Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Lyla Talking and Eating Phone
Hey folks. Just a quickie before I take off, and we pack our entire house into the Volvo and take off for OC for the 4th.
I am drinking a vente, the Starbuck's lame equivalent of large coffee (don't even say your smack about Starbucks, I agree, but it wasn't my choice, my co-workers brought it back for me, so I'm forced to drink it), which I just found out is NOT decaf. For those of you who don't know caffeine's effect on me...let me enlighten you. Unless I'm drinking fabulous cold brewed coffee from a Toddy or Atwater's Market, then I will be plagued with horrible stomach aches and pains for hours to come. It is also likely that I will be parked on the toilet indefinitely. Both of these issues won't help me in the second half of my four hour meeting today where I am on video conference with clients and co-workers on the west coast. The other thing about caffeine is it truly does keep me up. I was addicted to chai teas for a while, but it took several months for me to put it together that they were keeping me up all night, and that there was a reason for my desire to do aerobics at 10:00 p.m. I don't know what kind of crazy pill they're crushing and putting into the teas at Common Ground in Hampden, but I'm like a sleepwalking binge eater on Ambien when I have them. Restless, hungry, agitated.
Anyway, I thought I'd post a video of the Lyla Bean. It's been a while, and even though there is nothing too crazy in this video, it is a perfect example of Lyla doing her thing. She just makes me laugh while she entertains herself, barely paying any attention to me. Although if you filmed as much as me, you'd ignore me too. She isn't walking yet, but she is managing to stand on her own pretty well. Normally, I'd let her figure it out, but she was dangerously close to hitting her head on the corner of our table, so I assisted. No, I don't gasp every time she falls. In fact, I need to start paying attention more. We were at a friend's house a few weeks ago for happy hour, and Lyla was riding on this Dora-mobile. I looked away for two seconds to grab my wine (forget that), and she was rolling off of it head first. Luckily, she rolled with it, and I was caught only by Trent.
She isn't too interested in taking steps (except massive ones when forced to play our walking games), but she does enjoy standing, staring, and playing.
She's all growsed up.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
My Manolos
So, I'm in love with Sarah Jessica Parker. I know guys think she's a horse face, and she's so little in every way, which usually creeps me out, but since I've never seen her in person, I go on thinking she's my height. Even back in 1985 when Girls Just Wanna Have Fun came out, I idolized her. Square Pegs--well, not so much. Anyway, I, of course was a huge Sex and the City fan, and wanted to own every outfit she wore on the show. In my world, I also assume I will look the same as she does in it. I had a secret fixation with getting a tutu to wear it much like the opening scene of the show, but at least had the sense to know in reality I would not be able to pull this off.
I may be making that mistake again, but I have ordered the very blue Manolo Blahniks featured in the movie. I'm still not sure where I'll wear these yet, since I can't just throw them on with a pair of boy shorts like SJP does with every shoe. In fact, on anyone but her these shoes may look like Dyeables, the very gross and very uncomfortable shoes you get forced to wear to match someone's hideous bridesmaid dress or your electric blue prom dress. Yes, ladies and gentleman, my maids had to dye, but let me say, this is before you could just wear gold or silver shoes with stuff. I don't even think they were available then. So, shut it. If I were getting married again, which I very much want to do since I ended up hating my botched dress, that I would wear these shoes!
You may think I'm crazy, but really I'm buying a piece of history. Lyla will some day get these shoes. Maybe she'll wear them to her wedding. I loved my Moms shoes and dress. Of course, I could never fit my fat ass into her size 2 dress, but that is another matter. I've recently started saving nicer pieces of clothing and shoes for my little fashionista. I know it's all so Lauren Hutton of me, but some things just shouldn't be cast off. A few things have memories, and credit card bills associated with them, so I have to save them. One day, when I have a huge walk-in closet where I drink martinis in my underwear and smoke long cigarettes to the sound of Judy Garland's drunken/drug-induced melodies, I will look upon the treasures I have saved, and maybe even wear them again.
