You know you want it . . .

It’s that time of year again!

Time for my annual review of the Oscar fashions! Woo hoo! And this year, I’ve extended my reach tremendously! Unlike last year when I had a mere 25 readers, I’ve just about quadrupled that.

(Hello Albuquerque! Yo Richmond Hill, Ontario! Hey Wausau, Wisconsin! And bon jour Saint-Hyacinthe, Quebec!)

Hear me as I channel the genie from Aladdin.

Phenomenal cosmic powers!

OK, totally joking there. But welcome one, welcome all!

So who watched Sunday night? The show? Fairly boring, but the red carpet served up its usual variety of the fabulous and what-was-she-thinkings?

Before I bestow my judgment upon Hollywood’s elite, I must first point out that it appears at least one of them is a loyal reader. I am totally, one-hundred-and-fifty-six-point-nine-eight-four convinced that John Travolta read my blog and stole my husband’s summer haircut.

Mark, July 2007



John Travolta, February 2008



Can you believe that? I mean really, are we talking separated at birth here? Only, I think Mark’s looks better (I do, really; I’m not just saying that because he’s my husband and not some crazy jet-flying, scientologist actor. Mark’s definitely looks better).

However, as hard as he tries, Mark will never quite have Travolta’s famous dance moves. (Sorry honey).



OK, now onto the fashions. Let’s start with something positive.

Jennifer Garner



Dear Jennifer, I am sorry that Gary Busey assaulted you and slobbered all over your neck, but I really can’t blame him. The necklace! The hair! The dress! If I were there, I might have been tempted to do the same thing. Seriously. Mwah!

Helen Mirren



I said it last year, and I’ll say it again, she looks better than most women half her age. I love this color, love the sleeves, love, love, LOVE! Long live the Queen!

Jennifer Hudson



Oy. Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer.

Last year, you walked the red carpet with a giant scrap of tinfoil on your back and this year your boobs look like two basketballs stuffed into a tube sock. How unfortunate. Because really, the rest of the dress is fantastic. The white is gorgeous, the flowy skirt is positively goddess like. But the squashy, mushed up thing going on with your breasts overpowers all of that.

Three words: Fire. Your. Stylist.

Amy Adams



How cute is she? I just want to take her home and bake her an apple pie. (Or maybe she should make me one?)

Kerri Russell



Didn’t this woman just have a baby? Because when I saw her, the first thing I thought of was those commercials about how 35-cents a day will buy a starving child in Africa a bowl of rice and how I really wanted to send her my 35 cents. Good God, eat something! The second thing I thought of: Never match your dress to your skin tone. And the final thing: Stand up straight, you’re on the freakin’ red carpet for cripe sakes!


Colin Farrell



Is Colin having trouble getting work? Because if I didn’t know any better, I swear he’s primed to do one of those Geico caveman commercials.

Tilda Swinton



All I have to say is that it is a REALLY good thing the Oscar is based on talent and not fashion sense. Is that a hefty bag? And the . . . . makeup (or lack of it?) YOU ARE AT THE OSCARS! Put on some freakin’ lipstick and a little powder. Good God, I don’t even go to the grocery store without a little lip gloss. What are these people thinking?!?

Cate Blanchett



Cate is usually one of my favorites, but I just wasn’t feeling it this year. The color is pretty, but the hair is too casual. I’m giving her a free pass, pregnancy makes you do all kinds of crazy stuff. But next year? I’m expecting the usual Cate back.

Anne Hathaway



Last year, I said she was wearing an 80s prom dress. This year, the dress is better, but it looks like a high school dropout from the 80s in her first year of beauty school did her makeup. Le sigh. She’s such a knockout too. Pity.

Johnny Depp



Oh Johnny, you are one entertaining piece of work both on and off screen. I’m chalking this up to either creative genius or you just plain old don’t care. Either way, I still love you.

Penelope Cruz



Heeeellllloooo gorgeous. Now this? Is what the Oscars are all about.

And with that, I leave you. Thoughts? Agree? Disagree? Come on Minnesota! Tell me what you think Holtsville! Canada, got anything to add, eh?

