playgroupsarenoplaceforchildren

I’m going to participate in NaBloPoMo.

My hair is driving me crazy.  Just a few weeks ago, I got some of the sweetest compliments about my hair color from some people who hadn’t seen me since I made the change from mouse to brunette.

At the time, I replied sweetly and agreeingly, “I do too!  I can’t believe I ever liked my hair when it was lighter.  I really think I look better with darker hair.”  I nodded my head with such fervor!  I truly believed in my darkened tresses.

I don’t know.  I’ve been looking in the mirror and thinking how washed out and BLAAAH I look.  Everything is just wrong.  My skin is wrinkly and pore-y and my hair is BLAAAAH and limp and BLAAAH and I just look like an aging mom.  Actually I look nothing at all like the two pictures above right now, right now my hair is BLAAAAH.

I’m not really sure how I went from fervent agreement about my hair to BLAAAH.  (And did I mention BLAAAH?)

Let’s just pretend for a moment that your name is Jennifer and that you had previously lighter hair ranging in shades from practically bleached blonde to deep chocolate.   Imagine, for a moment, won’t you?, that you were contemplating going lighter again, with lots of highlights.  What would you be considering?  A deep golden brownish-blonde?  Keeping the dark color previously held in such esteem?  Returning to your blonde beginnings?

My hair is obviously in need of a trim, but I don’t know what to do with it anymore.  I’m so sick of the style I have now.  It’s at an in between length, I’d really like it to be longer, but waiting for it to grow is a killer.

It’s possible that my hair color just needs a refresher course in HOTNESS 101 and I need a little trim and head massage to perk me up.  It’s also possible that I’ve completely lost it, especially since I’m going to participate in NaBloPoMo.  (Which has nothing to do with hair directly, but both admissions hold sufficient evidence of my insanity.)

(I had to search my blog for “hair” to find all the places where I’ve talked about my hair.  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!  I need some new material.  I talk about my hair waaaay too often.)

My friend was recently a member of her brother’s wedding party.  At the reception, she had a LOT of fun, if you know what I mean…A LOT of fun.

Hours later, well into the FUN, my friend got sick and soiled her bridesmaid dress.

It’s been several weeks since the incident and her dress is still sitting in the trash bag that her husband put her dress into.  She opened it once to inspect the damage  and couldn’t get past the, um, scent.

My poor friend isn’t sure what to do!  The dress itself was expensive, the alterations added another $100 to the price, she can’t imagine just tossing it in the garbage.  The dress was gorgeous and very figure flattering, but she doesn’t think there’s any possibility that she’d ever wear it again.  It IS a bridesmaid dress after all and she doesn’t care what anyone says, but they can’t actually be worn again.  Her closet is practically a graveyard of old bridesmaid dresses.

What does she do?  Throw it away?  Have it dry cleaned and face the horror of having to tell the poor unsuspecting person behind the counter that real reason the dress reeks?

The dress looks a lot, okay, fine, EXACTLY like the dress I’m wearing in this picture of me at MY brother’s wedding.

What a coincidence, huh?

May your Halloween be filled with many a 100 Grand minibar and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup!

Happy Halloween!

What’s your favorite Halloween candy? What’s the worst thing you ever got from a neighbor while trick-or-treating?

(I got an apple once. I threw it in the lady’s yard. I mean, REALLY…an apple??? Sheesh.)

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Here at Playgroups are no place for children, in honor of my TWO! YEAR! blogging anniversary and in honor of NOT participating in NaBloPoMo (you’re welcome!), November is going to be Reader Appreciation Month.  I’ve got FANTASTIC giveaways lined up for you all!  I’m so excited I can hardly keep from peeing my pants!

This situation of which I’m going to describe is PURELY hypothetical.  Not one ounce of truth to it, no siree.  None whatsoever.  *fingers crossed behind my back*

So tell me, what would you do if, say, you were on a walk with your (two) kids in an adjoining neighborhood and you suddenly had the most terrible, all-consuming itch.

The itch is in the upper crotch region, not to be confused with the lower crotch region-which obviously if you’re itching “down there” you might want to see a DOCTOR.

Anyway, this upper crotch region itch is a really, really itchy itch.  It itches so much you can barely walk.  It itches so much you feel like if you don’t scratch it, you’ll lose your mind.

Keep this in mind, you’re not in your neighborhood.  It’s highly unlikely that you’ll see anyone you know.  Even if you did see someone, most likely you’d never see them again.  Also, it’s early in the morning, but not so early that there are lots of people driving by heading for work, kids have already left for school.  Basically, it looks as if nobody even knows you’re there.

But also keep in mind the fact that it’s your CROTCH that itches and to scratch it looks incredibly nasty to the average Joe who happens to witness such an act.

Do you get in there and scratch away, right there on the street, trying to act like nothing’s amiss as you attempt to continue pushing your double stroller while getting after that itch?

Or do you suck it up and continue walking while thinking non-itchy and non-scratchy thoughts?

WHAT do you DO????

I’m just curious in case this ever happens to me.  Also, I’m just collecting this information for a book I’m writing on survival skills in the suburbs.  Um.  Yeah.

