Morning Face

It is only 9:34 in the morning but it seems that I have a bundle of things to talk about already. However, today, I feel like talking about how people look. How I look.

Each morning I have the same routine and I manage to get myself ready in all of 10 minutes while my girls are eating their bowls of cereal. Yesterday, however, I had a meeting downtown with a consultant and knew that for the first time in a LONG time, I needed to really pay attention to how I was presenting myself.

Since my job came to an end (last week) after 10 years, I find myself plunged back into the world of job interviews and meetings with people who will form an opinion, very quickly, based on just how I look. How scary is that? It is VERY scary and that is why I am writing this entry.

You see, we all get comfortable in a routine, whether that routine is our job, our marriage, our relationship with our own parents/siblings, or with how we dress, wear our makeup or style our hair. A shake-up in our world of routines can actually be a "glass-half-full" in a very surprising disguise and certainly does not have to be a crisis. A shake-up, if you will, creates strong feelings. Strong feelings create energy. Energy = Action.

Here is where I link this whole blog back to the title of this entry. When one routine in ones life gets "rocked" it sure is nice to have other, familiar routines to hang on to. One of my routines that I take great comfort in, is knowing that I have five things in my "Scrumping Bag" (this is my English Grandmothers description of a little bag that contains all the necessary makeup items one needs) that I use every day to make myself feel like I can face the world.

It is my belief that there are 5 makeup/tool essentials that each and every person can use to create a natural, sophisticated look; and for your reading enjoyment (insert smile here), I have listed them below.

1) Everyone needs a little pot of cream concealer. Concealer is your best friend. According to my husband (and said in the most loving way), when I get up in the morning it looks like "a raccoon sat on my face". Nice. Basically, this means that I have very dark pigmentation around my eyes. All the way around. Guess what takes me from Raccoon to "wide awake and ready to go?"Yes. Concealer.

2) Blush. A really good blush (pay a little more and get something that really works) combined with your strategically placed concealer creates the ultimate "fresh face". Personally, I like blush products by NARS.

3) Lipstick. A neutral, warm lipstick that can be used every day, is a must. My lipstick of choice and one that I cannot live without is Viva Glam V by MAC. It is very natural with a little shimmer (please, please opt for something with a whisper of shimmer. Matte lipsticks should be outlawed and look like you applied TREMCLAD to your mouth. Not flattering on anyone, at any age).

4) A great mascara. Everyone has their favourite and there are actually some interesting ways to apply mascara to create different looks (ie. sweeping lashes with mascara to the side to create more of a cat-eye).

5) A really, really good pair of tweezers. To me, tweezers, used properly, are the ultimate tool (threading, waxing, electrolysis all work too). I am just a huge fan of well-groomed (not over-plucked) eyebrows and how a persons face is altered by the look of their brows. This is a whole other Blog though...

On that note, I am signing off and heading to MAC to replenish my lipstick supply (Viva Glam V)...

Pickle Nuts

I always find it interesting to listen to people and the words that they use. As an adult, the way I speak has been influenced, of course, by the people around me and by the work that I have done. However, I still use words that prompt people to say "that is totally something you would say" or "that so sounds like your kind of word".

I often think that the "colour" found in our conversations can be found in the words that describe, perfectly, what we are talking about but cannot be found in any dictionary. I like that we can still find ourselves able to inject colourful and descriptive words into our life and that we are not so "herded" and "moulded" that we can't use the occasional "shnick or niggle or dingle"

Children clearly take the cake with the colour of their chatter and I LOVE it...I have taken to writing down the things that both of my children have said so that I can remember, forever, the way our minds work before we hear "this is correct, this is incorrect". Some of my favourites are:

1) Dogpipes - This is what Sophie called Bagpipes; and why not? They do sound similar to some kind of animal being squeezed gently (or not so gently)

2) Yarden - This is what Sophie calls a yard that also contains a garden. This couldn't make more sense to me and I have now absorbed this term into my own vocabulary.

3) Pickle-nut- This is what Bridget calls the pickled onions you find in the jar of sweet pickles - and what a great sounding word that is. "I love those pickle-nuts"

4) Chickmunk - Of course it should be a chickmunk and not a chipmunk. What is a chipmunk, anyway?

I think I will take some notes when I am talking with friends and figure out which words really make me think of them. What colour do they play with in their conversations?

