Pumpkins, Parties and a Parade

Some weeks are just a shitstorm of activity and this was truly one of ‘em! Halloween is a much loved holiday around this house and the girls have a ton of stuff they want to do to make it the most perfect Halloween ever. This is also the last week of my class, so I had a final in addition to the usual workload.

Sugar decided she loved last years costume so much, she wanted to wear the same thing again. However, we had to change up the makeup and add vampire teeth so she was actually a vampire-witch. Read between the lines here folks, a hyphenated costume means an additional spend and extra effort. This week she has had a Girl Scout Halloween party, school parade and party today, then trick-or-treat on Sunday. The very cool false eyelashes and rhinestone tattoo are being saved for Sunday’s grand finale.

Spice had her preschool party today and was beyond excited to wear her costume to school. Is there anything better? We also contributed a Graveyard Cake for her party. It was decorated this morning with gravestones, skeletons and skulls, pumpkins and gummy worms. The ulterior motive in Spice offering assistance was that she had to personally taste test every item that topped the cake. Gummy worms did not meet the expectations of her gourmet-level palate.

I’m glad I took today off from work. It was Sugar’s last march in our town’s annual Halloween Parade. I think it’s really cool that the town still closes down Main Street so the two elementary schools can have their students show off their costumes. Then on Halloween, all the Main Street businesses are open and hand out candy to the trick-or-treaters. A fun place to live… remind me I said this when I complain about the ridiculous real estate taxes I pay.

Most of the activities are now behind us, but for pumpkin carving and trick or treating. It will be a fun-filled weekend, but a small part of me looks forward to tucking in my tuckered goblins on Sunday night. 

xoxo

Ice Princess

CH-RIS

For years now, I have occasionally seen this woman on my way to work in the morning. She is easily recognizable driving in her cutesy Hyundai Santa Fe, with her personalized license plate and adorable Winnie the Pooh license plate holder.

I would get behind her and she would always be driving 5 MPH under the speed limit. I thought perhaps my speedometer was wrong, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt and tried not to tailgate. Fast forward a few years and she has a new car (Same color. Same make. Same model. Same faded freakin’ plate holder and same plate). I also have a new car. She’s still driving 5 MPH under the speed limit. It’s not my broken speedometer, it’s her driving.

At the beginning of the 2009-2010 school year, she started showing up at the bus stop at the bottom of my street. There are only 17 houses on my street, I assumed she bought the house right next door. Every single day, no matter how early I got to the bus stop, she was there. I stationed Sugar at the window to watch for her a few times, but we never saw her. I concluded that she must leave for the bus stop at the ass crack of dawn.

Not only was she at the bus stop every day, but she would go around the bus every morning while traffic was stopped, so she could be “first” or whatever her issue was. I came unglued and called the police. Apparently, three other neighbors called the police as well. Mind you, she did this daredevil move every morning, but as soon as she hit the open road, she’d slow down to 5 miles under the speed limit.

I try everything in my power to get away from her. I stop and get gas. I wait and let her get a big head start. But every single day, without fail, I end up back behind her. If she happens to miraculously reach the appropriate speed out on that big, scary road, she panics, hits the brakes and slows down to 10 MPH under the speed limit. She also has this annoying habit of looking down side streets that feed into the road we are traveling.If there’s anyone within her line of sight, she STOPS and lets them go in front of her.

But you know what? She still gets to be first because she drives so slow. She’s always like the lead clown car in her very own personal freak parade. Every morning I stare out the rearview mirror at the long line of traffic trailing us. Sometimes I even yell “stupid lady” at her in hopes that she can hear me.

I found out at the beginning of this school year that she does not in fact live on our street. She lives elsewhere in our town, but this pick-up time works best with her work schedule. She can drop her son off and still make it to work on time. Here’s a novel idea: drive the speed limit, maybe even a touch over. You will feel exhilarated AND get to work on time. Become friends with your gas pedal: it’s the one on the right. Use it before I lose it. 

