Okay, the long sleeved shirt with the mini I can understand, totally. Sexy if done right.
But really, adding the yellow rubber boots and white knee socks? And the scarf, obviously because someone stopped the photo shoot and said, "Wait, she's dressed exactly like Minnie Mouse. Here, let's add a scarf and maybe no one will notice."
"It's a small world after all."
If this poor girl showed up at a party wearing this outfit, I would not make fun of her. The design person responsible for this "look," however, should be forced to drive six screaming toddlers around in a minivan for an afternoon with "It's a Small World" blaring in surround sound. If Mickey and Minnie can be singing it, all the better.
If, after my glowing review, you would like to purchase above outfit for yourself or someone you loathe/love, you can do so here. They actually have a special page encouraging you to buy this, eh-hem, "look" as a complete ensemble.
And yes, I do note the irony of yesterday's post regarding my girls' fashion sense, but wearing bloomers on your head so pales in comparison to this.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Friday, December 08, 2006
I come from pioneer stock, the sort of folk who teach their children basic survival skills before they start kindergarten, you know just in case the teacher takes the class on a field trip to the woods and abandons them there, or maybe a rattle snake shows up on the playground for recess, or the cafeteria runs out of food and you really need to be able to know which part of the cactus to eat. So, it's only logical that along with our advanced survival skill training, each of us kids received a few little perks in the way of things you might need to survive in the wilderness, like pocket knives and BB guns and fully operational little motorcycles, at age five for boys and ten for girls. There's that darn glass ceiling again.
It was normal too for us to be left to our own devices to explore our surroundings and implement these treasured survival tools we had been given. In fact it was our mission. On any given weekend, my brother, cousin and I could be found riding our motorcycles through the gully on my grandparents' acreage or stealthily tracking down some hapless furry creature. Perhaps it was cruel of our parents to loose us on Mother Nature like that, in all our glory, but Mother Nature has a way of keeping things even.
It was not long after the three of us began our little adventures, terrorizing crawdads and blazing motorcycle trails through grassy fields, that a mystery arose. Uncle Joe's prized orange 1973 Volkswagen Beetle began showing unusual signs of wear, little dings, like little pock marks in its otherwise glowing complexion.
He couldn't imagine what was causing this apparently spontaneous phenomenon. For some time it had been safely parked near his home, away from prying eyes and offensive road debris that might be kicked up by inconsiderate drivers.
The mystery continued for a few weeks, all the while more pock marks appearing in the once flawless complexion of the little Beetle.
Then one day, as Aunt Kathy stood washing dishes and looking out the window over her kitchen sink, she saw it. My cousin, brave frontiersman that he was, stood BB gun scoped in . . . on the Beetle.
Later that night, Uncle Joe asked him why was he shooting the little Beetle.
To which he responded, "I was shootin' flies."
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Just when I thought I couldn't possibly write today, a little gift showed up in my email, the picture above, with a precious note from my Aunt Jean. That's how Aunt Jean is, always dropping a line or an encouraging word at just the right time. I'm beginning to think she can read my mind across the miles.
I can never feel sour when I encounter her sunny disposition.
So, thanks Aunt Jean for:
1. Being my best role model.
2. Living a life to always be proud of, leading by actions rather than words.
3. Showing me, with style, what a loving, devoted marriage looks like.
4. Telling me stories about our family I've never heard from anyone else.
5. Accentuating the positive, eliminating the negative and not messing with Mr. In-Between.
6. Showing me how beautiful 75 can be.
7. Ignoring my faults and finding my strengths.
8. Telling me about our similarities. It always makes my day.
9. Marrying a great guy like Uncle Bob and sharing your family with all of us.
10. Showing me a softer side of Papa as your big brother.
And the bonus, the $20 accidental gift from the Tooth Fairy (You and Uncle Bob) which I shall never forget.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
My mom told me when I was 8 you didn't exist, but I knew she was wrong. You kept coming, right up until I got married anyway.
So, what's the dealio?
