A New Year's Eve Whine

The year was 2003. I was five months pregnant with Bird. We had bought and renovated an 80-something year old house. We were planting roots.

And then I got laid off from my job at an advertising agency. Funny how it's so easy to fire a pregnant woman, yet it's a stretch to hire one. I did get another job, though that agency was toxic, and I left soon after Bird was born. Our once comfortable life was beginning to crack a tish. The year proved to be bittersweet, with the sweet beating out the bitter.

Bird was a lovely, easy baby. He brought us so much joy and completely changed our perspective of the world. You'd never see me without a camera as I snapped every little milestone and cornerstone. I started my marketing consulting business (What, you mean you thought the words on this screen pay my student loans? Not by a long shot.). Baby Deal came soon after, 22 months after Baby Bird.

2004.
2005.

Our lives were complete, if not completely chaotic. We juggled two more house renovations, two jobs, two kids, one breast cancer scare, all on our own without the benefit of family. What could have torn me and Mac Daddy to shreds actually made us stronger. We became our own little hub, knowing it was up to us to protect and nurture this little foursome we call Family. well, we call ourselves The Curried Cheeseheads too as a nod to our mixed Indian and Wisconsonian heritage.

Every year since that fateful layoff in 2003 we have chanted on New Year's Eve, "This is gonna be our year." So far our mantra has failed us.

We haven't caught up to where our lives (and bank accounts) were. We've faced some scary illnesses, bid farewell to friends, battled some demons, lost our beloved pets, and buried a father.

Life's hardships are de rigeur. Our downs are not as low as others', and our ups are grander than most. But, there was so much left unaccomplished this year. So much stress. Too many financial obligations. Not enough time. Too little of everyone and everything to go around. I'm not complaining, though I am admittedly whining a bit.

I'm letting 2009 go with a sigh. A great big exhale.

Then I'll hold my breath for a moment. Count my blessings. Kiss my family. Cuddle my dog.

Inhale.

Welcome 2010. This is gonna be our year.

New Adventures at Old Navy

The blogosphere is all atwitter with issues about integrity, transparency, honesty. For that matter, Twitter too is atwitter with such discussions. As a blogger who writes with my values and ethics at the forefront of what I share, I profess to bring you the whole truth, nothing but the truth.

So what does this have to do with the Old Navy sign up there?

Well, I get to be a brand enthusiast for Old Navy. I'm not sure about the details and what the year will hold but it's sure to be fun. What I do know is I'm not being paid, I'm not required to blog about the brand, I can write my own unedited opinions if I do choose to write, and I get treated to some free stuff every so often. When I get something gratis, you'll know it.

I don't generally do product reviews or giveaways unless they are for brands and items I adore. I often just share my opinions on a random assortment of thises and thats. All the long time readers of Dirt & Noise know, for example, that I am a raving fan of Lash Exact mascara. Cover Girl has never sent me anything for saying so. In fact, I bet their PR people have no idea. Ditto for the ingredients of all the 5:00 Fridays I post.

Old Navy is one of those go-to brands for me. Much of my maternity attire came from there, and the jeans fit me perfectly with no added alteration costs. Damn those petite sizes that aren't made for us short folks after all. Grrr....

I've written about my feelings on boy clothes before. Basically the continuum runs from high testosterone to sissy. My general rule is that if a boy can pee standing up, he has no business in anything smocked. Not to mention that the damn john-john snaps make doing his business all the more difficult, and with most kids, you don't have time to spare. I also eschew the iron on character licensed crap. I do have some favorite stores where I go for special occasions or just to find that something cool and unique. Moxie Kids is just that place. And no, I'm not getting paid to say that. I just happen to dig that store and am thankful I don't have a daughter every time I walk in there. No sense in my kids being better dressed than I am. But the dresses and tights and coats, oh my!

Anyhoo...

Old Navy treated Bird and Deal to a back to school shopping spree. Don't keel over when I tell you that I walked out of there with not a thing for myself, though I totally looked and will be back later when I don't have the boys in tow!

What I like is that the jeans are rugged with adjustable waists. They are hearty enough to be passed down from Bird to Deal with no holes in the knees. Considering the jungle gym mania that pumps up that kid, this is no small feat. Plus the vintage inspired T-shirts are cool without being cheesy or tacky. I don't mind Superman and Chewbacca gracing my boys' torsos every once in a while. It makes getting dressed for school fun. And hey, at 8:00 AM when everyone is cranky and rushed, I'll take what I can get to make the morning routine squeak by smoothly.

During our shopping spreee I doubled in the role of paparazzi. Have a look:


Deal could have cared less about the clothes at first. All he wanted was to pet the dog. The poor kid covets a dog so badly that he didn't even care it was fake.


Bird was happy to find a Star Wars shirt in his size. He was more happy I let him put it in the basket. He couldn't believe he actually had autonomy in the store. Like I said, the licensed stuff does not dominate the dresser drawers at our house. Plus, I really hate Star Wars so this was a big concession on my part. I actually lost followers on Twitter for saying that. True story. Anyway, Bird was a happy camper, and I was happy to oblige.


