Someone Didn't Want Me To Get a Pedicure

I had a wedding to attend on Saturday, so trust me, there was a mani/pedi in my future.  It had been a long time, and they needed the attention, especially since I was wearing open toe shoes.  I had the perfect color chosen for my toes, but my fingers were flexible.  I wanted a deep, rich, true silver.  And I know that the metallics are out there, so I was ready.

As I walked into the salon, I noticed all the workers were engaged, but I wasn't worried.  It was 1:15pm, and even allowing myself two hours, I had plenty of time.  They waved me to choose a color, which I proceeded to do.  And I discovered that finding that true silver wasn't as easy as I'd thought.  Fortunately, I had time to paint little swatches on my fingers to find the perfect shade.  And I did.  Yay!  I even found a nail color that worked for what I wanted.  After amusing myself choosing colors for fifteen minutes or so, they waved me to a chair that had the water running.  Yay, I got the last empty chair.

That's when I saw the other people waiting for service, somewhat hidden around the corner of the door.  I wasn't too worried, though - it was only two people sitting there.  Plus, I was already in a chair soaking my feet.  I picked up my requisite trashy magazine that I never read anywhere but at the salon and started to relax.

And I continued to read.  Things I learned while reading that magazine?  A) I read too fast.  I finished the magazine before they were ready for me.  B) It's prom season, so all the girls not only want mani/pedis, but they want the flowers and other decorations painted on their nails and toes.  Oh, and they also want to be waxed - all of which means they need more time.  C) Apparently for prom, either parents now no longer require that their children go to school the day before prom or schools no longer have afternoon classes the day before prom.  I sort of don't want to know which.  D) I'm not the only one waiting in the feet soaking stage.  Two of the five chair - in addition to my own - were also awaiting pedicures.

Oops.  I should have called for an appointment, but who knew?

When the guy was finally ready for me, he was hugely apologetic.  It wasn't his fault, but yikes!  I would have appreciated the heads up.  Although, I might not have gone home and come back later, since I walked there from my house... in my shoes that are oh so cute and perfect for a pedicure because they don't even come close to touching my toes.  The only issue is that they sort of rub in the wrong place on one ankle.  And I wasn't up for another walk at that point.

As he finished buffing and polishing my poor piggies, he pulled out the gorgeous polish I'd chosen and commenced work.  After the second or third toe, he looked up at me apologetically.  I'm so sorry.  This polish is almost gone.  There isn't enough here to do your nails.  Seriously?  Well, yeah.  Of course.  I begged to see if we could do one coat with this polish and then a second coat with another polish to at least give most of the effect I was looking for.  Nope.  He tried finding another silver polish, but none of them were opaque enough, so I went back searching for my previous second choice.  It took us awhile to find the right one, but eventually we found it.  Phew.

When we got to my manicure, my polish had somehow disappeared.  Apparently someone was a little too vigilant in the cleanup while we were figuring out what replacement toe polish to use.  When my guy had first started working and apologized for the delay, I had joked that it was fine as I had until 4:15 before I had to be home for the bus.  My final top coat went one at 3:55.

I did manage to get home before the bus by about five minutes, but so much for my doing my hair nicely for the rehearsal dinner.  And my makeup was the quick regular day makeup, as we raced back out the door once the wee ones got home.  The other things I'd planned to do after completing my mani/pedi?  Yeah, they didn't happen either.  Forces were conspiring against me.  Someone didn't want me to get a pedicure.  But I did anyway... and they do look pretty cool.

What is your summer foot routine?  What colors are you into right now?

Karma Is Laughing At Me

Last night, I went to a fantastic charity event hosted by Sassy Moms in the City, WBBM and JACK 104.3FM. It was a benefit for the American Heart Association's Go Red women's initiatives and New Moms, Inc. Needless to say, red dress and red shoes were optional - but obviously suggested.

After doing a quick mental perusal of my closet, I decided a red dress was in order. While I do have a red dress in my closet, it's been... years since I've worn it. It was from a formal in college, I believe. While it does thankfully still fit, it's ummm a little short. And sadly out of date.

