Monday, July 30, 2007
Welcome to the Frumpy Zone
Welcome to the Frumpy Zone blog. If you are married and have children then you will be right at home and able to relate. If you’re single, then you probably want to go to my brother’s blog at www.minddung.blogspot.com . Or, if you want to know the truth about being ‘Married With Children’ then read on. My blog might just save you from making one of the biggest mistakes of your life…not that my life is a mistake… it’s just that I have entered a totally different reality… I live in the FRUMPY ZONE (Now would be the time to play my blog theme song.) Welcome and enjoy your peek into my world.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Fighting Forty July 2007
WARNING: This article was written in the throes of a mid-life crisis.
I do my best thinking in the shower. Water drowns out the sound of my inner mom so I can hear my soul speak. (Inner mom is that nagging voice in your head that sounds suspiciously like your own mother, “Don’t forget to take the meat out of the freezer… trim kids’ toenails before they turn into claws… need milk...”)
During my last few trips to the shower, I’ve had a terrifying realization: I’m turning 40! O.K. actually, I’ll be forty in 1 year and eight days but for some reason the big FOUR OH is looming over me like Fezzik from the Princess Bride.
I’ve noticed strange symptoms during the last six months: “I think they’re signs of aging,” she said in a strangled stage whisper.
Let’s start with the fact that I’m not able to lose weight. B.F. (Before Forty) to drop a few pounds, I’d eat healthy for a week, work out and – BAM - five pounds gone!
I’ve been dieting and working out like Denise Austen on speed. After one week of this torture, I have lost a total of… DRUM ROLL PLEASE … ½ of a pound! (Don’t you dare say that I’m building muscle and it weighs more than fat - I don’t care - I still have the ‘3 month pregnant belly’ look goin’ on!)
As if turning almost 40 isn’t bad enough, strange developments are taking place on my face. Do I really need to suffer through acne once more - this time with the added joy of wrinkles? My bathroom vanity has more creams, cleansers, and moisturizers than the Clinique counter at the mall.
For the first time in my entire 39 years, I don’t want to acknowledge my birthday. I’m skipping the ‘almost forty’ birthday celebration. I’ll save the party for next year. (Hint to family and friends: I’ve always wanted a surprise party.)
I’ve allowed myself one year and 8 days to contemplate and accept this next milestone in my life. I will turn 40 with grace, style and acceptance of the woman I’ve become – wrinkled acne and all.
You Know You’re Almost Forty When:
The radio only plays your favorite music on ‘Flashback Friday.’
There’s a secret stash of clothes in your closet under the heading: Someday…
Some of those clothes are in style again.
Your eyebrows are no longer the only feature on your face that needs plucked.
Friday night only means it’s the end of the work week.
I do my best thinking in the shower. Water drowns out the sound of my inner mom so I can hear my soul speak. (Inner mom is that nagging voice in your head that sounds suspiciously like your own mother, “Don’t forget to take the meat out of the freezer… trim kids’ toenails before they turn into claws… need milk...”)
During my last few trips to the shower, I’ve had a terrifying realization: I’m turning 40! O.K. actually, I’ll be forty in 1 year and eight days but for some reason the big FOUR OH is looming over me like Fezzik from the Princess Bride.
I’ve noticed strange symptoms during the last six months: “I think they’re signs of aging,” she said in a strangled stage whisper.
Let’s start with the fact that I’m not able to lose weight. B.F. (Before Forty) to drop a few pounds, I’d eat healthy for a week, work out and – BAM - five pounds gone!
I’ve been dieting and working out like Denise Austen on speed. After one week of this torture, I have lost a total of… DRUM ROLL PLEASE … ½ of a pound! (Don’t you dare say that I’m building muscle and it weighs more than fat - I don’t care - I still have the ‘3 month pregnant belly’ look goin’ on!)
As if turning almost 40 isn’t bad enough, strange developments are taking place on my face. Do I really need to suffer through acne once more - this time with the added joy of wrinkles? My bathroom vanity has more creams, cleansers, and moisturizers than the Clinique counter at the mall.
For the first time in my entire 39 years, I don’t want to acknowledge my birthday. I’m skipping the ‘almost forty’ birthday celebration. I’ll save the party for next year. (Hint to family and friends: I’ve always wanted a surprise party.)
