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Thursday, June 30, 2011

Produce Paranoia and the Top Ten Things I Love About Summer

So, I understand that when you go to an ATM, the mirror above the keypad serves as a safety feature.  After all, you need to see who may be behind you…I get that.  However, I am not sure why they have the same type of mirror above the refrigerated produce in the supermarket.  Seriously, what is the point of that?  Should I be afraid that someone is going to rip off my red peppers?  Do creepy and disturbing people have an affinity for fresh produce as opposed to the cheese or frozen waffles, which don’t have any mirrors in their sections?  I just don’t get it.  Should I surreptitiously be looking up to see who’s behind me while I bag my broccoli?  Probably not, but I admit that my produce paranoia did get the best of me as I stole a glance while bagging some cucumbers.  I didn’t see any vegetable molesters, though I’m surprised that the produce police didn’t issue a warrant for my threatening looking hair, which frankly was looking rather scary that day. Let’s just say that 95-degree weather and wavy hair produce one heck of a frightening coif.  

 No worries though.  I completed my grocery run without any commotion, nor did I scare anyone, but I did get a few stares.  I must admit that while summer wreaks havoc on my hair, I really don’t mind, because I love summer.  Therefore, I have created a top ten list of my favorite things regarding this very short and fleeting season.

Top Ten Things I Love About Summer

1.       I don’t consider my annual OB/GYN appointment a spa day, because I can actually go to a real spa and put my feet up.

2.       Happy tired children means earlier bedtimes without complaint.

3.       My husband and I are in harmony regarding the indoor thermostat.

4.       I don’t feel compelled to bake, which equals a 2-3 lbs weight loss for me.

5.       No need for gloves, scarf, hat, or inhibiting layers of clothes.

6.       No one bugs me for money.

7.       No carpooling or rushing off to a million different activities.

8.       I am not chained to the blow-dryer…though the result isn’t pretty.

9.       Strep, viruses, ear infections, and other assorted illnesses take a back seat.

10.   I get to catch up with re-runs of episodes I never got to watch because someone was throwing up, having a meltdown, or needed patches ironed onto their girl scout vest (okay… glue gunned , don’t judge me).

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Mommy Camp is in Session!

My kids are happily exhausted by the long fun filled and activity laden days of camp.  Seriously, last night my 10 year old went to bed at 8:20 without so much as a complaint or a whine.  The bedtime antics of the six-year old in which we had to set up a behavior chart  to restore the sanctity of bedtime isn’t even needed anymore, as he practically begs me to go to bed. 

I have very fond memories of summer camp and I too remember the delicious tiredness of a day well spent playing hard in the sun.  It’s funny how we change as adults because the thought of playing on a hot field, slathering on sunscreen, not to mention having to get into a tight bathing suit, is so unappealing to me at this moment in my life.  So, I have come up with my own brand of “Mommy Camp” and have filled it with lots of activities that I would find appealing.  In fact, I have created an entire schedule filled with various plenaries so that you too can enjoy the dog days of summer and hone some new skills to get you through the next few months.  Let me know what you think.

Opening Session:  Mommy Camp: All of the Fun Without All the Kids

Guest Speaker: Tina Fey 

Plenary Sessions:

1.       Coffees Around the World:  Come to a coffee taste testing and sample the finest brewed coffees from around the globe.  We will provide the biscottii.   BYOM-Bring Your Own Mug. 

2.       How to Kick Coffee Without Killing Someone
For those who are trying to kick the coffee habit (though why do you want to do that)?  Here is a session to help you get over the hump, prepare you for your detox journey,  and provide coping mechanisms along with a free bottle of Motrin to get your through your two-week nightmare.

3.       Great Comebacks
Are you ever at a loss when arguing with your husband and think of the perfect comeback…ten minutes later?  This session will help you formulate the perfect comeback on the spot.  Be prepared for group interaction exercises along with some solo performance.  At the end of the session, you will receive a list of snarky comebacks developed by the class, along with some oldies but goodies.

4.       Which Celebrity Annoys You the Most
Are you sick of celebrities preaching on love, life and motherhood when their own lives are so screwed up?  Does Angelina Jolie and her army of nannies annoy you?  If so, this is the plenary for you.  Go ahead, let it all out, be snarky, defensive, jealous, self-righteous, draw evil eyebrows or moustaches on celebrity photos…whatever, nobody’s judging. 

