Lori's Blog

Pony Pictures

There is nothing better about Preschool tradition than Pony Pictures. 

 Perry Ann took them in 1998.  The picture still sits on my kitchen counter.  And now I get to add Gracie's Preschool pony picture.  I love pony pictures!

That's My Girl V

Gracie has a new habit of asking me what kind of treat I brought her when I pick her up from school.  Many days I forget to bring her something so I hear her wrath all the way home.  The treats are generally a fruit roll up from the cupboard or a sucker I picked up at the bank.  Some days I check her lunch box to see what she hasn't eaten and then play if off like the baggie of goldfish was her planned treat all along.  She is still young enough to fall for it yet I suppose I should be concerned with her demand for treats on a daily basis.  I'll cross that bridge someday but for now a quiet ride home at the end of the work day is worth any stinkin treat she wants. 

So the other day at pick up I was so happy that I did have a treat for her.  Licorice.  I had transported the Trunk N Treat candy that was donated at church on Sunday to the office on Monday morning and a few pieces of wrapped licorice fell out into my trunk.  Score!  I have 2 days worth of treats for GG... or so I thought.  Turns out my precious little pumpkin is a little more picky than I had expected.  She does not like licorice.  I do.  Score! 

But now I faced an unhappy ride home, one I did not want to deal with so I did not hesitate to stop at the store and let her pick out a treat.  Her choice - a blue raspberry flavored push up pop.  It took her forever to suck that thing down all the while turning her teeth and tongue the most amazing color of blue-ish green.  I brushed her teeth three times and then resorted to shoving a wet wash cloth in her mouth to scrub her teeth and tongue clean.  I took a picture of the tongue because I could not believe how bright the color was.  She proceeded to pose.  Enjoy.

 

 

 

 

 

Eat Pray Love

I just finished the book Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.  I saw her on Oprah and, though I am generally anti anything Oprah, I decided to read it.  The story is based on the authors life which includes dumping her husband, a bitter divorce, taking on a boyfriend and a guru and then taking a year to eat her way through Italy, pray at an Ashram in India and learn to love again in Indonesia all the while searching for God, her version of who she thinks God is. 

 It is neither sappy nor romantic which are my first two prerequisites for anything.  She is witty and crude which I like in a woman.  It is a good book.  A fun adventure. The interesting thing is that I think Dan was not terribly happy about my reading the book.   He won't admit it but I know my man.  We know their "tones",  right girls?  We know what our men are talking about when they make the slight gestures of disapproval.  I think he thinks that it will inspire me to question my current existence and put thoughts in my head of far of places. 

If a book could do that to me then my reading Pamela Andersen's biography should inspire me to boob jobs, bikinis, tatoo's and "home" videos.  Pretty sure that is not going to happen.  Have you seen how much a boob job costs these days? Then again the home video could pay for it. Hum.

I do want to eat my way through Italy but I would not want to do it with anyone other than my man.  I was told by my doctor that I should do some yoga but I don't feel the need to travel to India to do it.  I can't get my tush to the yoga class down the street.  I would love to visit Bali, but again, I want it to be on a second or third honeymoon with my hubby. 

So the next book I read will be a little more conservative, just to put Dan at ease.  Any suggestions?  I hear the Barefoot Contessa has a new cookbook out.  Perfect.  This will prove that a book can't inspire me to follow it's path since I am quite sure I will not be running off to the kitchen to cook.

Coffee and Chocolate

I have this habit of forgetting to eat breakfast.  It is not that I don't love to eat, I do.  Our mornings get so crazy since I always wait until the last possible minute to get up or get going and I have, unfortunately, trained my children to do the same.  So we are always rushing.   I do find the time to make a pot of coffee and love, love, love to drink a few cups as we are getting ready and in the car. 

Yesterday was no different so as we were rushing I had two or three cups of coffee and no breakfast.  Once I got to work, I only had a few minutes to get to our devotion time and then rush to my MAP (Mothers with a Purpose) group.  I was late to MAP so I only had time to grab a cup of coffee to satisfy my hunger.  Then it was so cold in the room that I grabbed another cup of coffee to warm me up. 

As MAP is ending, it is 11:30 and I still hadn't eaten but I had a bag of dark chocolate kisses.  I tore into it and probably ate half the bag without even breathing.  There, my stomach felt full and off to my tasks of the day. Until...

2:00 pm  rolls around and I feel a horrible rumbling in my stomach.  Horrible.  Awful.  Painful.  I then realize what happens when you drink 4 or 5 cups of coffee and only eat dark chocolate all day.  I won't go into the gory details but it does involve my intimate encounter with a slew of public restrooms. 

