Operation No Real Pants

I’ll admit.

I’m on the leggings bandwagon.

I wasn’t.  I was against it.  Probably because I wasn’t educated on the proper care and wearing of leggings and just saw people putting it all other there, leaving little to the imagination.

Fortunately for me, I’ve been added to eleventy-bajillion Lu La Roe groups over the past few months and have no less than ten friends who have decided to start their own boutique business and now I own a pair… or twenty.  (No, I don’t really own twenty… but I’d like to. And really, I am not excited about being added to all those groups.)

I love them.

I love their feel.

I love how cute I feel.

I love how comfortable I am.

It’s a win win… especially going into the frumpy fall and winter months.

54e75beb60d34_-_sev-leggings-meme-lgn So I’ve declared operation no real pants.

I’ve decided that I’m going to do everything in my power to NOT have to put jeans on.  And I was a jeans and t-shirt kinda gal… but I’m excited about being cute and comfy all. winter. long.

And my rationale is… working from home, it’s easy for me to sit in my jammies or throw on a frumpy pair of sweats and work… but then I’m frumpy… I’m not looking like a rock star so I don’t feel like a rock star…

But with leggings…

Different story.

Now… I love me some Lu La Roe.  And I support all of my friends (I remove myself from any other group) when I can, but I’ve also had to figure out how to do this on the cheap…

So here are a few things I’ve found…

Fabulegs – Cute leggings (or solids) for cheaper (and she runs sales)… she’s got fantastic customer service… customers pick the prints… she doesn’t believe you should have to pay more than they are worth… so she’ll reprint the leggings if there is a demand… and I like the feel just the same as Lu La Roe… LLR calls it buttery… Fabulegs calls it milky (which baffles me because I’ve never poured milk or butter on my legs so I wouldn’t know what that feels like)… bottom line… I’m still telling people to feel my legs in the Fabulegs and they are super cute.  She also has a Facebook group.

But the tops… I found myself with all kinds of leggings and no tops.  So I went on the hunt.  The irma from LLR is my favorite.  It covers everything and it’s comfortable.  After a few trial and errors… I found this brand on Amazon. It might be one of my most favorite tops ever.  I ordered a large as the review says it runs big.  (That’s what I order in Irma’s) and I think I could go to a medium, but the large isn’t horrible.  🙂  I ordered a medium just to see.

So there you have it.. a few more pairs of leggings (I have donuts and halloween ones coming soon) and a few more tops and I’ll be well on my way to not having to wear real pants all winter long…

Now I just have to figure out shoes…

Guess I’ll need to sell a few more totes to make it all happen…

Until next time…

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This Dog…

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This is Winston.

Or “W” as the kids sometimes call him.

We aren’t exactly sure what Winston is a mix of, short of dalmatian.  That part is obvious.  But we’ve been stopped so many times while walking Winston by people letting us know how stinkin’ cute he is and how much he looks like the dog from The Rascals.

He officially became part of the family at the end of July.  A week later, he successfully chewed through the metal crate…twice.

Somehow, he chose me as his person, which is nothing short of God laughing at me.  I was the only member of the family who wasn’t really ready for a dog.  Truthfully, I wasn’t over Rhoda yet.  But everyone else was so ready for another dog and I didn’t want to be the one to hold everyone else back.

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He really had a hard time being alone…

So Winston is my shadow.  As in, I can’t go anywhere without this dog firmly planted in my tail end.  Which wouldn’t be terribly bad except, he never wants me to leave.  We have to fight him away from the door so I can get out of the door and if those left behind with him aren’t careful, he’ll go into the dining room and pee.  (This is only when I leave him with other people.  If I leave him by himself it’s slightly worse – he won’t pee… he’ll just dig… as in, my furniture fears this dog.)

Oh and bed time?  He’s content only when he’s in bed with the hubs and I.  Even that might not be so bad if the hubs and I had a king (or even a queen) size bed.  We don’t.  We have a full.  And if you know us, you know that we’re not small people.  Fortunately, Winston will go sleep with Thing 1 on occasion.  (He has a queen size bed, but Thing 1 says he’s a bed hog with him as well.)