5.       Sleep Clinic:  Having Trouble Falling Asleep?
Come to the sleep clinic where we will provide you with a Queen Size bed (all to yourself) in a cool dark, soundless room.  If it’s too quiet for you, we can pipe in muffled sounds of kids arguing, doors banging, and television noise.  This plenary is a three- hour session so plan your other plenaries accordingly.  A small fee covers the cost of the silk pajamas, lavender spray, and complementary chocolates on the pillows. 

6.     What Would You Ask Mark Wahlberg?  Guest Speaker: Mark Wahlberg
Let’s face it, Mark Wahlberg is even better now in his forties. This former Calvin Klein model/rapper with a bad boy reputation has grown up and is even better in his middle age years!  Get to know the emotional, real and deep Mark Wahlberg, the actor with the amazing abs.  This session will provide free tissues for drooling purposes.   

7.       Sleepercize: Exercising in Your Sleep
 This is one session you won’t want to miss. Are you too tired to exercise?  No fears, this session will teach you how to rev your metabolism, tone your butt, and whittle your middle all from your pillow and you don’t even have to be awake.  Imagine, waking up to a brand new body?  Learn the secrets of this new exercise therapy that is sweeping the nation.   

8.     Getting Back into the Work Force with No Skills
Have you been a stay-home mom for more than 5-years?  Is your diploma as a Ph.D a little dusty?  Did you decide that you didn’t want to be a brain surgeon anymore because motherhood was calling and now your are rusty and non-competitive in the job market?  Don’t worry, this is the session for you.   We will provide you with a plethora of employment opportunities to help you get back into the work force.   Some choices include, opening a cupcakery, personal trainer, creative director of lipstick colors…just to name a few.  

9.      Mini-Van Makeover: What do You Drive When You No Longer Drive a Van?
      Are you freaking out about what car to drive afte you get rid of the mini-van? For most moms, this is a true identity crisis because the mini-van is the hub of daily life, or, as we like to call it…Mom Headquarters (MHQ).  It is the basis for all school and after school activities, it’s the vehicle where we teach our children the daily nuggets of life, and it is a surrogate kitchen.  But, what happens for those individuals who no longer require the use of a mini-van?  The next car represents the next phase of life…your kids are old enough to drive themselves and no longer need you.  This session will provide you with the tools to make an informed decision on the statement you want to make about yourself with your new car.  
      *Each participant will take a personality test where results where will be reviewed by a licensed car dealer with a specialty in car personality disorders/transitions.

We can’t wait to see you at Mommy Camp.  Sign up today because sessions close out really fast!

Thursday, June 23, 2011

TREE-ting the Problem-Doing the Right Thing is Never Easy

Apparently, a purple plum tree only has a life expectancy of 20 years or so.  I never realized that some trees have life expectancies, like humans. Unlike us, I always assumed that trees would live forever.  I mean, isn’t that the point of planting a tree anyway?  So that after we are long gone, the tree is still there like a pillar of strength continuing to emit life to all those who look at it?

The tree that has been loyally standing in front of our house for 22 years (we have lived here for 14 years) only slightly defied these statistics, though, the ominous crack down the middle and the straggly blooms fearfully indicated that its demise was imminent.  After all, I didn’t want it to come crashing down on the house, or, more importantly, on one of the kids playing in the driveway.  No, the practical side of me prevailed on the side of safety, the emotional side…well, that was a completely different ballgame.  In the end, I decided it was for the best; my husband and I picked out a young, new tree to replace it.  I was okay with the whole thing, until the tree murderers with their big, electric saws and pulverizing tree chipper device showed up on our lawn this morning. 

I warned my husband a few days prior that we needed to prep the kids.  He decided not to say anything because he didn’t want any long, emotional drawn out goodbyes throughout the week.  Well…let’s just say that this morning did not go very smoothly.  In fact, the six-year old was hysterical…I knew exactly how he felt.   Wracking sobs filled his poor little body as he watched them severing limbs off his most beloved tree.  It was absolutely heartbreaking.  I tried to usher them quickly into the car with promises of a new and lovely tree. Yeah…like that was going to work.  I couldn’t even convince myself…I was a fraud for trying to pass that crap onto a six-year old.  Eventually, the crying ceased, only to be followed with, “I’m so sad about the tree.”  “I know.” I responded.  “I am sad too honey.”  Once we got to camp, he seemed to perk up and I was relieved.

While driving home, I had a mental montage of still frame pictures regarding  the tree and sure enough, I began bawling.  It reminded me of the time we traded in my sedan for a minivan and I completely broke down in the CarMax parking lot.