I’ve allowed myself one year and 8 days to contemplate and accept this next milestone in my life. I will turn 40 with grace, style and acceptance of the woman I’ve become – wrinkled acne and all.
You Know You’re Almost Forty When:
The radio only plays your favorite music on ‘Flashback Friday.’
There’s a secret stash of clothes in your closet under the heading: Someday…
Some of those clothes are in style again.
Your eyebrows are no longer the only feature on your face that needs plucked.
Friday night only means it’s the end of the work week.
Frumpy Father's Day June 2007
Last month I shared with you my discovery of the mysterious book I found called the “Official Mother’s Day Handbook.” What I neglected to mention was the book had an epilogue, called “Father’s Day Wisdom.”
According to this controversial book, since fathers are usually away from their family most of the time, they prefer to spend Father’s Day at home with the kids. The anonymous author states, “Mothers must leave the house for the day, allowing fathers to spend uninterrupted quality time with their children. This demonstrates the wife’s implicit trust in her husband’s ‘mothering’ skills.”
At first glance I was delighted with this intriguing concept. I admit that I am the first one in the household to demand my ‘alone time.’ If I don’t have some time away from the family on a regular basis, I get downright mean! My husband has known for years that I implicitly trust him with my children. But since I started working full time, I realize that he has actually been home with the kids more than I have.
My husband also has become surprisingly organized. He makes sure the lunches are packed, clothes laid out, and all shoes, backpacks and coats are lined up by the front door most nights. (It only took him one morning of playing ‘Find the Shoe’ to show him that NOTHING should be left to chance in the mornings.) Of course, this is the exact opposite of my procrastinating personality. My husband and I are polar opposites – he’s King of the Night Owls and I’m Princess Perky in the morning.
Since being back to work, I know how tired my husband really is when he walks through the door at 8:00 pm. Yet he always has a bear hug and a wrestling move ready for everyone. While I’m very ‘snarly’ at night, he’s all smiles and hugs.
Despite all the times that I have complained about my husband, I realize that our family couldn’t survive without him. He is the one who keeps us lighthearted and gives us strength even on our most frustrating days. He is the one who plays, really plays with the children. He is the one who teaches them how to do chores - where I find it easier to do it myself.
Even my 2 year old knows how to empty the dishwasher. Of course, I mutter about never finding my potato peeler in the same place twice, but hey, my dishes are always done - slightly chipped in places - but clean.
So I guess on Father’s Day, I need to prop up the pillows on the couch, hand my husband the remote, along with an ice cold beverage, and take the kids out for the day so he can relax, and enjoy his favorite sport from his single days – Channel Surfing. And I think I’ll just rip out the epilogue at the end of the book and mail it to a mother who truly needs it.
Disclaimer:
The author wishes the reader to understand that while her husband is awesome, she is still the only one who cleans the bathrooms.
According to this controversial book, since fathers are usually away from their family most of the time, they prefer to spend Father’s Day at home with the kids. The anonymous author states, “Mothers must leave the house for the day, allowing fathers to spend uninterrupted quality time with their children. This demonstrates the wife’s implicit trust in her husband’s ‘mothering’ skills.”
At first glance I was delighted with this intriguing concept. I admit that I am the first one in the household to demand my ‘alone time.’ If I don’t have some time away from the family on a regular basis, I get downright mean! My husband has known for years that I implicitly trust him with my children. But since I started working full time, I realize that he has actually been home with the kids more than I have.
My husband also has become surprisingly organized. He makes sure the lunches are packed, clothes laid out, and all shoes, backpacks and coats are lined up by the front door most nights. (It only took him one morning of playing ‘Find the Shoe’ to show him that NOTHING should be left to chance in the mornings.) Of course, this is the exact opposite of my procrastinating personality. My husband and I are polar opposites – he’s King of the Night Owls and I’m Princess Perky in the morning.
Since being back to work, I know how tired my husband really is when he walks through the door at 8:00 pm. Yet he always has a bear hug and a wrestling move ready for everyone. While I’m very ‘snarly’ at night, he’s all smiles and hugs.
Despite all the times that I have complained about my husband, I realize that our family couldn’t survive without him. He is the one who keeps us lighthearted and gives us strength even on our most frustrating days. He is the one who plays, really plays with the children. He is the one who teaches them how to do chores - where I find it easier to do it myself.
