I Am Always Amazed

It seems inexplicable to me that my children are as old as they are.  And nothing brings this to light like getting together with family who have little ones of their own.

It seems like it wasn't too long ago that this was our family photo out at the farm, with a toddler ooo'ing and aah'ing at everything, discovering the world for the first time.

What's even more amazing is that the dad in this picture is Travis, Wayne's nephew, who was our ring bearer in our wedding oh so many years ago.

He was six or seven at the time, about Marissa's age.

I remember when my kids were babies people would always say "cherish these moments, some day you'll realize how quickly they fly by." I always hated that -- yes, I know I should cherish them, but between diaper changing, nursing, constant laundry and intermittent sleep, it was always difficult to say that I would look back and say "wasn't that wonderful?" Even now, I have to say that I don't long for those days.

No one says that anymore now that I have school-aged kids. But now I can enjoy more, and actually cherish my children.

And so I will treasure the times when my kids ask to be picked up, or when they crawl into our bed at 2 a.m., thinking there's a worm in their bed. (True story, happened just last night.) I will appreciate the fact that when I'm walking down the street with a child by my side, there's a good possibility that a warm little hand will slip into mine, just for reassurance. And I will remember the sounds of Marissa or Lindsey playing on their own, creating their own worlds with trains, or babies, or Barbies or what have you, before that sound is swallowed by the sullen silence of teenagers listening to their music or texting their friends.

These are the days I will cherish. And I am always amazed at how quickly they are going by.

HomEc Revisited

Lindsey has a final paper for school that she's been working on for several weeks. It's a research paper on an ocean animal, with the added twist of a project to be presented along with the final paper.

Keep in mind the girl is in 3rd grade. I don't remember doing schoolwork like this in 3rd grade.

She's spent several weeks researching her animal. When we were on our way to Boston a few weeks ago I had to review her first draft, and she's had a few more drafts since then. And then she had to pick one of eight different ways to add on a project about this same animal. Her project could have been a diorama, a collage, a poster, but no, she picks...the pillow.

The pillow?

Yes, one of the choices is to make a pillow, either in the shape of your chosen animal or with a picture of the animal on it.

Oh, did I tell you what her animal is that she's doing her report on? The giant squid.

Or, as any adult with my upbringing will think, the giant penis.

I tried to steer her into a different direction, something involving paper. But she had her heart set on a sewing project, because she was pretty sure not many people were going to do one, and she wanted hers to be different.

Yeah well, when I have to sew it for her, it will definitely be different! Especially considering that I don't own a sewing machine.

On Sunday Lindsey and I went to Michael's to get supplies, and her idea of a pillow was something made out of felt. Oh, sewing with felt, I think I can do that.

So she cut out the squid shape, used fabric glue to put it on the pillow, and used self-stick felt letters to write the name of the animal on it. We'll attach yarn as the tentacles after the pillow is complete, but first I had a job to do: sew the damn thing up. 

After the kids went to bed one night I sat down with some TV, my sewing basket (yes I own one, thanks, mom) and the pillow case.

I had no idea that it was possible to sew pre-cut pieces of felt in such a way that you could make the edges NOT line up. Apparently it's possible. But when you turn the pillow case inside out, you can't tell. Now it'll be interesting to see how it looks once we stuff it.

It's a squid,dammit.

It's Called "Health" Insurance, Right?

As those of you who follow my blog probably know, my dad has had two battles with colon cancer, the first in 2007 and the most recent in 2011.

He is a wonderful soul, a great story-teller and an easy-going, great guy who has been through hell. From diagnosis in January 2011 to a final surgery in October, he spent most of last year battling this disease. He is now cancer-free but is taking a low-dose maintenance chemo pill right now, since this particular type of cancer has recurred once already for him.

My dad and I, April 2012.

I have had friends and family members who have had cancer of the lung, breast, bone marrow and blood, ovary, thyroid, skin, cervix and others. You name the body part, there's a cancer that can grow on it. I do not mean to minimize the hell that all cancer is, but I cannot imagine a cancer more difficult to treat and manage than colon cancer because of the loss of dignity that goes along with it. I won't get more detailed than that, except to say that if you want to know more about the challenges that go along with colon cancer, you should check out my dad's blog on the subject. He is incredibly open and detailed in sharing his experience in order to help others who may be going through it themselves. There's a lot about this particular recovery that doctors don't tell you about.

