Category: It’s a She Thing

Purple Reigning It In


Sunday, June 1st, 2014

Em’s nursery is attached to our bedroom, separated by french doors.   During her sleepless infancy, the close proximity was fabulous.   But we’d like there to be another infant in there within the next year or two (knock on wood.)  Rather than generate unnecessary resentment over a potential sibling, we’d rather move her now than when there’s a kiddo on the horizon.   It’s time to transform Junk Room Left into Em’s Purpletastic Boudoir.

Plus, I want to move her before she turns into crib Houdini.  I have nightmares of moving her into a new room with the ability to easily escape.   To our bedroom.  (KNOCK ON WOOD)

I’ve ordered her bedding, purchased a rug, researched curtain options and pinned a gazillion ideas. I’ve got grand designs for painting an IKEA dresser and transforming two furniture pieces that once belonged to my grandmother.  When the bedding arrives next week, we’ll select her wall paint color.  The goal is to paint her room on Saturday the 14th.  I was going to pay to have the room painted, but I’m going to take that money and put it into room essentials…ya know, like a sparkly, little chandelier.

I know…I know…a chandelier sounds a bit much…. some would say “princessy.”   To which I say aww hell no.  We’re going for pretty not princess.   I just really want her room to be something she loves, and the bling appreciation is strong in that one.  She’s kind of obsessed with a chandelier lamp I’ve had forever.  And should she grow into the 2024 version of a riotous, steampunky gothgrrl, she can slap in black light and hang Tim Burton figurines from it.

Until then, here’s what I’m envisioning:

Nailed It


Sunday, May 25th, 2014

Before heading out for yesterday’s BFF girlie day pedicure, I rifled through my nail polish collection to find the perfect color.  We like to bring our own polish, because it allows for post-pedicure touch-ups.  I wanted something bright and summery, but my polish bin was a sea of navy blues and blood reds.

I flipped through the nail salon’s selection cards,  considering a neon pink and bright orange, before selecting  OPI’s new Neon collection in Push and Pur-Pull:

 

Kind of funny, huh?  I had too many dark blues and reds at home, so I opted for the salon’s purple.  Go figure!  While happy with my choice, I still wanted something a little bolder…

Serendipity struck this morning when flipping through my Memorial Day Sale email notices.  Normally, I delete my Lucky Magazine daily deal, but they caught my eye with today’s subject “17 Can’t-Miss Beauty Sales To Shop This Memorial Day Weekend.”   I flipped through the deals with nothing worth clicking until I came to slide 18/18:

Whoa.  3 amazeballs bright FULL SIZE Butter London Polishes for $19?  These puppies are typically $15.00 per bottle...

SOLD!

And, um, this one, too:

I’ve been wanting an orange and the white will be a great base coat for bright colors.  It’s totally worth the  overwhelmingly heavy burden of adding another fantastic blue to my collection.

And, well, I couldn’t let free shipping and a 20% off code (ahem, SEVENTEEN20) go unused (SACRILEGE!), so I added this beauty:


It’s called Sozzled.   It’s GREEN.   It had to happen.

In summary, I just scored 7 full size Butter London polishes for the price of 3.

Slap me in an oversized 90’s suit and color me badass! 😉

Crap, It’s Too Late to Drink


Saturday, October 12th, 2013

Remember in college when you didn’t go out until after 10:00pm?

Yeah… 17 years a little over a decade later, my mantra is “No wine after nine.”  With bedtime at 11:00pm, drinking after neuf heure is a non-non.  If I do, it’s hard to fall asleep and harder to stay asleep.

I miss those days when I could drink until 2:00am, sleep late, scarf greasy carbs and go about my day unscathed.   I remember one particular Big Easy excursion when my then 105-lb self consumed a Hand Grenade, multiple Hurricanes and a Big Ass Beer (yes, the actual name on the cup) and still was up at 10:00 the next morning for breakfast.   No hangover whatsoever.   What’s more crazy?  I followed that breakfast with an 8 hour drive to Ft. Worth.

