Little Volcanos

A conversation I should NOT YET be having with a little girl that JUST turned 5.

Pink: "Why does CB get to wear a bra? I want to wear a bra too!!!"

Me: "She wears a bra because she's a teenager. You're not old enough yet."

Pink: "How about I wear one of those LITTLE bras?"

I know she's refering to the little training bras she saw in the Girl's section of a department store and went bananas over.

Me, stiffling an amuzed chuckle: "Honey, you have nothing to PUT in it."

Pink yanks up her shirt and says with pride:"Yes I do. See? I have little volcanos!"

Lord, please help me....

Whatsa Whooga?

I saved for years to buy my coveted UGGS, wore them for 12 months, and then fell into a deep depression when they developed a hole in the toe for NO REASON. I was devastated. For real. You have no idea how much I adored these boots or more accurately, adored my warm, comfy, cozy feet during the winter in these boots. I didn't know if I could trust another UGG again. But my feet were addicted to them - like a drug. I was certainly full of trepidation at the thought of sinking another pretty penny into the same catastrophe. On top of that, I've had many friends who needed to ship their UGGS back to the manufacturer for a multitude of problems- defective stitching, holes from wear, soles coming apart, etc.

Oh, the HUMANITY!!!!

Okay, first - I need to differentiate UGGS and Ugg boots. Mainly to show off, but it also makes an important point. As I recently learned, there are different types of ugg boots. An ugg boot is a STYLE of sheepskin boot. We tend to think of UGG brand as uggs. It's a popular brand (after making it to Oprah's list) of sheepskin boot, but it is NOT the only Ugg boot out there. Just like Ford and BMW are types of cars, so are UGG and Whooga types of high quality sheepskin boots. We AREN'T talkin' knock offs here. They are simply different ugg boot companies making similar caliber, genuine sheepskin ugg-style boots. And, in my humble opinion, the most popular brand, or most expensive brand is not always the best. Do your homework!

I found one brand that IS one of the best. High quality, great look, highest grade merino sheepskin: Soft, comfy, durable. It's not the UGG... It's a Whooga Ugg.

So Whatsa Whooga? If you want the look of the classic Ugg boot AND the comfort AND the durability, the Whooga is the way to go. Knock off boots are NOT 100% high quality sheepskin and as a result your feet will sweat and itch. Spend a little less than you would for UGGS (which by the way, are NOT very durable, and it's not just ME talkin' here) and get a boot identical in LOOK and comfort and BETTER in durability. This is not the time to go knock-off or cheap! Yes, faux sheepskin may cost you less, but honestly only by 20 or 30 bucks. And they aren't NEARLY as comfy. Real, quality sheepskin wraps your foot in a tiny slice of heaven. Like you're walking on a warm fuzzy cloud. Like you were swaddling it in a baby blanket of sheer bliss and that keeps your feet at JUST the right temperature in any weather... *sigh*

Whoogas. That's what I'M talkin' about folks. Buy the WHOOGA people. Don't fall into the pack like a little lemming! Get the better boot. Cute. Quality. Affordability. NOT a knock off, but a high caliber product that will withstand more than 12 months of wear before ripping, tearing, fraying and loosing it's sole (oh yes, UGG - I'm talkin' to YOU). Whoogas have made my tootsies happy. I'm officially spreading the word.

"Is It Autism?" Appears In Parenting Special Needs

If I may have a second to toot a horn, as I have so few occassions to do so...

An essay of mine appears in this month's issue of Parenting Special Needs.
Check out this wonderful magazine for parents of kids who are differently-abled. It's great! If you'd like to read my essay, "Is It Autism?" check it out HERE.

GIVEAWAY: 250 CUSTOM STICKERS SPONSORED BY UPRINTING.COM

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Poop In My Coach Bag (Or Why I Have Consumed An Entire Box of Baker's Chocolate and a Half Bottle Of Pinot Noir)

As many of you know, we are building a dream home. This endeavor requires ten billion decisions and the relentless picking-out-'o-the-stuff to create our vision. Everyone talks about this process being stressful and challenging. Picking things out isn't a challenge for us. We love that kind of thing. I have the "designer's eye" and my husband loves to research bargains, so together we're a dynamic duo. The challenge is that it is completely unenjoyable and quite a logistical nightmare when dragging 3 very young children everywhere with you along with a 14 year old child with severe autism and a tendency to run off and get lost while you're trying to make highly expensive, permanent, life-altering decisions. Kids. They can just suck the fun out of everything sometimes.

So the other day we spent hours going to Kitchen and Bath places, Stone places, etc. The kids were totally miserable and bored, as would be expected, but it's always annoying nonetheless. Pink was on a roll with her major 'tude and sassy back talk. The baby was a terror. Tink was just... Tink.

How can I describe Tink? Though at 3 1/2 she is tiny enough to still wear 18 month old clothes, her big huge personality won't fit in the room. She's a nut. She's a joy. She's a force. She's a nudge. She makes us belly-laugh every day. Mostly because she says odd things like:
"My feet are hungry."
"My belly is tired."

Or out of the blue on a summer day she'll bust out randomly with:

"I smell Santa Claus."

So, we were in a store talking to the salesman. The kids were running amock and completely embarrassing me. I noticed Tink standing in front of a large mirror, posing. She loves to look at herself. She'll do it for hours. I turned my attention to the salesman and when I glanced back over to Tink again, I saw her standing in front of the mirror with her undies around her ankles, dress hiked completely up, and posing. I gasped and ran over, pulling down her dress. I asked, shocked, "Tink, what are you DOING??!!?" and her response was very matter-of-fact and full of innocence :"I was just trying to look at my crack."

