OC Family Mom is a Four Letter Word

Pretty much the best date. Ever.

Wed, 01 Sep 2010 13:42:00 GMT

Winston Churchill once said, "If you are going through hell, keep going." Let's just say that I am taking the ol' bulldog's advice to heart.

I have been very intentional about who I am surrounding myself with these days. In the midst of utter chaos, it's amazing how quickly you learn who your real friends are. The ones that can hold you up, and more importantly, push you through hell when you are tempted to stop and just take a nap. Lisa (pictured here) is one of those friends. She's a pusher.

We've been friends for over ten years, and she's always had her "Team Pam" hat on. No matter how weary, wounded or angry I get, she won't let me stop. She's there to get me to where I need to be, even if it's sitting on her teeny tiny shoulders. And she has taught me to find the humor in all of this nonsense, and we laugh about it together. Sometimes until we cry. Or pee. Whichever happens first.

This weekend, I attended the uber-fab OC Blogger Ball. I was so excited to go and get a much-needed mom's-night-out some of my favorite members of the blogfia. But I was a bundle of nerves just thinking about the impending questions. So, where is Mr. Momisa4LetterWord? Why the writing hiatus? What's going on with you, Pam?

Wanna hear the amazing thing? Nobody asked about HIM. They wanted to talk about the campy wristlet corsage that Lisa gave me. You see, she was my date for the night. And I can't think of anyone I'd rather have spent the evening with.

Falling in love with her yet? Well, don't. SHE'S TAKEN. But you can check her out here and here.

Silence is golden. Duct tape is silver.

Mon, 26 Jul 2010 15:40:00 GMT

I know, I know, the silence is deafening. It's killing me too.

But due to some, shall we say "stuff," I had to make an executive decision to take a mini writing break. Or to at least scale WAY back. I am sharing this with you so if I disappear from blogdom for a bit or my infrequent posts start to REALLY suck, you'll know what's up.

I recently made a very grown-up decision. This wasn't an overnight decision and in fact, it's been a really long time coming. And that's about as much as I can say. But for now, I am absolutely making a decision that's in the best interest of my girls. I have no doubt in my mind that I am doing the right thing. But that doesn't make it any less complicated.

I've been advised not to write publicly about what I am going through. Since, apparently, it can (and the way things have been going WILL) be used against me. And maybe I will write anyway, for my own sanity, and post it in 100 years or when the dust settles. Whichever comes first.

Here's the rub--my whole website is based mostly on observational humor and the absurdities of everyday life. And right now, certain absurdities are off limits.

I know that MOST of my readers are also close friends, or my mom. Hi mom. I also know that you love and support me no matter what, and for that I am eternally grateful.

Trust me, we'll be in touch.

Six Minutes and Counting

Sat, 26 Jun 2010 21:10:00 GMT

I'm pretty sure I just used up of six minutes of my allotted fifteen minutes of fame. In May, I was interviewed by OC Family magazine (see it here on page 82)

And then the editor Susan Belknapp asked me to be part of a panel interview on "Cox Forum." A local show about issues facing the heart of Orange County--actually, I don't know what their shtick is--I just made that up. But I am sure it's something like that.

I was nervous. It was the first time that I was "coming out" that I worked at CHOC Children's. Up until that point, I only ever wrote about "working for a hospital." That meant that I'd have to put on my PR hat and say the right thing--about one of the most hot-button issues ever. In the history of motherhood. No pressure.

Now, I am no stranger to the debate between the working moms and the stay-at-homers. But I do, obviously, have my own opinions and was nervous about what "work Pam" would have to say.

The good news is I was paired up with Trinka, a VP at a well-known bank, and a mother of a two-year-old. It turned out that it wasn't even a debate. We were pretty much on the same page. There wasn't anybody there yelling at us or pointing fingers. Just an honest discussion about the issues facing working moms.

We both answered some pretty loaded questions, and think we did okay, considering that we are amateurs.

I am used to writing speaking points for people going in front of the camera, not actually being in front of it. And please be kind, I was so nervous that I wasn't sure what to do with my hands. So I sat on them. Can you say awkward?

