It Can Help You Look Younger, Too...

Got my hair cut and colored the other day. As usual. Cut about an inch off. As usual. Left feeling rather glamorous. As usual. Then, on the very next day, looked almost like I never went. As usual.

But, this time I did think to ask for some advice on how to make my hair look less dry and my hairdresser (who never pushes anything on me) asked what shampoo I use.

Me: Ummm. Well, not really anything in particular.

C: No?

Me: No, I actually just buy whatever smells the best to me at the time.

C: At the grocery store?

Me: Yup.

C: Conditioner?

Me: Sometimes. When I'm at my mother-in-laws because there's some in the shower. Or sometimes I'll use Ross' 2-in-1 Head & Shoulders. I think that has conditioner in it.

I'm such a lost cause.

Anyway, I came home with a new bottle of shampoo and a new bottle of conditioner. Bought directly from my hair salon. $15 a pop. (Gasp!)

Ross came home that night and gave me the usual thumbs-up on the day-of hair do. I shared with him that I got some advice on my hair and was optimistic about what was sure to be my new shiny, healthy hair due to the amazing shampoo and conditioner I had just purchased. Yay, me!

Ross: Just what you need, huh? More products.

I laughed. Because, there could be absolutely no possibly way that he was serious. And maybe he was.

I'll let you be the judge.

Here below you can see my extensive collection of shower products.

Note my exciting new shampoo and conditioner. Body Wash is made by Dove, probably cost $2 and has probably been sitting in the same spot in the shower for a month because I lost the loofah. Aforementioned H&S shampoo is not mine.

And here, on the left side of the middle shelf of our medicine cabinet is my complete make-up collection. Really.

Again, note the staggering array of high-cost brands including such notables as Bonnie Bell lip gloss and Maybelline mascara. Rodeo Drive, here I come.

And finally, my additional "vanity items" - Oil of Olay, Ralph Lauren Romance perfume and Dove deodorant. Right Guard, of course, is his. Anything left of the Oil of Olay is "ours".

So, there you have it. I certainly may be high-maintenance in other ways but products?! Ha. I will not be branded with the Scarlet P. Nope. Not me.

Bring on the $15 shampoo. I think I deserve it.

I Scream. You Scream?

So, it's become clear to me that yes, I am, in fact, a screamer. I've become one of those Moms that I never really thought I'd be or at least I hoped I wouldn't be. But, nonetheless, the fact is that, when push comes to shove and the rubber hits the road and all hell is breaking loose (look at that, three coloquialisms in a row) I am...in fact...a screamer.

And, apparently you know you have entered the inner sanctum of my life when I allow you to witness the full mental breakdown that leads to the event of my banshee-esque screaming. Today, for example...

My beloved almost-five-year old (he long ago stopped calling himself four) had been out of the house almost literally all day long. School, extended for lunch and play with a new "girlfriend" (she's from Norway and Will apparently takes after his father), no afternoon nap, home for about 20 minutes then off to a swimming playdate at the Y and dinner with his best friend, CJ. And CJ's nanny who is a-w-e-s-o-m-e. I adore her. And I have total envy of my new and wonderful friend Mo, who employs Sarah's services and, therefore, exposes her children to DELIGHTFUL play on a regular basis. (As an example, Will made a pickle pizza last time he was at CJ's house. How cool is that?)

Anyway, Sarah is kind enough to allow the Schieffers to be family #2 and she helps us out as much as she can. We do regular play-dates at the park. My boys love her and can't wait for the next time we go out but they hope we DONT go out with CJ's Mommy and Daddy because that means they can't have Sarah all to themselves.

Now, fast forward to 6:45 this evening when Will arrives home. I haven't seen the kid in what seems like weeks and, as I rush to the door to greet him with visions of hugs and kisses, I realize quickly that he could, clearly, care less. Instead, he saunters past me on his way to, no doubt, ensure that his pesky little brother hasn't had any fun while he was gone and to make DAMN sure that said fun stops...now. Up the stairs goes Will. I greet Sarah who wants to discuss (god bless her) when she can take him off my hands YET AGAIN for a sleepover with CJ.

30 seconds go by. Max. John wails loudly from upstairs.

Me (medium voice): Hey guys? Play nice, ok?

Conversation continues with Sarah.

10 seconds later.

Will: NO, John, that's my Bakugan!

John wails yet again. I picture the hands on the shoulders shake Will is undoubtedly giving John.

F-ing Bakugans.

Me: Will! Stop!

Smile at Sarah. "Sorry." She understands, of course.

12 seconds? Maybe?

More cries. Louder now. Conversation with Sarah is drawing to a close. But not before she hears the quiet fraying sound of...what was that? Oh yes, my last nerve.

Me: Will Schieffer, I swear if you don't keep your hands to yourself this second I'm going to come up there and you. will. be. SORRY!

Sarah: Ok, well let's chat tomorrow.

Sometimes I wonder what differentiates the good Moms from the bad. I sure as hell hope it isn't volume.

Why I Might Go Eat a Pizza...

You know when you lose so much weight that suddenly you look in the mirror and you notice that your body has shrunk so much that your head looks HUGE?

Yeah?

Well, that's not happening to me.

Weight Watchers tells me that over the last four weeks I have lost 3 lbs and 8 oz. Or, roughly 3/4 of a pound per week. For all the g-damn cottage cheese, steamed veggies and fiber crackers? 3/4 of a pound a week?!

