Random Thunking

Things I'm pondering on today:

Kids
As wonderful as they are, they can say some pretty hurtful things to you. Teenagers are an all together different breed because, they can say them with with pinpoint accuracy. Things like, "You never graduated from high-school." And I don't mean in a proud way like, "Look at you, mom, you never graduated from high-school and you are doing so well." Noooo. More like, "Who are you to tell me anything?!! You never graduated from high-school!!!!!"

And we encouraged you to speak at an early age why? Of coarse, within minutes of spitting bitter words they expect you to be loving and kind to them. Which you should. But it is really, really hard. And I fail at it pretty consistently.

Bills
Ignoring them (or forgetting about them which is really ignoring them since they come every month like a period) doesn't make them go away.

Kids
Just when I think all hope is lost and they are complete monsters with no visible likeness of the child I used to boob feed, they surprise me with a glimpse of sweetness and I melt.

Cheap Detergents
Really don't clean as well as the brand name "better" ones. I thought they did. Or I tried to convince myself that they do. The only one I've found that's come close is Purex. Yesterday armed with $20 to my name and a high need for 2 windshield wipers and laundry bubbles, I had to get the least expensive detergent available. I sniffed them all (customary) and decided on a purple bottle of I don't even know what it is called. Bubbled nice, smelled OK, but worked... eh. I prefer Tide, but hate paying for it.

Cell Phones
I really like it when stores have signs that ask people to put away their cell phones when in the check-out line. I find it highly annoying when someone is yakking away on their cell phone and the cashier is trying to catch their eye, not look annoyed at the other person's impotence (back away from the cell phone for a a minute, would you). One step further on the cell phones? Those stupid bluetooth things. My goodness. People wear them while coaching soccer games, eating dinner, grocery shopping... and probably sleeping, too. Is it really necessary? I mean, really?

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Free Tea Samples (U.S.)
Enfamil Sample (U.S.)
Viactiv Supplement
Prego Spaghetti Sauce (click on "get offer")
Dove Cream Oil Body Wash

Curly Hair Hair Cut and Hair Care

Hair pictures, shall we?

This is where I started, before the fiasco (similar):

You saw where I was after the first cut. Below is where I wanted to be (similar) after the damage repair cut was finished:

I took her the example pictures above from this site.She studied the pictures and went to work. This is what she came up with:

You can see I don't have my bangs pulled forward. I'm not accustomed to bangs at all but I probably should be with that big ol' forehead of mine. I should try it forward jussa see what it do.

Like I said, all went pretty well. I'm satisfied with my haircut. I'm not screaming from the top of the trees that it is, like, my mostfavoriteeverIloveit, but it will do. And it is a base for future cuts. I blurred out my face. Call me a freak, but I don't like putting my face out there. I know, I put my kid's faces, but not mine. More evidence of me the Freak. My daughter saw me blurring my pictures out and made fun of me. But whatever. It's about the hair right now. I don't think the pictures are very good. But then maybe it is the haircut that's not very good. Gah!! I just don't stop. The haircut is fine.

Let's talk curly hair hair care. For the record, I use some of the tips from this book:

All curls are different, but I'll tell you what I do with mine to keep them generally happy.

My Curly Hair Care Routine

Day 1 - Wash, rinse, condition (leave conditioner in and comb through with a wide-tooth comb). Leave conditioner one while I do my other showerly duties. Rinse hair, letting it fall naturally, trying not to disturb it too much. Take a dime-sized blob of conditioner and squeeze through hair. Finish shower, wrap in towel and let air dry being careful not to let anyone (husband or kids) put their hands through my hair while it dries (which takes a looooong time) or when it is dry.

Day 2 - I put it up in a ponytail.

Day 3 - Same hair regimen as Day 1, except I do not shampoo. I work the conditioner into my scalp to clean it and rinse, but don't use shampoo.

Day 4 - I put it up in a ponytail.

Day 5 - Back to Day 1 routine and start all over again.

My favorite conditioner (that doesn't seem to irritate the heck out of my scalp and is good for my curls): Cantu. Love it. Wish I could use different kinds, but many seem to irritate my scalp. I think I have allergies or something.

