Anti-Aging Magic

I have fallen prey to the hype of expensive super moisturizer.  The kind that has 7 wonder powers in one tiny not-going-to-last-long-how-much-did-I pay-for-this bottle.

Have I noticed a difference?

Not really.

Yet I faithfully slather it on and in response to my husband's query as to why I'm doing that when I don't look  "old" (thanks babe!) I say I'm being pro-active against future wrinkles.

Even if it's all a bunch of anti-aging hooey I do like how my soft my skin feels.  Worth the sticker shock?  Maybe!  It will depend on how fast I go through it!

Taking Baby Steps

I've known from the moment I gave birth that part of my job (maybe the hardest part) was going to be letting go.  I had to equip my children with knowledge and strength and kindness and courage and help them find their feet and start to walk.

What I hadn't realized until this weekend is that I've been working on taking baby steps too.  It starts out pretty easy, with a sleepover at a friends house, until we've worked up to taking a weekend spring break trip out of state.

As I watched my son and his friends drive away on their much anticipated, exciting trip, I whispered to myself, "Baby steps, Mom, baby steps."

If I was just going to leap into this fall's college leave taking, without every having practiced letting go in baby steps, I'd probably belly flop spectacularly.  As my son has taken steps on his adventure to independence, I've taken steps on my way of letting him go.

I may have had a mental list that ticked off Mom heart facts, like he was only 6 hours away and if he needed us, we could be there in 5, but those are things I think Moms never stop thinking.  He came home, tired and happy and I loved listening to the stories of their trip.

Next up on this road of baby steps: Iceland.  I've got months still to practice walking.....I'm going to need them!

The Case Of The Missing Sweatshirt

Whenever something of my husband's can't be found, he says hobos took it.  Let's ignore the fact that after I start looking, said hobo stolen item is found within our dwelling, but I'm kind of a whiz at finding lost things.  I'll start off with the cursory look around at surfaces, the table, the counter, the floor.  Then I'll move onto the looking under things and in things and if that all fails, it's down to the complete floor to ceiling cleaning.

I figure, if I'm moving furniture to see what's behind it besides dust bunnies, I might as well sweep and mop as I go.

On Saturday, I was surprisingly on time and ready to go with my husband to run errands.  I just needed to grab my sweatshirt.  My sweatshirt, mind you, that I either hang up on the coat rack or hang over my desk chair.  It is rarely at the table mingling with the other coats and jackets and only once was found wedged in the couch.  I did a quick check on my hook and my desk.  Nothing.

I moved coats and jackets and scarfs and bags and walked away from the coat rack thinking the kids own too many coats, but my sweatshirt wasn't there.  I went into my room and sorted through everything, including asking my husband to dig through his carpet of clothes.  Not there.

My husband said it must be those darn hobos.  Or maybe our daughter took it.  I was more inclined to believe his hobo fairy tale than the idea that  my daughter, who owns 3 sweatshirts, 3 fleece jackets, and 4 coats, would have taken it.  But the fact remained that it wasn't anywhere I would have put it.

Later I cleaned the downstairs looking for it.  I even checked the car, in case I forgot it there.

The idea of hobos was starting to sound more and more plausible.

Fast forward to the end of the day, and the house was cleaner, but the sweatshirt was still missing.  I was starting to get a little frustrated.  It was no where I'd have put it.  I guess I'd go with my husband's other theory and ask our daughter.

Oh, yes, she knows where it is.  See, the thing is, her friend was running late to piano practice and needed a jacket so they just grabbed the first one, which was mine, and then after practice, her friend took it off upstairs, so yes, it's in her room.

This is where I take a couple deep, calming breaths and count to 10 or 50, and think of positive things, and maybe go eat a few chocolates from my hidden candy stash!  And remind her every day since, several times a day, that I would like her to bring my sweatshirt back to me.

The case is solved, but I'm still waiting for my sweatshirt to be recovered....

Candy Philosophy

My sister and I recently made note of how different we are in relation to Cadbury mini eggs.  Yes, we love them.  Yes, we buy bags every year....bags and bags and fill our kids Easter baskets and our own with those delicious candy coated chocolates.  But I can keep my bag around for weeks, slowly parcelling out a few eggs as my treat need arises.  She says she can't: if the bag is there, it is actively being eaten.

I recently finished my stash of Halloween candy.  Yes, it's March.  Worse, it was a full size candy bar that I would take nibble sized bites off of and then wrap it back up and put it back in my dresser.

I can make my candy last because I hid it from my family.  That doesn't make me a bad member of the family....just an experienced one!  Now the question is: do I currently have a bag of chocolates stashed away somewhere?

I'll never tell!

Tastes Like Dirt

I spent a season of my childhood arguing with a cousin over how I didn't need to eat dirt to know what dirt tastes like.  His argument  was if I've never actually eaten some, sat down with a spoon and dished up some earth, how could I be sure I a) knew what it tastes like and b) knew I didn't like it.

