A Thousand Words Thursday: He's BAAAACK!

What you can't see in the shot is the gatorade dripping from his mouth, while he's rolling around on the ground, extra loopy from unadulterated, blissful, ski-induced exhaustion. 

Now remind me... Why, exactly, did I miss him so much?!

WW: For Those Who Enjoy Watching Paint Dry

Just when you thought I couldn't get any more boring, shallow and self-absorbed, I present to you: Root Watch 09. Yes, I have made the not-very-well-thought-out decision to grow out my 'real' hair. You all know how I agonize about every single aspect of my hair, and it is dragging me down, man. I am determined to address each follicular concern and solve them permanently, so I can focus on more important things, like which purse should I buy next (Spring is almost here, people!). Having come to terms with wearing a chin length bob for the rest of my days, it is now time to focus on color. 

I haven't seen my natural color since I was 13. That's the year I wielded my very first bottle of Sun In, with hideous results. My mom thought it best to remove the orange, so she coated my head with a color-stripper. Well, my friends, not only did it remove the orange, it removed the brown and the red and the golden blonde... I had completely white hair. And, well, the rest is history. I have been every shade of every color, including jet black during my "alternative" phase in college, and I am quite curious about the actual color of my hair.

Of course I should be very thankful that I actually even still have hair, given the torture I have put it through, and leave well enough alone. But I believe that beggars CAN be choosers, therefore I am moving forward with my little experiment. I suppose I should make it clear that this, in NO way, means I plan to stay with my natural mousy/salt/pepper disaster, once it has been fully uncovered. I just want to see what it is, exactly, I am really dealing with. 

Anyway, this picture was taken this morning, approximately 8 weeks since my last dye job. For all you waiting on pins and needles, I will try to keep you updated monthly. Unless I get too bored (or too depressed) to continue and run to the drugstore for my favorite L'Oreal natural brown #6A. I am feeling very committed, and I know I will find plenty of love, support and finger-pointing here in BlogLand, so let's get this party started!

And, of course, if I had Angie's gorgeous red hair, this wouldn't even be an issue. 

TT: One Hot Mama

So, apparently my "What Am I Wearing?" post generated quite a bit of interest from some of you men (and a couple of you gals). I have to say, it was unexpected, but I'm quite flattered. So, today, I present to you a close up version of the photo that you all found so sexy. Don't look if you don't have time to take a cold shower immediately after... 

Yes, I do realize I am blessed to be the custodian of a little gift from God, the Viking range. But no, I don't use it to it's potential, whatsoever. It was in the kitchen when we moved in, and at the risk of losing any potential endorsement deal with Viking in the future, it is sufficient. It heats my chicken nuggets and frozen pizzas just fine. It hasn't turned me into a chef. It hasn't made cooking so fun, I gave up reality TV to spend time in the kitchen. But it does what it's supposed to do, and I certainly can't (and won't) complain. I will say that I do enjoy having a gas stove, because it gets the job done quickly. But I think that is true with all gas ranges, regardless of make.

I will point out, just to reinforce all perceptions that I am completely incompetent, that the far left nob is missing, and has been for approximately 2.5 years. 

Now it's your turn. Surely you can find something to declare adequate in your life! Tuesday's Tribute awaits!

Yet Another Jay and Deb Production.

Six Word Saturday

Since I can't think for myself these days, I am jumping on yet another bandwagon. This one caught my eye last week, and I really like the idea. It's called Six Word Saturday, hosted by Call Me Cate, over at Show My Face. The idea behind it is quite profound, and when I can put enough thought into it, I'd like to come up with a six word sentence to describe my life, like the people did in the book that inspired this game. For now, I will go with what's on the top of my head...

Beside Myself...Son Skiing in Canada

Pretend your verbosity is being held hostage by a stark raving maniac (Call Me Cate would be said maniac), and play along!

The Moment You've All Been Waiting For... WAYW

It's official... I'm not in my pajamas! I have the photographic evidence to prove it. I do want to thank Tiaras & Tantrums for motivating me. Two weeks in a row in PJs would be simply unacceptable. Even I know that. So, without further ado...

Here is the whole look. Not spectacular, but sufficient. I can't wait to hear what CaJoh has to say about my kitchen this week.

Gap Essentials jeans: $58 maybe?

Tan (Gap) RECYCLED (I'm not sure how, but I believe them) sweater: ON SALE $14.99. 

Target scarf: $8

Rounding out the whole mess are my new, wonderful, don't hate them because they're Uggs, boots: $169. They aren't the classic Uggs, worshipped by teen girls everywhere, but a slightly more sophisticated version (at least that's what I am telling myself).

Next we have a close up of a rare occurrence: my ears with earrings in them. These are my favorites, made by my lovely, gifted friend Ann, over at Beadiful Things. 

