JCPenney Photo Studios Should Have Bars In Them

Today I embarked on my annual pilgrimage to the JCPenney photo studio.  Every summer, I torture myself and my mother and bring the three boys to have their picture taken.  Together.

You've probably heard that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing, over and over again, and expecting a different result.

My yearly visit to this photo studio is the above definition of insanity personified.  This year was no different.

Before I get into the horrific details, I must first sing the praises of Nela, photographer extraordinaire, who got so many *good* shots of the boys that I actually had a hard time choosing which ones *not* to buy.  A good problem to have, indeed.

Okay, so we get there a few minutes early.  The one photographer working was just finishing a session with another family, and a second photographer, Nela, arrived shortly after we did.  Unlike sessions past, we were taken almost immediately (on more than one occasion we had to wait at least thirty minutes).  Nela asks me some questions about the pictures I would like (all three? solo shots? which background?) and then ushers us into a studio.

Chaos ensues.

If you don't have kids, accompanying me will be the ultimate test to see if you really want them.  If you're a teen or a twentysomething who isn't ready for a family, it's the ultimate birth control.  If you don't have two or more sons, it's probably the funniest thing you've ever seen, and you'll thank your lucky stars that it's me and not you.

Here is a brief recap of how posing the boys for one shot went:

• Position J and get him to stand relatively still
• Position T near J, getting T to mirror J's stance, and get him to stand relatively still 
• Remind S not to touch the lights
• Through gritted teeth, tell T to get off the floor and stop yelling; nobody wants to hear him yelling and would he please get up and stand still or we will not go to Grandma's for lunch 
• While J and T stand relatively still, position S between the two older boys 
• Grit teeth again as S turns around, bites T's shirt, causing T to screech and flop onto the floor, encouraging J to do the same
• Threaten the boys again that there will be no lunch at Grandma's; we'll just go home if nobody can stand still and listen to Nela
• Somewhere among all this, Nela is ever-so-patiently positioning and re-positioning the boys, and actually manages to snap one photograph.  As a testament to her patience and talent, the boys are all smiling, looking at the camera, and the photo is one of my favorites.

Repeat approximately sixteen times.

In the end, I did get some amazingly cute pictures of the guys.  I can't wait to put them into frames and hang them.  And the best part?  I had a coupon from J's baseball pictures for - get this -

1. NO sitting fees (worth $30!)
2. TWO free photo sheets (a 10x13 and an 8x10 - worth $20!)
3. $3.99 photo sheets (regularly $10)

I got $100 worth of services and pictures for $20 - score!

There was still wine in the fridge - winning!

Booby Prize

Two more cents on the Dirty Little Secrets of Motherhood.

When I was pregnant with my oldest, I decided that I planned to breastfeed my children.  My initial goal was to breastfeed exclusively for six months, and if that was successful, I would continue until the baby was a year old.  I was fortunate that, with all three boys, I was able to breastfeed them for their first year of life.

To be honest, the decision was mostly selfish.  First of all, formula is expensive while breast milk is not.  Second, I had read that breastfeeding helps a new mom lose the baby weight quicker.  I cannot deny that I am a cheapskate and that I like being thin, so in addition to knowing that I was providing my child with an important foundation for good health and development, those two reasons had me sold.  It wasn't until I weaned my third that I found out the Dirty Little Secret about breastfeeding.

Yeah.  I figured that after breastfeeding three kids, my breasts were not going to look the same.  I knew that they would be a little... stretched out. deflated.  Perhaps a wee bit smaller.  But I didn't count on losing TWO FULL CUP SIZES.  Yes, you read that right - I lost two full cup sizes.  And I was not a busty girl before kids.  In fact, I could have been just barely too big for the IBTC (itty bitty...  you get where I'm going with this, don't you?).

It took some time, including one tearful experience with a bra fitter at Victoria's Secret and several months of Pilates classes, but I am at peace with my tiny boobies.  They don't cause me back pain.  They don't have far to sag since there's not much to them.  No, my complaint is that I now wear a bra size that, apparently, most grown women are not, since the only place I can find my size is in the preteen department.  Sure, there are some cute little bras, but come on.  I'm 40.  I don't want a Hello Kitty bra at this stage of my life.  I want to be able to walk into the lingerie section of a department store and buy a bra off the rack instead of special ordering one online at a specialty boutique.

So, if any of my numerous readers out there are department store lingerie buyers, I implore you to start buying some AA-cup bras for us tiny booby women out there.  Trust me, we exist.  And in addition to refusing to adorn our girls with Hello Kitty, we're also tired of wearing A-cups that we can no longer fill.  C'mon, help a mother out!

Howdy Ho!

