Dress up

I loved prom.

I know a lot of people didn't go to theirs or hated the whole thing. Me, I loved it. Maybe it was something about the whole dressing up thing. I love dressing up. Finding the shoes, the perfect dress, the coordinating outfits, the flowers. All that just holds a massive amount of appeal for me. And it was innocent. Back in my day, prom was just a big dance. It wasn't some kind of invitation to sex and orgies. Actually, I don't know, maybe it was. I just wasn't invited to those festivities. For me, it was a night of playing grown-up  princess with the pretty clothes and maybe a prince in a tuxedo.

So when my son was finally old enough to go to his first banquet, I was so excited. I knew better than to try to help him pick out a suit. I sent his dad. Shopping with the boy is always torture, mostly because he thinks that everything I pick out is wrong and ugly. I knew that if I suggested anything, he'd just hate it and I couldn't deal with the rejection from my then 13 year old son. With the help of a salesperson, a suit was selected and fitted. But the day of the dance, I could barely get a picture of him. He wanted to be with his friends. He didn't want to get dressed until he was at his friend's house. Only after considerable begging on my part, did he deign to put on the suit for me to take a picture, but by then my feelings were well beyond bruised. I wasn't going to share even a tiny part of this event.

He just doesn't get it. For him, it is just another dance. He gets to go hang out with his friends, ask a girl on a date, and have fun.

He doesn't understand that for me, there is a fun in just seeing the outfits. That for me --  it is a rite of passage seeing my boy growing into a man. That for me -- finding out that homecoming is this weekend from other people and not him is excruciatingly mean. When I asked him about it yesterday, he said he hadn't told me because I hadn't asked about homecoming.

So this morning, on the eve of yet another homecoming that I won't have pictures of, I picked a stupid fight with my son for no good reason. I blew out of proportion the fact that he overslept and missed his bus. I flew off the handle because he didn't ask me politely for a ride to school. I told him that he was going to be late and that wasn't going to call in and excuse the tardy because he should have gotten ready on time.

Ah, my parenting style at its finest.

So I'll resign myself to not seeing the pretty outfits, or rather, I'll get to peruse the pictures my friends have of their kids on Facebook. If I'm lucky, they'll catch pictures of my son in the background. Just one more thing I'm going to give up.

I hope my daughters will let me be part of their dances. Fingers crossed.

You probably won't find this on Pinterest

I've got a couple of funny problem solving things that probably won't make much of a splash on Pinterest. If you have ever been down that time sink, you'll see gorgeous and perfectly framed photos from all over the net. Most of my friends post craft ideas and food ideas. Most of the time I feel like I'm not creative enough. Lots of, "why didn't I think of that?" moments for me.

But no more.

My Holly is a messy drinker. She's a dog. They're messy no matter what. I bought one of those plastic mats to keep the water she splashes out of her dog bowl to a minimum. Her splashing defeated the plastic mat. If I wanted the thing to be several yards wide, it probably would be okay. But the truth is, I have her dog bowl on the hardwood floor. I'm not pleased with when water lands on it because I'm *supposed* to clean it up right away. I'm just not that fastidious about that. And she's a dog. It's not like she has scheduled times to have a drink of water. We got her one of those gallon sized auto refill type bowls. I thought it would probably be a good thing if I could just raise the lip of the bowl a few inches. Then she'd have to stick her face into the bowl to drink out of it.

Using a cottage cheese container, I cut it in half, cut out the bottom to the desired height, and voila, a splash guard is born. Joy.

(This is the part where people typically post the picture of their completed projects and the steps it took to get there. Unfortunately, I don't have one of those cottage cheese containers to show you the before picture, and who am I kidding if I were to say that I'd post the pictures eventually. Heh, you should know better by now. I am not going to post pictures. If you need to know how to do this, then figure it out yourself.)

Here is my other great idea.

A couple of years ago, one of my kids came home with lice. I know. Gross. I'm actually not too freaked out by it because when it is all over, it wasn't so bad to deal with. I mean, yes, there was the daily washing and drying of the bed sheets and the constant vacuuming, but as far as pestilence goes, lice are not so hard to eradicate. There was the initial poison in the hair and lice combs which was a serious hassle. I thought about shaving her head. Might have been better. So that's the background. The lice combs have been at the bottom of my bathroom drawer for a very long time now.

A few weeks ago, I was struggling with my mascara comb. For anybody who has tried to do this, you know what I'm talking about. You apply your mascara. While it is still wet on your lashes, you're supposed to take your mascara comb, imagine a Barbie sized hair comb with a long handle, and comb through your lashes to ensure they're separated. But if you're a fraction of a second too late, there really will be no way to get the comb tines through your lashes and they'll be clumped up for the rest of the day.

