Year: 2007

There is no such thing as natural beauty

On Monday, Caroline endured her last dance class because this Sunday is the recital, which will most likely go down in history as “The Mother’s Day that I Paid Hundreds of Dollars for a Beating”, because I feel pretty certain this whole experience will basically serve the purpose of me being able to watch my daughter daydream on stage, twirl and jump for a few minutes to the music she hears in her head, and then perhaps pick her nose for an encore.

At least we have ruled out ballerina as a future career choice at a young age. It will give us much more time to prepare her for a career in nuclear physics or professional worm digging.

Anyway, at the end of the dance class on Monday, the teacher called all the mamas into the classroom to go over a few last minute recital details and to push us to buy t-shirts for $15.00 that say “Dance Recital”.

As if.

It seems that Caroline’s teacher is living in some delusional fantasy world and is not aware that she has been teaching a class of 3 year olds all year long. She kept making references to helping them focus and whether or not we’re allowed to bring them bouquets of flowers to present to them as they come off stage. I have a sneaking suspicion there are some mamas who are taking this a lot more seriously than I am.

I’m not even sure what time we’re supposed to be there on Sunday, but I knew if I raised my hand and asked, I would be completely ostracized from the Britney Spears Stage Mother Association.

They were all talking about the various makeup they had purchased for their daughters to wear, and there was much concern over whether their daughters’ hair should be curled or not. And finally, when someone started to discuss whether or not we should pencil in their eyebrows after we apply their mascara, it took everything in me not to stand up and yell, “You people need to get a grip on reality”.

However, the teacher did insist that all the little ballerinas need to wear makeup so that they’ll show up on stage, and I certainly don’t want Caroline to not show up. If she is going to dance to the beat of her own drummer, then I guess the least I can do is attempt to put some lipstick on her.

So, today I went to HEB and strolled the cosmetics aisle looking for the cheapest makeup I could find. One of the dance mothers mentioned that her Mary Kay lady had put together a great makeup package for the recital for just $40.00. Seriously? There is no way my 3 year old is going to have a better makeup bag than I do.

I headed to the Cover Girl section and picked up some lavender eye shadow because I’m just too frightened by the blue eyeshadow. It is my belief that most of the evil in the world can be traced back to blue eyeshadow. If you don’t believe me, then just watch a rerun of Dynasty.

I also found some pink blush and a tube of red lipstick. When Caroline saw the makeup and I told her it was for the recital, it was the first time she has shown any real enthusiasm for this entire event. There is nothing she likes more than to coat her face with any type of lipstick she can find, especially if we’re about to walk out the door to go to church and are already running 10 minutes late.

When we got home, I decided to do a trial makeup run. I had her sit as still as she ever sits, while she scrunched up her entire face as I tried to apply eyeshadow, blush and some lip color to her actual lips. The thing that got me was the smell of the Cover Girl makeup. It immediately transported me back to junior high and those first experimental days of applying makeup and then taking it off with Noxema.

I’ll never forget that my Home Economics teacher had a Merle Norman consultant come in to teach us all about applying makeup. The consultant had some kind of contest and I won this handheld vanity mirror that opened up to reveal eyeshadows in every shade of the rainbow. It was glorious. Nevermind that I never learned how to sew in Home Ec, I was the recipient of the most wondrous eyeshadow collection ever assembled.

It was the Time/Life Soft Rock Classics Collection of the eyeshadow world.

Every morning I would get up and choose my outfit for the day. Then, for the crowning touch I would open up my Merle Norman eyeshadow mirror and apply whatever color matched my clothes. Blue Izod? Blue eyeshadow. Purple argyle vest? Purple eyeshadow. Green Polo? Green eyeshadow. And most unfortunately, yellow sweater? Yellow eyeshadow.

I was committing cosmetic heresy every single morning and was proud.

So proud.

