"How Do I Look?"*

When you hear "Audrey Hepburn," perhaps you think of...



Although most people probably think of...




But if you want indisputable proof of her beauty, consider this...


* Quote from Hepburn's character, Holly Golightly, in Breakfast at Tiffany's, to which the character, Paul Varjak, replies, "Very good. I must say, I'm amazed."

Free Reads

We TV premiered a new reality show called "Downsized" (Saturday, 9/8c). It features a blended family of 9, struggling to make ends meet since the economy and housing market took an enormous dump. They've already filed bankruptcy and now they're dumpster diving, scrubbing toilets, and doing whatever they need to in order to get out of their state of poverty.



Although I find some aspects of the family dynamic to be ridiculous (i.e. applying 8% of the family's income toward the youngest daughter's cheerleading, when they barely make rent), a few ideas are pretty darned inspiring. In last week's episode, the mom started a housecleaning business. She's a bit of a wuss, so not only did she undercharge the homeowner, she agreed to bring in her own cleaning supplies. Since the family didn't really have the money to invest in cleaning products, she looked up recipes using common household items like baking soda and vinegar. I've been using both homemade cleansers as well as the commercial varieties, so I paid some attention. Now, for my wood furniture, I'm partial to Pledge. It's a throwback to my days as a wee one. Since my bathtub isn't connected to the shower and I don't have an extendable nozzle for it, I prefer baking soda and Dawn because everything is a pain in the hindquarters to rinse, and if I don't rinse as well as I should, it'd probably be better to soak in a tub laced with baking soda and dish soap than a tub of Soft Scrub. Anyway, when you're looking at a lady and her kids who are used to paying someone $125 to clean the house, it's pretty neat to watch them switch gears and choose responsibility over self-pity (in which they occasionally indulge). Anyway, it all got me thinking that even though my family is doing okay these days, saving money is never really a bad idea.



Last year, I went on a magazine and novel diet. When I learned that I was spending up to $175(!) a month on novels, I knew that I had to put the kibosh on that and really analyze how I spent the family's money. So for a month, I decided that I wouldn't buy any magazines or novels for myself. That meant learning to limit myself to window shopping at Barnes & Noble and Half Price Books, undoing habits that I didn't even realize I were ingrained.



The city libraries made it so much easier. It seems that almost any title I'm interested in is available at the library, including a few magazines I enjoy, such as Self. I come from a city with the worst library so this is truly a breath of fresh air. The big prince's school has a public library on its campus, so I often send my checked out items to school with him so he may return them for me. They also have a decent stock of ebooks, so I've spent very little on books for my reader. In fact, last summer, I kept myself up to my armpits in ebooks from 1,250 miles away. The first three weeks were pretty easy, but I almost fell off the wagon on the 28th day. The book section at Wal-Mart called to me like the donut shop next to the Jenny Craig. However, with some help from my step-princess, I stayed on track. So I did what any intelligent, victorious woman would do--I extended the diet. For four month, I didn't buy a magazine or a book.



When I did give myself permission to buy a book, my standards raised to the point where for weeks, I couldn't decide on a book to buy. When I finally did, I felt horrible about it, like I had betrayed my family. Eventually, book shopping became easier until I could finally shop with wild abandon again (although not to the tune of $175 a month).



So here it is, a year later, and I'm back on the magazine and novel diet. The trigger? After watching "Downsized," I autumn-cleaned my house. The number of magazines that went to recycling and the library swap bin was astounding. Many dollars over the last few months gone down the drain. The two exceptions are knitting books and magazines (same exeption as the last diet) and Runner's World (since the library doesn't carry it and Half Price Books seldom gets recent copies, plus I plan to actually subscribe to two knitting magazines and RW). Maybe it seems ridiculous to feel so good about doing something so small, but I've learned that small things can lead to more small things until everything together equals big change.

Mother Knows Best (and I've been called a mutha...)

After the kiddos hit the sack last night, I roamed my Blogger dashboard and rediscovered my former blog. For no identifiable reason, I read the posts. Perhaps such nostalgia should have been saved for the daylight hours. Well, live and learn.