Thus I am motivated to get screened for colon cancer, even though I'm not yet at the recommended age of 50. My doctor recommended it based on my dad's history and wrote a pre-approval request to Blue Cross Blue Shield, my insurance company, that I get screened.

It was denied because I'm not yet 50, despite my family history.

Hmmm...that's odd, this same insurance company covered the same procedure for my husband when he was under 50, based on his sister's early diagnosis of colon cancer. Hers was found during a routine colonoscopy and did not need any additional treatment beyond the removal of the polyp during the screening. The biopsy of the polyp indicated that it had been cancerous, and her doctor told her she was lucky that she had gotten a colonoscopy when she did, because her doctor misread her chart and thought that she had already reached her 50th birthday. If he'd realized she was still a few years shy, he wouldn't have recommended the procedure.

They covered my husband's screening but denied mine. Odd. So I called. Twice.

The first time the "customer advocate" informed me that it was her understanding that this health screening was covered when there was a family history, and that the pre-approval had been declined because of the manner in which my healthcare provider submitted the paperwork. (Apparently there's a difference between a "routine" and a "medical" colonscopy.) She said she would call my doctor's office, have them re-submit the paperwork and that I should get approved. Great.

Two weeks later I still hadn't heard anything, so I called BCBS again to confirm that it was now approved, only to find that it has been officially and formally declined.

That's because my insurance policy does NOT cover screening colonoscopies under age 50, regardless of family history. Basically, the only way BCBS would cover a colonoscopy is if my doctor indicated that I had some symptoms that would require one; in other words, if my doctor committed fraud. Not that BCBS recommended she do that, but simply said that colonoscopies are only covered if symptoms are present. I have no symptoms, and from what I understand of the disease, by the time symptoms appear it often means cancer is present. That's why people get screened.

While I wasn't looking forward to the procedure, I was looking forward to the peace of mind of having a clean bill of health, and I'm frustrated and annoyed by this decision. We recently drained our health savings account due to appointments for other family members so we have no money set aside for this procedure, which we discovered costs around $2,500.

Our family is fortunate in that we have health insurance and we have the ability to save money on a monthly basis to cover our health expenses not covered by our high-deductible plan. Eventually I'll be able to get screened, and we'll pay for it out of our own pocket. But for low-income familes or anyone without health insurance, I have to believe that this is a screening that they would simply not get if insurance didn't pay for it.

Obviously BCBS understands that they are gambling that the majority of colonscopies performed on people under age 50, regardless of family history of colon cancer, will be negative. But if they are wrong, it doesn't seem fair that their customers get to pay the price with their health.

Did You Say Nine?

We were late getting Lindsey's birthday party invitations out, between a trip to Arkansas and then Boston. Most people received the invitation with only one week's notice. Yet only one child wasn't able to make it. How is that possible? So here we were again, two years after we said "We'll never have THAT many kids again," at a party with 13 children.

Eight of the 13 guests.

At least this time they were older and the activities more contained.

Lindsey's birthday party was at Grand Slam this year, a batting cage/mini-golf/laser tag/bumper car/game arcade kind of place. It was an interesting place to have a party, because once everyone arrived the kids all split up into different areas and went to their favorite activities. It was fun to see how the kids all interacted with each other, with one group of four going in one direction, then meeting up with a different group and splitting into different groups of kids depending on what everyone wanted to do.

Marissa was allowed to bring a friend so she had someone her age to do things with. They rode on the bumper cars, got out and then got right back in line for the bumper cars again. I think they rode in those cars about 7 times. At one point enough other kids from the party joined them so that all nine bumper cars were from our party and they all knew each other. It was hilarious to watch as they would maneuver their cars into each other, or drive in reverse, waiting to run into someone without knowing who it was, but knowing that at least they would KNOW them.

