This makes me feel good. Hope it makes you feel good too.
This makes me feel good. Hope it makes you feel good too.
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Here's a little Saturday Bonus for anyone intrigued by my bright orange laundry room. When we built the house I decided to go with a really crazy intense color in the laundry room because a) I figured if I have to spend time in there doing boring work, why not have it be a festive place rather than a drab one, and b) I liked the color but it wasn't exactly something I could put in the living room.
I'm actually kinda proud of it because up until about a month ago this room was a big pile of junk with a narrow walk through to the washer & dryer. Now it is the laundry room I always dreamed of. Okay, I've never really had a dream laundry room--if I did it would probably be in someone else's house--but you know what I mean.



So there, my Laundry room. Ta-Da! Please return to your normally scheduled Saturday.
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I think I've written before about how much I usually get done when my husband is out of town with my evenings all to myself. Don't get me wrong I watch lot of movies and surf the net, too, but I always have a big list of things I want to finally get done while he's away. And he's really away this time. I'm only 1 week into a 3 month absence so I should have time to get quite a few projects completed. Here's the working list:
Okay, I need to stop myself there, don't you think? Yes, that's plenty.
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Wanted to share this cool site called Gas Buddy. Enter your zip and it'll list the stations with the cheapest gas in your area. Probably worth a few bucks of savings every fill-up over just turning in at the first place you see when the light starts blinking.
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Technorati Tags: Frugal, Fuel, Gas, Save
Yesterday's update on my TV reduction scheme got me thinking about all the different plans and ideas I've written about on this blog--in a fairly short time I might add. So in the interest of a little personal accountability, and with a polite nod to reality, I thought I'd update you on how I'm doing with all of them. As you'll see, I've had wildly varying degrees of success.
Learn to Speak French - Failure
This plan was sort of forgotten right around the time I received the "Learn French in your Car" CD set. I did listen to lesson one a few times and I can now ask you where the toilet is, but with the possibility of moving to Luxembourg still looming, I should probably recommit.
Ditch Papertowels - Success
We love the cloth napkins and our papertowel consumption has just tanked. We still have them but we're using them very infrequently.
Use Premade Lists - Huge Success
I'v been really consistent with this and my meal planner and grocery list have saved me time, sanity and money at the store. Excellent timing too with food prices going through the roof as they have.
Stretch every morning - Unqualified Failure
But at least I set this one up nicely to be able to blame it on my toddler. Have to speak with him about his responsibilities here and find out if he's willing to stop being such a lazy slob and recommit to this program.
And these 4 from my New Years Resolution post...
Get out more with Huck - Moderate Success
We've done a nice job here. Been going to Toddler Swim and Gym every Friday morning and story time at the bookstore once a month. We could go to story time weekly at the library, and I know I keep banging on this, but once the weather improves we'll have a lot more options.
Take better care of myself - Moderate Success
Well I did get the awesomest haircut ever and buy a few new clothes with some Christmas money. And I have been <ahem> showering more frequently. But there's still lots of room for improvement here.
Plan time with my husband - Failure
I think we've been out alone together once since I wrote my New Year's Resolution post. But when we had our big come-to-Jesus meeting about whether we could afford for me to quit my job, we budgeted for a weekly date night, so this should improve drastically once I'm out of my job.
Buy less, make more - Huge Success
I'm still loving this and doing great with it. Have a bunch of birthday presents stockpiled and have made lots of neat things for Huck.
Oh well, I just didn't want you guys to have a perception of me as this Type-A, get-it-done, Wonder Woman. I make plans out the wazoo, but I often lack follow-through. The internet can mask that.
I mean, I try. But this is reality.
Welcome. Sometimes, it's a nice place to be. Other times, not so much.
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I've been procrastinating on getting my ponytail sent off to Locks of Love. I got the address and downloaded the donation form immediately, even sealed the hair up in a plastic bag like you're supposed to. But getting everything packaged and to the post office was been hanging me up for some reason. I mean it's hard enough to find the time for all the regular shit, much less shipping hair across the country. But yesterday I finally went downstairs to round it all up and do the deed...
AND MY HAIR WAS GONE!
Now a foot of bright orange hair doesn't just weave itself into a pair of cute culottes and walk away. Don't worry, the mystery didn't last long. I looked around a little and then asked the most likely suspect--call me Columbo, but I had a hunch.
Stephen had hidden it. The ziplock containing my ponytail had been out on our shared desk for days and it seems it just started to creep him out. He said it was like some serial killer's trophy sitting there or an evidence bag from a grisly murder scene. He tried to ignore it for a while but it was really giving him the willies so he finally stuffed it in a desk drawer.
Even after he told me I had some trouble finding it because, not only did he hide it in a drawer out of sight, he stacked a bunch of file folders and notepads ON TOP of it. You know, so it wouldn't climb out of there a GIT HIM.
Here's the spooky hair in it's evidence bag.

