The inadequacy of egg skills..........

So, we're visiting Jeff's grandpa in San Diego. He's a lovely, funny, full-of-stories, almost-92-year-old man who has a house that's neat as a pin, full of antiques. Just walking around the house is entertainment in itself, wondering about each unique piece of glassware, or furniture.....what are their stories?

Grandpa comes from a very different time. He wakes up early, fully dressed and ready to take on the day. Breakfast is cereal, toast and tea - routine is comfort. When we visit here, I always feel self-conscious if I sleep too late, and I would certainly not lounge about in my pajamas like I do at home on a weekend. This guy used to wake up at 4 a.m. to milk cows and do barn chores BEFORE school. My kids wake up fifteen minutes before they need to leave and run a comb through their hair. Chores in the morning? They would seize at the mere thought.

So, this morning, Grandpa and I decided to change things up a bit and have Eggo waffles for breakfast. Easy enough. But then he pulled out the eggs. I guess some people like an egg on their waffle? Gross!! And I thought, oh, lordy! As my kids can attest, I suck eggs. Well, I suck AT eggs. Making them. In any fashion except fried, yolk broken, brown on both sides. Over easy? Sunny side up? I don't even know what those mean, and I certainly can't make them to order. I CAN scramble eggs, but even those often end up browned and dry. Breakfast, in an of itself, is not really my favorite thing. If I had it my way, I'd grab Starbucks every morning and a carb-loaded pastry on the side. As it is, I'm always scrambling (heh heh, see what I did there?) for something nutritious to eat for breakfast (besides, you know, leftover chocolate chip cookies).

When the eggs came out, I knew I needed help. But I also knew Grandpa would be aghast at the knowledge that I didn't know how to make decent eggs. I mean, that's women's work, no? Yeah, not so much in our generation, but Grandpa hails from a time when women did the cooking. Not to say he doesn't do his fair share - he certainly takes care of himself on a daily basis, and he took care of an ailing wife for many years before she passed. I'm guessing Grandpa has made many an egg. But the fact is, I cannot make good eggs.

So, I did what I always do when faced with a cooking dilemma - I ran to the bedroom and pulled Jeff away from his work computer and said "Emergency! Grandpa wants eggs! I suck at eggs! Help me!" Jeff reluctantly came in to cook up the eggs but not before a few awkward minutes passed where Grandpa kept waiting for me to start the eggs ("Go ahead and do your thing!" - GAH!). Thank God for Jeff who cooked the eggs to order and helped me save face.

Who needs eggs anyway? I am SO not into breakfast-making in any way, shape or Mickey Mouse pancake form. My kids would come home from sleepovers gushing about their friends' mothers who cooked up feasts of french toast, bacon and fresh fruit, and I considered myself a kind hostess when I set out five different boxes of sugared cereal for their sleepover friends, and cut up some oranges.

I think it's important to own your shortcomings. And so I decree: I suck at breakfast. But I WILL buy you Starbucks. And a pastry.

Kick-ass domestic goddess...........

So, we have no food. I mean, I'm not sure how that happens, when I spend $264.93 daily at Fred Meyer, but somehow we've reached that critical point where there is NOTHING TO EAT in the house, which coincides nicely with the fact that there is NO MONEY IN THE BANK. What I need is a nice, big trip to Costco, but that runs me about $600 every time I go, and even a "conservative" trip to Fred Meyer teeters close to the $200 mark, so I'm practicing what Jeff likes to call "eating from the pantry." I mean, we HAVE food, right? A whole pantry full and some more in the garage in what my mom likes to call my "Mormon pantry." I am not Mormon. But I like to stockpile important things like sugared cereal and ramen noodles. I have a shit-ton of cream of chicken soup, because you never know.

Tonight I had some leftover chicken - some that I cooked a few days ago and one big leftover chicken breast from KFC. So, I cut all of that up and put it in a big pan. I added two jars of turkey gravy I bought at Thanksgiving in case of a gravy emergency (there wasn't one). I served it on top of instant mashed potatoes, purchased when my oldest had her tonsils out a month or so ago. Fresh out of veggies for a side, I cut up carrot and celery sticks and served those as a side dish with a big ol' glob of ranch dressing. Plus, a nutritious glass of milk to round it all out. I felt like I had just been transported back to 1954.

