Grandma Scares Me

My first holiday with H and his family was one I'll never forget. It was Thanksgiving 2001 and we traveled to Arizona to spend a few days. It's where I learned that my spouses family is REALLY into games too.

True, I had a taste of it on a ski trip we had taken a few years previous. But, I had chalked all those games of domino's and Monopoly up to the fact that it was freezing and snowy outside and not everyone wanted to be a ski bunny 24/7. What else was there to do but raid the rented chalet's game closet, right?!

Me? No, I'm not much a of a game person myself. I'm an only child. We don't 'do' games that well. Every Christmas I would get board games for gifts and look at my relatives like they had three heads. "Thanks so much! Who the hell is going to play this with me? My four imaginary friends?!" Really.

That Thanksgiving though I realized that not only does H come from a family of gamers but they are hard core. It's out for blood time. It is very 'take no prisoners' and it comes in the form of a game called, Spoons. Have you heard of it? Yeah, I hadn't either. Now? I'll never forget it. See, H's family is uber-competitive and when they play this card game with actual spoons it's a knock down drag out fight. Literally. The worst perpetrator of this game is Grandma. She started the family and she is the queen of games. I've seen her knock her four year-old granddaughter to the floor just to grab a teaspoon off a table and kick that kid out of the competition. When I was pregnant with TD I opted out of this fun-fest in fear that my unborn child might sustain injuries from elbows being thrown or across the table jabs. That same year I heard the now five year-old grand-daughter say, "No thanks, I don't want to play. Last year Grandma knocked me over." She watched from the side lines instead as the rest of the family hip-checked, elbowed and slammed their way to winning a game played with utensils and a deck of cards.

I can't make this stuff up people. You don't want to play domino's with this group and especially slap-jack. You could lose an eye.

Does your family play any holiday games? Read about more family gaming traditions over at PBN and see the latest from Electronic Arts.


Check out my latest review (great holiday books for kids!) and a host of others from PBN over here.

Our Deep, Dark and Dank Secret

Enter the unfinished part of our basement and you will find a colossal mess. It's a maze of soon to be used baby gear, tools, random household objects and where many things go to die. It's also the place you can typically find my husband if you cannot find him anywhere else in the house. When all attempts to call him go unheard all you have to do is descend the steps, open the partly broken door and there he is in all his hidden attempt at a man-cave glory.

Typically, there is only the eerie glow of the computer screen and the blinking lights of the router to light the way. All else is encased in darkness. Here you will find H pouring through his emails, downloading such classic tunes as Vanilla Ice's 'Ice, Ice, Baby' from iTunes and reading page after page of Fantasy Sports (baseball and football) websites. Facebook addiction is also included. Notice the giant trash can? It's the "to-be-shredded" pile. We is organized, no?

A common sight near the keyboard after a long day at another keyboard. The bottle cap to a consumed bottle of beer. How I envy that bastard! Blue Moon Pale Ale...I miss you....

I often wonder if it is the close proximity to his tools that makes H feel all warm and comfy down there in the dank basement as he toils at his fantasy football league and yammers away on his cell phone talking smack to his friends. The phrase, "Dude, he is so your boy!" can often be heard coming from here.

This area of the house is my secret shame. Until I had a laptop I had to work down there. It was a bloody nightmare. My stuff was constantly "re-organized" and sent to live in some lost world half the time. I seldom venture into this area unless I really have to and even then I make it as short a visit as possible. H, however, can spend countless hours dwelling in what I can only describe as his sad, little man cave.

This blog blast has been brought to you by Bill Me Later (enter to win the I Want My Man Cave contest here!) and PBN.

Coffee Grinder- You Are My Secret Shame

It's not Starbucks.

It's not the actual coffee maker.

It's not the even the lovely and glossy beans themselves per say.

It is my coffee grinder. Oh sweet, grinder, that I cannot live without. Your black sleek design and single push button mechanism makes my day. Every day. When I paid the bargain price of $14.99 for you six years ago (and still going strong!) you were considered an unnecessary item and scoffed at by H. "We'll NEVER use that thing! Why on earth did you buy that and at Trader Joe's of all places! You could have gotten that thing at the evil W or something for less. It's not a grocery store item..." He went on and on but in a moment of weakness and need for fresh beans in the desert, also known as a world without Starbucks or even a regularly opened coffee shop, I had to have it.

Six years later this el cheapo coffee grinder still produces one of the best scents in the world, at least to me. My morning is complete and I am able to press on through the day with a smile once I get a whiff of it's nutty or dark roasted aromas. The scent of my favorite perfume or a freshly bathed baby cannot even compare to how much I love the smell of coffee beans ground to perfection. In seconds it does the job of helping me produce the hot java that I need each day be it decaf or not this little baby is an item that I just cannot live without. Freeze-dried grounds have no place in my kitchen.

I'll let you in on a bit of secret shame too. I sometimes take the grinder out in the middle of the day - just to smell it. It's true, I swear. I'm Vicky, and I'm addicted to my coffee grinder.

This post was brought to you by PBN and Yoplait Kids, the makers of that yummy yogurt that kids just love and it has 25% less sugar than other kid yogurts.

Destined to be Together- Isaac Mizrahi and Me

Recession... blah, blah, blah....we all know it's really here. Gas prices, while declining are still high. We are eating out less. We are all looking for ways to cut corners whether it's using the new grocery store's amazing coupons ($20 off $50 or more!!! OH MY!) or cutting back on our latte runs, most of us are feeling the pinch. We do what we can with what we have and make do without, right?

And I'm going to speak for most of us, we all L-O-V-E a bargain. I am a bargain shopper myself. Nothing excites me more than delving into real sales racks and finding that golden ticket of a find. That time I scored a full Ralph Lauren bed set for $69.99 at the actual outlet? Back when outlets were still the real deal? Spectacular! I still have the comforter over 10 years later locked in a closet somewhere. Finding a BR shirt for less than $2? Done it! Just two weeks ago I spent three hours (1.5 of them standing in line) at my local fair ground as I scoured rack after rack of children's clothes at a Classy Kids Consignment gathering. Three hours, $100 and a trash bag full of like-new 3T sized clothes and I was out the door. Did I mention I found toys too? Yup. TD is set for fall and winter now. It was a banner bargain day! Truly, a great way to buy kids clothes.