Even my 2 year old knows how to empty the dishwasher. Of course, I mutter about never finding my potato peeler in the same place twice, but hey, my dishes are always done - slightly chipped in places - but clean.
So I guess on Father’s Day, I need to prop up the pillows on the couch, hand my husband the remote, along with an ice cold beverage, and take the kids out for the day so he can relax, and enjoy his favorite sport from his single days – Channel Surfing. And I think I’ll just rip out the epilogue at the end of the book and mail it to a mother who truly needs it.
Disclaimer:
The author wishes the reader to understand that while her husband is awesome, she is still the only one who cleans the bathrooms.
Found! The Gospel of Mother's Day May 2007
My Mother’s Day usually goes something like this:
“Honey, the kids and I are going to take you out for breakfast.” I get ready, get the kids ready, find my husband’s shoes, fill the sippy cups, refill the diaper bag, change the baby’s diaper one last time, and chase everyone into the van. The day hasn’t even started and I’m exhausted.
This used to be my Mother’s Day until I found “The Official Mother’s Day Handbook” under my pillow one Mother’s Day morning. Thanks to the discovery of this long lost treasure, my Mother’s Day is quite different. I understand that many mothers have never heard of this mysterious handbook. Can you say, ‘Conspiracy?’ This book is more controversial than the DaVinci Code, which is why I keep my copy hidden away all year in a super secret location.
Excerpts from “The Mother’s Day Handbook”
Rule #1 All Mother’s are officially required to be the last person out of bed.
When the children come running into the bedroom at 6:35 am with cries of “Poopy diapy!” you are within your rights to tell your kids to “Go get Daddy,” before rolling over and going back to sleep.
Rule #2 Mother’s are not allowed to do any grunt work or cleaning of any kind for the entire 24 hours of their special day.
Don’t worry, everything will still be there tomorrow – it always is.
Rule #3 All Mother’s may spend their entire 24 hours doing anything that pleases them. It is highly encouraged that the mother leaves the house, alone. This allows the rest of the family to have time to create a special surprise for you.
The first time I did this, I felt a little guilty. I went to see a movie – ALONE! Why this never held any appeal to me when I was single, I’ll never know. To sit in the dark, uninterrupted, for 2 hours, eating my favorite snacks - pure bliss! I returned home to a surprise strawberry shortcake picnic.
(Page 10 of the book goes into great scientific detail explaining why consuming loads of calories doesn’t matter on this day – something about calories being unable to turn to fat when your body is relaxed.)
So this year, make Mother’s Day your day and celebrate it the way you want – guilt free! And if you come across an “Official Mother’s Day Handbook”, hide it in a safe place so it doesn’t get mysteriously misplaced.
A Poem from the “Official Mother’s Day Handbook”
M - marvelous memorable moment-maker
O - official optimistic organizer
T - turns tantruming tyrants timid
H - heavenly humorous housekeeper
T - terrific tenacious troubleshooter
E - exuberant even when exhausted
R - routinely running ragged. RELAX!
“Honey, the kids and I are going to take you out for breakfast.” I get ready, get the kids ready, find my husband’s shoes, fill the sippy cups, refill the diaper bag, change the baby’s diaper one last time, and chase everyone into the van. The day hasn’t even started and I’m exhausted.
This used to be my Mother’s Day until I found “The Official Mother’s Day Handbook” under my pillow one Mother’s Day morning. Thanks to the discovery of this long lost treasure, my Mother’s Day is quite different. I understand that many mothers have never heard of this mysterious handbook. Can you say, ‘Conspiracy?’ This book is more controversial than the DaVinci Code, which is why I keep my copy hidden away all year in a super secret location.
Excerpts from “The Mother’s Day Handbook”
Rule #1 All Mother’s are officially required to be the last person out of bed.
When the children come running into the bedroom at 6:35 am with cries of “Poopy diapy!” you are within your rights to tell your kids to “Go get Daddy,” before rolling over and going back to sleep.
Rule #2 Mother’s are not allowed to do any grunt work or cleaning of any kind for the entire 24 hours of their special day.
Don’t worry, everything will still be there tomorrow – it always is.
Rule #3 All Mother’s may spend their entire 24 hours doing anything that pleases them. It is highly encouraged that the mother leaves the house, alone. This allows the rest of the family to have time to create a special surprise for you.
