#2: Bad Mom Says “It’s Common Sense Really.”

23 Jan

My weekly “Bad Mom” post isn’t really taking off the way I had hoped. 

Apparently there are just no bad moms out there!  I actually have been a pretty good mom lately, if I do say so myself, and I haven’t really had any stories to share.

I’m proud to say I’ve been keeping it all together.  I think I’m just more of a psycho before the holidays so now that we’re into 2012 I’m a little more content.  I’m not content about the belly bulge I noticed this morning when putting on my skinny jeans, but I digress.  I really can’t do it all, and I’m starting to be OK with that.

So my brief Bad Mom moment occurred this morning while I was driving the Chiquita to Bubbe’s house.  It’s freezing in the car even though I warmed it for about 15 minutes before we left the house.  We’re both bundled up with the heat blasting.  Chiquita is in the back in her car seat sucking on her paci while she holds her bottle and hugs her baby; a black fleece blanket across her legs.

We’re not even down the block when she throws Baby across the backseat.  Then she starts whining.  Ugh.  Soo annoying.  I haven’t even sipped my coffee yet and I’m trying to listen to Kiss FM’s “Dirty on the Thirty” celeb gossip segment and she’s in the back going, “oooh…ahhh….ahhh…ma….” trying to say to me, “Hey, lady, I dropped threw my baby now pick it up for me.”

Diva Eva wants it NOW!

How many times do we have to do this?  I turn around and say, “I’m driving right now.  Don’t throw your baby.”

She follows up with, “oooh…ahhh….ahhh…ma….”

I turn around again and say, “I’m driving right now.  When I stop at a red light I will get your baby.”  And then I turn up the volume to hear “Dirty on the Thirty.”  Nice mom, huh?

At the red light I turn around and grab Baby off the backseat.  I hand the baby to her and say, firmly, “Don’t throw her again because I’m not getting her for you next time.  You’ll have to wait until we get to Bubbe’s.”

She smiles and hugs Baby.  Awww so cute….for about three seconds.

Three seconds later Baby is on the floor again.  I hear, “oooh…ahhh….ahhh…ma….”  I think to myself, we have a seven minute ride to Bubbe’s and I feel like I’m going to kill this kid.  I tell her no and continue to drive despite her rebuttals. 

Seconds later her bottle has ended up been thrown on the floor and this infuriates her.  Where in the hell did the Chiquita get this bad temper?  Certainly not from Moi! :D

Now she’s really pissed and she’s letting me know it.  A tirade ensues complete with pointing at me and kicking her legs.  I want to laugh at this kid, but I don’t. 

I turn around and say, “Hey, I told you not to throw Baby and your bottle.  I’m driving.  I can’t reach it.  You’ll have to wait until we get to Bubbe’s.”

We’re going to be there in one and a half minutes.  I really wish kids understood patience!  She continues with her tirade and finally I’m at my wit’s end.  How many times do I have to tell the Chiquita NOT to throw Baby and/or bottles on our drive to Bubbe’s?  This isn’t a new phenomenon.  She wasn’t born yesterday.  She knows the drill.

Finally I begrudgingly turn around as another tirade ensues and I say (very nicely, actually, I’m not even yelling), “Listen.  How many times do I have to tell you not to throw your bottle?  I can’t pick it up off the floor while I am driving.  How about you just don’t throw it?  I mean, it’s common sense really….”

"It's common sense, Timmy!"

The words escape my mouth, and I think to myself, Wow.  That’s wayyyy f*cked up.  I just told my 18 month old she lacked common sense.

And this just after I argued with Hubs on what a “compassionate” person I am.  He goes, “You?  Compassionate?  The person who thinks everyone is ‘sooo stupid.’  Hilarious.”

 

What are your Bad Mom stories?  I can’t be the only one who is the occasional Bad Mom!  Write me at jlee5879@live.com.

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Jlee’s Review – Drew Peterson: Untouchable

22 Jan

The Official Drew Peterson

Who hasn’t heard of Drew Peterson, the handsome and charming Bolingbrook Police Officer famous for being infamous?  Drew Peterson became a household name and media sensation following the disappearance of his fourth wife Stacy Peterson.  He is suspected of killing his third wife, Kathleen Savio, as well as Stacy Peterson.

Bolingbrook, a suburb of Chicago, is close to home for me, and I’ve followed this story since Stacy’s mysterious disappearance on October 28, 2007.  I’ve had friends who’ve spotted Drew Peterson at local bars and an acquaintance who said that Peterson once was in his home during a drug bust.  The word I heard both times was that Peterson was “creepy.”

Funny that’s what I actually thought of the movie, Drew Peterson: Untouchable.  The movie – and Rob Lowe – were downright creepy.  Rob Lowe was a very believable Drew Peterson, it does help though that Rob Lowe is wayyy hotter than Drew Peterson and I have a penchant for older men with gray hair.  Seriously.

 

Lose the stache and you could be sexy

 

According to MyFoxChicago.com, the Lifetime movie network says “the movie is based on a true story and follows the fascinating tale of former Bolingbrook police sergeant Drew Peterson’s fall from grace after the mysterious disappearance of his fourth wife Stay Peterson.”

Drew Peterson’s attorney Joel Brodsky calls the movie “hysterical” “filled with inaccuracies” and “bogus.”  I call it hilarity. 

And it’s only hilarious to me that A. Fox also reports that Drew Peterson DID watch the movie from Will County Adult Detention Center where he is currently being held while he awaits trial for the murder of Savio.  Can you imagine watching yourself in a Lifetime Movie – watching Rob Lowe talk about your supposed big dick and refer to you as “Big Daddy?”  Yeah, wtf is right.  And B. It’s just sort of funny watching this jerk believe that he is hot shit, the song “Sexy and I Know It” running through my head.  Sorry, but any man with a creepy stache is soooo not sexy.  Duh!

Rob Lowe did manage to capture Drew Peterson in a chilling and intriguing way which made me wonder if I got pulled over by Sergeant Big Dick would I be flirting with that stache in hopes of getting out of a ticket?  Possibly, but I have enough sense not to get charmed by these narcissistic whackos….well….I do sort of get a hard on for Rod Blagojevich.  Seriously.

 

Sexy and I know it....

 

I found the movie to be quite entertaining despite Rob Lowe’s weak Chi-town accident.  We don’t sound like that!  Especially while saying the coveted phrase: “I’m untouchable, Bitch.”

