Lately I’ve found myself swooning over a few of my inanimate objects and when that happens, one must shout about it high from her URL.

First up, the World’s Best Mascara.

I have a thing for lashes. The bigger darker longer, the better. Whenever I get my make-up done I’m all, “I want lashes. BIG ONES! Ones that will tickle the person next to me with a wink.”

Because, you see, when the good Lord was handing out eye lashes, he got distracted when it was my turn. My lashes are a hint, a suggestion of hair on my eyelid. If I had the time and gumption, I’d wear fake eye lashes daily. But since I don’t, I’m constantly on the search for a great mascara.

I think I’ve finally found it.

Besides bleeding and riding in the back of ambulances, Amy and I did a lot of shopping while in Vegas. Did you know you can openly drink cocktails while shopping in Vegas?

I need not say more.

Our favorite store was Sephora. It could have been the beer but it was also where we found this:

“They’re Real!”

I have a tendency to call this mascara, “Get Real!” but even if the name was, “Poop” this mascara would rock. It isn’t cheap ($22.00) but compared to the lash extensions I once flirted with at $140 a pop, it’s a bargain.

This stuff is intense. It even goes on intense. As in it kinda hurts. Not like “having a baby pain” but like “Shit, this brush isn’t messing around.” There are specific directions for application but even if you just slap it on, mama’s got lashes. If you really want to knock your socks off, put on two coats. I dare ya!

The next best thing, also found at Sephora, is this lip balm. Ever had an angel sit on your lips? Me neither because that would be awkward but if I did I imagine it would be like this lip treatment.

Again, it’s kind of pricey ($22.50) for lip balm and when Amy first showed it to me I thought she’d lost her marbles. Until I tried it. People! It’s hard to explain the heaven and smoothness that is this lip balm. It goes on like butter, never would think of clumping (it’s beneath Sugar to clump) I swear it repairs your lips, fights global warming and might have a cure for cancer. You can get it in different shades or just a clear. Either way I promise it will be your go to lip product and make Carmex a curse word in your home.

To prove the power of The Sugar, I let my friend Alex borrow some during a benefit we both attended last Saturday night.  She was so smitten in the middle of dinner she came over to me with the Sephora site up on her iPhone.  “Is this the stuff? Which color do I have on?”

One of my favorite blogs lately is Brittany Herself. She’s the Plus Sized woman’s Robin Hood, by stealing cute outfits from the skinny to give to the curvy. In fact she’s working with Land’s End on a new plus sized line that has nothing to do with picture sweaters or ruffles.

It was through her site that I found eloquii.

The thing I love about this shopping site, other than the fact that they have plus sized clothes without kittens, is their stuff is super cute, great quality, good prices, and trendy.  Also, they have a tool where you can say what shape body you have and then search for clothes that fit that body type.  Ingenious! I also love that they will tell you what size the model is wearing so you can get an idea what it will look like on.

I recently got this top and this one.  and I love them both.

At the time they had free shipping and free returns.  They still have the free returns but shipping is no longer free.  BRING BACK FREE SHIPPING!  They were just online but have already opened stores in Chicago, Indiana and Michigan. Hopefully they are making their way to Madison, WI.

Honorable mention goes to the good people at Simply Bags.  When Robert emailed me and asked if I wanted to try out one of their Big Beach Bags and share my thoughts with my readers, who was I to say no?

With very fast shipping came this cutie pie.

OK so I’m a sucker for things with my name on them but how cute?!  It’s super high quality with a nice lining. And the size?! I tried to fit Eddie in the bag but he was too busy trying to each the handles.  So instead I managed to pack in three beach towels and five bottles of sunscreen.

There was still plenty of room left for a water bottle, trashy magazine or bottle of wine.

So check them out.  They would make a great gift and they have every sort of bag you can imagine.  Beach bags, totes, back packs, lunch bags, cosmetic bags and travel bags.  I didn’t find any bag ladies for sale but other than that, if it’s a bag, they got it.

this picture has nothing to do with anything. I just think Eddie makes everything look better...

Do you have any favorite things that you think I need to check out?  Let me know in the comments. Maybe your favorite thing will appear next time.