One of the posts from May 2008 announces a trip to California to accompany my then ailing mum to various medical appointments. I remember knowing that something was terribly wrong with her and believing that the solution was as simple as an accurate diagnosis.

Skip ahead to the next post, a month and a half later. I composed it 8 hours before my mom died. As I reread my words, everything flooded back--worry, anger, resentment, and above all else, fear. And my fight-or-flight reflexes kicked in. Here I am, years later, Pandora's Box open wide. Last night, every muscle raged to kick things, scream, call my mum's doctors to remind them of what I've lost.

But one thing that 36 years with my mum plus 2 1/2 years without her have taught me is that sometimes your first instinct could be entirely wrong. Everything looks different in the natural light so it may be best to step back and really analyze the situation. I took a scalding-hot shower and thought that if it's 1 A.M. here, then it's only 11 P.M. in California, so it wouldn't do any good to call the hospital with my rants because I probably wouldn't be waking anyone up (never mind that the offices were closed, anyway). And what's the point of a middle-of-the-night rant if you're not making someone on the other end miserable?

Today is sunny and cool, the air is fairly still. Basically, it's a perfect day in Texas, providing what Mum would agree is the perfect light. Everyone looks amazing and perfect on a day like today and troubles, well, it's much easier to remember that they're temporary. Everything is.

It's over 12 hours since my "episode." I spent the morning having coffee with two of the most amazing women I have the privilege to know, followed by an hour of listening to my boy's school rave about how fantastic he is. Yes, I'm still miffed about my mum getting the shaft, but she promised me that everything would be fine, and she was right.

Same blog, six months later, exactly two years ago from today... I declared the Year of Michelle. At the time, I figured that if I could make myself a "better" person and make good things happen for myself, good things would happen for others around me as a result. I've spent two years stage-hopping through grief, while the Year of Michelle took a backseat to other priorities.

But without even trying, things have changed for me. My family and I have shared around a zillion laughs, my kiddos reached milestones, I've become kinder and less judgmental, and I have a much closer relationship with my dad. I've overcome my fear of singing in public (well, sort of), become more fiscally responsible, read some of the best strings of written words, and found a way to pay homage to the females who mean everything to me.

So really, Year of Michelle rolls on. I'll continue to hammer out power ballads on my drums, drive like the old lady in Ferris Bueller's Day Off, alert people who have food between their teeth or toilet paper from their shoes, and marvel at how a smartass like me has such sweet, helpful, disciplined, well-rounded kiddos.

One more task is added to the mix. I will no longer take peaceful moments for granted. It's one thing to notice a pretty flower when you're walking past it, but it's quite another to actually stop and smell it. So I challenge you to do the same. Every now and then, just stop to consider that everything is actually okay. And if it isn't, then it will be. I assure you of this because my mum told me so.

What Are Ya Gonna Do? *shrugs*

Over a year ago, I went on a password-changing spree. It's a good idea to change passwords on various accounts every now and then, since we live in a world of some serious whackadoodles who have no issue with sucking the fun out of all things online. Anyhoo, this created issues with accessing my blog. Every time I've wanted to post, I have had to change my password. It's a pain in the nethers. My solution? Kick the dirt, pout, then move on.

I'm sitting with my breakfast sandwich (1/4 cup egg whites, an egg, garlic, green onion, a wedge of Laughing Cow Light Swiss, on two slices of Double-Fiber bread). As I took the first bite, I thought about some of my strange habits. For example, I cut my sandwiches into triangles (rectangles have been known to disturb me*) and eat the piece with the rounded top first. Why? Because I favor the half with three points so I save it for last.

When I go to the bookstore, I always troll in the same order: periodicals, exercise and makeup books, knitting and sewing books, reference, graphic novels, kids' books (if I have kiddos with me), then novels. If I'm purchasing, I do so in the cafe where I order a soy latte. My route moves me through the store in a clockwise manner. Since breaking habits is supposed to be good for the brain, I have tried to change up the order a few times. But that left me feeling unsettled.

Between this post and Ravelry trolling, I've spent enough time to safely get off my bum and move around rigorously. I changed my password for this? Neat-o.

*Note: I have no issue when someone else makes a sandwich for me then cuts it into rectangles. I'm not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth.