Mom Makeover: The Road from Ho-Hum to Hawt

One of the best pieces of parenting advice I got from my mother involved mascara.

I've shared my opinions on mom jeans, Keds, denim jumpers and the like. I don't believe that being a mother is license to be a frump. We all take a few steps away from our dry clean only wardrobe once we have children, but it's not necessary to trade in fab for frump. Yet all too often, it happens. Like back fat. It just creeps up on you before you realize that everything in your closet has an elastic waistband. When we stop putting ourselves first, we plummet to stretchy pant hell.

I'm guilty as charged. To a certain extent.

I recently embarked on a journey with a few other women to do a Mom Makeover. Nothing extreme to walk the catwalk or sport a tiara. Just a simple makeover that's realistic for a mother who spends her time in car pool, at the park, or on a date. I was hoping to transform a couple moms who could go from "Park to Party" in a flash.

With the help of Jill, Joanna, Pam, and Amanda, we pulled it off for our first contestant on Park to Partay!

Meet Liz.

36-year old mother of a three-year old daughter and 5-month old infant son. Liz is tired. She's been feeling frumpy and is scrounging up the time and energy to hit the gym again. Her own sister in law even threatened to turn her over to What Not to Wear. Ouch! Liz knows there's a sprinkle of her former self sparkling in there somewhere.

We were there to help Liz regain her shimmer so she can put some shimmy back in her step.

Meet our makeover team.

Jill, owner of hairdos. Before Jill pulled out her scissors she talked to Liz to get a sense of her style, preferences, and lifestyle. Clearly Jill took the time to know the client first instead of treating her head as a canvas with license to chop. We've all been in a salon seat like that, right? Jill gave Liz a kicky little cut and even gave her options to wear her hair up or down. Options are good. Did I mention that Liz donated a whopping 11 inches of her mane to Locks of Love? I know how freeing it is to cut off all that hair. The key thing about the magic that Jill worked is that she kept Liz's hair maintenance free. After all, what mom wants to deal with a high maintenance hair style that involves multiple gooey products and various electrical devices? It's a wash and go cut that will grow out lovely, meaning Liz can look good while not swapping out style for sleep.

Joanna, makeup artist and owner of Look at Me Makeup. And I don't use the word artist lightly. Every girl dreams of the make up case Joanna was toting. Oh, the creams and powders and shadows and blushes and liners! Some of her go-to products to make us moms look more awake than we feel: mascara, concealer, blush, lip gloss, moisturizer! Also, maintain those brows, ladies. Like Jill, Joanna focused on making Liz's makeup regimen fast and easy. Wearing makeup doesn't have to be a 30-minute ordeal that requires paint brushes and spackling. I don't even own blush and I've never put a drop of foundation on my face in my life, yet I think I don't look half bad. Joanna gave Liz makeup tips that fit her lifestyle and schedule. The beauty is that she also gave Liz tips on how to turn the makeup amp up to 11 for date night. Va va va voom! Again, options are good.

Pam, owner of Dress. and fashionista extraordinaire. Pam is that rare blend of fashion and frugal. Pam's shop perches at the intersection of Quality Road, Style Boulevard, and Affordability Avenue. Dress. is a lovely little boutique that features consigned and new designer clothes, shoes, and handbags. And boy are the brands in there mouth watering! Pam, having the honor of being my most fashionable friend (who is blessed with lean long legs and a tiny waist...damn her), not only sells the clothes, she helps with personal styling too. She gave Liz so many fantastic options that it was nearly impossible to make a choice. Sometimes options aren't so good. ;-) The ticket was to find Liz an outfit that's comfortable, versatile, fun, and easy. Do you see a trend here? Perhaps the best testimonial is that I left Dress. with the most perfect little black dress, and our photographer bought three! Ooh la la.

