So, last night, right around 10:10, I lost my karaoke virginity. Ever since Guitar Hero entered my house, I knew this day would come. Before Guitar Hero, however, I was confident that my phobia of public singing would last a lifetime.
As I accepted the invitation from @Vdog to join a gaggle of bloggers for dinner and karaoke, I promised myself that I wouldn’t be that loser in the corner saying, “no, really, I can’t sing.” Heather assured me that terrible singing can be charming. Not what I heard from my elementary school music teachers who encouraged me to sing more quietly as my lack of tone was throwing the other children off-melody.
So no matter what the other chicks thought of me, I’m guessing they didn’t think I was a party pooper. I ripped my delicate blouse off to reveal my wife beater, in attempt to better channel Avril Lavigne, as I launched into my first solo: Complicated. And I gave it all that I’ve got.
I’m not going to say that I rocked the house. (Do I have to first confess that we were in a private room, limiting the audience to ten women?) But I will say that I had a very good time.
The witnesses of this blessed event include Stefania, Deb, Xiaolin Mama, Queen of Spain, Lindsay, TechMama Beth, Glennia, Vdog, and of course, Heather. Too bad Jill had to leave early. Maybe she would have joined me on stage.
What would you grab if you had 10 minutes to clear out of your house for an emergency?
Let’s imagine a scenario — scary as it is — in which there was some regional disaster and you had to evacuate your home, but you had about 10 minutes to grab what you can carry and get the heck out.
First, I’d start with the kids. On a normal day, getting them into the car can take more than my allotment, but I’ll assume that I have my super-mom adrenaline going and I can do it in about four minutes.
Second, I’d grab my emergency backpack which includes groovy stuff like a handcrank flashlight/cell phone charger and practical things like water and peanut butter. That’ll take one minute because it’s already packed.
Third, with my remaining five minutes, I’d want to grab all the sentimental things: photos and old travel journals that I never look at, my half-finished time capsule for each boy… but really mostly the photos. In goes the computer and (hopefully) power cord with backup drive. Two minutes including wrestling the cords into submission.
Fourth, the practical. That’s mostly handled by the computer and disaster plan but I’m sure I’d want my cell phone, camera, charger… am I out of time yet?
If not, I grab a laundry basket and start acting all crazy and grabbing photo frames, toys, warm socks, layers, shoes, snacks. Why am I not better prepared?!
Finally, Alec comes back in with his travel coffee mug and jumbo Nalgene and asks if I’m ready. I shrug and hope for the best.
So, what would YOU grab if you had ten minutes to get out of your house?
Would you like to win your own disaster prep kit from the helpful folks at California Volunteers?
What to do:
Write a post on your blog about what you would grab in 10 minutes. Post anytime through Thursday, April 30 and include a link to this post. Comment below letting us know where to find your post.
What can you win?
We’ve got 12 different disaster prep kits to give away at random. They’re each valued at ~$25. Plus the peace of mind that goes with thinking about this topic once in a while (priceless!).
Here are first three posts:
Ten Minutes to Go
Ready, Set, Go!
10 Minutes
Other ways to earn entries to win:
- Don’t have a blog? Leave us a comment with what you’d grab with 10 minutes before clearing the eff out of your house.
- On twitter? Tweet out our blog carnival for another entry to win a kit (we’re @rookiemoms on twitter). Paste a link to your tweet in the comment form below.
Our little contest ends April 30th, at bedtime Pacific.
There are many areas in which Whitney and I agree… this site is mostly a fabulous collaborative effort of mutuality. Should moms have more fun with their babies? Yes! Should moms get nights off from their babies on a regular basis? Hell yeah! And on and on.
But there are areas in which we disagree: Mac or PC? TomTom or Garmin? Blackberry or iPhone? Hard-boiled egg: yea or nay?