However, in the history of bargains and fabulous finds, one still stands out to me among all the rest. My winter coat. It's been with me since the fall/winter of '99 and I have no plans to give it up any time soon. It looks great in the city prowling the streets, cuts a fantabulous figure with it's tuxedo styling and I got it for the bargain price of $300.

Did you just hear the sound of a record going off track? Are you thinking, "How on earth is $300 a bargain, you crazy, lying ass non-frugal lady!" Um..yeah, you probably are, but hear me out. It's not just designer, but vintage. A classic. By one of my all-time favorite designers. This coat holds some serious fashion sentimental value for me.

There I was at my local bargain dive in the city looking for some cheap duds. I needed a new winter coat. The ol' college pea coat wasn't cutting it anymore now that I was out in the work force. I needed a 'big girl' coat. As I sliced through the racks my eyes landed on this fine piece of art and my heart began to race. My eyes teared up as I touched the fine soft wool fabric and thick black satin lining that felt inches deep. Dare I try it on? I thumbed the price tag of $300 and saw that it was marked down from the price you would typically pay as a down payment to lease or buy a car. I gulped audibly. Could this coat be mine? I scurried away to a dressing room and held my breath as I slipped it on. Ahhhh....perfect. It fit divine, hugging in all the right places. It clipped in at my waist, broadened my shoulders just a bit and had a gorgeous front to back slit that was to die for. I knew in that moment we were destined for each other. Then, I realized something. Wait. This coat had to be from the designers last line. He was no longer going to be making clothes. He was done. The doors to his fashion house had officially closed just that year. Was I holding history? That sealed it.

After scurrying up to the register to make my cast-off from Barney's purchase I left the store feeling like I had found a bag of gold. I wore the heck out of that coat all that winter long. And the next winter and the next. Now, nine years later the coat still looks fantastic and as good as new. I makes its debut each year when the weather turns cold and makes me feel like I'm strutting down a runway each time I wear it. Sure, other coats have tried to sway me but the beauty and design of this piece, it's not just a coat, is a force to be reckoned with. It's like wearing art. Thank you, Isaac. I love it. I really do.

It was worth every penny.

This blog post/blast is brought to you by PBN and Couponers.com, where you can find over hundreds of coupons from scads of your favorite stores. It's worth a look and a search in these tired economic times!

A Bit of a Bikini Rant

After I had my suspicious mole last summer I was told by some that the bikini would be no more. At least for me. I balked at this. When the comment was quickly followed by the classic, "Besides you are a Mom now. You don't want to be one of those Moms who you see at the pool wearing a bikini...."



Excuse me what?! I wanted to breathe fire.



While I may not have the body I did when I was 24, I have spent a fare share of my time at the gym toning and cardioing my butt off well into my 30's and not just because I want to look swimsuit ready but because I like how I feel after a good episode of sweating. I refuse to go up a size with each child. Yes, I had a child and my body changed but I'm still a size six! I'm proud of that fact. Quite frankly I don't feel comfortable in a one piece. I'm long in the torso and I suspect that walking around the pool with a case of massive camel toe would be a bit worse than if I wore a two-piece and my thighs don't look like that of a 12 year-old girl or baby giraffe.



Besides, has anyone seen some of the teens at the pool lately? I hate to say it, but um... they could do with a dose of gym time and the total overhaul and tearing down of a body that pregnancy can do. Some of them need some tough gym love. I don't feel quite so bad about myself when I see that my stomach is far flatter after one kid than some of the teenage girls at the pool or even the lifeguards. So why can't I rock that bikini I ask?



Another thing while I'm at it, because for some reason I don't see this so much in my neck of the woods. I'm sort of small but curvy girl. I'm 4.5 months pregnant but my stomach is like a cantaloupe right now. I tried on that giant tent of a maternity swim suit. I bought it with good intentions. You know the kind that is supposed to mimic a tankini? No, I don't even wear that no matter how many times I'm told I could by other Moms. I loathe that wet suit feel on my stomach and I have abs - I'm showing them off dammit! That suit made me feel like a giant crow. I was covered and looked about 40 pounds heavier. I dug out my two-piece and felt much more comfortable. Yes, I was glaringly white and might have blinded a pool patron or two that first outing, but I was happy to note that for the first time I was asked when I was due by even the clueless male lifeguards. I was told by some of the rather nice Moms out there that I looked terrific and amazing too.



Now if that doesn't help a pregnant woman out what does?



And that's my rant in favor of the bikini.




Here I am in Jamaica seven months after having T.D. It's not a full body shot but it is the best I could do. Now really? Granted I'm much 'rounder' now but I still stand by my right to wear a bikini.

This post was written for Parent Bloggers Network as part of a sweepstakes sponsored by BOCA and their new Balanced Living group. It is all about eating better and living better, bikini lover or not.

Oh You Shouldn't Have

My husband likes to say I have bad birthday karma. With that comes bad gift karma. After years of hearing him say it and describe past presents I've received I came to believe it too. The list of bad presents from those who probably mean well has been long. Those "french" plates with pink shoes drawn on them and inscribed with the words, 'Oh la la'? I don't think was meant well at all actually. I don't know what that person was thinking. For the most part I've been told I'm hard to buy for and I've come to believe it now too. Though really? What woman doesn't like a pedicure or a day alone sans kids? Or a shopping spree or good book? I'm always game for those.

The Aunt Myrtle style lipstick case with mirror given to me at age 7?

The ankle length orange winter coat with the $5 price tag still on it?

The huge box of beanie babies when I graduated from college?

What about the surprise party where I didn't get any of my own birthday cake? Oh wait... that wasn't a gift.

The Barbie Dream House? I could go on.

While it might not be the worst there is one gift that stands out as inexplicable. I was turning 18 and it was the time of the Sony Discman. I wanted one but bad. It was all I could think of. So long cassette tapes! Hello shiny disc with superior sound quality! I couldn't wait to unwrap it on my birthday. Except that isn't what happened. Instead, I found myself unwrapping a rather long thin box with a double cassette tape radio thingy inside. Just like the one that was already sitting in my room upstairs. You might be thinking that the gift giver had no idea I owned one. Except they did. This gift was from my parents. I was dumbfounded.

