NOTE: BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND (AND ALSO BECAUSE I’VE BEEN TOO DANG BUSY TO COME UP WITH SOMETHING ORIGINAL – HERE IS A POST I WROTE LAST CHRISTMAS. IF YOU’VE NEVER READ IT BEFORE, ENJOY. IF YOU HAVE, ENJOY AGAIN. OR NOT. HAPPY HOLIDAYS MY MAMMAKAZES!

Okay. Last year we bought this advent calendar in the shape of a Santa at Target’s after Christmas clearance. And this year we began a “tradition”  where every night on the 25 days of December leading up to Christmas, the elves come and bring Julia a little something.

I know I know. Over-indulgence.  Believe you me, I wouldn’t have started this lovely tradition except my friend JENNIE does this every year with her two boys JAKE and ZACH. And last Christmas every day on the way to school Julia was privvy to their excited ramblings about what the elves brought them the night before. Naturally, she wanted to know why the heck the elves came to them but not to such a nice, well-behaved young lady as herself. Being a tale-spinner from way back, I tried to spin some tale about different families and different holiday traditions starting hundreds of years ago. But she wasn’t having any of it. And thus, a tradition was born.

As if I didn’t have enough to do prepping for the holidays. Now I also have to come up with something clever every night for 25 nights for the elves to bring! And since Julia is up at the crack of dawn and sometimes she falls asleep AFTER me, I’ve often had to tip-toe downstairs at 4 am to put something in the #$%@# calendar.

Anyway, one of the things the elves bring is money. Coins. Quarters, dimes, nickels. And since we have started this tradition (three weeks ago now)  Julia has been like a magpie and squirreled away everything she’s gotten from the elves in a shoebox that she calls her “trinket box”. Even the chocolates. Don’t ask me why. It’s probably that same gene that (when I was a kid) made my Halloween candy last from October until May (much to the dismay of my brothers who downed theirs in a day).

That was a whole big preface to what happened this weekend.

So we got back from errands and while I went to wrap gifts with my newly acquired wrapping paper, Julia made a beeline for the potty. Right on schedule as she’d had her Saturday morning donut and milk just an hour before. She’s nothing if not regular.

Anyway. suddenly, mid-wrap I hear a blood-curdling SCREAM come from the bathroom. My mommy mind immediately went to all manner of horrific scenarios including one in which she somehow managed to slip off the potty into the tub, cracking her head on the faucet. “I knew it was too soon to take the rubber polar bear faucet cover off!” I thought as I raced to the bathroom.

I FLUNG open the door. She stood there, bare butted, in front of the toilet SOBBING.

ME: Jules! What’s wrong?!

JULIA: My nickel. It fell in the toilet!

ME: What are you talking about? What nickel?

JULIA: My nickel from the elves!

Sure enough, she was holding her “trinket box” full of chocolates and coins and wind-up Santas.

TONI: What were you doing looking at your trinket box while you were going potty?

JULIA: I don’t know. I just was. Mom! You HAVE to get it!

ME: Honey. It’s just a nickel.

JULIA: No. The ELVES brought it! It’s special!

Ah yes. The “special” nickel. What have I wrought?

I looked down in the toilet. I saw a LOT of stuff but no nickel.

ME: Uh, I don’t see it. Maybe it didn’t fall in there.

JULIA: It did! It did! Get it mamma! Pleeeeeease!

I love my kid. And I’ll do almost anything for her. And I have gone through great lengths to impress upon her the importance of saving money and not being wasteful. But there’s waste and then there’s WASTE.

I drew the line. And by drawing the line, I mean I lied.

ME:  Julia. I’m sure you didn’t lose a nickel in there.  I’m sure it’s on the floor.

JULIA: (calming down) Really?

ME: I’m positive.

Knowing it probably wasn’t on the floor, I planned on planting a substitute somewhere on the floor when she wasn’t looking.

ME: Now pull up your pants and then I’ll help you look.

JULIA: Okay.

As she pulled up her pants, I flushed the toilet. And as I did… the loud CLINK CLINK CLINKING of metal being swished around the porcelain bowl could distinctly be heard. And we both saw a flash of silver just before the bowl emptied with a rush of water.

JULIA: AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!

Sigh. Guess tomorrow calls for an extra  special gift from the elves. Maybe a Webkinz? Thanks a lot Jennie.

Like returning to this blog after an extended absence, I have recently returned to the gym. Not sure what prompted me. The realization that I am an older mom with a 10 year-old daughter who has triple my energy, the way my belly looked like two lumpy blueberry muffins protruding from the top of my “fat” jeans, or the fact that swimsuit season is rapidly approaching. For a woman, these are all powerful motivators and probably each played an integral part in my finally getting up off my butt and committing to losing some weight and getting in shape. Oh, and that really cool MyFitness app I have on my new Smart-phone  that helps me track my daily calories didn’t hurt. Yeah, there’s a little tech geek in me.  

