The New Girl

Wardrobe Essentials Quiz

It's probably not a huge shock to you that I am no girlie-girl.  In fact, in my own childhood, I hovered somewhere between fashion unconscious and tom-boyish (firmly excluding ANY athletic ability whatsoever.)  Each season, my mom would take The Little Sister and I to KFart or Hills (anyone remember that store?) to buy our wardrobes for the season.  And let's just say, so as not to speak ill of the Dearly Departed, that my mother was the [marginally fashion impaired] tree to my apple.  Even after begging, I never owned a pair of Jordache jeans.  I'm just saying.

'What does this have to do with me, The New Girl?' you ask.  I'm getting to that.

I have plodded through life, assembling things to wear in a muddled, disorganized fashion that has more or less worked for me.  I've always had enough time and disposable income to make myself presentable, if not usually p-r-e-t-t-y [gender-neutral] casual.  So, as fucked as my wardrobe is right now (I'm feeling very much 'between' wardrobes, dealing with scraps and remnants and ill-fitting disasters), I'm not here to talk about MY wardrobe essentials.

This is all about the children, yo.  Or, in my case, the child.

As a mom, I find that I am (unfortunately?) transferring my own [Mental Glitch] penchant re: dressing for comfort vs. style (AKA: if it doesn't itch, doesn't have a tag, has a r-e-l-a-x-e-d fit, perhaps a drawstring and is made from natural fibers?  I probably already OWN it) to my little, tag-free cutie.  But I'm finding that I feel like SHE is also 'between wardrobes.'

So, here's my question to you, oh-so-much-more-organized-experienced-shoppers-of-children's-duds*:

What do you buy for your kids for a season?  Do you have a formula of some kind?  A 'system' in place?  A certain number of pants/shirts/dresses/sweaters/special occasion outfits?  Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming up, I know.  But even in the Fall/Spring/Summer, you have to have a certain number of outfits for nice, right?  What about casual clothes?  Eating clothes (for those kids who, er, eschew bibs?)

Let's forget for a moment that I'm too [mentally slow] busy mothering to figure out what the hell size my slow grower** is going to be in for the FOLLOWING year-same-season, I'm just talking about the current, 'You're going to have to pay full price, stupid,' season. 

Tell me everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* Isn't it so jacked up to have an entire SERIES of posts that do NOTHING but INQUIRE and ask you to SHARE? 

** Isn't it also jacked-up to have a kid who is tiny enough to fit into shit that I UNPACKED from the Spring?  Who has kids that are able to wear something that went out of and BACK INTO season? 

P.S. To the people that I meet while I'm walking down the street: she's in the 5th percentile for weight. Yes, yes.  I KNOW. She's a PEANUT.  A tiny SPECK of a baby. Yeeees. /End Rant.

Fun Fact Friday!!

* Sorry for the Multiple Publishes, Reader-Users.  I am uncaffeinated at the moment.

* A long time ago, I used to belong to PETA (I still have an old anti-fur PETA shirt).  Until I found out that they are a bunch of nut-jobs.  I'm all for animal rights, though, and I frown on the idea of animal testing, wearing fur and/or torturing animals before they're killed inhumanely.  But I have pets.  And PETA thinks that's something akin to slavery or whatever.  And I don't drink a lot of cow's milk and I don't support cow torture.  But I won't be lactating for Ben and Jerry's anytime soon.  Crazy Fuckers.

* After I wrote the post about my Mental Glitch, I started to feel a little better.  And then I started to think about all my other Mental Glitches (i.e. Inappropriate Laughing Mental Glitch, Peeing Right Before Bed Mental Glitch, etc.) and I thought about writing a post about each one.  Whoo-hoo!  Wouldn't you be riveted? 

* I always leave at least two sips worth of tea at the bottom of every cup.  I don't do it on purpose and I didn't even realize I did it until The Little Sister informed me of it, by way of this comment: 'Why in the hell do you always leave two sips of tea at the bottom of your cup?'

* I see The Little Sister and The Nephew every day.  If we somehow miss a day, it feels like I haven't seen them in FOREVER.