It wasn’t the tree per se, though I loved the way it yielded candy pink blossoms in the spring followed by rich aubergine leaves in the summer.  It was the first sign of life on the lawn after a long, dull and dreary winter.  It breathed new life every year and the kids would get excited with each bursting bud along with the promises of warm weather to come.  Sure, that tree was a beacon of spring and I loved its aesthetic quality…but I guess I was more upset at what the tree represented. 

We took pictures under the tree with the kids with each passing phase starting with infancy, followed by ballet recital and karate pictures, pre-school graduations, first day of school, and so on.  When the kids were much younger, there were days as a stay-home mother where after a stressful morning (that was preceded by a colicky infant the night before and not much sleep, and no a.m. nap in sight) that I would question my decision to be home with the kids.  Then, on a particular summer morning, I had an idea to bring them outside on a blanket under the tree.  I loaded the blanket with snacks, books and assorted toys and suddenly everyone was happy just being outside.  We played, sang songs, and one of them even fell asleep.  As I watched my sleeping boy, with his beatific face outlined by the shade of the tree, I suddenly felt …lighter.  I had truly enjoyed those innocent moments on the blanket, no longer feeling angry or resentful; I had grabbed the precious opportunity to be with them, in the moment. 

The trees was used as base for hide and seek, a haven for climbing (until we realized it was weak) or just a place to cool off with a chair and a book after playing on the driveway.   I guess in the end, the tree represented ...passing moments in time that I can’t get back.

 I think a lot about passing moments these days and I hate that I have turned into this maudlin, weepy creature, but I can’t help it.   The kids are getting so big now, so fast, and I guess I am having a really tough time dealing with it.  It doesn’t seem to take much to get me going either.  I mean, I could be watching an episode of Phineas and Ferb with the kids and something will set me off…I know, I know , get thee to a therapist Rachel. 

It’s finally quiet.  The tree murderers have completed their task and I no longer hear the whirring of the tree chipper/chopper.   It’s a relief. I am afraid to look out there, though.  I feel like my memories have been pulverized.  Okay, I admit that was a bit dramatic.   My husband told me that the tree was so diseased at the bottom that they pulled the base out with a few mere tugs.  So, at least I know we did the right thing.  However, doing the right thing is never easy.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Oh the Closets You’ll Clean and the Items You’ll Find-A Rollicking, Rhyming Post

I’m zealously cleaning,

It’s out of control,
The kids started camp
And now I’m on a roll.
In the younger one’s room,
The closet came first,
Five bags for donation
All ready to burst.
I’m purging, spelunking, and filling a basket,
So much to throw out that I’m blowing a gasket.
Train parts, and car wheels, there’s blink toys and bits,
Stuffed in a drawer and none of it fits.
Yo-yos, kazoos and buttons look rusty,
Webkinz, stuffed doggies and pillow pets are dusty.
I’m sneezing and coughing, my eyes are all red,
And that’s just the closet, not under the bed.
When I check under there, I find stray toys and notes;
Pencils, pajamas, a doo dad that floats.
A dirty old sock, a card game of sorts,
A piece to a puzzle, a red pair of shorts.
I know that his bedroom
Looks that of a hoarder,
It’s nothing compared to the room of my daughter!
Sometimes I’ll sigh, or just shoot her a glare,
Won’t tell her to clean it, no, that I don’t dare,
‘Cause, nagging and begging just isn’t the answer
And somewhere in there is a world cure for cancer.
Next comes my bathroom, just under the sink,
There’s lotion, old sunscreen and boy does it stink.
The elusive first aid cream we never could track,
There’s five tubes of that stuff shoved way in the back.
Drugs are expired and pills that were stashed,
A pregnancy test…yup that one gets trashed!
I’m sweaty and tired,
My muscles are sore.
I’m hungry and cranky,
Passed out on the floor.
I’m detesting this nesting,
But victory is sweet!
Thought I just passed my closet,
My work’s not complete.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

The Last Day of School and I’m Singin’ the Blues

Ah…the last day of school.  I thought I would be happier about this.  After all, I am tired, tired, tired. I am so done with carpools, rehearsals, homework battles, teacher issues,  strep throat, viruses, permission slips, projects, reports, extracurriculars,whining, lunches, lost and found,  calls from the nurse, shelling out money for various causes, projects, trips and gifts, sibling rivalry, lost books, sleepy , uncooperative children, girl drama and other assorted meltdowns…and this is all on a good day! 