Dear Little Egg,
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Here are twelve fantastic things about you eggs scrambled with bits of trivia from my own life (because its my blog):
- I love you for all three meals of the day. I *heart* hard-boiled eggs so much, I often buy 2 dozen eggs at the store each week to compensate for my habit.
- You can be tough. I hard-boil 12 using my fool-proof method and save the other 12 for other eggy needs throughout the week: Put eggs in a single layer in a big pot of cold water with about an inch of water above. Cover. Bring to boil. Turn off the heat. Keep eggs in this hot water for 10 minutes. Plunge into ice bath.
- You are convenient. Hard-boiled eggs fit in the boys’ lunchboxes. Neatly. Sometimes they get eaten. This week (”national egg salad week”), one egg came back home with shell 70% in tact but the yolk missing. I don’t know how Milo pulled that off. [note: if your toddler is too picky for eggs, try some of these foods]
- You have made us laugh. One time last year, I sent a raw egg instead of a cooked one in Milo’s school lunch. One year-old Milo was apparently quite surprised when it cracked all over his lunch table. Oops.
- I won’t be fooled again. To keep the raw and the cooked from getting all mixed up, what about boiling one color and keeping the other raw in the fridge? We also clearly label the boxes.
- You are educational. I like to draw faces or write words on the eggs with a Sharpie.
- You build strength in others. Holden will eat a full HB egg if I let him play with the salt shaker. And when he sees me do it. This lets me sneak in some protein at breakfast.
- You are always ready to go. I also add these HB eggs to my lunchtime salad if I don’t have leftover chicken or beef. With the rest of my family being a little tough to get out the door, I can count on you!
- You can be fancy when you need to be. Last night, we ate dinner at Nopa, an innovative local restaurant. We ordered a beef salad that had itty bitty chopped hard-boiled egg as part of the dressing.
- You are
cheap thrifty. Hello recession. Eggs are super cheap protein. I’m glad we’ve found ways to eat them for all 3 meals of the day.
- You help me get dinner on the table. The simple frittata is my go-to meal on Thursday nights. I preheat the oven about 400ish, oil up the pan, toss in whatever veggies I can find, scramble up about half a dozen eggs with water, milk, or cheese, pour them into the pan, cook it until I think I have about 10 minutes left on the kids’ shows, then put it in the oven. If I was using bacon grease, the frittata slides right out (and we all need to go wash our faces) and if not, it gets stuck. No matter. It’s easy, my kids will eat it and we all get some veggies.
- You helped my lose the weight. When we embarked on our “weight management plan for new moms,” Whitney and I both made eggs for breakfast nearly every day.
Love always,
Heather
——–
Thanks to the Parent Bloggers and The Incredible Edible Egg for giving me the excuse and inspiration to write my egg love letter.
[photo from coolmompicks]
Hey ladies (dudes, please look away),
I lost 9 pounds and two inches from my waist in four months. And I’m not only proud of myself, I want to tell you exactly how I did it and then graph it for you.
But first… let me remind you that this is not a site to talk about the D-word (if D-word is “diet” but maybe if it is “diapers, more fun than” or “dinner at a restaurant“) because we think you are beautiful how you are and we just want you to have fun with your baby and yourself the first year!
But if perhaps your baby has just turned two and people are still asking you, “when is the baby due?” it might be time to think about revising your meal plan just a smidge and perhaps stepping up the running of errands (like in spandex). So, this is where my story begins.
Imagine that I still look decent, kinda normal, kind okay with a little extra something-something around the middle and people are asking if I’m pregnant. While part of me actually considers getting knocked up to put an end to the awkwardness, the smarter part of me takes control.
I did my modified version of the 30 Day Shred for 6 weeks and got frustrated. I was getting stronger, building endurance, and now able to do a pushup but I lost zero pounds. Frick!
Knowing that I love a good challenge and I do better with a partner, I talked my bff Whitney into joining me for the next phase of the plan. Just after Valentine’s weekend, we embarked on a secret plan: Phase One of the South Beach Diet. Yep, the D word.
