Sweet Like Sugar - Or The Devil's Drug

(Okay Mom, stop reading. There's lots of nice things to read on the internet besides how your only daughter inhaled sugar by the pound as a child. No? Okay, don't say I didn't warn you.)

I was 100% a sugar addict as a kid. (And well into adulthood, but we'll stick to my youth for now.) Not just sugary foods, either. If those weren't to be found, just plain sugar would do.
I remember my summer babysitter's older sister. She was baking in the kitchen and had a box of brown sugar that had some hard lumps in it. She would just hand me the lumps to eat. Score!

An adult party where there was a bowl full of sugar cubes? Score again!

After school snack? Got a sweet tooth? A spoon full of sugar was always good.

A couple of extra spoon fulls on my Rice Krispies was good, too. Heaven knows that stuff didn't actually stick to the cereal. It sunk to the bottom, then when the cereal was all gone, I had milk & sugar sludge to eat straight out of the bowl. That was when I wasn't eating three bowls of cereal that already had a ton of sugar baked right in.

Of course, at Grandma's, she always had a freezer full of homemade Hot Buttered Rum mix. If you aren't familiar, this is the recipe: 1 lb each of white sugar, brown sugar, butter, & ice cream. Add spices and mix. This was consumed (without rum, of course), not only by me, but every one of my cousins and my best friend, Lela. If we didn't have a spoon, fingers worked, too. (I shudder now, I really do, but we were kids and didn't care.)

7-Eleven had a bottom rack of penny and nickel candy. We'd buy as much as we could.
And eat it all.

For the record, this is NOT penny candy. Penny candy was ONE Jolly Rancher.
I'm not THAT old.

It didn't stop when I got older. My cousin and I worked at the family business on Saturdays as teenagers. We'd start the day with a baker's dozen donuts. And eat them all (except the one that my uncle would stop by and grab when he checked up on us). Yes, all. And on non-donut days, there was a drug store nearby with candy.


I won't even go there with the Twinkies, Ding Dongs, HoHo's and Susie Q's.

I really have no idea how I consumed so much sugar. And it's no wonder that when I did food sensitivity testing a couple of years ago that I had a positive sensitivity to CANE SUGAR.
Really? Hmph.

But I have cut most of it out successfully. It's hard to get completely away from it, and I do love a good dessert once in a while. But it really is just a rare treat now and not an everyday thing. And when I have too much? I feel sick. Really, truly sick. I never thought I'd be able to give it up. But for the most part, I have, and really don't miss it too much. I won't bore you with what current research shows about sugar now, you've heard it all, but I do wonder sometimes how we didn't climb the walls as kids.... or maybe we did!!! Sorry Mom!

I think I have a belly ache.
Ally

PS - For those that read my post about school shopping, School Shopping Resistance or Lela's follow up post about skinny jeans, The Real Skinny, here's a conversation I had with my son:
K - looking at a pair of jeans at Nordstrom Rack
Me - looking at the price tag: "I don't think so."
K: "What? You won't pay $100 for a pair of jeans?"
Me: "Not unless they're for me."

(For the record, he didn't really think I would buy him $100 jeans.)

The Real Skinny

I had to laugh at Ally's reaction to her son wanting to wear the ridiculous-looking "skinny" jeans. My son has been wearing them (black only) since he started Junior High. When we traveled to Seattle last Spring he was the only kid I ever saw wearing them in the Pacific Northwest, prompting my dad to make several comments about his grandson's "leggings" and "leotards".

If you are not familiar with the Levis skinny and super skinny jeans, let me tell you. Think of wearing pantyhose that are falling down in the crotch, but made of stretch denim. Now pay $40 for them and if your son chooses to wear them, be prepared for the following:

1. Nothing will fit in his pockets.

2. His underwear/boxers WILL be showing.

3. He will say that he can ride his bike perfectly fine, but his junk will be crushed.

4. Hopefully he won't choose a really dumb-looking color like neon yellow or red.

5. He will look like a dork.

I have been told by other moms that this is a phase that they will grow out of so I am just biding my time. Now I know how our moms felt when Ally and I walked out the front door wearing miniskirts and shredded sweatshirts.

And yes, we both grew out of it.

-Lela

School Shopping Resistance

Why am I resisting?