Sadly, Peterson’s fourth wife, Stacy, is still missing and though I don’t know much about her I found Kaley Cuoco’s portrayal of her only drew me in more, wondering about this innocent young girl who was charmed by a sociopath and thinking things like, what got her there?

 

Stacy Peterson - Don't forget the victims...

 

You know Lifetime will probably play this movie a thousand times over so I would highly suggest recording this masterpiece to watch on a Sunday afternoon while you’re laying on the couch nursing a hangover.  Be careful though, you might vomit from all the references to “Big Daddy’s” member, I know it almost made me lose my dinner a couple times and I watched it sober.

This brings about a great idea to me – how about a drinking game based on the number of times Drew refers to his manliness or sexual prowess in two hours minus commercials?  Every time he refers to “Big Daddy” salute ladies, salute.

When finally arrested Drew even tells his former co-workers he knows they just want to get a look at his goods.  WOW!  While going down he still manages to think his charm, his stache and his dick will get him out of this mess.  Just like a true narcissist.

 

"I'm Innocent..." says Big Daddy. I say BULLSHIT!

 

 

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What the %$@! is a Facebook War?

19 Jan

Every morning...take your pills and check your Facebook

I have a love-hate relationship with Facebook.  As a person with an addictive personality I find myself often desperate to delete my Facebook account, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.

I enjoy Facebook for the ease of being able to “keep up” with friends through status posts and photos, but I despise the drama that comes along with it.

As an emotional person I wear my emotions on my sleeve.  My emotions then work their way onto Facebook.  I try to be real; some people like it and some people don’t.

During my bout with Post Partum Depression I took a brief break from Facebook, not necessarily because I wanted to, but rather because I kept posting crazy talk and people started to worry.

I remember my dad randomly showing up at my house one afternoon and asking me if I was going to kill myself.  I felt terrible; he was practically in tears recounting to me the game of Telephone that ended with him hearing the words “Jen” and “kill herself.”  I was livid.

Things like “Mind your own business!” and “Don’t worry about what I post!” were running through my head.  Shortly thereafter I “temporarily” deleted my account.  I couldn’t bring myself to do the official complete delete.

Looking back I know people were just concerned about me, and for that I am very grateful.  I’m blessed to have people in my life that care about me, and cared about the hardships I went through.

Now I would say my relationship with Facebook is pretty “normal,” with the occasional aggravation over a group of posters that drive me nuts.

1. The Always Sunny Posters: People who only post about how great they are, how great their babies and husbands are, basically how great their lives are. ALL THE TIME.

2. The I Have No Life Outside of My Kid Posters: People who post ONLY about their children and how great their children are; their children’s straight A’s, multiple awards, sports abilities, and organic diet.  Basically their child is Jesus.

3. The Philosophical Socrates Posters: People who post their “philosophies” on life.  Follow their advice and you will be better, smarter, healthier, and happier.  Also known as “Know-It-Alls,” they’ll tell you how to raise your kid even if they don’t have one!

And finally, my favorite:

4. The Passive-Aggressive Posters: People who passively-aggressively write status updates hoping their friends will see what they wrote and feel bad because of something said friend “supposedly” did, i.e., “checked-in” somewhere just to make THEM feel bad.  You know, what you put on your Facebook is all about them.

I’m not saying my posts are perfect and witty; I have sporadic frequent posts complaining about traffic, weather, work, my husband, my crazy family…but sorry, see above.  I wear my emotions on my sleeve so if this is how I’m feeling in life this is how I’m feeling in Facebook world.

Don't you wish you could tell the annoying Facebook posters to STFU???

I’m not going to make an imaginary status update so people think I’m so happy and my life is so perfect.  I will post that I’m ready to kill my kid right now or I poured Bailey’s in my coffee this morning.  I do stay away from posting about my sex life and my bowel movements.  I’m sure my Facebook friends are grateful for that.

You’re probably wondering if I’m going to get to the point of this post which is “Facebook War.”  If you don’t know what a Facebook War actually is, I guarantee you are either currently in one or you’ve been in one at one time or another.

A Facebook War is when you and a friend, an actual friend not a Facebook acquaintance, refuse to “like” or comment on the other’s Facebook page.  This may happen because of an argument you are both aware of that hasn’t yet been resolved – or – maybe your friend is one of the annoying posters listed above, so you decide to ignore them and then find yourself in a mutually “silent” war yet you’ve never actually discussed what the issue is that has caused the Facebook War.

Am I in 5th grade?

What the &*%$ is the purpose of a Facebook War?  Facebook Wars in my opinion are complete ridiculousness, but in saying that, I should probably disclose that I’m currently involved in two Facebook Wars. 

One is because of a fight we had – about Facebook – and the other is because a #4 Passive-Aggressive Poster pissed me off by posting yet another passive-aggressive post (like the 12th one.)   

Will my Facebook Wars end? 

What drives you nuts on Facebook? 

Are you involved in a Facebook War?

 

 

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Poop Blame

10 Jan

There’s nothing worse than walking into a public bathroom to the smell of poop.  I see there is someone in the stall doing their business.  I go in the stall to do my business.  And then they flush.  And then they wash their hands.  And then they exit the bathroom.

OH SHIT. (Literally)

Now if someone comes in the bathroom they’re going to think I was the one to cause this stink.  That sucks.

WHAT TO DO?

You can do what I do and carry a Victoria’s Secret mini perfume in your pocket.  Then after they exit the bathroom, but before I exit the stall, I spray the bejesus out of it. (No, my office building doesn’t invest in bathroom spray, wtf, this is 2012!) I also have the courtesy to do this if I happen to be the one making the stench.

Funny side note, I did this just the other day.  I was washing my hands and then putting some powder on my nose and a lady who works down the hall from me came into the bathroom.

“Hello,” she said.  Yeah, these bitches are finally saying hello to me.  I’ve killed them all with kindness.

“Hello, how are you?” I responded.

“Good!  By the way, you smell really good!”

I went back to my desk and texted G that I just took a crap in the bathroom and the lady down the hall told me I smell really good thanks to my Victoria’s Secret mini spray.  She texted me later that day saying she wished she had my spray.  See ladies, I do give great advice!  Jleesblog.com, tell your friends.

Orrrrr….

You can do what you learned in kindergarten.  Blame the person next to you.

What is poop blame?:  Blaming your [bad] smell on someone else, mainly your dog or your child, but also a friend if that’s convenient.  Or better yet, your spouse.

I know we’re adults, but this seriously happens.

