by Amber on September 3, 2010
Well, hello there, Internet. Yes, I am still alive (although barely). I’ve just been bloggily blocked this week. So, today, for your reading pleasure, I give you the good, the bad and the fab of the last seven days. If you’d like to play along, visit Mommy’s Still Fabulous and link up!
The Good.
This is tough, because it’s been a rough week. But three things happened that are worthy of note:
- Tori actually took a real bath for the first time in oh, three weeks? With soap and everything. I am a fan of clean babies.
- Her first batch of fall clothes arrived in the mail. From Gymboree. Is there anything more adorable than clothes from Gymboree? I don’t think so (she’s got this pair of ruffled leggings that I would gladly wear if they came in my size).
- My dog’s ringworm finally cleared up. The battle to get it gone is a post all of its own, but I’m glad that he’s no longer in danger of becoming polka dotted.
The Bad.
On the one year anniversary of Tori’s first illness (which I swear was the swine flu), we both found ourselves sick. Again. This time with a particularly nasty cold that we seem to be passing back and forth and back again. Thankfully, as a by now seasoned mom, I’m far less nervous about these things than I used to be. But the coughs wracking her little body still make my heart twist in knots. And the rivers of snot pouring down her face and on to my clothes? Make me want to throw up in my mouth.
The Fab.
It’s a long weekend, people! And Mother Nature has turned her anger to the East Coast (they’re about to get nailed with a hurricane, aren’t they?), so it’s gorgeous here. The sun’s shining, the breeze is breezing and the thermometer’s not supposed to get above 80. I hate to say it, but for the first time ever, I’m actually ready for fall. Enough with the 100 degree weather already!
Also, Tori’s grandparents are coming to visit. And you know what that means? I can sleep in. It’s weeks like this that really make me appreciate the kindness of grandparents – and wish we lived much, much closer.
So that was my week. What’s good bad and fab in your world, dear readers?
by Amber on August 31, 2010
Internet, I’m feeling rather broke right now. And when I feel broke, I like to imagine what it would feel like to not be broke. To, instead, have a well-padded bank account, credit cards with no limits (and no balances), and the ability to buy anything I want, whenever I want. To pretend, in other words, that I am a millionaire.
If I had a million dollars, I would…
Send all my laundry out to be cleaned. Sheets, underwear, dirty socks…all of it. I would let it pile up to monstrous heights and then drop it all off at the nearest laundry services center. Then I’d hire that launderer to come to my house and put it all away (after all, that’s the worst part).
Hire a personal chef to make all my weekday meals. Did you know that there are people out there who will come to your house and make you gourmet meals that they then stash in your freezer for your re-heating pleasure? It’s true. And they bring all the groceries with them. Heaven, that’s what that is.
Get daily maid service. Bi-weekly cleaning ladies are so bourgeoisie. If I had a million dollars, I’d hire someone to come in every day. And leave me little Andes mints on my pillow. And maybe even make me one of these:
Hire a stylist so good that she could do my hair and makeup while I get Tori ready in the morning. Because I usually get so caught up in chasing her around that I end up with a half-done face and hair that needs ten more minutes of styling to look good.
Get a personal assistant to pimp my blog. I am certain that the best way to get big is to comment endlessly and pimp relentlessly. But I don’t have that kind of time. So, clearly, if I am going to be the next dooce, or heck, even the next Aunt Becky, I need someone to do my pimping for me.
Get a body double for photographs. I don’t take good pictures. I just don’t. What I need is someone who has been trained to pose successfully. Then, of course, I’d need…
My own personal Photoshop pro. The airbrushing tools in Photoshop can work wonders. I should know, I work in advertising. This pro, would, of course, also handle every photo of me tagged anywhere on the internet.
Pay someone to invent run-proof tights. That’s just a dream of mine. Because I? Never fail to punch holes in mine the first time I put them on (but continue to wear them for months, nonetheless).
Buy a sweet little jet, with a pilot to fly it. That way, when I get one of those urges to just. run. away? I could—and still be back in time for dinner.
I’d also need a private villa on the Caribbean, a team of baby wranglers at my beck and call and, of course, a personal trainer to whoop my body into shape. Maybe I’d even take up Scientology or one of those other religions crazy rich people get into (just kidding about that last one). At the very least, I’d pay off every damn one of my credit cards. Dare to dream…
What would you do with a million dollars, dear readers?
by Amber on August 29, 2010
Next week, my daughter will be seventeen months old. I’m not sure how that happened, since it seems like it was only last week that I was complaining about the spit-up on my shirts and cheering her on as she rolled across the floor. But here we are. I’m pretty sure the next time I blink, she’ll be seven. Before we get there, I feel it necessary to record some of the things that make Tori “Tori” at this moment in time. Things like:
Running across the room to grab our legs and hug them. That little girl loves to hug—she even hugs the other kids at daycare. But the best ones are when she stops what she’s doing and tackles us, saying “Hi, Mommy” as she does (I think that’s code for I love you).