Another conditioner I use and like that is paraben-free: Jason Scalp Balancing Natural Jojoba Conditioner. I really like this one and have had good results with it.

If anyone else out there has curly hair tips or product suggestion, I'm all ears baby. It has taken me years upon years of testing different products, hair-care regimens. I finally have things down to where I'm pretty satisfied.

Crabby Patty Candy

First things first. The hair. Yes, I did get it cut today (recut). She was very nice; thorough. I took her some pictures from this site (thank you Suzanne for the link) for example's sake. She cut it and I think she did a good job. I will not know, really, until tomorrow when I wash and style it proper. I walked out a little poofy (which was expected), but not unhappy and extremely optimistic. It is shorter, that's for sure. But I can still ponytail it. If I couldn't do that I'd probably take to my bed for a good... oh, year.

One of the twins came home with something strange in his hand. I saw it and did a double take. Upon realizing what it was (or thinking I did), I asked him if it was a Crabby Patty (from Spongebob). He nodded that it was.

Strange thing was that it looked like something out of a cartoon. The colors, the texture. The...surreal quality of it. I think he was freaked out a bit at how freaked out I was. Finally after starting at it in wonder, I touched it. Marshmallow. Powdery, sticky, mushy. Dyed marshmallows. There was nothing "real" about it at all. Eat one a day and you'd probably start growing random appendages from all of the chemicals in it.

Dyed marshmallows. Mmmmm. Yummay.

Right up his alley, though, 'cause Lord knows if it is made with sugar and has no nutritional value, he will happily feast on it all day long. Although, in all fairness, I think that he threw this out shortly after the picture was taken.

One last thing. Has anyone out there gone through Lending Tree for a home loan? Feedback in the comments or through the contact page is appreciated.

Lovely Beast

My hairdresser (or, well, The Lady Who Did My Hair) called today. I explained the choppiness of my cut. She was nice, mildly defensive, but it was mostly an undercurrant, or a fragmented. I don't really "do" black hair, and she'd have to see it... not that she doesn't believe me kind of thing, in order to permiss someone else to do it. The girl who could maybe do it instead of her was really booked today.

"OK," I told her. "Well I'll just come in sometime today to have someone look at it at least."

I think she was wanting me to wait, consult with her, have her confirm that someone else could do better maybe? I'm not sure. She wasn't rude about it, but she didn't place any urgency on it.

I again told her that I'd be in today and if she wasn't there, somebody would be and that a manager, someone would look at this head of hair. I think I told her that more for my own sake, though so that I wouldn't let the situation be pushed off anymore than it already had.

The ladies at the desk were nice. They said the Lady Who Did My Hair was not there, they didn't think.

"That's OK. I just want someone to look at it. Manager, whatever."

A woman came out, dye bottle in one gloved hand. I had to look at her for a bit to discern if it was The Lady Who Did My Hair and finally decided it was not. She eyed up my hair. I turned so she could see the back (looks much better from the front). She ran her ungloved hand through it, making comments. Horror did not register in her face, but then that would have probably been unprofessional of her anyway, being that it was her colleague that had done the deed.

"I'm not picky, I just don't want to look like a toddler took to my head, you know?"

She booked me in for Wednesday, said they would not charge me. Shook my hand. The receptionist handed my my reminder card telling me that I was in "good hands" and that this lady had 17 years of experience cutting all and every type of hair; she was excellent. I hope so. It takes special skill to cut hair like this. It takes someone even more talented, though, to fix and already botched hair job on someone with hair like this. Know what I mean?

Anyway. Pictures on Wednesday.

After all of that brutally hard work, I called downtown to Paisans and ordered up a Porta salad.

Salads A la Carte and large salads are served with french or hot sourdough bread and butter. Dressing choices: French, French Blue, Blue, Italian, Buttermilk, Thousand Island, Fat-Free French or Low-Fat Yogurt-Basil.

Porta
Cold, crisp lettuce topped with ham, salami, garbanzo beans, green peppers, Mozzarella and Cheddar cheeses.