When I asked why I got the same thing I already owned they simply said, "Well, they were all out of Discman's at the store and so..."

I remember thinking, "And so what?! An IOU would have been better! I could have waited a bit for a new shipment! WHY (HUGE INTAKE OF BREATH) BUY (HUGE SIGH)THE SAME THING?! (EXASPERATED SCREAM)

You could say I was ungrateful. If ebay was around maybe I would have hawked it there and gotten a Discman eventually. Instead, I just refused the gift. I was hurt, angry and annoyed. How could they not listen to me? Didn't they know that music to a teen is like air? Stupid double cassette player... I grumbled.

Eventually my Dad decided to return the thing and when we entered the store what did I see? No, not a Discman. The store was still out, but a stereo with a CD player and a double cassette and huge speakers. "Oh Dad..."

I sold that stereo at a yard sale last year for $25. It was 12 years old. It was one of the best gifts ever. My roommates probably still hate me for playing my bagpipes CD (with superior sounod) on early Saturday mornings from that very stereo.



PBN BLOG BLAST! TODAY! TOMORROW! ALL THIS WEEKEND! GetInHerHead is a new site where you can record your sizes, dream gifts, wishes and more so that those who love you can love you right back with that perfect gift be it Mother's Day, your birthday or just because. Post at PBN and hat can you win? A gift certificate to your favorite spa for $250 - you name the spa!

Anything You Can Do...

I can do better! Isn't that how the song goes? I would like to say that I excel at some manly type things but at the moment my brain is drawing a blank. Plus, things in our house are pretty equal.

We both clean just fine even if it is in our own little idiosyncratic ways that drive the other one nuts.

We both claim to drive better than the other. I at least have the driving record to prove it.

We can each make a mean dinner, breakfast or lunch.

Kid duties? We're even there too.

When we do home renovation projects we work together. Granted I shirk the whole power tool thing but it's just not my thing. I am pretty girly, I admit. I like to pick out the aesthetic items and I don't mind painting or digging in the dirt. I leave the caulking to H. I just don't have the patience. Maybe H should have written this post today so he could tell you the "manly" things I excel at. He says I'm a 'birthin champ' but I sometimes wonder if that is just because he could never do it.

Today's Blog Blast is all about what traditional male pursuits you excel at. PBN is giving away thirteen CarMD Handheld Testers (worth $90) to those who post their own pursuits on the site, where today it is all about Ask Patty. So tell us, what do you excel at in the "manly" category? Which really I don't think exists anymore. Not when I look at the women I know and listen to my readers comments.


*I'm giving away something too- just click here.

What is Pink and Squishy and Family-Friendly? BARBAPAPA!

Sure you have your Cabbage Patch Kids, The Golden Books, your Strawberry Shortcake, throw in some Winnie the Pooh or Where the Wild Things Are and you have yourself many childhood favorites. All things many of us look back on with happy nostalgia. However, it was while I was visiting Paris during my pregnancy that I discovered a toy in a French department store that brought back much of my childhood to me. It was Barbapapa! I knew instantly I had to have him. Excited and in utter disbelief (this toy is still popular?!) I had him rung up at the register and brought him home to await the arrival of my daughter, T.D.

As a kid Saturday morning cartoons dawned early in my house. Barbapapa (the cartoon is based on a series of book by Annette Tison and Talus Taylor) started at 6 a.m. on some public television station. It's New England we received a lot of Canadian public television in the 70's and early 80's. It was my favorite cartoon and I couldn't think of anything better than bouncing along to the theme song in the darkened living room. The glow of the screen and the Barabapapa family was all I needed for the next hour or so.

When T.D. began to teethe I handed over this precious new Barabapapa. She gummed his soft squishy pink body and I happily began reading her all the books in the collection. I had saved them through numerous room purges from elementary school, high school and beyond. As I read the books to her now I began to notice just how much this pink blob and his colorful blobby children and wife shaped me. Barbapapas are all about innovative thinking, gentle manners and protecting the earth they live on. They solve problems using the talents each family members possesses, change shapes and have the most vivid and brilliant imaginations. I love reading the whole series of Barbapapa books with T.D. just as much as I loved having my Mom read them to me.

While my collection of Barbapapa books has grown ratty over the years(I've met only one other soul who remembers Barbapapa.) I still cherish them and hold them close to my heart. The bright illustrations of the Barbafamily building a home together, helping sick animals and creating a school for their community always remind me what is truly important in life. That sense of family, community building and celebrating everyones natural talents is what makes me, well, me. I love sharing it with my daughter and hope that despite all the scotch tape on the binding and pages the colors of the characters will still be bright enough to share with her children some day.



This post was brought to you by a PBN Blog Blast and Highlights Magazine (now in its 60th year!). It's all about sharing too! Visit the site (comment here too!) about what favorite things from your childhood you like sharing with your children and you could win a free subscription to Highlights new magazine, 'High Five'.

Oh! You Didn't Know I Had a Maid, Did You?

Yes, it's true. I have a maid. How else would I get everything done?

She's quite efficient too. When I finish my shower, there she is at the ready, holding my towel for me. She would not have it any other way. She's my lady in waiting though I have no rank.

She hands me my make-up. She holds my hairbrush and patiently waits for me to put in my hair goop.

She even doles out my lotions and other assorted face products.

She puts away the laundry. Everything in its proper place! Draws must close completely and she scolds me when I half shut them.

She is obsessive about dusting and even screams at me when I try to do it myself.

In fact, whenever I try to do anything on my own there she is trailing after me yelling, "ME HELP! ME HELP!"

If you haven't already figured it out, my daughter is the maid. T.D. loves to help. She is a real people pleaser. I am amazed at the organizational skills and need for order that this two year old child possesses. She knows where every piece of clothing goes in our house. She actually knows the difference between sports bras, tanks and regular bras, the light socks and dark and puts them away in their separates places. No mixing aloud! She becomes upset when she isn't helping and making things neat and tidy. Her memory recall for where items in our home go is absolutely spot on!

