Freaky Friday

Warning: This is NOT a crazy comedic tale about a mother and daughter switching bodies in order to learn more about each other! Think less quirky antics, and more blood and needles.

For quite some time I have held to one firm and unwavering belief.

If my blood was meant to come out of my body there would be a tap in place for it to come out of.

I think this belief stemmed from the first time I consciously remember having my blood drawn. I was seven years old and I guess I was pretty sick. I remember being in the hospital, and my Mom being told they needed to draw some blood. Lying on the gurney, a nurse put the rubber tie on my arm, and said, “Ready? It’s just going to be a little pinch.”

FYI PEOPLE!! A mosquito bite is a little pinch, a tangle in your hair is a little pinch, ripping off a bandage is a little pinch… a needle poking into your arm when you are seven years old is A LOT more then a LITTLE pinch!

The “little” pinch was way more then I was ready for, so it shocked me! It shocked me so much in fact that I jerked my arm away in outrage, thereby causing the needle to wrench in my arm.

OUCH!

Naturally then, ever since that fabulous introduction to the world of blood letting, I’ve been less then keen for any repeat experiences. I suffered through whenever it was necessary, but usually with a ton of psyching myself up beforehand.

Then I got pregnant and I had to get real friendly with the bloodsuckers in white. What’s the prize for the girl who’s not fond of the needle?

Blood letting to the EXTREME, but of course!

They took my blood at my first prenatal appointment, twice during my first glucose test, four times after I failed the first test and they had to do a second extended one. Not to mention the multitudes of IVs etc that I had while in labor.

Jeez, I know while I was pregnant I resembled a pin cushion, but really!

The upside? My fears were CURED.

So, when we were at the local Farmers Market the other weekend and the Red Cross lady gave us a flyer for a “Life Saving Luau” they were holding, it got me thinking. Maybe I should give blood. Being O+, the universal blood type, it would really be the most responsible thing to do. My Hubby, being a blood donor already, was planning on going. We could make it a fun family outing. Well, as fun as needles, tubes and blood bags can be.

What a great way to serve my fellow man, give back, be a part of the solution…

Yup, that’s me, always thinking of others. The thought of something new to blog about didn’t even enter my mind… honest.

At 5:00, we arrived at the local Red Cross. We were greeted with leis, there was music and dancing, decorations and festive food, and of course people in white lab coats collecting blood. Nothing says luau like rusty nail sized needles and disinfectant!

Here I am, waiting for my turn. My face is all smiles, but I ain’t gonna lie, my stomach was definitely nervous.



The Hubby went first. Away into the little room where they ask you all the personal questions about sex and drugs, then into the comfy chair, to face the really big needle. It all looked like no big deal. Piece of cake. Luckily, I was in the room answering my own set of questions when his vein stopped producing and they had to try his other arm. YIKES! I might have changed my mind IMMEDIATELY!

Finally, it was my turn. I answered all their questions and climbed into the big comfy chair, ready to get started. Across from me there was a young man, who I think was also a first timer. He seemed very interested in the whole prep process. Watching everything they were doing to me. Finally the moment came for the “little pinch”. He was all, “Do you mind if I watch?” I was like, “Buddy, go ahead. I’m not going to watch, so someone might as well!”

See, my fear of having blood drawn may be cured, but I still have so desire to watch myself get stuck. I turned my head to the right until the big moment was over and this is what I saw,



It’s not enough I am giving of my time and precious elixir of life; you want me to join too? Dude. But at least focusing on her got me through the pain. That needle hurt! It was way bigger then your average needle used to draw a blood sample! But at least it was over fast, and after that first uncomfortable stab, it was totally easy. Enjoyable even.

I know you’re thinking, WHAT? You enjoyed having someone pump the blood from your arm? You might consider seeking counseling! But, it was just all so relaxing. The chair was comfy, my hubby was watching the Munchkin, it was quiet, I was tempted to try and get a little nap in. Here I am, doing the deed,



And that smile is 100% authentic. No nervous butterflies now.