The highlight for Lindsey had to be the laser tag; she and various groups of friends played it at least 4 times, and it takes at least 15 minutes to play one game of laser tag each time.

In the meantime, Wayne and I would walk the area, checking for stray kids who didn't have anyone to do something with, or who needed help with arcade games, etc. We ate a late lunch (or early dinner, depending on your point of view) of pizza and cake.

I don't know why, but it was completely exhausting. Three hours in this noisy, energetic place with hundreds of kids and adults milling around, trying to keep track of 13 little girls (and then making sure all 13 were picked up at the end of the party) was completely and utterly exhausting. I don't know what well that energy comes from, because it's not physical energy; it's parenting energy, or something. It gets empty very quickly when there are 13 kids pulling from it all the time.

And so we went home, and Lindsey opened her gifts with just the four of us there to appreciate them, with Wayne taking notes for the thank you notes that would be written later. We had a dinner of popcorn and will shortly go to bed, all of us.

Lindsey showcases a gift while Dax licks his lips from eating leftover popcorn.

What a great time.

Earlier in the week, when I went to the bakery to order her cake, they asked me what I wanted written on it. I said, "Happy...wait, 9? 9th birthday? Oh my God, I can't believe she's nine." Where are these years going to?

I'm logging off now, gotta go hug my kids again, before they don't want my hugs anymore.

The Running Spirit

While in Boston, I had the opportunity to run a 5k which was the day before the big marathon. It started in downtown Boston, wound through the city streets and ended at the same finish line as the marathon. The finish line is a permanent marking in the pavement in Boston, and is clearly a pretty historic place to be as a runner. How could I say no?

So Sunday morning while the rest of the family slept, I got up early and took a cab to get as close to Copley Square as possible. (I would've taken a shuttle but they weren't running at 6:00 in the morning.) I had plenty of time to walk around, grab a bagel and a water, and sit on the steps of a church and take in the sights.

Many of the runners were doing the marathon the next day; this was just their final warm-up run before the big day. The start line for the 5k had markers for people who wanted to run a 5-minute, a 6-minute, and a 7-minute mile. After that, it was an open line-up. Like that's not intimidating.

Pretty soon we were off, and it was a great run. I only walked at the water stops and at one point had to walk up a hill, because so many people ahead of me had started walking that I had no choice but to walk as well. We ran past churches that were probably 400 years old, and historic centuries-old buildings juxtaposed against modern glass skyscrapers behind them.

I completed in 35:35, my fastest 5k time. It was awesome coming across the finish line with the spectator bleachers full of people yelling and clapping for people they don't know. People with marathon shirts were out cheering on their friends or family members. Those spectators were probably going to be running the marathon the next day, but still came down to cheer on others whose goals were not as lofty as their own.

I got my medal, my goodie bag and then headed back down to the finish, as I wanted to make sure I took a good look at it. They were already taking up the chip mat at the finish, as it had been over an hour since the race had begun. But suddenly, from beyond the finish line, you could hear the crowd roar -- there was one more runner coming in. The volunteers quickly put down one portion of the mat again so the runner could get his official chip time, and then he came into view.

He was a middle-aged man who was very overweight. He wasn't going much faster than a walk but was definitely running in short, slow steps. You could see him gasping for breath -- this was clearly a difficult cardiac feat for him.

The crowd went wild.

The encouragement and cheers that this man received were probably as loud as the Boston marathon winner as he crossed the finish line. It was so inspiring to see someone work so hard for his goal, and to see so many people respond positively to his efforts. He crossed the finish line and had several people clap him on the back with congratulations on a job well done.

That was the highlight of that race for me.

Traveling with the Team

I have a glimpse of what it would be like to travel with an athletic team. Not a group easily recognizable by 90% of Americans, but maybe a team locally known but somewhat recognizable by a wider subset of people.

The security line on the way to Boston was filled with people wearing five-fingered shoes, carrying workout backpacks with gels stuck in the outside pockets, studying the latest weather forecast for Monday in Boston. Which got worse every day, by the way. But more on that later.