Amanda of Amanda Olson Photography. She's one helluva talented photographer whom I'm going to hire to take my headshot for my book jacket one day. Amanda captured not only the activities of the day, but the spirit as well. Though she and I were in the same room, her eyes saw things mine did not. She really has a storytelling gift. Amanda's photos were simply glorious. There's nothing phony or diva about her, but she is a true artist. You have no idea how hard it was to select photos for this post. Every single shot rocked. I kid you not. I'd pepper my walls with Amanda's photos and spent a good hour just perusing her gallery on her site. Poor Amanda will now have to chase my two sons and a pesky dog to capture some family shots this fall. You can see more photos from our day here.

So the key is this: style and comfort are not mutually exclusive. We owe it to ourselves to put our best face on and our best foot forward. Clad in a touch of mascara and some swoon worthy shoes.

Motherhood is hot. Bring it.

What's for Dinner

While I make a hearty home cooked meal (almost) every night, I'm often flying by the seat of my too tight pants. I find myself subbing walnuts for pine nuts or simply doing without ingredients because I didn't have my shopping shit together. My paltry pantry pinches my panties in a pickle. And there goes my culinary mojo. Down the drain with the grease (Kidding! Don't ever ever put grease down the drain, people!!!).

I've decided to try a new MO this week. I'm not committing to a WHOLE. YEAR. like a resolution or anything. I'm talking a lousy week here, folks. Not even all seven days; I'm just thinking about the six days that I'm usually flying solo and wondering who the hell granted me my motherhood license in the first place.

This week I'm planning my menu. For the whole week. I perused cookbooks, websites, my recipe box (yes, I have a splattered old recipe box), and the clipped magazine cutouts stuck to the only magnetic side of my smudged stainless steel fridge that is practically tucked behind the cabinetry and hard to access. Note to self: Must add those recipes to aforementioned box.

So here's how our menu is stacking up at Chez Dirt & Noise:

Sunday:
Proscuitto wrapped salmon with herbed lentils and spinach, roasted endive, balsamic marinated strawberries, bananas foster (Thank you, Jamie Oliver!)

Monday:
Baked chicken drumsticks with carrots, black olives, lemon, roasted parsnips, baked maple apples, cheesy garlic bread, ice cream (The boys chose Neopolitan.)

Tuesday:
Proscuitto and goat cheese risotto, spinach salad with craisins, walnuts, homemade dijon/orange vinaigrette (We don't do bottled dressing here. Why bother when the homemade stuff is oh so easy and exponentially more tasty?)

Wednesday:
Fish tacos with avocado and cabbage/cilantro slaw, chili/cumin corn, black beans

Thursday:
Tofu stir fry with broccoli and snow peas, brown rice, sliced pears

Friday:
Homemade pizza with whole wheat crust, raw sugar snap peas and apple slices (Finger food fun!)


I actually went to the grocery store on Sunday to stock up for the week. I normally go to the store or farmer's market 3-5 times a week, depending on what kitchen fantasy strikes me. My goal is not to cut down my shopping trips, but it would be a nice byproduct (particularly for Deal, who gets dragged from Trader Joe's to Costco to Kroger to Harris Teeter umpteen times a week). I simply want less frenzy in the witching hours when Bird is cranking out homework and Deal goes from Mr. Congeniality to Commander Crankypants. And, it seems, the dog rings the dang bell to pee 600 times whilst I make dinner. Lark's small bladder makes the risotto a risky proposition considering the constant attention and stirring that dish needs. Alas, I shall persevere.

Want vs. Need

Bird's homework yesterday was to make a list of five things he Wants and five things he Needs. Then we had to work together to determine the price of one item he covets, find out where to get it, and figure out how he could earn the money to buy it. We went through the exercises, but the outcome is realistically never gonna happen. Can a six-year old really earn 300 bucks to buy himself a freaking gaming system? Pretty damn unlikely in this house. I can't speak to what grandparents might succumb to.

Bird's homework got me thinking about how we're teaching our sons the difference between wanting and needing. There's simultaneously a fine line yet a jagged abyss between the two. It's clear that I'm not setting a very good example. I pine for the perfect pair of black boots and whine about how I nnnneeeeeeeeeddddd them. Of course I know and Mac Daddy knows I don't need them. Mac Daddy knows me well enough to know that all I really need is a slick cool slap of reality once in a while. That, and ice cream.