Perhaps I could write about the Madison Listen To Your Mother show coming up tomorrow Sunday May 13th 3pm at the Barrymore. However Ann seems it necessary to not cast me yet again this year so she is dead to me.*

Or I could write about how wonderful my mother is but I’ve been there done that for 40 years. So, yawn. **

Maybe I could write about how this adoption experience has strengthen me and made me a better mother. Except it hasn’t. What it has done is turned into a total disaster rather than a joyous occasion. All the wheels have fallen off this wagon and I’m not ready to talk about it yet. Soon but not today. ***

Instead this Mother’s Day post is dedicated to my newest child and our first Mother’s Day together.

My almost one year old is truly a creative genius.

He likes to redecorate the living room before I wake in the morn and make me aware of pillows that he deems unfit. Ones that need to be destroyed immediately.

Thank you for correcting this error, Edison.

yeah, those are his REAL eyes...

Without even trying he creates tumbles upon tumbles of his hair on the hardwood floor. The way they billow and float? Gorgeous work. And don’t even get me started on how fantastic our black clothes look with some white hair detail.

My puppy has even redesigned my clearly failed shoes.

Brilliant. They did need more room, more air! Fashion Star, you have a new contestant.

Edison also is a whiz in the garden. Yes! Please sit on those hostas. They look so much better flat. Why didn’t I think of that? Oh, yes! Eat away the lilies. Yum yum.

look how proud he is of himself. good thing he's cute...

At least, this child of mine was not above making a mother’s day gift for his mama. I know we mothers aren’t supposed to have favorites but…

"Do I have something on my face? Maybe a little something over my eye?"

Whoever said “A dog is a man’s best friend” clearly wasn’t a mother.

May your Mother’s day have less bark and more wag.

______________________

*Obviously I was joking about my Ann who is very much alive to me. I love her dearly and am bursting with pride at how far LTYM has come in just three years and I’ve have been honored to help her with the show for the past two years. If you haven’t bought your tickets yet, there’s still time. You can get them at the door day of show. It’s going to be AMAZING.

**It’s never boring to talk about my sweet Mama who is my best friend, loved me fiercely and made me the mother that I am today. Please don’t blame her for my relationship with my dog.

***Don’t worry. We are all fine.  It’s the legal system that has some serious flaws. Story coming soon. Promise.

After Matt and I were engaged, there were some rumblings from ourselves and others about whether Matt would one day adopt Ben. At the time it seemed too big so we stuck a pin in it until a later date.

As time went on, and regardless of any formal proceedings, Ben starting calling Matt “Dad” on his own long before we were married. And Matt truly become Ben’s father, more than any piece of paper or DNA could prove differently.

That was then.

A few weeks ago Matt and I met with the same lawyer that helped me in 2001 to start the process of Matt adopting Ben. To say this has made all the hearts in my family and friends swell to three times their original size would be an understatement.

And to say that this will be an arduous task is also an understatement.

Because Ben already has a blank space in the “father” column, our lawyer said we could do this on our own. If we wanted to pay him $500 to do the paperwork for us he would take our money but a lawyer wasn’t necessary. (See? They aren’t all snakes.)

Once I started delving into this adventure, I got confused if I was trying to adopt the entire population of Zimbabwe or was just trying to have my husband adopt my son.

We have to go through an adoption agency (luckily we don’t have to wait for a child. I have a great one in mind who’s available with a room already all set up…) which includes a home visit, a substantial fee, a 46 page questionnaire for Matt, a physical for Matt and Ben, copies of our financial statements, insurance, Eddie’s vaccinations and all our Facebook statuses for the past three years. (I’m kidding about the Facebook stuff… although, shit, maybe I just haven’t gotten to that page in the packet yet.)

None of the above includes the Dane County court paperwork, their court fees and the hearing.

Let’s review some facts, mmmkay? Ben is not an orphan. He’s my child. I have 100% legal custody of him. Matt is my legal husband. We have all lived together in harmony for over two years now.

I understand and completely support protecting our children but I did legally marry the guy without anyone seeming to care there was a child in the mix.