I get anchovies on mine. And the Thousand Island dressing. I walked in the door, gave the dude behind the counter my name and order. "Sure thing," He said, digging under the counter. "Love. Your. Hair."

And I. Love. You. For complimenting a momma when she's at her worst. Will you be my friend? My mind, always going before my mouth, wanted me to sputter out, Girl, you don't even know the half of it (turn around so he can see the damage from behind, watch him gasp in horror, suck his teeth do a small head roll as I tell my story)... But I didn't. I smiled and said thank you, wished him a bright and beautiful day, bla bla and walked out with one thing on my mind: devouring the lovely beast in the brown bag.

This is Why I Hate To Get My Hair Cut (Part Two)

Pictures, you say? Why sure. I... well, I'll try (had to take them with a mirror so they're not the best). I let my hair dry yesterday and was disappointed, but not surprised. It was choppy. Not that cool, edgy, funk and hip choppy but a my-kid-got-hold-of-scissors-and-cut-my-hair-in-my-sleep choppy.

I showered and performed my regular hair routine today. Let it air dry. Normal. Ignored it for a few hours. Asked my husband what he thought. By the lack of enthusiasm and huge gap of quiet air before he responded summed it up pretty well.

"It is uneven," He offered. "But isn't that how it is supposed to be? How people have those uneven layer... things?"

"No Frank. No. It isn't even close."

I used a mirror to view the back of my head. Numerous times. Looking, looking. Dwelling. Pouting. Frank told me to call. I know. I have to call. I do. I did. I told them I needed to come in again. They told me the lady who did my hair wouldn't be in until Tuesday. I asked if someone else would, could do it so I didn't have to walk around with chop hair. They said no. I told her that if the lady who did my hair the first time had such a hard time, I was a little scared at the thought of letting her take stab number two at it. She said she'd pass that along.

I totally feel like I'm being a witch about it. But, then, at the same time, I just handed over a lot of grocery money to get my hair butchered. I could have done that mess myself.

Yeah, yeah. I now. Shut up and show the pictures already, right? Fine.

The pictures aren't great (they aren't before and after, just shots from different angles, different lighting), but you can't tell me that someone would want their hair cut like that. That there is a style going on here. Sob.

Why I Hate To Get My Hair Cut

Really what I want is the flamboyant male hairdresser whose main goal in life is to Bring Out The Fabulous In All Of Us. That's what I want. I had that years ago. He was a bit lazy, though. And moody, sometimes doing my hair with only half a heart. So my search for Mr. Right (well, I found the Husband Mr. Right... I just need the hairdresser Mr. Right) continues.

I don't "do" haircuts very often. I hate having my hair cut because it is so rare that the results are pleasing. I have hair that doesn't like to be tamed. A mixture of Af-American and Italian I have a wildly thick and curly head of hair. Yes, I've had it relaxed. For years. Eight years ago when I was pregnant with the twins I decided I didn't hardly have the time to change my clothes, let alone relax my hair. So I stopped cold turkey and let grow out. I had been at least a decade since I had a natural head of hair.

I my last cut was a little over a year ago. One of my girlfriends loved it, raved about it and as of recent began to remind me how nice it lookedwaaaaay back when I cut it. It took me a couple months, but today I called up and made an appointment.

Me: I need to get my hair cut. It doesn't have to be with the lady from before.
Receptionist: Well, your stylist isn't in today, but you can get it cut with one of our Master Stylists.
Me: OK. What's a Master?
Receptionist: A more experienced stylist.
Me: What will that set me back?

She tells me how much it will be and I make an executive decision to go through with it. I had 1 hour to make it to there.

The Master looked like any other stylist. I don't know if I expected her shears and supplies to be holstered to her belt with a spotlight for a backdrop, or what. But the moment she took my hair in her hands I knew. She ain't never touched hair like mine before.

Darnit.

