Things That Bug Me

Crikey. I'm getting forgetful in my old age. Hello! Remember me?

So, we're slated to close on our house in California in 6 days. I am almost afraid to write those words, fearful that something unexpected may come up. Because it has. In the past. Two other times. Fingers, toes and all extraneous items are crossed. You will hear the cheering from here if it happens. (and the screams if it doesn't).

In other news, we've submitted 3 offers on 3 different Texas houses in the last ten days. Didn't get one. Maybe it's because we've left one of the most horrific housing markets in the country to inexplicably now live in THE hottest real estate market in the WORLD. Like, houses going for $50K ABOVE asking price hot. Ridiculous.

I'm holding out hope that the house fairy will come visit and put a somewhat affordable, decent listing under my pillow.

In other news, my good friend and her kids recently had a bout of head lice. Despite furtively checking my kids every few hours- and finding nothing, I'm convinced my itchy scalp is bug-who-shall-not-be-named. My husband is tired of holding 2 pencils and a flashlight, and last night gave me the professional opinion that I have an itchy scalp. I may listen to this after I dip my head in some malathion.

A Real Gas

Colin Firth won an Oscar. Huzzah for Mr. Darcy!

In other news, the licking of blisters has stopped, and I've started the infamous Couch to 5k program.

I got the app for my iphone, and that, combined with the company of my beloved black labrador, try and make up for the fact that I absolutely detest running.

I really and truly hate it.

But maybe, with each passing day, I'm starting to hate it less and less.

Although this morning's run didn't go so well. I'm not only referring to the cramp that wouldn't leave my left side, or that my dog needed to stop and sniff every other hedge- but I stupidly threw on an older pair of yoga pants this morning. I didn't realize this particular pair of pants were so shoddy that I would need to hold them up as I ran around our local university. Yours truly looked like a 1930's vaudeville act.

With all of the running I've been doing- the scale isn't moving much. You see, along with this new regime, I've somehow also acquired the appetite of a 14 year old boy. I'm STARVING. I woke up the other night, and there were bite marks on my arm. I'M EATING MY OWN ARMS IN MY SLEEP. Ok, not really eating my arms- but maybe I am eating a Girl Scout cookie or two.

Damn you, Girl Scouts. They need to revise their pledge to something like this- (you can sing it to the tune of Yankee Doodle Dandy)...

"On my honor, I will try

To sell my cookies to my country.

To help people get real fat

and to live on blood pressure medication."

Sorry. That's the best I could come up with, and I am now stupidly realizing that most of you probably don't know the real Girl Scout pledge to begin with.

In between last week's runs, I squeezed in a yoga class. (Yes, this is the most exercise my body has seen in a decade, and it's like "Hey lady! Shouldn't we be on the couch with a pack of Samoas? What's the matter with you?"). I'm certainly no yoga expert- but it does seem that in the handful of classes I've attended over the years, that somehow, someway- the person on the mat next to me farts. This happened last week. We were supposed to be doing a dog-like, camel something or other- when the lady next to me completely broke wind.

It didn't even faze her. She kept on doward camel-ing, or whatever it was- while I fell over in a collapsed heap of distress. It's bad enough that everyone's in bare feet (I think naked feet are hideous)- but FARTING? Crikey. That couch and cookies are looking mighty fine.

A Dirty Story

The oldest anklebiter is trying to master the monkey bars at school. On Friday, she came home with a huge blister- her first battle scar.

All weekend, I encouraged her to keep it clean. This morning, she waved her now-almost-healed blister and said "Look at how good it looks, Mommy!"

I told her it looked great, but reinforced that she needed to keep it clean.

"Yup. I know. I lick it. That keeps it real clean." she replied.

Yuck.

Next Best Thing

So, you know how cool it is when people tell you that you remind them of a famous person? I've gotten Helen Hunt before- and more than a few tell me that my voice sounds exactly like Jodie Foster. But recently, I've gotten more than a few comparisons to this person...

This is Cameron, from the show "Modern Family."