Chalk this one up to experience.  I wouldn't let my kids eat only chocolate all morning so why do I?  But I also would not let them squirt the whipped cream in the aerosol can directly into their mouth and I have been doing that daily since last Friday.   I think I may need a sugar intervention. 

As a side note:  Lori Jo Q and I did go to Subway thinking a sandwich might absorb some of the fermenting fudge but the damage had been done.  And I don't think the smashed pea and barley soup from CPK and the bites of PA's chocolate souffle cake and Dan's red velvet cake that we had at dinner helped either.

I Wear Maternity Underwear

So what?  They are comfortable.  I am not talking about the stretched out kind that extend over your belly.  I am referring to the bikini briefs.  They ride low in the front just like Jockey or Hanes Her Way but they have just the right amount of material in the back.  I am a Mom of two kids and I like pie.  I need just a little extra coverage back there. The key feature is that they don’t ride up.  They stay in place so you’re not constantly doing the panty pinch or having to go full throttle down the back to push them back into place. I do experience VPL, so they are not designated for tight pants.  Perfect for shorts or generally loose fitting pants or when I really just don’t care.  No, they are not sexy but honestly…how sexy do I have to be to work part time take care of a three year old and a 14 year old, do occasional laundry, occasional cooking, occasional dishes, occasional…you get it. Sexy undies chafe.  They get stuck and then how sexy is it to have to pull them out, nonchalantly while you are at the park or the grocery store.  I head down the pet aisle.  There never seems to be anyone on the grocery store pet aisle so that is my designated g sting retrieval safe location.  I back right up against the big bags of puppy chow and go for it.  Who needs it? I have my stash of Victoria Secret goods for the occasions that call for it.  But everyday wear is just not my style.  Until…

A few Sundays ago at church I had a weird allergic reaction to what I thought was my new detergent.  As I was setting up I started getting really itchy all over.  I have had ugly reactions before so Dan went to CVS to get me some Benadryl real quick like and I started stripping what I could.  I was wearing one of PA’s dresses with pants and a t-shirt underneath so I took the pants and t-shirt off and just wore the dress.  The problem was my undies had been in the same wash that the pants and t-shirt had. No, I did not go commando. I was about to run home and change when my dear friend Amanda Tongg, like magic, pulls a new pack of Hanes Her Way undies out of her bag of tricks.  Just so happened that she had heard my maternity undie story and felt inclined to purchase me a pack of 7 no-ride bikini brief panties in assorted colors and had them with her that day.  She not only saved my life but help convince me that regular undies can be very comfy and not ride up.  I can now proudly say “I wear regular underwear”.  This will also save on the awkward occasions of going to Motherhood Maternity to buy a new pack and going into my detailed story when they ask my due date.

Lady Looks Like A Dude

My family has hair issues.  We always have.  My Mother will tell you we got it from her Mother and I am sure the blame would go up the family tree from there but the fact remains we are serious about our do's.

When I was in the 5th grade I got a "Dorothy Hamill" hair cut.  She was an ice skater  in the 1976 olympics and her short hair cut was all the rage.

   

She looked sassy and cute and when she did her triple axel it was as if her hair followed her movement perfectly and landed right back into place as gracefully as she did. 

  

 The problem with my having a Dorothy Hamill is that not only was I not graceful, I was neither sassy nor cute.  I just looked like a boy.  

The complex comes from an unfortunate event that took place at the neighborhood Naugles restaurant now Del Taco on Riverside Dr.  I was just being polite and respectful when I held the door open for an older couple as they were leaving.  My Mother had always taught us to open doors and give up our seats to adults, especially older ones so I was just doing what comes naturally.  Then it happened.  The complex forming event...  As the lady crossed over the threshold she turned toward me and said "What a nice young gentleman, holding the door for us".  I looked at her and said "I'm a girl" but she kept walking out.  

Now this was in 1977ish, and the lady did grow up in the 40's/50's-ish right? So I am thinking that only men and boys held doors in her era and though bras had been burned by '77, she was still living in the past and really she just assumed I was a boy due to the door holding...right?  

That's what I thought until last week when after coming from a hair appointment where I went a little shorter and a little darker a box boy at Stater's brought it all back to me..."would you like paper or plastic sir".  Yep, he called me sir.  When I turned toward him and gave him a look of disbelief, he literally jumped backward, eyes bulging and yelled " Ma'am, I mean Ma'am".   Didn't even pretend that he meant ma'am but said sir like he does it all the time.  No he jumped and he yelled.  What makes it worse it that I really can't explain it away like on a Thursday at 11:00 am tons of men are at the grocery store.  No men in sight....he really thought I was a sir.