Yet, I find myself feeling restless and completely out of sorts.  Moreover, I sense it in the kids.  In fact, over these last two weeks, I have noticed explosive behavior in the form of tantrums, compounded by sleeping trouble, followed by increased whining and clinginess.  At first, I ignored it; I guess I just didn’t want to see the signs.  Instead, my frustration level only increased with each bedtime battle or morning meltdown a la Unit 2… a.k.a the six-year old.

Bad Mommy

I didn’t really acknowledge his feelings and I have an advanced degree in Social Work for pity sake (bad mommy, bad mommy, and bad mommy).  After all, Kindergarten was a huge step for him and for someone who is not really “go with the flow,” he truly rose to the challenge successfully.  Now, his carefully constructed world that took a full school year to master is coming to a crashing halt and he is free falling.   Never mind that camp starts four days from now…school is ending, his beloved teacher will move on to a new class, the little community that he has come to know and love will ultimately disband as the curtain comes down on the Kindergarten finale. Well, that’s just harsh and it totally sucks.  No wonder he has been beyond annoying these last two weeks to the point where I literally needed a drink last night (Mike’s Hard Lemonade, in case you’re interested) and a few hundred chocolate chip cookies.

Life is Like a Stuck Gas Pedal

So, when I think how I completely ignored all these symptoms…I had to ask why.  I mean, I am not a clueless person.  Though I must be when I’m trying to repress my own feelings of bittersweet melancholy, because, like my kids, I too sense big changes around the bend.  Leah will go to sleepaway camp this year for the first time and then enter her final year of elementary school, and Unit 2 will be moving on to 1st grade.  Now for those of you with small children, you know that once they hit 1st grade, life is like a stuck gas pedal. 

Slow the Bus Down
It’s ironic that from the moment our children are born we are pushing them to reach milestones right away.  We try to get them on a sleep cycle, roll over, stand up, walk and talk.  I remember endless playgroup conversations highlighting each child’s movement while meticulously comparing it to others.  Yet, now, I really want to slow the bus down.  I want the years back so I can make improvements, be more in the moment, and appreciate the sweetness of it all (oh, and if you can give me those years back without gray hair, sleep deprivation, 10 lbs, compromised breasts, and never having to change an explosive diaper, that would be really great).

Is that too much to ask?  I guess we all know the answer to that rhetorical question.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

A Most Unique Father's Day Gift

A Bloggy Moment

As you all know, Father’s Day is just around the corner and I am going to take a bloggy moment to revere and laud my wonderful husband, a public statement of my gratitude and love if you will.  My husband is a keeper.  However, if it hadn’t been cemented after 14 years of marriage, this past weekend proved that there is always something new to learn about your spouse.

The Blade
My husband…who for this entry I have entitled as…The Blade (read on) is not a big outdoorsman.  His definition of “roughing” it is flying coach and forgetting his toothbrush at the Hilton.  Actually, lodging at the Hilton is probably “slumming” because he is a loyal Marriott patron.
He is not big into pets (bad for the kids who desperately want a dog), and doesn’t really love sports (great for me).  Our second date occurred on Superbowl Sunday; we were the only ones in the restaurant and still couldn’t get good service.   He’s not big into skiiing, gardening, planting, nature, or heat unless he’s soaking it up on some tropical island.  He even succumbed to watching, Sex and the City 2 with me.  I mean, even most women didn’t want to watch that one. 

My husband…The Blade, frequently travels.  He leaves notes by the kid’s bedroom doors if he has an early flight and they are still sleeping and makes a concerted effort to call them throughout the day.  When he’s home he volunteers in their school and extracurricular activities.

We’re Like Coffee and Creamer
I would have to say we balance each other out like…coffee and creamer.   If there is puking child, he strips the bed and washes the sheets, scrapes  it off the carpet, sofa and/or bed while I tend to the crying, stinky and most hysterical kid.  When the kids had lice, he bought the shampoo, washed the first load of sheets, vacuumed and actually did the first treatment because I WAS SO UTTERLY GROSSED OUT by the whole thing.  When I realized I had lice too, well, he had already gone on a business trip…UGH!   I eventually had to finish the job.  He rises to the challenge right away…and waits for me to come along.  He is mayor of preventive measures, while I am the designated blood/stitches/hospital appointee.   It works for us.