And finally, a shot before I walked out the door. It is very cold, so I had to throw on a hat, even though, with my short hair, I look like a boy. A haggard boy, at that. And while I will be the first to admit I have the baggiest under-eye bags, they are usually a little more under control. They are extra puffy because of my illness (which, for the record, has been narrowed down to a cold or SARS). If anyone can photoshop them out, and maybe thin out my face a little, please see me after class.

There you have it, folks. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go assume the fetal position with a carton of ice cream, where I will remain until my 15 yo big boy comes back from Canada safe, sound and un-arrested.

My One and Only

I noticed a few of you participated in some sort of "spouse guest blogger" deal. Please... I can tell you right now that if I were to unleash that beast, the result would be one of about 4 or 5 posts. Or perhaps an evil combination of them all!

1) shameless self-promotion of home improvement projects completed 

2) urgent plea for help in convincing me he needs a 67 Vette

3) pathetic cry for sympathy for living with someone as tyrannical as myself

4) external validation of an outfit he put together for himself, that he's really just so tickled about

5) reminder to leave lots of comments about how great he is (he loves those!)

No thank you. 

However, I did see that one of Mama Kat's prompts was to describe the most attractive quality about your spouse. So maybe I'll give that one a shot. At least this way, I am in the driver's seat.

My husband puts our family first...no matter what. He actually likes being around us (which is beyond me!). He doesn't do the whole "guys' night out" thing, he doesn't disappear to go play golf on Saturdays, and anytime he cooks up something fun to do, it always includes all four of us. Sometimes it drives me nuts that if he's just running down the street to pick up dinner (because AGAIN, I'm not cooking), he wants me to come along so we can spend time together. But really, I am so lucky that, after all this time, he still enjoys my company! Don't get me wrong, we aren't constantly engaged in deep, thought-provoking discussion. Sometimes, we just sit on the couch, TV on, kids running in and out, while we both stare at our own laptops (romantic, huh?). But we would both agree that there is no other place that we would rather be, and just being with each other is quite fulfilling.

I know this sounds seriously boring and simple, but it is such a reassuring feeling to know that no matter what, he is here for our family because he wants to be. Or at least he did, up until I exposed his vulnerabilities to you all (see above)!

There's a thousand other things I could write about him that would probably be a lot more dazzling than what I chose. But isn't it the little things that make the biggest impact? Plus, I don't want you all to be too terribly jealous! 

I love you, Pook!

Thanks to MamaKat for inspiring us all with her Writer's Workshop. I do realize I am a day late, and perhaps many dollars short!

Comfortably Numb

*author's note: to the obviously large number of germaphobes visiting my blog, please IGNORE the fact that my child (that was attached to me umbilically for almost 9 months) and I shared the same bottle of moonshine. In our moment of desperation, cross-contamination was not a concern!

 

My Beans has been sick all week. Today he was well enough to hopefully fly under the school nurse's radar. I've been sick, too, as you all know. Since I am slowly feeling better, I have decided it is probably not lung cancer, but I am not ruling out meningitis OR bird flu (thanks, Kel).

But today's post is not about my acute illness, it is about an addiction I share with my Beans. I don't know if I should feel guilty for possibly passing this down to him genetically, or because I have been feeding his (and my) habit for years, with no plans to stop. Just call me Crack Mama.

So let's all pretend we are sitting, without judgement, in a circle, in some church basement. I'll get the ball rolling...

My name is Debbie, and I am an Afrin addict. I have passed this addiction to my son, and feel like I have no way out. The first time either of us feel a stuffy nose coming on, we head for the magic elixir. We don't mess around, either... It's Severe Congestion Afrin WITH Menthol, or nothin', baby. I know I sound unrepentant, and perhaps I am. Maybe I am not ready to shake this monkey from my back. I know my son's not. 

He was lying prostrate on my bed yesterday, using his cell phone to text me in the other room, as he was too weak and sick to come get me, or raise his voice to holler for me. 

B: does we have any afrin, madre? (for the record, he does know this is illiterate sounding, but somehow thinks grammatically incorrect texts are funny)

Me: yes, beanie

B: da good kind?

Me: no, beans. only generic

B: can u go 2 the store n getz some extra-strength afrin?

Me: sure

B: wit menthol?

Me: good lord. yes, ok

B: and sum pudding?

Me: k

B: don't forgets da afrin 

Me: right. go to sleep or i'm taking you to school.

I get home from the store, and he sees the Afrin and literally starts singing a weird, little joyful ode to menthol Afrin (creative, yet disturbing). He snatches it from me and squirts it in each nostril without flinching. He lets out a sigh of relief and lays his head gently, and happily, back on his pillow. Very nonchalantly, I take the bottle from him, go into the other room and take a couple of hits off of it, myself. Ahhh... there's just nothing better than an open nose, nostrils burning sweetly from the menthol. Who doesn't like to breathe through their nose?

Does it sound to you like we may have a problem?