You can see the video here.

And the real highlight of the night? After the interview, Trinka and realized that our little ones were fast asleep at home and there was no need to hurry home. Susan, Trinka and I went out for a yummy meal and an even yummier and much-needed drink.

Read my other stuff at Mom is a Four-letter Word.

My Big Fat Tonsillectomy

Tue, 15 Jun 2010 11:27:00 GMT

My apologies for the radio silence. I have been cut open, sewn up, and neared death more than once. Then, I completely lost my marbles, moved in with my parents, was babied by my mommy and moved back home, only to be tortured by my babies.

That's right, I got my tonsils out.

I work at a hospital where I regularly interact with some of the world's top physicians and surgeons. When I told them I'd be out for a couple of weeks to have the procedure--the reaction was NEVER good.

Here are some ACTUAL responses from docs and/or nurses here at the hospital:

"Yikes!"
"You are going to feel like you are swallowing shards of glass."
"I am SO sorry. I will pray for you."
"It's worse pain than childbirth or kidney stones, you know that, right?"
"It's the worst surgical recovery possible. Your C-section will seem like a day at the park."
"Recovery for kids is SO much easier." --thanks for telling me that TWENTY FIVE YEARS AGO
"Great! You won't be able to talk!"--from one of my favorite surgeons and part-time heckler
"You are going to be planning my death the first week post-op."--from my actual ENT surgeon that took 'em out

After heeding such ominous warnings one might think that I would change my mind. But the wheels were in motion. I was having the same Strep Throat infection 4-5 times a year. I was really sick with throat-related infections the last two Christmases. The final straw, for me, was that I kept passing infections to the babies. I'd get well while they were sick, then they'd give it back to me, just as they were getting better. It was a vicious cycle. We were a big hot (literally) feverish, drugged-up mess. It had to stop.

So I did it. I had the surgery. As they wheeled me into the operating room, happy as a clam, being pumped full of Versed, I had thoughts of grandeur, about how awesome I was for making such a great sacrifice for my family. It can't be THAT bad, right? I can do this. Then I nodded quietly off to sleep.

When I opened my eyes, I gasped. There had to have been some mistake. A scalpel had been left in my throat. That was the only explanation. I opened my mouth to tell Rob to get help and nothing came out. There wasn't a scalpel there, of course, but it sure as HECK felt like it. And remained that way until two days ago, which, just as a frame of reference, was 11 days post-op.

You see, with most surgeries, the pain is the worst in the beginning, then gets better each day. That is SO not what happened. In fact, by day four, I was ready to die just to find relief. I stayed with my parents for almost a week, who lovingly took care of me when I can confidently say I was at my worst. Ever. The whole thing was a sleepy, sweaty, painful blur. Every sip was so painful, I would gag, and whatever I was trying to drink would dribble out of my nose. As recovery continues, you have to wait for gooey scabs to form in your throat, then painfully come off. Then you swallow them. Ew. I know. So gross.

Even though I am still drinking Ensure* for my meals, I am on my way to recovery. I am back at work and 12 pounds lighter (although this isn't exactly a viable weight-loss option--I suggest lap band or something WAY less painful.)

I am not writing this to scare anyone out of a tonsillectomy. I wanted to share the TRUTH so that you know what to expect. It was horrible, but in the long run totally worth it. It has made me stronger. Seriously if I can get through that, I can get through anything. And so can you.

When I came back to work, a colleague of mine said, "Pain must agree with you. You look great."

"Thanks," I said sheepishly, secretly knowing it was the narcotics.

*I was not in any way compensated by Ensure, but IF the lovely folks at Ensure want to send me a couple free cases, I'll totally take it. It'll be another few weeks that I am on this liquid/soft food diet. Just sayin.

When the Sippy Cup Looks Half-Empty

Mon, 24 May 2010 16:10:00 GMT

Ethel said her first actual word over the weekend. She pointed at Lucy's sippy cup and uttered "aab." I should have been thrilled. But I wasn't. It felt like I got punched in the gut. You see, "aab" is Farsi for "water." But I don't speak Farsi, my sitter does.