Sadly, it was all over in about 15 minutes, (apparently, I am a very efficient bleeder) and my mini holiday was over. Here I am in the canteen waiting around for the allotted amount of time to make sure I wouldn’t pass out or anything.



While I was sitting there, I decided to take a picture of the sticker they gave me when I was done. Yes, just like when you were a little kid at the doctor, at the Red Cross you get a sticker if you’re a good little bleeder. So as I sat there trying to line up the camera just right, while munching on cookies, and sipping on juice, a young girl who was also waiting looked over and said,

“You know what it looks like you are trying to take a picture of, right?”

Yup, I knew.

So here it is.

The picture of my boob… I mean stickers.



Hoping you will all make a visit your local Red Cross soon,

Mandy:)

I've Been Told I'm Crafty...

These days I’m all about projects. Anything I can do to feel focused and productive. I know there are lots of women out there who are 100% fulfilled being wives and mothers, but I am not one of them. I love my little family, but I need more. I need to be constantly moving forward, focused on a goal, and perhaps most importantly for me, coming up with new outlets for being creative.

Yup, I’m a crafty SAHM. I’m fully aware of the cliché, and I’ll thank you for not commenting.

Both my parents are creative people, but I get the full strength of my craftiness from my Mom. As far back as I can remember my Mom has always had her fingers into some form of crafting, often encouraging my brother and me to join in the fun. One of the best Christmas gifts I ever received as a child was a craft kit my Mom assembled. It was a plastic box filled with all kinds of fun odds and ends. Glittering sparkles and fuzzy pipe cleaners, google eyes of all shapes and sizes, yarn and felt and just about anything a young child could want to create and explore. I remembering being so excited. I couldn’t wait to sit down and create.

When she comes to visit we can’t wait to get to a craft store together. To be able to wander the aisles, ooo-ing and aah-ing and getting inspired. Just before Ms. Madeline was born, we took a very special trip to Joann’s Fabrics. My Mom’s current craft of choice is quilting, and I may be biased, but I think she is AMAZING! When I became pregnant, one of her first comments (after screaming in glee, through the phone, and rendering me partially deaf) was she was going to make me a baby quilt. So, when she came to visit, we took off to Joann’s to pick out the material she would use. I wanted primary colours, and wanted it to be different from your regular baby quilts. Something fun, but timeless. NO pastels, NO cartoon characters, NO baby animals.

Here is what she made.



If that’s not squeal worthy, I don’t know what is. EEK! Madeline has since outgrown it, but I think I might just hang it on the wall as art. Maybe, in my craft room where I can admire it all the time. I just LOVE looking at it. In fact, I even painted my pregnancy cast to match the quilt. See,



It was just too much fun finding ways to replicate the fabric patterns using paint and paper. Right now she is working on a Christmas tree skirt for me and I can hardly wait to see it!

I think one of things I enjoy most about crafting is the challenge. Finding a way to be unique and think outside the box. Recently, I challenged myself to come up with a fun and interesting personal calling card. Being on the search for employment, I wanted to have a card that I could give people with my contact info on it, but I wanted something more interesting then just your standard printed business card.

Here is what I came up with using paper scraps and Dymo Embossing tape.



Whatcha think? Does it make a statement or what?!?

If you’re envious and want some personal calling cards of your own email me at lulupumpkin@live.com, let me know the style you’re looking for and I’ll get back to you with some ideas and cost.

Thanking my Momma,

Mandy:)

The photos of the calling cards are by my own personal photographer, Jessica (of course).

Feeling the Love!

Apparently, a couple little birdies were listening to my pleas for a vacation from my life, and have since delivered into my hands a ticket for the Munchkin and I to go to Europe for three weeks to visit my parents. My Dad and Step-Mom Michelle have not seen Madeline since before she was walking, so I am so excited for them to meet the little person she has become.

Well, minus the sonic screaming and full body thrashing, anyway.