I don't have a mural of myself as an angel above my kid's bed, but did anyone see the episode where Cameron's partner loses his prestigious job as a lawyer? Cameron puts on a brave, supportive front- but then turns his back to the camera and wails "What am I going to do? I like nice things!" My older brother immediately called me to tell me that I was starring on an ABC sitcom.

Last night's episode, included a scene where Mitch is brushing his teeth, and mumbles an unintelligible shopping list while Cameron is in the shower. Cameron later hands Mitch the random assortment of items and Mitch looks puzzled and says "I don't even remember asking you for this." Yes! That IS me!

I'm available for bar mitzvahs, bookclubs and ladies luncheons. Especially if there's someone playing a harp.

Going Viral

Last week, I thought I got a cold.

My nose was stuffy. I had a cough. My body ached. We had a rare snow day on the day I was feeling the worst- and it couldn't have come at a better time. Movies with the kids, some easy going art projects- just what the doctor ordered.

Then it morphed into the flu. Now, my child is slowly working her way through the same virus. She's missed 3 days of school. So has her little sister- because if your favorite person in the entire world was staying home to "maybe" play Wii- wouldn't your stomach suddenly start mysteriously hurting too?

We're drinking lots of tea. Eating soup. Living like the 80 year old party animals we are. Last night I surprised the sick kid with new flannel sheets for her bed. Nothing's better than soft flannel sheets- fresh out of the dryer. Except maybe a day when all returns to normal.

Put Another Dime In Your JukeBox, Baby

We recently got an Apple TV. I love it. My husband and I scurry to see who can get to it first. I'm a gracious loser, because I know he will just try and watch the first episode of the second season of the Wire and start snoring before the theme song ends. I've seen the first five minutes of that episode 15 times now. It's riveting.

Apple TV made me realize that my kids will never watch tv the same way I did. (Did you come here to discuss worldy issues? I think not). They will never know what it was like to have "The Wizard of Oz" air once a year- the day before Thanksgiving. They will not be six years old, and borrow a black and white little (like 8 inch mini cube) television from your parents, that you set up in your pink checkered bedroom to watch your first glimpse of "Gone With The Wind."

I started my affair with puffy dresses at a very early age.

In other news- I succumbed to the world of Groupon and bought a swanky haircut/highlight/deep conditioning at a swanky salon. The salon is gorgeous. My stylist appeared to be a short, intense hairdresser with freakishly strong hands. Despite my pleas of "for the love of all that is not frizzy- I have the world's most tender head" at one point, he flexed his strong knuckles and SQUEEZED my hairs so tightly I now look like I've had Botox. Win? I still can't decide.

As for the haircut- it looked great until I got home. And now I look like Joan Jett had a baby with Snookie- pouf, and shaggy layers. Crikey. Luckily, once my normal frizz sets in it will detract folks from asking me to sing a New Jersey rendition of "I love Rock n' Roll".

Grandma Magic

I read an article recently, about a General Store in Brooklyn. The writer of the article loved the "Grandma magic" the store conveyed- and that got me to thinking. I love Grandma magic. While I don't subscribe to the lace doily fan club, I do have a passion for all things vintage- and believe everyone should incorporate some "Grandma" magic into your house. It makes it cozy. It makes it warm. It makes it feel like home.

What is Grandma magic? Today I took the kids to the park, and while I watched them tunnel down the slide, I wrote a few suggestions down.

Cloth napkins
Candles in the bathroom
Sunday dinner
Clean sheets
Showtunes
Silver polish
Billie holiday
Botanical prints
Lemon furniture polish
Herbs in flower pots
Dishwasher running at bed time
Fluffy towels
Well organized tool box
The smell of perfume (Chanel no.5)
Pot roast in the oven
A well timed cocktail
A beautifully set table on a Tuesday
Fresh flowers
A pot of freshly brewed coffee
A pink box from the bakery wrapped in twine
An impromptu trip to the toystore

So that's my goal for the week- to work a little Grandma magic into my home. But if you guys see me crocheting a doily? Slap me back to my senses.