One piece of luggage took longer than the others to get through the security screening. Lindsey and I stood there and patiently waited and waited for it to come through, and finally the TSA agent, who was looking at the contents of the bag on his screen, looked and us and said, "What are you doing with cowbells in your luggage?" He smiled as he let the luggage finally slide all the way out to where we could reach it.

We had a layover in Chicago, and nearly everyone on our flight to Chicago had a final destination of Boston. We ran into other people from Wayne's running club who also had layovers in Chicago....but were not on either of our flights. The airport was filled with people wearing blue and yellow finisher jerseys from prior years, or with the orange and black gear from the 2012 marathon.

Reverse this on the way back.

Everyone's big event is complete. Even more orange and black or blue and yellow is seen throughout the airport. From the security line to the shuttle bus to the people sitting in the terminal, anybody would come up to someone else wearing the colors. The camaraderie was incredible.

"How'd your run go?"

"Congratulations on your run."

"How was the heat?"

Oh yeah, back to that.

The week before we left for Boston the forecast for race day was a high of 78. Unseasonably warm, but doable.

Crowd shot of runners and spectators at mile 17.

A few days later it was adjusted to a high of 82. Then 84. Then eventually 87. Only on Monday, of course, it was going to be a bit cooler the day before AND after actual race day.

Wayne's hopes of running a fast race went out the window. He adjusted his plans, wisely, to simply enjoying the experience and stay hydrated.



Wayne at mile 17, grabbing some coconut water and ice.

He completed the race in 4:04, his slowest marathon ever. It was 84 degrees at the start and 89 degrees at the finish. But he finished on his feet and was able to function later in the day, which was more than others could say.

Wayne said that some of the best help on the course came from the spectators. For much of tbe race the runners are going through small towns, running right in front of people's houses. They were setting their sprinklers out to spray the runners, handing out oranges or popsicles or beers. (Not that the beer would help hydrate runners, but at least you wouldn't CARE you were in the med tent.) Where we were standing at mile 17, homeowners had pulled out their garbage and recycling cans for everyone to pitch into.

It was fantastic to be a part of something so big, even if from the sideline.

Wordless Wednesday: Beautiful Girls on a Beautiful Day

Taken at a park near Jonesboro, Arkansas.

Hannibal, MO

On the way back from my dad's place in Arkansas we stayed over once more in Hannibal, MO, boyhood home of Mark Twain, or Sam Clemens, as he was known as a kid.
I had wanted to tour Mark Twain's home on our way down, but the desire to arrive at our destination by dinner hour was more pressing, so we spent time on the way back to Minnesota.

Last year I read Mark Twain's autobiography...Volume 1. And in case you didn't know, Mark Twain's works today continue to stir readers up, with some parents and other groups advocating to change the most derogatory word in his classic books (it starts with an "n") with more acceptable terms, while purists believe we should leave well enough alone.  He insisted that his autobiography not be published until 100 years after his death, out of concern that his progressive ideas would bring retribution to his family.

Outside of his views, Mark Twain had a way to paint a picture with words, and his witticisms were intelligent, satirical and are widely quoted yet today. As he aged his sentimentality over his boyhood roots grew.

The introductory plaque before entering Mark Twain's home

I loved that his home was presented with Mark Twain's own words when he toured his own home as an adult. He had already become famous, his works well-known and his company in great demand. He had become a confidant to President Grant, had met world leaders and toured the nation and the world speaking. But he was brought to tears by the sight of his old home and of the streets of Hannibal, MO.



I love this quote -- don't we all feel like this as we move through life?

Hannibal has remained a small river town, though they have clearly capitalized on their renown as Mark Twain's hometown. The streets slope down to the river and are met by a large berm to hold back the flood waters (that part is probably new since Mark Twain's time). While cars have replaced the horse and buggy, the streets are still lined with many of the original buildings built in the 1830's and 40's, all now on the historical register and well-preserved, home to businesses that would have made Mark Twain chortle.

This building was erected in 1839...and is now home to Groomingdale's, a pet boutique.

Huck Finn's home was preserved as well -- wait, you say, wasn't Huck Finn a fictional character? Yes, but he was based very closely on Mark's boyhood friend, Tom Blankenship. The Blankenship family was poor and lived in a small one-room house on the edge of town. It's hard to believe that a family with 9 children resided there.