The taste is in the very scent of it it.  It's in the air as it swirls mini dust storms.  It's an eruption with the roots of a particularly sturdy weed.  If you've ever had a hint of it on your tongue, you know what it is.  There is no wondering, "Is this what dirt tastes like?"

It is dirt and I know what it tastes like without actually eating it.  And I know I don't like it.

Likewise with lavender.  It's pretty and smells fine and I like seeing it grow in my garden but I will always believe that 'lemon and lavender' should be the name of bath salts and not cookies.

Judging by the discreet way coworkers spit those cookies out, I am right!

Blue Screen Of Death

The blue screen of death is a funny punchline to computer jokes, that is, until the blue screen of death is the only screen that your computer can show.

Then it isn't funny and suddenly you are aware of how much time, how much of your life, is tied up in this electronic wonder.

So it's off to the store to buy a new one, because between work and school, this family uses our computer all the time, and to be without it is to be lost.  It's not just facebook and blogging, it's business spreadsheets and scholarly papers and while we can go 3 blocks over to the library, the ease of having our own pc is so much nicer.

And now I've got to leave this newly plugged in beauty, with it's huge brilliant screen and clean keyboard and hope that my suggestion to not eat or drink at the computer will be heeded while I am gone.

I know that prompt will only last a day or two, but I'm going to enjoy it while it does!

Six Word Saturday

Beautiful sunshine morning, perfect for walking.

Quick Change Artist

I did not know I was a quick change artist.  I mean, I have been known to slip yoga pants on under a skirt and take the skirt off so I could go hiking.  And I guess in my younger days I did quite a few pants to shorts and back again changes in the car.  But nothing made me feel quite as quick and changeful and sly as the quick change I did yesterday at work.

It's that season again, where I'm ready to put away the tights, but it's not warm enough for that, and my legs are too pale for that, and I'm really on the last legs of my tights wardrobe but the stores aren't stocking the colors I really want (black and brown) because spring is just around the corner, so I'm stuck with purple and green and blue and thick cable knits that remind me of childhood and I'm just trying to get them to cross the warm weather finish line with me.

So of course, one of my most comfortable pair decided yesterday that they were done for and popped a hole and ran a run and I all I could think was it was only one hour into my work day.  By the end of the day this run would be from toe to hip and I didn't want to loose another pair of tights.

Casually I dabbed some clear polish on the offending areas, and after it dried, I excused myself to the restroom, where I took them off, turned them around, and put them back on, run successfully hidden.  I'd gone into the restroom dragging my feet and feeling awkwardly obvious with a run.....I emerged a new person, new life in my old workhorse tights, ready to face the rest of the day.

I sat back down at my desk, grinning.  I'm a quick change artist!  No one is the wiser that I'm wearing backwards tights!  And if this is all it takes to make my day 100% better, I might need a day off.....


Linking up with TidBit Thursday.

Drip-Dropping

The melting frost
drip dropping
from the sign posts
Is so much more enjoyable
than rain
drip dropping
from anything.

I don't need to find
my umbrella
for frost.

Don't Call Me A Sissy

I haven't actually been on the back of the hubster's motorcycle in quite a while.  A year or more?  I don't even remember exactly.  Our free time and the weather and my various injuries never lined up right until today.

The sun was shining, it wasn't too cold, and we had free time.  Or time we were more than willing to stop doing the laundry and the car up keep and take an hour for ourselves.

I felt strange getting all wrapped up in my warm clothes, the long underwear, the jeans, two pairs of socks and shirts, a thick sweatshirt and finally the leather jacket.  I felt kind of a like a sausage in a casing!  But all that was going to be okay once we got on the road, all the discomfort of moment would be forgotten.

I put on my helmet, picked up my gloves and headed out to the bike quietly purring its immense satisfaction in our spur of the moment day trip....

When I got my first look at it I stopped short.  I'm ashamed to admit this, but I yelled at my husband.

"You Took Off My Sissy Bar?"

The sissy bar is an addition to the bike that I insisted on.  Six years ago, when my husband took me out for my first ride, I clung to him like a barnacle.  I was positive I was falling off.  In his desire for his hobby to be my hobby, he asked if I thought having a back rest, a sissy bar if you will, would help.  I thought it would and shortly after that a very nice sissy bar made its debut on the motorcycle and I never again felt like I was falling off.

The lack of it now proved that I haven't really been very observant, because he took it off a while back, to fix it up.  It was looking pretty worn and the stuffing was peeking through.  But due to lack of free time and all that, it still wasn't fixed.  My husband ran into his shop for it and some tools, willing to put it back on.  It would take five minutes tops.

"No," I said.  "Let's go." Five minutes more ran the risk of me second guessing my decision to leave the clothes unfolded and the bed unmade.

We had a lovely ride, it really was a fantastic day to be on the bike.  But at the end of the ride, I got off and said I really do need the sissy bar.  It doesn't make me a sissy, it just makes me a person who needs to feel that I'm not about to slide off as we accelerate up a hill!