts ($10 each), sizes infant to XL, six watermelon dresses ($22 each), three other style dresses ($15-$18), and 16 playsilks (I don't know, probably $10 or two for $17), for creative play.

I just hope that I don't schlep it all the way to CA and have to bring it back. 

Whadda you think?

Shield your eyes!

Mackenzie has always been a giving person.  Once, when she was five, she woke me at 5:30 with a paper of information that she had copied from the television.  It was the item number, as well as the 800 number, to order myself a pair of Balance Yoga Pants off of the Home Shopping Network.  I really felt special - here she was, 5 years old, thinking of something to order for me, and not for her. Writing the numbers all by herself, when she could barely write. 

Yesterday, she pushed back from the computer and stood up.  She pronounced, "I have to earn some money." and went off to find her father.  Puzzled, I followed behind her, but she closed the door on me, and all I could hear was furious whispering.

They exited the room, and went to the garage.  There they began a deep intensive clean up.  She informed me that she was working to earn money to buy something at Claire's, something she'd seen on the website.

This child has been making me especially crazy lately, what with the whining, the pouting and the general insanely high energy level that she keeps all the time.  I've yelled and punished a bunch these last few days.  Not all of it her fault; I've been running on a negative balance lately, and I just haven't had it in me to be the kind, caring mother I should.

So I let her clean.  She was out of my hair, and happy and busy.  They cleaned for quite a while, and then, after swimming and lunch. The Hubster took her up to Claire's.

She bounced into the house, sooooo excited.  "Mommy!  You'll never guess what I bought!  Never, ever, ever!" she shouted.  She has no volume control, that one.  "Nope.  I can't guess.  Why don't you show me?" I said, expecting a pair of earrings or some perfume.  She pulled her hand out from behind her back and exclaimed, "It's for YOU!  I saw it this morning on the website!  I bought it just for you, with the money I earned!"

Yup, she'd found a bauble that she thought I'd love.  She cleaned out the garage, in the 100+ heat, just to earn some money to buy me a gift.

And what a gift it was.  Shield your eyes from the BLING that is me!