Before this version of The Bowery Girl, I had another blog, which still floats around “out there”. From time to time I’ll link in some of my favorite posts; it’s called recycling folks, it’s trending….
http://thebowerygirl.blogspot.ca/2010/05/give-or-take-inch.html
http://thebowerygirl.blogspot.ca/2010_05_01_archive.html
Can’t believe it will be three years this week! Congrats LS and C2!!!
There is a new swear word in our house.
G.L.U.T.E.N.
For the past few months, The Big Guy has noticed a bit of a pattern in his health and well being. Due to a suggestion from a work colleague, he decided to go off bread, specifically for the gluten component. He had an immediate response. In a positive way!
So we expanded on the experiment. Ironically, our nephew is gluten intolerant, but we didn’t really understand what that meant. A couple hours of online research gave us a crash course. Firstly, gluten is the glue of human food. IT. IS. EVERYWHERE!!! I challenge you to find a bread, cracker, cereal, or dessert that doesn’t have gluten in it. And if you do, please let me know what it is. Unfortunately, The Big Guy is a Big Lover of all things bread. And cake. And crackers with a smear of cheese. And bread. Did I mention bread? He used to rate Stag and Does based on the “quality” of the kaiser buns and handmade sandwiches he would make with them.
Big bread fan.
However, if that weren’t enough, gluten is in sauces (salad dressings, Worchestshire sauce, marinades and bbq sauce), snack foods (granola bars, pretzels) and pasta (KD?!?!?). This has not only rocked his lunch box, but is has kicked the crap out of my meal planning regimen. I’m not even going to discuss now long it now takes me to find my way through the grocery store, reading the labels on every single product!!
This introduced me to a whole new division of the grocery store – specialty foods! Mind you, I only have a limited selection in the area I living in, so now I’m keeping an eye out at just about every major grocery and bulk food store.
I started with these;
The muffin mix was $4 and change. They went over well.
The cake mix was $5. It was not. Imagine the delicious smell of brownie, followed by the the most dried out, tasteless brownie you have ever had the misfortune of eating. It was worse that that. Yum.
Along with these purchases, I invested in white rice flour, brown rice flour and tapioca flour. And a cookbook. Then I looked into a line of credit to afford this….
This pasta better cook itself, cuz it put me back $10. I now understand why my nephew claims to be the poorest student on campus. While his peers live on spaghetti and other cheap pastas, he’s paying almost as much in rent as he is for his weekly food bill!
Ironically, this past weekend my Dad found this –
…which apparently I’m going to have to drag The Big Guy to, if for no other reason, than I can learn how to cook for him again!
Until then, I expect A LOT more swearing.
These conversations actually happened in my house.
Honestly, I can’t make this stuff up…..
Second Born Son: Having a girlfriend is expensive.
Me: How do you know this?
SBS: Everybody knows this!
Me: (Ok, I’ll indulge him) Hmm. So how is having a girlfriend expensive?
SBS: You have to buy the gifts for their birthday, for Christmas, Valentine’s Day. So I’ve figured it out.
Me: Oh, have you?
SBS: Yup. I’m going to break up with them. Right before their birthday or Christmas or Valentine’s day.
Me: Oh, you think that’s going to work?
SBS: Yup. Then I won’t have to buy them any presents.
Me: Well, I think that’s only going to work for you once or twice, then the word is going to get out.
SBS: What word?
Me: That you are a lousy boyfriend!
Followed by this gem…
First Born Son: I think I’ve figured out the Valentine’s Day thing.
Me: What’s that?
FBS: It’s not what you do on the 14th that counts…
Me: Ok… (I’ve got some hope here!)
FBS: Ya, it’s what you do on the 15th! And besides, everything is on sale then!
I can see I have my work cut out for me!
There was a conversation about my sons earlier this week. The person I spoke with made a profound comment.
“Your sons are just perfect.”
My heart sank.