Well, in addition to feeling healthier in general, my return to the gym has opened up a whole new world to me. One of MORNING TELEVISION. Did you know that ellipticals have personal TVs on them? Yeah, you probably did. Tells you how long it’s been since I’ve hit a gym. In my defense, until a recent hip injury, I was always a runner.

Anyway, now that I’m spending an hour a day on these joint-friendly machines, I have seen all manner of drivel compelling stories on the tube. For example, I know that Kelly has a new set. That Lamar and Khloe aren’t happy in Texas. And that most hair stylists are handling scissors and bleaching products while drunk. (BTW that Tabatha is one scary $#@&%).

But just yesterday, I saw something that really got my panties in a bunch. Something so moronic and utterly ridiculous I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cry.

One of the news shows did a hard-driving, in-depth piece on an Olympic athlete who had started her own line of activewear. As she was presenting her various pieces, holding them up for the camera (and all her potential customers in TV Land) to see, she pointed out what she thought was their most important and sellable feature. No, it wasn’t the vibrant colors that are guaranteed to draw the attention of that rock-hard guy at Gold’s Gym who is busily turning his six-pack into an eight-pack. It wasn’t the revealing little cut-outs that add that titillating little glimpse of the small of your back that silently screams “come hither, rock-hard dude!”

It was their ability to WICK MOISTURE! That’s right. These overly-priced gym clothes are guaranteed to SOAK UP and HIDE YOUR SWEAT.

To this I vehemently, though kindly, say: No thanks, Gold Medalist chick!

I don’t know about you, but I don’t go to the gym and work my butt off so that I can hide all evidence that I have been working like a maniac. When I get off that machine, I don’t want to look like I just spent the morning doing light errands about town. I want to LOOK like I did intervals at levels 10 and 12 for an hour! As I gather my water bottle, cell phone, ear phones, towel and gym bag I want to glimpse my reflection in the mirror and see the sweaty fruit of my hard labor. I want to walk past those who are just entering the gym on the way to their workout and think to myself as I pass them… “Yeah, that’s right, ya’ll. I kicked butt on the Precor today”.

AAAAND…. If I so happen to run into someone I know at the Starbucks after my workout… well, I can’t help it if they admire the sweat stains on my pits and belly, can I?

Okay, maybe admire is too strong a word. Actually, I’m not really so delusional. I know no one is looking at me when I leave the gym. I know the barista is probably thinking “Ew. Why can’t this lady go home and shower before she comes in here?” And I don’t really run into people I know at Starbucks that often. And even if I did, most of the sweat is gone by the time I get there.

I guess I just need to see the sweat for me. So that I can get some outward validation of the terrific mental energy and resolve it takes me to drag myself to the gym everyday. See, it’s not easy for me. And it’s gotten harder the older I get. But I know I need it to feel healthy and better about myself. And honestly, so I can be around for as long as possible in my little girl’s life.

Unlike my mother who had me at 21, I was older when I had my daughter. So I think a lot about my life expectancy and how much of her life I’ll get to spend with her. Because I’m an older mom I’ve cheated myself out of a decade or more of her life. Of seeing where her life leads her, of being a grandmother to her children, of being there for her when she needs me.

So I guess it’s not really the muffin tops or swimsuit season. The main reason I’m sweating is for my kid. Because kids need their moms in their lives for as long a possible. (Whether or not they’ll admit it).  And I WANT to see the immediate results of my efforts – every stinky, sweaty drop of it – because then I know I’m making progress to this end.

So sorry, Miss Nine-time Gold Medalist. This is one mommy who won’t be purchasing your moisture-wicking active wear. I’ll stick to my worn-out Old Navy T’s from three seasons ago. Because, like the wrinkles at the corners of my eyes, they honestly display what I have experienced. Pit stains and all.

Okay. I know I haven’t posted in a while. Weeks in fact. I plan on getting back to the keyboard soon. But in the meantime, I couldn’t let a Thanksgiving go by with offering up the greatest Thanksgiving gift of all. The thing for which I am most, well close to most, thankful.

My brother John’s Thanksgiving Song. It’s historical and hysterical. My favorite combo.

Watch. Enjoy. Share. And Happy Thanksgiving, my MAMMAKAZES!

Okay. While there may have been some parental blundering, there is no blendering involved in this week’s guilt-assuaging libation.

Because this week I am here to tell you about FLIPFLOP WINES.

MAMMAKAZE was asked recently to sample a trio of their wines: a pinot grigio, a pinot noir and a riesling.

