The "What Barbara Walters Would Ask if She Were HOT" meme

My dear blogosphere friend Eudea-Mamia just did this meme, and then graciously gave me the following questions so I could play, too. I'm fairly certain that credit for the title goes to EM, by the way....

My questions are:

1. Name one moment in your life when you were very proud of yourself (non Kiddo related!).

Um, I could go a bit cheesy here and say this moment:



but actually, I was more proud of passing the test and the audition/interview to get into the contestant pool than actually being called for the show, which was much more luck/chance than me actually *doing* something. Out of the 65 people that took the contestant exam that same day I did, only 6 of us passed it. So, that was a "woo, me!" moment.

On a less trivial level, I was also extremely proud of myself the day that I was promoted to the director of my department at the agency I worked for prior to the Ultimate Promotion to being a mom. I was only 27, the youngest person ever promoted to "senior management" and had been completely convinced I would never be picked to fill my predecessor's gigantic shoes. Some of the folks that I was up against for the job had PhDs and decades more experience than I, so I was a bit stunned to hear that I'd gotten the job. I'm further proud to say that during my tenure, my team exceeded all our contract requirements and benchmarks, started two new programs (one was a school-to-work program for high school students with disabilities, the other a program to help individuals with epilepsy who were unemployed or underemployed find and keep suitable employment) and had our department chosen to be one of five sites nationwide included in a federal grant. We were a great team and we helped a lot of people with very little resources and a lot of obstacles. I was definitely proud of that.

2. Which superpower would you choose a) being invisible? b) reading people's minds? c) stopping time?

Well, hmmm. Invisibility would be cool sometimes - I sure would work out a lot more if no one could see me huffing and puffing and sweating away, for example, or those times when I'm out in public with a melting-down kid, it sure would be great to be invisible then... Reading people's minds would also be cool, but could be very dangerous, as well. I mean, do I really want to know what people are thinking about me, really? *shudder* Pretending people are thinking well of me is probably the safer route for my ego, so no, not reading minds after all. (Though I suppose it would come in very handy with Kiddo, who at the age of 5 and a half has already perfected the monosyllabic grunt answer to questions like "How was your day at school?") Stopping time, hmmm, like Hiro on Heroes (which is on again starting tonight, woo-hoo!)? That could be good - I could keep Kiddo from bonking her noggin or skinning her knees, get the cat moved from the carpet to the linoleum *before* she gacked up that ginormous, juicy hairball, assist Hubby's golf game with an astounding amount of birdies - eagles, even! - prevent folks from sliding off the roads in all this snow and ice we just. Keep. Getting..... Yep, I think I'm going to go with stopping time.

3. What would your superhero name be?

This was a tough one. I was pondering aloud via my Facebook status and one of my old high school friends helpfully sent me a link to a site that generates your Superhero or Villian name. You have to plug in different variables (up to three) and then it will give you your name suggestions.

I scrolled through the list of variables, and decided that these were the best three for describing myself:



I mean, I'm whiter than the driven snow (skintone-wise), especially this time of year. (Hubby and I often joke that folks can always tell when we were outdoors in the summer because of the blinding glare thrown off our pasty white skin.) I am a jokester (of what caliber - whether "humorous" really is applicable, I cannot unbiasedly judge), and my shape does change, albeit generally between StayPuft, Doughboy and Jabba.

This is what came up for my variables........



Hmmm, definitely some possibilities there. I especially like Pale Girl and Fool Laugh.

I changed up the variables a bit (after deciding I am at least Queen of my own Insanity, if not my kingdom.........):



And came up with these:



Giggle Baroness? Oooh, that's good - royalty *and* it reminds me of The Sound of Music. Hmmm, I'll need to think a bit more on it and get back to you later.......

4. Name your top three crushes - real, fictional, past or present.

Okay, real (as well as past and present!):



(wasn't that obvious?)

Fictional:



and



From the past:







I know, that's more than three. I just couldn't narrow it down any further!