* The Man and I inadvertently started a tradition in which my Mother-in-Law comes to dinner every Friday night, so that [TLNG will tolerate being held by her] she and TLNG can hang out.  For those of you with sucky Mothers-in-Law, I apologize, but my MIL is Teh Awesome.  Mostly because she makes it her business to STAY OUT of her children's business.  Especially their marriages. And take note, Mothers-of-Sons, that right there is the KEY to being the BEST MIL IN THE WORLD.

* I find myself enjoying the challenge of finding something to make for our Friday Night Dinners that's not crazy-over-the-top difficult, but that's still special(ish.)  Tonight it was going to be Baked Shells with Fontina Cheese and Homemade Chocolate Pudding, but my MIL is sick and can't make it.

* I am on the 4th Sookie Stackhouse Book.  Or is it the 5th?

* Although TLNG deigns to play with her Nanny now (My MIL, obv.), she still resolutely refuses to be held by her.  WTF, you guys?  It is TRES embarrassing.

* I am getting a NIECE! 

The Cure For The Common Mullet

Behold, The Baby Mullet:

 

Here are my solutions (cutting isn't an option for me, until the whole hot mess grows IN, so don't even go there):

1) The So-Called Pony(ish) Tail:

2) Headband It (with a cool-ass [forgotten birthday] crown):

p.s. Although, she looks a little BALD there.
p.p.s. That's her new trick, 'Can you smile for the camera?'

3) The Samurai Warrior-slash-Homecoming Queen:

I know it's overexposed but come ON.  Look at the wave.

4) Or is it a Sumo Wrestler Hair-do?

 

And

5) My Personal Favorite:

Upon seeing this hair-do, The [World's Biggest Baby-Mullet Hater] Little Sister said, 'It almost looks like it's supposed to.  The Mullet has been CURED.' Plus, it's wicked cute, isn't it??

Shutting Down Like GE In July*

I, like everyone else, have a number of Mental Glitches (and don't say that one joke, 'Is that a technical term?' because that joke is hardly ever funny. Just saying.) Anyway, the one with which [I am victimizing you] I am dealing right now, is the one where when things aren't going all that well for me (inside my head), I just drop out.

On my way home from work, I was contemplating hanging up this blog for a while.  Walking away and taking a break.  It's supposed to be fun but lately I've been feeling a bit of blogsickness.  I have no content in my mind.  It's not a new feeling, it's happened before and I've written about it.  I cringe when I write about it or when I think of what I've already written about it, feeling like it makes me a walking, breathing, typing example of the worst parody of what a blogger is supposed to be.  (Read: self-absorbed and whiny with an over-inflated sense of what she has to say) CRINGE.

But then I started thinking about taking a break from blogging and the cyclical nature of my wanting to take a break from blogging when I'm feeling pinched and at a loss for content.  I wondered whether or not a break would help.  (Incidentally, I didn't wonder for long--I already knew the answer to that one because I am old-enough and therapized-enough to KNOW MYSELF, sisters & brothers.)  It wouldn't be like taking a sabbatical, right? I wouldn't be here thinking and writing and creating and feeling all juicy with lots of content to come back and share, would I?

No.  I'd be getting up, feeding a baby, playing with a baby, feeding a baby, putting a baby down, cleaning up after a baby, maybe going to work, maybe making dinner and then cleaning up after a baby and then falling into bed, exhausted.

So, then, why is it that I want to take this imaginary break? 

While I was driving home, thinking about this [drivel] I was startled to realize that I am doing in the blogworld the very same thing that I do in the realworld when things aren't going so well (inside my head).  I get scarce.  I don't email as often.  I don't call as much.  I let a lot of time go by between contacts.  I don't make doctor's appointments or hair appointments or dentist appointments.  I don't get my expired license renewed.  Shit like that. 

My best guess at to what the fuck this Mental Glitch is all about is as follows:  I think, 'Who wants to hear my whining?  I've already said this before, nothing much has changed so why go through it again? Sooner or later, their eyes are going to start to bleed from my bitching and moaning about my inner life.  Wah.  I don't like the thought of that, going on about my WOES (not in the realworld either), and so I don't write (just like I don't call my friends when I'm feeling down.)