Comfort Food

As with many people, when things are feeling a little uncomfortable or my expectations and hopes are being challenged, comfort food takes a front seat for me. Right in front of "getting-as-much-sleep-as-I-can-possibly-get-
with-two-young-children".

I was thinking today about what makes "Comfort Food" Comfortable? Seriously? Is there a universal list of food that, without trying, makes us feel comfortable or is it different for each individual? Since the 2009 year has not really been anything to celebrate thus far, I seem to be yearning for all that makes my tummy feel like it is sitting in front of a fire, in a cozy chair with a cat, a cup of tea and a good book.

I was thinking about what comfort food is to me and here are a few things right off the top of my head:

1) Beef stew
When I was growing up, Sunday nights seemed to be beef stew night. My Mum would start to make the stew in the afternoon and by 3:30 - 4:00 the house would be full of the most delicious smell of simmering beef, potatoes and veggies. I knew that we would have heaps of mashed potatoes to put our stew over and that following dinner it would be time for a bath, pajamas and Disney on the big, old TV set.

2) Cinnamon Buns
When I was growing up, my brother and I would be beside ourselves when we would find out that there was a big bowl with a damp cloth draped over it, sitting near the furnace, since we knew this meant that cinnamon buns with tons of sticky brown sugar and raisins would be in store for us the next morning.

3) Spare ribs and Caesar salad
When I was growing up, it was a special night when my mum would spend the afternoon preparing the most delicious, falling off the bone, spare ribs and her homemade Caesar salad. Not a word would be spoken at the table on spare rib nights. Which, if you knew our family, was not something that happened very often (as some of us kind of like to talk).

I am sure that by now you are seeing the pattern that is developing here. For me, anyway, comfort food, along with comfort sounds, comfort smells, comfort touches, seem to be intrinsically connected to my childhood; to my early years.

I am making it my goal, this year and for every year, to make sure my children have a very full list of comfort to draw on when they too are adults and finding that life needs a little "pick-me-up"

Blue Sky

So, all 1 or 2 of my readers may have noticed that I haven't written on my new-found blog for a few days. I clearly haven't been in the right headspace. Sadly, on Tuesday, February 3rd, a beautiful, sunny, blue-sky day, I was let go from the company that I had worked for for 10 years. I had been through cycles of people being let go over the years and always thankfully and humbly avoided the dreaded "white envelope". However, on Tuesday, the white envelope had my name on it.
As I play and replay this day in my mind, I recognize that I most definitely experienced all of the emotions one might feel when they are let go. It kind of went something like this:

Disbelief
"What? Me? Really? Wow."

Anger
"Seriously, is this happening? After all that I have done for this company for 10 years?"

Sadness
"This is really sad. I so didn't want it to end like this. I am really going to miss this place and all of my friends"

Rationalization
"I get it. I understand why this had to happen. I know it isn't personal"

Confusion
"What do I do now? How does this work"

Hope
"Maybe this will be ok. Maybe this is the start to a new adventure for me. It will be ok"

I actually landed on "Hope" pretty quickly. Thanks to an amazing group of co-workers (or, former co-workers!), friends and family I have been able to get through this time fairly smoothly. However, the turning point for me, was when my two young children, in unison, yelled "Yippeee! we get to have a mummy day today, tomorrow, the next day and the next". How could you not hang on to hope when your ears are filled with this music.

Fried-Day

I am starting to think that Friday's are cursed. But is it all in my head or are Friday's truly turning into FRIED-DAYS?
When I returned to work after my first daughter was born, I was fortunate enough to work for a good little company who understood and supported a flex schedule. I was able to return to the office for four days a week and then work from home for a few hours each Friday. This was perfect. With one child, this schedule fit like a glove.
Enter child number two and an office that allowed me to continue with this schedule upon my return. What a blessing...except that through a combination of factors, the Fridays of old have gone the way of the Do-do Bird.
I now have two children, neither of whom nap, who want my undivided attention on Fridays. They call it their day. And so they should. Except that the office now seems to lay claim to this day as well. The struggle to answer calls, write emails, ichat, update, confirm meetings, conference call while making grilled cheese, untangling elastics from hair, putting on shoes, wiping noses or bums seems to be getting the best of me.
Last Friday, I was down for the count and couldn't get myself up for anything...today, a week later, I found myself awake at 6:00am with a migraine to end all migraines and the knowledge that it was Friday. My day with the girls. Coincidence? Chance? I'm starting to wonder.
Sophie came upstairs at 2:30 to my darkened room and snuggled me, while trying to pop some medicine into my mouth and then she said very tenderly "you told me last night you were going to have breakfast with me and today we would have a playdate - But you didn't".
My head still ached but my heart strings were now twanging too....

mind the gap

This blog is coming from the steamy, loud, rather damp bathroom in our little house. The girls are making potions in the bath and I am perched atop the closed toilet trying to get this blog written before the the arguing starts along with the the waterworks.