Because I have enjoyed summer break. My son is in high school, so he sleeps in, doesn't need constant entertaining and can feed himself breakfast.

Which all means that on my days off, I can sleep in, too. And stay up late and watch Jon Stewart, who I heart.

But school shopping means admitting that it's all coming to an end. Sad face.

I'll be getting up early and making lunch and making sure he gets out the door. Which he doesn't need, he's awesome in the mornings, but I think he secretly likes that I am there drinking my coffee, too.

Oh, and because he made some comment about wanting skinny jeans. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Tell me it isn't so. Ugh. But I will keep my mouth shut and let him go through his crazy clothing styles, just as I went through mine. Someday he can look back and cringe at what he wore, just like I did.

Better get shopping on the schedule. School starts next Wednesday.

Ally

Sunday Night Returns

I made the mistake of doing some grocery shopping yesterday, a Sunday. I know from experience that they are usually out of at least three things I need when I shop on Sunday afternoons. I shop at a store called Fred Meyer - it's owned by Kroger, a basic "superstore"-type, with groceries, clothes, household, etc. We have a lack of good stores in my area, and this one has a barely sufficient natural health section that I can get by on until I can get to the very cool natural foods store near my office.

I picked up a pair of Nike shorts for my son - they were on sale, plus I had a coupon. Excited to show him, I pulled them out of the bag at home to hand them to him, and there, attached firmly to the bottom was the security tag thing. Which mysteriously did not set off the alarms when I carried them out of the store.

Crap.

I grabbed them, not believing my eyes, and not only was the stupid tag on there, but the material was all torn around the tag. Like someone had tried to pull it off. Double crap.

So we waited until 8:00pm thinking there would be fewer people in the store and we could get in and out quickly. My husband and I went back to the store to exchange the shorts.

We got in line at the customer service desk and waited. First customer. Second customer. Third customer - the lady driving the scooter cart with three feet of receipts for her 85 cans of cat food that had been rung up incorrectly. Then the non-English speaking customer trying to get a money order from an account they couldn't access. All translation being done by a 10 year old girl. While we waited, we saw a full-on mullet and a unibrow like I haven't seen since Sesame Street. Four children ran rampant through the toy section, no parents in sight, pulling toys from the shelves and throwing them at each other.

By the time we finally had our turn, I patiently explained the situation to the lady behind the counter.

Here is the response I expected: "I'm so sorry our checker didn't remove this when you were in earlier and you had to make a trip back. Here you go. Have a nice evening." Maybe even a polite smile thrown in.

The response I got: "That's not torn. It looks like someone cut a hole around it. Look. It looks cut." Then she silently removed the tag off the new pair and handed them to me without even checking my receipt. Without saying another word, in fact.

I don't know if she was suggesting I had cut them. Which is ridiculous. Why would I cut a hole in a $25 pair of gym shorts that I had paid money for, that inconvenient or not, I could just take back in to have removed? Maybe she was just irritated by her last string of customers. I would have been. Or maybe she simply hates her job. Well, I hate her job almost as much as she does.

No surprise here, but customer service just isn't what it used to be.

Ally

Teenagers

My 18-year-old stepson creeped downstairs and poured himself a bowl of cereal for breakfast at noon. He scared the crap out of my younger son and me because we thought he was still sleeping.

Younger son: Dude, when did you get in the kitchen?
Older stepson: I just wanted to eat my breakfast in peace.
Me: You don't want your family to say "hello" or "good morning"?
Older stepson: Exactly.

Later that day my younger son needed a ride to the local swimming pool to meet friends. We got there before his friends so I pulled under a shade tree to wait. . . And wait. . . And wait.

His friend's mom thought she was picking him up. I know because her daughter called my son's cell phone to tell him she was in front of our house. Where we were 15 minutes ago.

"This is why I hate teenagers." I accidentally said out loud.

"Sorry, Mom," said my teenager. Then he started rubbing my neck, which was a good thing because my muscles were getting really tense. How could I be mad?

So we sat there under the shade tree, listening to the radio and talking. I ended up wasting a half hour of my precious time due to his poor planning skills. Well, it really wasn't wasted.