It's guess it's part of the suitcase-worth of guilt I drag around with me each day. It was a really hard decision to make to go back to work, and one that I didn't take lightly. I did was right for me and my family. I truly believe that I am a better wife and happier mom because of my career. I mean, I LOVE my job. Every day, I have the opportunity to do exactly what I am best at--while supporting a cause that I believe in with all of my heart.

But once in a while, a moment will sneak up on me like this. One that breaks my heart a little. I can't help but feel a bit territorial. First words are for mommies, not sitters. And it reminds me, again, what I've given up for my career.

I have a fantastic sitter, who loves my girls as if they were her own. To be totally honest, I really am so happy that my girls are leaning English and some Farsi at the same time--especially while it's so easy for them to learn. Lucy oftentimes asks for "shir" instead of "milk." I know that I asked her to teach them. But for some reason, it still stings.

I was recently interviewed by OC Family magazine (see it here on page 82) about being a working mom. My pull-quote was "Don't worry about home when you are at work, and don't worry about work when you are at home."

Sounds like I need a dose of my own medicine.

Earning my Stripes

Wed, 12 May 2010 15:13:00 GMT

Last week, Lucy busted her eye and needed stitches. And while this post should be about her and how she's a trooper (she is) and so brave (she is) and smart enough to know not to pick at it (she is) this one is about me. And how I faked it.

It seems that now, being a mother for two whole years, there are game-changing moments. Where you just have to put on the big girl panties and just be a mom. You have to earn your stripes, so to speak. Mine moment was last week. Wednesday to be exact.

I was at work when my sitter called--Lucy had busted open the area just under her eye. Total accident and my sitter was in a panic. Since I was already at work at CHOC Children's, I asked her to meet me in the ER. My trusty coworker Mindy helped me, in my panic, gather all the Lucy-related crap from my car that I would need to keep her entertained. I knew it would be a long afternoon.

The staff was great, the wait was short. We had a visit from a child life specialist who brought bubbles and books. We had another visitor, a pet therapy dog that was a much-needed distraction. Not just for Lucy, but for me.

Each time a new visitor came through the doors, I breathed a HUGE sigh of relief. The truth is that I was having a really hard time sitting there with her on the bed and pretending everything was okay. I don't do so well with blood, you see. Thank God I am not a clinical person. Especially when it's oozing out of my baby's eye.

But I sat there and faked it. We talked about Elmo, blew bubbles. We laughed and sang songs. Then entered a tiny, and somewhat wobbly, octogenarian volunteer in her hot pink vest. She offered apple juice. Straight up. Lucy was in heaven. Whew, another break for me. She came back with ice chips, another Lucy favorite.

My mom met me there and I have never been more relieved to see her. Super Granny Nanny swooped in to save the day, per the usual. She sat there with us, waiting for the numbing cream to work so they could sew Lucy up. She was probably faking like everything was okay and it didn't bother her. I didn't ask. I didn't want to know. It helped me to fake it too. If she was calm, I was calm. And the trickle down was that Lucy really did think everything was okay.

And now, it really is okay. She got her stitches out yesterday. And I didn't have to fake it this time. I acted like everything was okay, because it really was.

Pelican Hill Part II: undercover

Thu, 06 May 2010 20:45:00 GMT

After my AMAZING Mom's Day Off at the Resort at Pelican Hill couple weeks ago, I invited the fam down the Coliseum at Pelican Hill to celebrate my mom's birthday. I made reservations in advance to sit on the terrace. I wanted to see if I had the same experience as a regular Joe as I did as a media VIP.

At lunch, everyone was impressed by the food and, of course, the view. Even the
kids meal was UNREAL. All they can eat homemade pasta, chicken, veggies and homemade gelato. It was only $10, including a drink. There were other kid-friendly offerings, but since I order for Lucy it was up to me. Let's just say that MAYBE mommy and daddy had some bites of this CRAZY GOOD mac and cheese. MAYBE even a whole plate as an appetizer. You won't tell, right?