So, I'm either thinking that, or thinking, 'And even if their eyes don't bleed, they might want to support me and leave comments to make me feel better, which would be almost as bad.' 

(This particular Mental Glitch is a catch-22 bastard.)

*I don't really know when GE plants shut-down.  I'm just guessing.

Fun Fact Friday!

* My lips have absolutely no color.  They are achromatic.  Without lipstick or tinted lip balm, they have a strange bluish hue.  Like, oh say, a CORPSE?  I'm not exaggerating.  Ask anyone who knows me.  I have always longed for that light pinkish color that your lips are.  It is a real drag to have lips that are the same exact color as your face.

* I am accustomed to wearing lip balm or lipstick at all times. (See above.)  I wouldn't call it an addiction in the proper (Carmex) sense.  It's not like it wears off and I have to immediately re-apply, I just apply pretty consistently after eating, brushing my teeth, before going out etc.  During the day, I wear Neutrogena Moisture Shine Tinted Lip-Balm (Sunny) and at night, Isweartogod, it's Bonne Bell Lip Smackers.  I got the mega-variety pack and right now, I'm on Watermelon.

* I remember the following items as *brand new inventions:*

• The Microwave (it had DIALS, for crizzakes.)
• The Walkman
• The Curling Brush (in which my hair got tangled. Daily.)
• The Super-Shiny Lip Gloss (with the roller ball in it.)
• CDs and all of the accouterments 
• Cordless Phones (I remember having a PARTY LINE, whoot?)
• Car Phones (In the bag, remember?)
• Digital Alarm Clocks
• Cell Phones (My first cell phone was the size of my cordless house phone. I saved it and use it as a play item in my office and the kids lose. their. shit. when they see it.  They think I'm kidding.)
• Personal Computers and the fucking INTERNET. (Thanks, Al Gore!) 

* I have what I think is a great attitude about getting older.  I figure that it beats the alternative and so I don't sweat birthdays, really.  My friend's father used to say, 'Well, at least you're on the right side of the dirt,' and not only do I think that's funny, I also agree.

* When I was in high school, I did a research paper on Serial Killers.  And another on Vampires.  I often think back and wonder what the fuck my English teacher thought, as I gave those presentations.  Can you imagine?  If I was in high school today, I uh, think that they might send me to the counselor.  Which is funny to me, seeing as, well--I am a counselor.

* I am not one for either slapstick humor or practical jokes. 

* My husband thinks that 'Phony Phone Calls' are the funniest things going.  He has called me into the room countless--COUNTLESS! times to listen to a phony phone call on the radio.  We've had the same EXACT conversation about it COUNTLESS times. 

The Man: [In hysterics] 'Come here and listen to this.'

Me:  [Sighs. Trudges in. Gives a courtesy listen.] 'I don't find it all that funny.'

The Man: [Wiping tears of laughter away from his face] 'No. Listen.  Listen.  He's going to pretend to be the manager.'

Me: 'Um. Yeah.  I'm going to go finish scrubbing the toilet with my own toothbrush.'

The Man:  'You don't know what's funny.'

Me: [Leaves, muttering] 'I know you look funny.'

* A friend of a friend used to make prank phone calls to strip malls (plazas, if you're from the mid-west.)  They'd call a store, pretending to be from a store down the way, and ask to borrow their vacuum.  They would spin a yarn, folks, and convince the poor [sap] innocent Copy-Paper-Seller that she had to BRING the vacuum TO them, for whatever reason.  And then?  They would watch from the building across the street, as The Mark left the store, vacuum in hand, to do a good deed for the day.  Is that funny?

* I am older than my husband.  My sister is older than her husband.  My aunt is older than my uncle. My Grandmother was older than my Grandfather and my Great Grandmother was older than my Great Grandfather.

Winners!

Wow, you guys!

Having that contest was a lot of fun and gave me quite a boost, which was a nice counter-agent to the bit of blogsickness* that I've been feeling lately.  It's nothing too serious, just like 'What the hell is this blog and what am I doing here?' You know, wha-EVAH.  I don't want to talk about it a lot, because it makes me feel a little like, erm, 'You mean to tell me that your kid's sick and there's an important-slash-historical election going on and you're wasting time thinking about this kind of bullshit?'