Huck Finn's home

Inside Huck Finn's home. So tiny!

The Mark Twain museum brought to life five of his most famous novels, and on upper floors of the museum you could view the original collection of art that Norman Rockwell completed depicting scenes from his books. Some became Saturday Evening Post covers, others were done simply to honor a great American author.

The museum did a great job of creating interactive parts for kids, but Mark Twain's fame and works are still lost on our girls. Some day they will understand his importance in American literature, and hopefully they will go back.

Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn

I'll close with one of my favorite quotes, still relevant today.

Suppose you were an idiot. And suppose you were a member of Congress. But I repeat myself.

Four States South

On our way to my dad's place I realized I have never crossed the Minnesota border into Iowa.

Hard to believe, isn't it?

Guess what -- it looks a lot like Minnesota. We drove through Mason City, Waterloo, Keokuk and then to Missouri. We stayed over in Hannibal, Missouri, boyhood home of one of my favorite American authors, Mark Twain.

After two days of driving we reached our destination -- a little log cabin in Paragould, Arkansas.

It was such a change of pace for us -- so peaceful and quiet. I loved hearing the birds in the morning, the crickets in the evening. The cabin was always filled with a woodsy scent, mingled with coffee and cooking smells.

My dad and stepmom were such gracious hosts. My stepmom stocked the trailer where we stayed with art projects, crayons and paper for the girls, and we enjoyed many home-cooked meals.

We went to the nature center in Jonesboro one day, and learned about Crowley's Ridge, a geological area covering miles of Missouri and Arkansas. We saw snakes in terariums and in the wild, and the girls got to try their hand at duck and goose calls.

The girls played with the dogs. They explored the property with my dad, which was so sweet to see. They rode around the property on Turfy, a golf cart Dad and Terry own, and swung in the hammock.

On our last day the girls took individual trips in to town with one of the grandparents, during which time they were utterly spoiled and got just about anything they asked for. (Thank goodness Terry knows where the Dollar General store is.)

Best of all, our kids got to know their grandparents. Lindsey chatted her grandpa's ear off one day, and Marissa naturally gravitated to Terry, asking her about her favorite color, holiday, hobbies, etc.

It was a visit well worth the drive. We'll be doing it again, I'm sure.

In A Picture

I took 244 pictures over the past week.

Oh I'm sorry, didn't I tell you what we did this past week?

Our family of four packed up the car and drove for two days. We arrived in Arkansas, home of my dad and stepmom. We stayed for 3 days, and spent two days driving back home.

What can I say, it was a ball. The girls were incredibly well-behaved the entire way down, our greatest fear and a big reason why we hadn't made the trip earlier in their young lives. My dad expressed to me his concerns before we arrived that there wasn't "enough to do" at their place. He follows me on Facebook, he reads my blog, he knows how much we pack into our lives living in a metropolitan area like the Twin Cities.

We learned that all we really need is a few wooded acres and two big dogs.

If I had to sum up our experiences in one picture, this would be the one, of the 244 that I took.



It says everything about the week.

But of course, I can't leave it there, so more blog posts on the trip will be forthcoming. But this photo sums it up.

Some day this will be really, really funny

Last week Wayne and I had an appointment to meet with our banker to sign some papers. Nothing big, just some standard stuff to take care of.

The banker could meet us at any branch, we just had to name the place and time. Wayne decided it would be best to meet her in downtown St. Paul, closest to my work, because *shocking* I have a tendency to be late to things, and he figured the closer it was to my work the higher the likelihood that I would be on time.

We had a 1 pm appointment in a building 10 minutes away from where I work. Easy peezy.

Wayne drove from Plymouth to St. Paul and was at the bank by 12:20. He called me to tell me he was there and remind me that the street in front of the bank was torn up and I'd have to find an alternate route. He even recommended a parking ramp I could park in. I figured I'd better get going, just in case it took me longer than the 10 minutes that I expected, so I could not annoy my husband who hates my chronic lateness. So I left at 12:25. Plenty of time.

Famous last words.