Until then, I will instead shove them into my ridiculously small bar I call a closet, with no rhyme or reason. My wedding dress is squashed between a pair of tuxedo pants from about '98 and a pair of fancy jeans with a promise note that I will fit into them again some day again, and to just be patient. Sometimes things go in there, and come out with tags still on six months later.
So, please free to send your photos and suggestions as to what I can wear my life savings with. I will post your suggestions right here on this blog. Maybe we'll even vote. This blog is starting to get really sophisticated.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Comings and Goings
I am back from my recent trip to NJ to meet my new niece Piper Grey Berkowitz. She was nine pounds, 12 ounces. A little bruiser just like my own. Here is a shot of her in the nursery getting the business done by one of the nurses. She's a real cutey, and holding her brings me back folks, it really does.Lyla didn't get to meet her because they only allow siblings in. So, we tag teamed in and out to entertain the wee bean while we tended to the wee-er bean. She had a grand old time in the hospital waiting room. As you can see by the picture, she was laughin' it up with the expecting grandparents.
This is all a good thing, because the week before Miss Lyla decided to give up bottles completely. She refused any bottle, at any time. We've been weening for a while now, but she quit cold turkey on us. She would wail at the site of it. So, we were just feeding her, and giving her YoBaby to supplement for the ba. Doc said she'd be fine, and that after a week she'd probably take the bottle back. We felt better, but it had been so hot, and Lyla also wanted nothing to do with any sippy cup. I think I'd bought every one on the market. Finally, we gave her a straw cup (thank you Leslie Wagner), and she gulped it down like Bear Grylls in the Serengeti. For a week, she was hogging food, just stuffing it in. Then, suddenly, she cried with the food instead, wanting the damn bottle. Just like that the tables turned back, and now she's all about the bottle again. A little too much now. Can't win. I also think she's either teething, or a little under the weather this week, because upon our return from NJ she's been a bit fussy most of the day, which is totally unlike her. She usually fights through anything, but she's been a real baby the last few days. Meal times are a crap shoot. She's either smiling and giggling, or in hysterics. Last night, our painter came, and at the site of him she went nuts. I don't know what it is about him that sends her off the deep end, but it's something. Then she screamed through the feeding of bananas and rasberries (usually her fave dessert). There were rasberries all over her, me, Filo, and the wall. I was feeling a bit fluish anyway, so hauling her in and out of the high chair was quite an undertaking last night. I'm hoping it's the teeth, or a passing virus, and not the start of a trend. We've been blessed with this unbelievably happy, good kid, I don't want her to go Chuckie on me now. Especially since we're trying to get a new babysitter. Which reminds me that last night, the second babysitter in a row flaked. The first one, never called or showed up the night of my birthday when she was supposed to sit. This new one was supposed to come last night to meet Lyla before babysitting tomorrow, and she never came. I left her a vmail last night, and an email today, and I haven't heard anything. What the H? What's wrong with these people?Monday, June 2, 2008
Back to Lyla
Since this blog is supposed to center around Lyla, I will pull away from my recent rant regarding robbery.
Lyla is moving quickly into kidhood. She is truly no longer a baby. She crawls, and picks herself up to a standing position, and even side-steps. Yesterday, she was tackling stair climbing. She's like a boy, fearless. I have a feeling dainty dolls and tea parties aren't in her future. If she takes after her mother she'll be playing bricks in the dirt or racing bikes with the boys down the street. Fortunately, she doesn't have an older brother like mine who ran over me on his bike at the trails down the street from our house when I was assigned to find him for dinner. Sometimes, the regular routine of screaming down the block for your kid didn't always work, and the young sibling was sent to fetch the others.
I always try to catch her doing her funny stuff on camera, but she goes WB on me every time. I have included a few of her recent doings, but you have to wait it out until the end before she gets to it.