So, yeah.  Not so much on the talky.  Hem.

Onto brighter things!  Like Winners!

I say Winners, plural, because The Winner! Swistle! had a decided fragrance-preference.  No fruity fragrances.  Check.  So, the second winner is Megan of Bubbalicious (Guess what you'll be getting, Megan?) Can you smell the Lime?  And the Coconut? 

And then?  How about a little story to cheer you up if you're a little down?  Or just to warm your heart, if you're not down?  (Oh, so gotta ease up on the caffeine in the AM, eh?)

So, my 2yo Nephew who is the light of my heart, was singing his version of The Oscar Song (Grouch, not wiener).  In his version, the chorus goes like so, 'Oh, I love it. Traaaash.'  One day, I heard him singing over in the corner of my house.  He sang, 'Oh I looooove Tatie' (that's what he calls me. Tatie.)

AWWW.

The cutest thing ever, right?

Just after he finished that line, came this one:

'Oh, I loooove it. Poooooooop.'

*sigh*

*(Term totally stolen from Swistle. Completely conincidental, BTW.)

Finally. (It's About Time)

Hey!

Remember a HUNDRED YEARS AGO, when I told you all that I was going to have some Free-Bay Give-Aways? It is quite possible that you don't, given that approximately HALF of my readers have not returned from summer vacation. (YET. I'm sending people to their IP addresses as I type this.  Just as a reminder.)

Anyway.

In lieu of actual CONTENT, allow me to introduce The New Girl's First Official Free-Bay Win-Something Contest. (Hmm. Maybe all my readers aren't still on vacation?  Maybe they like actual CONTENT?) 

Here's how it works.  If you LIKE FRAGRANCES and thus, you are NOT typically an 'I like only FRAGRANCE-FREE options' person, enter today's contest. [Edited to add: I should say that I'm not talking about fragrances, proper.  I'm talking more about products that contain a component of fragrance, if you will. Like, say, hand lotion or whatever.]

And to make me feel better about the INCESSANT! and CEASELESS! you-tubeage of the Sesame Street Characters over here, please, as your entry, tell me this:

What is your kid's latest repeat-ad-infinitum-obsession?

P.S. OH, I LOOOOOOOVE TRAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!

P.P.S. You know, as in Oscar.  Not as in, I'm sending you trash and calling it a give-away.

P.P.P.S. Well.  It isn't TOTALLY trash.  The give-away.  It's just, you know, I'm the Fragrance-Free Option person.

P.P.P.P.S. 'C' IS FOR COOOOOKIE, DA'S GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME!!!!  YUMYUMYUMYUM!

Bored. Or, Boring. Or Perhaps, Both.

When I was in graduate school, I had many classes that were about feelings.  It's an oversimplification, of course, to say that the classes themselves were about feelings.  I didn't take, like, 'Sadness 101', or 'Basic Bitterness'.  But there is tremendous overlap, as you can imagine, when you're studying the structures of the mind/emotions between what's a typical-average-regular-healthy feeling and what's atypical-out-of-the-ordinary-pathological feeling. 

My working theory is that there is a range, a continuum of the subjective experience of emotions and that quote/unquote 'pathological' emotions are just 'regular' emotions that are experienced to a degree that impinges on a person's ability to function freely.  (Also an oversimplification and a generalization but you get the basic idea, no?)

All of this hoo-haa is just background anyway.  What I want to tell you all is this:

I'm bored.

Not in the grand, philosophical, 'My Life Is The Same Everyday And I'm Unfulfilled' sense.  In the concrete, temporal, actual 'I Ain't Got Shit I Want To Do Right Now' sense.

Right this minute, I am bored.  BORED.

I sat down to write and all I could think about was how I had nothing to say.  Because?  I'm BORED.

And then I remembered this one professor who used to answer patients' complaints of Boredom with their lives by asking, 'Well, then, why are you boring?'

I know that this might make him sound like a prick but you'll have to trust that he was not.  While he worked with functional adults and was more confrontational/provocative, in style, than I am (most often), the point is an interesting one.

I admit, when I was a greener-than-green graduate student, I didn't really 'get' the point.  The more we discussed the feeling of boredom, the concept of boredom, the more sense it made. 