One of the little birdies was told to give me a card with the surprise tickets inside. This is what I got,



It’s a piece of paper with a FAKE ticket printed on it. Maybe, in my dreams I fly first class, but in reality I’m herded onto the plane and shunted into economy with the rest of the cattle.

Not the prettiest way of springing the surprise, but I’m going to Europe, so really… who cares?

Counting the sleeps,

Mandy:)

Special thanks to my little birdies, Dad, Michelle and Colby, who are making this happen. A girl couldn’t ask for better! XOXO

And Finally There Was Dancing!

So, when we last left our heroine she had survived her close call encounter with evil hair products and was on her way to the hotel with her loyal best friend, a fistful of Chicken McNuggets and a smile on her face.

We checked into the hotel, and I swear for the first 5 minutes we said nothing at all. We just sat in blissful calm silence, on the beautifully crisp beds, in the serene and uncluttered hotel room. Nothing was sticky. No one was whining, or asking when dinner would be ready, or commenting on the household chores that the royal “we” needed to complete… everything was just calm and beautiful.

Well, all except for the giant pile of crap sitting in the corner. Honey, what can I say? Moms come prepared! Try looking in a diaper bag sometime. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you found rations and a gas mask inside. You know, just incase World War III kicks off while you’re at a playdate.

What? It could happen.

Here is a picture of my suitcase. During our escape from Jessica’s we shoved EVERYTHING into it. As you can see among the party essentials such as adult beverages and the perfect shade of pink nail polish, we still had not entirely kicked our hair dye habit. Yes, that is a box of L’Oreal Excellence 4AR dark brown. I guess we brought it in case we were jonesing for a fix later on. You’ll be happy to know, however, that Jessica and I have since joined a 12 step program, and are on our way to kicking our home dye habit for good.



After basking in the silence, it was time to get down to business. First nail
polish…



Awwww, too cute, right?

Then the real nitty gritty, hair and make up. At this point the other members of our crew had arrived and we had a full on salon setup. All that was missing was a stack of trashy magazines. There was also enough make up for an army of drag queens. Being extremely organized and on the ball kind of gals we kept everyone’s make up and brushes completely organized.



Pretty impressive, huh? Maybe this is why I can’t convince an employer that I am an organizing savant?

And of course we remembered to stay hydrated. Beauty transformations are REALLY hard work! We wouldn’t want to get dehydrated and ruin the whole night!



Skip past the drive in the blazing heat, where we sweated off almost all of our beautifully applied makeup, because we couldn’t put the windows down (Heat stroke or a destroyed perfectly coiffed do? No brainer, right?) and finally we arrived and couldn’t wait for the free drinks, free food, air conditioning and fun, fun, fun.

Except…

The air conditioning must have been on the fritz. It was hot! Our hair was sticking to our necks and threatening to burst into frizz and curl any second. Strike One.

The free food consisted of salad and cookies. I guess that’s how models stay so thin. Strike Two.

Standing around for an hour and a half in shoes that were really only meant for about 20 seconds, waiting for the show to start which we were supposed to have front row seats for (except they were filled with the butts of other people). Strike Three… we were outta there!

The upside? There WERE free drinks! Well, two per person, anyway. Hello Mr. Pinot Noir!!

After the disappointing offering of sustenance, we needed food, stat, and we also wanted to get our groove on. So, Stop #2, “Crush”. Bar, restaurant, and Saturday night hotspot.

Except, as our luck was holding strong, on this particular night, this spot was definitely missing the “hot”. We got a prime spot to sit, the food and drinks were GREAT, but sadly they were having some serious malfunctions with their tunes. The music was HORRIBLE!! And dammit, we needed to dance! But at least we got some drinks…



YUM! Thank goodness for designated drivers!

So, onward and upward to Stop #3. The E Room, is a lesbian dive bar located on the east side of town. One look at this place and most people would run the other way. It is definitely on the rough side, but the music and lack of sleazy lounge lizards more then makes up for the grungy décor.