Once the girls were safely in the tub and before writing this blog, I quickly grabbed my toothbrush and did a quick post-dinner brush. I was reminded as I brushed my teeth, that on Thursday of this week, I get to pick up the whitening trays that I have had made at my dentist office. That's right, I am bleaching my teeth and I am as excited as I was when I got the gap in my front teeth fixed at the age of 16.

I have always been a teeth person. It is one of the first things I notice when I meet someone. Being a tooth-gal, the fact that my own adult teeth were far from perfect was a constant niggle in my teenage life. Sure, they were straight and not a terrible colour but they weren't sparkling white and worst of all, I had a large gap between my two front teeth. I willed that gap away from the time I was about 12 until I finally got them fixed when I was 16. Not only did I will that gap away but I resorted to some pretty new-fangled torture to fix the gap myself.

My favourite "fix" was when I would take little elastics and put them around both front teeth as tightly as I could and leave them overnight. In the morning, when I would take the elastic off, I would swear that I could feel that my teeth had moved closer together. They would always hurt a little bit. This was a good thing, wasn't it? It was strange that the gap didn't ever look any smaller. My other fix, not as saavy, but certainly something I thought made me look far more appealing, was the "chewed-up-piece-of-kleenex, tucked-between-my-teeth" plan. I was sure that with that carefully placed softened Kleenex between my teeth that everyone would see me with perfect ivory Chicklets not the "spit-gap" teeth that stared back at me every night in the mirror.

When I was 16 my parents, who clearly did not understand how horrible my life had been because of my teeth, said that I could have my gap filled with a new technique the dentist was doing. Within an hour of being in the dentist chair, my gap, my albatross, was gone. I could not stop smiling. When I returned to school with my new becoming smile it was all I could do not to smile at the water fountains.

The realization that we are our own worst critic was my lesson at this time in my life, since all the people I smiled at with my new teeth finally started saying "what are you smiling about?" to which I replied "My teeth!! They are fixed! Don't you see??!". The answers from every single person and even a couple of water fountains was "really? I didn't notice that you had a gap?!"

name that pig

I was reading some Richard Scarry to my youngest daughter, when I came across something that made both of us stop and giggle. I had just started reading about Sergeant Murphy and his daughter "Bridget" (Richard Scarry "dogs"), followed quickly by little Sophie Humperdink (Richard Scarry "Pigs"). How was it that I had named both of my children after two animal characters in the same story in a Richard Scarry book?

Of course, this just got me thinking, again, about names. I think about names a lot. When I was pregnant with my first daughter, I would sometimes have a physical heaviness, a weight, knowing that my husband and I would have to choose a name that our child would either pour themselves into, or not.

When we named our first daughter the whole thing felt organic and easy. We just knew, when we looked at her, moments after she was born, that she wasn't a Scarlet or a Esme but she was most definitely a Sophie. It felt good to be so sure. It still feels good. Sophie loves me to tell her about all the names we had picked out for her. She "yuks" or "yums" after each name that I list off but always looks contented and impish when we finally talk about how she is our Sophie and has been our Sophie from the moment she arrived.

When I was about 5 months pregnant with our second child we had a list of names that we were thinking about. We asked Sophie how she felt about all of the names (for both girls and boys since we didn't know what we were having) and, true to form, she "yuked" and "yumed" her way through the list and eventually paused and said, "I am calling the baby, Bridget" and that was that. The baby, whether it had been a boy or a girl would have been called Bridget. Things have a funny way of working out and Bridget couldn't be more Bridget if she tried.

Oh, and I am thrilled to know that my children, AKA Sophie Humperdink and Bridget Murphy, a pig and a dog, will live forever in the pages of the Richard Scarry, Please and Thank you Book.