Lyla is moving quickly into kidhood. She is truly no longer a baby. She crawls, and picks herself up to a standing position, and even side-steps. Yesterday, she was tackling stair climbing. She's like a boy, fearless. I have a feeling dainty dolls and tea parties aren't in her future. If she takes after her mother she'll be playing bricks in the dirt or racing bikes with the boys down the street. Fortunately, she doesn't have an older brother like mine who ran over me on his bike at the trails down the street from our house when I was assigned to find him for dinner. Sometimes, the regular routine of screaming down the block for your kid didn't always work, and the young sibling was sent to fetch the others.
I always try to catch her doing her funny stuff on camera, but she goes WB on me every time. I have included a few of her recent doings, but you have to wait it out until the end before she gets to it.
Oh, the humanity.
No, I'm not talking about the Hindenburg burning, but my street going to pot. Last Monday my car got robbed. I say robbed, not broken into because it wasn't locked. Normally, this would be another thing I forgot to do being me, but actually Trent went to grab the Chick Fil'A that I bought out of the car, and didn't lock the doors. I can't blame him. One whiff of that chicken sandwich would send anyone into a daze.
My stuff was all over the car, and I could see they went through the glove box and consoles. They only got an old iPod, our Garmin, some CDs, and some wires and change. I know these must have been punk kids, because anyone with any sense of what had value and saw the Bugaboo in the back, would have gone straight for that! That's what I would have taken. I also had a purse with the receipt in it in the back, but I'm guessing they didn't want to go through the trouble of returning it, and
potentially getting caught. As a sidebar, when I returned it the next night, I showed her the receipt and she said, "Don't worry I trust it's you." So, robber, if you are reading this, you could have taken and returned it to South Moon Under in Towson, no problemo.
All in all, I felt pretty good nothing big was taken, and that they didn't have to break my windows to get to my precious Baby Einstein's Driving Songs CD (which they took).
However, the very next night we were awoken around 12:45 a.m. by what sounded like a car with a dragging muffler and a back firing problem. Trent jumped out of bed, and looked out the window. Turns out, they were smashing back windshields and mirrors up the entire street. All of our neighbors were outside trying to exchange siting stories, what happened to their cars, and report it all to the police. I think they got about 10 cars on ou
r street alone. They also hit two other surrounding neighborhoods that night, and it sounds like they were doing more car and basement robberies in the houses. It was pretty shocking, considering we all leave our doors open all the time, and rarely lock-up even on walks. Well, let's just say the place has been like Fort Knox since last week.
The whole neighborhood is trying to solve the case, and I'm sure someone will be planning a Take Back the Night rally within days. This may end up initiating my first appearance at our community association's meeting(s). They probably staged the whole thing just to get people to show up to talk about lawn ornaments. Apparently, their threatening newsletters weren't enough.
My stuff was all over the car, and I could see they went through the glove box and consoles. They only got an old iPod, our Garmin, some CDs, and some wires and change. I know these must have been punk kids, because anyone with any sense of what had value and saw the Bugaboo in the back, would have gone straight for that! That's what I would have taken. I also had a purse with the receipt in it in the back, but I'm guessing they didn't want to go through the trouble of returning it, and
potentially getting caught. As a sidebar, when I returned it the next night, I showed her the receipt and she said, "Don't worry I trust it's you." So, robber, if you are reading this, you could have taken and returned it to South Moon Under in Towson, no problemo.
All in all, I felt pretty good nothing big was taken, and that they didn't have to break my windows to get to my precious Baby Einstein's Driving Songs CD (which they took).