Here I had hoped someone with her credentials had at least done some relaxers, cut some kinky curls. Um... no. I think she was intimidated by The Hair. She took very little off and didn't hold it with authority, spank it, tell it who the boss was. I told her how I styled it (combed it in the shower with conditioner and then DID NOT TOUCH IT WITH A COMB, BRUSH OR HAND after). Instead she combed it with a fine-tooth comb, put some product that she'd "been meaning to try but didn't know who to try it with" on, stuck me under a dryer (I told her I don't do dryers) and then sent me on my very frizzy, highly afro-ish merry way.

Me, being naively hopeful that it would look better once I got home to wash and style myself (and being a wussy who just didn't want confrontation at that point), thanked her, tipped her, went to my car, put my hair back, came home and called my girlfriend (since it was all her fault anyway).

I know I have a wicked head of hair. I know that I have yet to walk in a salon and be able to walk out with my hair "done" (have to come home, wet it down and style it so I don't look like an electrocuted pom-pon). But come on, now. I looked straight out of the '80s. I'm really don't want to have to go back. But as my hair dries into a highly uneven, misshapen mass, I'm guessing I will.

Here's a little peek at what we're working with. This is Before Massacre.

Black Bean Italian Sausage Soup Low Carb

We had some leftover Italian sausages from my son's birthday party the other day. I was hungry and whipped this up. It was amazingly delicious. Easy too. I made a small batch, it was about 2 servings (or one BIG one) you can double it to make more. I know I will.

Black Bean Italian Sausage Soup (Low Carb)

2 Italian links cooked and sliced into medallians
1 can of black beans, rinsed
1 can of chicken broth
1 small tomato, chopped
1/4 onion, chopped (I used dehydrated onions, a small fist full)
2-3 tsp. Italian seasoning
1/2 tsp. red pepper flakes
salt and pepper to taste

Place everything into small pot; heat on medium to boil. Reduce heat to simmer for 1/2 hour or more. Salt and pepper to taste. I garnished with some grated Romano cheese. A very yummy stew/soup on a cold Winter day. Even better reheated the next day.

Windows Vista

After a long, problematic bout with the store where I bought a lemon of a laptop from, I finally was issued a spanking new laptop ( thanks to my warranty). However, the laptop has Windows Vista on it. Call me an Old Goat who doesn't like change, but... I don't like this Windows Vista. I can't find my Documents and Settings. I can't find half the stuff I am accustomed to on my regular old XP. I feel like I'm using a "dumbed down" version of XP or something, if that makes sense. No more My Documents folder. I suppose I could make one if I wanted.

I guess it is designed to be "safer" and "easier" user experience. But I find it "annoying" and "scary" because I, personally, feel less in control. Trapped by Microsoft. I hope I come around to liking it, but the prospects look bleak. I haven't yet found one think I like better about it.

I Am My Mother...?

Comments are on again. Apparently my host was slammed with more comment spam and disabled them on MT, the King of comment spam. Thanks to Dana for letting me know they were off. I got your email girl and will respond.

I am, again, Procrastinating with the party preparations. I have to clean, not too fun. Have to make a few snackies, that's OK not so bad. But not looking forward to that cleaning thing. I was up late last night working on that dastardly tres leches cake. It does NOT look like the tres leches cakes that I get from our local Mexican bakery. Which is probably why my son was having a semi-nervous breakdown as he oversaw my labor of frustration last night, ear cocked to my It's not peaking, the egg whites aren't PEAKING screeches. He was rightfully nervous that the tres leches would be muy mal and he would not have his craving for the delicious dessert quenched on his very special day.

And, on top of that, he would be humiliated in front of his Hispanic friends over his gringo mom's attempt at making cake. Oh man. Light bulb moment here: I'm turning into my mother. Oh we can make that. Why would we go spend all that money on _____ when we can make it for less money and have it be BETTER? Oy. Yikes. Yeah. Well. Hmmm.

Anna Nicole Smith Dies

Anna Nicole Smith, dead at 39.

HOLLYWOOD, Fla. - Anna Nicole Smith, the voluptuous former Playboy centerfold who married an octogenarian billionaire and waged a legal battle for his fortune all the way to the Supreme Court, died Thursday after collapsing at a hotel. She was 39. - [link]

First her son, and now her. No news on what killed her. Sad.

