Over the weekend I went to a Christian ladies conference in Colorado Springs. (It was wonderful of course.)
One of the things they had there was a representative from the company 3 Seams, which is one of those fair trade type things where they help women in third world countries make a living wages sewing clothing or making jewelry. They had the beautiful wrap things for sale with pretty colors and soft fabrics.
The girl demonstrated how you could wear it as a jacket or a scarf or whatever and lots of the ladies were buying them. Everyone who had one looked great in it. It was like something all the cool ladies had.
I passed the table like twenty times and finally succumbed on the last day and bought one in a gorgeous blue color. I was super pleased with myself and my purchase. I was ready to be cool like everyone else.
Then I came home and got ready to wear my fabulous new wrap in real life.
Somehow, it just doesn’t look as good on me as it did on those cool ladies. And from the back?
My 17-year old said, “Mom, you look like a giant M-n-M!”
Wow. Well, at least the craftswomen in Cambodia got a fair wage out of it.
What do you think? Am I cool yet?
The twins are nine now and have recently discovered the existence of Bad Words.
Obviously they find such forbidden words fascinating, and often tell me about something they heard another kid at school say with an air of shocked glee.
- Kid:”I would never say this, Mommy, but Tanner said the S word. The S H word, Mommy. The S H I word. The S–”
- Me: “Yeah, yeah. Stop now; I get it!”
This has led to some less-than-fun conversations about what these words actually mean. Ugh.
Anyways, this summer we happened to pass a mall with a Dick’s Sporting Goods store and they noticed it.
Little Boy stage-whispered to his sister, “Look!!” She gasped. “That store is named after a bad word.”
I remained silent and listened to them process this shocking information together in the back seat. “Why would they do that?” Little Girl wondered aloud.
“Maybe it’s the name of the guy who owns the store,” Little Boy mused. “Maybe that’s his name and he named the store after himself. ”
Little Girl was horrified. “Why would anyone name their son after a penis?” she said.
This summer I went shopping in an upscale area while we were on vacation. It didn’t take me too long to realize everything was way too nice for us to be able to afford it.
For one thing, the public bathroom was nicer than the one at my house!
Yep. That’s a real photo of the potty at the Pottery Barn.
I was like, “Let’s get out of here, kids! And don’t touch ANYTHING!!!”
The library’s theme for their summer reading program was “Build a Better World,” so at the end of the show he told the kids to think of something they could do to help make the world a better place. “Tell one of the library ladies your idea on the way out,” he said, “and they’ll give you a sticker!”
I took the twins over to where kids were lining up for stickers and told them to think of something to say. I suggested recycling.
“Grown-ups love it when you say you are going to recycle,” I told the kids. No one liked that idea.
Little Girl decided she didn’t really want a sticker but Little Boy seemed to be thinking hard. When we got to the front of the line, he whispered something in the library lady’s ear.
“What?” she said. “I can’t hear you. How would you help make a better world?”
I leaned in to help listen and heard my son say, “I’d help the library put on better shows.”
I yanked him out of line before anyone could hear that statement and pulled him aside. “You can’t say THAT!” I hissed. “Think of something else.”
He looked at me. “Well, if I got the sticker I could try to make it last forever,” he said. “That would be good for the world.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just go back over there and tell the nice lady you are going to recycle, okay?”
He sighed and got back in line. “I’m going to recycle,” he said dispiritedly.
“Oh wow!” said the lady excitedly, handing him the sticker. “That’s a great way to build a better world!”
Little Boy looked less than enthusiastic, but he stuck the sticker on his shirt and came back to me. I was pleased to have avoided having him trash my uncle’s concert to library management, and he seemed fairly happy with the sticker, so I’ll call that a win/win.
Note: Later on, Little Boy was talking about how much he’d liked the show, so I said, “Why did you want them to get better shows then?”
It turns out that what he’d meant was that they should have more shows at the library LIKE THAT ONE. So I suppose he wasn’t actually trashing the concert… but it had sure sounded like it!
I suppose it looked suspicious because it was crammed so full of stuff.
The TSA agents dug through my backpack, randomly swabbing various items to test for bomb residue (including some paperback novels, my half- finished quilt squares, and a bunch of Laffy Taffy candy). I wondered which of the Laffy Taffies looked the most likely to be a bomb, since he was only checking some of them.
My nine-year-old daughter took the opportunity to ask me: “Mom, what’s a trophy wife?”
I tried to think of an explanation. “Well,” I said, “I guess it’s a wife that’s way better than the other wives so she costs a lot of money.”
All the TSA agents around us burst out laughing.
I shrugged. “Sorry guys,” I said. “Looks like she’s been listening to people trash-talk each other on family vacation.”
Do we still look suspicious?