Dirty Laundry

Spice calls the laundry basket in their bathroom the “dirty hamper.” I think she’s onto something. No matter how often I do laundry, it seems like the dirty clothes are piled to the ceiling every time I go to wash another load. I am convinced there’s some little creature hiding in the bottom of the hamper who occasionally shouts out, “go forth and multiply!” to the various articles of clothing tossed in. Of course, this rule does not apply to socks. Those bastards simply go missing.

Besides being nearly suffocated from the pile of clothes requiring laundering, it was a relatively quiet weekend. The girls went to see my parents, then opted to stay overnight. Fine by me, I got my homework turned in before noon today. Twelve hours ahead of my usual schedule.

I picked the girls up in the early afternoon and headed to Walmart for a few necessities. It’s never a good thing to run out of toilet paper! I knew I was going to be in for a long, cranky afternoon when Spice asked to sit in the cart. She’s almost five and hasn’t wanted to sit in the cart since she figured out that all the stuff on the shelves can be played with, perhaps even accidentally tossed into the cart. Sugar begged for 512 different items, Spice insisted on going up and down every toy aisle to check out all the toys she’s seen in commercials. We got a few touch-up items for Halloween costumes, the emergency items on our list and beat feet out of there.

The afternoon and evening were fun-filled with fighting, arguing, pushing and shoving. Most time spent with the girls these days seems to involve more refereeing than anything else. Is there anything that CAN’T be fought about? The first throwdown occurred over Sugar’s room. Spice was helping her clean, but wasn’t doing it in an “organized and orderly fashion.” Where does Sugar get that bossiness and OCD from? Hm.

Then I get a phone call from the President of the PTA of Sugar’s school. Seriously, do they try to recruit over the phone now? No, even worse… Sugar had recently sold hundreds of dollars worth of cheap crap for a fundraiser and someone’s check got returned, not because it bounced, but because the account doesn’t exist. Who the hell writes a check for cheap crap on a nonexistent account?  Apparently Mrs. PTA attempted to reach the woman to collect the $16 plus $15 returned check fee, but the woman hasn’t paid up yet, so they’d like me to collect from her. I don’t even really know this woman. The director of Spice’s daycare took the book and passed it around and a bunch of teachers bought stuff. How does one collect funds? Do I need to bring my piñata buster from work when I pick Spice up tomorrow?

The house is again blissfully quiet. The UFC contenders are snug in their beds, too tired tonight to even shout from their respective rooms. The dishes are done, and there’s yet another load of laundry to be folded and put away. I’m seriously considering asking EN to install some sort of camera in the dirty hamper so I can keep an eye on the action. I could make some serious coin. I bet there’s a huge market for laundry porn.

xoxo

Ice Princess

My Peeps

Yesterday’s post was a downer. Flat-out, there wasn’t much “happy” to be found in it, was there? My biggest fan didn’t even text me to tell me that she loved my post and I need to come up with another IMMEDIATELY. Ok, not immediately, but yesterday. She’s a pushy broad, that Cindy! And that’s why I love her. She pushes me to be better, stronger, happier.

What moves me? What makes me smile? What makes me laugh so hard I’m afraid I’ll pee my pants? Mostly my husband and children. If you don’t live with the people that make you laugh the hardest and love the mostest, what’s this life for?

I have this incredible husband. This man that thinks I rock. I juggle a thousand things at a time and he tries to help, but really, does a man ever do anything right? Can a man living in a Barbie House of Pink really ever have a say and stand strong? Not so much. But he tries. He’s been dealt a couple of figure skaters after thirty-something years of dreaming of hockey players. He can dress a Barbie, drink tea out of a plastic teacup and wipe ass better than I’m sure he ever thought he could. He is amazing.

Then there’s Sugar. Her smile lights my world. She wakes in the morning with this ridiculous smile on her face, ready to embrace the adventures that she’ll face today. A morning person does not live with me. How could this child have come be mine? She was the baby strangers smiled at in the stores because she was always happy. She has these humungous brown eyes that light up when she’s happy… and go completely blank when she is sad. Her happiness, her zest for life, her aura… is breathtaking. She is truly the first-born, spoiled child of a couple who waited a long time to welcome another into their brood.

