The Power of Voice.

I’m not really sure when I started thinking about this.  Maybe it was a few weeks ago when I told my husband how much I hated talking on the phone and he replied, “I know you do.  But sometimes I just need to hear your voice.”

I get it.  Hearing the voice of someone you love is powerful.  It is reassuring.  Comforting.  Unless of course you have nicknamed your kid Rainman because he keeps saying the same thing over and over and seems physically incapable of ever shutting up when we’re in the car.  Oh, yeah, I’m talking about you Crews.

But seriously…back to the voice.

At a birthday party last night, one of Teague’s friends came up to us.  Every time I’m around this kid I am just totally pulled in by his voice.  It’s kind of deep and totally adorable and I swear it just has this soothing quality to it.  He is such a chill kid and his voice mimics that.

On the other hand, my friend Jodi’s voice gets me riled up.  In a good way.  She has this animated inflection that makes me smile.  And when I read her texts, I read them just as she would say them.  It cracks me up.  And she also does the best impressions of other people’s voices when she tells stories.  I love it.

Then there are voices you would know anywhere and could even pick out of an enormous crowd.  I can always locate my mom anywhere in a store because I know how she clears her throat.  I feel like I could find her anywhere.  Even if I only heard her speak one syllable.

The flipside of this is that person you can’t stand or absolutely do NOT want to see, but you hear that voice somewhere nearby and it makes your skin crawl or your pores snap shut.  I hate that.  Thank goodness there aren’t many of those.

Another one of my favorite things about voices is the experience of watching animated films.  I adore trying to figure out who voices the characters.  And thank God for IMDB when I can’t.  But it’s kind of amazing that we become so familiar with the voices of people we don’t know that we can identify them with no other cues.

I also find it fascinating how one person can enjoy the sound of a singer’s voice and another can despise it.  Colin and I have this problem with Dave Grohl.  It doesn’t matter if Dave Grohl is talking or singing, I find his voice similar to nails on a chalkboard.  On the other hand, I’m obsessed with Robert Pattinson’s voice (yes, I am referring to the guy from Twilight).  I love his music, but Colin says he sounds like a dying cat.

Sometimes I sit around and wonder what it will be like when my boys’ voices change.  I think it will be pretty depressing (I know…so dramatic).  But I am a little curious about how they’ll sound when they’re all grown up.

For now, I will try to keep my own voice level and not yell when there’s chocolate milk all over the couch for the umpteenth time.  I’ll write down the words my kids flub and force myself to answer the phone even though I don’t like it.  After all, the voices that surround us won’t be around forever.  Now, if I could just say the same about the Foo Fighters.

A Blog (and Hopefully a Dog!) for Kate.

I first met Kate (the cute little girl in blue) on Halloween last year.  She was celebrating the night of spookiness just like every other kid at Anne Marie’s annual Halloween party. 

Kate was full of energy and staring longingly at the glazed donuts with orange and black sprinkles that I’d just set on the table.  And as I told her to have one, her mom told me Kate had diabetes.  I listened as Kate and her mom Tanya calculated what she would be able to have that night, and I wondered if she would get to enjoy any of the candy our kids would amass later.

Honestly, what I don’t know about diabetes could fill volumes.  But what I do know is that it really sucks.  Especially when you have to poke yourself all the time and get picked up from school early because your numbers are way off.

Something else I know is that if Kate had a diabetic alert dog then her life would suck a whole lot less.

Not only are Kate’s days filled with constant blood sugar checks, but her nights are too.  Sleep is the most dangerous time for Kate.  Her parents have to check her blood sugar every 3 hours to make sure she is safe. 

If she had a diabetic alert dog (which can sense abnormal blood sugar levels before the symptoms even occur) then Kate and her family could rest easy.

Getting a dog sounds simple, right?

Wrong.

These dogs are highly trained.  And expensive.  Crazy expensive.  Like, $19,000 expensive.  And that’s why they have started “A Dog for Kate” and Mellow Mushroom is hosting an event for her on February 11^th.

I know a lot of you don’t live here, but I am asking everyone I know to donate $1 online. 

Or, if you can come to the event:

“Something to believe in…a dog in a day!”

Mellow Mushroom, Downtown

February 11^th, 2012 from 10 – 1:30 am

I mean, you could do both.  That would be fantastic!

If you cannot make it, please go to:

www.adogforkate.com

And just donate $1.

A Dog for Kate is also on Facebook.

I don’t think I’ve ever asked anyone to donate anything before.  EVER.  But this is a great cause and for a little girl who is friends with Teague.

So give that dolla bill ya’ll!  And feel free to give a whole lot more...

Someone else's skin.

This morning I was in my husband’s office looking for a legal pad and noticed a picture of myself on the bookshelf.  It was taken about 5 years ago on a trip to Martinique, our first venture outside the US with a kid.

As I stood there staring past the edge of the picture frame, reminiscing about how fun that trip was, the picture suddenly came back into focus and I was surprised (and by surprised I mean utterly devastated) by how different I look now than I did a few years ago. 

For one, I had no makeup on, but my skin was evenly toned as if covered by the most perfectly matched shade of foundation.  My eyebrows were a lot fuller back then too.  Not because I now pluck or wax the hell out of them, but because they all fell out after I had Crews and just never came back quite right.  I also didn’t have any freckles across the bridge of my nose, nor did I have these little mystery spots randomly speckling my cheeks.  There was no indication that the little line between my eyes (that’s now there even when I’m not frowning) was ever going to develop.  And those “joker smile” lines that materialize when I grin were definitely absent.  Also of note: I had on a tube top and my entire chest was freckle and mole free. 

Definitely not the case today.

As I fell into the pit of despair and wondered, “Why me?!?!?”  And thought, “It’s not fair that this is happening,” I had to figuratively slap myself with a reminder that not only did I know why this was happening but also it was totally my fault.  Stupid sun damage.

I can’t help but wonder what shape my skin would be in if I hadn’t lived in the tanning bed for a solid 10 years.  Clearly this mess is the result of a lifetime of sun-worshipping and UV bulb obsession.  The gallons of baby oil and tanning accelerator I applied between the ages of 12 and 25 probably didn’t help much either.  And I don’t think I’d ever bought a bottle of sunscreen until I had my kids.

I know.  I know.  Some of it just has to the do with the fact that I’m now 33 and not still in my 20’s.  But mostly, I think it’s my complete disregard for proper skincare.  At this point, all the Oil of Olay Regenerist and La Mer serums on the planet can’t reverse what I’ve done to my skin. And that’s a sad a thought.

But I just combat it with my happy thought:  Botox and lasers!

(BTW, I haven’t tried either yet.  But when I do you can bet it’ll be documented here!)