Crazy, right? Mothers around the world would love to have their offspring branded as “perfect” and yet all I can think is “NOOOOO!” I thanked her and dismissed the comment at the same time. After all, there is no way IN. HELL. that my kids are perfect. Their mother certainly isn’t.
I’ve had issues with that word, that concept, for a while now. I don’t believe in “perfect”. Perfect is limiting, unattainable, and damaging. Lifetimes have been wasted in the quest for perfection. It’s a conversation I’ve had with The Big Guy throughout our relationship. He’s a big believer in “perfect”. As you can imagine, it makes for interesting chit chat.
The perfect couple, right? WRONG!
He is driven by details, and is brutally hard on himself. He pours over the fine points. I am deadline driven. I can accomplish a huge amount in a very short period of time. Together we are a great combination, even if we don’t come from he same point of view. Perfection is something he values, and I’m still wondering why he ever wanted to be with me since I know that I don’t rank very high on the Perfect Scale. Nor would I care to.
You learn so much more from a mistake. I don’t want perfect children. They would be very uninteresting. They are better prepared for life with the flaws that they have and learning how to overcome or embrace them.
Perfection is a relative term. My idea of a perfect evening could be pjs, a bowl of popcorn, a great movie and a blanket to cuddle under. Yours might be an evening at a restaurant with friends. Which is actually perfect? Is my vision wrong because it doesn’t match yours? My definition the following night could very well change. Was my first night not “perfect” because I picked a new “perfect” the next time?
THAT’S more like it!
Once perfection is achieved, which in and of itself is almost impossible for the majority of us, the next mammoth task is to maintain perfection. Any less is failure, which perfectionists know full well, is the antithesis of perfection.
Now please don’t misunderstand, I believe in putting your best effort forth. I think its important to have a personal best. I have looked a photographs I have captured, which at the time were my best, and now I can do better. It’s about growth and the continued development of me. Tomorrow I will do better than I did today, just as I am better today than I was yesterday.
Perfection is uninteresting, predictable. Perfection is the starting place of downfall and disappointment.
Give me flawed, real, genuine. It speaks to me and is a far better motivator.
I have had a love/hate relationship with my hair for a long time.
Growing up, I had long hair. Think waist length. My parents loved it. Both Little Sister and I would go years between trims and I can remember how exciting it was, that I might get a hair “style”, but no. It was just a trim of dead ends. I begged for shorter hair like some of my friends. I was told I could cut my hair when I was “older”.
Lookin’ like I just fell off the buggy….
Hair as thick as a horse’s tail and would give me a headache when it was up in a ponytail. My friends had adorable shags, bowl cuts, perms. I had brown-blonde hair. Although my mother will swear on a stack of bibles that I am a blonde.
I enjoyed some relief in Grade 9 when I was sophisticated enough to trim off some length.
WHOO – HOO. Trimmed all the way up to my shoulders. Daring!!!
I must have forgotten to book my back to school trim, because I have a mane full of hair again the next year.
Holy Nelly, the girl has bangs. Or is that fringe? Or just a sad excuse of….oh forget it. Like those “bangs”.
In fairness, I should mention, I did have braids, the occasional bun and was the proudest owner of the largest barette collection this side of my sister’s room.
At some point in my later secondary school career, I sported the Wilson Phillips; that is the same chop job sported by Chyna Phillips. Somehow, I didn’t look as good as she did. Now I know it is because she has fine, thin hair, and mine, uh, isn’t. So it grew back out once more and by the time I was in college, it was long. Again.
I waited until after my graduation photos were taken, and hacked it off again. The only thing that consoled my father was that he had the photo of me with “normal” looking hair.
Not long after that, I became engaged, and thought long hair sure would be helpful if I wanted to sport a bun with the very chic and simple veil and headpiece I had in mind. Two years later, I had the hair I needed. Two days after the wedding, I step off a plane in the Caribbean and my hair went up four dresses sizes. I couldn’t do anything with it. I had also neglected to pack a trunk for all my barettes.