'Boredom is an expression of anger.'  'Boredom is passive aggressive.' 'Boredom is holding back.'

The question, 'Well if you don't like feeling bored, then why are you boring?' is meant to put the control and the power back where it belongs.  With the 'feeler.'  Those who have a chronic feeling of boredom are often living a somewhat stunted life, not fully engaging, not extending themselves or involving themselves in things.  They don't test their edges, remaining within the safe part of the circle but the safety comes with a cost, sometimes.  There's not always a lot to do in there.

I don't know.  I mean, I get it.  We make our own stimulation.  We make our own fun.  The idea of complaining about boredom or going on about it to [the internest] others, it is a bit passive in a way, right?  I'm bored.  Do something to entertain me.

How many times have you heard the 'I'M BORED!' mantra from your older children?  (I'm too much of a newbie with my own kid but I hear it at work. A lot.) And what do you tell them?  Do you make suggestions?  Do you try to find them something to fill their time? 

You know what my mom used to say?

Me: 'I'm bored.'

Mom: 'Go clean your room.'

Me: *Vanishes into the ether*. Off to [write a post about it] find something to do.

Cheaper than therapy, indeed.

Not So Swimmingly.

So, I decided to sign up The Littlest New Girl for Mommy & Me Swim Classes. 

I'll just wait a minute while you let that sink in and finish your chuckling.

The 30 minute classes are held at 9:15.  On Saturday morning (more chuckling?  Fine, be that way.) The first class was yesterday and whoo, boy, let me tell you.  What [a fucking nightmare] an adventure in parenting a Spirited Child. 

Allow me to paint you a picture, watercolor, of course.

Before I get to describing the swim class, let me preface by saying this: TLNG LOVES the water.  She loves the tub, she loves baby pools, and she loves big, in-ground pools.  When I took her to my SIL's this summer, she couldn't get enough splashing in the water.  I'm just saying.

So, before we leave for the class, I have my own swimsuit under my clothes and I pack a bag that's the size of a [body-bag] Army duffel that contains TLNG's swimsuit, towel, swim diapers, ETC.  Because, those swim diapers, they don't hold in the pee, right?  I don't want her whizzing in her carseat. 

The classes are sponsored by the county and are held in a regular gym, with a locker room (read: Quite very not child-friendly at all.)  I put TLNG on the little [nasty] industrial, burlap-covered love-seat to change her clothes and I find?  Poopy diaper. 

*sigh*

I clean her up (I had a changing pad there, mostly to protect her shitty ass from the nasty couch) and wrestle her into the swim diaper and her swim-suit and then I turn to put the lock on the locker.  I turn back around, and she's GONE.  As in, GONE.  Now, most of you may know that TLNG is still mainly a crawler.  She takes a few steps in a row every day but it appears that she prefers to locomote QUICKLY versus VERTICALLY, and so when she really wants to haul tiny ass, she crawls.  And over the last week or so, she's taught herself to get off the couch/chairs/whatever, by going backwards, feet first.  With great aplomb.  And, apparently, with the quietness.

I figured that she'd gotten off the couch and crawled around the bank of lockers.  Uh. Not so much.  WTF? So, I leave the locker room and there she is, about five feet away, headed out toward the front desk.  I mean, I didn't think anyone stole her but it was a strange feeling to look around and not see your kid anywhere, so my heart was pumping a little bit and my vision became really focused on seeing her little ass.  But somewhere in my recollection, I spied several people in my peripheral vision.  And they were all watching a lone kid, hauling ass out of the locker room by herself.  Mm-hmm.  They, too, were chuckling at the little crawl-away. (P.S. I already KNOW.  I'm so severely fucked when she can walk, folks.  I KNOW.)

I wrangle her back into the locker room and attempt to disrobe, to no avail because when I put her down, she started cackling and 'ran' away again, in the other direction this time and I had to run to grab her, before she made it out to the pool without me.  To make this long post a little less long, the class starts (after I had to take my clothes off beside the pool, with everyone there *humiliated*).  There are two (2) kids in it.  TLNG and a child I'd like to call, 'The Most Pleasantly Compliant Child In The Entire Universe.'  Kay?  See where we're headed?