Welcome to bureaucracy!

Sure we could forget about all this hassle and continue to live happily ever after as is, BUT, this is worth it. So worth it to all three of us.

This adoption will mean that Matt is legally Ben’s and Ben is legally Matt’s. Ben will be Matt’s heir, if something happens to me there will be no question where Ben goes and the very most important thing that gives me chills and makes me automatically cry… my sweet boy who has never deserved this Jerry Springer life I’ve brought him into, will finally, after twelve years, have a name in that “father” column. Legally and forever.

It was our second day in Vegas, a sunny hot day. We had plans. Oh, so many plans.

First up was some pool time. It was crazy hot, almost 90 degrees; so sunscreen was applied often and dips in the pool frequent. We drank water and margaritas. Well, half margaritas as most of mine spilled and Amy wasn’t a fan of the sugar free drink. Honestly, neither was I so my spilled drink didn’t cause tears.

After we cooked enough, we threw on clothes and headed out for an afternoon of lunch and shopping before our big night out.

We found this amazing Mexican restaurant within walking distance of our hotel. While we devoured chips and salsa, we kept repeating how happy we were. The food was amazing, the day was awesome and we were in VEGAS!

When we finished eating, I went to the bathroom quick before we headed out.

As I sat there peeing, I decided to blow my nose. (multitasking!) I pulled the tissue away to see blood. “No!” I thought, “Not here. Not now!”

Pause for a quick back-story:

I may be mighty I have a very weak nose. I get bloody noses often. Mostly in the winter when it’s dry. I’ve suffered from them for most of my adult life. I’ve had to leave work, been to urgent care once and the ER twice.

This was me on Thanksgiving last year:

They are awful, but I get them to stop.  Most times.

I do not have a brain tumor or sinus cancer, as you were probably thinking. It’s OK. Most everyone does. However the truth is, once you have a nose bleed (on the caliber I have them) you are susceptible to them. I haven’t had my nose cauterized but after my experience in Sin City, I’ll do it myself if my doctor won’t.

So there I am, on the pot, pants down around my ankles and my nose is gushing. It’s not even pretending to clot. The blood is coming out so fast it’s coming out both nostrils and my mouth. (see warning above) I’m 1200 miles away from home, I didn’t bring my purse into the bathroom so I can’t call Amy back at the table, and I don’t know how I’m going to get out of the stall because I can’t take the tissue away from my nose for long enough to pull up my pants.

Somehow I manage to get them up enough to slink out of my stall, with a now bloody shirt and a wad of toilet paper to my nose. A woman sees me and asks, “Are you OK?” I wanted to say, “Fabulous! How are you?” but instead I mutter, “No. Can you get my cousin for me? Her name is Amy…”

Since I’ve now been gone for close to 20 minutes Amy comes in the bathroom on her own accord and sees her cousin looking like Sissy Spacek in Carrie. “What the hell!?!!”

Lots of women come and go (since we are in a women’s bathroom and all) and give me terrible advice like putting my head back (to which I choke on what feels like gallons of blood) putting ice on my nose and massaging my neck. None of it works.

After close to 40 minutes and no stop in site, the management of this poor restaurant closes the restroom and calls 911. At this point I’m losing my shit and in a full blown panic. Which does wonders for the nose bleed and my blood pressure.

Before long Vegas’s finest come tromping into the bathroom. Even though I’m close to being bled out, I come to enough to say, “God, you guys are all so hot!”

I am a wonder, no?

“Are you feeling weak?” they ask me.

“Wa?”

“And dizzy?”

“Si.”

Hot Firefighter #1 holds me up as we walk past the entire restaurant (“Hi everyone! Please don’t mind my bloody face and shirt. Enjoy your meal!”) and onto a stretcher.

As they wheel me into my very first (and hopefully only) ambulance ride I yell, “Please let Amy stay with me. Amy! Call Matt!!”

The paramedics were wonderful! They hooked me up to an IV, fretted over my high blood pressure and told me this is a Vegas tour not everyone gets, all while I’m trying very hard not to vomit. Amy rides up front and somehow figures out my Blackberry enough to call Matt.