The funny thing is, my kids loved it. They actually made sounds that didn't sound like "ick" or "bleh" when they saw it on their plates in all of its gelatinous grayish-brown glory. They went back for seconds.

I'm glad I didn't waste my whole afternoon whipping up a gourmet meal if that crap made them happy. I told them it was "poor food." Payday is a week away. I'm not sure I can actually wait that long before I pick up some produce at least. I wonder what tomorrow night's dinner will be? What can you make from cream of chicken soup, some eggs, and chicken broth? And why can't we just have fresh cookies for dinner? Baking is so much more fun. And I have flour and sugar. What's your "nothing to eat" go-to dinner? Ready, go!

Angry momma..........

Today was a cluster f**k of confusion with all things medical.

First of all, this morning Hannah told me she needed a refill on her medicine. She looked at the bottle and realized she had been taking 70 mg of a medicine she's supposed to be taking 50 mg of! The reason? One bottle, with  40 mg capsules says "take one daily" while the other bottle with 10 mg capsules in it says "take THREE daily". Which she did. For WEEKS. Because that's what the directions say. Now, I'm not sure who screwed up - the doctor in writing the prescription, or the pharmacy in printing the label, but that's a pretty dangerous mix-up. Lucky for her, she wasn't at the maximum dose or anything, but she may have been having side effects (like difficulty sleeping!) that she didn't even realize because the dose was wrong. So, I called to get it fixed. And had to leave a message. Which was relayed to the nurse. Who called me back and left a message.

I also left a message about some test results that my husband had not received in the mail. Normally we always get a copy of our lab results in the mail, but not this time. It was important to have, because we needed to check them against later lab results from another doctor's office. THAT doctor's office sent us test results yesterday, but they listed Jeff as a "female" and the notes accompanying them had such poor grammar, I'm not even sure an adult could have written them. Words were misspelled and one sentence made no sense at all. I'm sorry, but I have no tolerance for poor grammar in medical records. Where is the professionalism?

Then, Arlie ran out of a medication and needed a refill. Only trouble is, she's due for a check-up before they will refill it. So, I called to make her an appointment. They had an opening at 3:30. She and her two siblings had orthodontist appointments at 3:45. Obviously that was too tight, but the agent at the doctor's office said we could make it work since her siblings could go first at the ortho (right down the street) and it was "only a 15 minute appointment." I, stupidly, believed her and booked the appointment. We arrived just before 3:30, and the first thing I asked was if the doctor was running on time. I was assured that she was. At 3:50 I asked the front desk how much longer it was going to be. At 3:55 a nurse came out to tell me that the doctor couldn't see us for "at least" another 30 minutes! That's nearly an hour after our appointment time! Of course, we had to leave, since we had already scheduled the ortho appointment. But first I had to get a refund on my co-pay and let them know how unhappy I was. Then, the nurse (who had the biggest, nastiest cold sore on her lip - seriously? You work in a doctor's office - get it treated or don't come to work - who wants to see THAT in a doctor's office?) tried to take me aside and called me "ma'am". She got on my last nerve when she said "let's go tuck away somewhere and talk about it because you are being kind of loud." Oh, sista, you don't KNOW loud. (By the way, there was NO ONE ELSE in the waiting room, so I was not causing a scene that would embarrass anyone but the office staff, and, frankly, I thought they SHOULD be embarrassed for their inefficient organization). I told them they could have the doctor call me ASAP at which time Cold Sore said "She won't be calling you until probably 7 p.m. because she is SEEING OTHER PATIENTS." No shit, my daughter being one of those patients she was supposed to see. As I type this it is 7:15 p.m. and I have yet to hear from her. We have had issues with waiting over an hour to see the doctor in the past, and ALWAYS wait at least 30-45 minutes. My husband has been complaining about it for years and wants to change doctors. But I have always been the holdout because we've been seeing those doctors since my kids were born - they KNOW us, and our medical history, and I actually like the doctor we see. But lately, not so much. At my annual exam, she asked me to change into a gown. So, there I sat, naked in a thin cotton gown, expecting her to pop back in after five minutes of courtesy changing time. Nope. 45 minutes later (I shit you not) she came back in and said "you don't have young kids at home any more so I don't mind keeping you waiting as much". What the f**k? My time is not valuable? Thanks for pointing that out.

