Clarified

I'm always thinking of new ways to torture my girls. My best ideas, the ones that get the biggest reaction, are making them shower and making them brush their teeth. Those two unreasonable requests barely hedge out wearing clean clothes to school and brushing hair before you leave the house. I know, I have no compassion.

Saturday, I decided to push my luck just a bit more, and decided to do a clarifying treatment on everyone's hair. The only willing participant was Cinderella. After all, she had been convinced by an actual expert that doing this was a great idea. Despite the weeping and wailing, we had great results. Soft, shiny, incredibly clean hair and grouchy, picked on girls. Yes! (Imagine me doing a tremendous fist pump in the air.)

This is what we did:
+Mix one package of Kool-Aid Lemonade with a big squirt of Clarifying Shampoo.
+Put this mixture in your hair, and let sit for twenty to thirty minutes.
+It's best if you wrap your head in a plastic grocery bag to prevent dripping, like so:+Rinse out the Kool-Aid mixture.
+Put a good heavy duty conditioner on your hair, and let sit for ten to twenty minutes.
+Wrap your head again.
+Rinse the conditioner out of your hair.

If you have a few girls in your house, I would wear gloves (the lemonade stripped the moisture out of my hands) and a sturdy pair of earplugs. It was wonderful, for at least one day, for all of us to have clean, soft, and shiny hair. The girls then resumed washing their own hair, which leads to varied results. It really depends on whether they run out of hot water while dancing and singing in the shower before they rinse, or not. Or if they even remember to shampoo.

Pink

I've decided if I really want to seem young again, I need to have a colored laptop to carry around. The color I am choosing is pink. I'm picking pink not only because it's the most common color you see at the campus where my husband works, but because I could get it FREE! From 5 Minutes for Mom. You can go over there and enter yourself, but I wouldn't if I were you. It will be kind of hard for you to pull off the pink computer if you don't have a matching retainer. (Although, you can pick a silver or black one---Boring!)

Age Schmage

I went last week to Cinderella's orthodontist and got a miracle device. When I put it on, the good doctor said, "How does that feel?"

and I said, "I feel like a teenager!"

and he replied, "Yes, I thought you looked fifteen years younger."

And I think I do:


At least my teeth do. That's pretty much all that does. And soon, they will be back to perfectly straight like they were when my parents paid loads to make them that way.

The retainer's pink with gold sparkles (I spared you that picture) and sort of sneaky to wear--like wearing your fanciest underwear under your sweats to run to the grocery store. Nobody knows the bling is there. Although, I haven't done that underwear trick for years, which is probably part of the reason I felt like a tricky teenager again.

My disillusionment only lasted a few days, though. Shortly thereafter, I went to the store and bought this:


Minus the Clearasil (which is for Cinderella, but, unfortunately, I need it too), this shopping trip made me feel ancient. Polident denture cleaner (for the new retainer), Positively Ageless moisturizer, and All Bran wafers that have 40% of your daily fiber needs, which I found in my grocery store in the section labeled "Elderly Care". Nice.

My New Future Plans

Yesterday, I had the privilege of sitting in a room of teenage girls, listening to their chatter. It's Prom week and they had a lot to say. Most of the girls had a dress already and described them to their friends, or showed the picture on their phones. They asked advice about how to wear their hair and where to get it done. They questioned each other about what to have their date wear and where to tell him to get the flowers. Were they wearing wrist corsages or pin corsages? What were they wearing after Prom? Where would they go to dinner and what were they doing before the dance?

I sat there in shock. I listened, and as they talked, I became more and more terrified of having three teenage girls in my home at the same time. I think we will move to a remote part of Canada when Cinderella turns sixteen and is allowed to date. This will accomplish many of my new future goals.

• Live somewhere that is freezing cold so the girls want to wear a coat and sweater all of the time. No strapless tiny squares of silk for us, thank you very much.
  