I drove to the general vicinity of the building. Traffic was horrible, of course, because of all the construction. I happened to see an open street parking spot and took it, knowing that I was only a block or two from the building. I plunked a few quarters in to the meter, knowing I would be back before it ran out.

And then I walked. And walked. And walked six blocks in the COMPLETELY WRONG DIRECTION.

I called Wayne. I asked which building. "The one with 'Wells Fargo' really big on the top," he said.

That's great and all if I were miles away and viewing the St. Paul cityscape from a hill. But I'm on the street, and I can't look up 20 stories into the air.

After walking for a very long time, I finally realized my mistake and that I had gone in the wrong direction from the car. So I walk past the car again (no ticket, meter still good), and walk in the other direction.

This time I find the right building but can't get into it. Apparently I'm supposed to be a business tenant of the building to enter the elevator, and I have to exit the building, go back down the street and to the other entrance to get to where I need to go.

I finally make it, then am guided by cell phone to the correct floor.

Time of arrival? 1:10 pm.

This is the best part.

The only two things I had to do were:

1. Show up on time.
2. Have my ID with me proving I'm me.

I open my wallet to pull out my driver's license, only to see a blank spot where it used to be.

I had put it into the pocket of my jacket when I'd gone out for a walk the evening before, where it still was. I was confident it was still there, in the pocket of the jacket, which was hanging in my office. At my place of business. "Ten minutes" from where I was now located.

Thankfully the banker agreed that if I emailed her a scanned copy of my ID once I returned to the office we could still move forward. Whew!

Actually, this is the best part.

I returned to my car to find a ticket on the windshield. I check the meter, it had run out (surprise!). I look at the ticket. It is NOT for an expired meter.

It is for not parking parallel to the curb.

Sure enough, I had parked partly askance, in my hurry to get to the appointment on time. Which, of course, I wasn't.

Cost? $38.

Wine, anyone?

The Gift

We were given a gift this past weekend. Some day we will look back and say, "Remember that St. Patrick's Day weekend when it was in the 70's all weekend? Crazy!"

So what do you do on a weekend like that? You relish it. You savor every moment. And you document it, so you don't forget.

We made homemade sundaes.

We raced.

Marissa broke in the swing.

While Lindsey tested to see if it still swung as high.



The trees are confused.

The girls played on the front yard.

And snuggled their Build-A-Bear bears.



Dax caught bubbles.

I'm the One in the Green T-Shirt

St. Patrick's Day kicked off with a run for both Wayne and I. He ran the Get Lucky 21k (or half-marathon) in St. Paul, while I ran my first-ever 7k.

What an experience!

I ran with my friend Emily and a group of her friends, six of us in total. They were all very nice and committed to finishing together. My knee didn't start hurting until the 5k mark, which was a victory in my book. I had to run-walk the last 2k, but someone else was doing that as well so we all stuck together.

Wayne completed his half-marathon in record time. Seriously. He finished in 1 hr 30 minutes, or a 6:47 pace. This would re-qualify him for the NYC marathon, if he ever wanted to do that one again.

He headed to Minneapolis after his race and we attempted to meet up at Kieran's Pub, but the line to get in was literally to the end of the block. (Kieran's had been the presenting sponsor of the race and each runner's race bib was a ticket for a free beer.) We ended up meeting at O'Donovan's down the street, which was filled with runners, but not over-packed like Kieran's.

Wayne, Emily and I had a few brews, a plate of fish and chips and listened to some live music.

All before noon.

To top it off, the weather was unbelievable. We hit a record high of 80 degrees. On March 17. In Minnesota.

Last year runners were wearing jackets, hats and gloves, and this year it was a sea of t-shirts, shorts and, of course, green tutus.

Crowd shot of the 2011 Get Lucky 7k.

I've never seen so much green, since people didn't have to cover up their green shirts with jackets.

Emily and I laughed when we heard people around us on phones, trying to meet up with their people. "I'm the one in the green t-shirt," they'd say.

Yeah, you and 7,000 other people!

We decided that next year we're all going to wear pink, to stand out in the crowd.

And the Academy Award Goes to...