Party Planning

Gosh. I have so many things on my brain I don't know where to start.

Tomorrow is my middle child's birthday. He'll be ten years old. His vision for his birthday was a night away with the family in a hotel and then a party with friends and family when we got home. I explained to him that this would take more money than we had and maybe we should just do a party at home. He said that was fine. I think he just simply wants to celebrate, which is cool with me. Understandable.

I find it interesting to see the development of my kids as they get older. My oldest son has only had one or two actual birthday parties. He doesn't really care for them. All my friends are different and aren't really friends with each other He tells me. He doesn't want some big fuss and would rather just have a family meal, open gifts and be done. Easy. Sophia, the eldest of them all, wanted to have a freakin' quinceanera when she turned 15 and a sweet sixteen this year. Please, make a fuss over me. The twins are only seven and they're still in Chucky Cheese mode.

So Mr. Middle Child wants something fitting to his personality. An open house of friends and family, some his friends, some Sophia's friends, some Dad's friends, some his brother's friends. Just people. Controlled chaos, really. Too bad it is Winter and our house is so small that it can barely hold the seven of us comfortably. And it is falling apart at the seams. No, let us not even think about that.

Let us think about the menu that I haven't even really planned because, well, I was thinking that possibly he'd change his mind? I really don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking. I was diligently studying two time-honored Groovy Mom traditions:

Denial
Procrastination

He wants Italian Sausages. With buns. OK. I can do that. Then he wants a Tres Leches Cake (Three Milk Cake). Cool. I can do that, too. But the problem is that those suckers run $25 for a round cake. We buy them because the kids love them. We usually get that size for our family alone. A sheet or half sheet would cost us close to a hundred dollars. And if he's inviting half of creation to this party... I need a bigger cake. So I'm contemplating, I don't know.. maybe making one. It is probably crazy since I've never done it before. I'm a little scared about that. But this is a great opportunity for me to make one. Or two really.

Most of the recipes look pretty similar. But this one from Recipezaar calls for a cake mix rather than making it from scratch. The box recipe looks easy but I'm hesitant.

I'm just going to take the plunge and do it. Make the cake. I suppose I could buy them, but this is my good excuse to try and make the dang thing. Si.

So, Italian sausages and tres leches cake. Yum. I need to get some other stuff in order, but I'm just not in the mood to plan anything. I don't even have a gift for the kid yet. Bad, bad mommy.

Pagerank Checker

Ahh, the pagerank checker. Always fun.

Looks like mine's a fiver right now.

Lost Ourselves

Being shacked up in the house due the bitter cold weather we've been having, I've gotten a bit of surfing done, as well as web work. Web work stuff is boring, don't wanna talk about it. Makes my head hurt and my eyes burn, not to mention that it also produces a relatively numb arse. But the surfing... I found this MyBlogLog site. Normally I don't sign up for stuff like that (I don't even have a My Space. But for some reason I signed up for this and so far momma likey. It is pretty fun. I've found a lot of cool sites, either interesting to read or just fun to look at. You can find me here.

Beyond surfing I've been losing my mind, clamoring at the walls trying to get away from the sound of my children pummeling each other, bickering and asking for food every five seconds. Every. Five. Seconds. I swear. I don't have the dishes done from the first snack/meal/feeding frenzy and they're asking for more.

So today, just before they got home (they got off early yet again), I put some oatmeal in the oven (got this delicious baked oatmeal recipe) and hopped in the shower. While I was in the shower the kids came home. I told them about the oatmeal. Did they help themselves to some? Of coarse not!! They made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, bowls of cereal sloshing over with milk. They made, a freakin' mess.

I'm looking at the kitchen table, smeared with jelly and peanut butter. Dishes stacked in the sink. Napkins all over, hunks of bread lying around. Oh. Heck. Naw.

Everything needed to stop. I set the twins to work cleaning up the kitchen area (they had brought out markers, pencils and paper that needed to be put away). My older son I put to work with the pile of dishes, and the middle son tackled the mess he made in the bedroom since his arrival home. I wasn't looking for perfection, but come on, people. Sometimes I think that they think I'm a slave.