• Live somewhere where it is nearly impossible to find a teenage boy that has time to date girls. If the area is remote enough, everyone will need to walk uphill both ways in the freezing snow to get to school. Plus, all the boys will need to help out on the Christmas Tree Farms they live on.
  
• Live in a place that is big enough for me, but mostly King, to have enough space so that he can get away from the girls once a month and not have to actually move out of the house. A big farm ought to do the trick. No animals, but plenty of outbuildings to house hormonal teenagers.
• Live somewhere where there is no cell phone service and people haven't heard of Prom Magazine.
• Live somewhere where the weather is so lousy it ruins your hair so even doing it isn't worth the effort.
  

The only problem with this plan is that it is quite possible that one of my now melancholy teenagers may meet a vampire and fall in love with him. At least I've read about that happening before.

Another Headache Post

I saw the neurologist on Thursday last week. The medicine I've been on for the last four weeks or so that is supposed to help prevent my migraines hasn't helped much. He thinks it may help a little, but it's too soon to tell. It doesn't feel too soon to me--it feels like I have been doing this forever. So, I am staying on this medicine, but he cut the dosage a little so I don't fall asleep in my breakfast bowl. He thinks an additional medicine is in order. Both together, on low doses, will supposedly help.

What kind of new medicine? Well, remember the medicine the neurologist doesn't like to put "young girls" on because it makes them fat and their hair falls out? Well, that would be the one. And, since I have already gained six pounds in six weeks as a side effect of the medicine I'm on now, ask me how excited I am to start this new one--I dare you. But, I should warn you, I have a baseball bat under my bed, and I'm not afraid to use it.

This is my doctor's last resort and then he is done with his "bag of tricks" and would send me to a headache clinic for further help. I don't know about you, but my idea of a good time does not include living in a hospital and getting experimental I.V. drugs. I don't feel like a headache clinic is right for me at this time. So, I have decided it is much better to gain weight and have my hair fall out than it is to live with a migraine every day and great hair (which is what I am pretending I have now.) The other side effects, so far, don't seem too bad, so we'll see how it goes in a few weeks. (By "not too bad", I mean I can get out of bed and mostly walk in a straight line, so that's good.) I still have a headache every day, but hopefully that will change.

In the meantime, I'm working on my new book. Look for it on bookshelves near you soon: Fat and Hairless, But Finally Painless: My Journey from Headache to Heartache. It should be a real page turner. ;)

Covered Thighs and Cotton Eyes

Friday night, King's work party went better than I'd planned. I ended up choosing slacks instead of my fancy skirt, because I hadn't shaved my legs for too long. Nobody needed to see that, with or without fashion. I made lemon bars, and the boss said they were her favorite treat ever. Fantastic. I'm betting the person that made the divine chicken salad or the bringer of the supreme humus dip were kicking themselves for not being as inept as me. Too bad for them.

I looked well enough to have an exquisitely dressed lady chat with me for a minute. I'm sure she was wondering why my shoes didn't have heels until she found out I was a stay-at-home mom. She was excited to find out I spend most of my time at home, and explained her observation that kids whose mom's stay home with them are usually smarter, and congratulated me for teaching mine. She's obviously never met my girls, though. (I'm kidding--the girls are super smart and would have astounded her with their broad range of insults they can fling at each other. The latest one being, "You are being a witch, only spell that word with a 'b'" which was retorted with a sarcastic, "Ooooooh, I hate being a wit-bah, you are so mean. I think I'll cry myself to sleep now!" See what I mean? Such clever girls.) :(

Saturday morning, Cinderella and I went to a modesty fashion show and hair-care day. Cinderella participated in the fashion show, and we learned lots of stuff about hair. Including the fact that lemonade Kool-aid and shampoo mixed together are just like a Malibu treatment to clarify your hair. We are so buying some Kool-aid to try it out--our well water has so much iron in it, we may all come out with different colored hair after a good clarification. Cinderella also now wants ten other hair products to make her hair perfect. They all cost about twenty dollars each. It's a good thing she's getting that $3 a week allowance tonight (minus the $1.50 for not practicing piano--oops.) She should have enough to buy the shampoo the stylist suggested by summer's end. At least she'll look fabulous by the time 7th grade rolls around, anyway.