At the next store, we began to smell something rank. Oddly, it was coming from Tink who has been toilet trained since 27 months. We thought perhaps she had gas. When we questioned her she said with urgency "No, I have to poop!!!" Okay, fine. I rushed her to the tiny, disgusting little employee restroom, quickly yanking down her undies and plopped her on the toilet. Only then did I see the brown smear marks all over the seat and noticed the giant round turd in her underwear. She totally uncharacteristically crapped herself.

Without getting into too much detail, it was one hot mess.

"TINK!!!" I scream, exasperated. "Why did you poop in your pants?!?!?"

"It just fell out of my heiny, Mom." she replied with complete nonchalance, blinking innocently and failing to comprehend why I would possible be upset over such a thing.

I don't carry around a change of clothes for her anymore. And, like the seasoned mother of 4 that I am, I have forgotten the diaper bag. Figures.

All I had at my disposal were a few non-absorbant, thin paper towels and tap water. No soap in the dispenser. Thank God for the tiny hand sanitizer I carry in my purse.

I have no recourse but to wrap her smelly, soiled undies in 4 yards of paper towels. I couldn't rinse out the underwear because then it would be WET and soaking through the paper towels, so I had to just mummify it, skid marks and all.

Some would say to throw it directly in the trash. Anything that involves wasting money does not fly in this house. We wash out the poopy underwear and hand 'em down to the next kid. By the time Rella gets these undies, they'll all be dyed a lovely shade of brown, and have a story to tell. That's just how we roll. Frugal you say? I prefer "cheap."

So, I walked back out into the store's show room with underwear smellin' up the only REAL designer handbag I own. My beloved Coach with my beloved real Coach wallet. Of course. Couldn't have had the Target special with me.

I'll skip over the rest of the day's drama to the end of the day where I was able to release vast amounts of serotonin into my body by way of 14 oz. of Ghiardelli dark Baker's chocolate washed down with 3 gigantic glasses of red wine. Who said motherhood doesn't have its perks?

Apparently, I Appear Double My Size at David's Bridal

"Look at your BIG BELLY, Mom!" is my loud morning greeting. Tink is smacking my belly playfully, laughing, and repeating her Big Belly comments as I lay semi-conscious in my bed at 6:45 this morning. Ah, just what I want to hear before my first cup of coffee. Or, like, ever.

Pinkalicious is on the other side of me, lifting up my T-shirt.

"EEEEWWWWW. What happened to your belly button, Mom?"

Since I was laying slightly to my side, the loose skin on my belly was all wrinkled up, resembling an elephant's knee and rendering my belly button a slit. This is what happens when you're a size 2 stick figure that then gives birth to 4 children. Though I have no stretch marks and have worked very hard to get (almost) back to my pre-baby weight and size, my tummy skin just hasn't bounced back. It's not noticable when I'm standing erect or laying suspine. But any other position is grotesque. Who cares, right? Riiiiiiiight. Not me... *sniff/sob/sigh*

Now that I'm feeling really hot and confident, I go to David's Bridal to try on and order my bridesmaid dress for my brother-in-law's wedding. I'm already feeling self-conscious at just being in the wedding party since the bride and her party are all in their early 20s and I'm like double their age with 4 children. Fortunately, the bridesmaid dress she selected is beautiful; the cut and color are flattering for me -and it's all about ME, of course.

I go into David's Bridal without children. I repeat WITHOUT children! Astonishing, I know. My husband had them over with him in another store so I could have a whole 24 minutes in peace. It is likely the only 24 minutes I will get for the next 2 or 3 months. I'm greatly appreciative not to have the peanut gallery with me in the dressing room after their 10 minutes of belly-belitting this morning.

The busy Saleslady helps me locate the dress. As we walk through racks of taffeta she does a quick visual body scan and reports her findings:

"Okay, it looks like you're a size 8, right?" which sounds more like a confident statement of fact than a question. She begins scouring the rack.

A size 8 is great. Wonderful. Perfect! I think that's what models wear, right? The only problem is this: I'm a size 4. Apparently, I appear double my size. So, it's not the NUMBER that she said... it's the fact that the number was two whole dress sizes off! Yes, I know there will be many who are rolling their eyes right now because of this complaint, but hey, NO ONE, no matter what their size, wants to appear 2 dress sizes bigger!!

I suck in my stomach, straighten my postures and make a mental assessment while not trying to appear offended. Okay, I'm sporting a peasant-style tank top and shorts. Those peasant tops can make you look pregnant sometimes. And my upper arms have always been my worst feature. No matter how thin I get, the upper arm just looks like a hunk of Gouda cheese giggling amorphously from my shoulder.

Crap. Now I'm politely telling her that usually I wear a size 4 and she seems mildly apologetic and perhaps it's my imagination, but I think she partially doesn't believe me. Now I'm back pedalling... Maybe a 6, should I try a 6? She pulls a 4 off the rack. Crap. If this doesn't fit me, I'm gonna feel like a giant ass. A deluded giant ass WITH a giant ass.

Pleasefitpleasefitpleasefit....
I go to the dressing room, slip on the dress and slowly zip the side zipper pleasefitpleasefitpleasefitpleasefit..... zzzzzziiiiiiippppppp - P.

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! Ha! In fact, it needs a bit of taking in. Four kids, thousands of hours on the elliptical, forgoing chocolate and junk... and here I am. From a size 10/12 back to a 4. In your FACE David's Bridal Saleslady!!

I practially strut out in the gown. "Oh, it fits perfectly" she says looking mildly surprised. Yes it does lady. Yes. It. Does.

And once I rock my Spanx and push up bra, watch out! I might just actually LOOK like my true dress size. The Spanx are a necessity. Though I'm a size 4, I still have a mean muffin top.

That, plus the $20.00 discount and the 24 minutes of childless bliss... what more could a girl want?

So It Begins...