After lunch, Lucy ran laps. And it didn't seem to bug anyone--there were other kids there. And per the usual, my brother Chris was there taking pictures. I love how he can make a tantrum look cute.

And Ethel being her usual sweet self.

I know that I am using this post as a blatant plug for just how darling my kids can be. Sue me. Anyway--even the second time around, totally covert, we had a great time. So go there. Now.

Love in the Time of Short Sales

Wed, 28 Apr 2010 12:15:00 GMT

We recently moved to the burbs. Placentia, the land of great schools and blue-hairs. It's quiet and safe. I love it here.

But how we got here is altogether another story.

I haven't really blogged about it at all. I think part of it was that I was really sad about it, and part of it was lack of time.

I am confident that we made the best decision for our growing family--to get out from under a house that was too small and too expensive. So we did a short sale, which finally closed just before Thanksgiving. It was a long, drawn-out process that almost killed us. I am SO GLAD it's over.

I still drive down our old street in Santa Ana twice a day: to pick up and drop off the girls for daycare. The other day, I finally saw the new owner getting into her car (we haven't met.) And all of the sudden I was filled with resentment and rage. Why was she coming out of MY HOUSE?!

Up until this point, I hadn't had much time to think about it. But it felt like pouring lemon juice on a paper cut. I know that we chose to leave that house. But the timing of it all was less than perfect. Rob had to go look at houses when I was in the hospital with Ethel. He would take the video camera, then come back and show me. We made an offer on this house before I ever actually saw it with my own eyes.

I spent my three-month maternity leave packing, moving and unpacking. Did I mention that I was also recovering from a C-section? And had a one-year-old too? That time is supposed to be for bonding with your new baby, not moving.

But unlike so many others out there, we landed on our feet. So now we dust ourselves off and move forward. But I think it will take a while for me to be okay with all of this.

Pammie’s Day Off

Mon, 26 Apr 2010 18:10:00 GMT

Last week, I was invited to have a “mom’s day off” at the Resort at Pelican Hill. Since I’ve been apparently living under a rock (read: having tons of babies) I didn’t even know what that meant. I was in for the surprise of a lifetime.

The place is freakin’ amazing. And I don’t even know where to start with the spa. It was like THE lap of luxury. Not even the lap. It was like Santa’s lap. There was a salt water jacuzzi (with disposable bathing suits in case you forgot yours) a hair salon, and a relaxation room with a waterfall on the wall. Not sure if it was that, or the bottomless signature tea, but I was peeing a lot. And let me tell you, even the bathrooms were nice. I could have moved right in!

First, we were treated to a massage. And not to sound to rude, but I prefer my masseuse to speak only when spoken to. It kills me when I am stuck with a masseuse that won’t shut up. I am a BIG talker under normal circumstances, but I hate paying someone $100 or more to hear about her boyfriend.

My therapist at Pelican Hill was the opposite. She engaged me long enough to feel comfortable, then just got to work with her VERY capable and healing hands.
The others in our group agreed that it was the best spa treatment they’d ever had.

Ever.

Next, we had lunch at the casual dining (and I use that term LOOSELY) restaurant, The Coliseum. We had pool and ocean views that took your breath away seriously amazing. It is by far the NICEST hotel grounds I’ve seen. And the Coliseum prices are crazy reasonable—like under 15 bucks a plate.

And this is when things went from great to this-must-be-a-dream-crazy. As everyone was heading out to meet their kiddos (at Camp Pelican) after lunch, one of the managers came up to me and offered me a private, ocean-view, nicer-than-my-house pool cabana for the rest of the day. So OF COURSE I stayed. The cabana had a flat-screen TV and a Bose surround sound system. But I didn’t want TV. What my soul needed was peace and quiet. I didn’t read. I only updated FB once. And I took these pictures with my iPhone.

I was so amazed at my good fortune. I spent an hour and half alone the cabana, watching the storm come in over the ocean.