And Spice. Holy shit, where did this kid come from? She’s sassy, rude and everyone who meets her loves her madly. She bitches endlessly about how the world has wronged her, but at the same time her family is her world. She tells her sister frequently that she’s the “best sister ever.” She woke me up at 6 am on a Saturday. I opened one eye and said, “Baby, why are you up so early?” She said, “because, Mama, I missed you.”

Stinky morning breath has never smelled so sweet.


xoxo
Ice Princess

Hurtful Mothering

When you become a mother, your life tends to revolve around your children. You do what you can to make them successful in school and life in general. You teach your kids the skills they need to become good little people. Does there ever come a point when we stop mothering? Are we ever done?

It seems that lately I’ve been surrounded by examples of what I’d call Hurtful Mothering, and the victims are my grown-up girlfriends. We’re all in our mid to late 30’s and I’m stunned to see the power that our mothers still have over us. A few words or a simple action wounds us severely. He who said “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” was full of shit.

My friend Chris recently asked her mother to watch her son for a few hours because both she and her husband had crises at work that needed to be handled on a Saturday afternoon, when daycare was not available. Instead of getting a helping hand, she got a lecture about managing her time more wisely with an extra insult thrown in about how she was too old to have such a young child.

My friend Kate went on vacation this summer with her mother, two brothers and assorted nieces and nephews. Throughout the week, Kate had to listen to her mother and sister-in-law talk about her “weird” kids and “bad” husband. Finally, Kate stood up to her family for some negative things they said to her daughter. Instead of seeing the impact the words had on her granddaughter, Kate’s mother informed her that her daughter was nothing but a liar and the incident was all in her head. The vacation was soon over, the arguing went on, then Kate’s 60-something-year-old mother defriended her on Facebook.

And my own mother… We speak frequently (several times a week) and I try to keep the conversation light. We laugh about the buffoonery that Sugar and Spice bring to my day. We talk about books and sales and family gossip. I rarely share Big Important Things that matter to me. Over the summer I took a Public Speaking course and had to write a speech about something that I was proud of. I would like to say that I struggled for hours over this speech, but it really came pouring out of me in no time at all. I loved my speech and wanted to share it and decided to include my mother. I attached it to an email, then sat there thinking “should I send this?” with my finger hovering over the “Send” button. I clicked send.

The next day was “speech day” and I gave my presentation to my class and got a very positive response. I came home elated. There was a message on my answering machine and I listened to it while still floating on air. It was my mother. She had read my speech and was less than pleased. How dare I talk about my childhood that way? One line about how I didn’t get the Trapper Keeper I wanted when I was twelve overshadowed the three pages about adopting a soldier in Iraq and making sure she had a fabulous Christmas. I was blown away by what she said and very deeply wounded. It goes without saying then, that when the speech was published in the local paper (submitted on a dare), I didn’t buy her a copy.

At the end of Grey’s Anatomy on Thursday, the main character said “by the time we are standing on our own two feet, we are standing there alone.” We are grown up now, but we don’t want to be standing alone. We forever crave the acceptance and pride that can only be given by our mothers. We want the same applause, hug and “atta girl” they gave us when we spoke our first words and took our first steps.

We secretly always long for the approval of our mothers and therefore can never stop mothering our own babies. Teach your children well and realize that their successes are a reflection of your influence on their lives. 

Little Music Lovers

She’s following me around, booty shaking, one hand on her little hip, other hand pointing at me as she belts out her newest favorite song, “Stuck on You” by Sugarland.

I’m stuck on you
Whoa-oh, whoa-oh
Stuck like glue
You and me baby
We’re stuck like glue
Whoa-oh, whoa-oh

The voice isn’t good and the dance isn’t much better, but the sheer joy on Spice’s face as she sings and dances is priceless. The girls love music and they seem to learn lyrics quickly.