When we get to the hospital and the paramedics get me checked in and then they leave. I should have left with them.

Welcome to fabulous Sunrise Hospital’s ER.

As I’m shuffled to one plastic chair to another, I realize I’m not in Kansas anymore.  The staff all seem like they are on their last legs of patience.  I understood this was a very stressful place (all 75 beds were full with more stretchers coming in every 10 minutes) but after I came back from the bathroom and asked if my name was called I didn’t realize I asked if I could poke them all in the eye with a sharp object.

Before too long, I gave blood, got my saline and was seated in yet another plastic chair next to a homeless looking woman who was passed out cold, slumped over in her chair.  Even though she was unconscious I like to think we bonded over having our IV bags hooked up to the same 3M plastic hook on the wall.

Hours passed, when finally a nurse calls me and I felt like I won the lottery.

I’m taken to a bed where the same questions I’ve been asked for the past few hours are asked yet again.

No I didn’t fall.  Yes this has happened before.  No my blood pressure isn’t normally that high.  No I’m not from here.  We are staying at the Mirage.

The doctor comes in surprisingly soon after the nurse leaves.  By now my nose has stopped bleeding which is the reason I assume he didn’t bother to even LOOK AT MY NOSE.  Instead he too is consumed with my blood pressure, which actually wasn’t that high.  He says he’s going to give me something to bring it down and he’ll be back in an hour to check on me.

My last wish from him to get my cousin from the waiting room.  To which he asked, “What’s her name?”
“Amy Ashkenazy.”
“Gee, she’s not Jewish huh?”

The lose of blood and the shock of bedside manner left me speechless.

Seeing my JEWISH cousin after hours of being apart made the hell of this place dissipate.  (no it didn’t)

While we are waiting for many a minute, we not only realize there is a previous tenant’s pee left on the counter…

We are pretty sure this is Rod Stewart's pee. Celebrity siting!

but a crackhead two beds down starts screaming in pain about the holes in her gums while begging for narcotics and a guy in a straight jacket is roaming the halls.

I look at Amy and say, “We have to get out of here…”  She flags down my nurse who I hear say, “I have her insulin right here…”

Whoa.  What?!

The nurse and the doctor come in and I say, “What?  Insulin?  I’m not ON insulin.”

Doctor: You’re blood sugar was very high.  270.
Me: Yeah, because when you took my blood I had just eaten a huge meal.  It was 112 this morning.  Not to mention this has been a very traumatic experience.
Doc: 270 is very high.
Me: Well I’m not taking insulin.
Doc: Your blood pressure is still really high even after that medication.
Me: Which I never got!
Doc to nurse: She didn’t get it?
Nurse: She won’t let me give her anything.
Me: OK.  You know what?  I’m done.  My nose has stopped bleeding, I just want to go.
Doc: I don’t think that’s a good idea.
Me: (taking off my blood pressure cuff and pulse oximeter)  Can you get this IV out of me, please?  Now!
Doc: You’ll have to sign an AMA form.  You are leaving against medical advice.
Me: Where do I sign?

When we got discharged and I happily paid my $50 co pay (I’ve never slapped down fifty bucks so fast in my life. Insert “that’s what she said” joke here.) we hopped in a cab and went back to the hotel.

Where… I had to walk through the gargantuan hotel lobby and entire Mirage casino with a blood stained shirt and a blood clot in my nose that was big enough to wave at people walking by.

Needless to say, Amy and I didn’t go out that night but instead ordered in, took showers and just stared into space about what just happened.

So when people ask me how my 40th birthday trip to Vegas was, I just smile and say, “Memorable.”

p.s. if you’re ever in Vegas and you injure yourself, rub some dirt on it, push that bone back in place and get really drunk to numb the pain.  ANYTHING other than taking a trip to the Vegas ER.

p.p.s. the diagnosis for my nose bleed? I was dehydrated and the desert is very dry.  Bring Vaseline next time.

Greetings from a Las Vegas ER. Wish you were here...

Wordless Wednesday

(this ridiculous story coming soon to a Princess blog near you)

Or, as my nephew in France so nicely informed me, I’m already 40 in Menton.  Yet another reason for a resurgence of Freedom Fries.