The first time I did this, I felt a little guilty. I went to see a movie – ALONE! Why this never held any appeal to me when I was single, I’ll never know. To sit in the dark, uninterrupted, for 2 hours, eating my favorite snacks - pure bliss! I returned home to a surprise strawberry shortcake picnic.
(Page 10 of the book goes into great scientific detail explaining why consuming loads of calories doesn’t matter on this day – something about calories being unable to turn to fat when your body is relaxed.)
So this year, make Mother’s Day your day and celebrate it the way you want – guilt free! And if you come across an “Official Mother’s Day Handbook”, hide it in a safe place so it doesn’t get mysteriously misplaced.
A Poem from the “Official Mother’s Day Handbook”
M - marvelous memorable moment-maker
O - official optimistic organizer
T - turns tantruming tyrants timid
H - heavenly humorous housekeeper
T - terrific tenacious troubleshooter
E - exuberant even when exhausted
R - routinely running ragged. RELAX!
Green Thumb Wrestling April 2007
The fragrant air is filled with bird song, bulbs are coaxed from their winter hideout, and I get bit by the gardening bug. As I head out to my local nursery, visions of flowering landscapes and tidy vegetable gardens flit through my mind. Unfortunately, the picture in my head doesn’t quite match the reality of gardening in the Frumpy Zone.
First of all, my house is built on a bog of red clay with about an inch of topsoil sprinkled over it for appearances sake. But last spring, despite the red, hard truth, I carried on, refusing to believe my precious plants wouldn’t thrive with my calloused green thumbs tending them. I dug up tree roots, hoed rows and planted my seedlings in the red clay. In the age old battle of woman against nature I emerged victorious – a true gardener – despite the aching back and blistered hands.
When my husband came home from work, I proudly gave him a tour of the freshly formed garden - only to be told by the former farmer that I forgot the fertilizer. But I didn’t let my husband’s dire predictions of malnourished plants get me down. (Did I mention our soil was really red clay?) I slogged through the red mud to water my poor nutrient deprived ‘runtlings.’ I gave them extra doses of plant food. I watched them struggle against all odds to reach their tiny leaves toward the sun.
I planted rows of tomatoes, cucumbers, yellow squash, zucchini, wildflower seeds and a couple of chili pepper plants. I even started a pumpkin patch from the seeds of last year’s pumpkin. At the end of the summer we harvested: 2 pickling cucumbers, 1 cherry tomato, and 6 chili peppers.
And our entire patch of pumpkins disappeared! One day they were there, green vines with beautiful orange blossoms, and a week after our summer vacation, they were gone! Not a seed or vine left to mark their existence. They were either abducted by aliens (for being able to thrive in Mars like conditions) or they were disintegrated by the sun and the wind blew their fried ashes away. Only in the Frumpy Zone can a garden of such promise turn ugly and desolate.
But I tuck these melancholy memories away as I wheel my red wagon through the lush aisles of the nursery. Hope springs eternal…even in the Frumpy Zone.
Frump’s Best Mother’s Day Surprise (For Dad’s eyes only!)Hand Painted Flower Filled Clay Pots
Supplies: plain clay flower pots - any size acrylic paints, paint brushes or sponges, various flowering plants
Let each child hand paint their own clay flower pot for mom. While the pots are drying, take the kids to the local nursery and let each one pick a variety of flowering plants to
put in their pots. Let the kids help plant them.
First of all, my house is built on a bog of red clay with about an inch of topsoil sprinkled over it for appearances sake. But last spring, despite the red, hard truth, I carried on, refusing to believe my precious plants wouldn’t thrive with my calloused green thumbs tending them. I dug up tree roots, hoed rows and planted my seedlings in the red clay. In the age old battle of woman against nature I emerged victorious – a true gardener – despite the aching back and blistered hands.
When my husband came home from work, I proudly gave him a tour of the freshly formed garden - only to be told by the former farmer that I forgot the fertilizer. But I didn’t let my husband’s dire predictions of malnourished plants get me down. (Did I mention our soil was really red clay?) I slogged through the red mud to water my poor nutrient deprived ‘runtlings.’ I gave them extra doses of plant food. I watched them struggle against all odds to reach their tiny leaves toward the sun.
I planted rows of tomatoes, cucumbers, yellow squash, zucchini, wildflower seeds and a couple of chili pepper plants. I even started a pumpkin patch from the seeds of last year’s pumpkin. At the end of the summer we harvested: 2 pickling cucumbers, 1 cherry tomato, and 6 chili peppers.