So, we headed back to the orthodontist's office in time for Arlie to make her appointment. THAT experience is, and always had been, totally pleasant. Super nice staff, great ortho, always on time. After that we headed to the pharmacy to (hopefully) get Hannah's prescription mistake fixed, get a refill for me, and beg for Arlie's meds (since now we were SOL because she wasn't able to get her "meds check" - such a waste of a co-pay!). The pharmacist found out that Arlie already had a prescription called in from several weeks back (HUH? The doctor told us she could not have a refill without a check up), Hannah was screwed because the dr office had to "call them back" and my med was out of refills! Just my luck!

At this point all I wanted to do was grab a bottle of whatever alcoholic and head home. I refrained, but I did have a strong desire to kick something. I am so fed up with medical bullshit. The waiting - I expect to wait at the doctor's office, but not an hour! And certainly not over an hour. I actually have to block out two hours' time every time I take someone to the doctor, because I'm never sure if we will be out on time. Then there is the co-pay which we have to pay every time, even if we are following up on something - you know when they say to check back in 4-6 weeks? No wonder most people don't. Who wants to pay a co-pay so you can tell the doctor face-to-face what could be accomplished over email for free? And I'm SO thankful we have insurance because we have had huge medical bills the past couple of years. But we still owe a portion of that on every bill and sometimes they all come at once. I currently owe the hospital about $1400 for a tonsillectomy (Hayley) and a trip to the ER (Harrison) for a bloody nose. All they did for him was tape two tongue depressors together and pinch them on his nose for a half hour. Seriously. That is ALL they did. And they charged us $900 for it. Insane.

So, when medical care bleeds my wallet dry, I at least expect the courtesy of them respecting my time. I know we are all busy, but let's meet in the middle somewhere! I think a half-hour grace period is acceptable. But don't tell me we can get in and out for a "15 minute" appointment when you know good and well that your clinic averages an hour wait per visit. The last time we had a long wait issue, I spoke to an office manager who was working on improving the clinic policies and wait times. She assured me that it was "unacceptable" to wait that long and that they appreciated input because it helped them make changes. Well, they didn't. But I guess we will. Time to find a new doctor and clinic. I'm not happy because it will take hours of my time to research doctors and find the right place for us. But I will be happy to find someone who values my time as much as I value theirs.

Saturday

Today was a great Saturday! For one thing.......SUN! Which, when you live in Seattle, is, like, winning the lottery. SO AWESOME! And it was beautiful and sunny by 8 a.m. which just gives the whole day new promise, y'know?

And because I was feeling all sunny and also a little bit guilty about my previous night's late evening indulgence at Denny's, I suggested a walk to Starbucks. I figured it was about two miles each way, no biggie. Jeff was game, because he's an ATHLETE and all, so we laced up our sneakers and headed out. (Kidding, I didn't lace up mine because they're slip-on Skechers with sparkly stuff on them and they're super cool).

So, we walked in the sun to Starbucks which was a scary feat because the road has basically NO shoulder so we had to walk on the edge and there was a ditch full of water and I really couldn't decide if I'd rather be hit by an oncoming car or plunge into a muddy ditch. Oh, and there was SO MUCH trash. I really wished for a Hefty bag. Seriously, if anyone is looking for community service, let's all get together and clean up Grannis Road, ok? It's so ghetto.

Anyway, Starbucks was fun but I was hoping to sit in the sun and apparently it was too early in the morning for the sun to hit the outside tables so it was a little cold. I'm glad I opted for the hot coffee instead of getting all "omg, it's 50 degrees in Seattle - SUMMER - iced mocha, please!"

Then we stopped at Safeway for some dinner ingredients and O'Reilly's for some auto part thingy that they didn't have and then we trekked back. Uphill! At first I was really hoping someone would drive by and offer us a ride. But then I decided I just needed to suck it up and trudge up the hill slow and steady. And about halfway through, I hit my stride. I booked it. I even left Jeff in the dust! I don't know what came over me! Energy? Stamina? Who IS this girl?