And so finally we danced, grooved, bopped, popped, got down, jived, head banged and any other dancey type noun you can think of. Here, I am rockin out.



At 2:30 am, the DJ put it on autopilot and it was time to head home. With sad faces we arrived back at the hotel, but they didn’t stay sad for long! Oh how crazy and hilarious EVERYTHING becomes when you’ve indulged in a few! I wish I had been more sauced. Jessica and my fellow sleepover girls were laughing so hard and so long about nothing in particular, that all Jessica could repeat over and over again was, “OMG, my sides hurt! My sides hurt!” *Sigh*, good times.

And, what was I doing during this over the top hilarity besides thinking “Am I this crazy when I’m drunk”?

Recording all the memories to relay back to you, of course.

Bringing you all along in spirit,

Mandy:)

What's that smell? Ammonia or Insanity?

A few weeks ago Jessica was all,

“Dude, I have extra tickets to Rock the Runways on Saturday August 14th and you are coming!”

Since, we have already established that I should not argue with Jessica, and that I should always just do as she says, I had no choice but to agree. Well that and I desperately needed an adult night out. Have I mentioned I have a demonic force living in my house in the form of a 22 month old? Enough said.

So I allowed Jessica to twist my rubber arm and “talk me into” attending on one condition, she had to be my personal stylist for the event. If you’ve visited Jessica’s blog Fatshion Chic, then you will know she has great taste and is a whiz with hair and make up. So if I was going to attend an event focusing on fashion, with my fashionista friend, I wanted to look the part.

That is why we decided to dye my hair, to brighten me up a little. Get rid of the SAHM frump, and resurrect the sassy sex kitten within. I generally rock a ponytail and t-shirt any day I can get away with it. Sometimes I go without make up for weeks on end. So, I was 100% behind the change. I was ready to rock it up!

Thus the now infamous L’Oreal Excellence Light Auburn kit was applied, and my post Lather, Rinse Repeat was born. Which then led to D-Day, which led to… um…?

The disaster that followed started with a highlighting kit. Actually, three highlighting kits, but it might be better if we don’t count how much dye Jessica and I go through in this tale.

Jessica’s preliminary attack began by highlighting selected pieces of my dark maroonish-purple hair. The consensus being that keeping a few of my darker pieces would add a little fun and sass to my look. A little highlight, a little lowlight, brilliant! I mean who needs a professional colourist! We are capable, intelligent women. We’ve got EVERYTHING under control.

Or…

Once my head was done it was Jessica’s turn. She wanted to go blond for the big event. Here we are in all our glory.



We are sexy, no?

After baking for a bit, a mutual decision was made that maybe my darker pieces were too dark. Too much contrast, not so much sexy, as clown like. So, out came a second highlighter kit and more bleach was applied.

Finally, time to rinse. Into the bathroom I tromped, with shampoo, conditioner and towel in hand. Ready and eager to see my new glamorous look.

Hmmmmm, well...

It was definitely brighter. Sort of, well, actually, it was bright ORANGE to be exact.

My mind went into denial mode. It WAS closer to my natural colour. Maybe it was just a shock because it was so much lighter then the dark I had become used to. Ya, that’s it. And under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom who could judge? It would look more natural in the daytime. Yup, definitely. Well, almost definitely. No, DEFINITELY! No problem! I was all set. GOOD TO GO!! FEELING SEXY!!

When, Jessica came over on Friday morning my fears were confirmed. Her first words, “You hair is orange.”

Solution? More highlighter of course. What’s the definition of insanity again?

After carefully scrutinizing my hair Jessica decided it needed to go a bit lighter, and that would take care of the nasty bright orange and take me down to a more natural lighter orange.

When I woke up Saturday morning this was what my hair looked like…



In all fairness, my hair looked much more natural right after I washed it out on Friday, but since I didn’t shampoo it on Friday night; I guess the bleach just kept right on doing its job. Oops, lesson learned.

So now, it was about 10 hours from our big event. An event Jessica and I had been talking about all week like teenage girls giggling and squealing over prom, and I was looking WAY less then runway ready!

What’s a girl to do?

More dye of course! (I promise, Jessica and I aren’t as stupid as we sound in this post!)

This time we went to Sally’s Beauty Supply and got some professional help. After some hemming and hawing a Nutmeg brown was chosen.

Applied, set for 10 minutes (TOPS) and wash.

TADA!!! Natural redhead again, and in record time!



We completed my hair (and hers too) with enough time to pack the car, stop for some pre party Mickey D’s and head to the hotel where the real prep fun began!

That’s definitely a WHOLE other post!

Glad my hair didn’t get up and walk off my head in protest,

Mandy:)

Cheap Therapy...

I began this post really truly feeling like I needed a vacation from my life. The job hunt is definitely weighing on me more and more heavily lately. Some women feel their biological clocks ticking deafeningly in their ears. Well I think I have a career clock, and it’s ticking so loudly I can hardly hear anything else. I’m desperate to find an employment home. Nothing would make me happier then to find a job I could love, for an organization I wanted to grow with. I’m beginning to grow impatient and starting to feel desperate. I feel emotional and tired. Since the beginning of my hunt I’ve strived to remain positive. I felt strong in the belief that I was talented and a catch for any employer. Even when the rejections came rolling in, I tried to look at the bright side. Attempting to keep my chin up, and remain optimistic.

Well, tonight all the emotions I’ve been holding back, and keeping in check spilled over.

My closest friend is on the verge of securing an amazing job. A job that has been specifically created for her. One she will be amazingly brilliant at. She has worked so hard, has amassed so much experience, knows her STUFF. No one deserves it more! I’m so happy for her.

And I’m jealous. What about me? When will it be my turn?

My siblings called me tonight. My brother and his girlfriend were visiting my sisters in Ottawa. They were having a great time together. Eating, drinking, and laughing. My sisters were finally getting a chance to meet my brother’s amazing girlfriend. They missed me. They called to say hello. I was so happy that they were able to be together, and that they were having such a good time.

And I was jealous. What about me? When will it be my turn?

So tonight I cried. I cried for the career I feel like I will never find. I cried for my family that I miss so much. I cried because I feel mediocre. I cried because I’m tired. I feel like I’m running in place as fast as I can, and I’m not getting anywhere.

So I sat down in front of my computer and decided to write a rant about how I needed a vacation from my life. I began to rail about how I wanted to be more than just a SAHM. How I was so frustrated because I wanted to succeed, accomplish, contribute, make my mark. I began to whine, and moan about how I was swimming upstream in a river of crap, and that someone better throw me a life preserver before I drowned. I was primed and ready to host a festive fun filled pity party!

But then I just couldn’t continue.

Although right now I am REALLY not in the mood to count and acknowledge the blessings in my life, I know they are there. I know I am lucky in lots of ways.

EXTREMELY LUCKY!

So in good conscience I just couldn’t continue. By writing those first few paragraphs, it got me thinking about how lucky I am, and that if I continued to rant I’d just sound spoiled, petty and ungrateful. So many people are so much worse off than me.

Does that mean I don’t have any right to feel the way I do? Well the funny thing about feelings is that they are what they are, all you can do is deal with them in the best possible way. For some it is therapy, but for those who can’t afford to talk to a professional, I have a suggestion.

WRITE!

Those first few paragraphs that have now been erased were so cathartic. I feel like the demons have been released. Just dump it all out onto the page and you’ll feel better. At least, for a little bit.

So I end this therapy session with promises of mirth and merriment to come. See, even though I need a serious vacation getaway from my mortal coil, I recently got a mini break.

Here is a sneak peak picture.



Be ready to wish you were there, well for most of it anyway.

Rejecting reality and substituting my own,

Mandy:)

It's D-Day!

I might be developing gills and webbed feet, but the colour has definitely faded. I've washed my hair about 8 times in the last 5 days. I'm now so clean I squeak. Literally. I'm not kidding! When I run my wet hair between my fingers, I can actually hear it SQUEAK!