So we did the SoBe diet strictly for one week and each saw 5 pounds drop away. Kickass! I was exercising a little here and there — still with Jillian — and she was not. The next week, we kept up the fervor of saying no to all bread, sugar, and fruit and each lost zero more pounds. We thought that was pretty much BS, but we were also so happy to be at our pre-second-baby fighting weights.
The next two weeks were followed by Whitney’s modified phase two suggestions all leading up to my birthday, at which time we would both have cake.
Following my birthday in mid-March, I ate cake every day for a week or two. I’m not kidding, but I stuck with my new routine of eggs for breakfast and salad for lunch. I also started the “crowding out” maintenance plan of filling my day with so many healthy foods and good vegetables that I don’t have the hunger for the bad foods. So, when I go out for pizza, I’ll have a slice and a huge salad rather than eating my half of the pizza. For Zachary’s Pizza (heavenly version of Chicago deep dish), I ate half a slice with my salad and was still happy.
And that’s kinda where I am now. I try to stick to whole grain breads, but I don’t spit out pizza or a muffin if it’s all that’s available. I still tote around the fake sugar but I enjoy a good cupcake as the situation dictates. And I see how many vegetables I can cram into each meal. Today, I had a gajillion of them (mixed greens, zucchini, asparagus, broccoli, mushrooms, soy beans, garbanzos, and more!)
Today, I was re-measured for custom jeans by indi/intellifit and I have lost 2 inches off my waist since mid-January and 1 inch off most other measureable body parts. Except my head. Obviously, that sucker grew a smidge because I’m so proud.
As a precaution, I ate some candy today (before the measurement) so I won’t be too fat for them by the time they arrive. In about four weeks, I’ll get my custom jeans and tell you all about them.
by Whitney on March 28, 2009
in Blog, Rant
I had a massage today, one that I had planned for several weeks. After torturing myself on The South Beach Diet for 2 weeks, and then semi-torturing myself on a modified version of the diet for 2 more weeks, I had earned myself a reward. I look awesome, by the way, weighing in at my pre-kid weight.
My mom gave me a gift certificate specifically for a hot stone massage. She arranged for it with the spa and created a cute card from the printed out email certificate they sent her. The dollar value was clearly marked.
Here are 10 things that made me hate this massage. In no particular order.
- Two weeks in advance, when I made the appointment, the receptionist asked if I have a preference for a man or a woman. I let her know that I prefer a woman. Two days in advance, they called to let me know that my masseuse would be a man. Ok, thanks for letting me know, but why couldn’t you satisfy my request when I made the appointment so far in advance?
- While I was waiting, the receptionist offered me magazines in a totally awkward exchange. “Do you want InStyle! Or Cosmo!” she asked too loudly. I took both from her hands, but then saw that there was no place to set anything down. They gave me water also, but again, no place to set it down. I am already feeling physically uneasy. But this is getting picky.
- The start of the massage consisted of the man applying lotion to my back in a random feeling, lightweight pressure. It felt like I had asked a girlfriend to apply sunscreen, not like a massage. Weird, but I tried to assume this is part of the hot stone methodology.
- Some of the stones were too hot. I believe I am burned. The spot in which I am burned is pretty much the start of my butt crack. Did I want a scalding stone placed there?
- In my past experience with massages, the masseuse typically tucks the sheets snugly around your legs and chest as your limbs are pulled out from under the covers, subtly reassuring you that your private parts are not being exposed. This masseuse did not do that, and I felt anxious that I was exposed at many points during the massage.
- He went pretty far down my back(side) and came up pretty high on the thighs, without asking me if I care to have my tushy massaged. My past experience tells me that asking first is the norm. I felt uncomfortable.
- When he asked me to turn over, he did not do the reassuring “I’m going to lift this sheet so that you can turn over.” He just told me to turn over and I took it upon myself to cling to the sheets and blankets to make sure I was covered.