My walk (over five miles round trip, by the way) energized me a lot. I decided I needed to color my roots, and while they were soaking up all those chemicals, I suddenly became starving and quick made a chicken salad which I attacked, and then I went up to wash the dye out of my hair.

Well. One kid was in the "kid shower" and another was in MY shower and when I finally got in there to rinse my hair out, the water was freezing! SO much fun to rinse out hair dye in a freezing cold shower! Not. But, I dunno, cold water or something, I was re-energized (not that I lost any of that post-walk energy frenzy) and decided to scrub down my shower. Whaaattt? Chores AND exercise on the same day?

Then I got dressed and ready and I thought I looked cute but then later Hannah took some pictures of me and I was all "my double chin" and "my hair -ew" and so on. UGH. Nothing worse than FEELING cute, then having the pictures tell you otherwise.

So, I had a margarita. And then another one. Problem solved! Cute again!

Jeff's parents came over and made us a yummy dinner, which was so nice. Everyone was hanging out outside and the sun felt so good. The kids dragged out the hammock, which was fun until several of the (very old and weathered) supporting ropes snapped. Guess it's time for a new hammock. Except this one was HUGE and my parents bought it in Honduras, so how are we ever going to get another awesome hammock like that one?

Harrison made a fire in the fire pit once the sun went down. It felt like summer.

It was a good day.

All the cool stuff...........

Today I heard a snippet of a conversation about what kinds of things kids have today compared to what we had growing up in yesteryear. Am I really going to write a blog about "back in the day"? I sure am. My daughter would call me "Oldilocks" but c'mon..........the abundance of things created to entertain our offspring has gotten out of control.

For one thing, when I had my first daughter, the Exersaucer was not even invented. I'm not even sure it's called that anymore, but it's basically a walker without wheels. Because after a few thousand babies fell down the stairs encased in one of those bad boys, the manufacturers decided they better take the wheels off. And add six thousand plastic items to entertain the baby and overstimulate them all in one fell swoop.

We did not have Disney movies to watch whenever we wanted. We had to wait until they came out in the theaters - once a year, maybe. I was in junior high school when we first got a VCR and our first movie was "Raiders of the Lost Ark" (which cost around $40 by the way). My sister and I watched it so often that we would play a game where she was Indiana Jones and I was everyone else. We memorized the shit out of that movie.

No video games. I know, GASP! It was also during my awkward junior high years that I first played "Pong" on someone else's TV and then my mom decided to spring for the Odyssey play system for Christmas. Better graphics! Sound! Super pixelated! It was all the rage. Pac Man and Tetris had to be played on a large machine at the local skate park. Roll of quarters? Best day ever!

Hopscotch is a traditional child's game. So, of course we played it at school and at home when we could find a piece of chalk to draw one on the sidewalk (no buckets of sidewalk chalk for us - and one color only - white). But you HAD to have a Hoppy Taw. This was a rubber disk that you threw into the appropriate square on the hopscotch instead of being archaic and old and using a rock like our ancestors. A Hoppy Taw cost 50 cents at the Milk Depot.

My favorite toy was Fisher Price Little People - but before they were obese and plastic. Mine were slim cylinders made of wood with plastic heads. There was a mom, dad, grandpa, grandma, brother, sister, and baby. Oh, and a farmer. I had the house, barn, airplane, schoolhouse. It was nirvana and I played for hours, in my room, alone. I think my parents were surprised when this fourth child appeared at mealtimes. Who is she? How did she get here? I loved my Little People.

No iPads, iPods, or iAnything. We had a record player housed in a large wooden cabinet. If you wanted to play a 45 (that's a record that looks slightly larger than a CD), you had to put a plastic disk in the middle of the turntable. Otherwise, you played LPs. Later, we had cassette tape players. If you wanted a song that was playing on the radio, you had to sit by it for HOURS waiting for your song to play and then hit "record" on the tape player at JUST the right time. Super cool. Then, we had boom boxes. Kind of like an iPod but ten thousand times bigger. Some of them even played CDs! You know, those things they had before iTunes.

No Facebook. We actually had to physically be present with our friends. And if that wasn't possible we had to make a phone call (thank God for that long cord that went all the way from the phone jack in the wall to the closet so you could talk in private), or write a letter. On paper. With a pen. I KNOW! I mean, there were typewriters, but who wanted to hassle with that? I got my first "word processor" in college! COLLEGE! I didn't even have a computer until I was an adult and my first email account when my first two kids were toddlers. What the HECK?

