Bad to the Binge

I'm not bad; I just shop that way.

It's not even noon and already I've been on a jewelry bender at Nordstrom.com and I may need this B. Makowsky leather purse from Endless.com.

Think of it as retail retaliation.

And what am I retaliating against? Oh, let me see... feeling unloved, unappreciated, unimportant and incredibly tired after a late night in which husband and at least one oversized puppy snored; cricket — strategically placed somewhere behind my head — chirped ALL NIGHT; Middle Child kept screaming about eyeballs in her sleep.

Aye.

AND husband was mad/worried because he forgot I was two cities and two hours away last night for an event, hence my 11:30 p.m. arrival, hours past my bedtime. This a.m., I had to follow sweet, but oh-so-challenging Middle Child around the house, barking orders like a drill sergeant. Same thing I do every day, all day. Then Youngest Child complained about the lunch I lovingly packed for him.

Once again, I'm persona mom grata.

Oh, and I lost the back of the automatic door lock for my keys, so I act like I'm living in the 20th century, unlocking doors by hand. Ugh.

See? I needed some shopping.

Keeping Cold Cooties At Bay

My husband is sick.

This means a few things: 1, he's a pill to be around and 2, it's only a matter of time before I get it. Bad.

AND the other night, he rolled over and EXHALED right into my face. My cold clock is now ticking.

It's bad when the daddy is sick, don't get me wrong, but it's positively catastrophic when the mommy gets sick because I'm the one who feeds and runs the household and most importantly, chauffeurs everyone everywhere. Not only would I still have to do this if I'm sick but I'd be a complete bitch at the same time. So when I felt that familiar tickle in my throat last night, I broke out with the Airborne.

Everyone has a cold remedy to rely on. Old-fashioned types swear by chicken soup. My husband downs the Cold-Eeze like no one's business. Me, I go for the Airborne. It really, truly does seem to lessen the severity and length of the average cold. Problem is, the stuff is nasty. I tried "zesty orange" and "pink grapefruit." Blech. Then, I bought Target's generic version because it was even cheaper. It tastes worse — like Tang that spoiled on the moon light years ago. So today at Target, I ponied up for the actual Airborne and was intrigued to see there's now a Very Berry flavor.

It's probably the best cold medicine I've ever tasted. Really. Makes me think back to my childhood days when I thought that the thick, pink antibiotic I'd been given for an ear infection was as delicious as candy. This flavor Airborne tastes kind of like Kool-Aid, and while I'd never make it my first choice for dessert, it will definitely make the battle against this cold much more pleasant.

Wish me luck.

Friday Shoe Haiku

These heels looks Pucci.
But they're not. They look soooo tall
And, oh yes, they are.


This spectacular pair of Sergio Zelcer cork wedges will likely be part of my Halloween costume tomorrow when I am the perpetually stressed dresser-of-the-stars Rachel Zoe.

True story — the last time I wore them (on a movie date night last year), I completely fell on my face in front of a police officer. Good thing they don't do field sobriety tests for walking.

I am a selfish bee-otch

My parents ask for a Christmas list every year.

It kinda makes me feel like I'm 12 again, but it's sweet and I always dutifully comply because they are Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Seriously.

Pretty much everything that goes on the list shows up under the tree. I've never tested the limits of their generosity by asking for, say, a car, because I'm not that kind of girl. But I really think they'd go for just about anything because even though they never want gifts and complain about the commercialization of the holiday, they still really want to buy for people and make them happy.

Since my mom's a planner, this is the time of year she asks for the lists. I had already been thinking about mine for months and had been jotting down things that I'd like to add to my arsenal of stuff.

My husband also sent in his list — yeah, he asked that donations be made to a charity that benefits local school kids.

$*&%^*#*%)

My parents were most impressed by that and told me how mature this was. Talk about feeling 12 again. Somehow that seems more generous than me requesting a scarf made by disabled people.

Cool Discovery #53

I let the kids pick out the bath soap, anything to make at least one job easier. So when my little dude selected Spider-Man "Grime Fighting Blast" body wash at Target, that was fine by me. What I wasn't expecting was that I'd become absolutely intoxicated by the smell.

The Marvel people must've been screwing around that day, trying to decide how to throw parents for a loop. I mean, the container is decorated with Spider-Man and Doc Ock, the soap is neon-pink, but it smells like something you'd find in an upscale bath shop. Amazing.

The pink gel is fresh like cut grass, clean like rain and with a subtle, subtle hint of powder. It's reminiscent of one of my favorite, favorite scents — The Thymes Fig Leaf & Cassis, which has been discontinued. Ah well, this stuff might be even better and it's infinitely cheaper. I'm totally stealing it from the kids. They just got some SpongeBob stuff anyhow. It smells exactly like kid soap usually does — overly fruity and slightly medicinal. Spidey's all mine.

Calgon! Take Me Away!!

The squares on my calendar are just not big enough.

Since it's Monday, I was looking at the week ahead and jotting in all the things I realized I hadn't entered into my old-school Blackberry — birthday party, doctor's appointment, day off from school. Then I flipped ahead to the next month and the next. Holy crap, the year's almost over. And my little, teeny squares are so very full.

I wish I could just hit the pause button for a breather. When my kids play together — or even sometimes in the middle of a conversation with them — they'll shout "Pause!" so that everything stops while they do what they need to do, go to the bathroom, swat at a fly, look at a flower.

But, I think I need more than just a momentary pause.

Some people (those without children) might say I need a vacation. Once you have kids, though, that word is no longer applicable. When you bring children with you, it's called "taking the show on the road." There's no vacation. No relaxation. Just the same ol' same ol', but even harder. No, what I need is a comacation. If I could just slip into a light coma, just for a few weeks, I think that would do the trick. Well, that is if a coma is like a deep sleep.

I don't want to be in one of those comas where you're completely aware of everyone and everything going on around you, and you just can't respond. That would suck. That might be more maddening than being awake and having people constantly tugging at you and screaming and crying and shouting, "Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!"

Friday Shoe Haiku

Pink and checkered sneaks
Orthotics fit inside! Yay!
Happy podi'trist....