No worries. It was just before Valentine's Day. There are lots of red dresses out there!

Or so I thought. And so Melisa thought.

I don't have a ton of time to shop, and I'm not a big fan of shopping, as things don't quite fit the way I think they should fit, which puts me into a bad mood. I hit three stores and quickly discovered that there aren't many stores easily accessible to me that carry a large selection of dresses, let alone red dresses. After conferring with Melisa, I jumped online almost two weeks ago and quickly found four potential dreses.

Four. Whoo, go me! Something's gotta work, right?

Better yet, the free shipping (me online shopping = free shipping and in store returns if I'm buying clothes) would put those dresses to my house in plenty of time for the event last night.

Melisa eventually also found a dress online - a single dress that she ordered. As we compared notes, I laughed, as she paid for slightly expedited delivery and my dresses (four of them, mind you - I would have at least ONE that would be perfect, ha!) were scheduled to arrive a day before hers was.

On Monday this week, her dress arrived. It didn't fit. I felt badly for her, and I vaguely worried that none of the four dresses I ordered would work, but she reassured me - even after having gone shopping with me for a dress for BlogHer and seeing how many I tried on before finally finding one that worked.

Melisa went to Plan B of getting red shoes, which is a whole 'nother saga - truly, you need to go read her post. I'll wait.

My dresses were scheduled to arrive Tuesday, two whole days before the event. On Tuesday, there was a package sitting in front of my door when I got home from the gym. Whoo hoo, they arrived! I quickly scooped up the box and ran inside. I opened it, so excited to see which of my four beauties I'd be sporting at the event.

Inside, I found a twelve pack of toilet paper.

I couldn't make this up if I tried. It was a package I wasn't expecting, and I love receiving gifts, but the irony of this wasn't lost on me.

On Wednesday morning, I looked up the tracking number (again) to see where my dresses were. At 8:21am, they'd tried to deliver them - somewhere in a town I've heard of near me but don't actually know where it's located. They were being "rerouted to the correct address." I heaved a sigh of relief; they'd be here by the end of the day or the next morning at the latest.

On Wednesday, there was no package.

Yesterday, I came back from the gym, and there were two packages waiting for me on my porch. Neither was the size nor the shape of a box of clothing. I sighed and checked the tracking. The arrow that shows the status of packages? It simply had a big RED mark under the "in transit" stage. My hopes sunk. For all I knew, the package was lost - as it was still being "rerouted to the correct address" but now it was red, and red in this place is not good.

I scampered up to my closet to see what I could find to wear. I actually tried on the red dress I already owned, just for giggles. I was right in my first assessment. I tried on two different black dresses. And a red blouse with funky pants. And then I sent photos of each of them to Melisa, knowing she'd give me an honest opinion thirty minutes before I needed to walk out the door.

I wore a little black dress and black shoes - because no, I didn't have time to find any red shoes, either. Fortunately, I had managed to get a mani/pedi earlier in the day after looking at my feet and realizing open toed shoes weren't going to be pleasant if I didn't.

Best part of the mani/pedi? I chose China Glaze, a non-standard salon brand that I figured would be unique. I went with a bright red that had minor sparkles in it, just for fun. So of course, it's the exact shade Melisa chose, too, exact brand.

And that package?

It was sitting on my front porch this morning. It arrived after the event, but I determinedly marched upstairs to try on each of the dresses to figure out which one I would have worn to the event last night. Shockingly, it turns out that I would have worn... none of them.

Silly me for giggling at Melisa's silliness over ordering a single dress, smug in my knowledge that I had four options arriving in plenty of time. Karma set me straight, didn't she?

Yay, I have a Facebook Fan page Facebook page. Come, like me! And, yes, I'm on Twitter, too - just sayin'.

Bring On The Bubonic Plague

This Easter is shaping up to be a fun one for me.

My husband has tickets to the first game at Target Field (the brand new home of the Twins) for their exhibition against the Cardinals, which is my husband's favorite team. He mentioned that he had these tickets and that we were going to go, along with a friend of his from St. Louis.