My "when good dye, goes bad" look these past few days, has been sort of fun. It's not like my hair turned yellow and fell out or anything. It just wasn't me. I felt like I was looking in the mirror at a different person. A dark haired doppelganger. Maybe she is the personification of "Little Miss Pessimist".

YIKES!!! I'm glad it's D-Day, I do not need her any more in control then she already is!

Here are some update pictures. Depending on the light, my hair is a different colour.

In the shade I am sort of a maroonish dark brown. Not a bad colour. Still a little dark for me, but definitely acceptable.



But when I am standing in the sun.... MY HEAD IS ON FIRE!! My hair is RED!! Like RED RED!! To all you fashionistas out there, is it a good look when your hair glows?



So, today is D-Day. In this case the "D" stands for DYE. I looked up what the "D" actually stands for in the term D-Day. Having grown up in the military and then being a military wife for several years until my husband returned to the civilian world, the answer did not surprise me in the least. In typical military brilliance the "D" in D-Day stands for... DAY.

Yup, Day-Day.

Ummmm, okay.

Tonight, I will be heading over to Jessica's, where she will attack my hair with a highlighting kit in order to lighten it up to the colour we were originally aiming for.

I'm trying to decide if I should keep a few strands of the glowing red colour, just for fun. A little cheeky sass, to keep life interesting?

I'll be posting pics in my next post documenting my fun filled event this weekend.

Just for fun, here's one more picture I took trying to document my glowing hair. It doesn't frame my hair very well, but I kind of like it anyway. I think it my be my best self portrait ever.



Stay Tuned,

Mandy:)

Lather, Rinse, Repeat!

“Oh Lordy!”

These were the first words out of Jessica’s mouth this afternoon when I walked out of the bathroom, and shook my hair out. It was DEFINITELY not the look we were going for! But let me back up a little bit first.

If I had to pick one thing I like best about myself it would have to be my hair. I am a redhead. We’re a rare breed, and some sources say a dying breed. It’s like being part of an exclusive little club. My favorite Disney movie as a little girl was “The Little Mermaid”, primarily because Ariel was the only Disney princess with red hair. That and I love the “Under the Sea” musical number. That part’s a secret though, so don’t spread it around!

Here is a picture of me at about 2 years old.



My Dad told me that whenever I was out and about with my parents the ladies in Newfoundland would go bananas. They loved my head full of bright red ringlets. As is usually the case, the older I got, the darker my hair got. By the time I was a teenager, it was still a beautiful auburn colour, but it was never again that vivid red.

I started adding highlights to my hair in my early 20s. I was always sort of a Plain Jane in high school, so I really wanted to add a little sass to my look. There was just one problem. My hair is an entity onto itself. It is ridiculously thick! It’s the beast that must be tamed!

When I was 12 I decided to get a bob. The problem, I refused to allow the stylist to layer it. The result was a blunt, fuzzy triangle on the top of my head. NOT a good look!

Getting it done in a salon costs a FORTUNE! The last time, Jessica put highlights in for me just a few months before my birthday in November. Now all my highlights have pretty much grown out and I’ve noticed how dark my hair is. Really dark and really dull. As a SAHM, I need a little pizzazz and sass. I hate feeling frumpy!

So, in preparation for a big event I am attending next weekend, it was time to get my hair did!

Jessica and I descended on Walgreens today looking for a nice red to put in my hair. We wanted something that was pretty close to the red my hair used to be. We settled on Light Auburn by L’Oreal. We figured it would just lighten and brighten my natural colour.

Ummm, we were wrong.

REALLY REALLY WRONG!

The best I can say is THANK GOD it was a drug store dye, which will eventually wash out!

Did you hear me Mom? I promise it will wash out!

I think we might have jinxed our whole operation just a little bit. As I was paying for the dye Jessica and I were agreed. We were going for a nice natural light red. None of that dark, burgundy type red.

Here’s what we got…



Oops.