Have a look at Bird's list. You'll note that it ain't gonna win him any points on the pageant circuit. Looks like I'll have to return all the bow ties and black tap shoes I've been hoarding in his closet.


Need (He's clearly one to harp on the obvious.)
Water
Food
Clothes
House
Mom and Dad (I'm amazed we made this list, with me getting top billing even!)
Car (This is because we live in Raleigh, the world's most unwalkable city.)
Air

Want (Hmmm...this list harkens to the letter Bird wrote to Santa.)
Xbox
Nerf gun
TV in my room (Nevah!)
Blendy Pens
Legos
Wii games
Ds games

The pageant folks might be impressed with the inclusion of artsy Blendy Pens (despite the As Seen on TV pock mark that blemishes this choice) or the future architect potential of LEGO, but the rest of the stuff is mindless clutter, literally and figuratively. I will say this: Bird is a kid who knows what he wants.

But what he needs is an attitude adjustment. As for me and those perfect black boots, I realize I don't need them. But I really really really really really want them. In a size 6. You know, just in case anyone is feeling particularly generous.

Maybe Bird and I can get a BOGO deal on that attitude adjustment.

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.

Labeled

My husband and I love food. We love growing it, cooking it, shopping for it, watching it on TV (well, watching the chefs). We travel based on what delicacies we can sample. We once drove to Quechee, Vermont just to dine at The Simon Pearce Mill. The calamari salad there has made its way into our family's culinary lore. Our children have become miniature foodies by cultural osmosis.

Our five and three year old sons accompany us to various farmer's markets, delis, gourmet grocers, and pick-your-own farms we happen upon. They join me in my multiple trips to the grocery store each week. They hear me chat about food and often gripe about the safety of our food sources. Most importantly, they see me read labels.

I talk about what our family eats. We choose our veggies based on color. In fact, last night's dinner was brought to us by the color green (green curry chicken, snap peas, kiwi slices, stir fried rice w/ peas). I explain to them why I read labels. They know it takes me forever and a day to choose ketchup because I'm looking for a brand without high fructose corn syrup (by the way, no national brand fits the bill...shame on you Heinz and Hunt's!). The boys see me reading labels and naturally ask what I'm doing. I tell them that I'm looking for foods that aren't chock full of chemicals. They already know that we eat mostly organic foods, though in this economy we've limited it to dairy, eggs, and produce. They love visiting Farmer Tom to pick up our CSA veggies. They know I'm protecting them while nourishing them.

And so my sons, ages five and three, have words like high fructose corn syrup, nitrite, MSG, trans fat, and sodium in their vernacular. We talk about how our choices affect how our food tastes, how healthy our meals are, and most importantly, the planet. Sure, we eat our share of processed packaged junk on occasion, but the kids know it's a treat. We stick to fresh foods and eat three home cooked squares a day. It's a fine plan...until my kid comments in the school cafeteria that his classmate's high School Musical Trix yogurt is "junk." Clearly I gotta work on tact, decorum, and context.

Cross posted at Foodie Mama.

Paying it Forward

So the movie Pay it Forward actually kinda sucked. Am I wrong here? I mean Helen Hunt rocked it in her Mad About You days, and Haley Joel Osment was still cute then, but overall this movie blew chunks.

But the concept of paying it forward has really stuck with me. Call it karma. Call it divine justice. Call it what you will.

Case in point:

A tow headed young boy of four asks Santa for a train set for Christmas. The real deal. With lights, pretend steam blowing from the engine, tiny faux trees and conductors, a track that doesn't break if someone creaks on the floor next to it. A Lionel. Unparalled in the world of trainmanship. Yes, I realize that's not a word. Work with me and don't act as if you don't know what I mean. This little boy just wants a train set. A perfect train set. And so his grandmother goes on a hunt. A hunt for a steal. More than a bargain. She's become a highway robber.