The only noise I heard was pelicans. Oh, and the pitter patter of my pool attendant’s feet up and down the stairs.

Jamie brought me anything I could dream up. First, I had a Grey Goose cosmo, natch. Then, as it got colder, he brought me fresh-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies and milk. Oh, and a blanket.

On a side note: this was the same amazing blanket they offered in the spa relaxation room and massage tables. What I wouldn’t give to get my hands on one of those. I literally had a dream about it the other night.

Moms, I don’t care if you have to beg, borrow, or steal, find the money and get yourself booked at the Spa at Pelican Hill. Stand at the end of a freeway with a sign reading “Exhausted mommy needs me time.” I swear people will give you money!
Here’s the insider tip: you can relax at the spa and enjoy the facilities if you have ANY treatment. The signature massage that I got was less than $200.

I know it might sound like a lot so now I have a new plan that puts The Spa at Pelican Hill within your reach, too. I am going to put $5 a week into “Pammie’s Piggy Bank.” At the end of the year, I’ll have enough to go for a spa day. And every mom needs AT LEAST one day there a year.

But lucky for me, I took my mom back to the restaurant for her birthday lunch on Sunday. It was just as amazing the second time around, even without the spa day.

PS We weren’t even asked to write a review. I just feel like it’s a crime against humanity not to let other mommies out there in on the big secret.

Something is Brewing

Mon, 19 Apr 2010 20:11:00 GMT

"Winds in the East, mist coming in, like something is brewing, about to begin. Can't put me finger on what lies in store, but I feel what's to happen all happened before." -Bert

I've often said that everything I ever needed to know about life I learned from Mary Poppins. And to speak like Bert, there's been a bit of heavy weather blowing at the De Jong house lately. Things are really tough right now. So today, I am opening my heart and letting you all in.

I tend not to share much about my marriage here, or anywhere else for that matter. It's easy to cover it up with comedy. It's my coping mechanism. Sure, everything seems great. But as the saying goes, the devil is in the details and BOY OH BOY are there lots of details.

But the reason that I am opening up today is simple: I want to show my readers (and other moms and wives out there) that crap happens to all of us.

I find myself reading other blogs and comparing my own life to theirs. Look at that perfect house, I think to myself, with perfectly behaved children, the perfect job, and a perfectly supportive and loving husband. She must be a better mom, wife and friend than I am. I really struggle with managing everything. I am not a good juggler, and yet that's exactly what I do 20 hours a day.

The truth is that we are all broken and imperfect--we're designed that way. And I am learning (the hard way) to be thankful for that.

A Beauty Snob’s Tips for Surviving a Recession II

Thu, 08 Apr 2010 19:10:00 GMT

A girl like me (with a serious lip product addiction) always has a no-frills, go-to lip balm in her collection. For years, I’ve relied on Origins Soothing Lip Balm.

I’ve been slathering this organic stuff on my lips at night and on the weekends. It’s a true balm—moisturizing, nourishing, softening and not at all shiny. It is even safe for the man in your life to use. A nightstand must-have, it has no flavor, just a hint of an organic-ey-vanilla smell. I love it. But at $15 a stick, it’s just too much these days.

But in the interest of sharing my recession-proof faves, let’s move forward. Or shall I say backward.

My mom used to keep a stick of Avon Dew Kiss lip balm in her purse when I was little, so I asked my fellow OC Family blogger (and Avon rep) Terry if she could find me some.

As soon as I got it, I put it on. I was instantly taken back to my childhood. It smelled like my mom, tasted just like her kisses. I closed my eyes and felt like I was five again, sitting on her lap in our wicker “queen bee” chair as she read me a story. It’s crazy how scent can hold a memory like that. And a powerful one.

Here’s the best part—it’s even better than I remember. It keeps my lips soft, has no spf or taste, and smells fresh and clean. Maybe a hint of rose, but not in a granny kind of way. Even the packaging is still the same. And at 99 cents per stick, it’s a STEAL. Click here to order it online.

