Inappropriate Clothing

So Hannah's party went swimmingly, and she made out like a bandit - tons and tons of gift cards.  Two of them were for Forever 21 and Wet Seal.

These are not my favorite stores, but I trust Hannah to follow our rules about appropriate clothing, so I sent her off with Grandfather for her annual birthday shopping spree without a second thought.

And what did my darling teen bring home?  Ripped yellow short-shorts that barely cover her butt cheeks, and ten (ten!) see-through tank tops.  I don't know if any of you are up on the latest teen fashions, but every top out there is made with this gauzy, see-through material, and the styles are loose and low-cut.

Hannah has a lot of camis to wear under questionable tops, but even the camis would not be enough coverage for the tanks she brought home.  You could see her bra straps and the sides of her bra with all of them.  So, we made her return them.

Problem?  Wet Seal and Forever 21 do not allow returns for sale merchandise, and even on regularly priced stuff, you can only exchange or get a store credit.  No cash, even if you paid in cash.

I returned to the stores with her two hours after she'd made her purchases.  I had to beg, plead, bargain, and threaten just to get the items returned, and even then, I had to settle for exchange at Wet Seal and credit at Forever 21, even though she paid cash above and beyond her two gift cards.

We wandered Wet Seal for a good twenty minutes, desperate to find something appropriate to purchase.  We settled on cowboy boots.  Seriously, other than jeans, they were the only things I would let her wear.

Hannah is only 13, and when she's 15 or 16, I will let up on her.  But she has no body to speak of, and all the styles look downright silly on her.  But what do you do as a parent?  The Girls sections are too little-girl for her - even I concede that.  But it jumps from sweet and innocent to hooker.  Isn't there an in between?

Poor Hannah.  She was quite brave today, and I admired her courage.  We had to face the salesgirls who had helped her earlier, who had picked out all the clothing I insisted she return.  To Hannah's great embarrassment, they all remembered her, and she had to face them with her MOTHER.  She kept a stiff upper lip, though.

Hannah's main argument to me about keeping the clothes was that everyone wears them.  They are the latest styles.  They were recommended to her by the salesgirls.  No one even notices a bra strap.  Why am I the only parent who cares?

As we navigated the mall, I pointed out all the teens wearing these great tanks and see-through shirts, and we looked at all the bras on display.  Hannah was aghast.  "I never even noticed," she whispered to me.  "That girl needs to wash her bra - it's disgusting!"  And in line at Wet Seal, a teen (16 or 17) in a cute summer dress with spaghetti straps stood in front of us.  The straps of her dress came together in the middle of her back, pinned with a flower.  The girl had on a nude bra (not very clean, either, or at least well-worn), and she'd tied the bra straps together in back with brown thread to mirror the straps of the dress.  Of course, the bra straps were half an inch thicker than the straps of the dress, and the whole thing looked ridiculous.  Hannah had to stifle her giggles with a coughing fit.

She finally got it.  She understands that even though her peers day-to-day might not notice her bra straps, every adult, teacher, and boy does.  And it's not a pretty sight.

Exercise - A Necessary Evil

I have always hated to exercise, but now that I've had four kids and will soon be 35, I don't have any other way of keeping weight off.  I used to be able to cut back on my calorie intake and that would be enough.  No longer.

I enjoy sports.  I used to play tennis, but I don't have the time or money for that anymore.  The kids and I will kick the soccer ball around a couple of times a week, and that's a pretty good workout, but that has been the extent of my exercise until about a month ago.  That was when I discovered the treadmill.

My grandfather had an old one that was crammed in the corner of his garden room.  Dog hair was still stuck underneath the tread and the wheels (Grandpa hasn't had a dog in almost ten years - yuck).  I wanted to sell it, or throw it out, but Mike insisted that we clean it and set it up.  I'm glad he did.

I don't mind walking, but I hate to run.  I mean, I HATE to run.  So I started out on the treadmill by cranking up the incline to the max, and just walking as fast as could at a steady pace without actually having to jog.  I do it for 20 to 30 minutes 5 times a week.  And guess what?  In one month, I've lost ten pounds, and those chunks of fat above my hips that were oozing over the tops of my jeans are GONE.