After the fashion/hair deal, it was out of town again for Sleeping Beauty's second dance competition. She had a great time and Snow White and I enjoyed watching her dance. We would have liked a lot of the other groups, too, had we not been scraping our jaws off the floor because of their scantily clad bodies. I'm just glad we were there for the day of groups that are twelve and under; I've heard that a lot of the older girls are less covered and more developed. If you have a son who is invited to attend a dance competition, my suggestion is to not let him go without a blindfold and a very cold shower. Ick.

Look how adorable our girls were, though. We're so grateful to have a dance teacher who thinks little girls should still be little girls, and dress like it, too.



Saturday, they got a gold level score and tenth over-all for their rousing 'Cotton-Eyed Joe'. Sleeping Beauty was the lucky gal to go up and pick up the trophy. They were thrilled.
It only took her twenty minutes in the shower to scrub off all the eye make up so she didn't look like a raccoon for church on Sunday. Speaking of Sunday, that's the day I started another new medicine for my headaches--but that's a whole other post, which I hope to get done in the next day or so. I also hope to put up a clip of the girls dancing and Cinderella being fashionable on my private blog for the grandmas and aunties.

That's pretty much our weekend news. We live exciting lives, don't we? :)

Pick Your Faux Pas

Tonight, King has a work shin-dig. More of a "thank you, boss, for being such a great person, now we will have a token get-together to celebrate your fabulousness and wish you well in your future endeavors that don't include this sorry lot" thing. The instructions are simple: bring a companion, come from 4:30 to 6:30, dress casual, and bring an hors d'oeuvre. Sounds fun, right?

Well, it would be if your husband worked with normal people. But, mine does not. He works with actual fashion designers and legitimate chefs. This does not bode well for me. What exactly does "dress casual" mean to a fashion designer? Perhaps this? Or, maybe one of these?

None of those really fit my "jeans and whatever t-shirt is clean" wardrobe plan.

And, then there's the food. I had to actually look up how to spell hors d'oeuvre, so it seems that actually making something that passes as a fancy French word is probably beyond me. I picture the chefs looking down their noses and thinking, "I think she actually bought yogurt to put in this dip. Who doesn't make their own yogurt?" And let's not even start thinking about what they'd think if I just bought something already made. From Wal-Mart. Shudder.

So, I think I'll just throw caution to the wind and put on my fanciest skirt, a button up shirt, and make a dessert to share. Then, I can claim that I never saw any instructions, and instead of questioning my wardrobe and food, they can wonder if I really know how to use a computer. Or talk to my husband. Or read. Somehow, that's better...


I really have problems.

Not that this post is your first clue, or anything.

Bemused Brother

Yesterday was my baby brother's birthday. I called him to wish him a happy day, and talked to him for a little bit. I shouldn't really call him my baby brother, since he is twenty-three, and his wife is expecting their first baby in a few weeks. We talked about the baby and the way his life will change. We talked about the new mommy, and the new crib. Since we live nearly two thousand miles away from them, I requested he email me a picture of the mom-to-be and the newly remodeled nursery.

"Okay," says he, "Text me your email address."

"It's (blah, blah, blah)" says I.

"I'm driving, just text me."

"Well, I don't have text on my phone."

Silence.

And then, "Uh, what year is it again?"

"I know! It's 2009! But I don't have anyone to text."

"Except me, apparently," he laughs.

Well, that's a very good point.

Time Travel Tuesday--A Day at Grandma's

Cue deep, important, echoing voice..."Ladies and Gentlemen, today we go back a bit in the past and bring you our first ever "Time Travel Tuesday". (I know it's a pretty clever way of posting something that happened a bit ago, but I stole the idea, from my sister.) As part of this time traveling experience, you will be seeing pictures that have not been edited, and details that have been cut down to fit. The author of this blog is not responsible for any bouts of dizziness or nausea during time travel."