Deal, on the other hand, was totally bummed that there were no XS size Star Wars shirts for him. It's amazing that kid isn't ridiculously spoiled. Do you have any idea how hard it is to not keel over and give in to his every whim with a face like that? I mean really, look at him. If you feel the strong urge to pitch in to pay for his college or even a playset for the backyard, don't deny yourself.


Here we are in the dressing room. My kids have never agreed to try on anything before. The only time they've ventured into a dressing room was during a period in which I temporarily lost my mind and took them swimsuit shopping with me. It was ugly.


Here's our reserved dressing room. We were like rock stars. I totally should have made diva demands like only purple M&Ms served on sterling silver platters, Moscow Mules in copper cups, purple dendrobium orchids, Brown Eyed Girl playing on repeat, and a sisal rug underfoot.


While Deal looks like he is being helpful, he actually had just stolen the cart from Bird and was racing it down the aisle. Stinker.


Teamwork at last. Notice Bird's hand on Deal's arm. It looks like gentle guidance, but I have a hunch there was coercion involved.


Bird, thinking my shutterbug ways are an embarrassment to myself. With that bowl hair cut, he's the one who should be embarrassed. This is what happens when Mac Daddy takes him to Not-So-Super Cuts without me.


Serious shoppers need sustenance. The folks at Old Navy provided us with organic juice, bottles of water, and even organic snacks. They also had an assortment of toys and a manager on hand to chill with the boys while I shopped for a bit. I think Bird and Deal were doing their Mutt and Jeff routine for her.


So here we are, blending right in to the Old Navy mannequins. They are admittedly a tish creepy. I think some girls during sorority rush looked just like them, frozen plastered on smiles, taut cheeks and all. And pardon my poor posture. I am clearly weighted down by those shopping bags.



Gentlemen, at the tender ages of 6 and 4.

Ad Cents

Is anyone aware of the proposed legislation to limit the ability of small publishers and bloggers to carry or sell advertising? I've just heard of it from a graduate school alum (helps to be part of a Journalism school listserv). This could affect Google AdSense and operations like Federated Media.

It seems that the Internet Advertising Bureau is the only group trying to battle this legislation. Anyone have insight on this issue? I can understand how this could be under the radar for me because I am living at a frenetic pace these days, but how could it get by my blogging brethren? Is it for real? Is there more to know? Am I over reacting? Please shed some light on this girl in the dark.

Yoo hoo! That would be me. Over here. No, here. Just follow the sound of my panting and hyperventilating. I'm in the corner behind the stack of to-do lists, bills, business cards, receipts, dog eared recipes from Cookie, and Post-it notes of books to buy (which include Sacred Hunger, Silent Spring, The World Without Us, Mississippi Sissy, Loving Frank, Blessed Unrest, and Blindness in case you're wondering).

What up, man? This mama needs a new pair of shoes!

On Target

If I were stuck on a deserted island, I would wish for Target. For starters, I don't do nature so I would be in dire need of some shoes, gloves, furniture, and shelter to keep that all nature at a safe distance from me. Because I like things to be clean, I'd need some toothpaste, a toothbrush, Purell, and toilet paper too. And of course I'd need some fashionable clothes and liquid black eye liner and mascara (only Lash Exact will do) so I could look fabulous being rescued. Oh, let's not forget the Chapstick! Does any other store on the planet carry EVERYTHING necessary for human survival under one roof? Don't even get me started on Super Target...

Is it possible to even enter Target without spending at least 100 bucks? Tell me I'm not the only one who virtually throws money away in that store. Ah, but Target is more than a mere store. My haven. My sanctuary. My retreat. Since Target is just the proverbial stone's throw from my sons' school, I am a frequent shopper. It's only Tuesday, and I've already been there twice this week. All those Paco Underhill busy bees out there watching us shop (yes, they are out there in throngs watching you buy granny panties and the like when you think no one is looking) have inserted my photo into the market research Powerpoint presentation to Target executives. Seriously, if you rolled the surveillance tapes, you'd see me more often than the part-time workers who are there just for the discount. Not an entirely bad idea, my husband would say.

I get the stop-wasting-so-much-money-at-Target lectures almost monthly. Damn the itemized American Express statement. You see, he does not share the same affinity for the bull's eye. Apparently Target is the Kirby vacuum of money suckers, not the glorious shopping paradise that it is to me.

Incidentally, both of my boys love Target too. Sometimes for our daily adventure they ask to go there just to savor a vanilla milk while we wander around. Wander around I tell you! Bird and Deal both get on their respectives bikes and ride through the neighborhood saying, "Onward, we're going to Target!" Sometimes we set up the toy cash register and random stuff around the house and play Target. See, so much more than a store. It's an adventure. An escape. A playground. Deal wanted to go everday in December just to see the Christmas stuff. Nevermind the fancy Christmas decorations all over town and in the mall. He wanted to see the stuff simply stacked on shelves and end caps at Target. Hmmm...I wonder if they do kids birthday parties?

By the way, I only spent $36.97 at Target yesterday. A record. A feat. An anomaly.