The week after the Academy Awards Lindsey's grade held an award ceremony of their own.

The students all had to pick a paragraph to read in front of the entire class. The class would then vote on who read their paragraph with the most expression, the best pronunciation, the least number of stops and so on. Staring only at your paper and speaking in a monotone voice was clearly not recommended.

The other piece of this was that you got to dress for the occasion as if you were going to the Academy Awards, and there would be a best dressed category as well. Pull out your fanciest dress, your suit you wore to Aunt Evie's wedding, you're going to a show!

Guess who was incredibly excited about this? My girl, of course.

Guess who wasn't? Most of the boys. (Heresay, but still, I suspect Lindsey's right.)

Lindsey spent a week planning out what she was going to wear. And she got permission from me to wear the flower girl dress from Travis and Elizabeth's wedding nearly 3 summers ago. It's just aging in a closet, why not? And while the dress is now a tee-length on her, sadly it still zips up around her ribcage, even over a shirt. The girl needs to eat.

She picked out her hair accessories the weekend before, had me paint her nails the night before, and the morning of the big event she asked me to curl her hair.

Curly girl all ready for the show!

Lindsey has about 40 minutes of curling worth of hair.

I wish I could've been there to see it, but I had been absent from work for various other volunteer efforts and concerts of late, I just couldn't justify it. So I had to wait to hear how it went until the end of the day.

Lindsey practically glowed when I picked her up. She had won best dressed! She talked about how everyone "ooo'ed" and "aahh'ed" when they saw her, and some of her girlfriends held up the train of her dress as she walked.

She had such a great time!

You like me! You really, really like me!

I'm Honored...Not Really...

One day this past week a catalog for Melly's plopped in our mailbox. And I can say "plop" -- the thing was probably 2 feet high by a foot wide. I had to have Lindsey hold it so you could get an idea of the scale of this thing.

What a huge catalog!

From a creative perspective, I can say that they did a great job of getting my attention. It's big, colorful and beautiful. But from a direct marketing perspective, they were way off.

There is a Melly's store in the Galleria, an upscale shopping center down France Ave. I am practically within walking distance of the store which I have absolutely no plans of visiting anytime soon.

$288 for a shirt. $468 for a dress. A strapless, summer garden dress that I have no place to go wearing it. $598 for shoes. Shoes, people. Those things that I scuff on the sidewalk the first time I wear them. If I ever spent that kind of money on a pair of shoes I would put them behind glass and make everyone who walked into my house gaze at them like a piece of fricking art.

Lindsey's "Really?!" look. Get used to it, she'll perfect it by her teen years.

I can only imagine that the company was talked into doing a "zip saturation" mailing, where you mail to all households in certain zip codes around your locations, assuming that everyone who lives in those zip codes has the demographics you're looking for in potential buyers.

I'm going to take a stab at Melly's target customer, based on what I remember of the catalog world.

90% women.
Average household income $250,000+
Age range 35-55.
Spends $200/mo on beauty/spa products.
Average order size $350.

This is so not me.

So thanks, I'm honored...kind of. I'm glad you think that I would value your products, but I don't. And I'm pretty sure my 83-year-old widow neighbor down the street who bought her house for $30,000 in 1955 doesn't value your products, either.

Nice try.

Apartment for Rent - CHEAP!

I drive by this house nearly every day on my way home from work. Notice anything strange about it?

Yeah, seems weird to me too.

The ledger boards have been on the home for at least two years now. There are obviously plans to put on some kind of porch or walkway on the second and third stories, but it hasn't been done yet. Which begs the question: Who uses that upstairs door, anyway?

Since the house is divided into three units for rental, I decided to throw this out to my Facebook friends, to write a headline to help sell that upstairs apartment.

I've got some pretty clever friends, let me tell you.

Here's what they came up with:

• Be on top of the world in this very affordable upstairs apartment.
• An upstairs apartment so cozy, you'll never want to leave!
• Enjoy living in comfort and efficiency in this second story flat with walkout monorail access.

One of my friends came up with an ad for a person living in this apartment:

• Single white female seeks relationship with firefighter to carry her away.

Comment below and add your own!