With my new husband in tow, I found a fellow passenger whose coif I fancied and asked her to help me. We found a hair dresser and he cut off my hair. From that point on, the honeymoon was a blast and I needed A LOT less conditioner.
My return home was less smooth, as Little Sister, who had just completed her training as a hair stylist, was severely annoyed that I dared to let someone else tame my tresses. She finally forgave me when I agreed to let her put highlights in my hair.
“Don’t do it!” my mother warned. “You’ll end up coloring your hair!”
I scoffed. A couple of well placed touches of sunlight couldn’t possibly hurt. Two years later, I’m blonde. Like the blonde my mother thinks I’ve always been. Like, Marilyn Monroe and I finally have something in common.
In the years following, the longest I got my hair was to my shoulders. I couldn’t imagine letting it grow any longer. My hair was a rainbow of colors from red, to black and even blue. When I worked in the entertainment business, my hair became somewhat of its own persona. People discussed it, admired it and actually anticipated seeing me again, just to find out what color it would be. In my current position, my coworkers could give a rat’s ass what color my hair is.
Over the summer, with my “blonde” look matching my sunny disposition with the warmer weather, I watched my roots grow out. I wondered what colour my hair was, exactly. After another trip to see LS, this is what we got…
Something special in here!
Perhaps you can’t see it on this side, or the blonde tips are blurring your vision. Let’s try again.
I don’t like to call it “grey”; I prefer “platinum”!
When I was 19 I noticed a patch of grey, which obviously spread and took residence on the rest of my cranium. Reaction to this new do has been mixed.
The Big Guy doesn’t get a vote. I told him that since I don’t get a vote on whether or not he loses hair, he doesn’t get to comment on my silver follicles.
First Born Son was very supportive. He liked the idea that this was my “real” color. He thinks I should keep it like this.
Second Born Son, however, thinks it ok. He doesn’t want it to be a permanent move though.
“You have to color your hair, Mom!” he declared.
“No, I don’t, actually,” I replied.
“But your hair, it’s your….THING!” he said. “People know you because you color your hair!”
While he most definitely overstates this, I can’t help but think it might be novel to actually move away from coloring my hair and just stick with what I “am.”.
Who knows, maybe the next thing will be waist length locks!?
Highly unlikely.
I think it is an unspoken law of blogging that one takes off the summer months, if not cut back the number of entries. In my case, I tried to pack as many things into each day as humanly possible.
It’s hard to believe that with the return of back to school and fall routines, that it was only two months ago that we were admiring First Born Son’s gardening abilities.
While the lettuce was impressive, his corn and sunflowers are MASSIVE. He entered the sunflowers in the local Fall Fair and won third. The tallest stalk was 10’4 ft so I cannot imagine how tall the winning entry was!!! I’m waiting to get sick of eating corn, since its on the table every night. Hasn’t happened yet!
It was a nice hot summer for swimming at Mom & Dad’s pond. I’m not sure who enjoyed it more, the kids, or Roman!! On a related note: this was one of the few activities Second Born Son could actually take part in – so he spent a lot of time in the water. His are is healing well and we go back down to the specialist in October for an update. This could be an ongoing pattern for a while.
While you saw M&M’s photos, her sister, Lil’ O also played softball and we loved watching her year-end tournament. “The power is strong in that one, master!!” So nice to see the kids enjoying ball. Now if we could do something about the nut-job adults who organize their teams….SIGH.
FBS had a great season playing ball. It was great to see a team of players who wanted to play ball, and not simply signed up because of their parents. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a lot of structure to the team, and they didn’t perform well overall. “There’s always next year!”
SBS was my little fish this year. Since swimming was considered good therapy for his arm, and we normally do swimming lessons through to the end of elementary school, he enrolled at the local pool. PARENTING TIP: Try to get your child into swimming during the summer Olympics. I wish I had video of SBS splashing at himself and getting psyched like the big boy swimmers. HeeLARrious!!!!