Now, if I so much as think about a second drink, I can guarantee two things:   the kiddo will awake before dawn and no amount of ibuprofen, coffee or syrup-covered waffles will lessen the pain.   If I’m going to drink, it has to be minimal and with forethought.

So tonight, I opted for a margarita.  Kind of.  I prepped a Bud Light Lime-A-Rita (in a klassy kan) and a large glass of crushed ice right before heading upstairs to start kiddo’s bedtime routine.  I wanted it waiting for me the second I came downstairs.   I grabbed the baby monitor, a hockey puck (my attempt at chocolate chip cookie baking), the pre-manufactured beerita and headed for the couch.   I placed it on the coffee table while I briefly attended to some work and garage-sale tasks.

Two hours later…  I’d taken all of 2 sips and was well into the no-booze zone.

The 20 year old me would point out this isn’t an issue.   The rule is no wine after nine   And a margarita-beer hybrid is the farthest thing from grape goodness!  Drank ON!

Hmpfh.   If only I could teleport my 20 year old self into the present.

That way, I could drink the night away while dispensing a litany of advice (Moisturize, damnit!  Do not take your Contracts final when sick.  Don’t paint the walls Cappuccino.  Never (allegedly) mention any one year cohabitation before marriage rule with Dan).   I’d tell her stories about her life.  She’d look at me like I were freakin’ crazy.

And then we’d go to sleep.  She’d awake bright and chipper to babysit.

I’d set my alarm for the first time in two years.

I wouldn’t want to miss wine before nine.

 

My Fashion Doppelganger


Tuesday, May 7th, 2013

For the past couple of weeks at music class, another mom and I have worn the same article of Target clothing, a gray pocket V-neck tee and a gray cocoon cardigan.  Here’s a visual:

Only, I look like a schleppy mom and she looks fabulous.   While I use my sweater to cover my chubbamunk arms under a tank with dark denim bootcut jeans, she wore it atop a white camisole with orange cords, an orange bib necklace and matching earrings. Sounds funky, but it worked!

With my v-neck tee, I wore the same jeans.  The same jeans I wear every day.  I have two pairs that get rotated and reworn until the kiddo stains and schmears form the words “WASH ME!”   Yeah, I’m sexy and I know it.  She wore the t-shirt over well-fitting yoga pants.  Not the kind of faded, threadbare yoga pants that I wore around the house for oh…8 months following Emme’s birth.  We’re talking the kind of yoga pants that actually see a real, live yoga class.  I know, they do exist!   Prior to her wearing those pants, I couldn’t tell if she were just naturally “thick” or a chunky monkey like me.  Now I know – she’s just thick but fit.  Bitch.

So now I need two things happen:

  1. I need to get my FTS on ASAP so that I can look equally fabulous in my Target frocks.
  2. My living, breathing Pinterest fashion board that is this woman must sign up for the music class summer session, so I can continue to get outfit ideas.

I Had the Bobopsy


Friday, December 14th, 2012

In early December, I went for my first mammogram since August 2010.

Em’s arrival in August and subsequent breastfeeding meant skipping the 2011 checkup.  When I went to my 2012 well woman exam, it was decided that I’d need to delay my mammogram three months to allow the girls to return to their pre-BFing condition.  I went for my test on December 7th.

That resulted in a callback.  I was told the technician didn’t get the right angles of the “calcifications.”  I went back this past Friday, considering it more of a nuisance than anything.  I figured I’d walk in, they’d capture the same benign cyst I’ve had tracked since 2005 and walk out.   I went into the post-exam room and waited for the nurse to release me.  Instead, a radiologist walked in and closed the door behind her.

She started explaining “suspect breast tissue” and the biopsy procedure to me.  I interrupted her to explain I knew all this…I’d had a needle aspiration in 2005…yada yada.  She only had my 2010-2012 chart, so she excused herself to look at my entire history.  She came back in, smiled and in an oddly enthusiastic thick Eastern European accent said “I see what you meant.  Nuh!”