From the minute I got into the incredibly warm, comfortable water, TLNG started growling, 'MAHMAH. MAAAAHMAAAH. Weh, weh. MAAAHAMAAA.'  While, our friend, TMPCCITEU was all, 'Weee!' Well, not really, because she didn't make a fucking PEEP.  She just smiled and splashed and kicked and laid down in the water and played with the toys and sat on the noodle and ALLLL that.

*sigh*

My girl looked at the noodle?  And she took her little hand and pushed it away.  Twice. A NOODLE!  What kid doesn't love a pool noodle?

Anyway. 

I tried doing the very same things that we did all summer in the water. Forget. it. 'MAAH MAAAH.  MAAAAH MAAAHH.'  It was maddening.

Finally, exasperated, with 5 minutes left to go, I turn to TLNG, on my hip and I say, 'Are you ready to go home now?'

And she says, without missing a beat, 'YUP.' (Seriously?  WTF is up with the YUP?' She's fifteen months old.)

And then?  Get this:

She turns to the swim teacher? 

And she waves bye-bye.

Just like that. 

Looks at me, 'Yup.' Turns to her, 'SEE-YA!'

*sigh*

We have music class on Tuesday.  LERDHELPME.

At least I don't have to get undressed for that.

The State Of Affairs

The Hair: No grays.  (And yes, yes, I know that I color my hair.  But you need to TRUST that it's been long enough since I went to the stylist and [my wicked long roots are in] my natural color is evident.  And not gray.)

The Face: A few laugh lines, not bad.  A deeper crease between my eyes (I've bought several tubes of [face acid] age defying whatever and it seems that I lack the basic stick-to-itiveness to make it work.  It's the same with the teeth whitener.)  My skin is still a little mottled, with darker freckles, since the pregnancy.

The Mouth: Light lines around the mouth.  Three crowns on three molars that had ginormous fillings when I was a kid.  I notice a line on my upper lip that appears to be from repeated pursing of the lips. It is a vertical line, the same kind that my grandmother had. The kind that acts as a channel and allows the lipstick to escape.  Very don't like.

The Neck: A wee bit crepey.  A wee bit.

The Upper Arms: I don't have that weird older-lady upper arm yet.  You know the one where the shoulder joint is evident and then where the shoulder muscle is, there's a little lumpiness there?  Even if they're really thin?  I don't have that yet.

The Boobs:  The girls are doing surprisingly well, I'd have to say.  Given their later-in-life career change.  But really, for working boobs, I'd have to say not-too-bad.  Although, I don't ever remember worrying if my nipples were even before.  That's a new one.

The Belly: Still a little poochy.  The belly button never regained its previous, erm, smallness.  That's a little strange.  Inside, the digestation situation is pretty undisturbed.  Raw onions bother me and green peppers 'repeat' on me, just like a regular old guy.

The Repro Organs: Still seem to be functioning.  At least I think so, as the PMS has only gotten WORSE AND WORSE as I've gotten older.

The--Erm--Business:  Pretty much healed over and back to normal. 

The Butt: A little bigger than I'd like, but not droopy or anything.

The Legs: Saddlebags notwithstanding, they are all right.  None of those twisty purple veins or anything like that.  Some little broken capillaries and my old friend, cellulite.

The Feet: OMG, the FEET!  I am TOTALLY getting corns.  Corns!  I've been taking the file-down thingamajig into the bathtub with me.  *sigh*

The Joints: I have some cartilage whatever going on in my knees.  I have the one trick knee that I've had forever, it cracks all the time.  My joints are a little more sensitive, it seems.

My Attitude: Not that different from when I was in my 20's, really.  But if I'm honest, I'd say that the last three years have been blustery and blistering.  Searing lows and crazy highs and overwhelming adjustments.  And not a whole lot of sleep of which to speak.  And that's always been hard for me.  As a result, I'm a little shorter than I'd like to be, a little snappier (Sorry, The Man!)  Most of my NICE goes to the baby.  But I think I'll bounce back.  I'm still me underneath.  Optimistic and grateful and hoping for the best.

And there you have it.

The State Of Affairs, on this, my 40th birthday.