Yeah, it's been a while.  What can I say?  I haven't been moved by the spirit, hence the lack of posts.  Lately, I've been feeling it nudging me...  (Big Man, is that you?)

Warning:  this is gonna be gross.  Just putting it out there.

Last week I went to see my ND (naturopathic doctor) for a follow up visit.  My original ND is on maternity leave, so I actually saw one of her covering doctors.  Let's call her M.  At one point during my visit M asked me if she could "fix" one thing about my health, what would it be?  I immediately told her my food allergies.  So M suggested that I have my gut studied - how efficiently is it digesting and assimilating the food I eat, etc.  I agreed; hey, if it gets me eating bread and pasta again, who am I to complain?

How do you have your gut studied, I hear you ask.  Well, here's the answer, and it's gross:  you send a lab some stool samples for analysis.  That's right, Poop in a Box.

I just threw up in my mouth thinking about it.  Therefore, I shall spare you the details, save to say that I have not felt so undignified... ever.  Cleaning my kids' poopy behinds is *nothing* compared to this.  Ugh, just.... gross.  Ick.  Repulsive.

I feel bad for the people who analyze the samples.  Talk about a shitty job...  ba DUM bum!  (sorry, couldn't resist)

Please, please, please let this course of treatment work...

Letter to My Goddaughter

The other night, your mom posted this on her Facebook page:

An open apology to my daughter: Children can be mean and tease you, so let me brace you for it by telling you now: Yes, you are a geek. Yes, you are a nerd. You enjoy science museums. You were happy you got assigned additional homework. You want to know how things work. You love to read. You use your own tools. You asked for chemistry sets from Santa. But, for all that, you're a pretty cool geek and I love you.

Upon reading it, I felt compelled to add my two cents.  Advance apologies for rambling.

Your mom and I have known each other since we were sixteen years old.  We got on immediately as friends, for many reasons and had many common interests, but know this:  we were both geeks.  We were nerds.  We were not in the Cool Crowd.  No, instead we took advanced English and math and science classes, belonged to the drama club, and were in marching band. 

During my senior year, I remember sitting four or five seats away from the cheerleading captain during an assembly.  She was singing some made up song that poked fun at the colorguard, and I was the captain at the time.  I'm quite positive that she knew I could hear her, and was singing that song for my benefit.  Yeah, it hurt my feelings, but it didn't make me wish I wasn't in marching band.  Ever.  Most of my happiest memories involved the marching band in some way, shape, or form.

Even before I had even met your mom, I was a nerd.  And a geek.  (I know, shocking, right?)  I can still remember how I was bullied in grammar school.  I still remember the girl's name, what she looked like, and how she made me feel.  I don't know why she picked on me, but I'm sure that one reason was because being a student came so easily to me, as I'm sure it does for you.  Would you believe that all those years ago, my grandmother was right?  They are just jealous.  Of you.  Of me.  Of your mom.  Why?  Because we're smart, and we don't apologize for it.

Your mom is right:  kids are mean, girls in particular.  The ones for whom schoolwork doesn't come easily will call you things like "Brainiac" and "Miss Know-It-All" and probably worse.  It'll hurt.  A lot.  There will be days you wish you weren't so smart, because maybe those girls would like you then.  But even if they did, they probably wouldn't be true friends anyway.  The other geeks and nerds might not wear the latest fashions or be Cool, but they are true friends and will be there for you when you really need them.

True friends are the ones who love and accept you because you're smart.  And you are.  I hope you never feel you have to hide that, because that's just one of the many, many things that makes you, you.  I think you're a pretty amazing kid, I love you, and I feel blessed to have you for my Goddaughter.

Love,
Your Fairy (Flaky) Godmother

Review: Betty Crocker Gluten-Free Chocolate Chip Cookies

Quick background:  about a year ago, I found out that I am allergic to wheat.  Since then, I have cut out almost all sources of the offending grain.  While I feel so much better when I don't eat wheat, I desperately miss a good loaf of crusty bread, and a killer chocolate chip cookie.

A few weeks ago, I discovered that Betty Crocker makes gluten-free baked goods mixes.  I have tried other gluten-free mixes from Trader Joe's and the local health food store, but I was curious to try one made by a major food corporation.

Two weeks ago I bought and made a box of Betty Crocker GF brownie mix.  Maybe I've gotten used to gluten-free baked goods, but I thought the brownies were easy to make and pretty tasty.  Not as tasty as a regular, wheat-flour-based brownie, but if it's this or nothing, I'll take it.  Riding on that success, I decided to try the cookie mix.

