Miguelina

Everyday Treats: Color of Hope

This is a compensated review from BlogHer and L'Oréal Paris - but the compensation isn't why I agreed to review the Color of Hope collection. No, really. Pinky swear!

Ten years ago, I was a product manager at L’Oréal and that, I admit, is part of the reason why I wanted to be a part of this program. Not because I have a soft spot in my heart for the company (which I do - it was a fabulous place to work) but because I made some of my best friends while working there.

One of my closest friends while at L’Oréal is the reason I’m participating in this program.

READ THE REST OF THIS POST HERE...

Still pregnant. What else is new?

Thing is, when I started writing on the internet I made a conscious decision to make this site about myself and nobody else. I started writing online when I found myself home with my first baby, not quite alone but needing an outlet that would leave more of a permanent record than a phone call or conversation. So I made it about me. Sure, I mention other people -- especially my children -- when it's relevant, it's not like I live in a vacuum, but I choose to tell MY stories. Maybe it's selfish, maybe it's not authentic. I keep reading that a true artist is supposed to mine the lives of the people in their life, but in this place? I choose not to.

I'm 100% fine with that.

Problem is, sometimes I have no stories to tell. The past few weeks are a perfect example of that. I've been majorly (and I mean MAJORLY) pregnant, but I don't have any of the first time mom anxieties to share with you. This is my third pregnancy after all. It's not as much fun to tell you about rearranging the same baby boy clothes I've seen twice before. I guess we could buy new clothes, but really what's the point? I know better by now.

Nesting has also been different this time around. My house is pretty clean (thank goodness), so there are no middle-of-the-night bathroom tile scrubbing episodes to share. The nursery is ready, having just been vacated last week (when my two year-old figured out how to do a flip out of the crib into the extra bed in the nursery -- once my heart stopped palpitating wildly I moved on to training him to sleep in his big boy bed, which is no small feat, but something I'm too tired to talk about right now.) I'd wash the sheets, but the baby will be in a bassinet in our room for the first few weeks anyways, so what's the rush?

The one thing that you could call "nesting" is that once my mom arrived to hang out with us and help us with the baby, I was finally able to tackle all the yard work that has been killing me all summer. I took a huge pair of clippers to our yew hedge, and with the help of my mom trimmed those suckers down. That felt good. Well, it felt good spiritually, but physically it killed my back. Unfortunately, it did nothing to accelerate labor.

Sigh.

(This image is from June. The belly is at least twice as big by now. And growing.)

Everyday Treats: Super WHY!

I had the opportunity to attend a media event for Super WHY! a couple of (or maybe three) weeks ago and I have been remiss in telling you all about it. I don't know why, because we're huge PBS and WGBH fans at this house, as you can probably tell by the picture below:

One thing I can't claim to be is a fan of children's television. Don't get me wrong, my kids watch TV -- how else would I get dinner on the table?

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A Plumbing Mystery

I was in the shower the other morning trying to wake myself up enough to make some coffee when I heard what I thought was the hum of a ride-on lawnmower. Then I realized it was Sunday -- the one day out of the week that the landscaping trucks don't descend on our street so it couldn't possibly be that -- but it was early and all I could come up with was "huh?"

(Aside: Why don't the neighbors agree to have all yard work done on the same day? Must every outdoor activity be marred with the sound of landscaping crews? We have like 3 weeks of summer left - or rather, summer is already over, if the abundance of scarecrows and pumpkins at the Christmas Tree Shop is any indication - so perhaps this is a project for another day.)

Anyways, the mysterious noise. It was a rhythmic sound, tinny and persistent, not really the kind of thing that should cause any alarm, but it was so out of place that I actually turned off the water to get a better listen.

That's when I freaked the hell out, because once the water stopped I realized that the vibrating sound was coming from the pipes. The shower head and pipes, to be exact. The pipes were shaking, even after the water was turned off.

Visions of possible electrocution danced through my head. A plumbing disaster was surely imminent, and here I was soaking wet with a head full of soap.

"HOOOOONEEEEEEY!"

"What?"

"Come! Take a look at the shower!"

"Why?"

"JUST COME!"

My husband came in, stopped for a minute, and asked me if I heard that strange noise.

"Of course I hear it and I don't know what it is...OMG, we need to call a plumber..it's Sunday morning the bill is going to be huge!"

A plumbing mystery is a fantastic way to start a relaxing Sunday morning, in case you can't tell.

We could only stand at the shower door for so long. We had to do something. My husband unscrewed the shower head but the mysterious noise raged on.

"Should I call a plumber?"

"Not yet."

"What if the pipes are about to explode?"

(I'm nothing if not good under pressure.)

"No."

"OK, let me take out the shower caddy so you can play around, but I'm going downstairs and calling a plumber. This is too serious to mess around with."

"We don't even know what 'this' is. How do you know it's serious?"

I ignored him and slipped the shower caddy from the pipe..thing..you know, that thing that comes out of the wall and connects to the shower? And that's when the mystery noise stopped.

Awesome -- until I realized that the shower caddy in my hands was vibrating.