We’re experts after all. Well, maybe not experts. But we do enjoy us some vino from time-to-time. And we know what tastes good to us.

So we invited a group of MAMMAKAZES over to a taste-testing. JOHANNA, ANGELICA, JENNIE and her mom SUE took to my courtyard to enjoy some appetizers and the free bottles of wine. Now, while free is nice, it doesn’t matter if the wine isn’t any good. But it was!

“Delicious!”

“Delightful!”

“Cute label!”

“It only costs how much?!”

“I’d definitely buy this!”

“Pour me another, baby!”

Those were some of the comments that were heard during the wine-tasting.

I was a particular fan of the Pinot Grigio. As were Jennie and Angelica. It was zesty, light, fruity and refreshing. Perfect for kicking back and relaxing on a warm summer evening with friends.

Johanna, a red-lover, really grooved on the Pinot Noir. It was smooth and went well with the chocolate we nibbled on for dessert.

And we all enjoyed the sweet offerings of the Riesling. In fact, I had some leftover (because while we enjoy wine, we are not lushes) and I brought it to a friend’s house the next night to polish off with some turkey tacos! Was that wrong? What do I know about pairing wine with particular foods? We just knew it tasted good to us.  YUM!

And you know what else? Well, besides the fact that they are reasonably priced (only $7 SRP!) and have a really cute label which, I’ll admit, has influenced me in past wine purchases.

FLIP FLOP WINES is a company of do-gooders!

Underdog Wine Merchants has formed a partnership with Soles4Souls Inc. the international shoe charity dedicated to providing free footwear to those in need. The program will raise much needed funds to give one pair of flip-flop sandals for each bottle of flipflop wine purchased (up to 100,000 pairs for the first 100,000 bottles sold).

That’s right. For every bottle of flipflop wine you buy, they give a pair of flip-flops to those in need!

I mean. Good wine. Good humanitarian practices. What else does one need to say except:

 ”A toast to this lovely company and their lovely wines!”

To find out more about this company or to purchase their wines click on the PINK LINK ABOVE or the following link:

flipflopwines

We recently bought a new family car. American if you must know. The first time in, well, ever. We’ve always been Honda and Toyota folk. I also had a VW Bug in college. Red. Cherry. Nice. 

But Randy the perfekt husband felt very strongly that we should “Buy American”. You know, what with everything that’s gone down the last few years. Also, the car we bought got fabulous reviews. Better gas mileage and safety ratings than the new version of the Honda we currently own. And we’d read that the American car companies were really stepping it up to compete. Soooo… we took the plunge.

Well, within 3 weeks, the car developed a SQUEAK in the back. With all the driving Randy does, it was driving him crazy. Soooo… our new American car had to go into the shop. After a full day of researching, they found the problem.

The Service Guy called and told me that the problem was in the back cargo door.

SERVICE GUY: We put a shim in to keep the door from banging.

So when Randy got home from work that night and he and Julia (our 9 year-old)  and I were hanging out, I explained to him all about the shim.

JULIA: What’s a shim?

ME: It’s something they wedge tightly in between two things to keep them from banging.

We weren’t thrilled about this development in our brand new car, but that’s not the point of the story.

So the next day is Saturday. And Saturday is usually our sleep-in day. But sometimes, when the house is quiet and all creatures are sleeping (and by creatures I mean Julia) Randy and I take the opportunity to “spend some MUCH NEEDED quality time together”. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more.

So I snuggle up next to him. He puts his arm around me. We smooch, ignoring each other’s morning breath knowing that the clock is ticking and getting up to brush our teeth will only eat away at precious minutes.

We lock in an amorous embrace when SUDDENLY… pad! pad! pad! That well-known sound of little feet approaching.

Randy and I share a final lingering look (you know, the same one Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio shared right before the Titanic hit the ice cold water and sucked them down into the dark depths)  bracing ourselves for the inevitable onslaught of skinny arms, legs and elbows.

And sure enough, we bounced in the air as 62 pounds of 9 year-old hit the bed, crawled over top of me like I was nothing more than a bump in the road, and WEDGED herself right in the middle of her father and me.

RANDY: (groaning) OOmph! Ow!

ME: Excuse me! What do you think you’re doing all wedged in there?

And here’s what she said. I kid you not.

JULIA: (sporting a big grin) I’m the shim that keeps you and dad from banging!

Randy and I looked at each other. No truer words were ever spoken.  Sigh.

Maybe next Saturday. Or when she goes off to college…

I feel guilty.

Yeah, I know it’s nothing new. After all, my whole website is based on guilt. Working mom guilt. Tired mom guilt. Cranky mom guilt. As mommies, we are world-class guilt feelers. And at the moment I’m steeped in it. Why? No, I didn’t get tied up in traffic and miss my kid’s piano recital. Or forget to slather her in sunscreen for her field day at school resulting in a spray of freckles beneath her right eye in the shape of the Big Dipper. (although I HAVE been guilty of that one).

