You can read more about the story behind this photo at my urban farming blog: Ruling the Roost.
PS: I’m hosting a giveaway! Leave a comment on this post and consider yourself in the running for some free Pull-Ups gear. Do it!
The one service I leave to the professionals is my bikini area. I learned this the hard way.
After years of paying up the wazoo for bikini waxing, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I’d watched my talented Iranian waxer have her way with my cooter for years and I really thought I had figured out her secret.
I heated up my waxing pot and got all my supplies together: baby powder, baby oil, muslin strips, and sticks. After giving myself a good pep talk, I took a deep breath, and went at it. The first few strips were a breeze. “See! I knew you could do this!” I told myself.
That’s when things got dicey. I had moved from the flat planes of my inner thigh to the more “delicate” regions of my most private of areas. I stuck the strips of muslin on the hot wax and gave them a tug. They wouldn’t budge. I tired again. The muslin came part way off, but left all the sticky wax behind. I pulled again. “Holy mother of god I think I injured myself,” my voice screamed in my head.
The wax and the muslin were totally fused to my leg. Each time I tried to pull at the fabric, my skin was being pulled off along with it. To say it hurt is a massive understatement. I would rather have another cesarean section that go through that pain again.
I started frantically squirting baby oil all over my bikini line while scraping away at the wax. Nothing was happening.
What did I do then? I busted out the peanut butter. I had a vague memory of my mother using peanut butter to get gum out of my hair once. Sure- this wasn’t gum and this time the hair wasn’t on my head, but it made sense at the time.
Finally, with the aid of baby oil, peanut butter, and a razor I was able to methodically scrape the wax from my girly bits.
And what was the end result? I looked like I had been sucker punched in the crotch. There was bruising, swelling, and it was red all over. Not exactly the look I was going for.
Life Lesson #4,336- Leave the art of putting hot wax on your vagina to the professionals.
So, I was feeding my addiction to Twitter last night when I noticed my “internet friend” Surferwife tweet this:
And like one minute later, this is what pops up:
And then I died. Just kidding. It did totally freak me out though.
Now, for those of you who are huge Jenny McCarthy fans like Surferwife and I are- you must go enter Surferwife’s giveaway on her blog. She’s giving away a signed copy of Jenny McCarthy’s new book “Love, Lust, and Faking It.” I have my little piece of Jenny McCarthy on my Twitter feed and now you can have yours in her new book.
I just got back from ten fabulous days at my parent’s house in the San Juan Islands. I’m bringing home so many memories and I wanted to share some of them with you.
Here is the view of the sunrise from my parent’s deck. Isn’t it amazing? I woke up to this image for ten glorious mornings:
I took the girls on several nature walks. The deciduous trees were all loosing their leaves. It’s a novelty for Southern Californians to see the trees changing:
We picked mushrooms along the side of the road:
We finally got some good use out of those Hello Kitty rain boots:
We did a little pumpkin carving:
And we even had a surprise visitor:
Meet the newest member of the family: Enterobius vermicularis. Otherwise known as the Pinworm.
You know, there’s nothing like a family vacation (11 people visisting in all) and an intestinal parasite to bring you all a little closer together because:
Sharing is sitting down at the breakfast table and informing everyone that you may have infected them with a parasitic worm.
Teamwork is helping hold down the children so you can perform a tap water enema on them in hopes to flush some of the worms from their colon.
Bonding is everyone raising their glasses to toast just before downing a dose of Pin-X in unison.
Closeness is sharing a singular toilet with an unknown number of people that may or may not have a pinworm infestation.
Laughter is listening in on the phone call to my husband in which I ask him if he’s itched his anus lately.
And finally, seeing a pinworm crawl out of your daughter’s rectum, bob its head around like a dancing cobra, and then slip back in? Well, that’s the stuff memories are made of.
Editor’s note: The icing on the cake was coming home to a broken washing machine. Those of you who are familiar with pinworms know that everything, including linens, must be washed daily. I may as well just burn the house down.
Fellow writers: I just came across a contest titled, “That stinks! But the Arm and Hammer diaper pail by Munchkin doesn’t!” I’m submitting this piece in hopes to win. Because loosing your washer in the middle of a pinworm infestation really, really stinks. No voting is necessary. Check out their Facebook page if you want to submit your own stinky story.
If you submit a story, you are entering a contest for a Arm and Hammer diaper pail by Munchkin. A winner is picked every day. Additionally, the grand prize winner receives free housecleaning for a year! If that doesn’t get your creative juices flowing, then I don’t know what will.
BTW- if you win and I loose, a kitten doesn’t make it to heaven. Good luck!
1. I think everyone drives too fast.
2. I am suspicious of all teenagers.
3. I don’t “get” Lady Ga Ga. Meat dress? Wtf.
4. I have a t-shirt that I reserve for special occasions.
5. I max out after one glass of wine.
6. I haven’t charged my iPod in three months.
7. I have no idea what this “Grilled Chesus” is that everyone keeps talking about.
8. I think low rise jeans are uncomfortable.
9. I can’t figure out which Jonas Brother is the “hot” one.
10. I still wear Uggs.
There is something about my husband that I need to share. I know I don’t talk about him much. It’s not because I don’t love him or anything, it’s just that not everything has to be about him, you know?