A few people have been shocked I’m turning 40 (those people have been added to my will) while others say the 40′s are the best and I’ll love it.

The truth is, I’m not really OK with this.  I, in no way shape or form, feel one bit 40.  Thirty eight? Sure. Forty? No way.

I really liked my 30′s thankyouverymuch.

Ten years ago (just in case math isn’t your strong suit I figured it out for ya) when I turned 30 I was a very single mama with a toddler.  I was excited to turn 30.  It felt right. I’d be mature. Thirty was sexy. Well, that was until I was 30 plus one day and so hungover from the night before I played Sleeping Beauty all day with my son.

A decade later (again with my math. You’re welcome) I’m astonished to be this old.

When I was younger I always looked at 40 as that huge benchmark way off in the future.  I remember sitting with my high school girlfriends and figuring out what year it would be when we were, gasp, FORTY! “2012?! Oh my God! Can you imagine?? Why hasn’t Charlie called yet?”

I’m imagining.  It’s tomorrow.

When I was 25 and in the throws of depression, 40 was my savior.  So far off in the future when I’d have a house, a husband, a kid and a dog.

So I’m here.  And I do have all that.  Which is a wonderful thing because otherwise instead of writing tonight I’d be looking for the tallest bridge in Dane County.

Fine.  I’m 40.  Maybe this age and I just need to sit with each other for awhile.  Have a cold glass of pinot grigio and get to know one another.

Until that time… I’ll walk reluctantly to this new decade with these So Not 40 beauties on my feet.

I may be turning 40 but I'm turning 40 wearing these

Thanks for the memories, 30.   Here’s to you, 40!

one woman said, “I will.”

one boy said, “yeah, OK.”

and one justice of the peace said, “By virtue of the authority vested in me by the State of Wisconsin, as Court Commissioner, but most of all, by the power of your own love for each other, I do now in the presence of these witnesses, pronounce an declare you to be husband and wife.”

It’s a complicated age.

He can stay home alone for over an hour, sit in the front seat of the car, make himself a snack and sometimes dinner (“dinner” being cereal), he can entertain himself.

I’m no longer his hub for amusement. He doesn’t rely on me to play with him or set up his play-dates.  He doesn’t have “play-dates” anymore.  He has “hangouts” that he organizes by texting his friends.

To those mothers with toddlers, this may sound like heaven.  And for awhile it was.

Until one day I realized how much I missed my son.

Missed him with a physical pain.   Sure he was home. Yes, I knew where he was at all times but I wondered when was the last time I really looked into his beautiful hazel eyes.  When had we had a decent conversation not about his homework or what time his soccer game was but how he FELT about school and hell, even soccer.

Mostly the pain was the realization that I was the reason for this divide.  I’m the adult, dammit.  I’m the one that needs to say “Hey, get off the computer/video game/phone and let’s DO something.”   He’s almost twelve.  He wouldn’t stop on his own accord and say, “Mom and Dad, let’s spend some quality time together, yes?”

When you have a child who’s almost twelve you might relish in the quiet until you wake up and see the quiet as lonely and scary. Soon he won’t be almost twelve, he’ll be almost sixteen and really out of arms reach.

Which is why on Sunday morning, after a freak March snowstorm, I declared that my Almost Twelve and I were going sledding.

His face lit up; even more than beating the high score on his latest game.  ”When?  Now?”

So often it’s “later in the afternoon…” which then turns into “Shoot! Sorry.  Tomorrow.”

Which is why I said, “Yes! Now!”

We bundled up in our dusty snow gear and headed for the hill.  We only had one saucer but didn’t want to waste time in Target’s clearance aisle to purchase another.  One would work.  One was perfect.

It was an hour of joy.  Pure happiness that doesn’t happen all the time.

We took turns on our saucer.  Sometimes we piled onto the saucer together like we used to.  I screamed, I laughed, he laughed, he screamed.

When we were finally packing it up, I looked at my boy with his cold colored cheeks, grabbed him close and kissed the top of his head. (An action I soon won’t physically be able to do.)  And the best part?  He let me.  Right out there in the open.

