Lucy's Mom over at Musings From The Left Coast
has tagged me for the eight things meme. I know people think I sneer at memes, and truthfully, they are not usually my thing. But I don't mind doing them now and then. And, as it turns out, this particular meme-ing is fortuitous.
We are getting ready to go to the beach, and two kids require an incredible lot of stuff to just exist for one week. They really don't need more stuff than they do at home...the problem is that now I have to wash it, pack it and trasnport it. Our accomodations include a full kitchen. This was supposed to save us money, and it will, but it also means I have to plan, purchase and transport a week's worth of meals as well.
Frozen Pizza and Poptarts are on the food pyramid right?
And say...did you ever think it would be next to impossible to find a rash gaurd shirt for a twelve year old boy in the color of his choice in July? In the South? For under $40? Well it is is.
I bought one for Diminutive One at the beginning of the summer. He has inherited my ridiculously pale skin, and burns terribly. Plus, he has been feeling a little self-conscious about his spare tire. The shirt was the perfect solution, and I got one at Target for $12.99.
Why did I not purchase one for Pre-Pubescent One? Well, you see, unless a garment fits his definition of cool, it will languish in his drawer unworn. Gone are the days that I could shop for him and put clothing into his wardrobe rotation sight unseen. He has decided, however, that wearing a rash guard is much cooler than having your Mom chase you around with sunscreen.
Now of course, there are none to be found in his size at any brick and mortar establishments within a 40 mile radius. I find them in abundance online. But you see, Pre-Pubescent One is 5' 3" tall and weighs 115 lbs., so he needs an adult small in most brands. And most of the adult rash gaurds sell for $50 or more. Ree. Dick. U. Lous.
I finally found one on ebay, and the seller graciously agreed to send it Priority Mail, so all is well. But I have spent an inordinate amount of time trying to find this stupid thing. I still have to do my meal planning, buy groceries, do laundry and pack. Oh yes, and purchase a fuckton of cat litter and cat food. And repaint my chipped toe nails. And figure out how to cram everything into the van.
Aaaaaaaanyway, the upshot of all this is that I am not really in any frame of mind to write anything deep or clever.
So a meme it is! Thanks Lucy's Mom.
Eight things about me (if you're still conscious after that enormously boring diatribe about the minutiae of my life):
1. I am a bottle redhead, and have been since I was 15. People are surprised when they find out I color my hair. I have green eyes, and very pale freckled skin, so people assume I am a natural redhead. My mother has been coloring her hair a similar shade for probably twice as long as I have been alive, and looks equally natural, which lends credibility to this assumption. It's kind of cool.
2. I read Ivanhoe one summer when I was 11. I took me a hell of a long time, and I got to where I kept a dictionary beside me while I was reading. But I didn't care. It never occurred to me not to read it. The language was difficult to understand, but I found that I could extrapolate meaning from context well enough to slog through particularly difficult sections. I identified strongly with Rebecca (I was enraged when Ivanhoe married Lady Rowena instead of Rebecca) and I felt terribly sorry for the way Jews were treated.
Later, after school had started, I had to write a report about what I read over the summer. I was scolded for wasting my summer reading something that I couldn't possibly understand. I have forgotten much of it, and I would like to read it again, but I wonder if it would be as easy for me as an adult to simply suspend all that with which I am familiar, and embrace the story, the language and the charachters, flawed though they are. I think it was actually easier for me as a child.
3. My Grandfather divorced my Grandmother shortly before he left for WWII. While in Germany, he married a woman whom he rescued from Auschwitz. She was not Jewish, but she was a Jewish sympathizer. Her brothers, who were very high ranking SS Officers, turned her in. Her name was Herta, and she was a teeny tiny bird of a woman with a strong German accent and a tattoo on her wrist. They had two boys; my Father's half brothers. My Grandfather witnessed horrors that most of us only read about. He has Nazi artifacts that are both fascinating and revolting. He died recently and left several of them to my father. I have seen some of them, but I have not seen any of the film footage he took. I don't think I want to. I imagine that my half-Uncle, who is a somewhat well-known photo journalist, has them now. All my life I wanted to ask Herta about the concentration camps, but I wasn't allowed to speak to her of it. She died a couple years ago. I hope she is at peace.