“Nuh?” “Knew?”  What was she saying?  Oh.

New.

Instead of a lump/fibroid, I had small calcium deposits (microcalcifications) throughout.   While there was the option to wait 6 months and chart their growth, she suggested a stereotactic biopsy.  ASAP.  This is where I started to panic.  She then told me she was 80% certain it was benign (whew), but if it wasn’t, we would discuss treatment based on the pathology report.    A nurse walked in with a Monday morning biopsy reminder card.  As if I would forget over the weekend.

I went in this past Monday morning while Dan’s mom watched Emme.   After caffeine-loading in the waiting room, I realized that might not be a brilliant idea considering the process involves laying still atop a table at length.   Luckily, the procedure went quickly.  There wasn’t any pain thanks to the 3 local anesthetics.  The first comes before the incision, the second as the needle drives through the tissue and the third as a pen tip-size permanent marker implants.   The anesthesia burned slightly, but it was nothing compared to the 14-hour IV antibiotic drip I had during labor and delivery.

They sealed the incision with Steri-strip tape and a dressing and sent me to mammography.  I’d been in a good place mentally until I started talking to the technician. Upon asking my age, shook her head and solemnly said “You’re just too young to be dealing with this” as she stared at my films.  Friday’s utter terror returned with a vengeance.

I was sent on my way with 3 restrictions: no showering for 24 hours, no anti-inflammatories other than acetaminophen and no heavy lifting, including 19-lb toddlers.   Dan worked from home Monday afternoon and Tuesday to hold me to that last one, but it was a lost cause.  Em wasn’t having any of that “no lifting” BS.

The biopsy center told me to start stalking my doctor on Friday for the results but said it would likely be Monday before I heard anything.  I knew it would be a long week.  Thankfully, I was kept busy with Em and work.  Dan was super-supportive, reassuring me things would be okay…telling me to focus on that 80% chance it would be benign.  Still, I had my moments.  I was reading “Night Night Little Pookie” to Em, had a vision of me not being there to read it to her and started choking up.  I held the book up so Em couldn’t see the tears as Dan quickly picked up where I left off.

My 2005 biopsy lacked two major factors that weighed heavily on my thoughts during this ordeal:  Dan and Emme.  The thought of how a cancer diagnosis would affect them was pretty horrific and led to many sleepless nights spent making plans for the worst case scenario.  Plus, there was the added dread of knowing chemotherapy and/or radiation at my age would make Wiggles II an impossibility.  I want Em to have a sister (or brother) to help her through life, and the thought of a cancer diagnosis ruining that experience for her exponentially increased my dread.

I went into my office this morning only to have my mother tell me I needed to just have baby number two already.  As she went on, I was thinking “Oh, if you only knew…”   I made a point of telling no one about the biopsy, especially family.  I’m a private person.  (And yet you have a blog?  Yep, filled with things I choose to share)  I figured if there was something wrong, I’d need time to research options and take it all in.  If everything were okay, then why needlessly worry loved ones?  So I listened as my mom urged grandchild numero four’s conception and danced around the topic.

When Dan suggested I start calling the doctor’s office, I left a message for the nurse, not expecting a callback until Monday.  Within the hour, another nurse called requesting the biopsy center’s phone number and assuring me she would have an answer by day’s end.  One hour later, she called back, explaining she had the doctor’s permission to give me the results over the phone.

Panic.

Panic.

Panic.

Her exact words were “First, he wants me to start off with ‘GOOD NEWS!'”

Move over, Rolaids, there’s a new way to spell relief!  G-O-O-D-N-E-W-S.

She went on to read the pathology report that described the calcifications as benign (KOW) and the radiologist’s recommendation that I be put on an annual mammogram schedule.  I’m already on an annual schedule, so wahoo!

So now I need to get serious with getting my act together.  I have 20 pounds to drop, a caffeine addiction to shed and a vitamin regimen to kickstart.   I’m giving myself until August to meet my goal.

That’s right… it’s time…

F.T.S., Part Deux!