On Spring Break a few weeks ago, we stuck around here and did some fun things. We spent time with friends a few of the days, Cinderella sewed, and on Friday, we spent a day at Grandma's house. Not our grandma's house, they both live too far away, but a grandma's house nonetheless. Our friends invited us to go to their grandparent's house and be "workers", filling eggs for their super duper egg hunt they do every Easter. We were excited to help, and spent the day with them. We filled about eight hundred eggs. You think I exaggerate, but, I do not. I personally counted several of them as they were filled, and I assure you, there really were more than eight hundred.The girls made quick work of filling the eggs, and even had time for some chips, drinks, and Goldfish crackers. What's a trip to Grandma's house without a little junk food?It was a beautiful Spring day, and the girls eventually made their way outside. The favorite mode of transportation was the car, but in an effort to pay it's riders back for repeatedly running it into the fence, it's battery died. Then, they switched to scooters. Eventually, even scootering took too much energy, so they started using Grandpa's thing-you-roll-around-to-fix-the-car (I know it must have a real name, I just don't know it.) They loved pulling each other around on this thing. It nearly gave Grandma a heart attack, though. She was so afraid someone would get hurt. They also got in some coloring with sidewalk chalk. They had so much fun, my girls decided we needed to "adopt" them as extra grandparents. I'm okay with this, but haven't really figured out how to break it to this nice couple. I guess they'll probably figure it out on Friday when I drop all of the girls off with their sleeping bags and pillows for a sleepover.

Cue announcer voice..."This now concludes our travel back in time. Please watch your head as you exit the DeLorean. Thanks, and have a nice day."

Behind the Ball and the Tale of the Limerick

You know how it seems like everyone you know is on the ball and you're not? I think everyone feels that way at one time or another. This week has felt like that to me. Not only am I not on the ball, I'm quite a lot behind it. It's been a busy week, and, unless you're new here, you know that sometimes my body doesn't keep up with all that I need or want to do. This post is a quick attempt to catch up on a (very) few things.

So, remember how I was in that limerick contest over at Diapers and Divinity? Well, thanks to you (if you were kind enough to vote for me) and Steph for declaring two winners instead of one, I have the coveted space on the side of her blog. And, she sent me chocolate. Which is just about the best thing anyone could do, am I right? So, anyway, here is my winning limerick about attending church meetings with not one, but two, squirrely toddlers.

My twin girls climb all over the place;
Now my dress is undone to my waist.
I guess that’s why Bishop
Looks like he might throw up.
Wish this closing song had a quicker pace!

Sadly, it's a true story, and one that the bishop and his counselors on the stand are sure to never forget. Poor guys. Here's the longer version of the event, if you dare to read ahead. (Warning: this tale is not for the squeamish or anyone who has figured out how to keep toddlers quiet during Sacrament Meeting and thinks everyone else should, too. If you fall into the latter category, why are you wasting time reading this blog??? You have a fortune at your fingertips. Write a book and sell it for millions!)

SB and SW were just over a year old. Cinder was three, and I, well, I was tired. We were visiting my parents for a few weeks, and I had brought two dresses to wear during our visit. I had worn my black skirt and shirt twice to church already, and to a wedding, and a party, so this particular Sunday morning I decided to wear my button up shirt dress. I hadn't worn it for almost two years, because I was pregnant, and after the twins were born, I preferred skirts and shirts that did not button.

(You see, nursing twins at the same time is not only practical and quick, it's also tricky and not too discreet. Button-up shirts are an added frustration because then not only are you baring your chest to two little ones, but everyone else in the room also. And, forget about any blanket being discreetly placed over your two sweet ones and your babies. That would just be too easy, and at least one of the girls (I mean my babies, not my breasts) would complain.)