-Lela

Camping Trip Redux

When I was a kid we used to go camping in a 1972 Prowler trailer. The first thing my older sister and I did when we arrived was go exploring on our bikes. If it was too hilly we would find a walking stick and hike off into the woods. And we always found some other adventurous kids to play or fight with. After dark we read our comic books by flashlight or played board games for entertainment.

My clean-freak mom had lots of rules. We were NEVER allowed in the trailer with our shoes on and could only use the toilet for emergency number ones. Showers (and number 2's) meant walking to the campsite's public restrooms. The trailer had an oven and stove, but it was mostly used to heat water for washing dishes. I think we ate a lot of sandwiches.


Wednesday my husband, the kids and I returned from a short camping trip in that old trailer. The inside has been updated with new curtains and seat cushions (think Brady Bunch decor) but nothing else has changed. In fact, I was teasing my husband that the kitchen was nicer than mine at home.


I have a little of my mother in me and insist that the boys "respect" the trailer.
They don't always have to remove their shoes, but they do have to clean up after themselves. The stove gets used and the oven would too, but we can't get it to work. Maybe it never did.


Happily, some things never change. The boys passed the time riding their bikes, throwing knives (okay, it's a boy thing), and playing board games. Just like we did in the old days.


-Lela

Dear Driver...

The road is a scary place, people.

And I, of course, have a few things to say about that.

Dear Driver...

* Please do not act like you HAVE to move in front of me RIGHT NOW, only to put on your brakes and slow my progress down. Especially when there were SIXTY FIVE car lengths of space behind me for you to move into!

* I understand that some of you might not like to go fast. You may feel that 60mph (the posted speed limit) is too fast for your comfort zone. For you, I have two words: Stay Home Side Streets. Stay off the freeway. Please. Your fear is a recipe for disaster.

* And for those of you who think that 61mph is too far over the 60mph speed limit, I also have two words for YOU: Right Lane. You know, the whole "slow vehicles stay right" thing. It's the considerate thing to do. I have no problem with you if you are where you belong.

* You who drank your dinner. I watched you bounce back and forth across your lane for a few miles. I bolted past you when you drifted onto the shoulder, as I didn't want to be behind you when you crashed. And I slowed down getting off my exit so I could get your license number as you passed. However, when you got off the exit behind me, I high tailed it out of there as fast as possible because I was scared you would slam into the back of me. I pray that if you wrapped your car around a utility pole, that you did not injure or kill anyone else. Driving after drinking is the most selfish act you have done.

* You in the flashy sports car at the stoplight. Engine revving does not impress me. Sorry. Yes, I know your car is a Ferrari. I see that and I don't care. You either make too much money, or spend too much money, or both, though I'm happy for you if your car makes you happy. Your loud engine interrupted the song I was listening to, though. I love Dave Matthews - don't mess with me when I'm listening.

I saved the best (worst) for last -

* You, who ignored the "Two Right Lanes Closed Ahead - Move Left" signs for the last two miles, and then expected us to let you over in front of us, when we'd been doing the slow crawl because we followed the signs.... NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. I'm a passive defensive driver in most instances, but YOU, my friend, are NOT getting over in front of me. And my day was made when ALL THREE of the drivers in front of me felt the same way and wouldn't let you in either. Even though you nearly hit one of them trying to force the issue. Ha!

Okay, then. Everyone be safe on the roads. Be courteous. We can all get along. Promise. And try not to flash too much sign language to the above drivers, if you know what I mean.


***Ally

Blast From The Past - Part 2

Successfully attending your high school reunion can take some finesse.

Especially when the high school you went to was a little rough around the edges. Let's just say we drew a wide population.

In addition, and more importantly, we graduated in 1985. That means we were in high school for the first half of the 80's. Reagan was president. There was bad hair - big hair, with lots of curling irons and bad perms. For instance, someone with incredibly thick, naturally curly hair (that would be ME) has NO BUSINESS sporting a perm. There were also bad mullets. 'Nuff said.

There were bad clothes. It was the early to mid 80's. Seriously, have you looked at those styles? Ugh. There were lots and lots of Camaros. And they weren't the cool ones. (My husband, who graduated in '79 disagrees wholeheartedly on this point.)

There was bad music - arguable, depending on what you were listening to. We had everything from the rockers, the punk-rockers, the new-wavers, to disco that was turning into 80's dance music.