Look, I can understand if you're a little intimidated by Hub-a-dub's 6'8" frame, but he's a heavy sleeper. He once slept through our smoke alarm going off while I got up, found the source and eliminated the smoke, even though I woke him three times. Trust me. He won't notice you dropping off a few presents, especially small shiny ones.
So, I hope you'll reconsider and come visit me again this year. Here's what I really, really want:
1. Magic pixie dust to sprinkle on Hub-a-dub's head to cure his blindness to dirty messes and make him thoroughly enjoy cleaning house, mowing the lawn and pulling weeds -- in extra-strength please;
2. Flying diapers that fly right off babies' bottoms when they're dirty, taking all the poop and pee with them, the kind that fly straight to the dump without ever sitting in a stinky trash can in my garage;
3. Surfer girl hair, shiny, thick and long down to my waist -- wash and wear, dries in two minutes flat;
4. Bodacious beach babe body to go along with aforementioned surfer girl hair, think Beyonce meets Beach Blanket Bingo;
5. The good sense to appreciate having said body while it is in its prime;
6. Certificate for surfing lessons;
7. Maximum load memory chip for my brain, so I can store all the memories of my babies and family and never ever lose them or let them fade;
8. Stylish self-cleaning luxury SUV, built toddler-tough; and
9. Happy place distractor ray to zap myself with when I watch Sing and Dance with Barney for the 589th time.
Oh, and the perfect stocking stuffer, a T-shirt from here.
Love and kisses,
p.s. I'll make sure the chimney is unlocked.
This letter was written in response to a Meme started by Tater and Tot. I'd love to hear what you have to say to Santa. Karin (if you have the energy after NaBloPoMo), Sonya (if you have time in the midst of your international move) and Kelly, tag your it!
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Hub-a-dub sometimes likes to sell CD's. He had over 600 when we married.
The problem with his little hobby is he "accidentally" sells my CD's and keeps his own. I've grown tired of losing my little gems from retroville -- The Beastie Boys, Til Tuesday, The Cure, Depeche Mode, Garth Brooks (How did that get in there?). So after his most recent trip to the CD shack, I asked to see his receipt.
AH yes, mine, yep, that one was mine, and "Oh My God! You sold my Billy Squire Signs of Life CD? The CD that my freshman roommate and I listened to like a thousand times my first semester of college? You have to go and get it back."
And so he did, bless his little soul, the same exact one, with the little crack in the middle of the front cover of the jewel case, lucky, lucky man. This Billy Squire Signs of Life CD he sold for $10 cost him $40 to buy back.
As a result I have shared with him this little bit of advice that seemed so obvious to me, but then again it's not like I have a degree in mathematical physics or anything, like him -- "If you don't like it and can't remember why you ever would have bought it, maybe you didn't. No more CD selling until I preview what's up for bids, please."
Of course this would be the same advice I shared with him last time he sold a bunch of my CD's. I suppose it continues to be a seller's market.
Monday, December 04, 2006
A simple recipe for do-it-yourself air freshener. I was a big fan of scented candles until I learned that many have lead in their wicks. Now I opt for other options, such as the following.
1 Tablespoon Cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon Nutmeg
Fill small saucepan half way with water. Add cinnamon and nutmeg. Cut orange in 1/2 inch slices and add to water. Heat over medium heat until mixture begins to boil. Reduce heat and simmer on low. Be sure to add water as liquid reduces. Do not leave unattended.
*A dash of ground cloves can also make a nice addition to the mix.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
The funniest story I have read in ages. Cruise on over to Call Me Soccer Mom and Die and take a minute to read Lizard in Labor. Just scroll down to November 16 and the big picture of the lizard.
Call Me Soccer Mom and Die will be added to my "Good Reading" list to the right as soon as I can stop laughing.
This week's award goes to C-SPAN for making former President Jimmy Carter's mention of eventual funeral plans one of their top stories in "Capital News" online this afternoon. With all due respect to Mr. Carter, with laser-like focus on such crucial matters, who has time for discussion of Palestine Peace Not Apartheid? C-SPAN we know you can do better.