And our entire patch of pumpkins disappeared! One day they were there, green vines with beautiful orange blossoms, and a week after our summer vacation, they were gone! Not a seed or vine left to mark their existence. They were either abducted by aliens (for being able to thrive in Mars like conditions) or they were disintegrated by the sun and the wind blew their fried ashes away. Only in the Frumpy Zone can a garden of such promise turn ugly and desolate.
But I tuck these melancholy memories away as I wheel my red wagon through the lush aisles of the nursery. Hope springs eternal…even in the Frumpy Zone.
Frump’s Best Mother’s Day Surprise (For Dad’s eyes only!)Hand Painted Flower Filled Clay Pots
Supplies: plain clay flower pots - any size acrylic paints, paint brushes or sponges, various flowering plants
Let each child hand paint their own clay flower pot for mom. While the pots are drying, take the kids to the local nursery and let each one pick a variety of flowering plants to
put in their pots. Let the kids help plant them.
Crayola Crop Circles March 2007
Mashed play dough in the carpet, unidentifiable sticky patches on the kitchen floor, dust bunnies covered with dog fur… these are a few of the messes I face in the Frumpy Zone. But the most prevalent are the various abstract art pieces decorating my Flat Egg Shell White walls. Before I go any further, let me give you Frumpy Tip # 72: Never move into a house with flat paint on the walls! My children just have to sneeze near a wall and it leaves a mark.
My son has been a Pablo Picasso Impersonator, since the age of 20 months, when he realized he could grab a big fat crayon in his tiny fists and make a line longer than he was. After lines, he graduated to his Crop Circle Phase. Gigantic circles would suddenly appear out of nowhere on various walls in the house.
Of course, I was a little preoccupied with our newborn daughter, so I couldn’t keep track of my budding artist who had discovered the power of the pen, the pencil, the marker, and the crayon. Two months after moving into our new house and already it looked like an advertisement for a Sherwin Williams makeover.
After outgrowing crop circles, my mini-Michelangelo took a brief hiatus to focus his artistic ability on actual paper. Twenty boxes of Mr. Clean Magic Erasers later, I breathed a sigh of relief that his wall expressionism was over. Currently, my son seems to be leaving his Abstract Paper Phase and entering another wall phase - Cubism, I think. He started subtly… last week I found an X in the bathroom above the toilet paper roll. A few days later, I found a group of X’s carved on the wall above the bathtub - done with the tip of a toy jet. (This information was voluntarily given by his older sister who is quite supportive of her little brother’s artistic endeavors.)
Yesterday I found the pièce de résistance… a giant trail of life-size X’s down the entire length of the upstairs hallway. I have decided to leave the X’s until my son’s apprentice - my 2 year old daughter who copies everything big brother does - is about five. By then, we can just repaint everything with some of that super shiny glossy stuff.
Wall Saving Ideas from the Frumpy Zone
Paint a 6’x 6’ space with chalk board paint.
Buy butcher paper or bulletin board paper and put on one wall.
It can be easily replaced for hours of artistic fun.
Keep all writing instruments under lock and key and only bring out when you are able to
supervise. (This sounds like a good idea, but I would invariably get distracted by the baby, so I never noticed when my son would wander off to hide his crayons in a secret location.)
Invest in plenty of Mr. Clean Magic Erasers.
My son has been a Pablo Picasso Impersonator, since the age of 20 months, when he realized he could grab a big fat crayon in his tiny fists and make a line longer than he was. After lines, he graduated to his Crop Circle Phase. Gigantic circles would suddenly appear out of nowhere on various walls in the house.
Of course, I was a little preoccupied with our newborn daughter, so I couldn’t keep track of my budding artist who had discovered the power of the pen, the pencil, the marker, and the crayon. Two months after moving into our new house and already it looked like an advertisement for a Sherwin Williams makeover.
After outgrowing crop circles, my mini-Michelangelo took a brief hiatus to focus his artistic ability on actual paper. Twenty boxes of Mr. Clean Magic Erasers later, I breathed a sigh of relief that his wall expressionism was over. Currently, my son seems to be leaving his Abstract Paper Phase and entering another wall phase - Cubism, I think. He started subtly… last week I found an X in the bathroom above the toilet paper roll. A few days later, I found a group of X’s carved on the wall above the bathtub - done with the tip of a toy jet. (This information was voluntarily given by his older sister who is quite supportive of her little brother’s artistic endeavors.)
