One year of blogging, thirty years of Butterfingers, and a Happy Halloween

Around this time last year, I sat down at the kitchen table one morning to a bagel and shmear for breakfast. I felt queasy and didn’t know why. Then the fog began to clear and I remembered there was a fun size Butterfinger sitting in my stomach. It was eight o’clock in the morning and I hadn’t had coffee. Did I really eat a Butterfinger for breakfast?

Oh yes, I did. You can read about it here.

It’s funny how one little incident can affect our lives. For me, that seemingly insignificant breakfast of Butterfingers ended up inspiring me to start a blog and become a more disciplined person.

So here I am one year later, blogging and eating Butterfingers (…and Snickers…and M&Ms). Isn’t life good?

In all seriousness, it has been a great year, and a challenging one. I can say that I did meet my goal of running a half marathon and am quite surprised and happy about that! However, I am still way behind in reading through the Bible by the end of the year. (Good thing there’s grace!).

And if you will let me get introspective for a minute, I think I have become a more disciplined person. Or at least proved to myself that I can set a goal and reach it. On the other hand, I think that through entering the blogging community I have been able to accept myself for who I am: a candy loving, Christ following, germophobic, clean freak, wife, and mother of two. I think I’ve learned there’s a lot of us out there. We’re all striving to be more, to do more…and to accept ourselves the way we are. It isn’t easy balancing those things all while raising kids and trying be a loving and supportive wife. So, thanks for taking the journey with me.

And in the newfound tradition of Halloween epiphanies, I have learned this year that my son doesn’t like Butterfingers. It pains me to share this with you, but it happened.

Before going to be tonight, I let them “trick-or-treat” out of our candy bowl since we didn’t get much candy at the Harvest Festival (not that they were complaining–I was). Anyway,  I said they could choose just one to eat before bed. Landon chose a Snickers and woofed it down. Jacob chose a Butterfinger. Wise choice, I thought. But then, after nibbling a few bites on it, he handed it back to me. Can this be my son? Good thing he likes candy corn, or I’d really be concerned.

On the bright side, I guess I don’t have to worry about him wanting to eat Butterfingers for breakfast.

On that note, Happy Halloween!

Home hair highlighting kits: don’t try them at home

Home hair highlighting kits are never a good idea. Remind me next time.

Yeah, right, that's what my hair will look like.

Smelly, messy, unpredictable…dangerous.



As I am hanging my head over the shower trying to wash the toxins out of my hair, the water starts dripping down the sides of my face.


Well, it’s all over now and I still have my eyesight, thankfully. But can you imagine going blind from a highlighting kit?! BLIND. Like, not able to see?! I sure can. And it isn’t fun. It would be a horrible thing to have to tell my husband over the phone.

As for the unpredictable part? My hair looks nothing like the model’s on the box. I should have seen that one coming. Oh yeah, and I decided to trim my own bangs. Killer combo.

If I were telling you this on Twitter I’d say something like, #notmyfinesthour.

Somebody Stop Me!

It’s candy corn season.

Somebody stop me. Please. I will eat these things until my belly aches, my throat hurts and I am otherwise convinced I am slowly killing myself. Death by candy corns.

Even worse than my possible comatose state or death caused by obscene amounts of sucrose, is this sobering statement about sugar:

The arrival of candy corns in stores all across America is only the beginning of the mass amounts of high fructose corn syrup that will be screaming out to us from their tiny little vacuum-packed plastic bags until February.

That is a long time to show self control people, and I’m just not so sure I can handle it. I need help! Or I may end up passed out on the floor next to a bag of candy corns.

Flip-flap-flops and other wardrobe casualties

Before I begin, I wanted to thank you all so much for your thoughts and prayers for my family in Missouri. Not only were they spared from the tornadoes, but they left a day later for vacation in Florida! Thus, my empathy has turned to envy and I will no longer be writing about them on my blog. 😉

And so with the tornado season on leave (at least in the Midwest), I’m back to my regularly scheduled banter about nothing.

And what’s been on my mind lately? Something that will revitalize and expand my wardrobe. Something that will make me a more confident and attractive woman. Something that will help me keep it all together, if you will.

In short, I need glue.

The other day I was getting dressed up to go out for a pedicure and haircut, and a little bit of shopping; a belated birthday and mother’s day gift. A real treat for a mom and an occasion to take off the yoga pants, which is always a plus. After trying on nearly every top in my closet, I settled on an outfit that made me feel comfortable and cute. One last glance in the mirror and I realized I was about to leave the house with one sandal sole a-flapping and a bracelet missing a piece of fake tortoise-shell plastic. For fear of Clinton and Stacy showing me some secretly taped videos of my escapades around town in flappy shoes and a broken bracelet, I took off the bracelet. Two fashion “faux-pas” was a little too much, even for me.

