American Economy: Shrink to Fit

I watch zero live TV at home. When I do watch, it's super concentrated bursts and mini recaps via Tivo. But when I'm on the road and off the wagon, it's a different story.

I've the propensity for utter couch potato-dom, haplessly watching whole seasons of "NCIS" or streets of "House Hunters" until the weeeee hours of the morning, when I should be sleeping. Tonight, it's the Portland episode of "Kristine Watches Too Much TV."

I've just watched a garment-district-focused HBO documentary that I'd never watch at home. Here's some fascinating, completely random tidbits I gotta share:

* In 1965, 95% of the clothes Americans wore was manufactured domestically.

* By 1975, only 80% was made in America.

* In 1985, those Guess jeans I was dying for were probably manufactured in Chinese or Indian sweat shops, like 50% of the clothes purchased by Americans.

* By 2009, only FIVE PERCENT of the clothing we wear in this country is actually made here.

Do our kids even know the terms "Buy American" or "Look for the Union Label"? Probably not. They're as antiquated as the idea of shopping at Gimbel's, and just as impossible.

A parting shot: The average Bangladeshi seamstress is between 12-14 years old and may be making only $.30 per day. You may be hungry for a great deal on the jeans she's sewn... she's just plain hungry.

And they said Valley Forge was cold...

For fall break, C and I (along with Gramma and Grampa) traveled to glorious Washington, D.C. to savor the sights and sounds of a resplendent autumn in our nation's capital. That was the plan, anyway. At just over 40 degrees and raining nonstop--and did I mention shearing winds?--about the only thing we savored were our winter coats. Clinging to the adage that 10-year-olds rarely notice the weather, we forged bravely on. George would have been proud.
Savoring a meatball sub before hitting the metro!

Posing by the fountain at the National Gallery of Art. (Note that C is working to supplement his allowance by dipping in to the water's bounty. Hmmm.)

The Thinker. 'nuff said.

Here C poses tentatively in front of the only Leonardo da Vinci painting to grace the entire western hemisphere. I say "tentatively" because he had just accidentally backed into it, bonking his head against the frame. Those security guards are nimble folks!

Tired but happy and finally warm... back on the plane home to Utah. Thanks, Gramma and Grampa for sponsoring a once-in-a-lifetime adventure! We didn't even mind the snoring!

A HUGE fan of HUGE fans

Anybody who knows my 10-year-old knows he is a lover of fans. The bigger, the better. Well, we elevated his autumn by taking a Sunday drive to the windmill farm just 10 miles south of home. We can see the windmills from our back yard, but they're about the size of toy tops (funny thing, perspective). As we rounded the bend to the windmill farm, C gushed an unfettered "OH. MY. GOSH." at the sight of nine monstrous behemoths churning butter in the wind. The sound they made was like jet engine turbines preparing for takeoff; rivaled only by C's glee scampering as close as possible to the barbed-wire fence that keeps us fans of fans at safe gawking distance.

How Cute Is That??

To say it right, you have to add a healthy dose of midwestern twang, with an "awrightee then" added for punctuation.

I've just returned from a fabulous weekend with my CTMH peeps in rainy Minnesota surrounded by enthusiastic stampers and scrapbookers attending our Regional Celebrations event. They come from all walks and all areas, but most were from Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Michigan. They're a sturdy stock up there, I tell ya. One attendee said, "O ya, we're tough. We raise our boys to be men up here. Heck, we raise our girls to be men!"

We enjoyed great food, a wacky Family Feud gameshow (I hosted of course, left hoarse by the final speed rounds!), and adorable projects up the ying-yang. Not sure what a ying-yang is, but we filled it to the brim, doncha know--all while sporting our sunny yellow cardigans.

Nothing says fun like a matching wardrobe! That's me with pals Tia, Monica and Sheena, three of the sunniest patches in my workaday life. How cute is that?

Living the Suite Life

Salutations from sunny (and rainy and calm and windy) Park City! I've just spent a glorious and indulgent week with the Close To My Heart Advisory Board at the awesome Grand Summit Resort at the Canyons.


In case you're wondering what the heck an Advisory Board retreat is, in a nutshell, it's like a weeklong focus group with some of your best girlfriends: days of chocolate and chatting, evenings of gourmet dining and scrapbooking, with a rejuvenating daily workout thrown in just to mitigate the guilt you MIGHT feel from the nonstop munching.

And because I AM the cheapest woman you know, I couldn't check out early and waste a night already booked for the suite--Pete and the boys joined me and the three flat screen TVs and the humongo jetted tub. (The kids particularly grocked on that appliance, learning the valuable lesson that blasting jets will turn the tiniest squirt of shampoo into a tub o' foam.)