And then he said to me, “You know what my favorite part of his morning was?  Hearing you and all the little kids out there giggle and scream like that. It was the best.”

I knew that I may have lost him in the recent past but he wasn’t really gone.  My sweet boy was right here all along.

And now I know where he is and won’t need breadcrumbs to find my way back to almost twelve.

Linking up with Heather of the EO’s Just Write.

My current workout schedule is as follows:
Monday – yoga
Tuesday – Zumba
Wednesday – like The Creator I need a day of rest
Thursday – Zumba
Friday – unlike The Creator I need more than one day of rest
Saturday morning – Zumba
Sunday – a walk with my husband and dog or sometimes Yoga in the evening.

There are variations some weeks. Sometimes (OK often) Zumba on Thursday doesn’t happen because the class is at 7. And it’s winter. And dark. And cold. And I’m tempted by my couch, family and overloaded DVR. So I opt to walk with Matt and the dog on Friday evening.

Regardless, I’m working out 4-5 days a week. Sometimes 3 but honestly, that’s rare.

My blood sugar levels? They’re AWESOME! I’m back to a year ago when my doctor gave me the key to the Controlled Diabetes city. I haven’t seen anything in the 140′s in weeks. In fact this morning it was 119.

I feel stronger, gone is the weird pain in my right hip, and I can keep up with Matt and Eddie on our hikes at the dog park. Instead of Matt saying “Come on, Honey,” he says “I can tell Zumba and Yoga are working.”

This is where the story should end with the princess taking her svelte body off into the sunset.

Except… (there’s always a but, in this case a large one)

I HAVE LOST A FRICKIN’ POUND!

In fact, I have gained a couple.

All together now, WHAT THE FLUCK!

Please don’t comment that muscle weighs more than fat because yes, I’m stronger but my six pack looks more like a gallon of chocolate milk.

I didn’t just start this exercise routine so please don’t say “it takes time.” I’ve been at this since November!

I’m not eating crap. I am trying very hard to lead a carb light life. I don’t do fast-food (unless it’s a hung over Sunday where I’ll turn green and break out of my shirt unless I get my Sonic). So seriously… what is up?

Should I change up my workout? Throw in a Power Pump class instead of the Thursday Zumba? (Don’t worry, this class is at 6. Which means I haven’t yet turned into a mashed couch potato.)  I thought it was already diverse but what do I know.

Should I cut out ALL carbs?
Do a toxic cleanse?
Cut off my right arm?  I am left handed…

HELP!

I know the number on the scale shouldn’t matter if the rest is going well and I don’t really care the size of my pants but I do care that I’m busting my butt in the gym and yet my butt can still shade small animals.

So tell me dear Internet, what am I doing wrong?

Signed,
Low Sugar High Fat

Since I am now a wise old married woman, I’ve realized that Valentine’s Day isn’t about grand gestures that are then ignored the other 364 days of the year.

Instead, to me, Valentine’s Day is…

• making the best of a two double bed room on your romantic weekend away with your husband because “sorry we don’t have any king sized rooms left.” Giving Dick Van Dyke a run for his money.
• sending a romantic text to your husband on the morning of 2/14: My Valentine’s gift to you is not selling your dog to the highest (or lowest for that matter) bidder. I love you.
  
• spending the evening home with your family rather than sweating it out with a room full of middle aged white women who for one hour a week think they can shake it like Jennifer Lopez.
• giving your son a box of candy in the morning and a twenty dollar bill in a Valentine in the evening because you don’t have your act together enough to have both ready at the same time.
• being so proud of your son for his willingness to share his chocolate with his father.

• baking your boys chocolate chip cookies. Break apart refrigerated dough chocolate chip cookies because you do work full time and see above reason if that doesn’t fly.
• loving yourself enough to realize you put real strawberry jam on your whole wheat morning pb&j wrap instead of the sugar free kind and loving yourself enough to scrape off the interloper jam.

But most of all, Valentine’s day is this…

And that’s all I need.  Maybe some flowers, but other than that, oh and some wine, but really other than those two things, I could use some sugar free ice cream…