At this point, you might be thinking, “Jesus, woman, you are 35 years old. Tell the man what you like and don’t like, and if you don’t like it, leave.” Well, let me assure you, that’s exactly what I was saying to myself in my head. But I didn’t leave.
Allow me to keep going with my list…
- When I turned over, the lights were glaringly bright. I asked “Do you have anything to put over my eyes,” which I hoped was going to result in a lavender eye pillow. He searched in a drawer and put a dry, floppy washcloth over my eyes.
- He said he was going to massage my belly. I don’t know how it happened that suddenly I had a dishtowel over my breasts and my belly exposed, but I felt pretty sure that he must have had more of my breast exposed than is ok with me. I tucked the dishtowel around me more tightly and endured for about 30 seconds. Then I said, “I feel uncomfortable with this. Can you pull up the covers and move on to the next thing?” Really, a belly massage for someone who has had two pregnancies (one of which was 42 weeks) has got to be just, well, gross looking, and I couldn’t relax with the image of what my kneaded abdomen flesh was looking like, although I couldn’t give a shit what this dude thinks of me.
- Finally, he ended my torture with a weird massage of a thickish cream on my face. “What is he putting on my skin?” I wondered, worried that I was undergoing a zit-inducing pore suffocation session. When he proclaimed the massage finished (by the way, don’t rub someone’s face after their feet, please) and left the room, I sat up and looked around at his tools of the trade. He had been using Avalon Organics Hand and Body Lotion. On my face. WTF! I am not a picky or savvy consumer of cosmetics, but I do know that you don’t put hand lotion on your face. Blech!
I basically rushed out of there, thinking that I just need to go home and process and will call to voice my complaint later.
But not before I clarified that it was unacceptable to charge me more than the price of the gift certificate, since when I arrived, they had admired and acknowledged the gift certificate. And then post-massage announced that I owed $30 more. I don’t think so.
Then — the kicker.
I saw Heather for dinner and asked her how her treatment at that place had been two weeks prior since we had never talked about it and GUESS WHAT! THE SAME EXACT EXPERIENCE! (How could we have never talked about this?)
Heather had blamed herself, assuming she just didn’t care for a male masseuse. WRONG. The dude was totally unprofessional. I’m disgusted and furious. And I have a very mildly burnt butt crack.
We marketers often talk about “trusted brands.” Everyone wants to be a trusted brand so that consumers will buy from them for the rest of their lives, adopting whatever new product the brand launches.
Each consumer is unique and we formulate our own reactions, some emotional and some logical, to the product choices we face every day. For example, I cannot tell you why a Ford is not on the list of car brands I would shop from. It’s just not a brand I identify with. I am a Honda/VW girl, and one day, if budget allows, perhaps I will own a Volvo.
Of course, the second my baby started eating real food, I faced a whole new set of brand choices that probably subconciously translate in my head to “What kind of mom am I?” Am I an organic-only mom? Do I buy Earth’s Best or Gerber? Do I use Johnson’s baby shampoo? Do I use Pampers wipes or just paper towels that I wet with warm thermos water that I keep on the changing table (that one lasted about two days).
To me, some large companies, like Proctor and Gamble, Kraft, and Quaker are places I mostly associate with where people get jobs after business school. This means I never lose sight of their motives - profitability. Surely they would tell me their motives are customer satisfaction and product excellence, but I think I’m going to be tough to convince.
We have to trust these brands, however, because modern life requires that we move fast, work at a desk, answer 50 emails every day and watch American Idol twice a week. We can’t make 100% of our food and baby care products ourselves. But what’s in this stuff?
A new website - GoodGuide.com - is one place to start. If you are choosing between brands A and B, search there to see which has better ratings in terms of contents of the product AND ethics of the company. And, there’s an iPhone app so you can get the info while you’re actually making your decision at the shelf.
What products did you start questioning when you became a parent?