"Oh. Ooooh!"

Apparently, I had accidentally turned a vibrating object on (it's not what you think)* when I put a bottle of conditioner on top of it.

Oops.

*People! It was this. I TOLD YOU it's not what you think.

(Perverts.)

Illustration Credits

Notice anything different?

I spent a few hours procrastinating yesterday and cleaned up things around here. It's still a work in progress, but I'm quite happy with the results so far - everything is clean and neat -unlike my actual house.

I did my own (very) simple banner - based on an illustration by the very talented Alma Loveland, who made the banner for my neglected style site. (I have plans to relaunch soonish.) Alma has been nothing but gracious and professional and I highly recommend her work.

After I did the banner I decided to clean up my sidebar a bit. I settled on buttons instead of word links to help people subscribe to the blog and find my Twitter stream. I spent a good amount of time looking for just the right buttons (procrastination is an art I've mastered, my friends) and of course I didn't find anything suitable. So I made my own, with the help of generous souls who have created illustrations and distributed them freely online.

I don't steal words or pictures from the internet which, sadly, makes me an anomaly, but I do things old-school. I give credit where credit's due. I also want to pay it forward, so I thought I'd share my buttons with anyone who wants them. Just be sure to give credit, OK?

Enjoy!

• My RSS button is adapted from the Ojingogo RSS icon - Isn't she adorable? I added some text, mostly to make myself laugh ("take me to your reader..." Ha! I crack myself up!) There are two versions to choose from, and I've included the code to make things easier for you. Just be sure to replace the words ADDYOURFEEDHERE with your feed address (keep the quotation marks) and you'll be all set!

Get Button

<a href="ADDYOURFEEDHERE"><img src="http://i271.photobucket.com/albums/jj146/roxsar/RSS.png"/></a><br><a href="http://diary.blogs.com/the_diary_of_a_reluctant_/2009/08/free-rss-twitter-buttons-code.html">Get Button</a>



Get Button

<a href="ADDYOURFEEDHERE"><img src="http://i271.photobucket.com/albums/jj146/roxsar/takemerss.png"/></a><br><a href="http://diary.blogs.com/the_diary_of_a_reluctant_/2009/08/free-rss-twitter-buttons-code.html">Get Button</a>

• My simple Twitter button is adapted from the free image found here - I simply changed the color and font to suit me better. Replace YOURTWITTERNAME with, well, your twitter name, and the button should link to your Twitter stream.

Get Button

<a href="http://twitter.com/YOURTWITTERNAME"><img src="http://i271.photobucket.com/albums/jj146/roxsar/Twitter.png" /></a><br><a href="http://diary.blogs.com/the_diary_of_a_reluctant_/2009/08/free-rss-twitter-buttons-code.html">Get Button</a>

The Cape

I've always lived near the beach, which means that I pretty much took sand, warm water and palm trees for granted. Until I moved to New England, that is. Now, in this land of the eternal winter, I crave nothing more than a sipping a mojito while listening to steel drums, or in a pinch, Jimmy Buffett. Because, as any tropical beach bum will happily tell you, kitsch is an important part of the beach experience.

Massachusetts has its beaches - Nantucket and the Vineyard, and of course Cape Cod - but we've always escaped to Miami to get our beach fix. We felt the beaches here were too boring (there are no palm trees to be seen!), the dining too full of fried foods, the cost too exorbitant, and the weather too unpredictable to really make for an enjoyable beach vacation. I wanted my boys to have the memories that I had - of playing in the turquoise water, finding sand dollars and ducking jellyfish frying on the sand, of drinking water straight from coconuts. But I'm too pregnant to even consider going to Miami in the summer, and we never quite got our act together to fly anywhere so we were forced to plan a beach vacation here or make do with the sprinklers.

We booked a last-minute vacation and drove down Rt. 3. And then a funny thing happened: We fell in love with the Cape.

The boys didn't see any sea horses or dolphins, but they hunted for crabs of the hermit and not-so-hermit variety.

Instead of lying on hammocks strung between palm trees, we made our way to the beach on boardwalks over dunes and lush vegetation.

We were never guaranteed full sun, but it didn't matter to the boys. They still had fun digging holes that would get them "all the way to Australia!"

Instead of bougainvillea, there were beautiful blue hydrangeas everywhere.

We were surprised to show up at the beach one day during low tide and find that the waters had receded past the sea grass, making the beach twice as big and allowing the boys a peek at what lives under the beach rocks.

As I sat on my beach chair, enjoying the cool (yes, cool!) breeze and watching my boys splash away in the distance I realized that their childhood memories of the beach will be very different from mine.

That they will remember gray cottages and charming town main streets instead of colorful beach huts and endless miles of warm tropical sand.

That they will probably learn to appreciate fried clams instead of stone crabs.

I'm OK with that. Because while the kitsch may be different up here, the relaxed vibe is the same.

And that is what summer is all about.

Things People Have Said to Me This Pregnancy, In Order of Decreasing Awesomeness

"This is your third pregnancy? You don't look like you're old enough to vote!" (Thank you butcher man. Thank you very much.)