I’m not sure when I realized it wasn’t always in the best interest of natural beauty to match my eyeshadow to my wardrobe selection, but I’ll tell y’all this, when I saw Caroline today, with the purple eyeshadow on, I knew for sure that I made the wrong decision on that day back in 7th grade when I matched my eyes to my purple argyle vest.
It’s the sound of the men working on the chain gang

Caroline was up bright and early this morning at 6:15. It’s all her daddy’s fault, really. Not that he woke her up, but it is his gene pool that has given her this propensity for early rising. At least he takes some responsibility for it and he was the one to go get her out of bed. She came and got in our bed and immediately started demanding that I get up.

I refused.

6:15 is just too early. It’s a decent hour if you’re a farmer and there are cows to be milked and crops to be tended, but we live in the city and our milk is in the fridge. It’ll keep until 7:30.

Anyway, she went to play in her playroom and entertain herself until I finally stumbled out of bed a little after 7 a.m. We ate breakfast, we played Hungry, Hungry Hippos, we played Candyland, we looked for caterpillars on the back porch, we fingerpainted and painted with paintbrushes, then glitter glued sheet after sheet of construction paper, and finally we calculated the national deficit and figured out a solution to the social security crisis. It was a full day and I was exhausted.

I looked at the clock to check the time.

It was 10:15 a.m.

I was out of activities and it was barely 10 in the morning. I knew we should have spent more time crunching those numbers on the federal deficit.

Fortunately, the Disney Channel was airing The Tigger Movie which gave her something to do until lunchtime so that I could concentrate on filing my fingernails and growing out my bangs.

And then we had rest time.

Or technically, I had rest time while Caroline came out of her room every 5 minutes to ask if rest time was over. Her energy knows no limit. If I could harness it, I could solve the global warming crisis or whatever other crisis requires alternate sources of energy.

After she finally wore me down and I conceded that rest time could be over, she went in her playroom and put on what I like to call her “Copacabana outfit”. Because although her name isn’t Lola, she is definitely a show girl, albeit a show girl without “yellow ribbons in her hair and a dress cut down to there”.

Now y’all might think she put on that outfit so she could do the merengue or the cha-cha or to just look pretty, but you would be wrong. She picked that particular outfit so we could go dig for worms in the backyard. Because if you’re going to be digging for creatures that can regenerate themselves after being cut in half, you want to look your best. At least that’s what I read in Emily Post.

Along the side of our house in the backyard, is what should be a flowerbed, but since we have two dogs who hold no regard for flora or fauna, it is instead just a bed of dirt. P recently added some sand to the dirt and sprinkled the whole thing with cornmeal because, apparently, this creates the equivalent of heaven for earthworms, and he and Caroline decided a person really can’t get enough of the earthworm, which is not an opinion I share. Nevertheless, digging for worms has become a new favorite activity at our house.

For Caroline, not for me.

My new favorite activity is figuring out how to keep my hair out of my eyes.

We head out to the backyard, and she stands over me like a well dressed prison warden, while I get the shovel and dig in the dirt. She stands over me and keeps asking, “Have you found any yet? HAVE YOU FOUND ANY?”

Four years ago when I saw that ultrasound and found out I was having a girl, I dreamed of the day we would brush Barbie’s hair together while we talked about what color we should paint our toenails. I dreamed of shopping together for beautiful shoes. I dreamed of frilly dresses and big bows.

And naturally, I dreamed of digging up worms in the backyard like I’m on a chain gang while she barks orders at me to dig faster because those worms aren’t going to dig themselves.
A career change

Some of y’all have asked how my adjustment to being a stay at home mama is going and let me say that I haven’t regretted my decision for one minute. It still feels weird to wake up in the morning and realize my day isn’t filled with having to check voicemail and meet sales quotas, but I love it.

I always referred to my job as “the bank” for fear of being found in a random google search and not wanting to get fired for writing about my job on the internet, but now that I don’t have to worry about any of that, I’ll let y’all know that I was actually a pharmaceutical sales representative for a pharmaceutical company.

Anyway, I thought y’all might enjoy a comparison of how I spent my day as a pharmaceutical rep versus a day spent as a stay at home mom.