When they are in the car with me, we listen to a lot of country music. It’s one of my favorite genres, but also kid-friendly. There’s not a lot of bad language or “situational” lyrics. The first song they learned the words to and sang as a duet was Kid Rock’s “All Summer Long.” I thought nothing of it until my parents took them on an outing and my angels rocked out while singing:

"While we were trying different things
we were smoking funny things
Making love out by the lake to our favorite song
Sipping whiskey out the bottle not thinking bout tomorrow"

Ok, a little inappropriate, but just because they know the words to a song doesn’t mean they are going to head out to indulge in whiskey and weed, right?

I recently started paying closer attention to other songs they knew and it really seems like they hone in on the bad words. Those words are screamed out with glee, the “boring” lyrics are lost in the shuffle. It’s ok to talk about drinking and smoking if it’s in a song, right? Some examples include

"It’s a quarter after one
I’m a little drunk
And I need you now"
-Lady Antebellum, and

"'Cause I gave up smoking, women and drinking last night
It was the worst fifteen minutes of my life"
-Rodney Atkins

So I consider turning to the Disney station on Sirius for music by Justin Bieber, The Jonas Brothers, etc… but the torture of listening to songs like that can’t compare to Spice turning the highest piece of furniture in any given room into her stage and shouting:

"I got my toes in the water,
ass in the sand
Not a worry in the world,
a cold beer in my hand
Life is good today."

This song, by the Zac Brown Band, thrills her to little bits and pieces. And I’m always there to remind her not to use words like “ass” and “beer”… at least when there are responsible adults around.

Random Updates

The heat is on. And I didn’t turn it on, let me remind you all. The whatchamacallit has been replaced and some blah-blah board repair was made. I really just need the abridged version (“it’s done”) rather than the details, but since I had to suffer through a detailed play-by-play of the repair, you do too.

In an effort to jump start my weight loss, I have taken the stairs to the office for the last two days. I’m also parking a bit further away and haven’t had soda or beer since the weekend. Baby steps. I even brought celery as a snack today. I considered going for a walk at lunch time, but let’s not take on too much too soon.

Sugar and Spice spent the night at my parents house on Satruday and Spice chatted my mother up about the stickers she so thoughtfully decorated the house with. Their conversation went something like this:

Spice: Did you find the last sticker I put up for you?

My mom: Yes, I sure did!

Spice: Well I knew Grandpa wouldn’t see it, that was special just for you!

My mom: It is a very pretty sticker. I’ll keep it there forever and ever.

Seriously Mom, are you not the same woman that mandated that any posters we hung up in our rooms need to be on the doors only, where they could be easily removed? They aren’t kidding when they say you treat your grandchildren much differently than you treat your kids.

And I’m beyond thrilled to announce that Spice has brought her artistic flair to her very own bathroom. Would you have ever thought to put a sticker on your potty? 

xoxo

Ice Princess

Memories, or Lack Thereof

EN forgets everything and is frequently distracted by butterflies and shiny objects. It really shouldn’t surprise me to realize that his eldest daughter is EXACTLY the same way. Even after dealing with EN being that way and having been together for 14 years, dealing with this issue isn’t any easier. Having Sugar behave the same way makes me come unglued.

I picked her up from school yesterday and she was kicking up a fuss with the woman who runs the after school program. Sugar forgot her homework in her classroom and Colleen wouldn’t let her go get it without an adult with her. So we schlepped to her classroom and got her stuff, back to the gym to collect book bag and such. We were halfway across the parking lot when I realized she was shivering in her t-shirt. “Where’s your coat?” Apparently it was in the gym so she needed to go back to get that.

We get home and she shows me the items she bought at the book fair, even kindly buying something for Spice. I didn’t want to give her money for the fair, because she’s been losing so many items and forgetting so much STUFF lately, but to punish a child by taking away new books… that seems foolish. So the deal was that she could get some new books, but would have to find her music book when she got home from school.

