Exposed

This morning, I made my weekly pilgrimage to Marshalls. I rarely buy anything at the discount clothing store, but if given enough time, I will try on just about everything.

Some people have productive hobbies like running and stamping. I like to try on clothes that I have no intention of purchasing.

Usually I take care of business in the designated place for such activities (AKA the dressing room). Today, however, I had a reason to be socially inappropriate. I had Cameron with me and he decided very early on that he was going to wage war with the shopping cart's seat belt. My time was short.

I was in the middle of the store when I decided to slip a blouse on over the one that I was wearing. I could tell immediately that the shirt was too big and so I took it off and hung it back on the hanger and continued sifting through the rack.

Here's where the gods punished me for my perpetual window shopping.

After I put the shirt back on the rack, it took me a full 30 seconds to realize that I was walking around the store in just my underwear.

Don't ask me to explain how I didn't notice a) that I was topless and b) that my shirt was stuffed inside the blouse that I had hung back on the rack. My husband has asked me these questions several times today, and the answers still elude me.

All I do know is that when I realized what I had done, I dove to the ground and army-crawled to the blouse. When I stood up again, three other shoppers had their hands over their mouths.

One said loudly to her friend, "What does that woman think she's doing?"

Once again, I do not have answers to these kinds of questions.

Go DUKE

Yesterday, I took my kids to Disney World's food and shopping district (Downtown Disney). There was a lot that impressed me about the place, but nothing more so than the sheer quantity of things for sale with the Mickey Mouse logo on them.

High end jewelry: CHECK
Wedding silver: CHECK



Small kitchen appliances: CHECK
Pet Houses Galore: CHECK



Headstone: CHECK


More high end jewelry: CHECK

"Some people are totally cuckoo over Disney," I told my husband when we got home. Almost as impressive as the amount of Disney merchandise for sale were the number of people buying it.

"Some people can't get enough of Disney stuff," he told me authoritatively, "Which I think is kind of creepy."

In unrelated news, I ordered new bedding for my boys:
And check out what Scentsy just sent me in the mail:



It's part of their new Campus Collection of wickless candles.

The Importance of Education...and Rubbing Your Neighbor's Back

Earlier tonight I gave a presentation to the teenage girls in my church about the importance of education. I came to the class armed with statistics and handouts out the ying yang... and old photographs of me from middle and high school. Everyone was impressed with the amount of gel I managed to squeeze in my hair.

How bad are the pictures? It will suffice to say that my cousin uses one of them as her profile picture on Facebook.

I digress.

Usually I can hold my own in front of a crowd, especially if I bring brownies for that crowd to eat after my presentation. This group, however, gave me a run for my money. A few minutes, I was fumbling around like crazy. Maybe it was my unbridled enthusiasm about the subject matter, or the fact that all of the girls were sitting sideways in their chairs and rubbing their neighbors' backs during my whole presentation, but for whatever reason, I had a tough time staying focused.

Now that I've thought about it some more, I'm pretty sure it was the back rubbing.

"This isn't a massage parlor, so knock it off," I told them.

To the girls' credit, they did listen. One by one, they pivoted around in their seats so they were facing forward. I continued with my presentation.

A few minutes later, one of the girls developed an itch on the inside of her arm. Her neighbor volunteered to scratch it. It only took a few minutes for the room to turn into a communal scratching post.

I was a little creeped out about the whole thing until my husband a) made me watch a video of gorillas picking fleas off other gorillas' backs on the Internet and b) reminded me of the time when I got kicked out Home Ec for "tickling" my friend's arm when I should have been watching the teacher make meatloaf. In my defense, I was only returning the favor: my friend tickled my arm throughout a school assembly earlier that day. My teacher said that whatever we were doing, it made her feel uncomfortable.

I didn't understand what the teacher meant then, but now I kind of do.

My husband said, "What goes around, comes around."

The Public Library: Part I

One afternoon every week, our public library shows a different animated movie in their auditorium.

Coincidentally, I happened to be in the library with my kids just before one of the movies was scheduled to start. When my kids saw the faux movie theater (auditorium + folding chairs + pull down screen) they turned into hyenas.

"Can we go? Can we go? Please can we go?"

I asked the librarian who was checking people in at the door if they had space for five more. She scanned the near empty room and then studied her clipboard. There were 13 names on her print out.

"I might be able to squeeze you in," she told me with a straight face.

"Great!" I said and gestured for my kids to enter the room.

"Wait!" the woman said, holding up her hand to stop us. "I need you to officially sign up for the event."

"OK," I replied and pulled a pen out of my purse. "What and where do I sign?"

"You have to sign up online."

"Is that really necessary?" I asked.

The woman used the words "critical" and "essential" in her reply.

"Can't I just add our names to the list that's right in front of you?"

Evidently, no I could not. I had to log onto the Internet from my cell phone to add my family into an online shopping basket on the library's website. (Important side note: I did all of this while standing five feet away from the librarian)

"We just went live with our online registration system," the librarian told me when I was done.

"I never would have guessed that," I replied.

"We're very excited about it," she continued.

"Mmmm Hmmmm," I hummed.

If you can't say something nice, it's best not to say anything at all.

I tried again to get my kids through the door. By then, the movie had already started.

"Did you print out your confirmation number?" the librarian asked.

I tried to stay calm.

"I'll let you in this time," she lectured. "But next time, you really need to bring your confirmation slip with you."

I told her that I would try...but I didn't say how hard.

The Wanderer

Two of my older children are really good about staying with me when we are 'out and about.' The third is not.

Since he was a toddler, my husband and I have called this son "The Wanderer." He doesn't deliberately run off when we are in public places, he just stops to smell the roses, stick his fingers in ant hills, and pick the leaves off of trees. A couple of days ago, my kids and I rode our bikes to 7-11. On the way, we passed through a wooded park.

Half way through the park, I turned around and counted children. One was missing. We found him on an imaginary trail in the middle of the trees.

Needless to say, this child learned his address and my cell phone number very early on. Until he was four, he used to experience the world from afar (ie strapped into the stroller). Now that that is no longer a viable option, he wears these bracelets.

"If you call them bracelets one more time, I'm going to gnaw my arm off," threatened the Wanderer a few days ago.

"If you stop wandering away from me in public places, then you won't have to wear the bracelets," I informed him.

This morning, the bracelets went missing. Around noon, I found one floating in the toilet. A few hours ago, half of one turned up under the Wanderer's bed.

For future reference, I will try to remember that six year-old boys prefer the term "wristband."