Now, it is possible for a child to be born, stay inside their entire lives looking at a screen, and still have 456 friends. Amazing, huh?

Speaking of indoors - we had outdoors. That's the place we headed to the minute we were free from school or chores or homework and where we stayed until we needed to eat. We played Charlie's Angels, using a toy box lid as a stretcher for whomever got killed. And the hose sprayer nozzle for a gun. Yes, we played guns. ALL THE TIME! Cowboys and Indians. Crazy killers. Guns were fun! We had adventures in the woods, rambled around the neighborhood, stopping in someone's house from time to time for a glass of Kool-Aid (SUGAR! YAY!) or a Hostess Ho-Ho. We played Kick the Can until after dark. Sometimes even on a school night!

When we went camping, and I couldn't bring my Little People arsenal along, I played with sticks. Yes, sticks. The tall one was the dad, the shorter one the mom, and so forth until the baby was the smallest stick in the bunch. I was entertained for hours. With sticks.

Now? We have pretty much every Disney movie ever made. (Full disclosure: they are mostly on VHS). Everyone has an iPod. We have three iPads in the house, six laptops, a desktop computer, and three TVs. Everyone has a cell phone.  I doubt my kids even know how to play hopscotch, and their pale skin speaks to the many hours they spend indoors. When we go camping, they have WiFi. Guns aren't allowed and they have probably never heard of Kick the Can.

They have all the cool stuff. Or did we?

Hippity-hoppity..............

GAH! Why is Easter so early this year? I really think that's a crock of shit, this business of Easter being at different times of the year. I know it has something to do with the Pentecost or Palm Sunday or Good Friday or something but the Catholic in me has forgotten the specifics. And what does it matter anyway? The point is, Easter is in MARCH this year and it feels way too close to the last major holiday, St. Patrick's Day.

The thing is, we didn't do ANYTHING for St. Patrick's day. No decorations, no parties, not even frosted shamrock cookies. We're so BORING now. We used to party it up for every occasion, and now? Not so much. For one thing, no one's clamoring at me to get the decorations out (they mostly only care about that at Christmas). So, it's kind of hard to remember the holiday without all the visual reminders. But Easter feels like Christmas "light" to me. There are still gifts to give, albeit on a much smaller scale, and plenty of candy to buy. Easter baskets are basically wicker stockings.

But once your kids are teenagers, Easter baskets are kind of hard to fill. I used to do bubbles, outdoor toys, sidewalk chalk, arts and crafts supplies. Plus a new spring outfit and maybe a movie. Now, it's easy enough to stuff the basket with chocolate and jelly beans, but the "gift" part of it is harder. Today, when shopping with Hannah, I asked if we should color eggs. Her reply? "Nah!" Whaaattt? No colored eggs? I made her buy one egg kit so we could at least do a dozen eggs. All this tradition. I'm a slave to it.

We don't have a big family celebration, since we're the only family we have here, so I never worry about ordering my spiral-cut ham or slaving over a traditional meal. In fact, while shopping, I heard an ad over the speakers for a ready-made meal of ham or a quiche brunch with all the fixings for fifty bucks. Sounds good to me! One year we realized we would be at the beach camping on Easter Sunday. Unfazed, I just swapped out my baskets for buckets and shovels and we had a ball!

I know all of this is not the "true meaning" of Easter. Easter is about new life, eternal life, Jesus beating it out of the tomb and high-stepping it to Heaven where he sits eternally at the right hand of his father (what's wrong with the left hand? I'm partial to it). But, we're heathens, and haven't gone to church in years, so Easter has become a commercialized pagan celebration. Gah! We're doomed.

Still, Easter brings the promise of spring, and that's nice. Nothing beats longer days, more light, and warm temperatures. Tonight, my son went outside after 7 p.m. and said "Wow, it's still so light out!" and then when he came inside he kissed me on the cheek and said "It feels like a summer night!" Later, I found him and his sister on the deck, singing a duet while he played guitar. Yeah, I could get used to this. C'mon, Easter! And bring spring with you.