Jessica and I are flummoxed! What about the lady on the box! What the hell!



FALSE ADVERTISING! FALSE ADVERTISING!

Maybe they put the wrong dye in this particular box? Ladies, NEVER EVER trust the picture on the box!

So for the next week I have a firm date with a bottle of Sauve Clarifying Shampoo, morning, noon and night.



In fact as soon as I got home today, after assuring my husband the colour was NOT permanent, I jumped in the tub and washed my hair. I lathered, rinsed and for the first time since University, I repeated.

After a Frosh event my first year, I had to lather, rinse and repeat several times in the attempt to remove the smell of ketchup and chocolate sauce from my hair. A story for another time, I only wish I’d thought to get a picture!

When I got out of the tub, I was pleased to see that the water was a light tea colour.

And if the dates with shampoo don’t work…

I’ll just tell anyone who asks that Jessica made me do it… AGAIN!

(Kidding Jessica! Being my fashion guru, I know you’ll fix it.)

Stay tuned loyal readers. I promise to post pictures of my progress.

That is, if I can still type with pruney fingers!

Living in the tub for the next week,

Mandy:)

To Those Who Hire...

What do you think loyal readers? Am I wrong?


Dear Perspective Employers,

There are millions of unemployed Americans desperately hoping to fill one of your open positions. Like me, they are pouring over your posted ads daily, applying and reapplying, hoping and praying that they will finally find the solution to their problems. So on behalf of all of us, I’m hoping this letter will clear up a few of your misconceptions.

It is NOT okay to run an ad asking for an administrative assistant who has a lifetime of experience, can type faster than the speed of light, holds an advanced degree in neuroscience, can speak three languages, and is an organizing savant, and then pay them barely over minimum wage. If you are looking for a straight out of college, entry level employee, then feel free to pay them dirt. However, just because there are a lot of really desperate people out there who will take any pay you are willing to give them, just so they can keep a roof over their heads and food on the table, doesn’t mean you can use it as an excuse to score a deal on a premium, top shelf employee.

Also, if you are hoping this amazing godlike employee will join your company, it might help if you included in your ad the name of your company, what you do, and where you are located. How else, I ask you, will this superb specimen of work ethic know if they have any familiarity with your industry? I know that the pestering down-on-their-luck masses of the unemployed can surely drive you crazy with their squeaky-wheel-gets-the-grease mentality of job hunting, but when your ad reads,

“We need administrative assistant to do office type stuff. We pay good money. Send resume.”

You might want to expound a little bit. Lest you be mistook for one of the lower then pond scum scammers, who take advantage of desperate people, by trying to trick them into taking false credit checks, only to steal their financial information and rob them blind…. GRRRRRR.

Okay breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth, blood pressure receding, rage is subsiding.

Finally, quit it with the resume, cover letter, supplemental questions, urine sample, pint of blood and promise of first born to be named after your company application process. I know it can be a very hard task screening potential employees and making sure they are everything they claim to be, but let’s get real. Is it really necessary to have an applicant explain in 100 words or less why they really want to work for your company above all others? I can tell you why in seven words,

“BECAUSE YOU ARE GOING TO PAY THEM!”

Please don’t make them spew a bunch of nonsense about how working in a manufacturing company specializing in plastic cutlery is their dream career. Yes, plastic forks and knives are my life’s passion! Honestly, what’s not to love? Please, corporate America! I am begging you! Let’s just be real! People are applying to your job opening because YOU HAVE ONE AND THEY NEED TO PAY THEIR BILLS!

Thank you for taking the time to read this, and I’m sorry for its sometimes rant-like nature. I do hope it will make it easier for everyone out their looking to hire or be hired.

Your running partner in the lifelong rat-race,
Mandy:)

Kids are a joy... most of the time.

This is Miss Madeline Anne. She is almost 22 months old. She loves kitties and doggies and babies. She is a Daddy’s girl, who adores curling up on the couch with her blankie and a sippy cup of milk, to watch Sesame Street. She loves to dance and sing and clap her hands. She is gorgeous, with her father’s beautiful blue eyes, a perfectly kissable rosebud mouth, and an angelic little heart shaped face.