However, the very next night we were awoken around 12:45 a.m. by what sounded like a car with a dragging muffler and a back firing problem. Trent jumped out of bed, and looked out the window. Turns out, they were smashing back windshields and mirrors up the entire street. All of our neighbors were outside trying to exchange siting stories, what happened to their cars, and report it all to the police. I think they got about 10 cars on ou
r street alone. They also hit two other surrounding neighborhoods that night, and it sounds like they were doing more car and basement robberies in the houses. It was pretty shocking, considering we all leave our doors open all the time, and rarely lock-up even on walks. Well, let's just say the place has been like Fort Knox since last week.The whole neighborhood is trying to solve the case, and I'm sure someone will be planning a Take Back the Night rally within days. This may end up initiating my first appearance at our community association's meeting(s). They probably staged the whole thing just to get people to show up to talk about lawn ornaments. Apparently, their threatening newsletters weren't enough.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Why are Women Such A-Holes?
Lyla completed her fourth week of "swimming lessons" today, and honestly, I don't know if I can bring myself to go back (two more weeks left). Today was a bit different than other hectic days going to class...Lyla woke up, and while a bit groggy at first, was pretty smiley and happy. I fed her a bottle, but I had extra time today, so I was feeling better about the digestion period. Lyla talked and smiled the whole way to class, happily got changed, etc. so I thought it was going to be a great day like our first class. Uh, no.
As we step into the pool, Lyla immediately clutches me as if I'm going to throw her from the high dive. Now, they were saying the pool was much cooler than normal because the heater wasn't working properly, but I'm unsure this had anything to do with it. She wasn't crying, but whining a bit. It's hard to understand honestly. If you saw this kid the first class, you'd think she was born in a birthing center somewhere in the Valley in SoCal right in a tub. She absolutely loved it. Since then, not lovin' it. The other thing is, Lyla rarely cries or clutches to me. She's just not like that. So, when she hold on to me for dear life, I'm wondering, what the heck changed?
I still think it has a lot to do with it occurring right after her nap/bottle, but she does everything else after the bottle (like thrust up and down repeatedly for 30 minutes, swing upside down, crawl) with no issue.
Anyway, for the first five minutes of class she was a bit loud, and while I was hoping she'd be laughing and enjoying swimming rather than almost crying, I rolled with it. What am I gonna do? I pulled myself out of the circle so people could focus on the teacher, and so we wouldn't cause a real distraction (even though she was barely even making a fuss). As I do this, a few of the Mom's follow me with their eyes (not with friendly, I've been there smiles either), turn around to watch me float away, and are giving me looks as if I we were disrupting the wedding of Charles and Camilla. I whispered a few, "sorry, she usually loves the water" at a few, but that only led to more looks of disbelief that this child could actually like the water.
Now, this lasted maybe five minutes total, and then Miss Lyla, ever resilient came around and was eventually laughing and flitsing about with the others. However, she was still a bit on edge when it came for splashing and dunking. The first incident occurred when a lady said, ,"I better stay out of her way," which I sheepishly brushed off hoping she was joking.
Then, this jackass mother, who I haven't liked from the start, sees me, and stands directly in front of me, and starts whisking her kid back and forth in front of Lyla. Her kid is kicking and splashing water in her face, and she starts to lose it again. I'm looking at this woman like, you have to be kidding me right?
I try to remain nice, move away from her and say, "Whoops, we're getting splashed, let's glide over here." She proceeds to make bigger dips in the water with him, as if she's somehow (believe it or not) showing off that her kid is just going in and out of the water without issue. Now, this kid is also a lot older than Lyla (Lyla is the youngest in the class--there's one other baby, a nine month old), so I would expect he can do a lot more too. At this point, I'm pissed, and I really just dart her a look, and leave it.
Needless to say, Lyla was fine, and happily ended class with a goldfish in hand and a smile on her face depite the comments of others (who all hang with each other).
After class this woman says to me, "You should try another class, maybe the 9." I had previously mentioned to her that this class is not at an ideal time, but her tone was not appreciated, especially after the pool bit. I don't know why I end up explaining that her nap is 9-10:30 or longer, and with travel it's always a rush, but I know she loves the water, but the 9:00 wouldn't work either, blah, blah, but I do say this, and she just says, "Maybe you should practice in the bath tub." and walks away.
