Nudge The Nest & Pray They Fly
A few weeks ago I took the girls to a friend’s birthday party. They each got a cute little bag of toys including an orange Halloween stamp, which I THOUGHT I had put in our Homework Box on top of the fridge. I keep all our art supplies there so we don’t end up with anymore sisterly haircuts or life sized murals on the bathroom walls. But then… Sadie.
Well. Let’s just say, she’s got a little Emma in her…
And to think… I was just excited the party favors weren’t Halloween candy.
No disrespect to Steve Jobs and Bill Gates, but I’m pretty sure I just discovered the most groundbreaking invention of the 21st century: dry shampoo.
If you are a man, I don’t know that you can understand the full gravity of the implications of this marvel of modern science so I will spell it out for you. See, we women cannot wash our hair, rub a towel over it, go to sleep then walk out the front door the next morning. I mean, I guess we could, it’s getting close to Halloween and we could all band together to try to bring back the Bride of Frankenstein look. Although I don’t even think that worked for her. We have to work to walk out the door. Shampoo, conditioner, blow drying, flat irons, rollers— the list is extensive.
Because I no longer have any shame.
Dry shampoo is essentially time in a bottle. I don’t consider myself extremely high maintenance. My naturally curly hair can be washed and styled on Day 1, worn again in the same style on Day 2, swept into a ponytail on Day 3 and if times are desperate, shoved under a baseball hat on Day 4.
(Side note: I would just like the world to know that I do actually bathe everyday. FINE, most days. I just don’t always take the hour and a half required to do my hair.)
This scenario is workable if it’s a regular Mommy week of dropping kids off at school and coming home to do laundry, cook, clean and write. But occasionally I am required to be in public wearing something other than snot stained yoga pants on Day 3 or 4 and that is where the magic of dry shampoo comes into play.
You spray it in your hair and magically, your hair looks and smells clean. (Also it’s important to note that it may not necessarily FEEL clean, but let’s be honest– if you are trying to figure out how you can only wash your hair every four days, you’re not REALLY concerned with another person running their fingers through it, now are you?)
My hair stylist warned me that some people complained it made their hair feel stiff.
“Did you tell them it’s not supposed to REPLACE regular shampoo?”
I got so excited about discovering dry shampoo at my salon that I bought two bottles. The ladies in the shop laughed, “Two bottles?!”
“One is for my best friend, I never got her a birthday present.”
They all burst into laughter and I realized that giving someone dry shampoo as a gift is tantamount to a husband giving his wife a vacuum cleaner for their anniversary or a mother-in-law giving her daughter-in-law a year’s worth of membership fees to Weight Watchers. But alas, my bond with Sister Wife runs deep and I knew she would squeal with delight at my discovery.
I realize my kids can talk on my iPhone and simultaneously see their grandparents hundreds of miles away via iChat, and I mean no disrespect to Steve Jobs. But dry shampoo is the best thing that happened to this momma since God invented formula.
What’s the best thing that happened to you since formula? (Or a breastfeeding sling?)
Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for me to keep this a secret?? I mean, I am amazing with secrets about real-life-super-important stuff but THIS. Is. Too. Much. I have wanted to just blab it and blab it and blab it.
But I haven’t.
I have waited.
I have been patient. And now I get to tell you. But first, I need a few more lines of text so that all you people on Facebook can’t CHEAT and just read the first few lines and see the title. Nope. I’m gonna make you click a link. Don’t be lazy. It’s just one click for crying out loud.
That should do it.
DRUMROLL PLEASE… (BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!! I don’t know how to type how a drumroll sounds. Obvs.)
Ketchup Is A Vegetable And Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves
BOOM! Fireworks! YAAAAAAAY! Who’s excited?! THIS GIRL!
If you read the blog or my columns, you can expect more stories about motherhood, my family and a little about faith– but also, y’all– I talk about lady bits A LOT. It’s sort of Robin Gone WILD and it’s less censored than anything else I’ve ever published either online or in print.
Which may explain why I have been stress eating chocolate and breathing into a brown paper bag seven to twelve times a day– it’s more me. I was trying to explain to Rachel Hawkins, a writer friend who had been there, done that, how I felt and she said, “Yes! You feel like you are about to be IN YOUR PANTIES ON THE INTERNETS!” And I was like, “Yes! THAT exactly!”