Wanna know the best part?  I can READ while I walk!  I actually look forward to the exercise because I get a few chapters in while the fat melts away.

I don't know if everyone will get the same results I've gotten, but it's worth a try.  Reading + no more love handles + a lot less back fat = one happy mama.

Did I mention that my butt is tighter, too?

Friendship

I got a sympathy card today on the death of my grandmother from a friend I'm no longer speaking to.  I stared at the envelope for quite a while before I mustered the courage to open it.

Why courage, you ask? 

The answer is obvious, to me at least.  I was quite an ass about the way I broke things off with her, and I'm not generally an ass (my husband does not get a vote here).  Instead of simply voicing my frustration and anger and moving past it, I had to be a jerk, because it was the only way I could separate and gain some perspective.  If I were just a total bitch and ended it, I didn't have to deal with the hard stuff, didn't have to have the tough (and for me, impossible) discussions about how I really felt.

That makes very little logical sense, I know.  Hey, if I just get her to hate me, I don't have to be honest with her!  Super!  'Cause it's way better for her to think that I'm an unreasonable bitch than for her to know what I really think about her, our friendship, and myself.  Yeah.

I didn't know what I was doing when I did it.  In the heat of the moment, I was really angry with her, and I let the anger guide my actions.  There was very little thought behind it.  I simply needed a break from the friendship.  Now, two months later, I can admit that very little I do is unmotivated; meaning, I usually have a motive for my actions, even if I don't consciously recognize it.

I watch female friendships on television (Friends, Sex in the City, etc.), and none of my real-life friendships are like that.  My friends and I don't yell at each other, do not make a lot of casual jibes at each other, we don't raid each other's closets and trade lipstick.  And we are definitely not brutally honest.  I've never been told that I need to lose ten pounds, or that after four kids I really need a more supportive bra, or that my eyeshadow looks ridiculous.  My friends have never said that I pluck my eyebrows too thin, or that I need to be more on top of the kids brushing their teeth, even though all of that is most certainly true.

Sometimes one of us will work up the courage for a "crisis talk," but it better be something major, or we simply ignore it.

I don't know where my trouble with honesty comes from, but I know my family has the same problem.  We may bitch behind your back, but we will smile and nod to your face.  I know this is a HUGE character flaw.  I mean, I don't need to be honest about every little thing (I'm not talking about telling lies - that's totally different), but I hold back way too much.  It's how I am wired.  If I do manage to say what's on my mind, it takes serious conscious effort on my part.

So back to this friend.  I miss you, C.  I hope you're doing well, that your family is thriving, that you're kicking ass at work, and that this year is better than last.  I know I made it harder on you.  I'm sorry.

Bacon-Wrapped Asparagus

Bacon-Wrapped Asparagus

Several of you have asked for this recipe (become a Follower of my blog already, will you?!), so happy eating!

Ingredients:
asparagus - I prefer thicker stalks, but if you're tolerating the asparagus as an excuse to consume bacon, choose the thinner ones.
bacon - One piece per stalk of asparagus.  Again, I prefer thick-sliced so that you get juicier pieces of fat.

Directions:
Snap off the ends of the asparagus.  No need to cut them off and dirty a knife and cutting board - simply bend them in half, and the ends will naturally snap off exactly where they need to.  Starting at the snapped end of the stalk, wrap the bacon around the asparagus.  You will need to overlap quite a bit to make the bacon fit.  Place the wrapped asparagus in an oven-safe dish (I use the throw-away aluminum chafing trays from Costco 'cause cleaning bacon grease is no fun), and you can really pack them in.  The pieces will easily separate after they're cooked.

Bake them at 430 degrees F (450 if your oven doesn't allow 5-degree increments) for about an hour.  Turn them once with tongs or a fork.  You'll have to check them for doneness - the pieces on the outside cook much faster than those in the middle of the pan.  Take the pieces out individually as they finish cooking, and let them drip on papertowels before transferring to a serving platter.

Eat!

Mommy-Itis

Our three-year-old is seriously ill - he's got Mommy-itis.  Every other word out of his mouth is "Mommy."