First I'm thinking, you're a total bitch, and who the H do you think you are telling me what to do and when to bring her to class. I mean, it's not like she had a complete meltdown in class. The child cried for a few minutes, and most of it was quiet. Then, I'm thinking, how is the bath tub going to help this situation? She loves the tub, always has. Is she going to practice getting kicked and splashed in the face repeatedly at home in our tub? Probably not. Finally, I thought about how nothing this woman says makes sense, she's just a jerk who thinks she owns the Getting Wet class, which is obviously the most important place for all of us to be on our very best behavior. It's not just her either, the Moms are all cliques who only talk to each other, and treat any new person like she were David Greene from School Ties--the guy who comes to the stobby prep school his senior year who never paid his dues, got hazed, or in his case told his classmates he was Jewish. Did it really matter guys? Well, regardless of religion in this particular instance (I think), I'm the David Greene of Getting Wet.
To go back--two weeks ago another girl in the class, who is also newer (the girl who stalked me in this Blog's swim class video) asked one of the elite group a question about strollers in the locker room, and one of the queen bees told her to ask the teacher, and just kept talking to the other groupies. I overheard, and told her about the stroller policy there, and the queen bee jumped back in and said how she doesn't care and brings the stroller in anyway. I remember at the time thinking, why wouldn't you just answer her question in the first place, especially when you're putting your fat mouth back in it anyway, but I didn't think too much about it. Now, after this, I'm remembering that today's jacko lady was in this group, and I'm probably on the outs with them for helping the other newbie. By the way, the newbie hasn't been back to class since. This may sound like a bunch a bunk, but I'm piecing it all together now, and doin' some figurin' about these ladies. I feel like I'm in the Net, and I'm the only one that knows the truth. Poor newbie. They got rid of her, and now they're trying to get me out. Despite my earlier sentiment...ladies and gentleman I will prevail.
As we step into the pool, Lyla immediately clutches me as if I'm going to throw her from the high dive. Now, they were saying the pool was much cooler than normal because the heater wasn't working properly, but I'm unsure this had anything to do with it. She wasn't crying, but whining a bit. It's hard to understand honestly. If you saw this kid the first class, you'd think she was born in a birthing center somewhere in the Valley in SoCal right in a tub. She absolutely loved it. Since then, not lovin' it. The other thing is, Lyla rarely cries or clutches to me. She's just not like that. So, when she hold on to me for dear life, I'm wondering, what the heck changed?
I still think it has a lot to do with it occurring right after her nap/bottle, but she does everything else after the bottle (like thrust up and down repeatedly for 30 minutes, swing upside down, crawl) with no issue.
Anyway, for the first five minutes of class she was a bit loud, and while I was hoping she'd be laughing and enjoying swimming rather than almost crying, I rolled with it. What am I gonna do? I pulled myself out of the circle so people could focus on the teacher, and so we wouldn't cause a real distraction (even though she was barely even making a fuss). As I do this, a few of the Mom's follow me with their eyes (not with friendly, I've been there smiles either), turn around to watch me float away, and are giving me looks as if I we were disrupting the wedding of Charles and Camilla. I whispered a few, "sorry, she usually loves the water" at a few, but that only led to more looks of disbelief that this child could actually like the water.
Now, this lasted maybe five minutes total, and then Miss Lyla, ever resilient came around and was eventually laughing and flitsing about with the others. However, she was still a bit on edge when it came for splashing and dunking. The first incident occurred when a lady said, ,"I better stay out of her way," which I sheepishly brushed off hoping she was joking.
Then, this jackass mother, who I haven't liked from the start, sees me, and stands directly in front of me, and starts whisking her kid back and forth in front of Lyla. Her kid is kicking and splashing water in her face, and she starts to lose it again. I'm looking at this woman like, you have to be kidding me right?