Drug Rep 6:30 a.m. – Wake up to the sounds of a belligerent 3 year old yelling, “MAMA, come get me! It’s MORNING!”

SAHM 6:30 a.m. – Wake up to the sounds of a belligerent 3 year old yelling, “MAMA, come get me! It’s MORNING!”

Drug Rep 7:00 a.m. – Stumble into the kitchen, make Caroline’s lunch and try to come up with something she’ll actually eat for breakfast while she begs to eat candy. Listen to her throw a fit after I say that York Peppermint Patties aren’t really a breakfast food.

SAHM 7:00 a.m. – Stumble into the kitchen and offer several breakfast options, all of which are turned down because they aren’t York Peppermint Patties.

Drug Rep 8:30 a.m. – Load myself up like a pack mule headed for a 10 day camping trip in the bottom of the Grand Canyon. On one shoulder I have Caroline’s school bag, my purse, my work bag, and my laptop bag. In the other hand, I have her lunch box and my car keys. Follow her out to the car while she stops to examine every crack in the sidewalk, look at every bug, and give the dogs a hug goodbye. Finally get to the car right before my arm is about to fall off from the sheer volume and weight of items that I’m toting.

SAHM 8:30 a.m. – Stay in our pajamas for a little while longer because we can. Watch Charlie and Lola and continue to push my breakfast eating agenda. She is so over breakfast. Breakfast is for the weak.

Drug Rep 9:00-12:00 p.m. – Spend morning trying to convince doctors, who already know everything, why they should use my drug instead of my competitor’s drug, and they pretend to listen while I know they are completely ignoring everything I’m saying.

SAHM 9:00-12:00 p.m. – Spend morning trying to convince 3 year old, who already knows everything, why she shouldn’t color on the walls, run with sharp objects, or spill her cereal all over the kitchen floor, and she pretends to listen while I know she’s ignoring everything I’m saying.

Drug Rep 12:00-1:00 p.m. – Have lunch delivered to doctor’s office so that I can have the pleasure of treating office staff and physicians to a free lunch while they complain that they’ve already had Jason’s Deli this week and ask why I didn’t bring more Diet Dr. Pepper.

SAHM 12:00-1:00 p.m. – Make peanut butter and jelly sandwich, deliver it to 3 year old so that I can have the pleasure of making her a delicious lunch while she complains that she’s already had peanut butter and jelly this week and ask why I didn’t give her pink lemonade.

Drug Rep 1:00-2:00 p.m. – Take nap.

I’m joking. It’s a joke.

Everyone knows drug reps don’t take naps from 1-2:00 because they finish their day by 3:00 and go home and take a nap then.

SAHM 1:00-2:00 p.m. – Take nap and try to get Caroline to do the same.

Or at the very least, to not wake me up.

Drug Rep 2:00-4:30 p.m. – Go see more doctors and bring them free samples of drugs while most of them act put out that they must acknowledge my presence. Some of them enjoy asking me difficult questions that I don’t know how to answer, such as the particle size of the ldl and apo-B lipoproteins.

Umm yeah, I majored in Speech Communications.

SAHM 2:00-4:30 p.m. – Go to the grocery store and buy food for Caroline while she often acts put out that she must acknowledge my presence. She enjoys asking me difficult questions that I don’t know how to answer, such as how do watermelons turn green on the outside.

Umm yeah, I majored in Speech Communications.

Drug Rep 5:00-bedtime – The day is over with the exception of an occasional evening where I get to go out on the company’s dime to some of the nicest restaurants in town and eat good food and drink fine wine while listening to some of the most boring presentations known to man.

SAHM 5:00-bedtime – I still have miles to go before I sleep. Dinnertime, bathtime and bedtime routines. There are chicken nuggets to be eaten, hair to be washed, and stories to be read. I wouldn’t trade it for the best meal in town at the nicest restaurant, even without the boring presentation.

Although the wine would be nice.

Drug Rep middle of the night – Wake up completely stressed out about how I’m going to grow market share when the only way I’ll be able to convince some of these doctors to write my drug is if they undergo a complete lobotomy.