My new goal? To hug and kiss my girls enough that they’ll smell Dew Kiss when they grow up and think of me too. And before ya’ll freak out, I still love me some Lip Smackers but it’s a nice break from the sugary sweet stuff. Plus, Lucy is still trying to eat them.

What beauty products take you down memory lane?

Camp Cupcake Goes Bridal

Sun, 04 Apr 2010 20:10:00 GMT

I love my friend Jessica. She is loyal and drama-free—just the kind of friend I’d order out of a catalogue. I’m in her wedding in May, and as the only bridesmaid that’s here in California, I offered to throw her a shower. But for a split second, I must have forgotten what life at home is like these days. With the babies, the chaos, the unpacked boxes and the mess, it would be impossible to host anything at my house.

So I came up with a quick-style plan B, which I call “throwing money at the problem.” One my favorite haunts in Old Towne Orange is The Perfect Circle Cupcakery. It’s an ADORABLE little shop featuring my two favorite things on the planet: Breakfast at Tiffany’s and cupcakes. I mean, really? Really? If you don't believe me, here are some shots of the shop:

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Part of Jessica’s awesomeness is that she is the anti-bride. She hates dumb games, forced conversation and lame showers. Instead of hosting a traditional (READ: stuffy and boring) bridal shower, I reserved the bakeshop for a “camp cupcake.”

Shower guests decorated and shared yumm-o-la cupcakes and enjoyed a fab afternoon with friends. No dumb games. No wedding dresses fashioned from toilet paper. Just frosting and fun. Oh, and fantastic gifts.

And the best part (besides the cream cheese frosting, of course) was that I didn’t have to set up or clean up a single thing. When I showed up, the table was elegantly decorated, silver cake tiers and all. Tiny porcelain ramekins overflowed with toppings like sprinkles, mini-marshmallows and chocolate chips. When the fun was over, we left the mess there. We really didn’t even need the take-home boxes. There was hardly a crumb left.

The staff that day, Andrea and Dominique, took really good care of us—bringing us old-fashioned sodas and signature hot chocolates. They were cheerful, smiley and happy to help. I had to fight the urge to hug and kiss these girls as I was leaving.

Nothing in my life is EVER that easy. The prices were totally reasonable—especially if you factor in the ease of it all (and some dough from Jessica’s WONDERFUL sister). If you want to learn more about The Perfect Circle, or how to have a Camp Cupcake of your own, click here.

Happy bride=happy Pam.

Oh, and one more thing. Even the bathroom was cute. And clean. It was enough to push me over the top.

Thanks to Christopher Wren Photography for the gorgeous pictures.

Passing Down the Puppet Paranoia

Tue, 30 Mar 2010 20:03:00 GMT

I had a Kermit the Frog puppet when I was little. You know, the one where he is a “reporter” wearing a vintage Halston-style trench coat.

“Kermit theeee Frog, here,” he would say.

Above: Kermit interviews Humpty Dumpty for a Sesame Street News Flash

Hm, maybe that’s why I ended up a journalism major.

Anyway, I loved to play with that thing all day long. But at night, I was terrified. Maybe it’s that his eyes never shut. I felt like he was staring at me as I slept. So at bedtime, my mom would put him into the “oven” of the little toy kitchen I had in my room. That way, I could sleep in peace without those leering eyes ALWAYS WATCHING.

Then the real paranoia set in. I learned at Sunday School that Jesus was ALSO always watching me. No matter what I was doing, he was always there. I decided that I didn’t like that too much either. Just another set of eyes to stare at me while I slept. I deduced that Jesus MUST be hiding in my closet, since there was nowhere else a grown man in a flowing white robe could possibly hide. My poor mom, night after night, putting my toys in the oven and shutting the closet door.

For her birthday a couple weeks ago, I got this Fraggle puppet, “Red,” for Lucy. She loves Fraggles and so do I. Even when I bought it—I thought to myself that it was a little creepy but I needed to get over it. For my kids, if not for myself. Turns out she isn’t scared of it at all.

I thought that I was over my puppet woes. I mean, I am a mom now, right? I am an adult. And I am supposed to be the brave one.

