PUT TO REST

Everyone has that ONE  tee shirt. That shirt that you've had forever... That you got on a cruise when you were 10 and says "Cabo Wabo" ... It's a crappy shirt really. One that you'd never wear out in public, but you probably sleep in 5 nights out of the week and ignore the massive hole in the armpit and the who-knows-when-you-got-that-stain on the collar.  It's soft, it's old, and no matter what, you will wear it until it dies.

I have that shirt. I actually have three like that and I'm sad to announce, one of them must officially be put to sleep. The first of my beloved shirt dates back to 1988(ish). My great aunt and uncle owned a hot dog shop in Chicago called Abe's on Lincoln (best french fries ever). The tee shirt is red with a "Coke is It" logo on the front and a cartoon of Abe's on Lincoln on the back. Though it is incredibly worn in and should probably be washed on a delicate cycle, as far as I'm concerned , this shirt is no where near dying and will continue to be a part of the J-Ko night time ensemble (so sexy, I know) as long as I can help it.  

The second shirt, well, the second shirt is a classic. I stole it from my BF Lo in 8th grade at a sleepover. It's a U2 Joshua Tree shirt-- black, super soft, and writing totally faded. Honestly, it's kind of trendy and would probably sell for 80 plus bucks at Kitson or some place like that. Lo still asks me about this shirt and I still pretend I don't even have it. (Sorry, Lo). This is a shirt I debate on whether to retire at will; it's still holding up, though kind of see-thru (like if the cable guy showed up, I'd definitely need to put a bra on underneath). But the thing is, because it is "so cool" and has somewhat of vintage potensh, I'm thinking I should put it away and save it for my daughter (should I have a daughter one day).  Like one day, when she's in high school and vintage tees and doc martens have made a comeback, I can let her go through old boxes and show her that I am cooler than she thinks. 

The third shirt, well, it's a remnant of the days/nights of boyfriends past. I acquired it back in my college days. I remember sleeping in it then, knowing what kind of gem I was getting my hands on. It was a grey, old school NY Yankees shirt. It was faded and as soft as a Splendid tee then--- NOW??? Omg. NOW it's pretty much sheer, maybe a faint outline of an N or a Y... The shoulder is shredded and if I answered the door wearing this when the cable guy came, I'd get more than an HD/DVR hook up....

The point is though, it's time to put this shirt to rest... Baby-Ko likes to play with the tattered ends and the thought that this beloved shirt could be ripped to shreds voluntarily breaks my heart. So it's time to put it to sleep. Time to say good bye. Time to incorporate another shirt in to the line up..... I could easily rotate the U of A Wildcats tee in to my repertoire, but the Cher Concert Tee from 1999 seems to be the obvious pick.... pair that shirt with doc martens and my "vintage" True Religion jeans, and my someday "teenage daughter" will be one cool chick.... At least in the privacy of our own home....

WHOLE (FREE) FOODS

I have a secret. A dirty little secret: I am a sample whore. A food sample whore. Farmer's market on a Sunday... Would you like to try a homemade pickle? You bet I would! Costco (on any day really)... Would you like to try this shitty nut mix with a dollop of hummus? Sure! Why not. Whole Foods bakery section... A basket of  some seven grain zero taste bread that will back me up for days? Thank you sir, I'll have another!

It doesn't matter what they're passing out, if there is food, and IT IS FREE, I am in. Much like a wedding reception or any party where they are passing out hors d'oeuvres, I will bee line straight to the food source, ditching whatever conversation I'm engaged in, (in this case it's my shopping cart) to make sure that I get my hands on that spring roll (and yes, I would like to dip, please).... And I will then stake out the door that the waiter came through, coordinate with my fellow fat f*ck friends who also eagerly await the "tuna tartar," to make sure we've covered all points of exit/entry and have hit every different tray and option (BTW, Waiter with the caviar/creme fraiche- looks-fancy-but-really-just-filler-appetizer-BS?  You can keep walking. I prefer your friend with the fried stuff). But I digress....

The point is, I have taken food sampling to a whole new level and my "ahh, what do we have here" delight over a freebie, has tooooootally rubbed off on Baby-Ko.  No matter what, it seems that these days, when I go to a Whole Foods where they have their pizza bar, I am compelled (NO MATTER WHAT TIME OF THE DAY IT IS), to ask for a sample of the pizza. Yes. The pizza. Not a bite of the tuna in the case. Or a shaving the turkey they are cutting. A SAMPLE OF PIZZA, which if you are familiar with WF, means they are pretty much slicing me a goddamn piece and ME pretending that "Hmm, yes. So good. Do I want this for dinner? Huh. Hmm. The pesto may be a little too strong for me. I'm gonna walk around and think about it." (Cut to me in the check out line, thankful I had a little snack to tie me over to dinner.... In ten minutes). 