SAHM middle of the night – Wake up completely stressed out about how I’m going to fill all the hours in the next day with meaningful activities that don’t include watching Backyardigans over and over again.

As y’all can see, in some ways my days aren’t that different. The commonality between being a drug rep and being a mama is before I actually started doing either one, I read a ton of books. I studied, I learned all I could, I memorized material that could help me in any situation and allow me to answer any question.

But the thing is, only the reality of doing something every day prepares you for what it’s really like. No book can tell you how to make a doctor prescribe your drug and no book can tell you how to get a toddler to eat breakfast. It’s all a game of skill and chance. Some days I get it right and some days I don’t. Some days I think I’ve got it all figured out and some days I’m sure I must be the most incompetent person to ever do this job.

For me, I’m just thankful that if I’m going to spend my day with someone ignoring half of what I say and acting like they know better than me, it’s with my daughter. Because for all those moments she is so over me, are the moments we spend digging for worms, lying on the floor coloring pictures, and playing Go Fish.

Moments I wouldn’t trade for anything.

Plus, most of my doctors were terrible at Go Fish.
Man does not live on steak alone

So, in case y’all have been up late at night wondering, the folks at Toyota along with other major automotive makers, did not come through with a car for me. Apparently, they only give free cars to people like Oprah, which is ironic considering that Oprah probably doesn’t drive herself anywhere EVER and if she wanted to, she could buy any car she wanted.

I’m not bitter. She’s Oprah and I can’t compete with that.

Really, I’m not bitter.

And while I’m not exactly on this subject, I’m also not bitter that Jennifer Aniston and Reese Witherspoon are given free Prada purses and Manolo Blahniks, when clearly they could just buy them. Why not give those Pradas and Manolos to someone who would really appreciate them? Like perhaps a mommy blogger who calls herself Big Mama?

I’m not really bitter about it at all.

Anyway, last Monday night, when it became apparent Mr. Honda wasn’t going to give me a car, P and I began to discuss our automobile situation. My official last day of work was going to be the next day, Tuesday, May 1, and the company would be picking up my sweet, sweet Ford Escape at some point, leaving me without a mode of transportation other than Gulley’s Trailblazer or my feet.

We decided that after I dropped Caroline off at school Tuesday morning, we’d go car shopping. For the last 10 years, I’ve always had a company car, which means I’ve driven a white Ford Taurus, a silver Ford Taurus, a black Grand Prix, a silver Grand Prix and a gray Ford Escape. P has always driven Ford trucks and so between the two of us, our car knowledge was limited.

We called a friend who knows a lot about cars, and we did some research on the internet Monday evening to prepare for our big day. We knew enough to know we couldn’t go in blind, or we might leave with a 1987 Suzuki Samurai because it’s a classic and they get great gas mileage.

At 9:00 Tuesday morning, we hit the first dealership. Lord have mercy, we weren’t even out of our car before a salesman came running to meet us. He introduced himself as Jo EL, strong emphasis on the EL, and he shook P’s hand very firmly and then turned to give me the limp, dishrag handshake. Way to go, Jo EL, you just started off with one of my biggest pet peeves. If you’re going to shake my hand, shake it like you mean it. I realize I’m a fragile, delicate woman, but I can handle a real handshake.

I am a strong believer in equal opportunity handshakes. Do not hold my fingers lightly and turn my hand in a way that looks like you might try to kiss it. I’m here to buy a car, not to watch Prince Charles play polo.

Anyway, Jo EL began to question us on what we were looking for in a vehicle and P was quick to tell him that we were only looking today, not buying. There were a few cars on the lot that we were interested in, so we took a couple of them for test drives while Jo EL sat in the back and offered a running commentary on the car’s various features and essentially gave us the entire history of the Volvo corporation. The real seller was when he let us know “Volvo’s are still made in Sweden”.

What?? They’re made in Sweden? Home of the famous meatballs? Well sign us up, Jo EL.