We were looking in my old yearbook and I was pointing out some friends my husband knows now. He kept saying, "Wow, she looks a lot better now." He finally said, "Yeah, you all look a lot better now." Thanks, Sweetie. That's okay. I include myself in all of the above 80's scariness.

Let's just say we've come a long way, baby.

In reality, many of the girls I graduated with look fantastic today. Of course, we will probably look back and laugh at those pictures, and today's styles, in another 20 years.

There are always a few that make you shake your head, though.

*There is always one guy who shows up that blows everyone away. At our 20 year, it was the skinny punk rocker from high school that was totally hot. This time it was the guy who grew 6 inches after high school, who is now a super intense free spirit, attending 10 day retreats taking vows of silence.

*The four (yes, four) guys who showed up in sleeveless wife-beater type tank tops. Apparently, 25 years after 1985, those are still appropriate attire for social events in some places.

*The drunk who still acts 16, making perverse sexual theatrics at married women (jokingly, but still!!!) Embarrassingly, I've known him since we were five.

*The girl who walks in and still doesn't talk to anyone. Some things never change.

*The guy that looks the gals up and down, commenting on how great they look, all the while having the creepy uncle look on his face. Ewww.

All in all, I totally admit to a fun weekend with some great friends, both current and old. It was great to see some of those faces again and catch up. And I attended without a mullet or over-curled hair, without a polka dot mini skirt or stretch pants that stretched out in the knees when you sat down, and without a Camaro (though I wouldn't mind the 2010 model!!)

...but we did listen to some of that bad music... fun flashbacks!

***Ally

Blast From The Past - Part 1

This last weekend was our 25 Year High School Reunion.

Okay, yes, I realize just I dated myself there. No 'old' jokes.

Immediately following the 20 year reunion, held five years ago, I distinctly remember crawling into bed and telling my husband, "They really should just have one big casual night. Drop the golf scramble, the Friday night casual night, the Saturday night main event night and the Sunday family picnic day. That's just way too much time with people we didn't stay in touch with in the first place!" (I know that sounds rude, but really?) And the casual night is so much fun - everyone is laid back, relaxed and has a blast.

Of course, the gal that planned it this time planned for ALL of those events again. I attended only the Friday & Saturday night events. While I should not complain about her (the planner), because I certainly did not step up to offer to plan (or help plan), my snarkiness wins out and I MUST complain:

*You cannot rely on facebook alone to spread the word of a reunion. Some folks do not feel like they have time to spy on everyone's daily lives on fb. I do, but that's beside the point. You will miss many, many people that should have been contacted.

*You cannot plan these kinds of events and act as if you are "hosting" them. Put the pieces together and then step back and let it happen.

*You should not order more plates of food than you have had people RSVP for. If someone shows up last minute, past the deadline you clearly set, too bad. They were probably just coming for the booze and didn't want to eat anyway.

*And when you DO order more food than you had money for and you realize at the end of the evening that you are several hundred (okay, five hundred) dollars short on the required minimum amount you agreed to with the bar, you look like an idiot when you stand up and announce you are taking donations to try to make up the difference. And DO NOT proceed to pass a plastic up for said donations while your sidekick counts the bills.

*It is probably not appropriate for you to sit on a different guy's lap in every group picture shot. Especially with your husband in the room.

*You make people uncomfortable when you post every picture you take to facebook practically AS you are taking them. Can you say EDIT?

*You are not required to post a personal message on the facebook page of every. single. attendee., thanking them for their attendance and telling them how great it was to see them.

Okay, time for a little background. I've known the 'planner' since I was five. And I do, in fact, give her credit for stepping up. But she still makes me roll my eyes.

And Saturday night when I crawled into bed, I told my husband, "They really should just have one big casual night and drop the rest." He asked if I was going to volunteer to plan it next time. Touché.

Nah, I can go with the flow with whatever gets planned.

***Ally

PS- Lela couldn't fly up and attend with me. I missed having her there, but I kept her posted throughout.

Still A Baby... Sort Of

My almost 16 year old son had his impacted wisdom teeth taken out this week.

First time for anesthesia.

First time for pain medication stronger than Advil.

He had a really hard time waking up from the procedure - a combination of anesthesia and a double dose of anti-nausea medication, since he comes from a long line of pukers and has a history of getting sick from the nitrous gas at the dentist office. (Yes, he really did.)