And now, it is time for me, Giggleo (pronounced Giggle-Oh, thankyouverymuch), to get motivated and off to the store. We're on a new mission to eat most of the food in the pantry (which is overflowing) and chest freezer before we move, so theoretically, grocery shopping should be a quick and painless task. Theoretically, anyhow... If anyone else wants to take a stab at this meme, give me a shout and I'll give you some questions!

Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades...

I almost made it this year. I summoned my willpower and cloaked myself in it before entering any establishment where they might lurk from mid-November on. I studiously avoided the bulk food aisles, especially: I'd make a beeline for the chocolate melty wafers (used in our annual Christmas treat making) with a laser beam focus, then get the heck out. I made it until Christmas without succumbing. I finally had done it! I was soooo proud of myself.

Then, it happened. December 28th, about 5:30pm. We'd just returned home from our annual Christmas trip to the motherland. We needed milk. I popped over to the closest grocery store to our home. I was *just* going for milk. I wasn't even near the bulk foods section. And then, BLAMMO. I was hit. Directly in front of me, all out on its lonesome, a solitary bulk foods bin. Marked down astronomically. Clearance sale leftover Christmas candy. For a mere 59 cents a pound, they could be mine. I do not know what about them is so darn appealing. Obviously, they are not universally beloved, or they wouldn't be overflowing the clearance bin. They must be the candy equivalent of the leaden fruitcake no one ever wants or eats. No one, that is, besides me.

Did I resist? Of course not. I completely succumbed. For a measly 37 cents, I brought home a bag full. Two days later, I found myself making an excuse to go back to that grocery store (one at which I do not regularly shop because it is truly lousy) and found myself drifting over..... would that bin still be there? It was. I succumbed again. Another 42 cents' worth*.

I. Cannot. Resist. Them.


Damn you, Brach's Christmas Tree Nougats. You got me again.



*Please do not point out what $.37 + $.42 worth of nougats at $.59 a pound equals. I am all too well aware of how much nougaty goodness I've consumed in the past week. No one else in the family eats them, so I *know* they've all been eaten by me. Well, not all - there are a handful left down in the fruit bowl, next to the bananas. At least until my next trip through the kitchen, anyhow...............

Step off, Jose Feliciano!

Earlier today, I was shopping at a discount store that shall remain nameless (but hint hint: its name rhymes with MallWart) and while heading over to the bath-n-beauty aisle where I was hoping to find a more inspiring toothbrush for Kiddo (more on that later), what to my wondering eyes did appear but an ENTIRE WALL of Christmas decorations. Let me say that again: Christmas decorations. Ornaments. Santas. Snowmen. Reindeer.

Seriously, MallWart, what the HECK? It isn't even OCTOBER yet. I shook my head in disgust and turned away from the display, heading into Land O' Dental Accoutrements. After finding, totally amazingly, a musical toothbrush that not only features Simba, Kiddo's most favoritest Disney character of ALL, but that plays her most favoritest song of all time from The Lion King and calling Hubby from the middle of the aisle to screech with glee over my discovery, I headed out the other end of the aisle - away from the ridonkulously early Christmas display - over towards the cat food aisle. Then, I heard it. Somewhere in that RECD, some animatronic Christmas Critter was having his button pressed and was dutifully belting out Feliz Navidad. Over and over again - clearly, some mother was letting her child repeatedly start Animatronic Christmas Critter's singing.

Now, I am a Christmas nut. Seriously. I *heart* Christmastime. I also love the more generically "winter" snowmen - I have a collection of various snowmen figurines, ornaments, mugs and assorted tchotchkes. I absolutely adore Christmas music (and am doing my darndest to ingrain a love for Christmas music in Kiddo, as well).

But.

First of all, let's skip over the fact that it was ANY Christmas song playing in SEPTEMBER, okay? I am pretty sure that even those other Christmas nuts out there like me will agree that SEPTEMBER is just way, way too early for Christmas stuff. Unless you live at the North Pole, which, while it may feel that way weather-wise here sometimes, we don't. I mean, the leaves are just starting to turn and the weather is juuuust starting to feel crisp. Let's further overlook the fact that a mere two aisles away from the Land o' Crazy Early Christmas, witches were cackling and black cat eyes were blinking and ghosts were wooooo-ing and Frankensteins were moaning from their rightful spot in Halloween World. Monster Mash and Thriller only have a limited window for airing each fall, so to hear them competing against the jingling bells and cheery strains of Christmas music was just dissonant and weird and wrong.