He also let us know that the seats in the car are designed by the same people who design the seats in Lear jets, which made complete sense, because when I first sat in the car I thought it felt exactly like the seats feel in our Lear jet.

When we pulled back into the lot, Jo EL asked if we were ready to go in and see what kind of a deal he could get us on this fine, Swedish piece of auto machinery. P stated again that we weren’t buying a car today, we were just looking. And Jo EL said, “Well, you think you’re just looking but I bet if I made you a deal that looked as good as a big old juicy steak sitting on a plate with a baked potato, you’d decide you need to eat today.”

Shut up.

Texas Sales Skills 101. Jo EL was pulling out the big guns with his steak analogy.

And since I hadn’t eaten breakfast, all his closing technique did was remind me I was hungry.

We thanked Jo EL for his time and all of his information, and headed to the next dealership. Once again, we were met as soon as we got out of the car, but this time we didn’t see anything that interested us, so we left without taking any test drives. Finally, we went to the last dealership on our list and test drove a few more cars. The salesman showing us around was nice enough, but when we went to leave without buying anything, I thought his manager was going to self implode. He began pointing quickly to all these cars while practically yelling at us, “Do you want a Passat? Here’s a green Passat. It’s a great car. Wait! Please! LOOK AT THIS PASSAT! YOU MUST BUY A PASSAT!”

And I couldn’t help myself, I just started laughing. P informed him we weren’t interested in a Passat, and after we pried him off the bumper of the Escape (which was never so appropriately named) we left. We headed home to do a little more research, but we both felt that Jo EL and his Volvo were the frontrunners.

Later that afternoon, we decided we were ready to make a purchase. It was a good deal with a great warranty and was exactly what we were looking for. P drove back up to the dealership and told them to start the paperwork because really is there anything quite as fun as making a major purchase after losing a source of income?

In fact, we were a little concerned that we may not qualify for financing because after all, I no longer have a job and P is self employed. So, essentially the only proof we had with us at the dealership that either of us actually works for a living were P’s business cards. But here’s something I didn’t know and actually, Boomama shared with me that same day, once you’re in your mid-30’s, nobody cares about your source of income. They just figure if you have good credit by the time you’re 35, you must be doing something right and will gladly loan you buckets of money.

Who knew?

So, if you’re in your 20’s and reading this, just know that the American dream is alive and well and, if you pay all your bills on time, when you reach your mid-30’s you will be rewarded richly by the banks of America and allowed to go into debt.

God bless America.

It’s pure, consumer power.

Anyway, we were signing the papers and Jo EL walked in and said, “I knew if I made it look like a steak, you’d be back. Everybody’s gotta eat!”. Well, yes Jo EL, yes they do.

We said our goodbyes, he handed us the keys, and Caroline and I drove off in our new steak, otherwise known as a 2004 Volvo S60.

I’m just sad that Gulley and I didn’t get a chance to carpool to HEB in the Trailblazer at least once. It would have made a good story.
Just to refresh y’all on my eccentricities

A few people have tagged me to list 7 weird things about myself. And while I could easily come up with 7 weird things, I already did this list back in January except with only 6 things. So, I’m going to repost my original list and add one bonus item for you lucky folks playing at home.

1. I am absolutely, completely compulsive when it comes to all things involving going to bed at night. P and I have slept under separate covers since about the second week of our marriage because for some reason he didn’t want to sleep under a down comforter every night. I am now unable to share covers with anyone, even my child. If Caroline gets in bed with us at night, I bring her own quilt for her to cover up with because everyone in this family has to pull their own weight…or blanket as the case may be.

In addition to the no cover sharing, I must have a totally wrinkle free bottom sheet and all three of the pillows that I sleep with must be plumped down to the end of the pillowcase. I don’t need any extraneous pillow case hanging off the pillow, it’s just messy. And if there are any crumbs in the bed, then my night is just completely shot.