I was at a bachelorette party recently.  After a glorious dinner at an awful winery (don’t worry, we trashed them on Yelp!) we went to the bar to get cRaZy, you know as crazy as we 30-something moms get nowadays….OH!  Side note, I remember being at the bar, The Lodge, our favorite as 22-year-old college grads, and making fun of the “old” women on the dance floor, all of whom were probably my age now, and saying words like “pathetic” and “loser.”  Wow, that’s actually a really depressing thought….

In other [crucial] advice I’m handing out for free today, to any of my college readers (I know I have at least one,,, she commented on “My Office Crush is Gay,” Yayyy) please PLEASE try to be nice to us old ladies because remember, you too, will be one of us!  And gosh does it go fast….

Anyways, we’re at this bar – a group of us MILFs – and suddenly there is this God awful stench lingering around us.  WTF.  We’re all looking around at each other.  No one wants to admit this odor came out of them.

Sorry boys. Even hot girls fart...

Here comes the Poop Blame.  Yes, you’ve got it.  My adult friend blamed our other adult friend, and what ensued was hilarity.  I just stood on the sidelines watching this transpire wondering if The Real Housewives do this kind of crap off camera.

Oh my gosh, so embarrassingggg, it just slipped out!

I’m not sure what stinks more – being The Poop Blamer, the one who has to really pull this off for fear of not only being the stink-maker, but now also being the *&%*# who tried to blame it on someone else,,, (you better hope you don’t blush) or being the Poop Blamee, the one who is blamed, who vehemently denies it, and now causes everyone to think they are even more guilty because of their denial.

I actually try not to be the Blamer or the Blamee, I mean, I’m not generally walking around ripping ass [in public] because that disgusts me, and despite my potty-mouth I am a lady.  However, after the Mozzaball incident I did accidentally let one slip out at the bar and while I saw people’s noses around me crinkle I just shrugged it off figuring they’d think it was my husband.  LOL

But, do people really blame their scents on their children?  I really hope not, I mean, I don’t want to scar the Chiquita in any way more than she will already be scarred by having a crazy wine guzzling mom.  Let’s give this kid a fighting chance at a life without therapy.

We’ve established people are ripping ass at work, in kindergarten, in bars…what about at home?  My mom once told me that she never passes gas in front of her husband.  WTF, seriously?  Who does this?

We all grow up saying that we don’t want to do things like our parents did, and I am no exception.  I said I could never marry a man that I couldn’t pass gas in front of.  I’m not going to spend “until death do us part” running to the bathroom every single time I have a little gas.  Sorry, honey, my TV show is more important than the air you are trying to breathe….

I know my husband is sooo lucky, right?  I really am quite the catch.  And he sooo loves hates when I say “ripping ass” telling me ‘do you have to talk like that?’  But, what can I say?  That’s what we Italian girls do. 

I really shouldn’t type cast us all…. 

That’s what this Italian girl does.

Tell me, what do you do?  Blame it on your kid or your husband?  Or are you one of those gas-less wonders? 

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3, 2, 1…Too Many Mozzaballs

8 Jan

I’ve always been an eater.  I eat like a good Italian girl should.  Pizza, pasta, cheeses, vino, … the list goes on.  Unfortunately, eating [like crap] makes it difficult to keep a decent figure once you’re 30+ even if you work-out.  And a decent figure will satisfy me, I guess, but I read wayyy too many gossip magazines, and I wanna look like Jessica Alba,,,,or my current celeb crush Mila Kunis! 

You don't get this bod eating carbs! Photo courtesy of www.usmagazine.com

What I don’t want to be is a frumpy 30-something mom – which speaking of 30-something, this a total side note – but I discovered this amazeballs blog (oh double side note,,,,um… ‘amazeballs’ apparently is on the list of words to be banished in 2012, wtf, I just started using this word?!?). 

Sorry,,,back to the amazeballs blog.  I randomly discovered this blog Thirty-Something Fashion and LOVE it!  So check it out if you have a chance!  Carly is one hot mom! ;)

So, anyways, normally I try to eat fairly healthy by eating five small meals throughout the day and drinking lots of water, but I do drink my wine and occasionally splurge in moderation.  That said, over the holidays I went a bit overboard. 

For one, the months of October, November and December were soo busy I rarely made it to the gym.  Excuses, excuses, I know.  For two, what with it being the holidays and all I let myself splurge a little more than usual with the ‘ole “new year, new me” saying going through my head every time I picked up a cookie (or 12) to eat.

Coming up on NYE, and Hubs and I are deciding whether to go out for the evening.  We’re kicking around some options and keep going back to hanging out at home with the Chiquita and ordering pizza.  This sounds like a solid NYE to me, honestly, my Juicy Couture jammies, some red wine, good ‘ole Dan’s Pizza and the two most important people in my life.

BUT, after lots of hem and hawing we decide to go out.  We decide on this nearby bar for $50/person all-you-can drink from 7-midnight plus a pizza buffet.  I bought these amazeballs (lol, sorry I had to) sequin pants and couldn’t wait to get done up for a fun night out.

Sequin pants from Forever 21

We get to the bar at 7 on the dot, we’re not going to waste a second of free booze and free pizza, and we find out that the pizza buffet doesn’t start until 10:30 pm.  Thank goodness I ate a banana at 6:30 pm or I would have been starving.  I was already hungry.

I ordered a glass of cabernet; Hubs ordered a vodka.  I knew I had to keep my drinking under control – we didn’t want another “JUST STOP TALKING” moment – so I was sipping rather than chugging.  Not that I chug wine, but believe me, I can toss back a glass to get a buzz on. :)

I was actually pretty hungry and our friends were, too.  They decided to order some apps.  I asked the hubs if he wanted to order.

“No,” he said, “We paid $50/person for a pizza buffet so we’re going to eat pizza!”

LOL, I make us sound sooo cheap!

Our friends order calamari and shrimp and lots of yummy items.  My stomach is growling, and I’m trying to drink my cab.  I’m having one of those nights where the drinks just aren’t flowing for me, but I do have a buzz. 

At 10:30 my girl whispers to me that the pizza buffet is ready upstairs.  We go up to this small room with a few tables which are already occupied by other drunken party goers.  There is a long banquet table full of pizzas – cheese, sausage, pepperoni, and veggie. 

Hubs fills his plate full of pizza and says, “I’m going to take this downstairs and see if the others want any pizza,” as I grab a couple pieces of cheese.