Because I am going to be naked in front of y’all. (Lord, I can’t wait to see the spammers I get out of this post.) I’m showing you more of who I am, exposing more of my weaknesses and making a lot of jokes about genitals. Hey– you have kids and you have to talk about body parts a lot. Like a lot, a lot. (A lot. Prepare yourselves.)
I’m excited and I’m scared and that’s the truth. I was telling Zeb how I felt and he said, “Well, just remember– I’ve seen you naked before and I like it a lot.”
The book is funny so unlike if you were to ever ACTUALLY see me nekkid? Pointing and laughing is highly recommended.
Release date is scheduled for November 12, 2011. Check back for more updates.
Today at lunch I was attempting to slice an apple for Sadie and myself. I have one of those handy, dandy apple-corer/slicer multitasker thingies and I was trying to use that. The apple was too big and I as pushed down as hard as I could on the slicer, it became lodged half-way through the apple.
I leaned in a little harder then laid across my kitchen counter on top of the slicer and the apple, applying all 95 of my pounds (What? 0_O) to try to force the blades through the fruit. Sadie, almost three-years-old, glanced up and yelled, “DO IT GUHL! CUT DAT APPLE WIF YOUR BELLY!”
I fell off my counter I was laughing so hard. She sounded just like me and she looked at me like I’d lost my mind when I laughed.
And one more:
I love picking up my and Sister Wife’s kids afterschool. That’s when you get the good playground dirt. My oldest, Aubrey and Wifey’s son, John Man are in the same class and they regularly tell on each other without meaning to.
Me: How was everybody’s day?
Chorus of children: Good.
Me: How was recess? Was everybody sweet?
John Man: Well, one girl was kind of fighting with Aubrey…
Aubrey: JOHN MAN, I NEVER wanted to talk about that EVER again!
John Man gets an “Oh crap” look on his face. “Sorry!”
Aubrey: That’s when John Man was having to sit out…
John Man: AUBREY!
I am giddy. I love this stuff but I had on my Serious Parent Face.
Me: John-John! What did you say?
He looked at his lap.
Me: You’re not going to get in trouble with me. Have you EVER gotten in trouble with me?
(No, because I get to be The Cool Aunt.)
He grinned. “Idiots and butt-cracks.”
Me: Mmmmm, well. Yes. That is bad. We shouldn’t say those words.
John Man: Well… I didn’t even know I couldn’t say those words at school. And then this girl tried to tell on me but I was already in time out for the same thing.
Aubrey: Johnny (We have many names for him.) remember when you called me that ‘EEEE” word??
John Man: Yeah. That was back when I thought you loved me and I didn’t like it.
Aubrey laughs nervously. “I don’t LOVE you, love you. You know that.”
John Man: I know.
Me: I’ll take 2 small Powerade slushies, 2 small Cherry Limeades, one small orange slushie and a medium Cherry Limeade.
Happy hour, indeed
Be sure and click the events tab for dates about book signings and readings. I should be able to tell you the name of the book AND show you the cover soon!!
Photo credit: I mean a picture combining butt-cracks AND apples? Genius.
Y’all, I am so sorry I’ve been a blogging slacker lately. I’ve been so busy trying to keep up with my kids, polish my manuscript to have it ready for publication, working on a couple of freelance assignments I’m REALLY excited about and just, you know, living and whatnot that I totally dropped the blog ball. (Go ahead and laugh. You know I am.)
In the midst of all this, I was packing my entire family. Zeb and I dropped the kids off at my mom’s for the weekend so I could come to my first EVER writer’s conference in my favorite place on the planet, Auburn. And I don’t mean that in a stupid football fan girl kind of way.
Fun fact: (This is my sarcasm font.) The bell tower at Hargis Hall was on fire when we rolled into town last night.