Foreshadowing-How he became...The Blade
Nevertheless, here is the true mark of a man who steps out of his comfort zone to bring harmony and tranquility to his anxious brood.   This past weekend, he suggested to the kids that they get their bathing suits on so he could spray them while he watered the lawn.  As they were changing into their suits, he noticed something hanging out of the air conditioner compressor.  At closer inspection, he realized it was a dead snake.  It unfortunately had met its demise in a failed pursuit of a mouse living at the bottom.  The Blade (do you hear foreshadowing music yet?)  knew how much I utterly despised snakes (even more than lice), and that it would  completely traumatize the 6 year-old and the vegetarian, animal loving 10 year old.  Moreover, if it continued to decompose in the compressor, the compressor would probably break down on that blistering hot day. 

Ah, Life can be Cruel
So….what’s an anti-camping, non-outdoorsman, bug hating, manly man to do?  Well, at first, he simply tried to remove the snake.  Ah, but life is crueler and far more complicated than that because the snake was stuck, jammed, and the only way to get it out would be to remove the entire compressor…which really should be left to the professionals. Unfortunately, there were no professionals around on a weekend.  The Blade…had to take matters into his own hands to protect his children and wife from a gruesome sight.   He managed to “remove” the dangling half, but not the rest.

The Blade is still suffering from Post Traumatic Snake Disorder.  He wakes up in a cold sweat, lamenting the grisliness of it all and the fact that he is affected by it only makes me love him more.  It is positively endearing to me that he did something so out of his realm to shield his children and admittedly neurotic spouse from a most creepy sight.

A Unique Gift
So, what do you buy a man who performs such steely acts of bravery?  A wallet? A tie? A mug? Therapy? These all seem so mundane and un-befitting to a man who unleashed his manly prowess.  No, I will not insult my husband with such triviality.  Instead, I will publicly express my undying appreciation and love out to the blog-o-sphere where it will live to infinity in some computer memory bank, chip or satellite.  It will outlive the tie (which will eventually fray) the mug, (that will undoubtedly crack), the wallet (that will eventually fall apart).  No, this gift of admission is a permanent testament  that cannot be disclaimed renounced or erased.

So, Happy Father’s Day to a man whom I love and adore and without question is an awesome dad and snake remover!

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Wrinkles and Age Spots and Lines...OH MY!

My daughter and I were looking at a photo album the other day when she said, “Wow, Mom, you look so young here.”  I just frowned at her and replied…”Sweetie, we took this picture last fall.  I don’t look that much younger.”  Then, she did the little head bobble thing, as if to imply that I was delusional.   I heard my husband sighing in another room, which only meant that he keenly sensed the annoyed inflection in my voice and knew to use his ejector seat button on his escape hatch. 

Later that evening, I began to examine the different angles of my face. Sure, there were a few crows-feet but they were nothing to get injections over.  I also had the patent laugh lines, which I hated, but again, not really a candidate for Restalyne yet, and I had a few railroad tracks on my forehead…nothing bangs couldn’t hide.  Moreover, I didn’t have any jowls, or even a turkey neck, so, what did my daughter see that I didn’t?  

Perhaps, she sensed the overall marking of time by the nature of the picture itself.  She certainly noticed the changes in herself and her younger brother, as their transformations are very rapid and obvious from year to year.  Was she just plain insightful? An old soul?  On the other hand, was she just being a typical 10 year-old girl on the verge of tweendom?  Yet, instead of asking her what she meant by the comment, or why she thought I looked younger, I became the wounded juvenile by just being automatically insulted followed by an hour-long session of aesthetic insecurity in front of the mirror.  

I studied the picture after she went to sleep.  In the picture, we were all picking apples in the local apple orchard.  I was wearing a torn pair of shorts, my hair was up in a ponytail, I was wearing sunglasses, and then it hit me.  I don’t think it was that my face looked younger, per se; rather, my behavior reflected that of a more carefree person.  We took goofy pictures in the orchard, talked about apple recipes, joked around, and finally, ate the fruits of our labor in the car.  It was a great day, and we were in a great mood.  The photograph reflected all that carefree, uninhibited behavior which my daughter internalized as youthful.   The laugh lines, along with the detested age spot on my face, and the railroad tracks on my forehead were still there and trust me, they weren’t etched in any deeper than a picture of me recently, but to her, it was the candidness of the shot that probably prompted her to make that remark.  

Now, given this epiphany I am still going to be vigilant about my wrinkle free night cream, but, maybe, a little free spirit goes a long way.