My daughter is getting a tattoo.........

My 19-year-old daughter informed me tonight that she is getting a tattoo tomorrow. My first thought was this passage by Tina Fey:

“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches."

And while she is planning to get neither a Chinese symbol for truth NOR Winnie-the-Pooh, she IS planning to stain her tender haunches (rather, her rib cage) with a permanent-ink quote that will remain forever on her skin, till she's old and gray. 

My mind conjures up images of a seedy tattoo parlor and some guy named Ace using a dirty needle on my daughter's perfectly smooth peaches-and-cream skin, injecting infected ink into her bloodstream. Hepatitis, anyone? 

It's just.......that rib cage. That skin, now taught over a tiny frame that was once rolls and rolls of sweet baby fat, permanently altered with a quote who's origin is largely unknown, but is most often attributed to Marilyn Monroe: imperfection is beauty. 

Which is fitting, I suppose, if beauty means making your perfect skin imperfect by altering it. I mean, I know a lot of people with tattoos. I THINK they like them. But a cursory search online shows me that many people don't. They regret them. Why? Mostly because they get them when they are young. Too young to know. Too young to have had any life experiences that are meaningful enough to leave a permanent calling card. 

I don't have anything against tattoos, if that's what an adult chooses to do to their body. By adult, I mean someone with real life experiences. Someone who has had their heart broken, been through something painful, experienced true joy, been alive long enough to have a true sense of self. My 19-year-old, only a few months ago, wanted to get song lyrics tattooed on her body. SONG LYRICS! Do I even need to mention that the artist is a flash in the pan, barely out of her teen years, pop artist who won't even be popular in five minutes? I mean, hey, if you want to get the Eagle's "take it easy" tattooed on your bicep, by all means, feel free. They've been around long enough. 

The point is, while I think tattoos are a very personal thing, a cool way to memorialize an important part of your life, and an interesting art form, I don't have one because I have yet to figure out what in my life is important enough to become a part of me, inked on my skin forever. Sure, I've thought of it, but I'm still stumped to this day as to what I would get. Something with my kids' initials? They're a permanent part of me, for sure. A favorite quote sounds good - but which one? There are so many. 

But that's just me. I know I can't speak for everyone, but I do feel a little bit proprietary towards a body I created and carried for nine months. A body I washed and dressed and held and nurtured and watched grow up to be beautiful and perfect. And imperfect. Imperfection is beauty. 

I know I can't do anything about my daughter's tattoo. I can't tell her "yes" or "no" although I think she would go forth more confidently with a resounding "yes" from her mother. But this is her decision, whether I'm ready for it or not. She's growing up. Ultimately it's her decision - and her body. By age (and default) she's an "adult" and if she wants to ink herself, so be it. 

Imperfection is beauty. And I'm not ready for all that imperfection on my little beauty. 

Ink to paper is thoughtful
Ink to flesh, hard-core.
If Shakespeare were a tattooist
We'd appreciate body art more.
~Terri Guillemets

Pissed off..........

I'm in a total funk today. This happens more often than not lately. I guess it could be my midlife crisis? I mean, I DID recently get "confirmation" of my oldness in the form of a hormone test that came back with these results: your tests are consistent with menopause. Just the thing you want to hear when you're 45. I mean, not that I'll miss that monthly visitor, but confirmation that I'm on the other side of the "hill" so to speak just sucks.

I'm pissed that I can't have a baby anymore. Is that crazy? I mean, I have four teenagers, but wow, that whole thing went fast. For a while there, I thought I had a second chance. Second marriage, still young enough. But a lot of fertility treatment and a miscarriage laid that to rest. Still, there are days when I wish I had a baby or a toddler or a little kid - life seemed to much easier than. At least now. At the time, it seemed pretty hard. And then they grew up. Sigh.