Goodwill is about to answer this tow headed boy's dreams. Grandma finds a complete train set in fine working condition. For 90 bucks. Oh, excessive for a four-year old, but answering his dreams on Christmas morning is priceless. Thanks for ruining that term, by the way, MasterCard. Grandma collects the various cars, tracks, and accoutrements. She lugs it all to the counter and starts counting out her cash in fives and tens. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty...Eighty. Sounds of rifling through change, receipts, business cards, expired McDonald's coupons, to-do lists fill the air that seems to stand still. A lousy ten dollars short. No train for her fair haired grandson. Shoulders slumped, face forlorn, she gathers the pieces to return them to their spot on the shelf in back.

In sashays an old friend. "Why the long face?" she asks.

Grandma can barely summon an answer. She manages to faintly gesture to the train and mutters something about her four-year old grandson asking Santa for a train set. She's defeated and lacks the energy to catch up on niceties with this old chum.

"Ten bucks?! Why here's ten dollars! Merry Christmas to you and your grandson!"

And so the universe winked in its wily way, reminding her who's in charge.

You see, a few weeks ago this grandmother met a man at Goodwill. This very same shop. A man clean from months of treatment and job training. A man about to graduate to a new, sober life. He wanted to dress the part of success. He had borrowed a tie and had gently used pants in hand. Now if only he could find a collared shirt in which the collar buttoned snugly without choking his Adam's apple when he gulped. He relayed his story in casual yet ripely emotional conversation as they both pecked through the racks of discarded Joseph A. Banks oxford shirts. He hadn't enough money for a proper shirt and he dragged his feet as he somberly walked away, feeling spent, tired, sad,defeated once again.

Grandma slipped him a ten spot.

And the universe paid her back. Sobering indeed.

5:00 Fridays

Black Friday Martini
3 1/2 ounces Ketel One vodka
1/2 blackberry brandy (raspberry liqueur will work too)


Shake it all up in a cocktail shaker over ice.
Strain into an old fashioned glass.
Garnish with a lemon twist.



Ah, now that should take the edge off of holiday shopping stress.

An Age Appropriate Easter

Easter is fast approaching. That means cute (matching, natch) outfits for Bird and Deal. This was an easy task when the boys were gurgling, swaddled infants with rolls galore and delectable chubby cheeks. At 45 and 35 pounds and approaching the limits of the height charts, they no longer look cute in smocked john johns with bunnies and posies embroidered. The whole one piece outfit is no longer an option with the torsos on my kids. Despite their extraordinarily long torsos, there is no way in hell you'd catch me dressing my boys in frou frou garb. They are boys afterall, not babies. And certainly not sissies. ..not that there's anything wrong with that.

There has been a permanent ban on Little Lord Fauntleroy clothing at Chez Dirt & Noise. There comes a time for every mother (I'm not excluding fathers, but let's face it, they would throw the kids in a paper sack with holes cut out for head and arms and call it a day), to come to grips with the fact their boy babies turn into big boys. Rambunctious, rough and tumble, BOYS. Moms need to stop shopping at stores like Mommas Boy Clothing once the kid can feed himself solid food with an utensil of any kind, fingers included. Let's be real, it is highly unlikely that I would ever shop at a store called Mommas Boy Clothing at all. Folks need to quit making this stuff larger than a size 2T, lest those boys get the snot kicked out of them when Momma's watchful eye strays.

Dressing Bird and Deal in traditional Easter attire would just make them look ridiculous, akin to the mother of a high school classmate I recall who wore mini skirts and anklets with spiky heels in 1985 because it was all the rage among teenage girls. She wore such a getup thinking she looked young and hip. In reality, she looked old and dreadful. Costumed, even. I am now as old as she was then, and you wouldn't catch me in any of the crap teenage girls are wearing these days. Another reason I'm glad to have sons! Those of you with daughters have uber fabulous options for Easter attire now, but wait until those girls want bling on their too tight shirts and cutesy words across their bottoms. Will someone please quash this trend?

Now the quandary is how to dress the boys appropriately for Easter photos without knee socks, saddle shoes, and a peter pan collar? Last year was freezing so we made do with madras pants and sweaters...I couldn't wrangle them into the white bucks I bought so those still sit anew in the closet. I'm going to cram their little (or not so little) feet into those shoes for a photo opp this year. At this rate, it might be the only Easter garb they wear.

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.