Monday, June 6, 2011

My Latest Feature on The Jewish Hostess
Kosher Recipes | When my son was diagnosed with severe food allergies at three, it literally turned my family’s world upside down. It was a mission I didn’t want or ask for, but I had no choice. So I rolled up my sleeves and armed myself with knowledge regarding food allergies, forced myself

Thinking Outside the Box...One Nail Polish Color at a Time

If you have surmised anything about me, you could assume that my beauty regimen mirrors my “slightly” neurotic, change resistant persona, and you would be correct.  I rarely get manicures, my hair is super long because I only cut it every 8 months, and if my stylist cuts more than 2 inches off the bottom, I plunge into a deep depression and mourn its loss.   I have suits and other assorted outfits in my closet that are older than my marriage, which I keep in a vain attempt to fit into them again (the clothes that is…not the marriage). 

Clearly, I like to play it safe.
 Recently, I made my anticipated summer pilgrimage to the local salon to get my pedicure.  When it comes to nail polish colors, I usually stick with the understated neutrals…the light pinks, maybe a brownish mauve every now and then, and I usually do not waiver on this.  In fact, when reviewing some baby pictures from each of my children’s births, (they are four years apart) I noticed that I was sporting the same color with each child.   

I’m not sure what got into me when I entered the salon recently.  In fact, I am sure I heard an audible shock of surprise resonating amongst the nail technicians when I finally decided on…purple.  Just to be clear, it wasn’t purple-mauve, or even a dusty lilac.  No, it was an in-your-face- Seventeen magazine’s top color-Bonne Belle’s pick of the week-throw caution to the wind and wear a string bikini on the beach because your stomach hasn’t been compromised by two pregnancies- purple.  Seriously?  Yes.  Of course, this decision was not entered into lightly; after all, this was big.  This could rock my entire run of the mill lifestyle.  It was to say the least, out of the box, not to mention, life altering.  I made the technician crazy as I asked her to test polish a few different colors on my toes just to ensure I had indeed picked the right color.

 I LOVED it!  It was different, fresh and so out of my comfort zone.   Yeah-me!  I was ready to face anything that came my way because I went out of the box with purple polish.   I was unstoppable…until the next morning when I looked down at my toes and thought….Oh my god, I REALLY HATE THIS COLOR!  This must be how one feels when waking up with an unidentified tattoo after a night of drunken reverie.  Okay, a little exaggeration, but you get my drift.

 Purple? Really? What was I thinking? Was it temporary insanity? Were my hormone levels out- of- whack? Was it a full moon?  Whatever it was, I wasn’t ready for the regret I felt the next day when I looked down at my polished purple toes.  I was annoyed.  I felt out of sorts and frankly a bit foolish.

After all, I thought that I was stepping out the box, trying to prove something to myself or maybe others, when clearly I didn’t have too.  I began to wonder if this attitude spilled over into other decisions I may have made along the way like when I when I thought I could carry off a two-piece bathing suit and ordered them online in bulk.  How about, my insistence, (despite my husband’s uncertainty) regarding the decisionto send our 10 year old to an out- of-state sleep away camp for the first time.  Who knew that a nail polish color could send me into a metaphorical meltdown? Nevertheless, that’s what I was having.   I knew I was being ridiculous.  Clearly, I was having doubts about my daughter’s departure, and the changes that would undoubtedly ensue with the experience.  Change is not my favorite word unless it’s pouring out of a slot machine.  I guess the nail polish color choice was my coping mechanism.  It’s as if I was trying to prove that I could go with the flow, shake it up, and be out of the box.  I failed miserably because I felt even more stymied than ever before. The purple polish mocked me everyday.  If it hadn’t been 90 degrees, I would have worn UGGS, just to avoid looking at my feet.  I refused to go camp shopping, I kept misplacing the packing list, and I was late with the camp forms and very scattered.  I knew what I had to do.

I returned to the salon, for an unscheduled pedicure and this time I picked a color entitled Canyon Sunset.  Ahh….a lovely sedate color that is a mix between a peachy melon and a tomato.  I instantly began to relax as the technician removed all traces of my anxiety.  She rubbed that purple off like Lady Macbeth…out, out damn purple.  My feet were finally exposed, and subsequently, my soul was too.  Gosh, my feet looked ugly without polish. 

As she began to polish my toes, I felt calm for the first time in two weeks. Later that day, when I picked the kids up at school, my daughter noticed my feet.  “Hey, you got rid of the purple, how come?”  I just looked at her and said, “I just did.” She responded…”Well, you know that color just wasn’t you, I like this better.” 

I just had to laugh, because clearly, she was more for camp than I was.