One of my favorite make-up artists on YouTube is GossMakeupArtist. He's awesome. He suggests using your mascara comb to apply the mascara. You put the mascara paste on the comb itself and run that through your lashes which puts a very small amount of mascara on each lash without clumping. It's great. But my Barbie comb wasn't working as I wanted it to. The tines were too short.

Enter the lice combs.

Yes, I used the lice combs to apply my mascara and it works beautifully. The tines are about 2 inches long, all the tips are dulled so I'm not in jeopardy of stabbing my eyes with the metal tines. And the results are perfect.

Who knew there would be a new use for lice combs other than reminding me of a terrible period of time when the whole family had to get their hair ironed daily and the vacuum died from overuse.

So there you have it, two Pinterest worthy how to's without the glossy pictures.... unless I get inspired at some point in the future.

Don't hold your breath.

Side-kick

Lil'T:  Lola, can you read minds?

Lola (Grandma):  No, what makes you think I'm psychic?

Lil'T:  I'm just asking if you're side-kick.

Lola: Why?

Lil'T:  Because, then you could read my sister's mind and tell us what she's dreaming.

Pun-tee!

A couple of weeks ago, we went shopping at one of those places that has a grocery section and also clothing. I know you can figure it out, but I can't help myself. I'm embarrassed to tell you the name of the store because they kind of embody evil. Anyway, I really only needed 2 things. Say what you will about that place, but they really are awesome at making the one stop shop a reality.

The two items were panties for Lil'T and milk. Hubby, the girls and I walked in and I headed immediately towards the dairy section.

Him: If you get the milk, I can go get the panties.
Me: Okay. Size 8... Make sure they're bikini because she doesn't like the other kind.
Him: Got it, size 8, bikini.

We met by the cash registers and he showed me the pack. It was size 8, bikini cut. Well done. We checked out and were on our way pretty quick.

When we got home, Lil'T couldn't wait to tear into her new panties. From the bathroom, I heard her say, "They're too big."

Hmmm... I had him get a size up from what she had been wearing but thought it would be okay. Then it dawned on me what had happened.

He is a grown man. You would think he would know to get panties for his 6 year old daughter from the children's section of the store.

No.

I called Lil'T to show me her panties. She lifted her skirt. The had tucked the waistband of the panties into the top of the skirt, but the panties still reached down to her knees. For the uninitiated, size 8 women's panties are fairly large. Look, I'm not a small woman but even I can't wear size 8 panties. I asked her to step out of them. She just pulled the skirt waistband and they fell off.

This is how he ensures that I'll never have him shop for kid clothes again.

Well played, husband. Well played.

Kaya

We all have friends who are special to us for a discrete amount of time. There are the temporary ones, like the friend you make on the airplane ride home from vacation. Or the friend you make in line at the movies. Then there are the longer term ones, like the friends you make during a summer job or even at your regular job that never really make it out of the work place. But if you're extremely lucky, you've got those friends:  the ones with whom you make a soul connection, the ones with whom you share a level of trust and care that simply transcends time. I have been lucky in this world and I can count those people on one hand. Amongst them is Kaya.

I met Kaya when she was called Sherry. We bonded as girls often do, over the shared dislike of her then roommate. For months we swapped stories of how horrendous living with that girl was. For example, when Kaya had the stomach flu, her roommate heated and ate tuna casserole in their bedroom. It was then that Kaya coined the phrase, "socially stupid." It was perfect for that roommate, and like a sign I hand out à la Bill Engvall, I've dubbed lots of people socially stupid since (including myself on occasion).

It was Kaya who got me through my first big break-up. And even then she had the wisdom to give me permission to patch things up with him if I wanted to. Somehow, her telling me that gave me the resolve to let him go for good. Best move of my life, btw.

After Kaya graduated from UW, I worried that I'd never see her again. So heart broken that my friend was leaving my geography, I helped carry her boxes out to her dad's car just to steal a few more moments with her. But as she was leaving she turned to me and said that I was one of her forever friends. That I couldn't get rid of her if I tried. That was exactly the right thing to say to me.

She has a real gift for that, being able to say exactly the right thing. Words are her superpower.

For years I was amongst the lucky people who got Kaya's Xerox letters. For those not in the know, they were pieces of paper upon which she had written, drew, and mused about her life. Each square inch of the sheet was covered with her loopy print -- which changed a little when she became a teacher -- much more teachery. I loved getting those and at some point realized that I needed to keep them. I've got a stack of them somewhere. As much as I loved getting them, I loved even more finding the ones where she wrote on the back or included another sheet, just for me. Those were the treasures.