Worse, "Daddy" is a bad word.  He wants nothing to do with Mike.  Mike is not allowed to pour him milk, or snuggle him, or fix him a snack.  Only Mommy can do it.

My reaction to this is to make Mike do things for Alex.  Alex cannot be allowed to dictate how things go, and of course, I can't be there every second.  Alex has to learn to drink the milk that Mike pours, or go thirsty.

But Alex throws a fit.  He slaps at Mike, tells Mike to get away, "I don't want you, Daddy.  I want Mommy," and generally makes Mike feel awful.  If I'm there when Alex says something mean to Mike, I'll give Alex a timeout - he can't get away with being rude and mean.  But Mike simply throws up his hands.  "We can't make him want me," Mike says.

Alex came to our room last night at 1am.  Mike woke first, calling to Alex to crawl in bed with him and snuggle.  "No!" Alex shouted, waking me.  "I don't wuv you, Daddy.  Onwy wuv Mommy."  And when I settled Alex between us in bed, Alex turned away from Mike and refused to let him comfort him.  "I onwy snuggle Mommy, not you," he said.

I really don't have a solution for this.  Especially in the middle of the night, if I tried to banish Alex back to his own bed, or put him on a timeout, we'd have four awake children rather than one.  Is this a phase?  Probably, but it's not one we've encountered before.  What is the answer??

Filling in the Gaps

Tonight I finished reading Portnoy's Complaint by Philip Roth, which marks the 11th book I've read on my Fill in the Gaps 100 list (I also abandoned Trainspotting - I couldn't understand the accents used, and it was too much of a struggle - but I will probably replace it with a different book).

I read Roth's Goodbye, Columbus in high school, and I remember liking the book, but I have no idea what it's about now.  It did make an impression on me, though - the only quotation I've ever memorized from a book is from Goodbye, Columbus: "We whipped our strangeness and newness into a froth that resembled love."  Cool, huh?

Portnoy's Complaint has no plot whatsoever, but Roth somehow kept me riveted for 300 pages, without so much as a chapter break.  If you despise literary fiction, as I usually do, but still want to read some ingenious writing, try this book.

Berkeley Asks Freshmen for DNA Samples

Berkeley students are being asked to provide DNA samples.  Voluntarily, of course.  According to the article, a professor of genetics at Berkeley claims that testing will "show a student’s ability to tolerate alcohol, absorb folic acid and metabolize lactose."

Huh.  So if I would like to know if I'm lactose intolerant,  I can submit my DNA sample to Berkeley's super-secret, absolutely confidential database and - voila! - then I'll know for sure!


Huh?  Are students really this stupid?


I admit, I already have a bias against Berkeley.  Remember back in 1997 when Jeremy Strohmeyer raped and murdered a 7-year-old in Las Vegas, and Strohmeyer's friend, David Cash, stood by and did nothing?  A year later, Berkeley admitted David Cash.  I know that Cash broke no laws, but hundreds of students were turned down while this morally bankrupt a-hole got a chance at an education at one of the most prestigious universities in the country.  Kinda took Berkeley off my list of great, or even good, or even acceptable, schools.  If one of my children decides to attend Berkeley, they will have to figure out a way to pay for it themselves.


But that was over ten years ago.  Surely Berkeley has learned from its mistakes.


Or maybe not.


Has anyone thought this DNA thing through?  What else could these samples be used for?  If you commit a crime, or are even suspected of committing a crime, could the police use the records?  When some coed cries rape, will she demand the accused's DNA sample to compare?  Will the university comply?  Can they refuse?  I'm sure there are a million ways these samples could be used, and most of them violate basic civil rights.  After all, Berkeley is devoid of morals.  Who knows what they are doing with the samples behind the scenes.


Perhaps that's a baseless accusation.  I have no proof of wrongdoing, or intent of wrongdoing.  But I don't think it's that much of a leap in logic.  Berkeley cares about Berkeley.  According to the article, Mark Schlissel, dean of the division of biological sciences, said, “We involve you in cutting edge issues in the humanities, social sciences and natural sciences."  That is what they care about - not students, not morals and character and all those other pesky conscience-involving things.

Be wary, future college students.  Be very, very, wary.