Curiosity cleaned the cat

Scene: I am sitting at my desk typing on my laptop. The cat is curled up on the desk between my body and the computer, her head gently resting on my forearm. Loaf crawls up into my lap and begins petting the cat. A moment later, the cat stands and stretches, tail in the air, exposing her backside.

Loaf: Mom, what dat?

Me: That is the cat’s butt. That’s where she poops.

Loaf: Oooooh. I touch it?

Me: Oh no! No! Please don’t touch it. It might have some poop on it, so you’d have to wash your hands. Leave it alone.

Loaf: Ooooooh.

::She sits for a moment then gets up and runs down the hall. She returns a moment later with a wad of toilet paper::

You wipe BadCat’s butt? You clean it?

Me: Umm, no, that’s OK, BadCat cleans her own butt.

Loaf: Ooooh.

::She thinks for a second, then places the toilet paper down in front of the cat::

Dere you go, BadCat.

::Runs off to play.::

Wordless Wednesday: New dresses from Grandma

Click here to view more Wordless Wednesday posts.

Just a little off the back (and the front and sides)

Yesterday, Loaf did something that nearly made me pass out.

One minute, she was happily sitting at the kitchen table, cutting strips of paper with her safety scissors, and not two minutes later the room was filled with carnage and horrified screams.

The screams were mine.

And the carnage consisted of her pretty little curls.



Yes, Loaf gave herself a haircut.



Looking on the bright side #1
It could have been a LOT, LOT worse. I've heard stories of preschoolers who put the scissors right against their scalp and cut. Or those who lop off ponytails below the band. So really, in the world of self-haircutting, this is not so bad.



(She looks so damn happy and cute here, it’s almost impossible to stay pissed at her. And she knows this. Grrr!)

Looking on the bright side #2
She also decided to give her sister a trim, but fortunately cut straight up into her hair vertically instead of going across the back. So it’s a few strands thinner, but otherwise fine. So again, we were lucky.



Side view after I evened it out.

This side is not so bright
She has bangs now. And a mullet. (Fan-fucking-tastic.) And this comes just when her hair was starting to look really cute. It was long in the front and a little wild, but in a sweet, curly-Q kind of way that only a two-year-old can pull off.



The back. It’s a lot shorter in the middle, but I refuse to go that short all the way around. Hopefully, it will grow in quickly.

Looking on the bright side #3
Fortunately, school pictures were taken two weeks ago. Phew. And someday when she is complaining to her friends about the bad haircut she had when she was almost three, I will show her those school pictures along with this post as proof that I did not do this to her. The therapy she'll need for this one rests fully on her own (hair covered) shoulders.

Dear Summer,

Feel free to come anytime now. We're ready.

Sincerely,

Peanut and Loaf

Wordless Wednesday: My mehndi, obtained at an Indian restaurant on Saturday

Visit Worldess Wednesday for more posts.

Statistics from a bad commute home

Time I left the office: 5:15 p.m.
Miles traveled: 38
Average time commute home takes: 49 minutes
Snowfall by 5:15 p.m. last night: about 3 inches, and still coming hard.
Number of stops to clean ice off windshield wipers: 2
Average speed on drive home: 29 mph
Number of Cokes consumed: 1
Number of cars seen stuck on hills: 4
Number of accidents seen off on shoulder: 3
Number of tractor trailers that flew by me at normal speed: at least 10
Number of times I prayed out loud: 638
Actual commuting time last night: 2 hours, 43 minutes
Number of plows/sanders seen over course of entire trip: ZERO

Nice job, NJ.
Really well executed.

Mutual feelings of need

For the first several months of her life, Loaf slept in bed with me. I was nursing and with a 20something-month-old toddler to care for on top of an infant, it made the most sense.

There came a point when she stopped eating in the middle of the night and I desperately wanted her out of our bed. Mark was sleeping on the couch and I missed him. I wanted him back with me, so into the room next door she went.

But in the beginning, it was bliss. Just she and I nuzzled up together. I loved reaching over and cupping her peach-fuzzed head in my hand. We’d sleep sometimes nose-to-nose, breathing each other in warm, deep slumber. Other times I’d wake up with her nuzzled in the crook of my arm like a cat, her fat baby cheek spread out on my shoulder.