What summer is complete without a wedding? It was a beautiful July day when this lovely couple made it legal. The painful part, to me anyway, is that I USED TO BABYSIT THE BRIDE! That’s right. That gorgeous creature you see there – I used to feed her snacks and keep her and her deliciously chubby little brother entertained. He’s not longer chubby and she’s beautiful. I’m taking all the credit.
Then there was the cottage. Easily the highlight of the summer. Due to the time restraints dictated by work, Lil Sis and I decided to split a week. She took the girls and our parents up from Monday to Wednesday. We all enjoyed Wednesday together, then she took her crew home, and my family stayed on until Friday. HEAVEN! Even when the weather was poor, it was nice to just be together and not have to do anything. This beach has special meaning for me and The Big Guy, since it is where he proposed. I love the fact that the cottage was on the beach, so we didn’t have to load anything up to enjoy the water!!!
I love how this summer turned out; with birthdays and sunshine and being outside. I just need two more months!!!
Because the when I look back, some of my best times are with you….
Because in some of my most challenging times, you are the first one to step up for me…
Because your first reaction in dealing with anything, is to laugh…
Because after 19 years, I’m not sure I’d want to train someone else…… KIDDING!!!!!!
Love you lots Big Guy. Happy Anniversary!
*For those of you haven’t given up on me – THANKS!!! I will be back in a week so we can all catch up!
I saw my first stripper when I was 15.
I’ll give you a moment to grab your jaw. It’s over there, on the floor.
To clarify, the guy was an impromptu addition to a 50th Birthday Party for one of my dad’s coworkers. I was asked to provide music for the party since I had an enviable collection of music, and let’s face it, the BEST person to spin tracks for a 50-year-old is a 15-year-old. Yup – that’s sarcasm. It was during that event that it was revealed that a certain “special” aspect of fete was being thrown in. Before you knew it, some oiled up muscle man was bumping and grinding his way around the birthday girl.
She loved it. I was somewhat repulsed and yet secretly thrilled that he left his thong on. After all, my parents were in the room.
So perhaps I’ve had a more liberal outlook on these topics, but I was really taken aback by a posting by a fellow blogger I happen to have read last night. Usually I enjoy her take on parenting, being a young mother and family life in general, but yesterday’s entry gave me pause. I’m not going to share a link because frankly, I don’t want to give a platform to the kind of blather she was dishing.
In short; she thinks I’m going to hell, and that my marriage is doomed.
Cuz I’m going to see Magic Mike tomorrow night.
Helloooooooo There!
Her take on this is that by watching a movie (she doesn’t name it specifically) I will open the door for Satan to pervert my mind. I won’t be able to help myself from comparing my relationship with my husband with the relationship I would wish for with one of the characters in the movie. She then stated it was part of the bigger issue facing society today, the break down of the family, blah, blah, blah.
This must be some flick! I just thought it was about a bunch of guys who made loads of cash dancing for women. What power this movie must have!!!
She then went on to throw 50 Shades of Grey under the bus. Again, not being strong enough on point to name the book, she references the pop culture following “a certain book” has, and looks down her nose at the idea of a book discussing sexuality, as being something lowly and sinful. Can you say “Repressed?”
I then thought about how I would feel if The Big Guy was going out to see strippers with his friends. Nothin. No issue. No beef. We’ve actually laughed at how NOT jealous we are of each other. Perhaps we are too secure in our relationship (is that possible?) but I’ve pointed out good-looking women to him, and he’s shared his perspective of my admiration of various specimens of various males of the species. Isn’t it a GOOD thing that we don’t get wound up about each other’s appreciation for the option sex??
The blogger then draws a comparison, saying women should not see Magic Mike or read 50 Shades of Grey because they would be up in arms if their husbands went out to a movie about female strippers or a book that glorified sex from a male’s perspective.
Instantly, the following rebuttals came to mind;
1. We’d better get every beer commercial off television.
2. Somebody better tell the music community that women dressed in anything less than habits are evil and any dancing more risqué than the box step in a rap video will get you a first-class ticket to hell.