What I really want to get to here, however, is the song selection. You see, there are very few Christmas songs I dislike. I even have a certain fondness for Dominick the Christmas Donkey and Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer (which I hold dear more for the nostalgia factor, remembering the time my friend Da Nator and I translated the entire song into Spanish for a class assignment back in high school. Abuela fue aplastado por un ciervo..... Good times!) There actually are exactly two songs in the Christmas genre that I cannot stand. One of them is that piece of inexcusable dreck (complete with children's chorus) called The Christmas Shoes. (I want to barf just typing the name. I refuse to link to it. Google it if you want to expose yourself to the horror. I'm sure there is at least one treacly video someplace on YouTube. *shudder*)

The other song that, though it doesn't make me want to barf, does drive me utterly crazy? Yep, you guessed it - Feliz Navidad. The reason I can't stand it and that it drives me so crazy is that once I hear it, even the teensiest snippet, it embeds itself in my brain and won't. Get. OUT. I will wake up at night hearing it playing in my dreams. I will catch myself humming it without even realizing it. It is insidious and that makes it eeeeevil.

Every year, Hubby and I keep track of how close to Christmas we get before hearing Jose's little ditty of doom. Typically, it is sometime around the week of Thanksgiving, usually heard in a shopping mall or on a commercial someplace. (We have a "ban" on Christmas music in our house - Hubby long ago decreed that it may only be played between the day after Thanksgiving and New Year's Day. Kiddo and I have subsequently modified that rule to "may only be played in Hubby's hearing" and usually start listening to Christmas tunes shortly after Halloween.)

I cannot freaking believe that this year, I heard it on September freaking 29th.

Oh, and clearly, I am not the only one for whom this song works an insidious and evil magic, because over the next 20 or so minutes that I was wandering the aisles of MallWart, I passed no less than three people who were whistling Feliz Navidad as they shopped.

Nooooooooooooooo! Stop the madness! At least until November 1! Aieeeeee!

(You think I'm going crazy over nothing? Really? Then I dare you to click below. Go ahead. See if it doesn't get stuck in your head for the next three months. Mwah-ha-ha-ha-haaaaa!)

Bullseye! I'm a WINNER!

So, how excited am I this morning? SO, SOOOOOOOO excited! I never win ANYTHING (heck, I even came in second when I was on Jeopardy) but this morning, I'm a winner! And not just a winner of any old thing, either, mind you, but the winner of a FIFTY DOLLAR TARGET GIFT CARD!

WOO!

(Um, sorry about all the caps, but I'm really flippin' excited here!)

Boy, I loved SITS even before I won anything, but now? *swoooooooooon*

THANK YOU so very, VERY much, SITS ladies! Heather and Tiffany - you guys ROCK! And by the way, this week's giveaway over there is a super-cool, red digital camera! Check it out and join in on spreading the comment love!!

(I've typed this entire post with a big ole cheeeeesy grin on my face, and now my kiddo is a bit worried about mama, hee hee!)

Heck, I may go out and buy a lottery ticket today - the Mega Millions jackpot is up to $125 million..........

Thar she blows!

This afternoon, I took the kiddo to the pool for the first time this summer. With our membership to the YMCA, we get access to the pools at the Y camps in the area, something we began taking advantage of the summer before last. There is a camp about 10 minutes from our house, and not only is the pool heated (ahhhh - nice for wimpy mommies) but they have a new splash pad play area for the kids (with an adjacent, shaded seating area). Not a bad deal at all, as we can use the facilities in the afternoons once the day camp is through and also most of the day over the weekends. Last year, the kiddo and I hit the pool a few times a week, as swimming is a wonderful sensory activity and really chills the kiddo out and gets her system regulated.

Of course, the down side to all this pool fun is the unavoidable Mommy in a bathing suit in public issue.