Sugar started looking for the book after dinner. I could vaguely hear (it’s great to be hearing impaired sometimes!) her banging around upstairs, the occasional cry, yell, maybe an item or two being tossed around. I told her to simmer down, and maybe look for her misplaced eye patch too. Nearly an hour later, she’s back downstairs, borderline hysterical and obstinate, “I can’t find either one.” For her attitude alone I said, “Then we will need to find out what the return policy is for these books.”  Things got even worse when Sugar confessed that she had thrown the music book out over the summer. Why would someone waste all that time looking for something that she knows is no longer there? Why lie and put on a big show like she knows exactly where it is?

I was the Worst Mother Ever… and I yelled. I yelled because she lied. I yelled because she is constantly forgetting things. I yelled because it seems like she doesn’t value anything she’s given. And the whole time, she stood there with tears pouring down her face, looking at me, still loving me even though I was a raving lunatic.

The instruction manual I got when I became a mother makes no mention of when I can start to expect a child to take some responsibility for remembering things, keeping track of their own items, etc. Am I expecting too much? Not enough? Is there a switch somewhere within her brain that I need to set to “ON” so she can start remembering things?!

The bonus of this memory disorder? Sugar was as chipper as always this morning, smiling and happy. I’m sure she’s forgotten last night ever even happened. And me, I’ll be wallowing in guilt for days over this…  

xoxo

Ice Princess

Ode to My Fat Ass

No one warns adults that when they sign up to take online courses to work on a degree that they are susceptible to the “freshman fifteen.” When we ship our kids off to college, we know that they aren’t going to eat as well as we would feed them at home and there might be some alcohol consumed. Then around finals, instead of going out to meals, they down a bag of Doritos and sodas trying to stay awake for the all nighter. Hence the weight gain.

It happens to grown ups too. It happened to me anyway. The last time I was truly thin was when I joined Weight Watchers in 2004. I lost over 20 pounds and started looking pretty good, back into my pre-Sugar jeans even. EN must have thought I looked pretty good too, because by the end of 2005 we welcomed Spice into our family. I gained 40 pounds while pregnant and almost instantly lost 20. The other 20 pounds stayed with me. I started to get serious about losing the weight, then decided to go back to school. Now every night I’m parked in front of the computer or a textbook studying, writing, working on ridiculous math problems. Not ginormously fat, or even enormously fat, but I have a whole lot more fluff than I’d like. My big-girl-beer-drinking jeans are tight, uncomfortably so.

Thankfully, the weeks left in school are almost single digit. Less than two weeks left in this class and a final eight-week course. If I go by calendar days, I will have exactly two months left as of tomorrow.

Now that I’ve gotten my brain filled with new knowledge, it’s time to work on getting some of the junk removed from the trunk, the belly, even the arms (yikes!). What disturbed me most was a glance I took into the mirror when Spice was giving me a hug… her little arms looked like a string being wrapped around a beach ball. How embarrassing. How dreadful. Something must be done.

Come December, my next project is already slated. A friend of mine coined the phrase “40 by 40.” That is my goal as well, losing 40 pounds by my 40^th birthday. I’m going to have to say goodbye to the yummy treats and soda and bring back the good eating habits I learned the last time I was a Weight Watcher. Bring on the celery and ice water.

My mouth waters in anticipation and my fat ass is begging for mercy.

xoxo

Ice Princess

Equipment Check

Competitions, races, contests, games… We all play them or watch them, whether it’s Candyland with your four year old or hockey with a bunch of pals, there’s something that each one of us does. Smart players check their equipment before engaging and there’s usually someone checking that all is in order on the playing field.

Some games in life, however, are not organized per se. They are things that just happen when a couple has been together for a while. Every fall we play the same game in our house: the person that turns on the heat first is the bigger wimp. Since we’ve had Sugar and Spice, we’ve gotten more lax about the game. We don’t want our cherubs to freeze.

We’ve had a fairly mellow fall here this year, so we’ve actually made it into October before the taunting started about who was going to lose the contest. The propane tanks are full and we waited to see who would be a bigger wuss and actually move the thermostat button over to “Heat.”