I try to remain nice, move away from her and say, "Whoops, we're getting splashed, let's glide over here." She proceeds to make bigger dips in the water with him, as if she's somehow (believe it or not) showing off that her kid is just going in and out of the water without issue. Now, this kid is also a lot older than Lyla (Lyla is the youngest in the class--there's one other baby, a nine month old), so I would expect he can do a lot more too. At this point, I'm pissed, and I really just dart her a look, and leave it.
Needless to say, Lyla was fine, and happily ended class with a goldfish in hand and a smile on her face depite the comments of others (who all hang with each other).
After class this woman says to me, "You should try another class, maybe the 9." I had previously mentioned to her that this class is not at an ideal time, but her tone was not appreciated, especially after the pool bit. I don't know why I end up explaining that her nap is 9-10:30 or longer, and with travel it's always a rush, but I know she loves the water, but the 9:00 wouldn't work either, blah, blah, but I do say this, and she just says, "Maybe you should practice in the bath tub." and walks away.
First I'm thinking, you're a total bitch, and who the H do you think you are telling me what to do and when to bring her to class. I mean, it's not like she had a complete meltdown in class. The child cried for a few minutes, and most of it was quiet. Then, I'm thinking, how is the bath tub going to help this situation? She loves the tub, always has. Is she going to practice getting kicked and splashed in the face repeatedly at home in our tub? Probably not. Finally, I thought about how nothing this woman says makes sense, she's just a jerk who thinks she owns the Getting Wet class, which is obviously the most important place for all of us to be on our very best behavior. It's not just her either, the Moms are all cliques who only talk to each other, and treat any new person like she were David Greene from School Ties--the guy who comes to the stobby prep school his senior year who never paid his dues, got hazed, or in his case told his classmates he was Jewish. Did it really matter guys? Well, regardless of religion in this particular instance (I think), I'm the David Greene of Getting Wet.
To go back--two weeks ago another girl in the class, who is also newer (the girl who stalked me in this Blog's swim class video) asked one of the elite group a question about strollers in the locker room, and one of the queen bees told her to ask the teacher, and just kept talking to the other groupies. I overheard, and told her about the stroller policy there, and the queen bee jumped back in and said how she doesn't care and brings the stroller in anyway. I remember at the time thinking, why wouldn't you just answer her question in the first place, especially when you're putting your fat mouth back in it anyway, but I didn't think too much about it. Now, after this, I'm remembering that today's jacko lady was in this group, and I'm probably on the outs with them for helping the other newbie. By the way, the newbie hasn't been back to class since. This may sound like a bunch a bunk, but I'm piecing it all together now, and doin' some figurin' about these ladies. I feel like I'm in the Net, and I'm the only one that knows the truth. Poor newbie. They got rid of her, and now they're trying to get me out. Despite my earlier sentiment...ladies and gentleman I will prevail.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tanning Anyone?
I am pasty-ass white by nature. My shins are almost blue I'm so pale. I'm also the person who applies any version of sunscreen and comes away with streaks, hand prints, and embarrassing lines all over my red and white body. Since I got pregnant my sensitivity to the sun is also much worse. I have a lot of splotchy sun spots and pigmentation issues, so I've about given up on my once childhood crush called the sun.
We are headed to a wedding this weekend, and I decided to remedy my calamity, I decided to book myself an appointment at Elizabeth Arden (darling) to tan me right up. The procedure is called the St. Tropez Body Bronzer. Basically, you strip down buck naked, and let a technician slather you with brown paint until you appear tan. I asked a number of seat-sinker, inappropriate questions as usual, but I had to know how this would effect me. In one hour I was done, and at the moment I left I looked a bit scary. She told me it goes on streaky, and would remain that way until I showered. Last night I looked like I had just come in from off-roading in my dune buggy. It just looked dirty. I went to bed reluctant that this would be any better than the orange striped tan I gave myself from Neutrogena last summer (Corba sisters can attest it was a tranny mess).
