C.C. Caper number 3,064

Well, it’s finally happened. Our little princess had her first big girl illness, a sinus infection of all things, complete with fever, cough, and drippy (and by drippy I’m talking the Niagra falls of boogerville) nose, sinus pressure and all.

 

So, even after a couple of days on her antibiotic, it didn’t really surprise me that she was complaining about her nose and trying to pick at it again. Given that most of her snot falls had dried up pretty quickly as the antibiotic cleared out the infection, she seemed to be “suffering” from crusty booger induced congestion in addition to some mild sinus pressure.

 

Even so, she seemed persistently concerned about this particular booger—enough so that she’d stopped snacking on her cereal to continue picking at and whining about it, so I mommed up and called her over.

 

Lo and behold it wasn’t a booger. Not even sinus infection related in the least. No, my child’s nostril malady was nothing other than one neon-green-swirled, purple kibble of Trix brand cereal.

 

Removing it was not the hard part, indeed it popped right out when I stuck my finger above it on the outside of her nose and pressed down. No, the hard part was trying not to giggle as I explained to C.C. why cereal, or really any food for that matter, doesn’t belong up her nose.  Of course, she promptly agreed with a compliant okay—followed up by a precocious “Why?”

 

But that stage is a whole other caper.

Excuse My Absence

You may have noticed a distinct lack of noise emanating from the confessions’ corner during the last few weeks and, as any of you who are parents know well, silence is never a good sign. That’s right, the last few weeks at Confessions’ Condo have looked a little like this

That's some concentrated insanity right there.

As such, for the sake of preserving what little sanity I have left to me, I trimmed a little off the edges of my to do list, and, unfortunately, blogging was one of those luxuries I chose to go without. However, things seem to be coming back online and I hope to be able to get Confessions back on track starting with this Wednesday. So keep your eyes peeled and your ears open, because I have a confession to make.

Missing

That’s right. I’ve lost my mojo. Inexplicably, despite years of accomplishing such tasks with little to no effort, I’m currently failing to live up to my, albeit, high standards of success in terms of my performance in life. First off, I seem to be incapable of meeting any self-imposed deadlines, or any other deadline for that matter. Additionally, I’m behind at work, behind at school, and behind on the long list of things I should be doing at home.  Furthermore, I’ve been experiencing what can only be considered an EPIC FAIL in terms of the quality of my school work (and my grades are definitely affecting it).

At first I assumed this was some failure on my part. A lack of organization, prioritization, and self-discipline, perhaps, but my recent efforts to curb this ongoing trend were met with lackluster results at best (though they did show a considerable improvement from the previous weeks’). Thus, my only conclusion is that my mojo has fled…or been kidnapped.

Either way, I need it back, because my life demands awesomeness. In fact, it will accept nothing less. I’d offer a reward of big money, but I don’t have any, so instead, if you’ve seen my mojo, please return it. You will have my eternal and undying gratitude.

Salute to Muffin Bottoms

That’s right, you heard me. Muffin bottoms. For some time now they have been the ignored counterpart to muffin tops, you know, the yummy part dome, part disc top of the popular breakfast food. Who knows why the muffin top has received the greater part of the fame. Perhaps it’s due to the perfect balance of cake with mix-ins, or maybe it’s the fame accorded it via the Eggo version, regardless it’s gotten more than its fair share of the acclaim, and it’s time the muffin bottoms got some of their own, and here’s why.

 

1. Muffin bottoms make a convenient hand hold so that one may enjoy all the confectionary goodness of the muffin top,

 

2. Muffin bottoms contain the bulk of the delicious mix ins—all of which are hidden in more of the wonderful cakey goodness of the muffin top,

 

3. Muffin bottoms are the bigger portion of the muffin, therefore, they must deserve a bigger portion of the recognition, and, finally,

 

4. Muffin bottoms have no unpleasant connotations in terms of not being associated with unwanted body fat.

 

Therefore, I say “Three cheers for muffin bottoms!”

Birds Nest

A recent tip from a hair stylist put me on the path to my newest philosophical debate: Is it vain that I spend time trying to combat nature, or a lack of vanity that allows me to walk around daily in public with a bird’s nest on top of my head?

Of course, I always knew that the longer my hair, the more the weight pulled on the curls creating bushy waves as opposed to loose ringlets. I’ve since noticed that even with me encouraging my curl, the bits of hair towards the top of my head have a tendency to remain straight, creating the illusion that I’ve actually permed my hair. Apparently, this can be combated by partitioning out small sections of hair towards the crown of one’s head, making a loop that resembles the rabbit-ear portion of shoe tying, and clipping it in place with a small sectioning clip. The end result is a mass of multiple loops that stick out at all angles and create the appearance of a bird nesting a top my head.

