, , , ,

Dear Oprah,

Are you ready for Christmas?  I am not…Oh well…Hey!  I heard a blurb of Barbara Walters interviewing you and she asked you what you want to do or accomplish before you leave this life.  You said (and I don’t quote because I am not good at that verbatim stuff) that you would like to come to peace with your weight.  Barbara was shocked that it was such an innocuous thing given how much you have been able to accomplish—at least that’s how I construed it.  Here is what I love about your wish:  I have the same one, and immediately when I heard you say it, I was validated and reminded why I decided to start writing my blogs to you.  You’re 30 year rise to stardom.  Your ability to wield such influence through simple conversation.  Yet there is still something that causes you to have a visceral reaction fraught with questions as to why you can do so much except come to grips with (or control) your body image.  With all of your celebrity it is this that makes you connect with everyday people, (at least me).  We need to know that no matter how perfect someone’s life appears there isn’t a single person that gets it all.  Not even Oprah!  But I feel ya and the conversation in your head—I suspect it is similar to mine.  Here’s to wishing you peace with whatever you struggle with!

I actually had no intention of going down that road, because I have much more fantastic yarns to spin, thanks to Mikey this morning.  A fairly typical mad dash at the last minute, because my gentle reminders, like “Get dressed!  Hurry up! You’re not dressed yet?!  Why do I have to ask 10 times every morning?  Have you brushed you teeth yet?  No?!  Well, what have you been doing back there?  Forget it!  I don’t want to know—just BRUSH YOUR TEETH!  fall on deaf ears.

This morning was no different, and it was my turn to carpool.  So about 10 minutes before we were about to leave I (kindly)urged (with a forceful voice) the boys to go brush their teeth and hurry it up.  Well, as we all know, I am a designer first and mother second, so I have their bathroom dressed out nicely with just a little alluding to the fact that I have two boys with, the plastic dinosaur tooth-brush holders I made, and spray painted dark bronze (naturally—I couldn’t leave them garish kiddy colors, even if they were for kids.)  After all, it is my guest’s bath as well.

Over the back of the toilet we have a little apothecary chest with basket drawers that holds small bathroom necessities including the toothpaste.  And on the chest I have a plant and an apothecary jar filled with sea glass that Auntie Good Times found in the Bahama’s.  It sits there until the Holidays are over and the decorations make their exodus to the attic.  (Wouldn’t be nice if the decorations actually did that instead of you having to escort them there?)

Well, Mikey-aka “Mr. No Impulse Control”- and Pierce go whipping back to the bathroom to finally brush their teeth, and Mike yanks the basket out of the chest with the toothpaste and jerks the whole set up just enough to send the apothecary jar flying.  CRASH!  Followed by the boys bolting and crying out of the bathroom, and me sighing and ramping up to an angry tirade.  Mikey is sobbing loudly like he is two, and apologizing and telling me he needs a hug.  Mind you—we are supposed to be walking out the door in 5 minutes max.

I can see from the hallway that it isn’t good.  Not good at all.  But it gets worse when I actually get into the bathroom.  There is glass everywhere.  In the tub.  On the rug.  The floor.  And in the toilet.  The toilet full of little boy pee.  The best part is that I need to throw out the broken glass, but sift through everything first to pull out all of the “cool broken glass”—the sea glass.  Mikey, in his infinite wisdom takes a moment to realize that I am going to have to put my hand in “yucky pee” to get the glass out of the toilet, and then reminds me that I am going to have to wash my hands or I might throw up.  Thanks Mike.  Thanks.  Beat it!

I stop mid clean up to take him to school, and then arrive back home to finish the job.  As I am methodically collecting glass and realizing that the great fall knocked a nice sized chunk of porcelain off the edge of the tub.  I have to question why anything finished white or off white have to always start out as black underneath?  Why can’t it be the same color as the surface?  I see this with cars too—black cars scratch white, and white car’s scratch gray.  WTH?

With plenty of time to muse over the stupidity of design, while sifting through the mess, I also wonder what stupid designer thought putting glass inside a glass vessel was a good idea?  And to make dumb ideas dumber—who puts said decoration in a bathroom used by little boys?  The only smart idea I had, was that I fore went taking photos of the mess because I knew all of you would zoom in on the disgustingly dirty toilet and probably throw up.  At least Mikey would assume you would.  Good times at the Donovan house!

After Mikey expressed his regret sufficiently he asked if he would go on Santa’s Naughty List.  I told him he wouldn’t because it was an accident.  He’s on my list though! Ohhhh…is he!