But low and behold, after my shower this morning, all of the streaks rolled down the drain, and I looked like I was really tan a week ago, and the leftover but still cool tan remained. You know that tan girls. Can I hear a Heyyyyyy! Anyway, it is the perfect color now, and you can't even tell it's painted on. I am astonished and amazed. Problem is, every day it washes away more. It is supposed to last five days (which seems short to me for the price), which will just get me to the wedding! Blast.
I was not able to take Lyla to swimming class this morning because of it (since the long stay in the water and chlorine work against St. Tropez' wonderous powers). That stinks, but I was secretly relieved not to have to drag Lyla out of bed, force feed her, and speed to the pool for once. Even the boys I work with who didn't even notice my hair cut from shoulder length, to full-on Mia Farrow noticed my color. Steve even said my hair looked lighter (which I had dyed two weeks ago). I would take a photo, but because I am so unphotogenic, I will not open myself up to the inevitable side talk about me that will occur when seeing my pic inserted into this blog!
So, now all I have to do is avoid long soaks in water (sorry bath--I hate bathing in your scum of me anyway), sweating profusely (sorry workouts), and exfoliating (sorry facialist--Miss Arden's orders).
Now to end the grossness of this account, I will leave you with vids of our girl.
The first two are us tormenting Lyla with 1. a heinous headband that came with some outfit someone gave us 2. her sunhat that no longer fits her sputnik head.
The third is Lyla swinging away in the dining room--her favorite pre-bedtime activity. She has begun swinging much more than actually bouncing, but all are equally funny to watch.
P.S. The table is farther away than it looks. We're not so bad.
We are headed to a wedding this weekend, and I decided to remedy my calamity, I decided to book myself an appointment at Elizabeth Arden (darling) to tan me right up. The procedure is called the St. Tropez Body Bronzer. Basically, you strip down buck naked, and let a technician slather you with brown paint until you appear tan. I asked a number of seat-sinker, inappropriate questions as usual, but I had to know how this would effect me. In one hour I was done, and at the moment I left I looked a bit scary. She told me it goes on streaky, and would remain that way until I showered. Last night I looked like I had just come in from off-roading in my dune buggy. It just looked dirty. I went to bed reluctant that this would be any better than the orange striped tan I gave myself from Neutrogena last summer (Corba sisters can attest it was a tranny mess).
But low and behold, after my shower this morning, all of the streaks rolled down the drain, and I looked like I was really tan a week ago, and the leftover but still cool tan remained. You know that tan girls. Can I hear a Heyyyyyy! Anyway, it is the perfect color now, and you can't even tell it's painted on. I am astonished and amazed. Problem is, every day it washes away more. It is supposed to last five days (which seems short to me for the price), which will just get me to the wedding! Blast.
I was not able to take Lyla to swimming class this morning because of it (since the long stay in the water and chlorine work against St. Tropez' wonderous powers). That stinks, but I was secretly relieved not to have to drag Lyla out of bed, force feed her, and speed to the pool for once. Even the boys I work with who didn't even notice my hair cut from shoulder length, to full-on Mia Farrow noticed my color. Steve even said my hair looked lighter (which I had dyed two weeks ago). I would take a photo, but because I am so unphotogenic, I will not open myself up to the inevitable side talk about me that will occur when seeing my pic inserted into this blog!
So, now all I have to do is avoid long soaks in water (sorry bath--I hate bathing in your scum of me anyway), sweating profusely (sorry workouts), and exfoliating (sorry facialist--Miss Arden's orders).
Now to end the grossness of this account, I will leave you with vids of our girl.
The first two are us tormenting Lyla with 1. a heinous headband that came with some outfit someone gave us 2. her sunhat that no longer fits her sputnik head.
The third is Lyla swinging away in the dining room--her favorite pre-bedtime activity. She has begun swinging much more than actually bouncing, but all are equally funny to watch.
P.S. The table is farther away than it looks. We're not so bad.
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