Green Apron Ladies and The Big UGLY Mishap

There was a new coupon for Bath and Body Works.  So I loaded up my kids with a few saved pennies ready to buy some delicate smelling loveliness.  THIS HUMID SUMMER IS INHUMANE, and let's just say it makes me look and SMELL anything but delicate.  A girl still wants to feel like a girl in this jungle called Florida!! 

We were a little disheveled to say the least.  Ashley had crusted something on her face and I wasn't about to have the hair-brush fight with Ally to go to the mall (we save that fight for school and church).  And Jacob, my sweet handsome baby boy, is perpetually covered in spit-up.  They are my babies and I love them no matter how goobered, and everyone else will love them too!  I didn't even look at myself in the mirror because I am a good person and super charming and it doesn't matter what I look like...

We run to the back of the store where the little-bitty bottles of hand-sanitizer are stationed in glorious, overflowing Plexiglas bowls.  Sparkles, scent-beads, and shimmer dotted the maze of bottles  in every girl color you could imagine.  "Ok, you can each pick five," I tell my little ladies.  As they ogled over all of the possibilities, I noticed several workers looking up from other duties to inspect us in the sani-corner.  I smiled at each of them, and they turned away.  Ok, fine. 

"We need BAGS mom!"  Ally says.  We were going to make this a complete Bath and Body Works experience with mesh baggies for each shopper!  I hand a bag to Ally.  "No MOM! THESE bags!"  Ally says holding up the cute paper-handled bags for which Bath and Body Works is famous.  They usually give the bags at the cash register when they wrap product in pretty paper, but these were just sitting in a pile, next to the lotions so I figured why not.  The girls frantically put their beautiful sanitizer gels in their own little bags.  The stares intensify.  And then I feel the woosh of green aprons converge upon us.     

A 50-something employee woman with an angry-looking, tight-curled, boy-short haircut looks at my Ally square in the face and says, "Have you PAID for those!?" All of the weird stares finally sink in.  They think I'm a shoplifter!  They think I'm using my babies to steal stuff!   I laugh at her misunderstanding and say, "Oh no, we are about to, the girls are so excited to have their own bags!"  The evil look in her face and formidable stance between me and the store exit said she was not buying it!  "OK girls, We are making people nervous here," I say with emphasis toward angry-haircut-lady, "Let's put the bags away so people know we are NOT stealing."  They obey knowing something is serious. 

All the other apron ladies look on.  I want to scream "I'M GOING TO THE CASH REGISTER TO PAY FOR MY STUFF WITH MONEY I EARNED, MONEY I EARNED HONESTLY!  I WENT TO COLLEGE!  I WENT TO MORMON COLLEGE!  I DRIVE A TOYOTA CORROLA! "  Instead, I say, "Ok girls, time to PAY for our stuff."  Boy-bouffant woman seemed satisfied and huffed away.

I complete the transaction with a less-scary college age girl.  "I have to ask you, I know this is a little weird, but do you guys get a lot of shoplifters in here? You guys were all staring at me really closely."  She says that they actually do, and it is difficult to prosecute because the store is so crowded with many little things people can just pocket.  "We can tell who they are though, so we just watch them really closely..."  AWWWk-WAARRD.  "Um, well thanks, have a good day," I offer.  Ashley starts screaming because Ally is grabbing her bag (SANCTIONED bag this time).  The scream scares Jacob and he starts to cry.  The nervous apron-people stares become agitated stares, and I shout "THIS TRAIN WRECK IS LEAVING!"  I was out the door with my integrity, and a little less of my dignity. 

That was so wierd, I think to myself.  I can't look THAT bad.  When I get home I check myself in the mirror and crack up in laughter.   A bit of charm was not going to help me that day.  The people thought I was a shop-lifting meth-head because I looked like a shop-lifting meth-head.  It was a perfect moment to spruce up, with paid-for Bath and Body Works goodies, and feel like a lady again. 

What not to say on a first (Mom) date

In my mothering career, I have lived at 8 different addresses, in seven different cities, in three different states.  I am not a gypsy (Although I am partial to their over-the-top girlie couture).  These moves can be explained by husbands job change/further education.  I'm sort of a weirdo and have had to learn a few lessons when meeting new people in these 8 different places.  It is important when relocating with little kids to find mom-friends.  And I've learned that making mom friends is similar to dating--you don't tell this potential friend everything at first.  You act like a normal person, let the weirdness slip out, little-by-little until they know that your obsession with  Hello Kitty and miniature things is harmless.