Anywho, he was pretty out of it. They finally let us take his loopy butt home and we settled him on the couch with ice packs on his cheeks.

We had to make sure he ate when he had his pain medication - soft foods: pudding, yogurt, smoothies (no berry seeds), milkshakes. He was pretty weak and shaky, so there I was, spoon-feeding him and having throw back maternal moments to his toddler hood.

I don't care how old or big they get, they are still your baby when they are sick or hurting.

After spoon-feeding him his pills in pudding, and having a moment where I felt like he was just a toddler again, he announced he had to go to the bathroom. He got up and walked is 5'9'' ripped, muscular self to the bathroom.

That was one of the weirdest moments of my life. Where did this man-child come from? Just seconds before I had felt like he was just a baby again!

Freaky parenting moment.

***Ally

What's Under Your Seat?

I went to Ikea today to buy cute containers to store all of my crap. Some of my crap includes my vast collection of Sharpie markers. My mom says to store them in old jelly jars. The problem with that is the jelly I use comes in a squeeze bottle. Could it be that my mother thinks I make my own jelly? Naw.

Anyway, I was in my car in the Ikea parking lot making a list of crap I didn't want to forget and I dropped my favorite pen between the seats. My car is pretty clean. Not as clean as my one friend's jeep that gets professionally washed and vacuumed out once a week, but cleaner than my friend's van that smells like sour milk and dirty diapers. I am happily somewhere in between the two so although I wasn't happy to stick my hand between the seats into the unknown, I wasn't scared either.


Here's what I found: one Ibuprofen; one mysterious blue pill; one Frito; and one tiny, plastic, pink Barbie shoe. What the heck? I have a teenage son and an adult stepson. No little girls have ever ridden in my car. Where did I get a pink Barbie shoe?


Weird.


My husband has some explaining to do.


-Lela

Blame It On Our Youth

Ally is here in California and we have been reminiscing about our high school days in the 80's. Permed mullets and chiffon prom dresses aside, we were pretty hot. But, we have to admit we were both a little naive at times back then. Here is a list of things we did in high school that really made us laugh (and cringe).

1. If a boy asked us out we said yes even if we didn't like them. It never occurred to us that we could politely decline.

2. Unfortunately, rule #1 also applied to kissing said boys.

3. Jumpsuits. Striped. With the collar flipped up. (That was Ally, not me.)

4. Hydrogen peroxide is NOT a good substitute for natural highlights. (That was me, not Ally.)

5. Waistbands were really high. Like, 18 inches from crotch to button.

6. Why didn't we wear socks with our shoes?

7. It is not necessary to get a perm just because everyone else is doing it. It didn't look good on anyone else, either.

8. When it comes to eyeliner, less is more.

9. Plastic bead necklaces and jelly shoes.

10. Those guys we had crushes on in high school that broke our hearts? They couldn't hold a candle to our awesome husbands.

R.H.S. Class of 1985,

Lela and Ally

Voice Over

We just joined the world of GPS. I know, better late than never.

But since I was going to be driving around L.A. by myself this last weekend, in unfamiliar areas, my husband thought the time was right to dive in and by a GPS.

This is what I have to say about that:

I have finally made friends with "Lee" the American English Male voice. After being annoyed by both an American Female voice and a British Female voice. But Lee hasn't let me down getting me where I need to go, even though he says "right" in a barely understandable way.

What do I want?

I want a voice that sounds like Matthew McConaughey. Currently his voice is wasted on beef commercials. And it would be put to much better use keeping me company while I drive.

Just sayin'.

***Ally

That's What I Get

I am not supposed to shop at Walmart. Due to unfair labor practices, crappy merchandise, and incompetent employees, my husband and I really don't go there.

Unless I am desperate.

So, today I went there to look at the bedding. I need a new comforter or quilt for my bed and I am running out of affordable options. I left my son in the car, eating a burger and fries, and promised to be back in a few minutes. Sure enough, I found a beautiful quilt and there was only one left. I wrote down all the information about it, thinking I could go online and buy it somewhere else. Is that cheating?

I headed back to my car and before I slid into the driver's seat I stepped in a melted wad of chewing gum. It made a green, gooey, bridge from the pavement, to the bottom of my flip-flop, to my car mat. Mother F!

