Friday, June 11, 2010

Crocodiles & Pearls

Last night I attended a jewelry show hosted by a good friend of mine. I wouldn't be described as a jewelry wearing girl but I certainly do like looking at the stuff and I almost always find something completely adorable to purchase. Getting dolled up for special occasions is a hobby of mine so I need things to choose from. Besides, what woman doesn't want to flee her children to hide amongst glitz and wine and small talk?

Small talk is also a hobby of mine because you just never know what kind of adventure it takes you on. For instance, who knew that one second we'd be talking about pearls and the next be introducing a crocodile purse into the mix? A crocodile purse? In your closet? For reals? Hell to the yeah that needs to be shown off! Go get it, girlfriend! Bring it down because I have GOT to check this thing out!


Do not be mistaken: It has a head. A purse with a head. I had never seen a purse with a head before, but I bet the real worldly types have -- like The Bloggess. She probably has tons of them in her closet. (Come to think of it, she probably made them herself, from people who work at the Electric Company.)

And beady eyes. A purse with a head and beady eyes!


Did you notice the little foot? The attention to detail is exquisite.
Don't think they forgot about the back of the purse...

Can you imagine?
I am so asking to borrow this the next time I have to attend a really boring function.
Or have to go out to dinner with someone I don't really like but am forced to be nice to.
Just plop this little puppy up on the table while I apply some lip gloss.


To answer your burning question:
I purchased this fun little number called Impulse.


It does not have a head.
It does have beads.
Although the bracelet is an absolute stunner,
I bet it won't get nearly the amount of commentary the crocodile purse would get!

PS: I am so adding "Carry a Crocodile Purse to a Function" on my list of Things To Do Before I Die.

PPS: No new crocodiles have been hurt or injured in the making of this blog post. This was from a long, long time ago. It was my friend's grandmothers or something like that. And the reason I knew I always liked her is because she hung on to this piece of fashion history. For reals.

Editor's Note: It has come to my attention that this might, or might not be, a crocodile. It might be an alligator. Or not. I don't pretend to know my reptiles.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Finger Follies

Like any good mother, I dropped my middle child off for her last day of school with a chipper, "Have a MOST EXCELLENT last day of school!" while readying my camera for the standard Last Day of School Photo.

Except Dotter didn't move from the side of the car, where she was standing, screaming, with her finger stuck in the door. I did what any mother in these situations would do - unlocked my seatbelt and bolted out of my seat yelling, "Open the door! OPEN THE DOOR!" (She was very appreciative of my advice, I'm sure.)

I took one look at the mangled finger and put her back in the car, "We're just gonna run and get this looked at real quick." I explained as I buckled her (screaming) into her seat. Then a thought occurred to me: This may begin to bleed soon. And there may be a lot of blood. And I just took out V's sweatshirt that had been sitting in the car for three months, so now what would I wrap the hand in?


I hurried into the school for ice and a towel before I whisked her off to the hospital. And, like any good mother, I started photo documenting our excursion, because I thought, "Hey! This will make a great blog post!" (I am nothing if not loyal to my avid readers.)

Meanwhile, Dotter was sob-asking if she was going to lose her finger like Uncle Patrick did when he was little, which I assured her would most definitly not happen since Uncle Pat lost his finger because he was picking his nose, not because it got slammed in a car door. (Another story for another day.)


The doctor came in to examine the mangled finger. "Can I ask you how this happened?" To which Dotter responded very clearly and quite loudly, "NOOOOOOOOO!"



Upon initial inspection, the doc ordered x-rays. (It was looking pretty gnarly.) Dotter sat contemplating silently for a bit so I tried to cheer her up. "Hey! Maybe they'll give you a sticker if you're a really good girl," I teased. "Like that'll help," she mumbled. (She can be so negative at times like this.)


She chipped up a bit when the rails were put up - told they were to keep her safe in case the driver got a little wild on the trip to the x-ray department...



She was sat so still (and completely frightened and afraid) during the x-ray she got not one, but TWO stickers! "Sorry I got blood on your white towel," Dotter apologized, unphased by the smile-makers in her hand. Hello?! Sponge Bob AND Sharpay?! How can you NOT be thrilled?!



It wasn't broken, but it is badly bruised. They decided the best step is a soft splint to protect that finger for a bit and a dose (or more) of Motrin.



I told her she looked like she had one of those big foam fingers people use at sporting events and that her new nickname was Big Finger.



The best part of the adventure? Neon Pink tape. Every 8-yr old girl's dream.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Why I'm a Mother



The very best part about this video was I got this reaction to raising my eyebrows. Yep. That's it. No tickles. No silly faces. Just slight eyebrow movement. Love. This. Kid.

Working Mothers

Today, we've had a lot of really upset people coming in our office. They're mad because they knew the rules, but decided to take their chances and not follow the rules, and then they got caught not following the rules so they got in trouble. Now they're mad. At us. Because of course we're the ones that told them the rules and then subliminally planted the idea that they should not follow them. We're totally sneaky like that.

It makes me feel like I'm at home surrounded by my children except I'm not wearing pajama pants.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

The Pioneer Woman

So I'm totally and completely obsessed with The Pioneer Woman - a fabulous blog that I read faithfully and follow on twitter. Of keen obsession is Ree Drummond's real life love story -- because what woman hasn't dreamed of being completely swept away by a handsome, hunky cowboy with incredibly huge, muscley biceps. And to hear that Hollywood has jumped on this band wagon and wants to make a movie (OhMyGod!OhMyGod!) is really about as good as hearing that you won the lottery. (Did I mention OhMyGod?) And what's even better -- rumor has it Reese Witherspoon might be cast as the staring role! Which means I can totally add the upcoming "Black Heels to Tractor Wheels" to my DVD'S TO WATCH OVER AND OVER WITHOUT EVER GETTING UP OFF THE COUCH ALL DAY EXCEPT TO PEE list. Right now there's only one movie on that list: "Sweet Home Alabama" (duh!) and if it's not on your list than you can just leave now because you obviously have no idea how awesome dirty, greasy men like Marlboro Man and Jake Perry can be.

Anyway, after an evening of sighing over yet another installment of Cowboy Love, I turned to Big V and asked (ok, swooned), "So, did you dream of being a cowboy when you were a little boy?"

"Nope."

"Really?" I tried to hide my obvious disappointment. "Really? I mean, didn't every boy want to grow up and be a cowboy?"

"Nope."

"Oh. Not even a little bit?" I was grasping at straws here. "Didn't you ever what to hop on a horse and ride the open range?"

"Nope."

"Never? You never pretended you were a cowboy gallopping in open pastures?"

"Well, I remember playing cowboys & indians once as a kid with the boys who lived next door. It was weird; they wanted to play barefoot because they said they had Indian feet."