On weekends, this isn’t any problem. I shower, scrunch, and sit around with my clips in for 20 mins to an hour depending on the day’s schedule, then take the clips out and go about my business without anyone, aside from the much amused TNO who smirks every time I walk past, the wiser of my fashion faux paux. During the work week, however, this ritual is performed in the locker room at the gym and the bird’s nest remains until I arrive at work. On the one hand, witnesses of this fashion phenomenon are typically limited to the few early birds I pass on my way out of the gym and the receptionist. On the other hand, it is occasionally necessary for me to stop by the grocery store on my way in to work (okay, I occasionally choose to stop by the store on the way into work); my hairstyle, bird nest or no, does not stop me from doing so.

Which prompts the question: I know it’s vanity to worry about fighting the nature of gravity in the first place, but does it continue to be so if one can go about her business without regards to the bird nest atop her head?

Who knows…but unless the local fowls start eyeing me as a possible weekend retreat, I’m not likely to stop any time soon.

The Trouble With Technology

So last week’s post reminded me of something I’ve occasionally considered true. Technology is a pain in the butt.  For the first part, it rarely does what you want it to. Sure, I go to school online, and I enjoy it, along with facebook, email, and, oh yeah, my blogs, but then again I have moments like the following.

When I first tried out last week’s blog post right after I wrote it, it looked like this.

 

Except bigger.

Then I learned how to do it the right way (thanks for the help, Carolynn), which meant I had to insert the pictures one by one instead of all at once, and that was O.K. …except it didn’t work right on the first try. In fact it came out like this.

Oh, that's helpful.

 

And like this.

 

Well, that's a little better.

And on top of it all, it took me over an hour to get all 55 words posted. Why? Because on top of being problematic, it’s also darned addictive. I mean, really, who’s going to focus on a blog post when you have the following to watch?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8RhwaIwx0Is

That’s right. Technology—makes life too simple to live without it, and just when you think you’ve got it down, it makes it too difficult to live with too.

 

Oh schnitzel.

This gallery contains 8 photos.

So, children are always amusing, and we all love to read about C.C.’s amusing antics, but sometimes what they do is just too funny for words. So, I’m forced to concede that, at least in this case, a picture’s worth a thousand words. Dan-dat. Dan-dat. Dan-dat, dan-dat, dan-dat, dan-dat Yep my child is silly alright.

Why I No Longer Fight My Curl.

I heard it from my parents.

 

“You look like the comb didn’t even touch your hair.” (To be fair, I’m sure, on some days, it didn’t).

 

I heard it from the kids at school.

 

“You look like an electrocuted poodle. Why don’t you straighten your hair?”

 

And of course, I thought it myself.  I hated the way my hair took on a triangular shape no matter what I did. In fact, on many days, I was certain it had a life of its own seeing as it seemed to grow outward like an over watered chia pet.  It wasn’t made of glossy ringlets like the Cover Girl models. It wasn’t stick straight like the run way models. If I grew it out, it languished into excessively volumnized waves (that’s right, the chia pet look). If I cut it short, it super curled and my style resembled something between a pageboy cut and the top of a sprig of asparagus.  The one time I let my mother use curlers on my head, the ringlets came out so tight I looked like I had an afro.

 

Naturally, I hated my hair and I hated my looks. I looked awkward and goofy. So, I declared war on my curls. I pulled them back in pony tails so they weren’t as easily seen. I flat ironed them. REPEATEDLY. I used curl serums, straightening creams, and, once I started buying my own groceries, I even chemically relaxed my hair.  All to no avail.

 

Cause you see, much like a river bed that’s been diverted from its natural course continually tries to revert to its original path, naturally curly hair always tries to resprout its curls. And when you combine naturally curly hair with damage caused by heat and chemical and the humidity of one’s home, you get the chia-pet with frizzy afro look. Not cool.

 

By this point in my life, several people had tried to encourage me to love my curl, all with the variation of the same message.

 

“I think it looks nice,” my grandmother told me.

 

“It’s all in the way you style it,” my aunt advised.

 

“I’d pay to have curl like that,” a stylist extolled.

 

It still took a while for it to sink in. And then, whilst I was on vacation, I walked past a mirror the morning after going to bed with wet hair. Unrestrained, my curls had grown wild. Interestingly, my first thought was “That’s kinda cute” as opposed to the traditional “Ugh.”  Then I brushed my hair, and turned into a chia pet. Out came the hair tie and up went the pony tail, but this time, I started thinking.