"Quick, get me a napkin!" I yelled at my son. Of course there were none in the glove compartment. All I had were the leftover, ketchup-smeared ones from his lunch.

The car was freakin' hot. I was trying to scrape mint flavored gum off my shoe with a napkin soaked in grease and ketchup. The smell was making me gag.

All I could think of was, "That's what you get for going to Walmart."

-Lela

Bathroom Blues (and Greens)

My dream car is a '57 Chevy in that retro, turquoise green color. Since I can't afford the car I decided to paint my master bathroom that color.

I am kinda embarrassed to tell you that I paid $50 for a gallon of paint, and that was with a $5 off coupon! The nice lady at the paint store told me about this new Benjamin Moore paint that goes on matte, but is guaranteed to stand up against steamy, damp bathrooms.

I'll take it!

And it was like butter. I knew it would be for that price. What's another 50 bucks when you have already spent thousands (and 5 months) on a bathroom remodel (that still has a long way to go)?

Now, I am no amateur when it comes painting. I did my color research with paint chips, painting sample colors on all four walls, and observing how the paint changes in the light.

Then how come when I open the door to my bathroom I feel like I am submerged in the deep end of a swimming pool? It is shockingly greenish-blue. What happened? Every time my husband opens the door he says, "Wow." And not in a good way.

But I paid a lot of money for that buttery can of paint and I am not changing it, by God! On the bright side, it will really wake you up in the morning. And maybe my husband won't want to take those leisurely dumps any more--he'll want to get out of their quick before the walls give him a headache.

Hopefully it will tone down once we get the vanity and mirrors in there. It'll be fine, right?

Until then, I am keeping the door closed.

-Lela

Why Can't I Leave On Time?

First let, me clarify. "On time" to me means early. At least as it applies to going to work.

Let me also say that I often start work later in the morning - 10am usually.

I leave a ridiculous amount of time to get ready in the morning, which includes enough time to actually sit and eat my breakfast, check my email, etc.

Then I allow myself an hour to drive to work, a drive that can take anywhere from 35-45 minutes depending on traffic. That leaves me at least 15 minutes to get my head on straight before I start working with people all day.

So why am I always leaving 10-15 minutes after I intend to? Argh! I never used to be like that.

I think I actually leave myself TOO much time. I get comfortable with my time cushion. I think of things to go tell my husband, tell my son. I think of things that I need to do around the house. I sort laundry. I see something that needs cleaning. I DON'T STAY ON TASK.

Ridiculous. Backwards. Silly.

I think tomorrow I'll try something new - I'll get more sleep and leave less time for "other things" while I get ready for work!!

***Ally

Post It Note Tuesday

If you want to play along, check out SupahMommy's site.

Memoir Monday - Camping With Wild Animals

Travis at I Like To Fish started Memoir Monday.
Check out Travis' blog, if you haven't...



... so here's another moment from the past.


I've mentioned before that we USED to camp.

We were camping with friends. Three families in all. The campground sites were somewhat terraced on a slope, so each tent site sat just below the next.

It was late - campfire time. My son was a bit younger and tired, so after s'mores, we put him to bed in the tent, zipped up tight and snuggled in his sleeping bag. We joined our friends at their campfire at their site just below ours. We could still see the back side of our tent, and could certainly see anyone walking or driving on the road/drive.

But then there was a strange noise from the far side of our campsite above us. Was that an animal?! The mama-bear instinct in me took over and we all went running with flashlights. Who were we kidding? It was freaking DARK out there!! What was it? A coyote? A bear? A mountain lion? Did we even have mountain lions there? Did we have bears around there?

Of course, we saw nothing. And my son was sound asleep exactly where he should have been. Still, I was a bit uncomfortable with the whole thing and suffering from major mama guilt at the thought that there COULD have been something right outside the tent where my child lay. I decided it was time to hit the sack and zipped myself into the tent.

The next morning, I let myself out of the tent while my husband and son continued sleeping. And what did I see? A large pile of... large-animal poop. Three feet from our tent. Holy shit! There really HAD been a wild animal outside the tent where my son was sleeping.

Major parent fail. Not a shining moment.

Yet another reason I camp a whole lot less than I used to.

***Ally