I don’t really want to go downstairs and eat in the middle of the party, I think, as I grab a mozzarella ball at the end of the buffet line.  I dip the mozzarella ball into marinara sauce and pop it in my mouth.  Mmmm, that’s amazeballs, I think. J

“Well, I’m going to go downstairs,” Hubs says again.

I nod, as I’ve already stuck mozzaball #2 into my mouth.  “OK, go ahead; I’m going to stay up here.”

“What do you mean you’re going to stay here?”  He asks.

I take a bite of mozzaball #3 and say, “Yeah, I’m going to eat up here.  I don’t want to eat in front of everyone.”

At the end of the buffet table is a TV plus a small unoccupied table with no chairs.  The room is full of loud drunks all chowing down on pizza.  I prop my rear against the table, and I’m in the perfect position directly across from the TV and the mozzarella balls.  There is a HUGE tray of them. 

Hubs looks at me with a perplexed look on his face.  “You’re really going to stay up here all by yourself?”

“Uh-huh,” I nod, as I pop #4 into my mouth.

Hubs goes downstairs, and I finally feel free.  I put about 10 on my plate, but for some reason continue to take them directly out of the tray.  Who cares about these other drunks, I think, I’m not even drunk anyways, just slightly buzzed and frickin’ starving.  Booty still perched on the table I pop #5, 6, and 7 into my mouth.

After #s 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 20…I finally go downstairs.  Looking back I wonder if those other party goers were watching the girl in the sequin pants stuffing mozzaballs into her mouth.

I get my 3rd glass of cab and sit by Hubs.  He’s finishing up his pizza and still has two mozzaballs on his plate.  “Are you going to eat those?”

“Didn’t you eat enough?” He asks.

I smile and stuff them in.  It reminded me of the movie Elf when Will Farrell was popping cotton balls and stuffing spaghetti in his mouth.

Nom Nom Nom!

About a half hour later my tummy is not feeling so good.  In fact I can’t even bring myself to get back on the dance floor; I’m literally stuffed, and pretty sure that mozzarella is expanding in my size 2 sequin pants.  In fact, I can’t even get up off my chair or finish my glass of cab.

My friend comes up to me, “You’re being lame!”

“Dude, I just ate 22 mozzarella balls.  I feel sick.”

“What?  You ate how many mozzarella balls?”

“I seriously ate, like, 22 mozzarella balls.  Mozzarella is expanding in my stomach,” I say, as I push out my stomach at her.

She grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowd.  “You just need to take a crap.”

We escape to the bathroom, and I tell her, “No, I don’t have to take a crap, I’m seriously about to birth a mozzarella ball.  I feel f*cking sick!”

I wash my hands and remind her, “G,,,I ate like 22 mozzarella balls!  Seriously.” (Now, there’s another word that needs to be banned.)

The girl at the sink next to me looks over and says, “Ohmigosh, those mozzarella balls were amazing!” (Another word for banishment.)

I go, “I know.  I just ate like 22.”

“Don’t worry, I ate like 15,” She says and walks out.

I look at G.  “I’m not joking, I seriously ate like 22.”

G telling me to liven up in the bathroom

We go back out to the party, and I look at the clock.  It’s 11:30 pm.  I seriously wonder if I’m going to make it to midnight I feel that sick.

G is talking to some other peeps, and I look at Hubs and say, “I honestly don’t know if I can make it to midnight.  I seriously feel so sick.  I ate 22 mozzarella balls, you know.”

“I know,” he says, “You’ve told me.  100 times.  Let’s just make it to midnight and then we’ll go.”

“OK,” I say, rubbing my tummy.  “But, at 12:01 am we’re out the door.  I’m about to birth a mozzarella ball.”

I barely managed to choke down my 3rd glass of cab and am desperately waiting for midnight to arrive.  At 5 to midnight they are passing out glasses of champagne.  I take a glass thinking I’m magically going to feel better when the clock strikes 12.

We count down 10, 9, 8…this literally feels like forever.  Finally 3, 2,… “Happy New Year!”

Hubs and I kiss.  Everyone around us is shouting, kissing and toasting.  Balloons are falling.  Noise makers are ringing.  I have no idea where our friends are.  I look at Hubs and say, “Grab your coat, let’s go!”

We make our escape through the door at 12:02 am.  By 12:10 am we are at home.  I’m sitting in my living room knowing that something inside me is not right.

Hubs goes out to smoke a cigar.  “I’ll be back, baby,” he says as he pats my head.

And then it happens.  12:15 am.  I jump up.  I run to the bathroom, sequin pants still on.  And I vomit.  Yes, I vomit up 3 glasses of cabernet and 22 mozzarella balls.

Happy New Year! Don’t you wish you were my friend?!? 

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#1: Bad Mom Hates Santa

22 Dec

Santa: "At least you don't have smelly crying kids sitting on YOUR lap!"

Does it make me a bad mom if:  I’m muttering “Thank God we only have 9 more years of this Santa sh*t” as we leave Bass Pro Shop without a picture with Santa.

Let me start off by saying I completely blame Bass Pro Shop for this ordeal.  I will never – and I mean never EVER – go to Bass Pro Shop again.  I don’t care that they’ve somehow managed to get the Santa Claus to come down from the North Pole.

We walk in, and I feel completely out of place.  This is worse than being dragged to The Home DePot!

For 1:  I almost barf while showing the Chiquita the enormous fish tank.  Those big nasty fish swimming around the tank are completely disgusting.  Torturing me would be throwing me into that tank.  I would literally have a heart attack. 

I have a huge fear of fish – dead or alive.  I know it’s weird, and I have no idea where this came from.  I actually have nightmares about flying piranhas chasing me and backing me into a corner and then I wake up in a cold sweat.  It’s frightening.  A couple times I’ve even woken up crying.

For 2:  My husband insisted we go look at the firearms located on the 2nd level.  “Look,” he says, “There’s even a pink one!”

As if that’s a selling point on how I can somehow “fit in” at Bass Pro Shop.  Sorry, honey, it’s never gonna happen.

I said, “There’s a reason they don’t let people like me own firearms,” which in hindsight is quite hilarious because on our drive home 3 short hours later, I remember thinking that if I had a pink firearm I would have blown his brains out.

So it all started with me promising the Chiquita that we would go see Santa that Saturday.  Now I see why parents don’t promise things to their children.  You just never know what might happen. 