Annoyed.

Devil Just Come On Back, If You Ever Want to Try Again..

About nine years ago, I was a little nervous to meet an old friend of my then-boyfriend (now-husband) who I had heard a lot about. Fun stories mostly, nothing really intimidating, but he was really the last of Ross' close friends that I hadn't met and I wanted to make a good impression. We were meeting up (with others) at a bar in Fanueil Hall and while I could get myself there today, I have no clue what its name might be.

Anyway, long story short, he gave me the thumbs up. But not because I was good to Ross or because I came from a good family. He approved of me because I could sing (and did sing) every word to "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" by the Charlie Daniels Band. With that on my resume, he figured I was cool enough to hang with his buddy.

I love that song. Love it. L-o-v-e it. Preferably played very loudly.

And there have been many and various knock-offs of this classic that have all, in my opinion, fallen flat. Nothing even entered the CDB stratosphere.

Last night I watched the CMA Awards for about 15 minutes. And, to be honest, I watched them because I was bossily not going to let Ross watch another minute of Fox News in my presence. So, I pretended that I really wanted to watch the Country Music Awards when, frankly, I could care less about them.

But during those 15 minutes we were introduced to the Zac Brown Band. And we witnessed this. Then we rewound and rewatched. Again. And then again. Three times. And, now twice this morning. Just makes me smile. Awesome.

So Sue Me...

So, I've recently learned that some nincompoop parents decided to sue the Baby Einstein company because they were angry that the videos did not, in fact, make their children smarter. And these idiots won. And now we lucky parents can walk right back into our local Walmart and return these "worthless" videos for a full refund. Are you kidding me?!

I get it that, yes, the company certainly should not make such claims if they are not going to be true in all cases. The parents who decide to drop their child down in front of Baby Einstein so that they can sneak a cigarette on the back porch, share a few extra vodkas with their spouse or catch the tail end of Judge Judy will be sadly disappointed when little Charlie doesn't finish up his forty-two minutes with Baby Monet and head out to paint the next "Water Lillies." So, I'll give you that the company's claims were baseless and that perhaps there are, sadly, thousands of parents out there foolish enough to really believe that they could cross "educate" off their childcare to-do list for the day with a video. The company should never have said such things as the videos alone clearly can not teach. And, I suppose, that makes it worthy of a lawsuit.

Sigh.

But those parents who actually remain in the same room with their child while they watch and actually talk about it now and then? I believe that those parents, more likely than not, do see that these videos can expand little minds even if just a bit. I absolutely love it that when my 2-year old hears classical music he smiles and says "Einstein!" So, he doesn't recognize that it's Bach versus Beethoven, he loves it. It makes him smile.

Will picked up some sign language from Marlee Matalin on Baby Wordsworth. He gave me some giant belly laughs when we'd do "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" to Baby Da Vinci. I also got some of my best educational (yes, educational) toy ideas from these videos. Toys that were Will's that have become John's that they regularly play and enjoy together.

So, I'm pissed me off. It makes me crazy that Julie Clark now has to give back any portion of her multi-millions to these lazy-ass, lawsuit-toting morons who go after a company like Baby Einstein and call themselves good parents for doing so.

And, frankly, I hope Julie is sitting back in the palatial mansion she likely bought a few years ago (when a little, know-nothing company named Disney bought the majority stake in Baby Einstein) and laughing it all off.

Have a drink on me, Julie. I'm keeping my videos.

Mirror, Mirror on the....hmmm. Where IS that thing?

On Tuesday and Thursday mornings, I'm solo. Both boys are at pre-school and it's truly a great time to schedule all the stuff that's just easier to do without kids. You know...grocery shopping, maybe a pedicure, my own doctor appointments, cleaning the house, folding laundry. So, today I went to Target after drop-off. Wandered around, found what I needed (and, as usual, also found more than I needed), then stopped at Dunkin Donuts for a coffee on my way home. Came home, unloaded the car, called my friend Sara, answered email, looked at Facebook, installed a couple booster seats at the kitchen table and then, while replacing washcloths in the boys' bathroom, it happened.

I looked in the mirror.

And, I had a raisin in my hair. Right over my right ear. And it had undoubtedly been with me since I carried John into school.

WTF? I actually carried this freakin' raisin around in my hair for the last two and a half hours?! In public?

Which made me contemplate the fact that, at some point in my married / Mommy life, I pretty much stopped looking in the mirror. I mean, of course, I look in the mirror when I need to. Brushing my teeth, drying my hair, etc. But, other than that? Nah. Not so much.

We were given a beautiful tiled mirror as a wedding gift that was generously purchased by my boss from a store in Marblehead that I covet called Comina. I can't even let myself go in for fear I'll spend $100 on a napkin ring. And when we received it, it seriously may have been my very favorite wedding gift. Finally unpacking all our pictures the other night (we moved in July but whatever), Ross noticed the mirror was missing.

Me: Oh, yeah, we have that. I unpacked it a few weeks ago.

Ross: So, where is it?

Me: It's on the floor of my closet.

And, I think I probably stopped looking in mirrors somewhere around the time that I decided my go-to sleepwear was the set of polka dot pajamas I bought at the local Big Y Supermarket.

Poor Ross.