Today though, my compulsion to sample all things free and greasy made me feel a little guilty. As I was shoveling "today's special" in my mouth, prepared to make up an excuse for why I wouldn't actually BUY it, Baby-Ko started to beg me for  a bite of "pisa" (said like the tower).  I gave him the rest of my sample (more like a nibble since I had pretty much devoured it), but it wasn't enough. He wanted more.

"Mo Pisa Mo. Pisa, Mommy. Mo." 

"All done, baby. No more pizza," I said loud enough for the clerk to hear me.

"Oh, does he want some?"

"Aw, no. We're fine. Really. We're okay," I said eyeing the perfect end piece that could easily get stuffed in to my, I mean, Baby-Ko's mouth. 

Without missing a (my pathetic) beat, the clerk handed me a small slice. Wanting to keep it to myself, but feeling the entire deli line staring at me, I begrudgingly handed it over to Baby-Ko. "Pisa mommy," he said smiling and getting it all over his face.

"Yes, pizza," I said, about to bolt from the counter of shame.

He held up the slice in his fist. "No mo pisa, mommy. All done." WHAT?! Just like that? What about the starving kid act we had going? All done? Really?!  

With my now second slice of pizza in hand, I smiled politely to the clerk and said, "This is delicious. We'll take two slices to go please."

"Thought so," the clerk said (with his eyes).

Well... So much for being 5 pounds away from the coveted wedding weight. Looks like I'm having pizza tonight for dinner. Again....

SELF!

I am so over the moon and excited to announce that my blog was mentioned in this month's SELF Magazine as one of the Editor's and Self.com bloggers picks for favorite Web Diaries. PerfectlyDisheveled.com was their Fitness Tip Bloggers pick along with NieNie Dialogues (which has a huge following).  

Thank you, SELF!

This is a pretty big honor and one that definitely warranted me getting choked up at the newsstand over at 8am this morning... Needless to say, my fancy sunglasses are now all smudged from tears, but I've got my back up pair on stand by just in case.... Hope Baby-Ko doesn't mind being shadeless:-)

THE GLASSES THAT NEVER DIE

If there is one thing in the world I can't be trusted with, it is A PAIR OF SUNGLASSES. Plastic, wired, black or tortoise shell, doesn't matter: I will break them, lose them and/or generally f*ck them up. I've learned my lesson the hard way.... buying trendy, expensive, and the requisite make-my-face-look-skinny-frames, only to sit on them (accidentally), drop kick them (accidentally), or lose them (accidentally, of course).  

The worst example of nice glasses gone bad was a couple years ago... Before a vacation, I went out and bought a fab pair, got to said (super sunny and gorge) destination, only to discover that I had forgotten them along with my entire wallet and ID at home too (but that's a whole other story).  Fortunately, the hotel we stayed at before leaving for a ten day cruise had a (not so) plethora of sunglasses for me to choose from. The majority of them made me look like a Golden Girl, but I did happen to find one pair for $15 bucks that worked....

Well, 2 1/2 years later, those effing glasses are still working. I have sat on them. I have drop kicked them. I have probably even run my car over them. They are barely hanging on, but by-golly, these bitches are still in tact. Kind of.... Wellllll, not enough for me to forgo the TRULY fabulous pair of grown up sunglasses I just bought (don't worry, they came with a case that could take a bullet), but at least enough for Baby-Ko to look ridiculously cool in the morning....

THE DIRTIEST MOMMY ON THE BLOCK

HELLLOOOOO. It has been a LONG time since I've posted. There's been a lot brewing in the world of J-Ko-- and it's been a little tough to find the time and "juices" to write-- NOT that there HASN'T been much to write about.... From my Baby-Ko's obsession with "Fuck!" (aka. "Hopkins" the FROG on "Signing Times"), to his brilliant three word sentence "I feeling it" (which he declared on Mother's Day as he fondled the clothes on every rack at Nordstrom), to the fact that I "blow my wad," so to speak, within the first five minutes of a walk with Baby-Ko because he devours every snack I've brought to bribe him to stay in the stroller....

But alas, Baby-Ko has discovered You Tube (not kidding) and I've got a few minutes to jot down my thoughts....

Remember when I was a SAHM and felt disheveled from head to toe? When my "uniform" was sweats and a tank, scarf in my hair and big sunglasses and maybe, just maaaybe a little concealer to hide the bags under my eyes (should I need to remove said glasses once entering fine establishments such as Target, Trader Joes, or Whole Foods)? And then I turned in to full time WM and had to get my act together (a little bit) on the appearance front-- handing Baby-Ko bangles and blush brushes to keep him occupied as I zipped off to work...?