I cheated on my hairdresser. (Sorry Patrice). Well, I didn’t exactly cheat. I mean, I didn’t pay someone else to touch my hair. I didn’t even let them touch it for free. But I did have a meet and greet with someone who touches hair for living. A celebrity stylist in fact! His name is NICK ARROJO. And I’m now going to write about it on my website.

MAMMAKAZE got invited last week to a VIP event at a hair salon called RITUALS. I know, cool huh?

It’s one of those high-end, fancy places where they use razors instead of scissors to cut your hair. And then your head ends up looking like a work of art… or January Jones during one of her “walks of shame”. How does her hair look so fabulous after her wild nights? Does she have a stylist on call who tracks her via lojack (because you know Jan has no clue where she is in the morning)  who comes rushing over to floof her for the paparrazi who are waiting by her car that’s parked caterwonky on someone’s lawn? Nope, I’m pretty sure it’s the result of a razor cut and fine hair care products.

Speaking of FINE HAIR PRODUCTS. That’s why I was invited to Rituals. The salon has gotten into bed (figuratively, not literally as is January’s M.O.) with celebrity stylist NICK ARROJO – he of WHAT NOT TO WEAR fame (click HERE to read all about him).

Nick was touting his line of haircare products, which will be carried at Rituals and other such fine salons around the country.

A group of us bloggers got to sit and chat with him about his hair care line while noshing on lovely finger foods. He gave us his background – which was quite impressive – and I asked what I felt was the most important question of the evening.

“What would you do with my hair?”

No I’m kidding. Everyone asks him that and I didn’t want to be one of those hair groupies. Besides, I was way overdue for my hair appointment and so I was afraid of the answer. I’m nothing if not fragile when it comes to criticism – real or perceived.

No, the question I asked was this:

In a world of hair care products and recessions and moms on budgets who have to be careful how they spend their money – why should they buy YOUR products?

To which he replied (and I’m paraphrasing because I didn’t have one of those fancy recording devices that true reporters carry and I don’t know how to use the memo function on my phone):

According to him, most  high quality hair care products will do a good job with your hair. The differences are in the ingredients and the price. His products:

1) DO THE JOB

2) have organic ingredients and are sulfate and sodium-chloride free (which Patrice tells me is pretty amazing for quality haircare products)

3) Smell FABU – it’s the Verbena.

4) Are NOT tested on animals and…

wait for it, wait for it…

5) Are priced between $12 and $18 – whereas other high-end products are $25-$35.

I gotta say, 5 very good reasons to use his products.

And as a mom who aspires to “greenness” and “chemical-free”, I was especially impressed with his standards. I mean, the guy refused to jump on the Brazilian Blowout bandwagon because he knew the formaldehyde was unhealthy for his clients and his stylists who would be exposed to it all day. At $200 a pop, he passed up some big $$$$$.

Forget six-pack abs. Being socially and health conscious are the new SEXY! Me likey!

At this moment, my complimentary Arrojo products are being tested by a non-biased MAMMAKAZE. One who didn’t benefit in the form of fancy finger foods and signature vodka drinks.  I’ll keep you posted – although I’m pretty sure they’re gonna be great.

Meanwhile, to purchase his products online (so you can have fabulous “walk of shame” hair without the shame) click HERE…

THANKS MY MAMMAKAZES!

NOTE: Coming soon, a link to a fabulous skin care product created by a fellow mom blogger who uses her ad budget to support an orphanage in Africa and a website where your kids can ask tough childhood questions… to a dog!

Our lives have changed a lot since we discovered Julia has a sensitivity to gluten and refined sugars. Most notably are the multiple weekly trips we take to Whole Foods. It’s one of the only places we can get the food she can eat.

I’d never been there much. I was always a Trader Joe’s gal because it’s cheaper and I found the extra two mile drive to Whole Foods to be pretty daunting. And all those Priuses! Jeez! Yes, I know I drive one. But I don’t buzz around acting like I’m single-handedly saving the planet. I mean, I still haven’t totally figured out the recycling codes on the bottom of those plastic containers. And can’t for the life of me remember if construction paper and milk cartons go into the green trash can.  And anyone who tells you they have it figured out is LYING!

Anyway, I ran across this video. It’s really true. Especially the part about the lady in yoga pants. It’s a required uniform for perusing the gluten-free aisle. Which is why I get dirty looks. I don’t have yoga pants because I don’t have a yoga butt to go in them. But that’s a different post.

Enjoy this music video. Heads up though. If you don’t know what Quinoa is, you might not get it.