I Love You, Lady With The Purple Paisley Suitcases

Yesterday, I was out shopping in a desperate way for one more table to match my patio set. This is sometimes what happens when you buy your patio furniture from Ross. I love the store, but you know if you are a Ross/Marshalls/TJMaxx shopper, you better buy it when you see it or forget about it.

A couple of months ago I bought four chairs and a little table. Last week, when actually trying the set out for the first time, I realized that I needed one more little table. Of course, when you are sipping wine and having snacks, you need room for it all. This meant the county wide search of all of the Ross stores was on.

On my third and last stop, I spied the matching table. Success! While waiting in line to swipe my visa, a very blond lady in front of me was purchasing two suitcases that were big enough to fit all three of my kids and our dog in.

Not only were these the biggest suitcases I've seen this side of a steamer trunk, they were the brightest paisley print of purple and hot pink that you can imagine. The woman was kind and friendly. You could tell she was just a little ray of sunshine that shared her warmth with everyone around her.

We are lucky people in this world to have these pockets of human kindness. There are so many scrooges out there that this Earth Angel gave enough light to blind one of them at least.

When Am I Too Old For This? Vomit, Taxi Cabs and Hotel Lobby Bathrooms

Another night of silly costumes, dancing, and bidding. Just when the night was winding down for some, for our crew, it was just beginning.

Ahhhhh, but I've learned my lesson. There are cameras everywhere. There are people and conversations that you NEED to remember in the morning. At my age, anything that I NEED to remember at all is in danger.

Speaking of memories, for more years than I can remember, we have all booked a room at a local hotel with awesome views of the San Francisco Bay. We've worn costumes when most of the guests did not. We pre-party--this year with a nice bottle of Dom, AND, we post party.

There are infamous years. Wild limo rides, people stripping on stage, strangely acquired items that need to be returned on Monday, and stories, comments and conversations that you can never erase from the mind.

This year, we held it together pretty well. No crazy stuff, the wives left the husbands behind and took off for the comfort of a warm, cozy bed. We took a 3 AM cab back to our hotel, I climbed out of the car, and the hem of my skirt was wet! My friend said, "I thought I smelled something in that cab."

I touched the hem of my skirt, sniffed my hand, and almost passed out from the puke smell. There is nothing like human bile to make a person's own stomach turn. Luckily, it was an outer scarf of a skirt. I took it, and my long shawl off right away, right there in the hotel lobby.

I headed to the rest room to wash my nasty hands. Well, what do you think I found there? Two out of the three sinks were a red vomit wasteland. It looked like a crime scene. Holy Toledo. I tried to use the most sanitary looking sink, but it was out of soap. I had to totter over the chunks of vomit, but was thinking the soap was worth it.

I told the front desk that their restrooms needed immediate attention. The guy said, "Well, it is a Friday night, and the bar just closed." Oh, that explains it. I'm so old and out of it.

We all headed to our separate rooms. Being 3:30ish, I dropped my soiled shawl and skirt in the hallway, stepped in the room and removed my under skirt and dropped it in the hall as well with my shoes. My plan was to get the plastic laundry bag and stuff those puppies in.

First, I needed a shower. I couldn't imagine the nice, pukey germs I had been in close quarters with, so I took a shower. Feeling much better, I put my comfy jammies on and went back to the door to get my nasty off casts.

Gone!

Hmmmmmm. Not that I want them back, but isn't that the strangest thing?

I Dream of Genie? Not Really.

We are a fun-loving group of friends. We've known each other forever. We've worn ridiculous costumes (why, we just dressed like grannies and mooned our friend with diaper-covered adult butts that had letters that spelled out her name). We've partied. We've puked. We've laughed. We've cried. All together.

Each year we attend the school auction. We've dressed in sarongs, togas, wigs, cowboy garb and more. We are a spectacle. We are spirited. We have a wild and crazy time.

This year, I was hoping for a little black dress, some simple shoes and passing the torch to some other crazy kids. Nope. I was just informed that my husband and his friends are dressing as sultans.

My friend turned to me and said, "You know what that means..." No, I'm not sure what that means. I kept quiet. "We have to be harem girls."

Yikes. A harem girl? Seriously, I am waaaaayyyyy too old for this. A genie? A scantily clad harem girl? I am 42 for goodness sake.

Part of me can't refuse the challenge. Part of me is quite sure that there ain't enough Spanx in the world that can make this old gal fit for a harem. Jinkies, Thelma, what's a girl to do?

She goes out and finds a harem outfit. Stay tuned for pictures of our 9th school auction. Still crazy after all these years.