It was only recently though that I noticed this to be an actual talent or strength for her. What else can it be? Her need for order and the "everything in its place" mentality is what drives her. She is happy and excited when she does these tasks and I have no reason to stop her. I must admit, I like the help and I like seeing her so happy. The kid is positively energized when I give her washcloths to put away. Socks? She goes bonkers when she can grab a whole lot of them to shove in her very own sock basket.

While other kids like to build with blocks or play with fingerpaints. My child would rather be putting the blocks away and cannot stand the idea of messy fingers covered in wet paint. She likes to sort and categorize items and make sense of things. While sometimes her sorting and more sorting and taking things out and putting them away might seem odd it makes her happy and content and I would not have it any other way. It is what makes T.D., T.D.

Besides, who wouldn't want someone handing them their towel each day? What do you think I'm crazy?

To participate in this PBN Blog Blast, simply write a post on Friday, 2/29 (by Midnight PST) and tell us all about your own child(ren)'s strengths. There are prizes to be had! See PBN for more details and read a bit about the new Jenifer Fox book, 'Your Child's Strengths'.

A Barbie Dream House for Me?!

There it sat. Huge and under the tree. The tag insisted that I was correct, this big box from Santa/my grandparents was intended for only me. My five year-old brain was buzzing with ideas. I could barely contain my excitement. My mother kept warning me to stay away from the tree, "It's not time to open presents yet. Stop touching things and back away from the tree!" I think I might have done a little dance of protest before I backed away.

I sat on my grandmother's paisley and floral couch and wondered, what could it be? A pony? It was certainly a large enough box. Then my mind settled on it. The only thing it could be. The only thing I really wanted. A Barbie Dream House. A Barbie Dream House! That had to be it! Satisfied with this idea I got off the couch and joined the rest of my family for dinner.

All through dinner and dessert I couldn't sit still. I squirmed this way and that in my seat at the dining room table. Dinner went on forever! Turkey and all the trimmings. Fine. Shovel it in. C'mon! We've presents to unwrap! They drank wine and then coffee! Would this dinner ever end? My grandfather lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair. The nerve of him! It was never ending. Didn't these people know that a BARBIE DREAM HOUSE was less than two rooms away?! What was wrong with them? How could they not feel the ants in my pants excitement that I did? Didn't they want or need to unwrap their own presents? I NEEDED to unwrap that present! My brained screamed, "Time is of the essence here people!" Finally, my grandmother rose from the table and asked us if we wanted to sit by the tree and look at the lights. Yes! At last! We're going to get to the good part.

I watched my cousins and some of the adults unwrap presents. I received a few smaller items I can no longer remember. Then, my grandparents with big smiles on their faces, pushed the big box out from under the tree. Everyone speculated on what could be in such a large box. I nearly shredded the wrapping with my tiny frenzied hands. Huh. Wait. What's this? This is not some pink full of pictures Mattel box. It's just a regular old cardboard box. Uh.. heheheh something isn't right here folks. Slowly I opened the big box hoping against all hope that inside it was another box. The right box. The Barbie Dream House box. As I lifted the lid I noticed something red and wrapped in plastic. It was a coat. A winter coat. My heart seized. The wiring in my brain misfired and I swear I saw stars. This was all devastatingly wrong. A coat?! Who gives a little kid a coat for Christmas and smiles about it? What fun is a coat? It's not a toy! I have to wear this to school too? For the love of...

My heart just sunk. I lifted the red coat out of the box as my grandmother, all smiles, removed the plastic wrap. Oh look! It has a giant fur trimmed hood. Great. A belt too? Wonderful. I don't even think I tried to smile at my mother's prodding. I just remember the room feeling darker. I was so disappointed. How could they not remember to buy me the one thing I really wanted? Surely this coat costs as much as the dream house. It had fur for goodness sake! I hated that coat instantly. I wanted to throw it in the back of my closet banishing it to the dust bunnies forever. Scowling and refusing to mask my extreme disappointment and at the insistence of my mother, I thanked my grandparents. This was the worst present ever! The worst Christmas ever!

Weeks later and still playing with my cardboard box Barbie dream house. At least with the addition of the brand new giant box that the coat came in I had added an addition onto her house turning it into an apartment complex that her other friends could live in. To me that was the only consolation. No dream house. Just a giant red coat with fur on the hood that got in my mouth all the time. Awesome. I vowed never to forget this error in judgement by the adults in my life. I knew for sure that my parents were involved and had ok'd this gift. What was wrong with them?

Then one day as I stood in line waiting for my school bus a boy in my class began to make fun of my red coat. Being only five about all he could make fun of was the fact that it was big and red. Big Red he called me. Ha Ha. This kid was destined to be class president. He started pulling on the fur and telling the other kids it was a dead animal. Slowly, I turned around to face him and said in the most haughty voice I could muster, "If you must know that is REAL fox fur your hands are pawing. It was a gift from my grandparents and it is VERY expensive. It came in a GIANT box." Oddly, that shut him up. Then little girls began to crowd around me and they wanted to come and touch the soft fox fur. They admired the cute little belt and the fashionable buttons on my new coat. They wanted one just like it! It was a rather beautiful shade of red. Very complimentary to my hair color. Suddenly, I felt like a princess in my new red coat.

From that day on I loved that little red coat with the "fur" trim. I was sad when I outgrew it. I kept it for longer than necessary in the back of my closet. We had some good times me and that red coat. I believe it was the first lesson I consciously remember about finding the best in something and looking at the brighter side of things. A Barbie Dream House I came to realize was just a bunch of plastic. My coat kept me warm and regal. I could take it everywhere, something I couldn't do with the Dream House. Besides, I had a whole apartment complex to manage now with my imagination and that was better than just a single Barbie Dream House.



What makes a gift memorable for you? PBN wants to hear about it during today’s Blog Blast which is brought to by the fine folks at Excitations, a new gift giving site. Stop by and browse their memorable gifts. You can win some too! Just write about your most memorable gift whether it's that painfully bad hair crimping set you received on your 35th birthday (which was last year and not 1985!) or some wonderful surprise that totally made your year. Adult or child memory we don't discriminate! Just share.