Lately I've been torn about "what I do." I can't really say my career choice, because I don't really have a career. Although if I'm honest with myself, working with kids IS my career because I've done it longer than anything else. I started out at age 15 working with two-year-olds in a daycare center, and now I'm working with special-needs kindergarten kids in a local school district. It's a great job, but it has its challenges and it can be draining. But the biggest problem is that I don't feel like I'm living an "authentic life" because my passion is writing. It's something I've done even longer than working with kids, it's what I went to a university for, it's really what defines me. Writing is my passion and it's what I want to do. But all of the practicalities of life feel like reins holding me back. Sure, I can make excuses all day long. Why not just write outside of all my other obligations? I do. I just want to devote more time to it. To really live it, breathe it, really BE a writer. It's a fickle business, to be sure. I write for ME, and sometimes that becomes writing for someone else when they relate to or are touched in some way by my writing. I want to share my gifts. I don't often feel successful at many things, but I feel successful when I write. Even if I don't get paid for it.

Recently, I had a physical and gone are the carefree days of youth for me. Lose weight, eat less sugar, avoid the carbs, lower the cholesterol. Ugh. It's depressing to have to think about and analyze everything I eat, to worry all day long about getting my workout in. I know I will appreciate the efforts - I want more than anything to be healthy. I don't care what size I am - I just want to be strong and healthy. So, of course I will work at it. But it feels like one more thing on my plate and my plate has been pretty full lately.

And truthfully, I find myself being bored. I never thought I could be bored - goodness knows, I'm always so busy. But I feel like my days run one into the other and nothing much breaks them up. Weekends are spent hanging around the house and the only people I spend "fun" time with are my family. I love my family and really do have the best times with them, but I miss my friends. It's been ages since any of my friends have reached out to me, especially in recent times of stress, and it's felt pretty isolated. I have tried to maintain friendships by setting up lunch dates or coffee dates on my day off, but they have been few and far between. With the exception of one friend, I'm always the initiator of social events, and I just keep thinking maybe I need to meet new people. Or more people. Or something. I know part of it is my own fault; I'm not involved in much - a church, or a mom's group. I used to have Bunco, book club, supper club. But somehow, over time, the kids got older, I got a job, people got divorced or moved or just moved on, and those things slipped away. And now I'm not sure how to get them back.

Most of the time, I'm really happy. I just don't like these days when I feel down and depressed and just "blah." It's new for me, and it doesn't feel right. I love my life and appreciate all the blessings I have. We always hear "do what you love" and I really want to do that. I know that is a luxury reserved for a very few, but why not me? Why not now? And if not now, when? I wish I knew the answers.

Teenagerese

As a public service, I am going to help those of you who are raising teenagers, or know teenagers, or stare at teenagers on the street and ask "Why?"

Today's PSA will be about "scrubbing." No, silly, not pots and pans. Not Pa's britches on a washboard. What are you, 90? Scrubbing is a WHOLE NEW TERM that refers to looking like shit on purpose.

Now, I know most of us have awakened in the morning, looked in the mirror and thought "eh," while throwing on some sweats, pulling our hair into a ponytail and heading off to the store for milk, hoping no one we know sees us while we're out looking all haggard. And, chances are, that is exactly when you will run into at least three people who know you well and will forever judge you for looking like you just rolled out of bed (because you did) and perhaps might whisper behind your back "She looks terrible - bet she's got a drinking problem!"

But now, lucky you, it's in FASHION! Except to be truly "scrubbing" (which, by the way, is pronounced scrubbin' with the "g" left off), you have to now actually PLAN your outfit for the next day. Because, you know, looking like crap takes time and careful planning. You will carefully choose sweats, a t-shirt or sweatshirt (perhaps you'll even be a quirky scrubber and pick out an oversized grandma sweater from the thrift store - oh, so chic, thank you Macklemore!), and put your hair in a "messy bun" which is a DELIBERATE style, and not really a mess at all. You might even wear minimal makeup - gasp! And off to school you go, all messy/cute like you didn't really try (but we all know you did).

Kids, I hate to break it to you, but moms have cornered the market on scrubbing for YEARS. You thought the flannel pajama pants and bunny slippers at the bus stop were an accident? The fact that we have "good" yoga pants and yoga pants only fit for housework? The shirt we still wear that has both spit up stains from when you were an infant and paint splatters from your ten-year-old "pink" phase? And don't even get me started on the mom jeans. Acid-wash anyone?

Hey, I like to be comfortable as much as the next person, but this scrubbing trend borders on one of my biggest pet peeves which is the "wear pajama pants in public" trend. Seriously, who is so lazy they can't even pull on real pants?