Okay, I bought these shoes on Friday and adored them at the time.  They are red, YES!  But, they aren’t too lady-of-the-night red or Dorothy there’s-no-place-like-home red.  I also thought the detailing on the shoes was especially cute.  Now though, I still LOVE them, but I’m kinda worried that when I wear them people are going to notice ONLY my shoes and not my winning personality and witty conversational skills.

These shoes were bought on the intention of wearing them to this little conference I’m attending next week, where I *might* meet some other women who I would like to impress.  I don’t want to overhear anyone say, “Oh my, poor girl!  Did you SEE her shoes?!  What WAS she thinking?!”

I plan on wearing these shoes with dark wash jeans and a either black or brown shirts.   Stacy and Clinton tell people that it’s okay to add a punch of color with THEIR shoes.   Can I?  Should I?

Please be honest…Yay or nay on the shoes? 

PS.  I bought these shoes at Payless…does that make a difference?

We spent this past weekend attending a family reunion in Missouri.  There were lots of lowlights from the trip including (but not limited to), Ella’s diarrhea, Ella’s vomiting, cockroaches in the bathroom of our cabin, and a verrrrrry cranky and sleep deprived Carson.

Despite the lowlights, though, there were also many highlights.  One of these highlights was the acquisition of some homemade apple butter.

I LOVE apple butter!  LOVE!

Imagine my disappointment when we got home and discovered that the lid of the jar of my beloved apple butter had “popped.”  (You know those home canning jars with the ring and the lid…well, it wasn’t sucked down, it was popped.)

Trying to head off certain botulism poisoning, I sadly decided the apple butter would have to be tossed in the trash.

Tate WHOLEHEARTEDLY disagreed.  “NO, no, no, no, no.  We are NOT throwing it away.  Let’s smell it,”  he said, trying to convince me that this not-properly-sealed apple butter was fine for human consumption.

I have NO IDEA if botulism or any other death-inducing food disease even has an odor, so smelling it wasn’t going to change my mind.  I stood firmly behind my decision to throw out the apple butter.

Tate STILL disagreed.  “See?  It tastes fine!”  he said after dipping his finger in the diseased apple butter.  “I bet it was made just a few days ago, we’re keeping it!”

“Fine, Tate.  Keep it.  I don’t care if it was made this morning, I won’t eat it!  And!  I don’t want the kids to eat it either, because it will make them SICK.”

Very often, Tate and I disagree about food safety issues.  He has no problem (barely) reheating food that has been in the fridge for DAYS.  I won’t touch leftovers after about two or three days.  If food has been sitting out for too long, I won’t eat it, but Tate would probably eat potato salad that had been sunbathing for three hours.  He regularly gets annoyed by my “overzealous” and “ridiculous” attempts to keep my family free of food-borne diseases.

What do you think?   Should we keep the apple butter or throw it away?

(PS, I’m merely curious as to what you think.  Unless you have a Ph.D in Food Safety, you probably aren’t going to change my mind.)

This is my first time participating in Mrs. Flinger’s Brutally Honest Monday.

I’d like your (brutally honest) opinion about a recent incident.

The kids and I went to watch Tate play softball last week.  Being a magnet to puddles, Carson immediately found the biggest, muddiest puddle and jumped right in.  Within seconds of getting to the ball field, Carson was soaking wet and dirty. 

There were lots of other kids around Carson, laughing at him getting all wet.   The next thing I know, I look over and a girl who looked to be at least eight or nine, was throwing handfuls of mud on Carson (and cackling manically…or so I imagined.  I mean, maybe she was.)

I was FURIOUS.

I marched over there and yelled at her to stop.  I told her how ashamed she should be for picking on such a little boy and that she should know better.  There was lots of huffing and puffing (on my part.)  Also, my face was most likely all sorts of red.

I was SO PISSED.

I made the girl apologize to Carson.  She did, half-heartedly.  Then I grabbed Carson’s hand and we marched off, with me saying the MOST mature, parental thing ever…”Let’s go play over HERE away from those MEAN kids.”

When I made it back to the bleachers, a few of the people who had witnessed THE INCIDENT, looked a little horrified.  I’m not sure if they were horrified by how I reacted or by the girl’s behavior.  Of course I assumed it was all about me.  Also, I’ve told a few people what happened and each person acted like I overreacted slightly.

Here’s what I’d like you to consider when forming your opinion…

1.  She was DEFINITELY old enough to know better than throw mud on a little kid.
2.  She was throwing the mud at his head.
3.  (Don’t forget the maniacal cackling.)

But also consider this…

1.  He was already filthy, dirty from jumping in the puddle.
2.  I probably could have left out the huffing, puffing, and stomping away with the immature retort.

I am a little nervous since this is “BRUTALLY HONEST Monday.”  Don’t think the BRUTAL part means to be, you know, too BRUTAL.  I’m tender hearted.  **bats eyelashes**

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Pssst…Nikon!  Hi there!  I entered your contest to win a D60 last night!  You know, I could say really nice things about your WONDERFUL cameras here on my blog…I’d sure love a camera to review!  PUH-LEASE!!!!  Kthnxbai!