 

I am not a model for Cover Girl. Nor am I a runway model. And let’s face it, even if I was, I probably wouldn’t look the way they do in their photo shoots because I don’t have someone to professionally dress, groom, and paint me and then edit out all the remaining flaws on their computer. However, I’m better than that. I’m real. I have my own style, and my own sense of beauty. So why should I care what anyone else thinks? Besides, why am I listening to teenage voices from my past. I mean, they’re teenagers. It’s not like they’re even remotely acquainted with their own identity never mind true concepts of beauty or something like self-actualization.

 

What it really comes down to, is that despite my parents’ best hy genic intentions, those with curly hair should not brush it when it’s dry. Or comb it, or anything of the sort. It’s a wash n’ wear sort of style. And since I don’t go in for all that superficial supermodel-cover-crap, I can wear wash n’ wear all I want. Especially since that’s how I like to roll, yo.

 

So that’s the story of why I no longer fight the curl. In fact, I Looooove the curl. And, yes, that’s also a styling technique.

Ten Things I Learned On Vacation

…Or about it anyway.

As a child, vacations were responsibility-free fun. As an adult they’re, well, a little more complicated, and surprisingly educational, so here’s what I learned on vacation.

 

10. The packing does not do itself. Nor does the house clean itself prior to your leaving. If you want these things accomplished, you’ll simply have to do it yourself. As long as the packing gets done, the housework will still be there when you get back. And since you’re gone, it won’t be staring you in the face. Just worry about the packing.

 

9.  Driving through the night can be very pleasurable. You simply need a good chauffer. (Thank you TNO—You’re the greatest!)

 

8. An 18 hour car ride with a small child can be enjoyable. You just have to bring the right entertainment.

 

7. The same DVD, when played repeatedly for said small child, is very entertaining for the toddler…not so much for the parents.

 

6. On the other hand, a toddler-sized quilt (courtesy of C.C.’s Memaw) and a couple of small stuffed animals provide hours of entertainment for both the child and her parents.

 

5. When traveling to and from Canada, count on being hassled at the border…on your way back in to America. (Seriously, as long as you’re not hiding firearms, the Canadians appear as if they couldn’t care less that you’re coming. On the other hand, the Americans don’t seem to want you back even if you are one of theirs!)

 

4. It is possible to relax, enjoy the company of family, and manage the course work to a rapid study in Advanced Fiction Writing. (Yay for an A in writing like a grown-up!)

 

3.  A ride down memory lane with one’s sweet heart is a pleasant way to kill a few hours. You learn a lot when you’re viewing good scenery in good company.

 

2. I can wear my curls and look fashionable. It’s really a matter of simply accepting myself as I actually am and it getting on with it, but that is a story for another blog post.

 

1.  When it comes right down to it, there is, after all, no place like home.

Write Like a What?

This is what my Advanced Fiction Writing Professor wrote in her syllabus:

 

Students will be required to write “literary” rather than “genre” fiction.  Students will also be required to write fiction geared toward adults and young adults not children.

 

This is what my brain heard: You will have to write like an adult.

 

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

 

You guessed it. That’s the sound of my heart in my throat as it sends blood rushing to my head in a flood of panic.  “Oh crud,” I think. “I can’t write like an adult. I can write academically—though at the moment I’m questioning my ability to do so since I only managed a single A paper in my last course (this of course, is the subject of Another Blog Post).  I can write fantasy, maybe even science fiction—for teenagers. But literary fiction geared towards adults? That’s serious stuff. Man, I’m totally sunk.”

 

As I sit there gasping for air and contemplating what it would be like to swoon for the first time ever in my known existence, I decide to take the only practical course of action. It’s too late to drop the class, besides, I really need the credits to graduate on schedule. And failure is simply not an option (I actually think an F might cause my genetic code to unravel). So I started working on this week’s homework, a reading of Dan Chaon’s “Big Me” followed by a reading of “A Conversation with Dan Chaon.”

 

By the time I finished this roughly 25 pages worth of reading, I’d realized something. I can tell a story without fairies or little girl romances. I can explore deep existential themes as well as the next person, after all we all contemplate our identity and role in the cosmos on occasion.  And maybe it isn’t my strong point, but then again I’ve never tried.

 

Who knows. Writing an adult might even be good for me. Heck, it might even be like sushi—I could end up loving it. (So far, I have.)