Until I walked into the kitchen late the other night and saw this:

A lifeless Red, who was somehow sucked under, and apparently killed, by our dishwasher. Just look at her face and blank expression. Her emotionless eyes tell the WHOLE story.

Maybe this time Red will go into the real oven.

A Victory for New Moms and PPD

Tue, 23 Mar 2010 18:10:00 GMT

Did you know that postpartum depression (PPD) is the number one complication of childbirth? Here is the kicker: 15-20% new moms (about 1 million women in the US each year) experience these illnesses, and some studies report that the number may be even higher.

One of the foremost blogs on postpartum depression and anxiety, Postpartum Progress, made a REALLY cool announcement today. Hidden deep within The Patient Protection & Affordable Care Act was this, the Melanie Blocker Stokes MOTHERS Act.:

"Sec. 2952 Support, education and research for postpartum depression. Provides support services to women suffering from postpartum depression and psychosis and also helps educate mothers and their families about these conditions. Provides support for research into the causes, diagnoses and treatments for postpartum depression and psychosis."

Regardless of where you stand on the healthcare reform legislation--I think you'll see the passage of the MOTHERS act as a victory for new moms and babies everywhere. Want to learn more about postpartum depression and see more about the MOTHERS Act? Check out Postpartum Progress.

A Beauty Snob’s Tips for Surviving a Recession

Wed, 17 Mar 2010 21:16:00 GMT

To say that I have an addiction to department-store make-up is a gross understatement. At any given moment, I can be found carrying up to 15 lip products in my purse. It embarrasses me to admit that. And until a few years ago, I had enough disposable income to support my dirty little habit.

But times are tougher. I have more important financial commitments—diapers, daycare and a mortgage payment. So I’ve spent the last couple of years searching EVERYWHERE for less expensive products to replace my high-end faves. Now, there are more Lip Smackersthan square tubes of Chanel Scintillantes gloss in my purse. And I am okay with that.

A friend asked me to make her a list of my new, recession-proof favorites.It got me thinking that there might be other recovering beauty snobs like myself that would be interested in this intel.

So while this is officially a parenting blog, I thought I’d take a detour into Cosmeticsbargainville, where I am the happy mayor.*

Our first stop is foundation—where I’ve been loyal to Chanel for years. But at nearly fifty bucks a pop, the cost of the Double Perfection Compact Foundation was outrageous.

I searched high and low for another powder foundation. And I tried it all. I have super-pale, really irritable skin. But I get blotchy so I needed buildable coverage. From minerals, to compacts, to cream-to-powders, it was all just wrong.

Out of desperation, I went to Target and bought Bare Naturale. I was promised by the display that it would make me look like Penelope Cruz. While I didn’t get QUITE that result, I was really impressed. It went on smoothly, evenly, and while evening out the redness didn’t look too cakey. I was in love. It is around 15 bucks it was a steal.

Now, the brush that comes with it isn’t great and I have this brush leftover from the high rollin’ days. I suggest investing in a GOOD kabuki-style brush for the perfect application.

Anyone out there in blogdom have a budget-friendly foundation that you love? Let me know. And if you hate the beauty stuff, let me know about that too.

*While I WISH I was a big-timer and got Chanel and Loreal stuff to review for free, I am not. I paid for all of these products myself.

A Kidnapper's Guide to the OC

Wed, 10 Mar 2010 15:59:00 GMT

We interrupt your regularly scheduled blog with a public service announcement. Since I’ve moved to the burbs, I have noticed a strange phenomenon: little family portraits (consisting of stick figures) proudly displayed on the back any given momobile for all to see.

Aside from the fact that they are REALLY annoying, those stickers are a REALLY bad idea.

These moms obviously don’t watch Dexter, or they would know that’s precisely how the Trinity Killer lured his victim away from the arcade. He said, I am officer so-and-so and your parents have been in an accident. My partner, officer so-and-so, already has your brother Timmy (a name which he learned from the back of the family van) and is taking him down to the station. Come with me. The kid goes along, no questions asked. It’s frightening.