What’s weird is the Chiquita is 17 months old but she already knows who Santa is.  I don’t think she understands the concept of Santa bringing presents, but I’ve already started telling her she better behave or Santa won’t come.  That always stops her dead in her tracks.  The Santa threat is pretty powerful, and I’m sort of sad I won’t be able to use it anymore in 3 days.  I’ll have to go back to telling her I’m going to sell her to the gypsies, I guess. 

Anyways, two and a half hours later we are driving to Bass Pro Shop, which is about 20 minutes from our house.  My friend called my cell to tell me that she was there with her three kiddos and it was a madhouse.  She wanted to prepare me.  She knows I hate crowds and ugly people. 

She explained they were passing out “time tickets” because of the amount of people, so you go there, get your time, and then come back to get your picture with Santa.

Fair enough – I’m a reasonable person.  We get our time and leave to do some Christmas shopping.  We arrive back at 3:40 pm to get in line for our 4 pm picture. (They told us we could start lining up at 3:45 pm).

We can tell we’re starting to lose the Chiquita, but we’re desperately trying to push through.  This kid will see Santa today because I promised! 

The line is extremely long.  I look at my watch – 3:45 pm.  What is going on?  How could so many people be in line already?

“Are you here for the 4 pm time?” I ask the woman in front of me.

She nods.

My patience is starting to wear very thin…

A Bass Pro Shop employee spots my time ticket (apparently they are different colors) and says, “You’re here for the 4 pm picture?”

“Yes,” I respond.

“Ohh…you’re supposed to be in this line over here,” she tells us.  She points to another, not as long, but still long enough, line.

Wtf is this?  Are you joking me?

I look at the associate, take a deep breath and move over to the 4 pm line.

My husband and I are standing in the 4 pm line, Chiquita is starting to whine (poor kid is a trooper; she hadn’t had a diaper change since like noon), 3 kids about take me out running through the crowd (umm…where are your parents…oh probably in line), and I realize after standing there for 15 minutes – with the 3:30 line barely moving – that between my anxiety and my bad temper I need to get the f*ck out of here.  Right now.

I say to my husband, “This is ridiculous!  We’re leaving.  I’m not standing in this f*cking line one second longer.”

And I don’t think I was quiet about it.  Or nice about it.  I continue on, “These people are dumb to wait in this long line” as I grab the Chiquita and drag her out of there.

I realize this is not setting a great example for my daughter (nor was it being very nice in general), but, you do realize I would have been standing in that line for at least 90 minutes right?  So why didn’t you [Bass Pro Shop] give me a time ticket for a picture at 5:30 pm?

Here’s my beef – If you’re going to hand out time tickets for people to come back for a specific picture time you need to better anticipate the amount of time per family to take a photo plus any breaks for Santa.  Instead of handing out, say, 100 tickets maybe you only hand out 50.  It’s common sense, really.  You have people dealing with very small children who have very small attention spans!

And I’m not implying that I should have gotten my picture taken at 4:01 pm, but let’s be somewhat close to the time you gave me, like within 20 minutes!

Maybe this is just another silly Jlee rant; as even my mom looked at me like I am a complete spaz when I tried to explain the day to her.  But, sorry I’m not sorry if I’m the only one who thinks waiting 90+ minutes for a picture with Santa – when my child may or may not be crying – is ridiculous.  And sorry I’m not sorry that I feel management should have better managed people’s expectations.

All this waiting for a picture that might turn out like this....

 

I know some people had very good experiences at Bass Pro Shop, and to that, I say how wonderful for you.  But, for me, I will never go there again.  Not that I shop there anyways.

And we ended up getting a nice enough free picture with Santa the next day and with no wait in our neighborhood.  It’s not like the Chiquita knows the difference or really gave a sh*t so as far as I’m concerned that’s #winning. :)  

The Chiquita finally got her picture with Santa. It may not be as beautiful as Bass Pro Shop, but I'm pretty sure she'll be fine with it.

 

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My Office Crush is Gay.

19 Dec

I’ve mentioned before that I work in a fish bowl.  What I mean, is I work in a building in which the inside looks like a strip mall – the whole front of my office is a glass window.  We all sort of “know” each other just from seeing the same people walking down the hall day in and day out.  People walk by and wave and smile at me all day.  Some ladies walk by and scowl at me as well.  I like to think that’s just because they are jealous of my good looks and charming personality.

Anyways, as much as I do enjoy working despite missing the Chiquita, there are days that are lonnng and boring.  Days in which I stare at the clock waiting for 4:30.  To get through these days I had to do something. 

I developed an office crush. 

I used to have a crush on the UPS man, but then he invited me over to his house for beers, and I sort of thought, hmm, this is not going in the right direction.  So, now I just smile at him and talk to him about the Cubs (he’s a diehard Sox fan) and he usually tells me how much he likes my boots, my outfit, etc. But, as for the office crush that is now over.  Guess he should have played hard to get.

Then I was crush-less for a while.  Like for a long while.

Let me take a moment to explain the office crush.  Or at least my office crush.  Yes, I’m married.  I’m not looking to hook up with my office crush, but rather I just like to watch them walk by (is that creepy?) and smile and wave and maybe flirt a little, I’m really good at batting the eyelashes, but other than that NOTHING.  Let me be clear.  I’m not looking to bag my office crush.

So I was sad and crush-less for a while.  Makes work veryyyy boring.  And, then…I saw him.  No, it didn’t quite go down like that; it wasn’t crush-at-first-sight. 

Down the hall from me is a graphic design company.  All the people who work there seem very cool and urban, like not your typical office employees.  One of the guys, my new crush, is this kind of skinny hipster guy.  He has blonde spiky hair and wears tight black skinny jeans (emo pants??) with black lace-up boots.  Some days he wears a hat, some days he wears hoodies, but all days he has an aura of “cool” about him. 

Today he is wearing his black skinny jeans and a red tee with a scarf; his keys dangling from his hip.  He snaps his fingers as he strolls by.

He’s totally not my type. 

I don’t go for the rocker, urban, cool kinds of guys.  I’m not really sure what my type is.  Oh wait, my type is my husband, of course, in case he’s reading this. :) 

And then one day over the summer I left work early to go to the bank for my boss.  I was shocked when I saw him.  I mean, I was taking a different route than I normally do.  I was sitting at a red light waiting for the green arrow.  This guy rounds the corner on a motorcycle.  I did a double take.  HOLY CRAP.  That was skinny jeans guy!  And on a Harley!!