Almost every major event that has happened in my life has happened in Auburn: it was where I found God on my own after my parent’s divorce (Or He found me. You pick, I don’t care. The result is the same.) It’s where I lived when I met my husband. It’s where we moved to go back to college after taking two years off to do mission work and figure out who we wanted to be. It’s where I had my first real job and bought my first real house and where I had my first real baby. (Not that there is another kind, but I was on a roll.) It’s the place I’ve lived the longest as an adult. (Five years is our record. Everywhere else has averaged about two.)
After the house I spent my childhood in burned to the ground, I’ve always thought of Auburn as home. To be here on the eve of my first book being published? Well, it’s nothing short of poetic.
I was also excited about this weekend because I finally got to meet some friends and writers who have been crucial to my writing journey. People who I’ve only talked to via Twitter and FB but who have been some of my biggest cheerleaders.
I’ve had a great time connecting with writers like Rachel Hawkins.
Jodi, me and Rachel Hawkins. (Who isn’t, in fact, a fictional character.)
BUY HER BOOKS THEY ARE FUNNY & EXCITING AND WE LOVE HER!)
Our cyber friendship was sealed forever when she used this picture in her slideshow presentation about social media. (If you don’t get this you are probably in the wrong place.)
Jesse Spano, “I’m SO excited! I’m so excited…. I’m so scared.”
But my social ineptitude knows no bounds and I can make even the most casual encounter a horror to be recalled for centuries. Take, FOR EXAMPLE, when I introduced myself to NYT’s Bestselling Author, Joshilyn Jackson, after her AMAZING and stirring Q & A session.
If you’re not a writer you may not know but, y’all- it is HARD and lonely. There is no idle chit-chat, nobody a cubicle over doing the same thing you are doing, and possibly, not even anyone in your ZIP code who understands what this process is like.
So to hear Joshilyn speak, to hear her be so encouraging and to explain this journey as “The Long Con,” and how you HAVE to just do the work. You have to just write. To trust yourself. To trust that your muse isn’t going to run out of stories to tell… (God, I wish I had the whole thing recorded.) It was amazing and beyond encouraging.
(Side bar: I am a crier. I cry about EVERYTHING. This is not an exaggeration. Happy tears. Sad tears. Tears of laughter. Any emotion other than “I must now unload the dishwasher,” ellicts tears. And if I’m going to be totally honest, sometimes even that.)
After the session Joshilyn made the enormous mistake of making eye contact with me. She should have gone to Rachel Hawkins’ first session. She would have learned, “Thou shalt not engage the crazy.” I introduced myself and (I am so sorry to the mutual friends/colleagues whose names I mentioned in my intro.) Then, THEN I went on to try to tell her how much it meant to me to hear her story and I started sobbing. Not just one or two tears sliding down my cheek that could be patted away with the back of my hand.
Real tears, streaming down my face a la Tammy Faye Baker with less mascara. (But not by much.)
I was sniffling. There may have been a few hiccups.
I. Was. Mortified. Then I made my next mistake: I acknowledged how cray-cray I was acting.
“Oh my God. I am so sorry. I am such a jackass,” I cried.
“It’s okay! You’re okay!” She assured me.
“No! This is so awkward for you. I’m so sorry.”
“You are alright!! Don’t worry about it.”
She hugged me and patted my back.
She had to HUG ME and PAT MY BACK.
The girls sitting in front of me tried not to make eye contact as they filed out. I couldn’t blame them.
I finally sort of got myself together and went to find my friend, Jodi and told her what I did.
The rest of the day went fine and during cocktail hour I even made myself approach her again to prove to her (and myself) that I was capable of talking without snot bubbles.
The girls that sat in front of me in the workshop ended up at the table with me and Jodi at lunch and we invited our new friends, Kristin & Allie to dinner to meet another one of my cyber besties (WHAT UP HOLLY!?)
During dinner I was telling Holly what an idiot I was and Allie said, “Oh don’t feel bad! It was so endearing! We all know how you feel! I sent Kristin a text and said, ‘Hey, let’s invite the girl that was crying to lunch.'”
For. The. Love. Y’all.
I am “The Girl That Was Crying.” WAAAAH!
Good news: I bet none of them ever forget me.
Bad news: I’m not sure that’s a good thing.
Please go by Joshilyn Jackson’s books, as she may need the money to pay for therapy after being ambushed by an overly emotional socially awkward mother who doesn’t get out much.