To make the cookies, you first mix softened (but not melted) butter with vanilla and an egg, then add the cookie mix.  I figured it would be better to use an electric hand mixer to combine the ingredients.  It turns out that it didn't really matter what I used.  Why?  Because while the box said that the batter would be crumbly, that was a mild understatement.  You know how, when you make a regular batch of chocolate chip cookies, you can just scoop some batter out of the bowl and it holds together on its own?  Well, this batter was ridiculously crumbly, and I had to smush it together in an effort to keep the cookies intact.  Didn't quite stop the cookie sheet from being covered with crumbs, but whatever.

The finished product wasn't particularly cooperative, either.  If I tried to remove the cookies before letting them cool enough, they'd break apart.  If I tried to pick one up off the cooling rack too soon, it'd fall apart.  Do you notice a trend?  Yeah, who wants to eat cookies with a spoon?

I have to say that they taste pretty good.  Again, maybe it's because I'm used to gluten-free flour now, but the cookies are definitely passable.  But it would have been nice to hold a cookie and take bites instead of shoving it into my mouth before all of the zillions of pieces crumbled all over the place.  And there is no reason why it took ninety minutes from mixing to baking to cooling.

Conclusion:  I will not be buying this mix again.  Instead, I will continue to purchase Lucy's cookies.  They're really tasty, come in four flavors, and they come out of the package ready to eat.

Grade:  B-

Anyone Other Than Me

Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like, who I would be, if circumstances were different.

Who would I have become if my family didn't move out of state after my freshman year?  I attended a very  small school - maybe 125 kids per grade.  By the end of freshman year, I was going through a rough time.  The girls I had been eating lunch with had edged me out, forcing me to eat with others.  Would things have come full circle?  Who would have asked me to the prom?  To the graduation ball?

Who would I be now, if at age five I had met the boy I would later grow up to marry?  I am constantly taken by surprise by how many people grew up and returned to the town where I now live.  What would it be like to watch my hometown change and morph over time, before my eyes?  Would I be able to evolve as an individual, or would I have been bound by who I was as a teenager?

How would my life be different if I were more easygoing, and one who greased the machine rather than bucked it?  I have encountered several people in my current hometown who, for whatever reason, seem to just flat-out dislike me.  It seems as if my mere existence bothers them.  I wonder what it would be like if I always knew the "right" thing to say, and how to play the game.  Would I be able to stand up for myself, or would I be a complete doormat?

What would it be like to be known as "the pretty one" instead of "the smart one"?  I don't think I need to elaborate too much on this one...

Don't get me wrong; I have no desire to change my life.  I love my husband and I love my kids.  But sometimes I wonder how my life might be different in different scenarios.

Blood on Their Hands?

Like most people, I was shocked and horrified by the recent shooting of Rep. Gabrielle Giffords, D-AZ and 19 others, six of whom were killed.  The Congresswoman was at a political event outside a grocery store when she and the others were shot.

Some people feel that Sarah Palin holds some responsibility for this tragedy.  She has been quoted as saying, "We don't retreat, we reload" and her Political Action Committee website contained images of Democrat-controlled districts with crosshairs on them, as if they were targets at a gun range.  Others also feel that so-called political pundits such as Rush Limbaugh ("liberalism is the greatest enemy this country faces") and Sean Hannity ("There are things in life worth fighting and dying for, and one of them is making sure Nancy Pelosi doesn’t become the speaker.") and their inflammatory remarks may have incited suspect Jared Loughner to commit such a horrific act.

Now, I am no fan of Sarah Palin, Rush Limbaugh, or Sean Hannity, but I am not sure how much I blame them as individuals for what happened in Arizona.  To me, accusing them of inciting a man to murder is not too different from accusing Judas Priest of encouraging a teen to commit suicide by embedding messages in their music.  Yeah, it's a no-brainer to say that putting crosshairs on the picture of a Congressperson on your PAC website is tasteless at best, and I would have thought that most people (especially those who share their opinions on television and are seen by millions) would think better, but obviously some did not.

I think the current political culture of finger pointing and fear mongering is more responsible than any one individual or group of individuals.  And both liberals and conservatives alike are equally guilty of perpetuating this.  Instead of focusing on specific issues or expressing their own personal or party beliefs, the extremists attack the opposition, usually via ad hominem attacks, red herrings, and straw man attacks.  Since the major broadcast and cable news outlets at best carry a slight bias and at worst promote a party agenda, it is difficult for the general population to determine exactly what is truth.  (If it's truthiness you seek, fear not, head on over to Colbert Nation.)

Can it be stopped?  I don't know.  I would like to think that there can be a return to true, fact supported news reporting, but when journalism takes a back seat to pundits expressing their personal beliefs with no factual support (or worse, expressing ideas that they might not believe in but know will get ratings), we have a huge problem.  And if none of us care enough to seek out the truth, if we keep watching the biased news channels and accept their talking heads' words as truth, then I suppose we all have blood on our hands.