Suddenly his hotness factor went from like a 5 to a 9.  I’m pretty sure I started to perspire. 

I went to work the next day and told my boss that skinny jeans guy has a Harley.  Even my boss thought he was suddenly kind of bad ass.  A couple days after that skinny jeans guy was talking to someone outside my office.  I overheard him say (no, I wasn’t eavesdropping!) that he was “playing a show” that night. 

I started to imagine myself as a groupie.  What would I wear to skinny jeans guy’s show tonight, you know if I was single?  I decided on my short leather skirt, black boots…but wait, I’m not the groupie type!  And then I remembered.  I’m a 32-year-old married office manager with a baby.  Well, that’s okay, either way, my new crush was formed!  Skinny jeans guy is one cool mutha-fucka and yayy now I have someone to crush on again!

At first skinny jeans guy seemed totes into me; like he would walk by and smile and give me the peace sign.  Yeah, he’s wayyy too cool to wave.  I was like; ohmigosh, I have to be careful here.  I don’t need another UPS incident; I’d like to keep my office crush this time.  I mean, I can’t help it that I’m so cute and likeable.

I mean, I was pretty sure skinny jeans guy would be asking me to come see a show.  Like any day now.  And then suddenly skinny jeans guy no longer seemed into me.  He would walk by my office uber cool with his spiky hair and his tight emo pants and he didn’t wave at me anymore, and then he didn’t even look at me anymore!

 Wtf is happening?

I mean, I tried not to take it personally.  I’m sure I’m not skinny jeans guy’s type anyways, as I would imagine he goes for beer swigging hipster-type girls, like Avril Lavigne, who have color streaked hair and shop at The Alley.  I’m sure wine-guzzling, Juicy Couture wearing, Giuliana BFF wannabes are sooo not his type.

Still, even though I’m married, my ego was a bit bruised.  I told my boss, “Skinny jeans guy doesn’t wave at me anymore.”

He goes, “You reeked of desperation,” and then burst out laughing.  I think he was joking.

Then, on Friday, my ego was saved.

Friday afternoon I went on a walkabout to drop some checks in the mailbox.  As I walked down the hall I do what everyone else does, and I look in the windows to see what everyone is doing.  Attorney lady is typing frantically on the computer, Insurance lady is on the phone talking away, the Narcissist is back in his office talking to a pretty blonde woman….and then I spot it.

Normally the graphics company keeps their shades drawn so you can only see into their office through the two front doors, unlike my company which is just wide open so people can see me pick my teeth and blow my nose.  But as I walked by that day I noticed that the shades were wide open.  And in the window is a picture of skinny jeans guy.  With another dude.  Omg, it’s SKINNY JEANS GUY WITH HIS HANDS ON THE SHOULDERS OF ANOTHER DUDE!!!!!!!

I like did a complete double take.  Wtf is this?!?  Are they gay?  And not that there’s anything wrong with that….I just about fell over in shock in front of their office.  I tried to get it together and play cool, but my whole walk back to the office I kept repeating to myself, “Is skinny jeans guy gay?”

And then the puzzle pieces started to come together.  His man friend recently started to work there.  Oh yeah, he started working there right around the time that skinny jeans guy stopped waving at me… 

And now I see new dude and skinny jeans guy driving to work together every morning…I mean, I just thought new dude was a nice guy driving skinny jeans guy to work because he like, has a Harley and all, and it’s too cold out to drive now?

And skinny jeans guy does wear really tight pants.

I mean, I suppose he could be gay.  Maybe an Adam Levine type???  

“You will never believe this!”  I shout as I walk inside my office doors.

My boss looked up from his desk and my co-worker peeked her head around the corner.

“I think skinny jeans guy is gay!” I shout.

“Oh yeah, I could have told you that.  I mean, it makes sense…” My boss says.

What?!?  Why didn’t you tell me this?

“You have to go down there and look at the picture!”  I shout.  “Someone has to go down there.  Am I crazy?  It looks like an engagement picture!”

My co-worker walks down to view the alleged engagement photo.  She says, “Is it possible they are just posing that way?”

I say to my boss, “You have to go look!”

“Why do I have to go look?” He asks.

“You just do.  I just need to know.  I need a dude’s opinion.  Please go.”

“Will you stop talking about it if I go look at the picture?”

“Yes,” I promised.

He gets up and heads down the hall.  I am back sitting at my desk anxiously waiting for the verdict.  As he walks down the hall he looks at me through the windows and smiles.  He has a huge grin on his face.

He walks in the door, looks at me, and starts cracking up.  He shrugs and says, “He’s gay.”

Disbelief sweeps across my face.  Immediately I think of the scene from Clueless:

Murray: Your man Christian is a cake boy!

Cher, Dionne: A what?

Murray: He’s a disco-dancing, Oscar Wilde-reading, Streisand ticket-holding friend of Dorothy, know what I’m saying?

Cher: Uh-uh, no way, not even!

Murray: Yes, even; he’s gay!

Dionne: He does like to shop, Cher. And the boy can dress.

If it happened to Cher, I guess it can happen to the best of us. :)

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Does It Make Me a Bad Mom If?

13 Dec

I find that sometimes things come up which make me question my parenting skills.  Now I’m not talking about anything abusive or negligent, like accidentally leaving my kid at the grocery store, although I’m sure that’s happened to some – no judgment!  But, I am talking about things that make me say to myself:

“Does this make me a bad mom?” 

Things like letting the Chiquita sit in a poopy diaper for ten more minutes so I can finish watching my show or the time she got really pissed and threw her baby down which caused her to slip and fall on the hardwood floor and when she started to cry I exploded in laughter.  “Wow, is this my crazy kid?”  

Sure, I helped her up and gave her a hug, but I did continue to laugh at her. 

It’s things like this that make me wonder if I’m scarring my kid in some way; if I’m setting her up to someday make some counselor very rich.

So that’s what I’m dedicating this section to; I’m hoping to share some funny and silly stories of times that I’ve – or I’m hoping other mom’s – have said to themselves, “Does this make me a bad mom?”  I’m going to attempt to make this a weekly post, but we’ll see how it plays out.

If you have any mom stories for me shoot me an email at jlee5879@live.com and check back to see if it appears in the “Does It Make Me a Bad Mom If?” section.  

Don’t Walk in My Choos

8 Dec

I know these shoes are amazeballs, but I guarantee you don't want to walk in these Choos....