It rained all day Friday and the winds were blowing terribly. It got cold, bone chilling cold. The girls were watching tv, coloring and fighting and I was working on homework when I decided to look at the thermostat, the house seemed to be getting colder. 60 degrees, that’s ridiculous. I decided to lose the contest, for the sake of my children, of course. I clicked the thermostat on and nothing. I turned it off and back on again, felt the vents, waiting for the warm air to take the damp chill out of the house. Still nothing. I started texting EN at work to find out if there was something else I needed to do to get the heat going. He walked me through a few things, nothing. He came home after work and tried fixing the furnace and discovered some whatchacallit had gotten wet. Are there any parts stores open on the weekends? Hell no.

The gas fireplace is going and we have portable radiators in the girls rooms, so there’s some warmth to be had until the new part can be bought and installed.

While I may have attempted to turn the heat on first, the heat did not come on. Once the furnace is fixed and EN tests the system to make sure it works, he turned it on first and is therefore the loser. I challenge you to argue my logic. 

It’s great to be a winner.

xoxo

Ice Princess

Dream Killer

It’s my job as a mom to support my kids in what they want to do. If we have the time and funds available, we’ll let the girls sign up for whatever interests them. The only rule is that they have to stay with the activity for the entire session. We’ve tried swimming, softball, dance, gymnastics, ice skating, violin, Brownies… I’m sure I’ve missed some!

Sugar recently came home with a application to run for Student Council. She said she was interested in it and would need to write a paragraph about why she’d like to be involved. That paragraph had to be delivered as a speech to her class and they would vote the same day. A few things I liked about this process-every kid is *not* a winner. The kids are encouraged to actually make an effort if they want to be on the Student Council. Second, the process is speedy quick. Not like “grown-up” elections where the phones ring incessantly for months prior to voting day.

Our weekend was a whirlwind of busy and the application slipped my mind. I honestly never thought of it again until I cleaned out Sugar’s lunch box on Wednesday night and came across a picture of one of her classmates with “Vote for Me!” on it. I am The Worst Mother in the World. My kid wanted to do something and I failed on all the Proper Mommy Tasks: I didn’t nag her to write the paragraph, practice her speech, I did NOTHING. Sugar will someday be in therapy because her mother failed to force her to chase her dreams!!!

The next morning I told her I had found the picture and that I felt bad. She just shrugged and said she changed her mind about it anyway. PHEW! We chatted about who ran in her class, who won, etc. She shared with me that one girl ran but didn’t get a single vote. Then I remembered why I hated school votes-nothing more than popularity contests. My heart hurt for that little kid. Then a thought occurred to me…

“Um, Sugar, why didn’t M vote for herself?”

Sugar stared back at me with her big brown eyes bugging out of her head… “Honestly Mama, I have no idea.” 

Poopid & Doopid

Spice got her nickname due to her mouth. She says the things people dream of saying and she gets away with it. People just laugh about how funny she is. It’s annoying when you are the mama trying to get the kid to toe the line.

My parents also think she’s hysterical and let her get away with being mouthy. We see them often. At the very least we are there every other Sunday for dinner. Sunday dinner is MANDATORY. There is no excuse that can be used to get you out of going to dinner. You could die that day, and still my mother would come and find and kick your dead ass. How dare you have the audacity to miss dinner? This past summer, we were driving off after dinner and Spice, while waving and blowing kisses, says, “Bye Poopid! Bye Doopid!” Now, when I am pissed at them, that’s how I refer to them. In my head. Only Spice can get away with actually saying stuff like that out loud.

My mother was recently away for about ten days. While she was gone we had a Sunday dinner in her absence. Dad is a good cook, so we were still guaranteed a good meal even though Mom was gone. After dinner we socialized for a bit while the kids ate their treats and played with the goofy little prizes my dad had gotten them.

Apparently he bought them stickers and didn’t think to pay attention to Spice. When we came back into the kitchen, there were stickers on everything: refrigerator, cabinets, doors, dishwasher, pantry… just everywhere. It should be noted here that my mother is one of those German clean freaks (she even irons her dish towels). My dad looked like he was going to have a heart attack-“WE NEED TO FIND ALL THE STICKERS BEFORE YOUR MOTHER GETS HOME.”