Sorry Toys, You are Under Arrest

I'm dreaming of a lead-free Christmas. Just like the ones I used to know. Where the kids aren't eating Aqua Dots.... Come on sing along everybody! It's real catchy! Maybe if we make up a little ditty about all the recalled products we can easily remember them right? Wait. That would be about a 56 hour song at this point.

This blog blast topic could not have come along at a better time. Already our house is mired in catalogs selling various holiday wares to my kid and I. At the same time I can't get through an episode of 'Without a Trace' without a few stories about MORE toy recalls flashing at the bottom of the television screen. It is besides the point to say this makes me angry. Toxic glue? Lead paint? Toys coated in the same junk that goes into a date-rape drug? What is happening here? Why is this happening? I have no answers or toy alternatives because the solutions I keep thinking up keep getting recalled.

What I do know is that I'm frustrated. This is T.D.'s second Christmas, one she'll actually be excited about, and yet I am having the hardest time trusting myself into buying anything for her. It makes me mad, sad and just all around Scrooge like. This isn't like me either. I'm not one to freak out over every news story or run around like Chicken Little. I almost bought that Fisher Price kitchen two days ago and now it's being recalled. I don't think I'll be doing any catalog shopping either because I can't read the labels. It's too bad too because not only do I loathe going out into the holiday fray but I trust the big box stores even less than the catalogs and online companies.

After talking with my mother yesterday we are going the only route we know. We will be looking up items here at the Consumer Union Safe Shopper Guide. They have a complete list of not just toy recalls but all the 2007 recalls and a friendly section on where to go for some nice safe alternatives. Those beaded necklaces made in my home state (Shame Lil'Rhody!) won't be making their way into my house. The cute plastic dish sets made in China? Sorry, not on my watch. It is as if I have to put T.D.'s toys under house arrest. I'm now the warden for not just the ones that have managed to snake their way in already, but for all the ones that might arrive this holiday season. Like we parents don't have enough to worry about.

It is not all negative though. The one positive about this whole recall ordeal is that it is stopping me from blind consumerism. I find myself having to really think about what I'm purchasing. That is a good thing. A lot of needless stuff that might as well end up with the wrapping paper debris won't be purchased. Instead I'm favoring old classics like coloring books, non-toxic paints and crayons for T.D. this year. We're purchasing an easel and chalkboard and books. At least I don't have to worry about the Barenstain Bears trying to slip my kid something harmful or her choking. It's pretty hard to choke on the spine of a book.

So before you head out to do your holiday shopping be it in the stores or online be sure to do your whole family the favor of reading the recall list and the safer shopping guide from the people who bring you Consumer Reports. They won't steer you wrong.

Blog Blast! My Ultimate Beauty Blunder

Green hair,Orange Hair,Gray Hair-It is all the same. Bad.

It was late at night. I was alone. My roommates were all gone. My boyfriend was out of town. It was just me and a box of Feria, the newest at home hair coloring kit on the market. The platinum blonde color oh so tempting. I just had to try it. It called to me from the shelves of CVS and I snatched it up and brought it home. Like a junkie in its paper bag I scurried into the bathroom to begin taking my already blonde and ultra highlighted locks even more blonde.

Around 11 p.m. I found myself coughing and running from the bathroom, the scent of bleach was so strong. There might have been some tingling. I can’t be sure. My brain has blocked out so much of the impending trauma. When I finally rinsed out the dye and put on the super softening conditioner I had such high hopes. I would be the blondest blonde in town. My almost-white due would evoke Marilyn Monroe memories. I would be stunning. Sexy and beautiful, a woman to be reckoned with and my boyfriend would not know what to do with this brand new woman. As I toweled off and looked in the mirror something looked wrong. Very wrong. My hair was not blonde, not even a bit. Instead it was orange. My once sunny blonde locks were now the color of a pumpkin. I screamed. I cried. Alone in my dark apartment just me and some seriously fried harsh looking hair. It was a true nightmare.

I called my Mom begging for the number of my cousin who is a stylist. She promptly called me back telling me to do nothing. Don’t touch a thing but the buttons on a phone to call a hair salon. Only a team of professionals could fix this mess. If I tried to dye it back myself it would only damage my hair more. I was distraught. I fixed a strong drink and vowed to go to a salon first thing in the morning. The next morning I woke up ashamed. My roommates could not stop laughing. I was even more mortified and distraught upon seeing the streaky orange locks in the broad daylight. I shoved my nasty burnt hair into a ball cap and trudged to the nearest salon that had an opening.

At the salon I reluctantly showed them my mess. They shook their heads sadly saying the see it all the time, these silly girls who mess with professional strength color without any thought to the damage it can cause. This would take some time. Did I understand that I would not be blonde anymore? Yes. Did I understand they would have to strip my color and I wouldn’t be any color? Gulp. Uh sure. No!!! WHAT? I just kept my mouth shut and let the professionals do their jobs. Three hours later I emerged from the salon chair with a grayish green mess. It wasn’t orange but it wasn’t anything. I looked like a sea witch. A Medusa in training. I was heartbroken. I trudged home, head hanging in shame, $200 poorer.

Later my boyfriend (now H)stopped by. He took the baseball cap off my head and said, “Uh it’s sort of green or gray. I can’t really tell. It’s like the absence of color yet every color! What were you thinking?” I don’t know! To this day I don’t know. Did I do it again? You betcha! A year later I was in a whole other salon asking them to turn my streaked mess of a head back into a blonde mess tout suite! I had a plane to catch to my parent’s house and I sure as hell wasn’t going to show up with another messy dye job. My mother wearing that ‘I told you so’ face. That was the last time I dyed my hair at home though. I walked out blonde again but it was five hours later and I was $300 lighter in the wallet that time. I vowed as God as my witness with all the Scarlett O’Hara in me that I would never dye my hair at home again!

Luckily no photos of this trauma exsist. For more hilarious and cringe-worthy beauty mishaps visit PBN. Pictures will be there! PLUS an incredible contest celebrating the arrival of one FAB book, Beauty Confidential by Nadine Haobsh a beauty expert herself with loads of things to share.

HERE ARE THE RULES AND THE PRIZES!!!!

Tell us about your biggest beauty blunder!

