Dear blog...

I'm sorry you have been so neglected.  My trip to Sedona made me so relaxed that I had nothing to say.  The kids and I are going to the circus tomorrow and I promise to talk about something exciting afterwards.

Thanks!
Whit

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!)

10 things my six-year-old did to impress a friend.

It’s officially starting.  The whole I-know-I’m-gonna-get-in-trouble-but-I’m-gonna-look-like-a-rock-star-for-two-minutes-thing. 

I can see it now: Teague, 17 years old, wearing a football jersey and spray-painting something on the school wall.  He’s laughing.  Looking back to make sure his fellow football buddies are watching…

OK.  Let’s be honest.  That’s not how I see it at all.  I think Teague is more of a let’s-take-the-Laser-out-on-the-harbor kinda boy.  Sailing and golf will probably be his sports.  Not football. 

And he hates to color.  So the odds of him spray-painting a wall are pretty slim.  But you get my drift.  Things are changing.  He really wants to impress his friends.  And if that means a six minute time-out for an offense, apparently he will take it.

On Saturday, Teague had a friend over for a sleepover.  As soon as we got in the car, he only addressed his friend as “Dude,” and started each sentence with the term.  When I suggested we go out to lunch and his friend declined, Teague told me my suggestion was “lame.”  I know.  He totally gets that from me…

But once we got home, it became the “Teague Show.”  He wanted to rule the school.  Or at least the playroom. 

Here are 10 things he did which landed him in hot water.

1)      Unrolled a Fruit-by-the-foot and stuck it to the window.

2)      Put a chair on his top bunk bed and knocked half of the ceiling into his sheets.

3)      Demolished a Styrofoam cup (which had the remnants of his friend’s Sprite in it) and rubbed it into the activity table to hide the stickiness.  He also tried to hide the cup but I caught him.

4)      Took 12 paint cans from the garage and lined them up at the end of the driveway while I was putting Crews down for nap.

5)      Hammered the wood on his 3 week old bunk beds with a dinosaur bone while showing his friend, “How awesome I am at building.”

6)      Snapped the three lowest branches off of his favorite live oak climbing tree so that he could, “Decorate my jeep like Power Rangers Jungle Fury.”

7)      Shoved a car into the back of his brother’s diaper.

8)      Threw a pillow at my head.  (I know he was totally kidding and it wasn’t meant in a mean way, but still).

9)      Drove a monster truck (that I’d told him to put back outside) across the white carpet of the guest room.

10)  Repeatedly invited his little brother to join him and his friend in the Jeep then drove off before Crews could get in. 

He also opened a window in the bathroom while it was freezing outside and left it open for hours.  Pumped half a bottle of liquid soap into the sink (Alright, this might have been Crews).  And told his friend that his mom “toots.”

Teague is in no way perfect.  But on a typical day, he might make two bad decisions.  These behaviors were different.  And I swear they might have been accompanied by a maniacal laugh. 

Well, maybe the last part was in my head.  But there was definitely a smirk.

I know none of it is that bad. And I'm assuming it's just part of having a boy.  The constant one-upping and doing dumb crap?  This is uncharted territory.  I suppose I have A LOT to look forward to.

Food Snob.

When I was young, I was a pretty picky eater.  I didn’t like sandwiches.  The sight of peanut butter made me gag.  If my food was prepared in a pan that had ever cooked bell peppers I could seriously taste it.  As a teenager I went through a vegetarian phase though I hated all beans and peas.  I still don’t eat mayonnaise or mustard. And if any of the foods on my plate touched, I just couldn’t eat.  I know…ridiculous.

Then I went to college.  Got really hungry.  And decided that in order to survive (and by survive I mean have food delivered to my dorm room so that I didn’t have to stop playing Super Nintendo with Corie Hipp and Jenn Harvey), I needed to broaden my horizons.  This means I ate a ton of fast food, primarily late night, and gained the freshman 15 immediately.

At 20, I met Colin.  He was a good cook and somehow managed to get me to try things.  The first sandwich I ever ate was one that he made for me.  He also taught me to love rare red meat and introduced me to NY style pizza.  For the first six years of our relationship, he was Head Chef and we always ate very well.

Once I remembered how delicious “real” food was and expanded my palette, I turned my back on fast food.  This also meant I turned my back on most chain restaurants which I see as larger servings of fast food with the addition of silverware.  Colin didn’t put up a fight.  He felt the same way about it.  Though I will admit that pregnancy cravings and Chick-fil-a are the exceptions.