When my father died, I can't believe it has been almost 10 years now, I was in such a deep dark place. I spoke to Kaya shortly before the funeral and her words gave me my first moment of laughter -- so much that I kept reminding myself of them, telling my grieving family them, just to keep putting that salve of laughter on our broken hearts. She said that she imagines that heaven and earth are a lot like visiting a third world country and the United States. That you're living in the US and you think that maybe you'd like to visit a third world country just to see what it's like, just for the experience. You go there and the living is hard. There's no running water and you have to wipe your ass with your bare hand. Then you make it back to the US and you're relieved because there's running water and you DON'T have to wipe your ass with your hand. So Dad was in heaven, he did his time on earth -- learned a lot, loved a lot -- and now he's back in heaven. And he's just so lucky because he doesn't have to wipe his ass with his hand.

Kaya's gift with words, love of adventure, & varied professions all came together at some point with her first manuscript. She sent it to me printed on paper and via the US mail. *gasp* That's how we got it done in the olden days. I devoured that thing and made my notes. I boast to anyone who will listen that I'm in the acknowledgements of Kaya's books. I recently came across that first edition Church of the Dog, and in the inscription she wrote me it said, "Dearest Tess, Thanks for helping this not be a pile of crap. Love, Kaya" One of my proudest moments helping her in this process was finally ovary-ing up and telling her that I disliked one of the characters in one of her manuscripts. I was so worried that I couldn't muster enough tact to tell her about it gently, especially since I've struggled with being tactless all of my life. She accepted what I said with so much grace. And even acknowledged how tricky a position I was in to tell her that.

Kaya's always been the person I call when I truly need centering.  I know that she'll always listen and not judge me too harshly. She's also one of my biggest cheer leaders. To have someone like her be one of my cheer leaders makes me feel beyond worthy, even when I sometimes don't believe her. This woman has seen me figuratively and literally naked and still calls me beautiful. That she still calls me for counsel and support makes me want to be the best version of myself.

Today is her birthday. I suppose the right thing to do is thank her parents for making her and thank the UW for making me her neighbor. Heck, I'll even thank her roommate for being such a jerk. My life is richer and better because I have her in it.

I love you, my soul sister.

Bewbs

Yesterday was a beach day at a quiet closed gate community beach of which we are members. Really, that sounds snootier than it really is. When we first bought into the community, there used to be a logging gate at the front. Now the community sports a fancy automatic gate with a lighted keypad. Much cooler but still, not a pretentious gilded gate.

All it really means is that when we are there, usually there isn't anybody else there. Increasingly agoraphobic in my old age, I can't stand fourth of July's crowds and noise. Give me a sunny beach with nobody else for miles. Perfect.

Last fourth of July, we were the only humans we saw all day. It was heaven. Yesterday towards the end of our stay, we shared the beach with a bunch of 20 somethings who only came as sunset approached. The family in the neighboring house came by with two young boys around 8 or 9 years old and settled in to watch the 20 somethings burn their enormous pile of fireworks.

My girls were playing in the remnants of sunshine while Hubby and I sat in our beach chairs reading our books.

The 20 somethings were all having a bunch of fun -- whiskey and beer were being bandied about. The neighboring family was preparing a pitcher of mojitos to share. It was getting pretty festive.

I'm only telling you all of this so you can imagine the scene.

I turned around to see a 20 something girl wearing a string bikini chatting with one of the 20 something boys. One of the neighbor boys was turned in his chair away from the fireworks being shot over the water so he could stare right at her. That's when I realized that she was having a wardrobe malfunction ala Janet Jackson... well, more of a peeking nipple. In my surprise I turned to tell my husband that there was a wardrobe malfunction only to find that he'd already located the offending nipple himself.

He said, "I wasn't sure if I was seeing it right but then that boy seemed to be looking in the same place so I figured I was right."

Dirty old man.

I actually was going to walk over there and tell her if her boyfriend didn't manage to notice himself. Good on him, he did. I think the huge clue would have been the 9 year old boy sitting not 5 feet in front of her staring at her chest. Or the 44 year old dude sitting 20 feet away trying not to look like he's staring at her chest but still staring at her chest.

How early does that whole horndog thing start? And does it really ever end? Early and apparently not.

Prank

One of Hubbys's new coworkers keeps a full bottle of Mischief whiskey on his desk. It is an artisinal whiskey that is brewed in Seattle. We recently finished a bottle. Such a beautiful bottle so I didn't really want to recycle it. Weirdly there is some outdated law that prohibits the reuse of liquor bottles. I don't claim to understand it. For weeks I kept the bottle on the shelf but recently decided to recycle it.

Had I known about hub's co-worker, oh the fun we could have had!

1. Hubs loudly brags that he has successfully achieved his 180 days of sobriety chip from AA. Let that gem percolate through the workplace.

2. Day before next step, wear an easy to remember shirt, maybe loud Hawaiian print.

3. Get into work early wearing same clothes as previous day with empty bottle. Hide full bottle. Pretend to be passed out on co-worker's office floor with empty bottle clutched to chest.

4. Hijinks ensue!