What can you win? The entire list of beauty editor must haves on pages 12-14 of Beauty Confidential:

NARS blush in Orgasm
Terax Original Crema intensive conditioner
Essie Mademoiselle and OPI I'm Not Really a Waitress nail polish
Mario Badescu Drying Potion
Shu Uemura eyelash curler
Bumble and bumble Does It All styling spray
Cetaphil face wash
Kiehl's Lip Balm #1
Lancome Definicils mascara
Phytodefrisant balm
Lancome Flash Bronzer Instant Colour Self-Tanning Leg Gel
Yves Saint Laurent Touche Eclat Radiant Touch

In addition, if you post a picture of your beauty blunder, you'll be entered to win another random drawing: Five lucky winners can ask Nadine their most burning beauty question, and they'll receive a personal answer!

GET EXCITED!!!!

Wacky Warning Labels!

Looking around my house this week I noticed that while yes I've gotten pretty good at weeding out many of the harmful chemicals and cleaners in my home there are still some that warrant some interesting and quite frankly wacky warning labels. Let's begin shall we?

1. Behold this bottle of Febreze


The back of the bottle states- 'Safe to use around pets and household items.' Great! Aren't we supposed to be spraying it on or around those items? Then it says, 'Do not spray directly into face.' You mean to tell me I can't Febreze myself instead of showering. Damn! I was all set to do that today too. Seriously? Who would spray Febreze in their face? It's not eau de cologne!

2. My washing machine





Notice the left hand picture. It asks that you kindly not wash items that have any type of oil on them including cooking oil. Ok... So not talking about gasoline soaked rags that sometimes make their way into my laundry room (don't ask) what about when I spill olive oil on my shirt? I toss the shirt? It also asks for you not to dry these items. Hold on! Aren't I using a washing machine right now? Tricky. Hmm...

But wait! There's more. Notice the picture on the right also known as my washing machine. It tells you how to get mechanical oil out of your clothes. Using the washing machine. If these warning labels are supposed to deter bizarre accidents that shouldn't occur if you used any sort of common sense then this washer is the devil in disguise. It's out to get you with it's confusing warning label ways. Beware of my Maytag!



This blog blast was brought to you today by PBN and Sick of Lawsuits. For more Wacky Warning Labels visit PBN and send your own versions in. There are $200 and $100 Visa gift cards being given away as prizes!!!

Also, some seriously beautiful handbags and a rather interesting review for your car over at Mummy's Product Reviews so go there too!

Sweet Tart Overdose and a Crayfish Too

The truck was packed. Blearily my eyes tried to focus as my father woke us up and told us to get in the truck, it was almost time to "hit the road." We were Sebago bound. Sebago Lake, Maine.

Every year my family would pack up the car and go to Sebago. We would head out on the five hour journey around 3 a.m. "We've got to get there early so we can pick the best campsite!", my Dad would declare. Each year I was allowed to invite one friend to spend ten days camping with us. This particular year I chose my friend Julie. I couldn't wait! It was freedom! Showers that operated by coin! Canadians in speedos! S'mores by the campfire and endless hours of roaming by the lake. Pre-teen heaven, well, minus the Canadian flag speedos.

Propped up on pillows, ensconced in our sleeping bags and surrounded by books and other on-the-road activities we giggled ourselves silly despite the early hour. Immediately we dug into the JUMBO bag of Sweet Tarts my mother had stowed in the back. First we ate them with wild abandon. We cackled through our shared sugar high, too hyped up to read. Then we got choosy deeming only the yellow, green and orange Sweet Tarts worthy of our ingestion. Pink and Purple were lame. Yet abundant. Sweet Tarts were scattered all over the back seat. At one point a Sweet Tart food fight broke out. By the time we reached the campground were sick to death of ALL Sweet Tarts as we gazed out at the Maine forests in a Sweet Tart haze. Blech. "DO NOT MENTION SWEET TARTS! EVER!" we declared. The mere sight of a wrapper made us queasy and it was only 8 a.m.

We waited five hours for our campsite number to be called. Five hours of sour stomachs, overtired tween-age girls complaining about the damp air, and desperately wanting a swim. I don't know how my parents stood it. The sky began to take on an ominous look to it. By the time we set up camp it had begun to rain. And rain. Then it rained some more. My Dad dug ditches around the tents and the covered picnic table. There would be no swimming on this trip. Only dampness and wet. A campfire was a no-go. No campfire=No s'mores. I got a little cranky. We spent a majority of our time at the covered table by lantern light drawing silly portraits with equally silly names while listening to Berlin on the radio over and over again until my mother snapped. It was the summer of 'Top Gun' after all.

The rain continued. Julie and I had to take down our tiny tent and move in with my parents. Our Tiger Beat pictures of Michael J. Fox had would no longer stay on the tent walls. It was tragic! The rain kept coming. The campground was like a giant sponge and the lake rose higher. Would our tent convert into an ark? One night as the ditch by the covered table overflowed I noticed something swimming by my feet. What's this? A Crayfish had made its way from the lake to our camp site. It was taking up residence with us now. I told him, "It's not any better in here!" The rain poured on. We didn't even need to use the coin operated showers. We could just step outside if we wanted to. We all felt a little bit stir crazy.

On the ninth day of rain, our last day of camping/living under water, the rain lightened. By day ten as we packed up the site the sun came out in all its glorious yellow brightness. Not a cloud in the sky. We begged my parents to let us stay another few days. Can't we just take a swim? We'll put the crayfish back now and find him a good home! No dice. The truck was packed revealing an avalanche of hidden Sweet Tarts and Sweet Tart wrappers. I looked at Julie and she looked as green as I felt. "DON'T MENTION SWEET TARTS! EVER!" we declared and climbed into the truck for the five hour ride home. This time we would be eating Reese's Cups!

Looking back now there really wasn't much we could do about the rain. My parents were smart enough to bring along tons of "fun" food, books, and drawing paper to keep two girls occupied. The radio/tv combo helped a lot too I might add. This trip didn't taint me from camping either. I will continue the camping tradition with my kids and will remember to pack the plastic, a shovel for digging ditches, and be prepared for any errant crayfish (perhaps with a pot?) that might cross our paths. As well as a bag of candy. Just not Sweet Tarts.