Saturday morning, the boys--we had to reign them in until sunrise--splashed in the pool until the staff forced us to check out and dry off, almost in that order. Then we headed back home, where "room service" means you have to make your own bed!

What's better than a poke in the eye?

I was awakened in the pre-dawn hours today by a repeated poking in my eye. My EYE.

When I clambered out from unconsciousness, there was my son T blinking at me in the darkness. "Oh, good, mom. You're awake," he said.

"Yup." It was all I could muster. I had been repeatedly poked in the eye, after all.

"I'm having a scary dream and the new fridge is making loud noises and Eragon is staring at me and my bed is too hot and... can I sleep by you?" He was already halfway into the bed before he finished his explanation.

As for me, I was so happy I couldn't drift back to sleep.

See, I've been kind of dreading September 10. It's T's birthday today and he's 7. SEVEN! He's already marching off to first grade with a purpose that is borderline militaristic. He takes piano lessons. Pours his own milk. Buckles his seat belt without ever being asked. Takes his shoes off when entering a friend's house. Knows his address and phone number. Can program the Tivo and various other gadgets that completely mystify me.

Some days, I feel like if I blink he'll be off for good, my baby driving into the world. It will happen, I know, and each birthday draws us nearer to that inevitable fork in the road. But this morning, there were no forks. There was just a little spoon in my bed, trembly and worried about the noisy fridge and the staring lizard.

And I still had the power to make everything all better.

Happy, happy birthday to both of us.

And Then There Were Two

My house is cleaner. I've been going to bed earlier. I'm watching less television and reading more. There is more food in my fridge and pantry. My laundry loads are noticeably smaller.

And I don't like it one bit.

Last Wednesday, Miss L moved into the dorms, leaving me with just two critters at home instead of the comfy chaos of three offspring that feels like a family. And even though getting more sleep at night is great, I admit I miss the late-night laugh fests of "30 Rock" and sob-sagas of "House," coupled with detailed reviews of each day's activities.

Not to mention the obvious: I'M NOW THE ONLY FEMALE IN A HOUSE FULL OF BOYS.

Still, watching her settle into her 10x10 corner of independence, bedecked with all things green and butterflied, was pretty cool. She's already auditioned for a play. Prepared dinners, made friends, worked in her university job. Trekked across campus without getting lost, and even admitted that her Book of Mormon professor is cool.

So she's moved out of my house and into her life. But it's a great life and she's one smart cookie. I feel pretty lucky to be her mom.

And she still plans to come home for the long Labor Day weekend.

And I like that a lot.

Take My Fridge... Please!

Last week, we finished a nearly yearlong kitchen remodel. The floors are now a walnutty chocolate, the granite is mesmerizing, and the new cream cabinets are cheery... and don't match the WHITE appliances at all. So, we're finishing with a big budget bang of all four new appliances in stainless steel (fridge, dishwasher, micro and stove).

The big truck full of workers ready to install the gismos will arrive on Labor Day--yah, ironic, I know--so everything must go! Drastically reduced prices! Fabulous bargains! Selling to the bare walls!

To move the items, I turned to my favorite addiction in the world: KSL classifieds. This little gem is like a giant garbage disposal that spits out money whenever you feed it your unwanted chud. Even better, it is almost instant gratification: today, I actually SOLD my fridge within TWO MINUTES of posting it online... and my dishwasher didn't even get posted before it sold. Someone calling on another appliance bought the washer even before I had a chance to hit the "submit" button.

It's like a garage sale without the peering neighbors, awkward sifting, or dispirited haul to DI after the fact. I'm in de-clutter heaven!

I've also learned that my price-to-value-o-meter is irreparably broken. Because I'm inherently unsentimental, I tend to underprice my junk to avoid the disappointment of it languishing unsold. Instead, people are shocked when they call. Giddy when they buy. Joyous when they find out that the price I'm asking is for something that actually WORKS. I'm like some sort of Second-Hand Santa, ho ho ho-ing my way to thrift store nirvana.

So now: what else can I sell? Hmm. Kids, time to lock up your closets!

Feeling more like a caterpillar...

... Than a butterfly. It's been a long and challenging week, and my antennae are a little bent. Bummer to start a blog on a squished note, but that bodes sweetness and light for future posts! It's all up, up, and away from here, right?

This week, ButterflyAlpha flitted away to college. I'm stinkin' excited for her and her bright green bedspread, under-bed food storage, and Sticky-Tack. Helping her move in was a bright spot on the brown wing of the week for sure.

ButterflyAlpha, if you're reading this, thank a teacher (even a math teacher). No, seriously, if you're reading this: here comes the adventure! I'm proud of you and your chutspa; you'll do great!

This blog thingy will be a fun experiment. I hope I'm not a blog dud! Now, I gotta find the photo cord so I can post some of the photos from move-in day!