Now, I am by no means a cop, FBI agent, or any other type of law enforcement officer. But displaying the name and birth order of each and every member of your family just seems downright irresponsible.

In some cases, the stickers even show the said family’s last name, like a banner that reads “The Miller Family” right across the top. YIKES! Furthermore, we really don’t care about the names of your dog, cat, fish and/or hamster.

Sing it with me, “The more you knoooooooooow!”

National Grammar Day Word Nerd Challenge

Thu, 04 Mar 2010 11:56:00 GMT

Happy National Grammar Day!

I'm sure this won't surprise you, but I woke up early this morning to post a "word nerd challenge" on my personal blog.

The winner gets a FAB prize. If you have time, check it out here.

Image: Grammar Girl

Guest post: the great pregnancy plump

Sat, 27 Feb 2010 21:03:00 GMT

I’ve asked Rachel Reeves (see below) to be my guest of honor for the very first installment of Sunday Funday. She’s hilarious, honest, beautiful and crafty. And more than anything, she’s a welcome and wonderful diversion (read: break) from yours truly.

In Which I Publicly Humiliate Myself to Get a Point Across

While getting some things ready for my daughter’s second birthday on Saturday, I came across photos from the day of her birth.

All I gotta say is this....

those people who tell you you look beautiful and "not that swollen at all" the last few weeks of your pregnancy, are one of two things:

a.) total liars

b.) blind

Exhibit A

Rachel, several hours after birth. Still being told, "you look great!"

How could they say that when I normally look like this?:

Come on people. Keep it real. The next time a 10-month-pregnant lady asks you how she looks....don't lie. Make up an excuse to leave. Turn around and run. Dodge the question. Tell her that you just heard a phone ring and you're going to go get her an ice cream sandwich, while you answer it. Or just tell her the truth. But please. Don't tell her she "doesn't look any different" or she "seriously looks SO cute pregnant."

Unless of course they are one of those women that DOES look perfect while pregnant. In that case, I hate her.

But for the rest of us....don't lie to our faces.

Because thinking that you went through your entire pregnancy looking "adorable" and then realizing you looked like the GOODYEAR BLIMP is a cruel joke.

Take it from me.

Rachel Reeves is the author of No. 17 Cherry Tree Lane, a little piece of the internet universe where she writes about her faith, daily trials, aspirations and frequently about shopping. She also sells her vintage finds at Attic 17.

Now go find her. She’ll at least make you laugh, while she makes fun of herself.

The Magic of the Magic Kingdom

Thu, 25 Feb 2010 12:25:00 GMT

Disneyland is an important part of who I am. I went there all the time when I was little and even worked there in college. I love it. I get it. I value the magic. It’s my favorite place on earth.

But it is really hard taking two tiny girls to Disneyland. I spent hours packing the diaper bag so we’d have enough bottles, sippy cups, snacks, diapers, wipes, baby food, bibs, emergency snacks, spare clothes, sweatshirts, blankets, umbrellas, pacifiers, hats and sunscreen. We all woke up extra early and got out the door, into the car, into the parking structure, into the giant double stroller, to the tram loading, out of the stroller, folded it up, onto the tram, off the tram, back onto the giant stroller and through the park’s Main Gate.

It’s a miracle every time we actually get there.

When she wasn’t screaming, Lucy had THIS look on her face the whole time:

Obviously, it was all totally worth it.

Blackmail

Thu, 18 Feb 2010 21:47:00 GMT

I sure hope that fruit snacks aren’t like gumballs—because Lucy will have a basketball-sized wad of fruit snacks in her system for seven years.

She is addicted to “nack,” as she calls them. She will stand in front of the cabinet where they are kept and scream at the top of her lungs until she gets them. And this isn’t just any old horror-flick style toddler scream here, folks. This is like a parakeet-on-crack-could-shatter-mirrors-makes-dogs-three-blocks-away-bark kind of scream.

And as soon as she employs said method, Ethel is in hysterics. And I give in. It’s totally emotional blackmail. Lucy 1. Mommy 0.