Practicing her Miss America wave every chance she gets. She has a wave that’s pageant-ready, complete with a perfectly turned wrist and an ear-to-ear smile. Too bad I have no plans to enter her in an actual pageant.
Throwing world class tantrums. If tantrums were an Olympic sport, she’d get the gold medal for sure. They are fantastic specimens, complete with a red face, stiff body and ear-shattering screams. I’m going to film one and show it to her first boyfriend (so he’ll know what he’s getting into).
Choosing broccoli over chocolate cake. Someone must have forgotten to tell her that toddlers aren’t supposed to like vegetables, because this girl? Will pass up hamburgers, hot dogs, chicken nuggets, and even the aforementioned cake if there’s something green and vegetable-y on her plate.
Dancing around the house, singing tunelessly. I have no idea what song is playing in her head, but it gets her moving, that’s for sure. She waves her arms around and sings, waiting for us to join in her secret dance party. Sometimes she even wakes up singing.
Trying to run away from home. Put her in the front yard, and that girl heads for the hills (literally), running down the driveway and straight out into the road, saying “by-yee” as she goes. Luckily, we live on a cul-de-sac. Otherwise, we’d have a smooshed Tori on our hands by now.
Begging for a cookie every chance she gets. Brian taught her to say “cook-ie!!!” last week (exclamation point her emphasis), and now she asks for one every other minute. Fortunately, the way she says it is absolutely adorable. The giggles keep me from going insane.
That’s my Tori. Right now, anyway. I’m sure next week she’ll be on her way to being a completely different person, stealing my heart again with each new discovery. But that’s what being a parent is all about, right?
by Amber on August 26, 2010
For many a year, I resisted the siren call of high-tech torture devices in disguise body shapers. They, I insisted, were for only the vain and insecure. And while my body was far from perfect, I preferred to disguise its defects with well-designed clothing, not girdles.
Then I had a baby. After which, the lumps and bumps that had bothered me before became magnified by a factor of five million. But still I held out (though mostly only because funds have been too tight to splurge on such frivolities).
But, internet? I have seen the light.
While I was at BlogHer (that tiny little conference one or two people were talking about a few weeks ago), I spent some time in the Expo Hall (i.e. 30,000 square feet filled with free stuff). And in the Expo Hall was a booth hawking Assets – Spanx for the Target set. The lady was nice, so I spent some time chatting with her, and got talked into taking something called a “Fantastic Firmers Mid Thigh Shaper.”
Now, internet, I never intended to actually wear it. But that night, I was going out on the town with the girls. In New York City. My pride demanded that I make my lumpy body look as good as I could. So I reluctantly pulled the shaper out of the package and put it on – fully expecting it to be horribly uncomfortable.
But…it wasn’t. At all. And when I put my dress on over it? I admit, I was pleased with the result. I wore the shaper all night long, tramping around in the muggy awfulness of New York City during a heat wave, and never felt bothered by it. In fact, since it kept my sweaty thighs from chafing (I know, ick, but you know what I’m talking about, right?) it could be argued that my Fantastic Firmer actually made me more comfortable.
Still, I didn’t think I’d ever wear it again. In fact, I balled it up in the bottom of my suitcase and forgot about it.
Until this dress arrived in the mail.
It’s from Shabby Apple. And I’ve been drooling over it for months, imagining it to be the perfect dress for my figure.
But when I put it on? The post-Tori mass of squishiness that still inhabits my abdomen pooched out horribly.
Crushed, I decided I’d have to send it back.
But then I remembered the shaper wadded up in my suitcase and rushed upstairs to find it. And you know what? The Fantastic Firmer did its job fantastically. The pooch was nicely held in. The dress was again an A-line and not a B-line.
So I’m keeping the dress and the Fantastic Firmer. In fact, since I can’t afford liposuction, I think I’ll probably even buy some more.
In other words, I owe the manufacturers of shapewear an apology. Your products are indeed a boon to womankind. Thank you for making these magical garments for us (but you’ll never convince me to like pantyhose).
Oh, and just to be clear – no one is compensating me in any way for writing this post (well, other than the BlogHer swag). That’s not what this blog is about. I’m just excited about all the wardrobe opportunities that have opened in front of me and thought you might like to know about it too. Consider this a public service announcement, okay?