"How are you going to unwrap a piece of gum and throw the paper aside. Who do you THINK is going to pick that up? Am *I* supposed to pick that up? Am I your maid or something that *I'M* supposed to throw that wrapper away for you?"

Middle child threw it away as I ranted. Thank you.

I'm pretty sure I've enabled my children to be the little cretins that they are. My husband, more than myself. He likes a clean house, as do I, but I can let a dish sit for more than 10 minutes, whereas he has to scrub it immediately, giving me no time to dole out scrub duty. I can let the kids wash the dishes, whereas he'd rather do it himself so that it "gets done right" the first time.

They used to have chores. I'm going to set them up with chores again. Somewhere along the line we lost ourselves. I think it time to fix that.

Superbowl Recap Plus Delicious Bar Recipe

Yeah, we watched the Superbowl last night. We were rooting for Daaaaaaah Burs. (translation: The Bears) Being close to Chicago and all, not to mention loving the SNL skits where the dudes in the bar drink beer, talk about the Bears and hold Ditka on a pedestal while jump-starting their hearts with their own meaty fists. That's the main reason we were rooting for the Bears.

The commercials were decent. Entertaining. More entertaining, for me, than the game itself. Too much stop, start, start and stop in American footbal. Drives me batty. I'm a futbol (soccer) person myself. I like the continuous action, the emphasis on game, not commercials.

The real question burning in my mind was about Fergie. Am I on crack or what? Wasn't she supposed to be doing a half-time show? We watched Prince (which is cool, I like me some Prince), but kept wondering when Fergie would be performing. As Prince wrapped up I thought, I wouldn't want to have to follow THAT act, poor Fergie. But she never came out.

Ah well. Superbowl menu? Super easy since we had dined on the Indian buffet earlier in the day. A light snack was good enough for our dinner. We had key lime chicken wings (pre-made, I can't even take the credit for it, all I had to do was have the husband throw them in the oven) and I made these:

Triple Layer Cookie Bars
Ingredients

Contest -- Book: Down Came The Rain

Whoohoo. New contest, new book to give away. I think we'll run this for the remainder of February. I received two paperback copies of the book Down Came the Rain: My Journey Through Postpartum Depression from a person over at bookreporter.com. There will be two winners.

Overview of DOWN CAME THE RAIN (Hyperion; May 2006; trade paperback edition):

When Brooke Shields welcomed her first newborn daughter to the world, her joyful expectations were quickly followed by something unexpected -- a crippling depression. In what is sure to strike a chord with the millions of women who suffer from depression after childbirth, Brooke Shields shares how she, too, battled a condition that is widely misunderstood, despite the fact that it affects many new mothers. She discusses the illness in the context of her life, including her struggle to get pregnant, the high expectations she had for herself and that others placed on her as a new mom, and the role of her husband, friends, and family as she struggled to attain her maternal footing in the midst of a disabling depression.

Want it? Answer this question when submitting the contact form above.

What is Brook's daughter's first name?

(hint - you can find the answer here)

All Moms Aren't Perfect

How often do I look at someone's family, or their parenting and assign words like "perfect" to them? Pretty often. Especially, I'll admit, at church. My husband and I were just talking about how we feel a little alienated or, like turds in a punchbowl, compared to some of the other families in the prospective church we have been attending. My husband told me that upon confessing this observation to the pastor he was told that there is much more to people than meets the eye. Not... like we didn't know that, I know. Assumptions are quite often so far off-base that it is astounding why we continue to assume as such.

I can't tell you how guilty I feel when people tell me that I'm so patient. "Such a patient lady you are." Yeaaaah. My kids would probably have a whole different take on mom's "patience" if you asked them.

I'm trying to be a better, more patient and loving mother. To not be so short with temper. To not swear as much (I cut swearing out of my typed words a few years back, but in real life it is much harder). To be forgiving. Kind. And to do these things more often. But I fail, usually on a daily (or multiple times per day) basis.

Timely blog about perfect parenting and the illusion of was found here in my surfing. Hundreds of confessions and Girl-You-Know-It comments.