It’s funny.  I never really thought of us as food snobs, but I guess we kind of are.  I might still be oblivious if it hadn’t kept coming up in conversation lately.  Conversations about Costco, of all things.

In recent weeks I have had multiple people tell me how good the food is at Costco.  I’m not talking about the items you buy in bulk, stack in a box, and shove in the back of your car.  I’m talking about the “café” at the front of the store. 

Honestly, in all the years I’ve been shopping at Costco it has never once occurred to me to eat there.  It looks like food you would see in a gas station, drying out under a heat lamp or rolling up that never-ending wiener ramp.  The pizzas don’t look appetizing and the only place I’m eating a churro outside of Mexico is at Frontierland in Disney World.

I know my Costco–lovin’ friends are gonna yell at me, but I just can’t do it.  I’m going to have to stand my ground on the whole not-eating-at-Costco thing and just be a big ol’ fat food snob.

In the meantime, head on over to Cibo’s on James Island for fantastic pizza.  Or go to Jack’s Cosmic Dogs if you’re looking for a fantastic hot dog.  Sorry, I don’t have an alternative for the churro.  But I’m gonna limit my time at Costco to buying Dunkin’ Donuts coffee and toilet paper.

Good at "The Hard." Bad at "The Easy."

Sometimes you just have to own up to the fact that you aren’t good at something.  And other times it is absolutely necessary to brag about what you do well.  Well, not absolutely necessary, but sometimes it just feels good.

But what if there are simple things that you suck at?  Like making pancakes. 

I can make a mean pancake batter totally from scratch.  But when I pour it into the pan, creating perfect little silver dollar pancakes, this is where the yumminess ends.  I always cook them too long.  They come out dry.  Or singed.  Maybe a few times squishy in the middle.  Needless to say I don’t bother making homemade batter anymore.  I just buy that yellow plastic jug of Bisquick where all you have to do is add water. 

What’s strange is that I can execute the most complicated of recipes without a hitch.  I can filet, sauté, brown, fry, batter, roast, grill, stew, or flambé with the best of em.  But flipping a flippin’ pancake at the right moment?  Not gonna happen.  It makes no sense.  Luckily, I have learned to accept my pancake-making affliction.

Another simple thing I’m bad at?  Growing a Chia Pet.  For years I have had a beautiful, bountiful garden filled with herbs, vegetables and fruits.  I know when to prune, water, and harvest to make the most out of everything in it.  But the SpongeBob Chia Pet Teague received for Christmas baffles me.  First, I gave it too much water and the seeds drowned.  Then I forgot about it for 3 days and the tiny little green sprouts that had managed to survive shriveled up and turned black.  After scraping off the seeds (And listening to Teague tell me how I killed SpongeBob’s hair, which by the way SpongeBob doesn’t even have hair, Teague), I replanted it three days ago.  It just keeps drying out and looking haggard. 

I’m going to come right out and say it: I can’t grow a Chia Pet.  Kids have been growing them since 1982 and I am physically incapable.  Although it makes me feel a little better that each Chia comes with enough seeds for three plantings.  Clearly, someone else out there has failed and needed more seeds.

Other simple things I’m bad at?  Playing blocks and cars.  It sounds so easy, but when I watch Colin build or pretend with the cars, I realize that my boys must be staring at me like I’m an idiot.  My buildings don’t have roofs.  Who am I kidding?  They don't even have walls.  I usually build a fence and say it’s outside of an imaginary house or stable (I like to add a few farm animals to support my claim).  So an architect, I am not.  And according to Crews, I make the wrong sounds for the cars.  I’m pretty sure I roll them correctly though.

I am also terrible at loading the dishwasher.  On multiple occasions my friend Amanda has just opened it up and stared at me.  I didn’t know there was a method!  I just shove things in until nothing else fits.  Then I lay a few things on top of that… It has come to my attention that doing so is both incorrect and inefficient.  Even with practice my skills haven't gotten much better.

However!  Let an idea flow into my head and I can weave it into a 350 page story.  Need your vehicle parallel parked in a space that is only a hair bigger than your car?  I’m your girl. 

So there you have it.  I’m good at “the hard.”  Bad at “the easy.”  Which is probably why I tend to make everything so difficult!