I’ve said before I wouldn’t wish Post partum depression on my worst enemy.  It is isolating and debilitating.  It is scary.  And it is misunderstood.  How is it that this illness is so misunderstood in today’s day and age when people actually talk about depression and Post partum depression unlike in previous generations?  I think it is misunderstood because it’s “the middle of the road depression” so to speak when it comes to new mom’s suffering from some form of depression.  The three forms of mommy depression are:  Baby blues, Post partum depression, and Post partum psychosis.

What do I mean by “the middle of the road depression?” On the one hand, it is very common for new moms to suffer from the Baby Blues.  Because (according to www.americanpregnancy.org) “approximately 70-80% of all new mothers experience some negative feelings or mood swings after the birth of their child” it is very commonly talked about by doctors and hospitals as well as by other mommy friends and mommy groups.  The baby blues generally last up to 14 days after delivery and consists of tears (often crying for no apparent reason) and feelings of helplessness and irritability, often due to lack of sleep and severe hormonal changes following childbirth.

Then wayyyy on the opposite end of the spectrum are those women you read about in the news.  The ones that are at their breaking point and sadly all too often kill themselves or their babies.  Post Partum Psychosis occurs in only approximately .1% of births, according to www.postpartum.net, but usually becomes news.  Post partum psychosis involves delusions, hallucinations and paranoia.  While it is very rare, it is taken very seriously and women who find themselves in this unfortunate predicament are well monitored by doctors and hospitals.  Post partum psychosis is temporary and treatable, but demands immediate medical attention.

But, I was one of the “middle of the road” rarely discussed Post Partum Depression sufferers.  I was one of the approximately 15%, also according to www.postpartum.net, of women who experience significant depression following childbirth.  I was actually even one of the 10% of women who experience depression during childbirth, which is referred to as Perinatal Depression, and is honestly new to me from doing some research for this blog post.  I just thought I was a raving lunatic during my pregnancy.

Now when I say post partum depression is “rarely discussed” I’m sure some of you went…what?!?  Yes, Post partum depression is often discussed…and obvs by me, but I’m bitter because of what I went through.  My experience has taught me that PPD is very misunderstood because no one knows what to do to “fix” it.  No one “gets it.”  You’re either “normal” with the baby blues, or you’re bat sh*t crazy with post partum psychosis, and therefore hospitalized, but what do you do with women who are simply depressed? 

I know my fellow blog readers and friends all know about my post partum depression, and I know I incessantly discuss it, but the reason I bring it up today is because two things have recently happened to me which have made me decide to nominate myself as a spokeswoman for this sickness or um, illness, I’m not a doctor, so I’m unsure which term to use.

But, in nominating myself, here’s what I want to do: I want to take away the whispers about it, the “what’s wrong with her, she has everything”, the “Why can’t she just be happy?” and the “Get over it” ’s that may or may not have been said to or about me.  I’m sure there was some “What a drama queen’s” and “Wow, she’s gone bat sh*t crazy” in there, too.  Or maybe not?  Maybe there were just a lot of prayers for me????

To the ‘why can’t she just be happy and get over it?’ comments, which I did get, I can tell you this.  I don’t know.  I wish I did.  I tried soo hard to just get over it for a long time.  Finally, once I resigned myself to it, once I was able to stop saying, “Why did this happen to ME?” I was able to heal.  It took a lot of time and work on myself, as I detailed in “Mother is God” to get through this trying and difficult time.  I prayed to God many nights to take me in my sleep, “I’m no good here,” I would reason with him.

No, I never wanted to or ever thought about hurting Eva.  But, I did think about hurting myself.  I would imagine what would be the easiest and least painful way to kill myself.  It depressed me even more that I knew I didn’t have the guts to do it.

Now that I am on the other side I don’t want other women to feel as alone or as completely hopeless as I felt.  And what’s so crazy – and makes me so bitter! – is that they repeatedly ask you in the hospital how you are feeling before they send you home kick you out after two days.  They hand you a yellow piece of paper that’s probably been photocopied thousands of times and is crooked and spotted on the sheet.  The paperwork has information about baby blues, PPD and post partum psychosis.  They give you help numbers to call in case you find yourself suffering from one of the two latter post partums. 

Well, what happens when you look at the sheet and finally admit to yourself that something is wrong?

NOTHING.  That’s what happens.

You call your OBGYN who almost killed you, oh wait, that’s just me (see Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door), who tells you to call a psychiatrist, who wants you to see a counselor, who sends you back to a psychiatrist, who says you’re “f*cking neurotic” who then wants to dope you up on all kinds of anti-psychotic medications and then starts throwing bi-polar around – WTH!?!  And then, after all this, sends you a $1,000 bill that more than 1 year later you are still fighting.

This is what they do to new mothers after they kick you out of the hospital within 48 hours when new mothers are in a state of shock, both physically and emotionally, and it pisses me off!  This really upsets me because I could have been a news story of some poor soul who decided to stand on the train tracks at 2 am.  I live 6 blocks away….

But I got through it! :)

And here I am to tell my story.  And now, here I am watching someone I love go through these same hardships.  I don’t know her exact story, nor is it my place to disclose such details, but I do know she is struggling and it scares me.  It breaks my heart.  I want to snap my fingers and fix it for her.  I want my friend back because I love and miss her so much.

Which got me to thinking….could this possibly have been what some of my own friends went through? 

There is a line in the movie Overboard that I love.  It’s from when Joanna/Annie (Goldie Hawn) comes back to the yacht and realizes that she’s a different person after being with Dean (Kurt Russell) and his four sons, and she says to Andrew:  “Everyone on this boat thinks I’m crazy.  Do you think they’re right?”

Andrew replies: “Oh no, madam.  Oh no.  You…most of us go through life with blinders on.  Knowing only that little station to which we were born.  But you madam, have had the…rare privilege of escaping your bonds for just a spell.  To see life from an entirely new perspective.  How you choose to use that information is entirely up to you.”

I am reminded of that quote as I decided between giving my friend space, as some of my friends did, and not giving her space because I don’t want her to feel alone and abandoned like I did.  It was at that moment that my heart was able to truly heal, to truly forgive, and my head was able to say, “I get it now.”

Because no one knows what to do with these people – not even doctors.

So, how do we overcome this?  How do we fix it?  I hope that by me telling my story it will help some people to understand more about it – heck – maybe that will be my book #2!?!

