Forever a misfit

When I was in the 6th grade my mom came up with the genius idea of attending family counseling sessions. Oddly, we met at some random dudes house. He lived in a sketchy part of town in a neighborhood that did not have sidewalks where rusted cars lined the streets. I think his name was Doctor Wolf or Fox or something similarly gamey.

His office was tucked just off his family living room. His dirty shirtless toddler aged sons could be heard running around the place shrieking and throwing temper tantrums. If craigslist existed in the early 90’s I am certain that would have been where my mom had found that clown.

His office smelled of pipe tobacco. Dr. What’s-His-Name sported facial hair and always wore suede house slippers. He insisted that all the problems in our family stemmed from the idea that my parents were Irish immigrants. He was certain that the 5 of us were destined to never fit into our upscale Chicago suburb. He was certain that my sister, brother, and I would forever be misfits.

Years later after my mom had thrown the towel in on the whole family counseling thing, I ran into the "Dr." at the grocery store. I was with a group of friends. We were stoned out of our minds. All I could think was oh-my-god-he is right I will always be a misfit daughter of immigrants. It was kind of a defining moment for me; a point in which I started to rethink the choices I was making.   

Oddly, out of everything that went down during family counseling the one thing that sticks in my mind is the story the Dr. told us about being a kid in Ohio and witnessing the death of a man that fell from a Ferris wheel.  Now that I think of it, maybe he was spun out of a Tilt-or-Whirl. I am little hazy on the details.  I do however clearly remember the graphic gory details he added about the blood and the way his body looked when it hit the ground.

Perhaps that’s why this article: right here from Huffington Post terrified me so much and also brought back all those memories from family counseling.

First Zelda Lily post

My first post at Zelda Lily is up. Read it, read it now.  This is it

Tiny rockstar

Earlier I mentioned that I bought Amelia a guitar. I had no idea just how crazed she would become over a plastic toy. Home girl is obsessed. When we drove to Mission Beach to pick up the boys from Jr. Lifegaurds she brought it with. Get this—she also brought a bagful of costume changes. Yes, you read that correctly, my 5-year-old daughter thinks she is a rock star.

On the 20-minute car ride she went through three costume changes. First it was a Hello Kitty shirt with silver rhinestones that she called “her real rocker look”, second was a pink floral number that she called her “pretty princess rocker look”, and lastly there was her purple hippie tank that was her “rock out costume.”

After the boys got into the car, she announced that when we got home she was going to roller-skate while playing her guitar so she could be a roller-rocker, but first she needed a costume change.

My daughter is awesome.

Internship

I am the newest intern over at Zelda Lily. I posted about this on my facebook but later deleted it because I have privacy issues. I really need to get over it.

 Anyway, I will be responsible for 4-5 weekly blog posts. I am very excited. This could either help or worsen my little problem with insomnia.  We will see.

This is why I love thrift stores

 When I was in 5th grade I started hanging out with Kate, my best friend Emilys' neighbor. She was 13, in the 7th grade, and in my mind the coolest person I had ever met. She had wavy white-blonde hair, a unique sense of style, knew how to use sarcasm, and owned an obscure music collection. Together we attended our first concert, Aerosmith and the Black Crowes.  I wanted to marry Steven Tyler which is creepy because he is old and wears really tight pants. 

For the concert, Kate dressed me up in a black scoop neck leotard, Chuck Taylors, trashy looking make-up, and frayed short shorts, which were decorated with various band names and odd drawings in permanent marker. I looked like a tiny whore

When Kate hit middle school her mom decided she was no longer going to buy clothes for her. Kate had to babysit and start paying for her own wardrobe. That's where thrift stores came in. On the weekends we would head to LaGrange, a neighborhood brimming with Salvation Army’s and Goodwill’s. We would scour the racks for vintage band tees and used gap jeans.

Thanks to Kate I am still madly in love with thrifting. Yesterday I spent three hours at a thrift store. Here is some of my amazing finds:

Vintage Annie dress with the 1980's tag still attached.  My sister and I both used to have this very same dress.  Everyone would comment on how adorable Michelle  was with her red hair and Annie type looks.  I was insanely jealous.  It's a 3T so Amelia won't be able to fit into it, however my red-headed 2 year old cousin will.  Or,I could sell it on Ebay for an obscene amount of cash.

 J crew cashmere sweater that retails for $78. I have been wanting a cashmere sweater for awhile now but am way to cheap to fork over the money for one.  This one looks brand new, okay so amybe not in this picture but in real life it is super cute.

Amelia has been begging for a toy guitar.  this was $1.99, not bad.  She has been rocking out on it all morning.  I'm going to have to make a video of her because it maight be the cutest thing ever. 

I also scored saltwater sandals for 99 cents, brand new, with tags, gap pants for Jake @$4.99, Banana Republic jeans for me at $4.50, A Baby Lulu outift for Amelia for $2.99, a Volcom work shirt for Aaron for $3.99, and a Tony Hawk button down for Andrew that cost $2.99. 

Summer!

So far our summer has been spent in the water. 

For the love of botox

I am starting to get old people hands.  I noticed this the other day when the kid's babysitter posted a picture of Amelia on her facebook page.  In the far right corner of the photo my hands are visable.  They are cringe worthy.  Also, above my mouth I have a fine line and the thin makings of crows feet around my eyes.  When I start considering the ever so shallow route of botoxing the living hell out of my face, I view frightening photos of celeb scary faces like this:

La Lohan before= Natural, cute, a breath of fresh air

After = Holy mother Mary what have you done to yourself

conclusion I will keep my granny hands and wrinkles, thank you very much.