3. Survivor, Big Brother and every other reality TV show that allows women to flaunt their T&A is responsible for the erosion of the family unit.
4. Victoria’s Secret Angels are actually the minions of Satan (envision Church Lady saying this!).
Until then, I fully plan on enjoying Magic Mike with my sister, and perhaps my niece. After all, she is 16.
P.S. I didn’t really think I had time for more reading material, but I think I might make the exception and look up 50 Shades of Grey; since I’m already going to hell in a hand basket.
I know I have a long way to go when it comes to raising kids. With a 14-year-old and an 11-year-old, I can look forward to at least 5-10 more years of in-house parenting. And that’s if they both promise they won’t move into the basement after college/university or refuse to move out in the first place.
In all seriousness, when you first look at your child, and think of what the goal is down the road, it’s pretty simple. You want them to be happy, fulfilled and independent people.
The problem is, if you do a really GOOD job, it can come back and bite you in the butt. Because you’ll really like them and as independent as you’ve made them, you’ll want them around. It’s a given you will LOVE your children, but it’s a wonderful thing to actually LIKE them.
Take for example, Lilly. She is beautiful, kind, whip-smart, and adored. Her parents raised her to be all of these things, and more. Now, she’s about to embark on an amazing journey that is taking her far away from her family and friends. She will have her significant other – Prince Charming, and they will start an exciting new life together. But her parents are torn. How to be happy for her so far away when they’d far prefer to have her close by?
It’s easy to say you want your child to be independent. Doesn’t everyone want their offspring to be everything they themselves want to be? But what if that means they will take their light, and shine somewhere far away from you? Lilly’s Prince Charming has a wonderful opportunity out West. He is young and talented and most certainly will be a huge success with this new posting.
So when we found out PC asked her to move out West with him, there were two thoughts packed into one emotion – Oh-that’s-aweseome-I’m-so-excited-for-her/Oh-shit-she’s-leaving-that-sucks-for-us!
I’m dead serious. One thought. Crammed in my head. I’ve got a very small head.
We will miss her huge smile and her willingness to cuddle Roman, as well as play the 16th consecutive hand of UNO. We are selfish and we miss her already and she only left this morning!!!
But the Golden Rule of parenting, which one learns as one goes along, is that raising a child is not about what YOU want for your CHILD. It’s about you supporting and nurturing that child to find what they need to be in their own life. You don’t get to be selfish as a parent. You can’t force your life plan on your child – at least not if you want them to be happy and save the funds you would otherwise need for therapy.
With this in mind, Lilly’s parents have not only done an amazing job in raising her, which has brought her to a place in her life where she is capable and strong enough to take on this new challenge, but they are giving her the greatest of gifts by supporting her decision, even though their hearts may feel otherwise.
I hope I can be as selfless when the time comes.
Good Luck Lilly!!!!!!
BREAKING NEWS ~ BREAKING NEWS ~ BREAKING NEWS
Lilly called me this morning to tell me she was on the road with Prince Charming. I was touched she thought of us as she headed out (and I could tell her I had already written three-quarters of this entry) but even more thrilled with the news she gave me — THEY ARE ENGAGED!!!! Congratulations to Lilly and Prince Charming. You will have your Happily Ever After!!!
Wanna see something sexy?
I mean something that gets you really turned on?
Brace yourself….
….
….hope you can handle this…
….
Don’t say I didn’t warn ya!
It's the suds, I'm telling' ya!
The cleaning of the truck was followed by the cleaning of the inside of the truck, which was followed by an impromptu driving lesson for First Born Son. This was not discussed with me, nor was it endorsed by me. My truck is a standard so The Big Guy thought it would be good practice for FBS.
I refrained from expressing my displeasure because I no longer clean the outside of the truck with my dress pants and don’t have to crawl over gravel once I get in.
Still…totally sexy….
The Bowery Girl 