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He’d spend his whole life in the car if you let him…

This might sound like the dog from h-e-double-hockey-stick, but the reality of it is, he’s a great dog.  He’s so loving.  And honestly?  When you live in a house of teens and tweens?

It’s awesome to have someone look forward to your return.

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Because blood rushing to your head is an awesome way to sleep…

But his anxiety is horrible.  In fact, his anxiety threw my anxiety into overdrive.  I googled and implemented every tip they shared and it didn’t seem to help.  So, I thought maybe it’s just because we’ve only had him for a few months.  We don’t know what this dog has been through in the last eight years.

We’ve found ways to make it slightly better but finally, I just called the vet and made an appointment.

(Which by the way, if you’re local, you’ll NEVER find another vet as wonderful as Big Lick Vet – and no, they don’t pay me to talk about them.)

Winston and I were there for an hour and a half.  I mentioned his anxiety (and really only in the separation sense of the word) and the more we talked, the more we realized Winston is just anxious.

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5 other seats in the van and he has to sit with Thing 4

Crazy, I believe, is the word the vet used.

He went through the possible fixes…

“Tried a crate?”  Yes…ate through it twice with no regard to hurting himself

“Tried a thunder shirt?”  Yes… he takes it off.

and on and on it went…until finally he said, “Exercise and medication.”

Yes, my friends, my dog is officially on puppy prozac.

I’ll wait while you get your giggles out.

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Winston drags all blankets and pillows to the ground while we’re gone…

In addition to the mediation, one of the vet tech’s worked with me for almost an hour on ways to help train Winston with his anxiety and in turn, I came home and trained the family.

So far, so good.

But this dog…

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This box is 16″x13″….

 

Well, he just fits right in with the rest of us crazies….

 

 

 

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To Hell and Back

When I was 13, I mentioned to my father how weird it was to say the word “hell” in church.

He said there was no way we said hell in church on Sundays and made a bet with me over it.  If I was right, he would buy me tickets to the next NKOTB concert but if I was wrong, I had to get rid of everything having to do with my beloved boys and never speak of them again.

I knew I was right.

I mean, come on… if you’re getting to say a curse word in CHURCH, you remember it…

And so, when the Book of Common Prayer arrived with the movers the following week, I looked it up and showed him.  It was then I learned hell could be an adjective or a place.

But, because I’m still 13 at heart, when I go to church with them, and they recite the version of the Apostle’s Creed, I giggle, and nudge him and I’m fairly certain my mother is still ashamed that my father and I bet over religious works.

Of course, I’m also the person who snickered when we sang a hymn Christmas Eve with the word “ass” in it… as in donkey.

I’m on staff.

No, I’m not sure why myself. 🙂

There must be something about kids saying the word hell because Thing 2 and I went to see Chonda Pierce a few months ago and Chonda had many jokes about going to “hell in a hand basket.”  Thing 2 had never heard that phrase but it became one that she would mention from time to time and somewhat became an inside joke between the two of us.

We’re still learning appropriate time and appropriate place. 🙂

And then there was our trip to Hell, Grand Cayman.

My kids were LOVING the fact that they could say the word “hell” and NOT get in trouble… (only if you use it in it’s proper noun form of course.) But we’ve never had so much fun.

In fact, here are a few of our favorite pictures from Hell.

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If you ever find yourself in Grand Cayman and want to travel to Hell (which is a tourist area fo’ sho but neat never the less…) don’t take a cab.  Simply head to the bus depot (it’s just a few blocks from where you tender in from the ship…next to the library) and tell them you want to go to Hell.  It costs $2.50 each way per person and the bus runs about every 10-15 minutes.

Don’t take a cab… that’s $12 each way.