The second thing which happened and has led me to nominate myself as a spokeswoman for PPD is that yesterday I took my final step in healing.  YES!  I know, I did it!!  I have been bursting with joy all day.  My final step was going back to bowling.  This post will help you understand if you missed it: Don’t Trigger Me.  The last time I was at bowling I had a breakdown which led me to quit my bowling team.  It was in the midst of my PPD, and I was so angry about it.  I felt robbed of my life.  I was angry about it for a long time.  And even once I wasn’t angry anymore I had extreme anxiety about going back.

-        The people

-        The memories

-        The alcohol

I couldn’t face it.  Some bowling friends emailed me they had an opening on their team.  Finally I decided I was ready.  I decided my time was here, and I could do this; I could face my fear.  I could go back with my head held high.  Walking through the bowling alley I was welcomed with hugs and smiles.  My bowling friends told me how happy they were to see me; how glad they were that I was back.  My heart was bursting.  I can’t describe to you what I felt.  You may be reading this and saying, “All this over bowling?”  LOL, what a loser.  But, it’s so much more than bowling.  It was a statement to myself.  I conquered something.  I am 100% fully healed from a very blessed event (the birth of my daughter) which in turn because of the PPD became the worst year of my life, a living hell.  And here I am, I made it to the other side.

Back in happier bowling days

A gal hugged me and said to me this: “Jen, I am soo glad to see you here.  I read your blog some time ago, and I know that you went through a difficult time, and honestly, it brought tears to my eyes.  And here you are.  Here you are back, and you’re happy, and it’s just so great to see you.”

And that, my friends, is the biggest compliment I could ever receive.  I need to be strong for other women, and it’s clear to me that this was all a part of God’s plan.     

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“Like” Little Pea’s on Facebook Damnit!

2 Dec

I’ve never blogged a recommendation for a specific business or company before.  Usually I just b*tch about something or tell a dumb story about my Juicy Couture bag or Dunkin B*tch at Dunkin Donuts (yes, she still works there!).  To be quite honest I am stumped here.  I’m not sure how to do this effectively.

I tried to Google “how to write a blog about someone else’s business” with no such luck.  I mean articles on the topic exist, but they were useless for my purposes.

What I’m struggling with here is how do I successfully tell you my opinion on someone else’s product or business and talk you into liking it yourself?  Do you even care?  Will I sound sincere?  Will you think I’m being paid off?  Am I forcing an unwanted opinion down your throat?

Kami made this for My Chiquita for her 1 Year Birthday! Adorable!

Here’s the thing,,,,I have an “Advertise” button on my page allowing people to contact me about advertising their products on my blog.  I guess I never really thought about what that meant?  I just thought it looked professional and sounded really cool. Yeah, advertise your wine and vodka on my blog.  Sweet!  Do I get a sample?  OK, that’s being insincere now.

Wow, I really need to get to the point.  What I am doing here is introducing a new business to you!  I am very very excited to announce the launch of:

LITTLE PEA’S BOWTIQUE 

Little Lacie wearing her mama's bow and a onesie that says "The Bigger the Bow the Better the Mama"


Yayy!  This fun and creative business was started by my cousin Kami Terry.  Because I am sooo proud of her for making this leap and having faith in herself I offered to write a blog about her new business.  Yes, I offered.  She did not ask me to write this.  And honestly, she will probably be horrified by how much of a mess this is turning out to be!  Kami…please know that I have anxiety about this right now!

I always have these grande ideas of doing something totally fab for someone else.  I mean totes fab. :)  And then I actually get into it, and I’m like, Hmm, what am I supposed to do????  I actually did this just today with my UFO donation of a Christmas gift for the troops.  Well, now I’m getting sidetracked.  But, what I did really quick was I organized this drive at my office to bring in items to send overseas.  I got everything together and just had to drop it off.  I kept saying, Oh…I’ll drop it off tomorrow.  Tomorrow.  Tomorrow.

Yesterday I finally said, shoot, when do I need to turn this in by?  Um…today.  From 9 am – 5 pm which is very inconveniently during my working hours so I had to beg my mom to drop it off for me.  Oops.  And she has the Chiquita today.  I’m sure she’s loving hating me right now.

Anyways, back to Kami and her fab business….Little Pea’s Bowtique.  Here is an interview I was lucky to get with the business owner herself:

Why did you choose the name Little Pea’s Bowtique?

I chose Little Pea’s Bowtique because Lacie’s [daugher] nickname is “Pea.” Has been since I first found out I was pregnant. And the “Bowtique” because I make fun and crazy bows!

What gave you the idea to start this creative business?

Seeing all the creations got me excited. I started thinking maybe I could make some money by making these items. And it’s fun!

A flower complete with a feather!

How do you get ideas to make the items that you make?

My mom and I brainstorming. I see different bows in the store, and try to duplicate them and make them cuter!

Is it time consuming to make these items? How do you do it while working [another job] and being a mommy?

Yes, it is very time consuming. I get all my work done at night when Lacie is sleeping, or if she isn’t sleeping yet – and if I’m with my parents – they watch her! HUGE help!

Do you put lots of bows on your daughter, Lacie? What kind of feedback have you gotten?

Always! People find it odd if she doesn’t have a bow on! I’ve gotten really good feedback, that people love them, and how adorable she/they are!

What are your future goals/hopes/dreams for Little Pea’s Bowtique?

Beautiful Bow from Little Pea's Bowtique

I am hoping that one day that it can be so successful that I can be a stay at home mommy. I know, big wish. I don’t want to work a 40-45 hour a week job, I’m missing out on too much! Also, I would like to be more custom. I will have things on hand that people can buy. As of right now, I am making a swatch book – so people can make their own creations! And then it will be more special for the loved one or special individual it’s going to.

Do you have a website and/or contact info I can give for people to contact you if they are interested in purchasing?

YES! You can email me at Kamiterry89@aol.com. I can also be reached by phone at 630.301.2238.

My Facebook page is: Little Pea’s Bowtique Please ‘Like’ Me!

There is also pictures on the website of some of the items I offer. Remember everything is custom made, so I can do anything you like!

Little Pea's Bowtique's flowers can also be added to many items for some extra fun! Shown here a flower on a purse from "Bling It On" by Nicole Herra.

Thank you blog friends for taking the time to read about my cousin Kami’s new business Little Pea’s Bowtique.  Hopefully you will check out her Facebook page to see her amazing work!  And thank you Kami for being a special blog post for me.  I love you and am soo proud of you!

P.S. Nicole Herra and “Bling It On” can be found on Facebook as well!

 

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