THINGS TO NOT SAY ON A FIRST MOM-DATE:

* I Love buying toys, ”I love buying toys for my kids too".  No for me, I like buying toys for myself

* I wonder how Moms watched their kids before TV...

* Don't you wish you lived during the time in humanity where being fat was really awesome? 

* Whenever I feel shallow I watch Real Housewives. 

*Whenever I feel like a bad parent, I watch Toddlers and Tiaras.

* Whenever I feel like a slob I watch Hoarders, then I go to Wal Mart

* Wouldn't it be funny if people thought we were a couple?

* I have aspirations of becoming a cat-lady

* I don't really like other people's kids, they're annoying

*I'm the opposite of claustrophobic.  I slept in a closet in college.  Can I sit on your lap?

* I'm collecting miniature things for an awesome dollhouse in the future.  I want to be control of my little universe. 

* I dress homeless for personal safety, no one would try to mug a homeless lady, she doesn't HAVE anything, RIGHT?

* If we become really good friends, are you going to be really needy?

* I have hobby ADD.  Want to see my 30 unfinished projects? 

* I LIKE talking to strangers

* Mom blogs bug me because I wish I were better than them

Coupons and "Made-Up" Memories

Our funds are tight, we threw away a lot of food when we moved across country (from CA to FL), and I wanted to stockpile good deals for everyday use--or the zombie apocalypse, whichever came first--so I turned to couponing.  Hopefully zombies melt when you squirt them with shaving cream, because I have a LOT of that. Much more than this once-a-week (on a good week) leg-shaver would need.   Oh YES, and disposable razors!  I will throw those at the approaching zombies!  So, why do I get free shaving cream and razors when I don't need ALL of them?  Because I WILL BARTER WITH THEM WHEN THE WORLD ENDS! 

Really though, I like the free stuff because it lets me share even when I don't have much to share.  I've given shaving cream to complete strangers in the parking lot of Wal-Mart. (I don't approach Wal-Mart men or terrifying women for peopleofwalmart reasons).  It is a thrilling social experiment!  You walk up to a lady getting out of her car, Oh great...another shady chick with bad highlights asking for a handout (she thinks), and surprise her by saying, "Could you use some shaving cream?"  You'll get a simple, "Sure, I could use that," with a relief-that-I'm-not-a-weirdo look OR, you will be showered with thanks like you just gave them a fresh kidney!  You learn about people and do a good turn all at the same time!

Couponing also gets you free MAKEUP!

I remember being four or five, and my 2nd oldest sister was my absolute idol.  She would do her hair and face and I would watch taking in the glory of all the colors applied with a brush, a pencil, like a princess!!  She would stand bent over the counter of our bathroom and keep her mouth open just slightly as she applied her mascara.  She let me watch, but always made sure, while pointing to the large, middle drawer, "This is MY makeup drawer, you DO NOT touch my makeup!"  I was obedient, mostly because I was TERRIFIED.  But also because I had a certain reverent respect for this makeup stuff.   I would, however, peek in the drawer while she was at High School just to get a closer look. 

One afternoon I was wondering the house (as the youngest of 17 often found herself doing) when I discovered an abandoned nail polish jar on the corner of the bathroom floor.  BRIGHT RED.  This was NOT in the makeup drawer so I knew it couldn't be SOOO forbidden.  I sat down on the ugly white tiles and went to work on my nails.  I didn't just paint my nails, I painted all the way up my fingers--to my knuckles.  My little mind knew it didn't look quite right, but I was in heaven, I didn't want it to END!  Suddenly the door whooshes open and I see the nasty cleaning lady standing in the doorway with a horrified look on her face.  Now this women wasn't your average cleaning lady.  She would insult my mom, threaten to spank us, and scream, often.  I thought I was going to die.  She grabbed me under the armpits and hoisted me up to the sink and began to scrub my hands.  "Now we are gonna get EVERY last SPECK of this stuff off your fingers!!"  She's not doing it right,  I thought.  I knew my sister didn't use water to get nail polish off.  It was something liquid, but it smelled weird, kind of stung your nose, but it definitely wasn't water.  I did not fight her futile effort to SCRUB the nail polish off my fingers with water.  I was quietly triumphant because she didn't know how nail polish worked.  My fingers would be a little raw, but I would STILL have a little bright red left when the nasty cleaning lady abandoned her efforts.  I felt like a real princess who escaped the evil stepmother!  When I was older I asked my mom why she didn't fire this cleaning lady.  She answered, quite simply, "I was AFRAID to, she scared me!" 
 