It was obvious who put the stickers up, you could pretty much draw a line around the room, about 36 inches from the floor. We asked Spice why she did that, and she said because she wanted to. Really, is there any other logical answer from a four-year-old? We spent the next few minutes peeling stickers and thought we got them all. I got two emails from dad during the week to say that he had found a few more. We thought we were in the clear. My mother was home for less than twelve hours when she found another sticker.

What can I say Poopid and Doopid, Spice is stuck on you!

xoxo

Ice Princess

Uncertainties on the Job Front

Since this is all new, I have so many things I could rant about… It’s hard to choose just one thing! Sooner or later though, I’m sure that I will run out of ideas and may even be forced to say nice things about people and events. Oh, the horror of it all.

I’m within 11 weeks of finishing my BS in Business Studies. I’ve been working on an online degree for the last two years. It’s been interesting, frustrating, a piece of cake and also the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I can’t believe I’m this close and I am amazed I stuck with it to completion.

This puts me in an interesting spot at work. What shall I do next? I earn a pretty nice paycheck and the benefits here are wonderful. However I hate my job and I’m totally bored by it. I took the position eight years ago (holy shit!) thinking I’d stay until something better came along. In the meantime, I’ve had Spice and started working towards a degree.

I am an admin, or Queen Ass Wiper, as I like to say. I’m frustrated with the level of engineering entitlements (that’s a post for another day) and being stuck at a level where some think I’m too stupid to voice a thought or give an opinion. I do like most of the people here and even considered staying on and working towards and MBA. A conversation with my boss last week crushed that idea. I’m being encouraged to look for work elsewhere when I complete my degree.

Since I’m ridiculously sensitive, I’m mostly hurt by the “recommendation” from my boss. We’ve worked together for six years and I feel like I’m being dumped. Does it help that he offered to give me a “glowing reference?” Does it help that he suggested that I get out of here while he’s still here to give me a good reference? Should I read between the lines and wonder if he’s planning on retiring in the near future?

I’ve done some preliminary searching and have seen a few things that look interesting but I’m scared. I don’t like change. I haven’t worked on a resume or been on a job interview in eight years. I don’t remember how to act or what to say. Girls with no self confidence aren’t able to “sell themselves.”

There is one thing I remember from interviews though. No matter how thirsty you get, never accept the offer of a beverage. Because when the interviewee, who is all decked out and dressed to impress drinks from that glass of water, the dark lipstick she’s wearing may rub off on the cup. The next time the interviewee takes a sip, dark lipstick is then transferred onto the face of interviewee and no one tells her. She doesn’t realize the lipstick transfer has occurred until she gets into her car after the interview and looks in the rearview mirror. There staring back at me were curved lipstick lines ON MY CHEEKS… like the Joker from the Batman movies.

Never drink the water.

xoxo

Ice Princess

Choosing the Name

I've wanted to start a blog for a long time. I have a few close girlfriends that I share a lot of stuff with. We correspond mostly by email as most live pretty far away. I found myself emailing the same tale of woe, thoughts, rants, dreams and wishes over and over again... My real friends, they know everything. And they are the gals I've told about this blog. I'm hoping that blogging will "simplify" my life, yet still let me keep my bestest and closest well informed.

So what the hell does the name of this blog mean? Well, I'm a Facebook fanatic and have called my girls Sugar and Spice for a very long time. One of my friends suggested the nicknames, and they've stuck. My husband is really the nicest man in the world (that doesn't mean I don't get frustrated with him!) Ice Princess was the name I gave my work computer as everything had to be a snow or cold theme. My coworkers found out and all agree the name fits the owner better than the computer. My husband got right in on that action too and thinks he's wildly funny when he calls me "Princess O'Ice." Who asked him anyway?

I'm hoping this blog is cathartic. I have a lot of shit that I need to get off my chest regularly. I'm hoping that writing about what's making me nuts will make me a kinder, gentler (HA!) person. So my rants, they are my Buckets of Ice. By posting them, maybe they'll melt away. Or pile up all together into a glacier. We'll see.

xoxo
Ice Princess