The sandals, however, remained. They are so cute and they only flap once in a while… at the most embarrassing and inopportune moments, of course. Stacy and Clinton would not have been happy. Especially when they watched me run to my haircut appointment fifteen minutes late shoe flapping the whole way.


The bracelet and the shoes are not new wardrobe casualties. They stand alongside the cardigan on the top shelf with a giant rip at the seam, and the $10 pair of “pearl” earrings that suddenly became detached from their stems one day last year. So why are they still hanging around? Because they are some of my favorites!  And I have the perhaps misguided hope that some glorious day I will get around to fixing all of them. But it’s starting to get ridiculous.

…but flappy.

The bracelet has been waiting about six years now. The shoes, one maybe two. The cardigan and earrings are more recent additions, but casualties nonetheless.

I don’t know why it’s so hard to write “gorilla glue” on a list and purchase it, but it’s almost as hard as putting away folded laundry. Scratch that, it’s harder. For me, anyways.

And then I suppose, after procuring the glue I’d actually have to use it, which could be another couple of years worth of waiting, until the glue was dried up and useless or lost in another move.

(Sigh). So tonight, dear friends, I tell you: I am in need of a sticky situation and a little determination. And some shoes that don’t flap.

What do you need?

Oreos are a woman’s best friend

Pardon the absence.

In the past month and a half, we have shuffled our kids, car seats, toys, clothes, books, vehicle, dog and other bits and pieces from Virginia to Kentucky to California and it has left me numb. Like Pavlov’s dog I arise every morning to the cry of a baby and start the day all over again: juice, coffee, eggs, toys, nap, Mickey Mouse, run, playground, lunch, nap, shower, run an errand, visit hubby at work, dinner, play, put the kids to bed.

By the time my boys are in bed, I crash on the couch with stains on my shirt, scratches from tiny nails on my chest, baby fistfuls of hair pulled out from my ponytail and consume a handful of mint ores while scrolling through the pages of looking at houses that we are definitely not going to buy.

Sounds super productive, right? And like a good excuse for not blogging, right? Yeah, I thought so too.

But just in case you were wondering, that’s what I’ve been up to. Well, that and a whole bunch of other things, including running and reading my Bible, making slow progress toward my goals. In case you were wondering about that too.

I’m hopeful I may be able to recover some of the brain cells I’ve undoubtedly lost in transition and have something insightful or witty to say in the near future.

In the mean time, I’m alive and well in California. Eating Oreos. (Thankfully, not for breakfast.)

The truth about cheap sunglasses

It’s that time of year again. Time to buy another pair of sunglasses.

My latest pair of Vera Wang’s from Kohl’s have lost a screw, and left me squinting into the wild blue yonder defenseless against the sun’s blinding light reflecting off of asphalt and silver Toyota Camrys.

Sayonara Vera. My old shades, courtesy of

Was it the poor construction that formulated their end? Cheap plastic? The endless tugging of two little sets of chubby hands? I’m not sure. Either way, it is prime sunglass-wearing season and I am left one earpiece shy of a pair of shades.

What’s a busy mom to do? Add buy another pair of cheap sunglasses to my  list of things to do?

  1. Support husband
  2. Take care of children
  3. Walk dog
  4. Manage household
  5. Fold clothes
  6. Buy another pair of bogus sunglasses that will, without a doubt, have to be replaced at this very same time next year.

No thanks.

I’ve always been a bargain shopper, and I probably always will be. The thought of spending $69 on a pair of jeans literally makes my stomach hurt. Thus, understandably, paying more than a tank of gas for a pair of sunglasses is unheard of.

So I use my Kohl’s cash to buy a pair of $13 sunglasses for a grand total of $3, thinking “why pay more when I can buy these classy Vera Wang’s from Kohl’s and look just like Katie Holmes?”

Here’s the catch. Katie Holmes doesn’t shop at Kohl’s.

No, here’s the real catch. Because I buy inexpensive sunglasses, I do things like let my kids tug and pull on them, and stuff them willy-nilly into the abyss of my purse. They get tossed, trampled, smudged, chewed, and sometimes worn. Who cares, I mean, they were only three bucks!

And so ladies and gentlemen, year after year I find myself in the same predicament: Sunglassesless in spring and whining about it.

But now it’s worse. Now I have two active little boys and I can’t be scanning the aisles of TJMaxx or Kohl’s for new sunglasses every year.

Maybe it is time for a change. Maybe, just maybe, if I took some time to do a little research and swallow a really big swallow of bargain shopper’s pride (and a little Maalox), I could find a pair of shades that would last me more than 12 months.  I’d probably have to spend more than three dollars, but I think I could do it.

At least if I spent a small fortune on them, I would show them a little more love. Because let’s face it, you get what you pay for—and you treat things like what you paid for them.

That my friends, is the truth about cheap sunglasses.

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