Saturday Mornings

There is something about Saturday mornings that makes me want pancakes. This requires butter and pure maple syrup. Bacon is an extra bonus, but it is not always worth the time commitment.

We used to cook big breakfasts around here. The kids would be up early and running around the house. The TV would, of course, be blaring kid's Saturday morning shows in the background. We made hot chocolate, squeezed fresh orange juice and actually set the table with plates and cutlery.

By noon, taking one look around at the kitchen damage, you knew you had just eaten a real breakfast. I swear I worked off all of the extra bacon and pancake calories just doing the clean up.

Now it is Saturday. It's 10:30. The house is as quiet as the local library. I can hear a bird singing. Someone out there in the neighborhood is using a blower. It is me and the dog. Husband, asleep. Girls? Asleep. John? At a friend's house.

There was a time, before baseball and sleepovers, that we really had family time on the weekend. The weekend was a sigh of relief after a long week. We could relax, hang out and spend some downtime together.

Now, Monday is a relief. The weekends are a rapidly changing schedule and there is never one Saturday like another. There is always a different practice time, slumber party, play date or game.

If you have young kids, treasure the weekend. It becomes a logistical nightmare that I think only will change when I have an empty nest. And then, well, the nest will be empty.

Feeling the Amazon Burn

I am a pretty experienced online shopper and a pretty loyal Amazon aficionado. I love typing in exactly what I want and have it pop right up within seconds. I can comparison shop, I can have it shipped in two days with Amazon Prime, and I am usually very happy.

This is until my last purchase and thanks to one of Amazon's secondary suppliers. We all know to read the fine print, but gosh, really do read it. I bought a toaster recently, thinking nothing of clicking on the purchase button.

It was being supplied by an outside supplier--not being shipped directly from Amazon fulfillment. It was a toaster. I've bought many toasters in my life. Never had any problem. However, this fancy, semi-expensive toaster was a problem from the word go.

It burned every piece of toast. Even on level one, it burnt the toast like it was a flaming marshmallow over the open campfire. Never once did it "pop" up before I had to press the cancel button to save our home from a kitchen blaze.

I notified the seller. I could return it, sure. I only had to pay to ship it back, then pay a 15 percent restocking fee and pay the seller back the "free" shipping that it had been sent to me with. All of a sudden, my $60 dollar toaster was costing me about $33.00 once I returned it, and I ended up with no toaster!

Friends, returns to Target, Williams Sonoma and Crate and Barrel are free. Buyer beware.

Monday Morning Blahs: Overwhelmed As A Life Choice? Don't Read This Unless You Want To Hear Some Whining

The weekends are kicking my butt around here lately. Maybe they always have, but lately, I'm feeling the pain more than usual. Just when I think I have a handle on things, the handle breaks off. Maybe this is all part of being 40 something.

This entire year, I can not seem to get grip on any kind of routine. I used to think I wasn't a routine girl, but as I get older, I can see that I clearly need one. I haven't exercised with any regularity. I haven't written with as much regularity as I'd like.

I'm falling off the healthy eating wagon--I bought Chex Mix yesterday, and sat down on the couch next to my husband with the intent of eating it all by MYself in ONE sitting. He luckily grabbed the bag away from me and saved me from MYself.

I feel like I need a lot of saving from MYself lately. I'm back to two cups of coffee, lots of take out and little premeditated cooking and cleaning. I know it will all be OK, but I feel a little like I'm slipping off the cliff of no return.

I suppose I could put the brakes on a bit and slow things down. I am pretty much the churner that whirls and allows the chaos around here. Can Overwhelmed be a life choice? What if sometimes it isn't voluntary?

Speaking of returns, anyone up for a little Monday retail therapy? That might be my next stop...

Spring Re-Organizational Fever: Hoarding

I am shuffling the stuff lately. I am tired of the bric a brac that sneaks into my house when I'm not looking.

Does anyone else have this problem? Oftentimes, I know I'm in trouble because one of my girls says, "And I got it for free!" What? Just what did you get for free? And, their version of free is imprisoning me in my house on a Thursday morning.

I live in a very creative environment. I have very creative kids. I love the half-finished stories about elves and the half finished sketches of horses. The sculptures made out of the "free" stuff. It is hard for me to part with any creation. I know the feeling of loss, when I've lost a story, or a list, or even a bill. I try to keep it all.

Thus, the shuffle. Is there a Hoarders show about kid's artwork and school projects? Won't we need that diorama someday? Ruth just might finish that half-sewn skirt from scrap material donated by my neighbor. What if, what if, what if?

And, because we are so creative, I am the most creative of all--thinking up scenarios where all of this "stuff" might be needed.

It's true. I need medication, therapy, or possibly both!