After I get all of this done (and I know y’all can’t imagine there is more), I have to go to the bathroom three times in a ten minute period. It goes like this: go to the bathroom, brush teeth, go to the bathroom, turn on bedside lamp and take down ponytail, go to the bathroom. It doesn’t matter that I may not have to even go, I’m just doing everything I can to prevent a 2 a.m. trip to the bathroom. My hatred of middle of the night bathroom visits made me a complete joy to be around throughout my pregnancy.

2. I know just about every song that has ever been written. I could be on Name that Tune…well, if it still existed. You give me a song and most of the time I can give you the artist and at least some of the lyrics.

3. I have mentioned before that I am OCD. I can’t stand clutter. Things pile up and I must get them out of my sight. However, what I may have failed to mention is that I often just put them somewhere else where they don’t necessarily belong, but where I don’t have to look at them. This may explain why a drawer in my kitchen holds takeout menus, batteries, a thank you note from Caroline’s teacher, playdough, some decorative garland from Christmas and other assorted oddities.

In fact earlier, P pulled out a little ziploc baggie containing a door stop, multiple picture hangers, and two double AA batteries and commented how handy it was to have all those items in one convenient baggie since they obviously all go together.

I would like to be more organized, really I would, but not enough to actually do something about it.

4. I know more trivial information than should be allowed. I am truly the Cliff Claven of my group of friends and PROUD of it. There is nothing I like more than throwing out a random fact about something or someone. I can’t always cite my source because I have stored information in recesses of my brain about things I’ve read years before, but oh yes ma’am do I know some stuff.

The only commonality is that most of it isn’t useful.

5. I briefly mentioned this in a previous post, but back when I used to go hunting and P would put me in a blind by myself, I would get bored and start talking to the deer. I’d get louder and louder until I was basically yelling “Hey YOU!” at them. Amazingly, some of them still stuck around which completely proved P’s theory that you have to be quiet while hunting totally wrong.

Either that or they just figured that any idiot yelling at them out of a blind was certainly not planning on shooting them, so they might as well keep eating.

6. I tend to obsess over things (see #1). I would like to say that I lose sleep at night over things like world peace or the budget deficit, but that would be a lie. I will wake up in the middle of the night to worry about things like if I should have bought the sweater that I saw earlier that day at Gap and if I go back tomorrow will they still have one in my size.

I also lay awake and compose letters in my head that I am going to write to the head of whoever is in charge of trains, regarding how many times a train conductor should be allowed to blow their whistle at 2 a.m. and wake people out of a perfectly good sleep, people who need their sleep because they have a child who rarely sleeps through the night and if this happens to be one of those rare nights, then they certainly do not need to be awakened by some train conductor blowing his whistle 146 times because he is bitter that he is working the night train shift.

I don’t limit my imaginary letter writing to the bigwigs at the train department. It’s just an example of one of my most common compositions. Anyone is fair game to end up on my pretend letter exercise, the only problem is that they usually make much more sense in the wee hours of the morning than they do in the light of day, which I’m sure is the ONLY reason that I don’t actually write out my thoughts and send them in.

And as for the newest addition to this list of oddities…

7. I have become addicted to American Idol. I never even watched it before this season, but now I will spend Wednesday worrying about who is going to be voted off. I adore Paula and the fact that she can’t make her hands actually connect while she claps, I love Simon and his brutal honesty, and I love that I know Randy will say, “Yo dawg, it was just AWright for me” at least 3 times every week.

And most of all, I love that the show has the power to cause Bon Jovi songs to find themselves in the top 100 list of most downloaded songs on iTunes. That is some serious consumer influence.

Hope y’all have a great Sunday!
At least she finally went to sleep

The other night I was trying to get Caroline to go to bed. After repeated attempts at getting her to be quiet and go to sleep, I finally raised my voice in frustration and said “Lay down and GO TO SLEEP!”

She pulled the covers over her head, peeked out at me and said in a quiet, dramatic whisper, “I’ve made a lot of changes for you, Shrek. Think about that.”

Nothing like having your three year old quote Princess Fiona from Shrek 2. I’m not sure if she thought the words were applicable to the situation or if she was trying to tell me that I was acting like an ogre.