Mama, can you turn it up? I promise I'll dance....

It's the deal we have, you see. In order for the car's radio to play louder than I can hear her, she has to promise to do some car seat dancing. Cause' it cracks me up. And so I dance too, the two, now three of us grooving along while running errands.

We talk of other things too, some stemming from Remembrance Day: "Tell me again about the soldiers," she'll say, "What else do they help people with?"

I've explained that soldiers help people who are frightened (like, maybe from monsters? Umm, I don't think monsters, Honey). People who need help when the rains come and their houses are not made of bricks so they don't have places to sleep. Places where there might not be enough food to eat or clean water to drink and people are worried and hungry. Places where bad men might want to be the boss, and so they hurt people until the people who live there say "ok, you can be the boss, just stop hurting us" but then they don't.

It's hard, you know, to explain these things.

What's even harder is to think of a response to this when your eyes are tearing up:

"WHAT?!?" She said on Saturday as we backed out of the driveway, "two soldiers were killed???"

A new spring, a new leaf.

Some of my favorite quotes of the week:

"Talk about a unitarian state!" The less-than-completely-engaging Dr. Academic, during a work presentation on sub-national units and international federalism, making a joke about France. (I didn't get it either. Don't bother explaining - I'll only be rolling my eyes.)

"I waxes him all the time." The replacement Leader, speaking of competing Wii-style with her husband.

Overheard in line at the very same meeting:

"Do you think she's from Newfoundland?" (If she's not, she's doing a most excellent job of faking it.)

"Use your instincts" Boss-man, describing how I should pursue my files.

It's amazing, really, how much one boss can affect things. I've been the phone a friend for so many - knower of strange detail - but for some reason, I've been having trouble bringing that same confidence and willingness to share knowledge and opinion (god knows I'll do it at the drop of a hat - even less than that - in a non-professional situation) into my work realm. It's just that it's so new (well, four months now) - this desire to hear what I think.

Dude. I got skills. I'm working on using them. I've got to dig the crazy out of the memory banks and strike out. Telling people what I think and why.

There's really no time like the present.

Wish me luck.

Springing forward

So there I was, putting my hair into what passes for a ponytail these days (the regrowth from the post MasterP shed is now at the length that it sticks directly off my head in all directions in a fuzzy aura. I try to tame it down with product and a headband, but even the grippy ones slip off my oddly shaped noggin, leaving me with odder shaped hair. It's pretty fashionable, to say the least.), when I realized that some of my highlights were still visible, despite being done oh, lets say, MasterP + 7 days ago.

Only then, upon closer inspection I realized that they weren't my salon highlights.

They were my "natural, platinum highlights."

oooooh. See, it was cool, there, for a while, when I was pretending that I was doing it to be in solidarity with the mostly pepper salt and pepper BigBrother during the trip north this summer - but now, there they are. All grown out and looking like highlights.

sigh.

I know Victoria's Secret, and you should too.

I'm a fairly brand loyal person. When I find something that works, I tend to keep using it. In the past, I found that to be so with Victoria's Secret's Body by Victoria line. And, because I am who I am, I like things to match. So I buy, and wear, things in sets.

This should not be a surprise.

After years of wear, my trusty everyday BBV's had started to wear. They're a little stretched, and a little pilly, so when the semi-annual sale came around in December, I stocked up, and bought enough matching things that they shipped them free to Mrs. Maiden's winter home. (Not having to ship to Canada? Priceless!!)

After a few days of wear of the set, however; it became apparent that something was not right. I stopped wearing them.

At a recent pedicure, I showed my waist (the part of my torso I was willing to expose in the salon) to Wondermom, who pronounced what she saw to be "not hives, but chemical burns." They are red welts the size of a finger print. Everywhere the seams of the underwear and bra touched. Think straps, underwires, band, waistband....

They've been there for almost a month and are still visible. I'm breaking out in places I usually do not require undergarments - my thigh, the middle of my back, my elbow.

I called VS to complain on Sunday night, at which time Barry (real name used) informed me that despite the fact that he had worked for VS for over 6 years, and this was one of their main sellers, he had never, ever heard of my problem before.

Barry, I'm pretty sure you're lying. I looked it up.

Victoria's Secret is that her bras and underwear contain Formaldehyde. Formaldehyde, my dears.

Giant, red scaly welt causing formaldehyde. They know it, and they keep selling them to you.

Just so you know. Tell your friends.

Amusing myself.

I'm not sure what I was thinking, but Husband was away and I was on my own. Instead of doing a run or any of the other things that could lead to my own good health, I sat on the couch and watched others search for theirs.

Specifically, episodes of Bulging Brides and Last 10 Lbs Boot Camp (which, I feel, might be a misnomer. They are not at the end of a process.)

The concept of a huge amount of work which leads to specific results. Inspiring.

Such that I was so influenced that I thought - what the heck. It's not that great a number between the wedding day and now.....

Yes, yes it was. Tony could have snapped me and my unhappy face for the inspirational 'before' photo, gaps and all.

But on the upside - I found the serape/wrap the Matrix gave me 10 years ago - and it did remind me just how gorgeous my wedding dress was. But it looks like I've got a ways to go if I'm going to wear it to my high school reunion.

Hee. What?