It seems like just yesterday she was a tiny little baby, still trying to focus in on the world around her. Now she is a little person, with her own thoughts and emotions.

This is her current favorite…



ATTENTION! ATTENTION! WE HAVE AN EMERGENCY! MY CHILD IS POSSESSED!

I always knew the perfect easygoing and angelic child I gave birth to almost two years ago couldn’t last forever. Despite a little reflux (which stained every piece of fabric we owned) she was a dream. Unless she was hungry, tired, dirty or hurt, she was happy. She started sleeping through the night at 6 weeks!

I know all you mamas out there hate me just a little bit right now, and it’s okay, I understand.

Well honey, those days are gone. I knew eventually I would have to pay for my amazingly good fortune. Nothing comes for free in this world, EVERYONE has to pay their dues, and the powers that be have come to collect!

THE TANTRUMS!!!! OH MY GOD THE TANTRUMS!!

If this is the attitude and stubbornness I have to deal with now, I FEAR for her teens!! To witness her in the throes of a full strength, everything she’s got, THE WORLD HAS OFFICIALLY ENDED BECAUSE I CAN’T HAVE MY WAY tantrum, borders on terrifying. There’s screaming, kicking, crying, hitting, thrashing, growling, spitting, levitation, vomiting streams of green liquid…

I have nightmares that during a particularly horrific tantrum, streams of vicious and foul language pour from my precious child’s mouth, while her head turns on its axis and she turns bright red. And all because I’ve told her she can’t stick an extremely sharp pencil in her eye.

Any parent of a toddler can tell you they dread the day their little munchkin learns the most foul of all words… NO! Once a toddler learns this loathsome word all bets are off. It becomes a battle cry. A musical and magical chant that when uttered can render their parents completely frustrated and exhausted.

My dictator in short pants has learned this word, and she loves it so much she has put her own spin on it. Madeline doesn’t yell “NO”, when asked to please sit nicely on the couch so she doesn’t fall and crack open her skull Madeline shouts,

“MO!”

Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep a straight face and reprimand your child when it sounds like she is calling for a middle aged man who owns a deli?

Having officially entered the season of “MO” with its storms of “Demon Temper”, I knew it was only a matter of time before I had to endure my first public tantrum. Having worked in a grocery store during high school, I witnessed my fare share of parents trying to deal with these horrible occurrences. They were AWFUL! Everyone staring at the parents of the offending child, judgmental looks on their faces, whispering to each other. I knew when my day came, it was going to be an acutely horrible experience.

Well the day finally came, and IT WAS SO MUCH WORSE THEN I COULD HAVE EVER IMAGINED!

Miss Madeline Anne did not choose to pitch a fit in the middle of a shopping mall, grocery store or noisy playground. Oh no, my child chose to lose her marbles while visiting the most Zen and tranquil of all public places,

THE LOCAL PUBLIC LIBRARY!!!

My experience that day taught me two things.

1. The acoustics of a library are FAN-FREAKING-TASTIC! Madeline’s screams bounced and reverberated around the serene space like a pinball.

2. I am the fastest self check-out in the west. I had her under one arm, my books under the other and was out the door in less than 30 seconds.

The whole episode was about as much fun as a poke in the eye with a sharp stick (or maybe I could borrow the sharp pencil from my nightmare!). All in all it is not an experience I am looking to repeat anytime soon, even though I know, I will have the joy of reliving it again and again in different locations and circumstances for many years to come.

To get through it all I will simply embrace the mantra my Mother always chanted whenever we morphed into unholy demons sent from hell to torture her,

“Kids are a joy, kids are a joy, KIDS ARE A JOY!"

I think despite our behavior, she even believed it.

Here’s hoping it doesn’t come to the use of the sharp stick!

Mandy:)

P.S. Pictures are courtesy of Jessica Kane of Kane Kreative