He neglected to mention that he didn't have tickets for the wee ones (although with a night game on Friday, that would be a trick anyway). And he neglected to mention that this was Easter weekend. Once I found out those two facts, I started hemming and hawing - and we love our baseball (and football and hockey) around here, especially in person.

Easter is a holiday weekend. It's for families. The wee ones want the Easter Bunny to bring their baskets, and I want to be with them to celebrate. We sort of agreed that we'd drive up sans children on Friday and then drive home Saturday immediately following the game. That's a lot more driving than I want to do, but it worked.

Then we got The Call.

In February, my husband's younger brother announced he was getting married. Considering that he's eleven years younger than my husband and had already been engaged once and had it broken off, forgetting the fact that he's made a lot of life choices that I certainly hope the wee ones never do, we didn't put too much stock into it.

Then we heard that they were planning to get married quickly (and no, not for that reason). They didn't have a date, but considering that my husband coaches in the spring and is either at or hosting tournaments most weekends in spring, he was fearful of what the date would be.

We finally heard from my MIL that the date did not coincide with any coaching commitments. Not only did it not coincide with any of the coaching dates, but we weren't invited to the wedding. No one was. They were getting married in Vegas and then holding a reception later.

The reception? Yeah... the Saturday night before Easter. Good-bye first Twins game. Oh, and the reception is going to be held about forty miles east of where my in-laws live.

Now we have a problem:

There is a reception that starts at the wee ones' bedtime in a city where we have no childcare on the night before Easter. The wee ones are invited to the reception, but I am sure there will be behavior there that I just don't want them exposed to.

The only good news? My husband got it and agreed with me one hundred percent.

But how do you say that you aren't going to your brother-in-law's wedding because it just doesn't work with your schedule? That just isn't going to fly.

My husband's aunt offered to let us use her babysitter for the evening. Buuuuut someone I've never met watching the wee ones in a city they don't know well while we are almost an hour away just doesn't quite sit well with either of us.

So we noodled and noodled on it. (Fortunately, the reception invitation hadn't come while we were thinking.) My husband finally suggested that I might become deathly ill on the Thursday before the reception, which would preclude me from coming. And maybe the wee ones will start to come down with it, too. (Sadly, you can see the impact of how we was brought up in the fact that missing Easter with the wee ones doesn't seem to faze him.)

And now I'm the bad sister-in-law hoping that I get sick. Or rather, planning to get sick. Then again, my husband didn't sell his baseball tickets for the weekend until we got the text last night from Vegas from his brother in law stating that "The deed is done."

Someone's Got It In For Me

This week is my vacation. And by my vacation, I mean MINE. Not the wee ones'. Not my husband's. I'm not going anywhere, but this is my week to recharge.

It all started when my parents -- who provide a ton of help to us during the week with childcare -- announced they were going to Amelia Island with an aunt and uncle for a week in April. My mom immediately started panicking. What would I do about the wee ones? Who would take them to daycare? Who would pick them up from preschool? Oh, it was a disaster and she never should have agreed to go....

I simply announced that I would take the week off work. That mollified her.

Of course, my plan was to take the week off work and keep the wee ones in school and daycare. Thus, it's my week of vacation.

It is not meant to be.

Last Wednesday, my aunt's brother passed away. The vacation was off. My mom cheerfully announced that I no longer needed to take the week off since they'd be in town now. Uhhhh, yeah.... And the guilt trip started. I'm proud of myself, though; I didn't cave.

My dad announced that they're taking the wee ones to the city on Wednesday and going to the Field Museum, and how fun. I was going, right? Uhhh, sorry, Dad, but you are soooo wrong on that one. His opinion is that since they're in town, the wee ones can just skip school all week. Yeah, not so much.

We compromised. I'm not going to the Field Museum, but they are. My Wednesday vacation day is back on.

And yesterday? My husband couldn't get out of bed. He had a fever. The veteran teacher who never gets sick was miserable. I informed him that he absolutely was not allowed to remain sick. He had to find some way to get his immune system into gear and off to school once Monday morning rolled around. And he did.