So, this dress. I prayed it would still fit. It was my best dress. Not because it looked good, but because it did not wrinkle and could be thrown in a suitcase or a basket of clean laundry for weeks and still come out looking fabulously pressed. And, lucky me, it still fit. I was quite thrilled, and continued my preparation for church excited that the "real me" was back. The me who did not have a parasite clinging to the inside or outside of my body. It felt fantastic.

We made it to church just on time, and, of course, mom and dad had chosen a bench right near the front. Knowing this was unwise, but not wanting to cause a scene, I sat down with them. If my parents wanted to show off their granddaughters, we'd show them off alright....with a commotion at the front of the chapel that would start when the snacks ran out and end with the 'Amen' of the closing prayer, or when someone (hopefully two of them) succumbed to slumber.

And so it began. The circus we call "worshiping in Sacrament Meeting." We all know it should be called "resource management, creative leadership, and try-outs for the wrestling team, sprinkled with a few moments of hearing someone speak into a microphone about something you wish you could remember." And, this day was no different. The twins kept crawling over me between Dad, who had the books, and Grandpa, who had the fruit snacks. I was just grateful for my parents' four extra hands to help out and had even caught a few words of the sermon. Until I looked down at my lap and realized that my slip was showing and three buttons on my lap were undone.

I quickly re-buttoned, and tried to think how the girls had managed to undo my buttons without me realizing it. A quick glance to the left and right assured me that no one else saw my undress, as they were all focused intently on the speaker (I'm pretty sure none of them had children.) Then, I tried to once again do the same. It was harder to focus, though. The climbing over and around me continued, but the girls were mostly quiet, and I was grateful. As the meeting was coming to a close, the climbing hastened and the sound increased. We wouldn't make it much longer without some creative leadership, so I set SB on the seat next to me, and leaned over to grab the big guns: Smarties.

As I leaned down, I realized that from the waist up, all of my buttons were undone. All of them. And hanging out were my girls (yes, that kind this time) covered in a well-used nursing bra that was stretched, ugly, and possibly a little bit see-through. I was mortified, and my first thought was, "Who saw this?" My second thought was, "I seriously need to go bra shopping." I quickly looked up at the stand, where right in front of me sat three men who were busy looking anywhere but at me, sweating at their collars, and all turning the delicious color of bright red beets. I was mortified, and quickly joined their face makeovers. Although, I'm quite certain that mine was a few shades darker than theirs.

Needless to say, I don't know what happened the last few minutes of the meeting. I do remember feverishly feeding candy to one of my one-year-olds and the mad dash out of the chapel as soon as the closing prayer ended. If I never see one of those men again until after I die, I am sure that will be too soon. Incidentally, that was the last time I wore that dress, too.

So, the moral of this story is: Don't take two toddlers to Sacrament Meeting. Okay, that is not really the moral, but I won't tell you it never crossed my mind. The real moral is probably: Test drive your clothing you haven't worn for two years in the privacy of your own home. And, pack more Smarties in your church bag.

Now, if you've made it this far, you deserve a prize. I'm sorry you had to read about the condition of my nursing bra ages ago. But, I did give you fair warning. And speaking of Diapers and Divinity, (okay, I know that was paragraphs ago) I have "joined" Steph's online General Conference Book Club. Each week we will read one talk from the previous General Conference, and then comment with our thoughts or inspirations as we have studied it throughout the week. I love it because there is no potential for embarrassing clothing moments. Follow the link to the GCBC here, and join us if you'd like. This week, we are studying "The Power of Covenants" by Elder D. Todd Christofferson. I must say I learned a lot last week with everyone's comments, so even if you decide not to join in reading, it's worth it to head over and gain some insight from the comments from last week as we studied Elder Holland's talk on the Savior's last moments of life.

And, while there is still more to catch up on, I am tired of typing, and if you are still here, you are tired of reading. So, until another day....