"Do you think the baby can feel my kisses? I like kissing the baby." (From big brother, say it with me: Awww...)

"Call the baby Winnie...Winnie the Pooh-pooh head! HA HA HA!" (From big brother as well. He's taking it well, obviously.)

Grocery store manager as he calls for an employee: "Open a lane for this lady, we don't want her to have this baby here!" Then he winked at me. (The wink? It didn't help. But I got to skip the line, suckers!)

"Oh my God. You look like you're just ready to pop! When are you due? Any minute, huh?"
"October."
"Um, well, you look woooonderful!" (Too many strangers to count. Why would you ask a stranger her due date?)

Random lady: "I'm a little psychic. Your fourth child will be a girl."
Me: "Ha ha haaaa! Fourth child! That's funny!"
Random lady (looking hurt): "But I can feel your daughter! She's waiting for you in heaven right now."
Me: "FOURTH child! Haaaa...good one."

"You're having ANOTHER boy? Poor you." (Rot in hell, asshole.)

"I guess you were trying for a girl and failed!" (Seriously: What. The. Hell. Is. Wrong. With. People?)

And my favorite comment of all, because I like to end on a positive note:

"You can't have enough men loving you! Well done!"

Ain't that the truth.

Joining the Minivan Elite

(No, it's not just you. I can't believe I just typed that either.)

I drive a pretty big car -- A Honda Pilot.

(OK, I guess it's an SUV.)

I hate driving big cars. I hate parking them. I hate filling them up with gas. However, I have a growing family -- one with a car-pooling preschooler, a cute toddler, and that will soon include a third child who needs to be in a car seat. Did I mention that we're tall people? We are. As much as I hate to admit it, I need a bigger car.

At this stage of the game, I'm left with limited options. I could buy a crossover (with captain's chairs in the middle row so that we can actually reach the third row) or I could buy a minivan.

Just writing that makes me want to grab a gin martini and play some Nina Simone, but I can't do that because I'm pregnant. So I sit here on a Boppy (for the sciatica) sipping my mango juice and humming "Mysterious" by The Backyardigans, writing about how I'm too hip for a minivan, and yes, I do get the irony of the whole thing.

Anyways.

The only crossovers we could find were made by Chevy, GMC, and Buick. Notice a trend? Yes! They're all by General Motors! The company that's bankrupt for making unreliable cars? I've always bought boring old Japanese cars, and I can honestly tell you that the only times I see a mechanic is when I take the cars in for oil changes -- every couple of years or so. (Shh!) I have no desire to start a relationship with a mechanic a this stage in my life, but because I have an open mind, we went to GM dealers to check the cars out.

Have you been inside a car dealership lately? It's very, very depressing.

However! The scruffy Chevy salesman still had the balls to tell me that the Chevy Traverse is a great "girl car" AND then he took my husband out back for a little talk, about what, I don't know. Probably about how "girls" aren't welcome at Chevy dealers? And, hey! Let's take a look at our shiny Camaros? My husband kept looking back at me nervously, because he knew I was pissed AND he knew that it was over. Because I'm a mean "girl."

Despite all of this, we went to a GMC/Buick dealer. The Buick Enclave is a pretty nice looking car. The GMC Acadia is exactly the same, but a little less attractive. I asked the salesman which one of the two models would survive GM's reorganization.

He didn't know.

I asked him if the Enclave came in Diamond White.

He said that all he has is the one they had in stock, take it or leave it.

I snorted.

He said he was serious, because the factories were shutting down for the summer.

And that was the end of that.

So! Off we went to minivan-land. I live in New England, so I have to have 4WD or I will not leave the house for six months. That leaves one choice: The Toyota Sienna.

We go to the "largest Toyota dealer in New England!" and tell them we want to test drive a Sienna.

He tells us we're out of luck.

Turns out, there's a waiting list to even buy a minivan. They're sold out until the fall. Let me repeat: MINIVANS ARE THE HOTTEST VEHICLE OUT THERE. You can wave all the cash you want in their faces, and they can't sell you one.

So I can't have one. And of course, that means that now I really want one. The sliding doors! The remote entry! The storage!

What has happened to me? Help me.

Rainy Days

I know of people who are inspired by rainy days. I'm not one of those people. It's been raining non-stop since...I can't even remember, and it doesn't seem like it will let up anytime soon...so I quite literally have nothing to say.

No, really. I'm not kidding. Talk to you later...when the sun's out.

You Are What You Eat...

So of course most of us are nothing more than a (patented) ear of fake corn.

I can't wait to see Food, Inc -- even if I'm incapable of watching a movie in the theater without eating fistfuls of popcorn and Milk Duds. You know, together. It's caramel-popcorn-chocolate nirvana.

However, I do believe in honest food labeling. I hate "food products" even if I will eat them if I have to. Call me an elitist if you want, but I think McDonald's is a sad substitute for a backyard burger with fresh tomatoes and lettuce. It simply doesn't compare. So this is the most excited I've been about a movie in ages. I just hope my fellow foodies don't mind my Milk-Dud-and-popcorn habit.