And the green noses from the wee ones? I didn't see anything, did you?

Day One of my vacation? A success.

It involved a manicure, a pedicure, and lunch with some really fun friends consisting of Lou's (good Chicago pizza for the uninitiated) and an initiation into the world of eggless cookie dough. Did I mention that I'm also 152 pages into the first Twilight book?

I feel better already.

It's Not Just Me

Yesterday, I was reading one of my favorite bloggers who was showing the destruction her children had made in her house while she was busy. I made a joking comment about not being the only house where socks are left in random places.

I was referring to the fact that the wee ones tend to take off their socks when playing in the basement and leaving them near the foot of the slide. And whenever they go to nap, they take off their socks and put them either somewhere to the side of their beds or under their beds.

Then I walked over to the kitchen this morning. And I saw something that made me realize I need to be very careful how I'm commenting, as karma seems out to get me lately.



This one? Totally my husband. Little Miss had taken off her socks and given them to my husband who apparently decided that the kitchen counter was an appropriate place for dirty socks.

I've since Clorox-wiped every eating surface in my house. I'm in real trouble, aren't I?

Karma Is Not My Friend

Last night, my husband went to bed before me by a couple minutes. By the time I finished straightening things up downstairs and getting my mug of water, he was laying in bed and watching tv.

Since I'm usually the one who has the television on minimal volume when I fall asleep, it is kept on my channel. That television is basically a Food Network television. My husband though... not so into the Food Network.

When I walked into the room, the television was on a different channel. Nope, not ESPN (good guess though). Not Comedy Central (another good guess). Not the nightly news. Not the Simpsons on Fox. Nope, not my husband. He was watching the Weather Channel.

My husband is one of those Weather Channel junkies. He actually has a favorite weather guy -- but don't ask me the name. He likes to watch the progress of extreme weather -- in other locales. He thinks it's fascinating. I think it's weird.

As I realized what he was watching, I started to giggle. And make fun of him. I did the big loser sign with my hands on my forehead. Still giggling, I bent down to take off my jeans.

The three years of yoga weren't enough. My ankle somehow got caught in the heel of the jeans. I started to lose my balance and could feel my weight shifting backwards. I had two choices, and I had to decide quickly. I could either hop backwards hoping to regain my balance with both legs in the jeans but one leg half out, or I could try to sit down quickly and control my fall.

I chose option b. I neglected to account for the large magazine basket sitting next to the nightstand behind me. I neglected to notice how sharp the edge of the magazine basket is.

I quickly found out, however, as I sat on the handle of said basket. With all my weight, and the momentum of my fall. As I knocked the basket over, I continued to fall, and the basket ended up atop me. My feet went over my head, and my pride was lost somewhere amidst all the mess.

My husband, on the other hand, thought that it was perfect. He couldn't even offer to help me up because he was laughing so hard.

Thanks, Karma. I didn't really need that bruise. For some reason, though, my husband thinks I did.

Someone Doesn't Like Me!

Someone just had it in for me today. Fortunately, they thought this morning’s yuck was enough, so the rest of the day wasn’t so bad. That or it was just someone else’s turn to have things go wrong.

First of all, I was exhausted this morning because someone didn’t put the cats in the basement last night, so they were meowing outside the kids’ rooms most of the night. I love my buddies, but until the kids are mature enough to sleep with cats, they unfortunately have to go into the basement at night. Bums me out, but … I’ve learned.

I suppose technically I could have gotten up and put them in the basement when I realized they were mewling for attention. But once I get out of bed, I’m up for hours. I have a better chance at falling back asleep – 15% vs 0% – if I don’t get out of bed. So I suffered through it.

Until Mister Man came climbing on top of me to complain that there was a kitty in his room that was irritating him – his words, not mine. I told him to walk into the bathroom, then run really fast back to his room and close the door since the cats looooove to follow him into the bathroom. Unfortunately, only one cat was gullible enough for fall for that. Roar stayed in his room.