I guess I understand...sort of. I had Live Bootleg by Aerosmith when I was about 9 or 10 and the picture of Steven Tyler in the fold out freaked me out so bad I couldn't sleep at night if the album was out. Just closing it or turning it around was never quite enough to quell my fears. I had to bury it under other albums. Like maybe Captain and Tenelle would neutralize Steven Tyler's giant gaping maw and keep him from eating me while I slept. Of course, I was a 9-year-old girl.
Whatever. The offending hair is gone and Stephen can rest at ease once more.
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On this, the one year anniversary of the last time I exercised, I thought I'd muse on my shortcomings.
I don't like to workout. I've tried everything--strength training, running, swimming, biking, downhill skiing, cross-country skiing, I even trained for and completed a triathlon once. And yes, yoga (see the ticker of shame).
I have all kinds of workout DVDs, hand weights & bands, unflattering clothing and a giant exercise ball that does nothing but pick up dirt and cat hair. All acquired in the month of January or immediately proceeding a summer Olympics.
I do alright with anything for a while but I seem to lack the motivation to keep it up. I have no consistency.
I was blessed with a naturally slim body so I can get away with a lot of inactivity. I don't look like I need to workout. But there's more to the benefits of working out than a small waistline. And I really believe in exercise as a necessity for overall good health. I would be a healthier person, on the inside. Mentally, even. I would be a better example for my child. And as much as I hate to admit this, it does make me feel better--in a general sort of way, not while I'm actually in the process of the grunting and sweating. I sleep better, breathe better, stand straighter. I like my body better when I've got a little muscle tone and nice posture.
But somehow, none of that is quite enough to get me off my ass.
I just hate doing it.
There are a zillion things I would rather do than exercise.
I'd rather clean the fuzzy gunk off the top of the fridge. I'd rather empty the cat box.
The truly twisted, "cloud-cuckoo land" thing is, I actually think of myself as an active person. In my mind, I'm the kind of person who does yoga twice a week and takes walks with Huck every morning. It's like I'm thinking the Minuet in G. But it's just not reality. It's self delusion. My perception of myself and the real me are out of whack. And I do hate that. The question is do I hate it enough to get off my ass? Not sure. Maybe. I've always been a fan of a certain amount of self delusion.
Anyway, I'm going to start something new. We'll see how it goes. I'm going to try and use some posts from a great blog called Zen Habits as my Guide: How to Make Exercise a Daily Habit and 4 Simple Steps to Start the Exercise Habit. Check it out. Leo's strategies, how-to's and guides for making your life simpler are really useful and digestible.
I'm going to start very slow and simple. I'm going to try to do a couple of basic stretches every day. 5 minutes in the morning. I'm going to use getting out of bed as my trigger. I do it every day--not just Monday, Wednesday & Friday (but wouldn't that be great?). I'm going to use Huck as my workout partner because he seems to have energy and motivation in spades. And he's a creature of habit so if I get him to stretch with me for a week, he'll start standing at the side of my bed every morning saying "Tretch Mommy, tretch." Talk about setting myself up, huh? We'll see how it goes.
If one day you notice a Pilates ticker pop up, you'll know what happened.
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I needed a nice pick-me-up, so.....I chopped all my hair off!
No, I didn't pull a Britney. I'm all about DIY and all, but I have no skill or confidence in that department (with the exception of my toddler, but who the hell does he have to impress?). Plus I could never pull off bald, I have a bumpy head and a long face. I just really needed a change in my life and since I can't jet to Fiji or replace my entire wardrobe with Eileen Fisher and Hanro, a haircut seemed like the way to go.
Look how long it was!

When I was acting I used to get my hair cut regularly by a nubile young gay man who called himself Johnny Boy at one of the best salons in New York City, Antonio Prieto. I paid $125 a pop and that was in the 90s. Now that I live in the sticks and no one pays money to look at me, I get my $35 haircut at a joint called The Foxy Lady.
I wish I was kidding, but I'm not. See?

What's even funnier is that Stephen gets his hair cut at The Foxy Lady, too. <snicker> Talk about a guy who's relaxed in his masculinity, huh? What can I say? It's a small town and there aren't a ton of choices. And we love Rachel, the girl who cuts our hair there, so much that we were willing to follow her to a ridiculously named salon when she left her last place. Believe me, we struggled with the decision.
Here's what she took off...11 1/2 inches!