*Author's Note- In the Summer of 2000, I finally decided to take the plunge and eat a Sweet Tart. I ate every color but purple and pink. I still can't. The idea still makes me sick.

This Blog Blast post is brought to you by PBN and PickPackGo! So head on over to PBN and share your Clark Griswold family vacation stories, check out PICKPACKGO for some ultra good deals, and get a chance at winning a PORTABLE DVD PLAYER for your next trip!

Workin' It

Always a small girl I never had an issue with weight or wearing different size clothes. That all changed however when I got myself knocked up and gained 40 lbs. I swore even that would never happen. I would be that cute "I will gain 25 lbs ONLY" pregnant woman. Heh. Except I craved pork. I ate my way through my pregnancy while sitting behind a desk consuming all manner of bad office food in a way I had never done before. Fries with that?! Yes please! Two slices of cake? Why thank you!

I lost 20 lbs the first week. Easy peasy I thought. My main goal was to not be wearing maternity pants when I got back to work. Been there, done that! Ok, so they were a size up from my old pre-baby size but they weren't maternity pants! I was depressed about this and my new poundage. I joined Weight Watchers. I hit the gym in my office and at home and we booked a trip to Jamaica forever sealing the deal with myself to lose those last 10 lbs that I could not shake. Through doing things like the Perfect Run, hitting the gym (LOTS of cardio), and watching what I ate I did it! I was so proud! I can see my abs in our beach shots of that trip! I still find this fact amazing. So while I looked good I still could not come to terms with how my body still didn't look the same pre-baby. Damn hips! I'm an hourglass girl now and growing up I just wasn't. It's been a hard thing to acclimate to. Styles I wore before are now ill-fitting and I lost that sense of body confidence I once had. What else is new right?

My daughter is now 18 months. Through a few revelations and less scrutiny I've found that the only way I'm happy is if I've had enough exercise. Enough exercise to blow off steam and have a good sweat. It keeps me feeling good which in turn makes me see myself in a better light. I also try to eliminate the crap in my diet. When I eat A LOT of junk food I feel slow. It's not easy to chase a toddler when you feel slow. I challenge myself with The Nine, I work out regularly with a great gym that is supportive and has a good, FREE daycare. Really I'm Workin' It to feel good about me and to set a good example for my daughter. When my daughter rubs some cellulite on my thighs I want to cringe and yell NO! But I check myself and move on. It's not easy but workin' it never is. Run, walk, jog, Pilate's, yoga, Zumba and some strip aerobics. I've done it all and in the process figured out that I must be happy with what I have. If not, how can my daughter ever be?


This How Do You Fit It In blog blast is brought to by PBN and the fun folks of Ryka. Head on over HERE and read more fit stories and how you too can get free shoes and outfit and more! That's right! RYKA is giving away even more HERE. That's 50 pairs of shoes and 50 shirts everyday through October!!


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Head over to Mummy's Product Reviews for an awesome read (think fashion! think Nina Garcia and Project Runway!) and one hell of a great find!

The Slowest Death

Folks, allow me to direct your attention to Exhibit A. Now don't be alarmed! They are indeed ugly I know. Hideous, just hideous. They are however only a pair of shorts. Men's shorts. Men's shorts, circa 1991, that at one time were impossibly big on the owner. Notice the heinously inappropriate and blatantly out of style double pleats. The dull and unflattering color of gray. Wake up people! These shorts were worn by the victim in high school! That was 13 years ago! Oh yes, she's a victim alright. A victim in a crime of fashion.



Don't avert your eyes. There is probably something very close to this lurking in your closet. You could be a victim too. You probably made the same excuses that she did. Eventually they will fit right. Oh they did. They fit, but they were already hopelessly outdated by then. I'll just wear them to clean or paint. You know, when I'm doing projects and yard work around the house. Ha! You foolish girl! You never wore them! And not because you didn't paint, it was because of THIS!



Exhibit B. That stain is actually a hardened candy. A candy that went through the wash and a drying cycle in 1991. The very year the victim first bought the shorts. Since then the pocket has been sealed shut. Completely unusable. Sad, but true. Please! Try not to avert your eyes. The truth must be told. Trust in the fact that since reading this book, the victim has eradicated all sorts of items (overly tight shirts, badly fitting pants, too small belts and one embarrassingly awful pair of Hush Puppies)from her closet.



They go quite nicely don't they? Please don't pity the poor girl. She's learned her lesson. They didn't even go to Good Will. They went directly into the trash.

We're having a Blog Blast today to celebrate the arrival of one awesome and inspiring book, The Little Black Book of Style. Head on over to PBN for some other horrific, sad and downright hilarious posts from other victims of bad taste.

Jokers, Cake Stains and the Brown Vulva (Ahem..'84 Volvo 240DL)

To My Dear Sweet 240DL,

You were never the cool car. You were solid. You could literally roll with the punches. Your jimmied cassette radio provided many hours of excellent tunes. You filled the four door car with numerous tracks of the Pet Shop Boys, Madonna, some Lenny Kravitz, and a little too much of the Reality Bites soundtrack.

I loved your convenient shelf right under the radio. You let my pal Joker ride along each day. His wild green plastic hair blowing in your A/C induced breeze. The crazy out of his mind smile bringing as much cheer to you as his purple pants suit did to me. You let me plaster you with Joker pictures and stickers. Yet you, precious, reliable brown Volvo, remained the Vulva (eloquently dubbed so by E) to me.

You never minded that I piled in numerous friends to press their butts and faces into your backseat and windows. When E and I had the chocolate cake fight all over your interior you took it in stride. I lovingly cleaned your upholstery the very next day. I washed you weekly for a while. I took you to school so you could get an American edumacation vs. your Swedish one. I trustingly let you protect me in the "hood" of Providence and along Federal Hill on late nights with friends.

College bound you tagged along driving all points South for what seemed like decades. Only acting up once so that a man named Cooter (for reals y'all) could come to the rescue. I still think you set that one up. With a bit of protest you traveled closer to the Mason Dixon line and helped me finish up my college years. Then dear friend you took a turn for the worse. Conking out on me in parking lots and at intersections. You made me do the Chinese fire drill too often to replace your spark plugs at lights at midnight. That was not cool Vulva. Not cool at all. I kicked your tires for that one.