As much as I long for bathing suits to go back to the really old-school style like this:



it isn't likely that this is going to happen any time soon. This means showing off my jiggly, dimply, pasty whiteness in public, something of which I'm not particularly fond. (Imagine the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man in a raspberry and fuchsia paisley tank and you'll get an unfortunately accurate picture.) I've eyed the "suck you in and slim you down" suits that supposedly make you look ten pounds thinner as soon as you stuff yourself into one, but frankly, they wouldn't help me unless they went at least to my knees. I think my thighs would look even scarier to the general public if they were wobbling about underneath a tightly-sucked-in midsection. I've pondered getting one of the swimsuits with a skirt, but I haven't found a tank with a skirt that didn't positively scream "old lady" and I will. not. wear a tankini - I tried on about a thousand of them last summer on my sister's advice ("seriously, Heath, they're soooo forgiving and make any body type look great since you can mix and match!"). It wasn't good. I prefer the safety of the full-coverage, one piece suit, thankyouverymuch. Now, part of the problem is that I'm cheap - I won't spend $100 some-odd bucks on a bathing suit, not even for the sake of vanity. I'm all about the Land's End overstocks dept for my swimwear needs. So, no miracle suits for this mommy...

Now, the second part of the problem comes when the kiddo wants to go in the pool. As long as she's playing in the splash pad area, I can stay safely covered up and dry on the sidelines. But, she's not old enough yet that she's allowed in the pool sans grown-up, and I don't think I'd feel comfortable with her in there without myself or Hubby even if she were. So, when she wants to go in, Mommy must go in as well. And this, unfortunately, requires revealing all my Moby-ness to the world.

My strategy is this: Find a chair that is realllllly close to the edge of the pool, leaving my shorts/t-shirt or cover-up on until the last possible second. Once everything is set - the kiddo's bubble is secured on her back, shoes are shed, towels are laid out on the chair, etc. - then remove the covering and hightail it into the pool. As the other pool guests look on in stunned silence - "What was that large, white, jiggly mass that just flashed in front of my eyes?" - I get into the water at least as high as my cleavage. I'm totally comfortable with being visible from the boobs up - I like to think that the sun's reflection off the surface of the water minimizes my chins - and I pretend like crazy that the water isn't crystal clear, but rather black as ink and therefore no one can see the baby belugas protruding from my suit underwater. Denial is my best friend in this situation, always.

Now that I'm safely obscured in the pool, I am easily enough distracted by monitoring the kiddo, who comes up with new ways to give Mommy a minor coronary each year. Last year it was the "watch me jump in all by myself!" phase, and this year we've moved on to the even scarier "watch me 'swim' underwater!" phase. I use swim in quotes there because she's not really swimming, per se - first of all, she has the bubble on so depth is hard to achieve, and then there's the fact that in her mind, "underwater" is anytime her face is wet, so at the most she is maybe an inch below the surface but generally it is just her face in the water. (I'm even more paranoid than usual this summer with all the news stories about delayed drowning, so I was yanking her face out of the water constantly this afternoon.)

So, once I'm submerged, I'm pretty well occupied until the dreaded moment arrives when the kiddo either needs to do a potty run, wants to go back to the splash pad, or I have to pull the plug as her lips are turning purple. (Side note: I have never felt more like my mother than when I am ordering the kiddo out of the water "because your lips are turning blue, is why, right now!" as I must've heard my own mom say that to me at least a thousand times as a kid. I guess it is karma that she gives me as hard a time about it - "But Mooooommmmm, I'm not c-c-c-c-cold!!" through chattering lips - as I gave my mom back in the day.) Now not only do I have to bare the belugas again, but I'm cold and dripping wet and I don't believe that goosebumps are particularly slimming... Once I'm safely ensconced in my towel or cover-up once more, I finally can breathe again. (And hey, holding my breath is rather slimming anyhow, is it not?)