4. I am a small person (5'4") and so is husband (5'10") AMENDED FOR DOODADDY: 5'10" is not "small" but rather, "not big".... but we grow big babies. My first child was born at 35 weeks. They had an entire neo-natal team standing by, ready to deliver life saving measures. I was in labor over 24 hours, and when at last he made his appearance, it was very anti-climactic. Instead of the tiny, sickly baby they expected, he was 5lbs 14oz., 21 inches long, and screaming loudly. The doctor quipped that although he doesn't usually recommend babies be born at 35 weeks, I should be grateful he was not full term. She estimated that PPO could have weighed ten pounds or more. For a while there was some speculation that they had miscalculated his due date (I have very erratic cycles due to a mild case of PCOS) but when Diminutive One was born the day before his due date weighing 9lbs 5oz, they realized I just grow 'em big.
5. I am addicted to anything that is vanilla scented, or any variant thereof. I adore Downy Vanilla Lavendar laundry detergent, and I use all the producst available in that scent. I love Bath and Body works Warm Vanilla Sugar products. I have them all. I burn tarts instead of scented candles (try them, they are so much more scent intensive) and the woman I purchase them from makes a dupe of both the Downey Vanilla Lavendar scent and the B&BW Warm Vanilla Sugar. I buy them in bulk. I spray my sheets with vanilla linen spray to freshen them between washings. Comptoir Sud makes several Vanilla parfumes and I am absolutely dying to get my hands, er, nose on one.
6. I always thought I would be a career woman. I would have a fantastically glamorous job at an advertising agency and I would make tons of money and live in a NEW house, instead of an old monstrosity like the one my parents own. (now I think their home is gorgeous and loaded with character and long for one similar). I would drive a fast car, wear high heels every day, and get my nails done. I would marry someday and have kids, but I wouldn't give up my job. Funny how life turns out. But strangely...though I do have dark and sinister days when I wonder why I have spent the best years of my life wiping bottoms and noses...I am okay with where I am.
7. Wow, umm...I'm really not that interesting. Oh! Here's another thing...I am a complete and total product whore. I love me some products. Hair products, face products, body products, foot products...I adore them all. My favorite products are Bare Escentual Mineral Foundation, my new Burberry Classic perfume, Burt's Bees Milk and Honey Lotion, Frederic Fekkai glossing cream (EXPENSIVE, but totally worth it) and OPI nail polish, which I only use on my toes. My favorite OPI color is "Don't BE Koi With Me", which is an outrageously bright coral.
8. Our wedding 14 years ago was an absolute DISASTER. Think of the worst wedding story you ever heard, and then multiply it times 100. It would take forever to write about everything that happened, but the worst thing is that the wrong dress was delivered to me. It was draped in a very complicated manner on several hangers and swathed in tissue paper to prevent creasing. I was sternly instructed not to unwrap it until I was ready to put it on. So I didn't.
When I unwrapped it at the church, one of my bridesmaids commented on the fact that a rose on the rear bustle had been replaced with a bow. Bows are so not my style and my heart sunk. It was not my dress. It was not even finished. It was a size 20 and I was a size 10 at the time. There was no way it would make do. My mother called the bridal shop and we found out that the seamstress had left the country and that my dress was locked inside her home. My mother demanded that they get a dress, any dress to the church within the hour, or she would sue them for every penny we spent on the wedding. That was the first and only time I ever heard my mother use the F word. Ever.
They delivered the store demo dress. It was the same as my dress, but it was too big in the bust, far too long, had no bustle stays and was grubby at the wrists. But it was a dress. I wore it down the aisle and nearly fell on my face when I tripped over the hem. Thank goodness for my father, who had a vice grip on my arm due to the fact that I had drunk a little more than was wise in all the panic.
I did eventually get my own dress. So now I have a ridiculously expensive (but incredibly beautiful) wedding dress that I didn't pay for because they refunded every penny, that has never been worn. My cake didn't show up either. I still don't know what happened to it. I think my mother does, but she wouldn't tell me that night. The wedding coordinator ran out to get a cake from Publix. It had orange frosting. It was supposed to be coral. It was extraordinarily ugly.
That's it, I think.
Now I gotta go shovel out my van so I can shove more stuff into it. Wish me luck.
AMENDED AGAIN: Because I realized I didn't tag anybody and to apologize for my verbosity. I realize the whole idea of a meme is to be short and sweet, but that's never really been my strong suit.
, Kinda Like a Hippy