I'm shipping it to Locks of Love tomorrow. It's a wonderful organization that makes and donates hairpieces for kids with diseases that have caused them to go bald. Real human hair wigs can run in the hundreds of dollars.
Alright, alright, I'll stop beating around the bush. Here's the finished product--a classic bob.

Sassy, versatile and low-maintenance..me all over! It feels fun and light! Stephen loves it (I emailed him iPhone pics), but I wonder what Huck will think.
My Dad was a hairy, hippie looking guy when I was a child--long, wavy dark hair and a goatee. However, my parents have long denied the assertion that they were actually hippies on the grounds that they had jobs. Whatever. They had super long hair, smoked weed and had black-light posters, you be the judge. Anyway, one day while I was off at school minding my own business...


When he walked in the door after work, I screamed in horror and hid in my room, crying, until dinnertime. I'm sure it was cathartic for him, for me, it was the end of world. That short haired dweeb was not my Daddy, and I wanted my Daddy back! Of course, I got over it.
Still, let's hope for a better reaction from Huck. Maybe he'll even learn to say...Foxy!
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I'd like you to meet a dear, dear friend...my robe.

Stephen calls it my Fozzie Bear Suit. And I have to say, he's got a point. Pair it with a beat up fedora and a neck tie and I'm a dead ringer. Waka waka. It's not a real turn on, but then, that's not why I got it.
I bought it in early 2006, about a week before Huck was born and I love it.
It's the kind of robe you fantasize about. Yes, I have fantasized about the perfect comfy robe. If that makes me crazy, bring on the padded cell and the Thorazine. It's just that I've been disappointed by other robes--too heavy, too thin, not soft enough, no pocket for the little wadded up tissues I like to carry around.
But this, this is the perfect robe. I had high hopes when I found it and it didn't let me down like all the others.
I read in a magazine that Oprah loved these CozyChic Robes made by Barefoot Dreams, a company started as a small mommy venture. I was in the market for something nice to have for my maternity leave and I figured (that's Texan for thought) that if anyone knows a good thing when she sees it, and probably likes to be very comfortable after a long day of kicking ass at Harpo, it's Oprah. And it wasn't Oprah expensive either--$130 at the time, if I remember correctly (you can find them for less now and I know they have them at Nordstom's). Certainly not cheap, but not prohibitive as a nice gift for myself on the eve of my first trip through the ring of fire. I deserved something nice.
I chose this lovely camel color to match my favorite Wicked Good Moccasins. In the winter evenings here I like to cocoon my entire body in squishy softness and pretend the world is at peace. Huck does, too. And, unlike his father, he loves the robe as much than I do. It's practically one of his comfort items. He loves to snuggle down into it or have me wrap him inside it when we nurse or read books.
I've been thinking lately that I'll probably get a new one when I'm big and pregnant with the next baby. This one is a little shabby now. But after maternity leave, engorgement, 3 Idaho winters (and counting...), and 2 years of breastfeeding (and counting...), it's no wonder. It's been leaked and pee'd and barfed on (and washed) so many times now that I'm not sure it'll make through another kid.
But maybe I'll cut it up and turn it into something special so Huck will always have a little piece of it. Wonder if I can find a pattern for a homemade Fozzie Bear?
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It recently came to my attention that the location of my birthday calendar might be a little interesting to some people, nay, perhaps even strange. And of course, my antennae always up, this sounded like good blog fodder.
My husband grew up in Holland and his family brought a lovely tradition back home with them. Just about everyone over there has a Verjaardagkalender, which simply means birthday calendar. There are no days of the week, just a page for each month and a list of all the dates. You can simply write in the birthdays of all your family and friends one time and then use the calendar year after year as a reminder.
Nothing all that unusual, right?
What's particular to the Dutch is the placement of this calendar.
The bathroom. Right beside the toilet.
After all, you're surely guaranteed to spend some amount of time in there every day--the Dutch are not only very pragmatic, but also very regular. And who doesn't get a little bored and start wondering about family and friends while they're stuck in there anyway?
With this set up you're far less likely to let Aunt Fanny's birthday slip past without some acknowledgment (I know, there are just too many jokes). And, BONUS!, if you provide a pen any guest can write in their own birthday as they attend to other things. I've always been a sucker for multi-tasking myself.
An interesting cultural phenomenon? Certainly.
Strange? Perhaps.
Handy and practical? Abso-freakin-loutely.
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For anyone interested in bringing this little Dutch treat to their own bathroom, you can find authentic Dutch verjaardagkalenders at The Dutch Shop or more American style perpetual calendars at Amazon.
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