I've been trying to lose/tone up some of my Stay-Puftness in anticipation of our Florida vacation at the end of the summer, but I must admit I've been slacking a bit on the workouts of late. (For a while there, I was working out five - count 'em, FIVE - times a week at least!) I think today's pool visit has refirmed my resolve to firm the jiggling as much as I can between now and the end of August. I've still got eight weeks, I ought to be able to do something between now and then... In the meantime, if you happen to visit the pool at the Y camp one sunny afternoon, don't be scared when Moby Mommy blows past you on the way into the deeper water!

It's in the bag

As long as I can remember, I've been a Big, Honkin' Bag girl. Even back in junior high and high school, my purse was large enough to hold a few paperback books, an umbrella, a bottle of soda and my Walkman along with several tapes (and those of you who are of a certain age, like me, will recall that back in the day, Walkmen were ginormous - a far cry from the itty-bitty iPods of today) as well as the "typical" purse items, like a wallet, make-up, etc. For a brief stretch in college, I way, way downsized to a wallet/keychain combo, but that didn't last more than a semester before I gave up and went back to the big bag. As a mom, I've found the big bag comes in very handy, and as the mom of a kiddo with SPD, especially so. While many other moms out there may carry such items as wet wipes and band-aids, I've also got mini-containers of Play-doh and other good, sensory items like that for a fidgety, sensory-seeking kid. Oh, and the band-aids, well, I don't have just one or two. Over the past five years, I've learned to carry a wide variety of sizes, shapes and styles. Need a Princess "tattoo" band-aid? Who do you want, Ariel or Jasmine? Ripped the skin clear off your knee? I've got the giant, rectangular ones - with or without the built-in antibiotic goo. (These especially have come in handy several times with my kiddo, whose bare knees have never met a sidewalk or chunk of asphalt they didn't like.) How about a Diego or Curious George for that cut on your finger? Check! When the kiddo was younger, I also carried a baggie with a spare diaper/pull-up, scented disposal bag and a mini-pack of wipes, just in case I was without the spares in the diaper bag or the mini-van. (I was a firm believer in always having a spare for my spare, back in the Pre-Potty Trained days.)

The reason I raise this topic right now is because I bought a new bag yesterday and I've just finished transferring stuff from my old purse into the new one. Now, I know there are women out there who have Many Cute Handbags - women who switch from one bag to another to suit their whim or match their outfit or mood. I am not one of these women. I'm definitely a more Utilitarian Handbag kind of gal. I do have a "dressy" black clutch that I will use on those very infrequent occasions when I am going out to a fancy shindig, but that happens maybe once or twice a year at best. While my grandmother was a strict "matching bag, belt and shoes" woman who tried her hardest to instill the same fashion ethic in me, I have strayed far from that particular rule. (Well, first off, I rarely wear belts these days, and secondly, my choice of footwear is generally either my Birks or a pair of clogs or boots, all somewhere in the brown family. The only exception to this is church on Sundays, and now that I think of it, I generally wear my Birks or clogs or boots to church, too...) I do occasionally have a small twinge of "Grandma is rolling over in her grave" when I'm slinging my brown bag over my shoulder in a black-based outfit - especially for church, but I shrug it off and head on my way.

Yes, my brown bag. My beloved, gigantic, prepared for war, I-can-fit-a-small-child-in-there brown bag. My most recent purse was a brown leather (pleather? it sure wasn't too expensive anyhow) messenger bag from Target. It was large, it was roomy, it had convenient storage compartments for all my stuff. I could even toss my camera in there with room to spare. Sure, it's heavy when fully loaded, but I'm used to it, having carried a Big, Honkin' Bag for decades now.

I have rules for my bags. Obviously, they must be large. They must have a shoulder strap that is long enough to allow the bag to rest about hip-high. My mother gave me a lovely handbag for my birthday two years ago, it was large, brown, and a gorgeous, real leather - it even was a Cool Brand (not that I recall what brand name it was) - this was a bag that Carrie Bradshaw et al might be seen carrying with pride. Unfortunately, it had short handles, so when I did put the straps up onto my shoulder, the bag was wedged underneath my armpit. Ew. I believe it is meant to be carried on one's forearm (and indeed, I've seen several of the same style carried just like that in the Star Tracks section of People's website), but that just doesn't work for me. It feels awkward and impeding of movement and with all the stuff I lug around, uncomfortably heavy, too. Hence, the shoulder strap-hip length rule.

