I noticed Hallie’s posting on essential oils. A friend of mine sells doTERRA essential oils, and this “InTune” blend is supposed to help improve focus. Because one of my kids has received an ADD diagnosis, I thought I would see if this did anything for him.
It didn’t. And his classmates said it made him smell funny.
Not surprising. It contains Patchouli, Frankincense, Lime, Ylang Ylang, Sandalwood, etc. Lots of pretty smells that a school-boy does not want to wear. So I wear it myself. I like it, though the Patchouli is a little trippy and makes you smell like you spend time in the Karma shops on the near North side.
(It didn’t help my focus either.)
This is actually not a favorite, but rather, the opposite of a favorite.
I don’t have a smart phone. I don’t want a smart phone. I will hold out as long as I possibly can before I get “texting” on whatever cell phone I use. Half the time, I don’t know where my cell phone is. If you leave a message on my cell phone, I’m not likely to hear it for several days. I’m still in that ancient mental space where one believes that cell phones are for use only when you have a flat tire and need to call AAA.
Nevertheless, I’m slowly becoming aware that some people use texting as their primary, and often only, means of communication, so that the world of interpersonal communication is dividing into two categories: those who text and those who do not.
In the category of “those who text” I am filing two out of three of my kids’ soccer coaches, who texted the practice schedule two weeks ago, in plenty of time to inform all the parents-who-text of their first meeting. Parents-who-do-not-text, however, were up sh*t’s creek in the information department, and probably waited several weeks into the season before their curiosity awoke them to the question: “Shouldn’t I have heard from Dolly’s coach by now?”
Maybe I’m being irrationally stubborn. I was a late adopter of email too, and I remember being frustrated in 1998 when people sent emails to inform you of important events instead of calling. But texting is a pay-extra service on most cell phones, which are pay-extra alternatives to land lines.
Just call me at home Coach Haskell! I am always here!
I love you, Spring, but unfortunately, this year, you’re late! Did you not get the text? It was supposed to be 70 degrees for the opening of the soccer season, not 30. You were also responsible for bringing snacks (I sent you a text).
I received a phat check in the mail recently from Patheos for a post that “went viral” (Sex Shame the Superbowl). It is the third largest check I’ve received for writing, which, granted, is still less than my husband makes in a day. But we figure that if I could only get several viral posts every week, my husband might be able to surrender to me his role as primary breadwinner.
Since then, he has made the following suggestions for post titles:
- Sex Shame and the Grammies
- Sex Shame and Pope Benedict’s retirement
- Sex Shame and the Dirty War
- Sex Shame and Jorge
- Sex Shame and why I am Catholic
- Sex Shame and my Diary
- Sex Shame and why Kevin O’Connor should never have replaced Steve Thomas on This Old House
My new nursing bra.
I thought about doing an entire post reviewing all the bras I’ve worn in a decade of nursing. But it kept getting sort of personal, describing gaps between the under bra and nursing flaps that end up looking like that weird dress Demi Moore wore in Indecent Proposal:
Also, there was no clear way to do it without revealing my bra-size, which seemed like too much information for the internet.
Instead, I wrote a bunch of reviews on Amazon, which you can look for if you have lots of time and are really bored.
The great news, is that after six children, I’ve finally found the nursing bra of my dreams. The Elomi Smoothing Molded Nursing Bra. Thanks to the reader who recommended it to me several months ago.