Ten minutes later, we again had Mister Man climbing on top of me to convince me I needed to get Roar out. At that point, Roar jumped into the bed, too, so I rolled over and told him to go back to bed. Except Meow had then gotten into the room. Once he’s in, he knows he shouldn’t be there and scoots under the bed, only making ventures out when he’s sure it’s safe.

I finally gave up and got out of bed. I looked for the spray bottle on the stairs where I’d left it. Nope. Next, I peeked in the kids’ bathroom. Nope. I tried our bathroom – you know, where it actually belongs. Nope. I finally asked hubby where it was. On Mister Man’s nightstand, of course. *sigh*

Needless to say, I got the cat out of the room, but then the clock watching started for me. I debated turning on the tv or the light to read (if you saw my nightstand, you’d understand the need to read). I decided against it and decided to just try to sleep. Deep breaths. Counting backwards from 200. Drinking some of my water. Nothing. No idea when I finally fell back asleep, but I know I did because the alarm freaked me out when it went off.

Oddly, Mister Man did not want to wake up when I went to go get him. Poor guy was exhausted, too, but he doesn’t have the Mommy Fortitude that I do. Turned his light on to start the process of waking him up and checked on Little Miss. She had a poopy diaper needless to say, which I knew simply by opening her door. Although she did tell me three times, she really didn’t have to.

Once I got her changed, my hands washed, her dressed, and her hair done, Mister Man was still not awake. I had to do the dressing for him, which of course meant that we were now running late – and my snoozing the alarm twice had nothing to do with it, I swear!

Good news is that both kids ate breakfast fairly quickly, so we could start getting shoes on before Miss Deana got there to pick up Mister Man. Except Little Miss required another trip upstairs for a diaper change. Fortunately Miss Deana was running late this morning, so we actually had time to go inspect the daffodils and tulips that were coming up.

Just as I was opening the garage door to start putting Little Miss inside to shave some time because Miss Deana was running too late, she pulled up. Mister Man got on the bus, Little Miss got into the car – without a fuss – and away we went. I was looking at the clock and thinking that things were actually going well. Until I realized that I’d forgotten Little Miss’s backpack at home. I went back to get it, and we were on the road again!

I hit every red light on the way to her school, somehow. It’s a ten minute drive, generally, but I have 5 stoplights. And not only did I hit lights, but two of them required me sitting through more than one signal.

We also cross the railroad tracks twice. Because we had to go back for the backpack, all the school buses were headed back to their yard, which is right near her school. So three school buses ahead of me turned, stopped at the tracks to open their doors, then went forward. By the time we turned onto the next street, I had six buses ahead of me that all had to go across the tracks.

Of course, as I turned onto that street, I noticed that traffic was really backing up. Then I looked ahead and saw a freight train going across the tracks. Now, were I using my head, I’d say that I had just crossed tracks two to three minutes prior and there were no gates or sign of a train. Knowing that the trains that go through are typically very long, I should have turned around and gone the “sneaky” way. None of that dawned on me until much later, however. I’ve never had a freight train go by on my way to preschool, so that really threw me. (And I'm now really against the company buying the tracks and putting 25-40 trains through a day vs the 5 we have now!)

Seven minutes later (and yes, preschool had started by then), the caboose went by, and the traffic slowly started to move. Until the six buses had to stop to go across the tracks. And the light turned red. I kept looking at the clock and hoping that I’d at least be there before they locked the doors for the morning.

When I got to the preschool, I assumed that I’d at least find an easy parking spot (see previous post), but that was not to be. Apparently, this was Parents-Hang-Out-After-Dropping-Off-Your-Kids Day today and no one informed me. But we found a spot on the street, and we got there before they locked the doors, although she was the last one into class today.

I was fairly irritated by that point, and only part of it was due to sleep deprivation, I think. I hate being late, and it’s one of the things where:
a) had I remembered the backpack
b) had I put Little Miss into the car earlier
c) had I not hit so many red lights
d) had someone not decided they hated me today,
then I would not have been stuck by the freight train, and we would have been totally on time!

But! I found a silver lining. I didn’t get pulled over by a cop (the fact that I wasn’t exactly speeding probably improved my odds, but still – that would have been the icing on the cake!).