I wanted my girls to feel the thrill of painting their OWN nails.  Minus scary lady.  Minus fear of retribution from sisters.  So I got my coupon-zero-cost-to-me polish, lined the table with newspapers (plenty of those when you coupon) and said, " YOU get to paint your OWN nails!"  They looked at me like it was Christmas.  I wasn't sure how it would go, especially with 2-year old Ashley.  You have never seen a 2-year old girl more focused than when she is painting her own fingernails.  They were so still I thought maybe I was dulling their brains with lacquer fumes!  But I think they knew this was a once-in-a-never opportunity, so they weren't going to waste it by being crazy.  And just like little me, they put on coat-after-coat, not too worried about the dripping globs that formed.  We had a little fit when it was time to clean up, but I could tell it made them feel older, trusted.  Ashley now must sleep with a nail polish.  I allow it because she doesn't know how to open the bottle.  My husband suggested I crazy glue the lid for that one misfortunate afternoon when she finds the strength, and pretties the carpet.  GENIUS. 

 

Bad Pictures Beautiful

I was THRILLED last night to find a promotional code in my email that allowed me to make a Shutterfly book for FREE!  I've never made one, because of cost, so I signed on ready to try my hand at cutesy memories. As I uploaded the photos onto flower and swirly-clad pages of brightness,  it did not look right.  Somehow the crisp lines and graphics outlining the picture of my daughter in a ratty ladybug  dress seemed to mock imperfections--the poor lighting, her disheveled hair, the too-small Christmas pajama shirt that she wore underneath,  and the fact that she was not looking at the camera.   I tried other backgrounds with more earthy tones, blank canvases but everything was just too...sterile.  I closed the program, frustrated, and did what any self-respecting, insecure mom would do, logged onto facebook to see what the better people were up to.

You know what I found there.  Pictures of families, beautiful families, on beaches, kissing Mickey Mouse, and kids with combed hair and neat outfits looking at the camera.  The facebook grass is always greener because people usually post at their BEST, looking, feeling, their best.  And sometimes we (by WE I mean me and you readers who have felt this way) see their best when we are feeling not so Mickey-Mousy about our own lives.   

And then there is Pinterest.  I continue to have a love/hate relationship with this internet THING that seems omnipresent.  When I first joined, I actually created a somewhat counter-culture board (I'm a stay-at home mom and I'm SUPER hard-core).  I called this board "Hazardous Homemaking"  where I posted pictures of the most gruesome household messes.   My favorite was one I titled "Laundry Vomit"--the dryer door wide open with a huge pile of clean clothes spilling out, neglected, waiting to be folded.  I considered myself pretty clever and ironic posting these awful messes next to some of the most neat, useful organizing tips on the world wide web (the juxtaposition, right?) but it didn't catch on.  Pristine Pinterest would remain a domain for mostly perfect-seeming decorating, fashion, crafts, cooking, etc. 

Instagram.  I only joined yesterday and am already feeling like it is another time-waster that takes feeling less-than on the web to a whole new, edit-your-photo-here, level.  More beaches, more beautiful families, more beautiful lives.  I squelched my pity party, for a moment, and posted a picture of my three children playing dolls in the girls bedroom.  Most of the comments were about the mess.  I thought it was a beautiful, real, moment in time worth sharing and folks seemed to be mostly intrigued by the mess.

It is only human nature to want to put our best-selves forward--to clean up before a job interview.  To look nice before meeting the school principal.  We are told it is not becoming to air our "Dirty Laundry."  So we wash-up and take a family photo and share it with our friends and say, "Look at us!"  I like to wash up, I like to be clean, I really enjoy a clean house.  But most of the moments I capture in my life happen BETWEEN washings, between laundry, and between hair-brushing.  These are the moments that are most beautiful to me.  These are the pictures that I will look back on with a tear in my eye as I remember the chaos and dirt that surrounded my life raising my precious children.  They are BAD pictures, bad lighting, bad focus, but they are beautiful, because they capture the most unadulterated symbols of what really matters to me.