Well, now I'm back. Disheveled is back. Not so perfect and certainly not very clean. On average, I shower every 1.5 days and am down to a Monday and Wednesday Hair washing routine. (Seriously, on a Monday or Wednesday, I could very well turn down plans with a "Oh, that'd be swell. But I've got to wash my hair" - and it'd be true!). These days I'm feeling grungier than ever and frankly, it's not all that terrible. Who needs to get dressed up to go to the park? Who needs to get dressed up only to have your 20 month old kiss and hug you, after feeding himself yogurt and avocado? Who needs to get dressed up if you don't even have time for a shower? Not me! Oh, no. I am happy to hang in my own filth. After all, I think a dirty mommy is a sign of a mom who's played hard and worked hard. In fact, I think the blue pen I noticed on my face after being out and about for HOURS says a lot about the kind of mommy I am.... Thanks to Harvey Karp, not only is Baby-Ko the Happiest Toddler on The Block, but he's got the THE DIRTIEST MOMMY ON THE BLOCK.

Speaking of which, I was invited by a neighbor to go to the park "with some of the other 'neighborhood' mommies." Turns out it is a Mom's Club thing, but she promises me that the mom's are all nice and kids around the same age.... Fortunately, there aren't any ducks or monster like turtles at this park, because we all remember what happened last time I was "In Da Club..." Wish me luck.... :-)

MO MONEY, MO PROBLEMS....

Considering that I neeeeeeeeeeeeever have cash on me and that my wallet is mostly full with old business cards and receipts from Target from 1996, I have NO idea how Baby-Ko learned to say "money." Look, I'm not bragging (again), I'm just sayin': where did he learn this???? Seriously! $1.85 Starbucks?  Debit card! $2.00 Parking Station? Debit card! I mean, it's ridiculous.  

The point is though, that Baby-Ko's recent obsession with asking for "Money, mommy!" (which means taking my entire wallet apart) has brought something to my attention: I am a receipt hoarder. I really have no idea why I'm holding on to a receipt from Nordstrom for boots I bought 2 seasons ago and have FULLY worn in.... Or why I have the receipt for a yoga series I took ... When I was pregnant. Like, you can't return that shit. So why do I have them? There must be a reason I keep them... Maybe like a "What if" thing? Like what if the Diapers I bought at Target aren't reaaaaaaaaaaally that leak proof.... Or what if the sandwich I bought at Whole Foods (and ate) reaaaaaaaaally doesn't agree with me.... ten weeks later?  I mean, maybe keeping them is for security?

Bottom line, I do need to toss my receipts and come up with a better system. Then again, if keeping my wallet stuffed to the max with crap keeps Baby-Ko entertained as I cook dinner, make a few phone calls and find that receipt to that blouse that I should have never really bought, then having "money" problems may actually be a good thing....

PRIDE

Not sure how, when, or where Baby-Ko learned to say "Booger" but I'm thoroughly impressed and delighted. He's come down with a little cold and when I wipe his nose, he begs, "no more boogers!" I mean... What?! How does he know that? I'm certain Elmo and his freaky side kick Mr. Noodle don't talk about the letter "B" and say "B is for baseball, bears, BOOGERS!  We like Boogers!".... And I know that Rachel and her hard-of-hearing friends aren't showing kiddos at home the sign (language) for snot or boogies.  Thus, it's safe to assume that Nanny Oof-Oof is probably responsible.  I'm not mad - It's better than the poop shame game that had me worried. Whether it's noises for smelly poop, names for all things nose and snot,  Mary "Bee Bee" Poppins is teaching him things, and I appreciate that. 

You know what else I appreciate? The fact that it's Game 1 of the playoffs and Baby-Ko is able to show some Laker love. When you ask him, "Baby-Ko, who's your favorite Laker?" he answers, "Kobe." Brill. (It doesn't always come out sounding like "Ko-Bee" but I know he knows the difference and means #24 and not "Duvie" our beloved cleaning lady).  He also can tell you who is favorite Dodger is: "Manny." (As if there was ever a reason to be concerned about his love of bracelets and makeup. This kid is a sports junkie.)

Bottom line, my son's blossoming vocabulary and discovery of the world continues to excite and amaze me-- no matter how it comes out or how it sounds.....  I'm just a new(ish) mommy filled with a ridiculous amount of pride. So I apologize for my blatant bragging.... Back to wiping boogies, changing dirty diapers, and rooting for my boys in Yellow and Purple, and of course Kooobee.....