Oh, and I'm pretty sure scrubbing applies to girls only because aren't boys pretty much ALWAYS scrubbing? How hard is it - jeans and a t-shirt every day, no makeup, maybe a little hair-gel drama, but being a boy is WAY easier in the fashion department.

I'm all for leaving the ten layers of mascara off, and sporting a simple style, but if you're going to stress over an outfit (or, in my house, ask your sister to help you pull off the ultimate lazy look), might as well make it a cute one and leave the sweats at home. Seriously, if I knew this was going to be a trend, I'd have saved my money and bought everyone Champion sweats and t-shirts at Target for school this year. Scrubbin'!

Stupid shit on Pinterest..........

I really have to laugh at some of the things on Pinterest. For example, did you know if you want stick-straight hair you can just spray it with water mixed with brown sugar, comb it through and wait for it to dry? WOW! Except not. If you spray brown sugar and water in your hair you will just have horribly sticky hair. And it won't be straight, either. (Full disclosure: I didn't actually try this. I'm not that stupid.)

Here's a doozy - bake a cupcake in a REAL EGGSHELL! What the..??? WHY on earth would you bother doing this? And HELLO does anyone not see the vital ingredient that is missing in this picture? Frosting! Who wants a cupcake without frosting? Especially one you have to PEEL first to eat. Seriously?

Here's another one: 

Who the hell has time to make a lunch like this for their kid? Not in my house. You get a pb & j and you be happy with it! If I'm really nice I'll throw in a pudding cup. Ain't nobody got time for bento box lunches! Whaaatt? 

Also, let's be honest - it's not easy to replicate all those perfect baking triumphs. This picture pretty accurately depicts most any cake I've tried to replicate from a book or magazine picture or Pinterest: 

Also, I saw a recipe for whole-wheat brownies, and as a public service, I just want to say that you DO NOT want to bake with whole-wheat flour. It makes your treats taste like play-dough. Don't ask me how I know this! I just do! So, give yourself a break - if you're trying to eat healthy, just cut back on the cookies, don't ruin the ones you make with whole-wheat flour. Gross. 

Also, I really thought this would be super cool to try, but after I saw this image: 

....I'm thinking maybe not!

These looked so cool for a party, but.............

I made a "homemade pet odor" spray that was basically mouthwash and water. It made my pets smell like mouthwash. And gross dog smell. Combined. Super-pleasant, let me tell you. 

This was one I tried, which I immediately realized was seriously flawed for one reason alone - tubes of wrapping paper are NOT consistent in size. And, of course, they get smaller as you use them. So, except for a few rolls that actually worked with this tip, most of the rolls were either too skinny or too fat for the standard TP tube. 

I was IN LOVE with this idea for Christmas gifts. I made several and only ONE turned out enough to even give as a gift, and even then it was a borderline lame gift. This girl makes it look so easy, but it's not. I promise you. And I spent like $20 on the "gel medium" that was required for the project, plus $8 for the big bottle of Mod-Podge. On the upside, if anyone needs gel medium and/or Mod-Podge, hit me up! I already ruined all the $3 wood blocks I bought. 

Another Christmas expenditure I laid out was metal washers, a metal stamping kit, and various chains and jewelry findings to make these: 

How did they turn out? I don't know. Ain't nobody got time for that! But if anyone wants to get together for a fun afternoon of stamping metal washers on the garage floor, let me know. 

I actually did have some success from Pinterest when I made this project: 

Except I used an old rake head I found at the thrift store, no joke, the same day I saw this on Pinterest. The rake head was four dollars and when I bought it, the cashier asked me what I was going to do with it (like, why would you buy this crappy old rake head? And I thought, why would you SELL this crappy old rake head!). Anyway, it's not AS cute as this one, but it's pretty cute and made a sweet place for my daughter to store her necklaces. 

Of course, my biggest Pinterest fail so far is this one: 

Not because I didn't make it. I did! I even made one for Jeff. Problem is, I never got past three or four marbles in the "pounds lost" jar before I had to transfer them back to the "pounds to lose" jar. And after trading the same few pounds over several months, I just dumped all the marbles back into the bag and put the jars away. It seemed like a good idea at the time...........

Ugh. Pinterest. Making us feel inferior since 2010.