Unceremoniously and without a tear I gave you up to the Towing Man on a random Tuesday. Bye Bye Brown Vulva. Good riddance. Adios! So long Turkey. I now hate you and you've been replaced. It was not the best of break ups by a long shot. I was less than subtle with my disregard for your disloyal behavior at the end. I might have even yelled at you as you were towed away, the disgust in my eyes, "You've been replaced!" "She's shiny, new, and has power locks!" She was everything you were not.

Months later I saw you. It was late. You were at a 7-11 on Rhode Island Avenue in DC. My sorority stickers still in your back window. I pressed my face to the taxi cab glass and yelled, "My first car! The Vulva!" I think the driver thought he had a case of the crazies in his car. I'm glad you got a third life.


This Open Letter to my first car, the Brown Vulva, was part of Blog Blast Friday! Head on over to PBN for some great prizes, we're talking car stuff and purses people! Ask Patty too if you've got a car question!

A Family that Plays Together, Stays Together

Quality Family Time. "What's that?", I sometimes wonder to myself, when between H and I we juggle a business, my writing, and his full-time 9-5 job. Time can get pretty scarce. We have to count on the little moments. The ones that are short but sweet.

Some of my favorite times are meal times. Breakfast or dinner we sit down and talk about our day. T.D. being 18 mos. things can get pretty comical. Flying food, cascading food, and hilarious tantrums can be the norm. Add the dog in and it's a regular party or a pilot for a sitcom. We do a lot of dancing in our house as well, especially in the kitchen. The radio is always on or the iPod is piping music through the house and we all stop to dance in between unloading the dishwasher or cleaning up the kitchen. It's a blast, funny, and makes us parents destress while making T.D. feel like she can do something with us.

So while we don't often have a ton of time together we make it count when we do. We spend short amounts of time at the pool, we take evening walks as a family, and always try to sit down together and recap our day as we shovel food into our pieholes. What do you do with your family?

It's Blog Blast Friday so head on over to PBN and check out the incredibly fun prizes being given away just for posting what you like to do as a family. A Wii and EA's new game Boogie! What better family time can you have? Go on, post! You know you want to!



This post is brought to you in conjunction with Parent Bloggers Network & EA's Wii-Boogie, a family gaming experience. Shake it. Sing it. Create it.

So what are WE doing?

Yesterday's post about the myth vs. the reality brought up some interesting questions from myself and from some readers. American women have it better than we think, but our work is far from over. The system is old, it's not working, and we need to tweak it and in some cases give it a massive overhaul.

So what is an already busy working and not working woman/mother to do? Well, I don't have all the answers but I do feel pretty strongly about the fact that years ago our mothers really broke through the proverbial glass ceiling and are the ones who started things like flex time, shared work schedules, daycare centers in the office and such. I look at that and I think, "well, what have I done?" I've just taken as much as I could from the whole thing and haven't offered anything new. That my friend is not right and part of the problem in itself.

I joined MomsRising for one. If you haven't heard of it, it is a great grassroots campaign focusing on all the important issues of the day for families and women, whether you have kids or not. Through it some great discussions have started as well as local campaigns where you can see work being done on a small and large scale. I'm talking legistlative action here people. Check this organization out. It's everywhere! I for one always feel slightly more accomplished after completing even the smallest task with them.

Start a discussion at work and join forces with the other women and men to establish whatever it is you feel is lacking in your office. Have a plan first and foremost. Discussion is where action begins. Once you have a plan you can go to the next level and discuss it with them. Don't back down and get discouraged if it doesn't happen right away. Be persistent. Change is inevitable so why not bring about a good one, like flex time for all workers.

We, women, we already know we are a powerful group. A force to be reckoned with. We shouldn't listen to those articles that keep cranking out on how we just "vote the way our husbands" do and start demanding (again) that we have needs in the workforce and in society that ARE NOT being met. Childcare, Paid maternity leave, flex time, sharing of work schedules, the list goes on and on. What is in place is a step, a step to something better. We haven't reached the peak of what we can do.

I'll get off my soap box now and let you know that in honor of family and fun there will be a BLOG BLAST tomorrow with an incredibly fun giveaway. Think Wiiii....

The Good Ol' Days

Back in the days when I was "with child", "preggo", had a "bun in the oven" or was just plain pregnant I had a lot of people say some pretty bizarre or just plain rude things to me. They feel it's perfectly ok to not even say 'hello!' or even smile at you, but just okey dokey to touch your belly or poke your button. It gets pretty damn annoying.

Here are a few of my faves- AND- things I wish I would have said and sometimes did.

-"Are you allowed to eat that?" as I chomped on a Brownie. "Uh.. yeah..Why not? Are they special Brownies? If they are special Brownies I'm eating the whole pan."

-"Will you be breast-feeding?" Blurted out in the middle of a meeting. Asked by a man who I barely knew. Talk about creepy. I had no reply for that one and still don't. Just YICK!!!

-Me in my office: "Son of a Bitch!" Guy in office: "Sssh.. the baby can hear you!" Me: At the time I just grumbled to myself about how annoying it was to be pregnant and have everyone offer "helpful" advice. Now I wish I had just said, "I KNOW that, I was TALKING to the baby. Duh!"

You think it ends after you actually have the baby. Oh no it does NOT. That's where the judging comes in, more advice, and the sketchy questions about your labor, after-birth, breasts, and chotch. As if you really want to talk to the grocery store cashier or guy at Lowe's about all that, much less the creepy lurker dude in your office's hallway.

It's BLOG BLAST FRIDAY asking "What's the most annoying preggo or new mom question you've ever been asked -- AND -- what's your best, snarky "wish-you-could-have-said-it" answer" (in post and comment form -- we can all say "F-off" -- let's hear a mouthful and then some). PBN is putting it all together for their new campaign for Dr. Tracy Gaudet's new book, 'Body, Soul, Baby' which can be found by typing in the title here. Don't you wish you could have just handed those people with all their advice this type of book?




Check out the other sites doing the blog blast here for there are FABULOUS prizes!