About a 20 minute ride but great scenery and if you’re like us, you’ll talk to the locals who are also on the bus… and when I say bus, thing 15 passenger van.  The kids all loved it!

And of course, what prompted me to remember I had yet to write about our trip to Hell?

While joking around tonight in the kitchen, Thing 2 said we were all going to hell in a hand basket… to which Thing 4 said, “Well I’m not… I won’t fit.”

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Second Generation Grammar Police

Two years ago, my husband and a friend of mine collaborated on a gift that was so perfect for me….

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I wear my shirt proudly.

And it’s mostly true.

The mostly true part comes because I am rarely silent.

About anything.

In fact, the shirt would probably be more correct if it read like so…

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I find myself correcting the hubs or the children when they say things and I’ve even been known to passively correct grammar on Facebook.

Passive because my middle school tendencies come out when it comes to Facebook and I don’t want anyone to de-friend me because I pointed out his or her misuse of their/there/they’re or you’re/your, etc.

And heaven to Betsy if I misspeak about something in front of any of my friends… I never hear the end of it.  It gets posted on Facebook for all the world to see… which is something I would do in a New York minute if the roles were reversed.

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Honestly, I don’t consciously think about the correction of others when it happens – it’s second nature.  It just comes out, often before I realize I’m doing it.  But last night, I realized this trait is in more than one of us at the House of Chaos.

Thing 4 received a letter from her friend in the next neighborhood over.  Her friend just happened to be over when I retrieved the mail and Thing 4, who hardly ever gets mail unless it’s her birthday, tore into the letter.

(Not before I snapped a picture though…)

On the way to Girl Scouts, Thing 4 began telling me about the letter and the goodies that were enclosed.

“There was an indian necklace, a bracelet, and a letter,” she told me.

“A letter!  That’s so nice.  I love to get letters in the mail, even if it’s a short one,” I responded.  “Was it a nice letter?”

At this point in time, her friend is in the car with us.  I’m attempting to guide the conversation in a manner which would edify her friend, encourage her for handwriting a letter, and basically taking time out of her life to keep in touch with Thing 4… you know, because I’m guilty of NOT doing that from time to time.

Thing 4, at the wise age of nine, clearly wasn’t on board with my plan as she states, “I corrected her mistakes.”

“You what?!” I exclaimed.  I couldn’t help it.  I was shocked, but I wasn’t if that makes any sense at all.  If there were any children in our home capable of this it would be her, but I had yet to witness it in the past.

“There were only a few,” she told me.

“Thing 4, if you want your friends to continue writing you letters, you probably shouldn’t correct their mistakes.  They don’t write to you so that you’ll help them get a better English grade.  They write to you because they love you,”  I’m mortified to tell her.

But not as shocked as I was when she said, “Ok.  I’ll go erase them.”

Yes.

Thing 4 received a letter (ironically from the daughter of the friend who helped my husband get the shirt!) and then proceeded to grade it in front of her.

Second generation grammar police.

On the plus side, I think I just found and editor for my book.

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Vertically Challenged

Thing 3 is many things… smart.

Funny.

Stubborn.

Occasionally lippy.

But he’s not tall.  The shortest kid in his class, and about the same height as his younger sister, Thing 3 works with his height to the best of his ability.

But bless his heart.

This morning, he strode in to the kitchen in his “dress up” clothes.  Donned in a button down shirt, tie, and khakis (and his sneakers of course, since he doesn’t do the dress shoe thing) I noticed his tie was not only tucked under his collar, but that his collar was wonky and askew.

I went over and adjusted his tie and collar, much like I do lovingly for his Daddy on Sunday mornings and in my nicest, I’m not mad at you so please don’t take it that way voice said, “You know, you should look in the mirror in the mornings.  I’m not always going to be around to fix your tie and collar.”

Without missing a beat, he replied, “Yes, but by the time I’m old enough for you not to be around to fix my tie and collar, I’ll probably be tall enough to see in the mirror.”

I love that child.  Even if he is short.

Until next time…

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