Long-term co-sleeping is not for me. While I could sleep through fireworks as a youth, I am far too light a sleeper these days. I wake at the slightest sound or touch and anyone who has ever slept next to a small child knows they are restless and noisy even in sleep.

Yet I miss it sometimes. Those soft, hazy mornings when we’d wake in sync and she’d look up at me from under mile-long lashes before flashing me a giant, toothless grin and I’d place the softest of kisses upon her velvety forehead.

This week Loaf is sick and the nights have been rough. She’s waking every couple of hours, or whimpering in her sleep without really coming fully awake. I have laid in my bed for two straight nights listening to her struggles to gain comfort until last night it became too much.

At my request, Mark brought her to me shortly after I went to bed and she slept next to me for most of the night. I woke at one point when a foot slammed into the back of my head, but otherwise, it was peaceful and reminiscent of her early days. Placing a gentle kiss upon her brow I curled my arm around her and pulled her against me. She sighed deeply, finally finding the deep rest she needed.

Today, I woke before my alarm and watched her sleep, her tiny chest rising and falling, her small mouth drawing in slow breaths. The moment was so precious, so full of peace. I cupped her head in my hand. It no longer fits there the way it used to and her hair, once downy and short, is now full of long, wiry curls.

She has changed so much since those early days, yet she still needs me.

Little does she know how much I need her too. And in that, we both find comfort.

Veinte!

Read this post from last year and add one.

What do you get?

Veinte
Vingt
Zwanzig
Ashriin
D'vadtsat'

TWENTY!

Holy cow, am I really that old?

(I'm not really looking for an answer to that).

More than a thousand words

My brother-in-law is an extremely talented photographer (he's also finishing his residency in neurology, so he's no schlep in the brains department either). And, he has excellent taste in women (smootchies, Justine!).

For the past few weeks, he's been posting his shots on Flickr and they are AMAZING! I'm constantly awed by his talent so I just have to share.

Click here to take a look. You won't be disappointed.

Planting my flag

When I was a girl, my father gave me his opinion about politics.

“Kim,” he said, “don’t affiliate yourself with a party right off the bat. Stay independent. See where you fall out on the issues. Your opinions on things will likely change, and can always join one of the parties when you settle into adulthood.”

This seemed like pretty good advice, so when I registered to vote in the 1992 presidential election, I checked the “undeclared” box on my form and felt good about it. And for the past 16 years, being “unaffiliated” has been just fine, mainly because I didn’t care enough about the early stages of the presidential race to vote in the primaries.

But this is 2008, and a very, very different year. I have a strong preference this time around and the NJ primary is expected to be close.

I’ve always been sort of proud of my independent status. It meant, in a way, that no one owned me and while I know the sheet of paper I signed today doesn’t change that fact in any way, there is a strong possibility that I’ll switch back to unaffiliated at some point.

Though at 38, I do feel like my views are pretty solid and I feel more than safe not taking political advice from my father anymore. Especially given that the last time I saw him he told me he would not vote for Obama because he is a Muslim, which he most definitely is not. (Though even if he were, I’d vote for him just the same.)

Playing catch up

Forgive me readers, for I have slacked. It's been over a month since I last posted pictures of my children, and I have no good excuses.

So here is my attempt at catch-up: one month of my kids in photos.

We did a little reading:





No, Peanut isn't actually reading here, but she does have the stories memorized so they do this a lot. It's terribly cute.

We explored our artistic side:





Future Rodins?





Or perhaps, Picassos?

We logged some snuggle time:



We crossed our fingers, held our breath, and took the side rail off Loaf's crib, thus converting it into a toddler bed:



Given her somewhat ::ahem:: challenging sleeping habits, this was the moment I've been dreading. I thought for sure she would present herself at my bedside 86 times a night. But so far, she has slept in her own bed every night. And dare I say it? I think she might even be sleeping better now than she was before. Sssshhhh.

And, of course, we goofed around a lot:









Is this just the cheesiest grin ever? Don't you love it?

Whew! January was exhausting!



Thank God February is a short month so I can catch up on my rest. (HA! Riiiiiight.)