I have found one style of bag once that isn't a shoulder strap-hip length bag that works for me. Two years ago, my handbag purchase (again from Target) was actually a leather backpack. I mourned its passing (one of the shoulder straps blew) because I'd gotten very used to having both hands/arms free without a bag dangling at my hip. It was quite helpful when toddler-wrangling, yet I still had all my Stuff with me, too. I envy those women who can go purse-less or who can carry a teensy-tiny, cute, little bag. I've got friends who don't carry any bag at all, but along with my envy, I just don't get how they can get by without all the necessary stuff. It befuddles me as much as I long to have the freedom of no purse to contend with. The backpack is the closest I've been able to come to No Bag at All, yet still have all my stuff.

This brings me to my current handbag. (Hmm, do you think I've now said "handbag" enough times to drive away any possible men that might be reading this? I guess I just assume that only women read my blog, anyhow...) Yesterday, Hubby, the kiddo and I ventured to the outlet mall in search of a sunhat for the kiddo for our upcoming vacation (we're going to Disney World, woo!), along with some other odds and ends. I've sort of been on a quest for a new bag for a few months now. The downside to buying inexpensive purses at Target, especially when they're subjected to heavy, daily use, is that eventually, they wear out. My messenger bag purse has been held together with a fair amount of superglue for a few months now. With our upcoming vacation, I'd been keeping an eye out for another backpack-style bag, but had yet to find one that is big enough to carry what I need to carry and also not utterly heinous looking. Not an easy quest, let me tell you. This bag is my dream bag, but the price tag on it means that I will not be placing my order at LL Bean until after I collect my lottery winnings. I have yet to find a more reasonably priced knock-off of my dream LL Bean bag, so I've been looking for a backpack like the last one I got at Target (which alas, is no longer available, because believe me, I've checked) instead.

Now, the outlet mall has a Wilson Leather store. I decided I'd pop in and check out the offerings. While Hubby and the kiddo sat on a bench outside the shop, growing more and more grumpy as they baked in the sun, I perused the selection of backpacks as quickly as I could. I found one, marked down from $98 to $19, that seemed like it would fit the bill, though it was significantly smaller than my messenger bag. The lure of the good deal (look! It was NINETY EIGHT DOLLARS and I'm getting it for ONLY NINETEEN!) and the need for a backpack coupled with the sight of my increasingly impatient family sweating on the bench outside finally overwhelmed me and I bought the backpack. Hubby was dubious when I showed him my purchase. "It seems kinda small, dontcha think?" I waved off his misgivings - clearly, his brain was addled from all that sun - and we went on our way.

Which brings me to this morning. I did The Big Transfer, moving stuff from the messenger bag over to the backpack. As it turns out? It's kinda small. Everything that I need fits, with some modifications - one container of Play-doh instead of three, not carrying my contact lens solution unless I happen to be wearing my contacts, that sort of thing. My wallet takes up a lot more room in the inside pouch than I had thought it would, so I think my next step will be to buy a smaller wallet (my wallet's been on the verge of total disintegration for aeons now) to free up some more room inside. (No, I will not admit to Hubby that the backpack I got is too small. Let's just keep that between us, shall we?) That way, I can carry this backpack for at least a few months - until Hubby forgets that I just bought it, and then I can get a new, bigger bag. This is my plan and I'm sticking to it, unless the LL Bean Fairy delivers one of my dream bags to my doorstep or I win the lottery. (Which, incidentally, is hard to do as I don't buy lottery tickets unless the Megamillions jackpot is over $100 million. I mean, really, why bother trying to win the lottery if it is only a few million, right?)

Those of you who are Cute, Little Purse women, or even No Bag at All women, how do you do it? How do you have the things you might need without carrying a BHB, especially if you're a mom? Please share your secrets - maybe it will help me adjust to the too-small backpack! Otherwise, when the time comes that I buy yet another BHB in a few months, at least I'll be happy I only spent $19 on the too-small backpack currently sitting downstairs in the kitchen.