I fell in love with him for a lot of reasons, but there was one in particular. When we started dating, one of his most appealing qualities was his complete lack of interest in football. I can watch some sports. Hey- I’ll even watch hockey. I cannot, even for five minutes, stand watching the game of football. It…… is………so………..boring……..zzzzzzzzzz…….
I have never been one of those wives that complains about how their husband watches football all day, obsesses over Fantasy Football picks, and has a collection of NFL jerseys that he insists are dressy enough for church. Not that we go to church or anything (not that there’s anything wrong with that). And now I’m opening up a big can of worms. You get my drift.
I’ve never had that problem. Until now. Oh, that’s right. My husband has turned into a football-loving, weekend-watching, NFL fanatic. I am beside myself.
Who is this man that I married? What happened? And, more importantly, who can I blame for this?
The answers are not clear.
I can’t help but feel betrayed by his bait and switch. I thought we had an agreement. An understanding. Of all the things he could renig on, it had to be this? Maybe I’m getting a little dramatic here (who, me?).
All I’m saying is: this wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m kicking myself for not getting some sort of pre-marital contract stating that he was never to watch the game of football- excluding the Super Bowl or any televised game that happens to be playing randomly in the background of a restaurant bar. Is that too much to ask?
Yes it is. You know why? Because I’ve pulled some switcharoos of my own.
I’m sure my husband has fond memories of the blond wife he used to have. The wife who saw her esthetician religiously for various personal hair removal procedures. She also wore clothing that required dry cleaning. She got her nails done bi-weekly and had a gym membership. She ate well, stayed hydrated, and got 8 to 10 hours of sleep every night. Best of all: She never, well maybe just a few times due to an illness or work-related travel, let things slide in the “marital relations” department.
You know, the more I think about it, I’ve changed my mind. He can have his football.
1. She likes to poke me in the stomach and tell me I’m “mushy”.
2. She is the first one to point out spit up on my shirt.
3. Every time I experiment with a new hairstyle she tells me she doesn’t like it.
4. She pets the stubble on my legs and says I’m “sharp”.
5. Every morning she tells me to take a shower because I am stinky.
6. She insists that I wear a bathing suit to the beach.
7. When I tell her I love her she replies with, “I love Barbie.”
8. She points to my prickly underarms and asks, “What’s that?”
9. Whenever I kiss her she pinches her nose and informs me that my breath smells like coffee.
10. When my husband gets home from work she runs to the door screaming, “Daddy!!!!” and then throws herself into his arms for a fifteen minute cuddle session. What am I- chopped liver?
This post can also be seen at Rated by Mom.
You see, I’ve been on this quest to live a more simple life. There are a lot of driving forces behind this, and the crappy economy is definitely a huge factor. Ultimately, I am craving a life that is full and rich and devoid of all things superficial and artificial.
I subscribe to a blog called “Simple Mom” that gives moms tips on how to live a simple and fulfilling life. I was perusing the site a while ago and came across this article. It gives step-by-step instructions on how to go shampoo free.
The short version of the story is that you “wash” your hair with a mixture of baking soda and water and then “rinse” it in a mixture of apple cidrer vinegar and water. The theory behind this idea is that shampoo is basically a detergent that strips hair of all its natural oils, which damages it beyond repair.
The writer described how her hair, once returned to its natural state, became more lustrous and manageable. Shiny and manageable hair? A natural substitute for shampoo that would restore my hair to its original condition? All while being easy on the budget and the environment? I was sold!
The author also discussed a possible “transition period” while your hair acclimates to the new non-shampoo regime. She warned that your hair might actually start producing more oil before it adjusts to being shampoo-free. She estimated that it would take anywhere from a few weeks to a couple of months before your hair would resume its normal oil production.
Well, let me just say that my hair did more than go through a little rejection phase. This was worse than my own teenage rebellion (that means it was awful and pretty much intolerable). My locks were literally screaming, “Put some shampoo up here before we really raise hell! In fact, I think we’ll all just might jump ship. How about that!” Or something along those lines.
My hair was dirty. Disgusting. Unbelievable greasy. I kind of resembled the gross boy with bad personal hygiene who sits in the back corner of every seventh grade classroom. Like, so NOT pretty.
So, I caved in and started shampooing my hair again. And let me tell you- it felt GOOD. It was unbelievable how great it felt. It was practically orgasmic. What was I thinking?
I may not have joined the shampoo-free movement, but I think I walked away having learned some important things:
1. I like using shampoo.
2. I like the way shampoo smells.
3. I like the way shampoo makes my hair feel.
4. Finally, I like being able to run a comb through my freshly washed hair.
See? It really is all about the simple things in life.
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