Yesterday I found the pièce de résistance… a giant trail of life-size X’s down the entire length of the upstairs hallway. I have decided to leave the X’s until my son’s apprentice - my 2 year old daughter who copies everything big brother does - is about five. By then, we can just repaint everything with some of that super shiny glossy stuff.
Wall Saving Ideas from the Frumpy Zone
Paint a 6’x 6’ space with chalk board paint.
Buy butcher paper or bulletin board paper and put on one wall.
It can be easily replaced for hours of artistic fun.
Keep all writing instruments under lock and key and only bring out when you are able to
supervise. (This sounds like a good idea, but I would invariably get distracted by the baby, so I never noticed when my son would wander off to hide his crayons in a secret location.)
Invest in plenty of Mr. Clean Magic Erasers.
Oops, I Did it Again! February 2007
I got my hair cut – SHORT! Why? Well, I’ve done some self analysis and I realize that getting a haircut is very much like falling in love. First I get that restless feeling. If something doesn’t change, I’m going to go crazy. Then I see it, THE ONE.
It’s new, different, and exciting. So I start to toy with the idea. I visualize long walks on the beach; the wind caressing my newly shorn locks. Then, full of excitement, I go to my hairdresser and explain what I want. Bitten by the “Hair Cupid”, he gets swept right along with me. Three inches of dry, damaged hair fly through the air in a frenzy. When the hair clears, I look in the mirror and WOW! I absolutely love it. The next week I spend in bliss. I style it in new and exciting ways – sometimes even twice a day!
And then it happens. About a month later, the honeymoon is over. What was once cute and exciting has become mundane and annoying. I don’t have time for all the maintenance this new cut needs. So I slip back to my comfort zone and start to ‘let it grow out’. (This phrase is used by women everywhere to acknowledge that yes, they know their hair looks like crap and yes, they are indeed doing something about it, but it will just take some time.) I am now off the hook. It’s not my fault it looks bad, because it’s growing out.
There it is in a nutshell. The reason I continually feel the need to spend a year, painstakingly growing my hair long and then getting it chopped off. I am addicted to romance! I also think I’ve just discovered a whole new career: Hair Therapist. Come to me with your hair problems and we’ll discover the emotional root to bad hair.
Valentine’s Day in the Frumpy Zone
For those of you wanting a little romance in your life that doesn’t involve a trip to the hairdresser, try one of these great books for Valentine’s Day.
1. Stardust by Neil Gaiman
If you dream of a time where fairies and other magical creatures were part of this
world, then this is the book for you.
2. Scarlett by Alexander Ripley
The perfect sequel to “Gone With the Wind;” apparently Rhett does give a damn!
3. Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D.H. Lawrence
For those of you that prefer something a little more cerebral.
4. The Cinderella Pact by Sarah Strohmeyer
If you liked “Bridget Jones’ Diary,” you’ll love this!
5. Midnight Bayou by Nora Roberts
Perfect combination of mystery and romance.
It’s new, different, and exciting. So I start to toy with the idea. I visualize long walks on the beach; the wind caressing my newly shorn locks. Then, full of excitement, I go to my hairdresser and explain what I want. Bitten by the “Hair Cupid”, he gets swept right along with me. Three inches of dry, damaged hair fly through the air in a frenzy. When the hair clears, I look in the mirror and WOW! I absolutely love it. The next week I spend in bliss. I style it in new and exciting ways – sometimes even twice a day!
And then it happens. About a month later, the honeymoon is over. What was once cute and exciting has become mundane and annoying. I don’t have time for all the maintenance this new cut needs. So I slip back to my comfort zone and start to ‘let it grow out’. (This phrase is used by women everywhere to acknowledge that yes, they know their hair looks like crap and yes, they are indeed doing something about it, but it will just take some time.) I am now off the hook. It’s not my fault it looks bad, because it’s growing out.
There it is in a nutshell. The reason I continually feel the need to spend a year, painstakingly growing my hair long and then getting it chopped off. I am addicted to romance! I also think I’ve just discovered a whole new career: Hair Therapist. Come to me with your hair problems and we’ll discover the emotional root to bad hair.
Valentine’s Day in the Frumpy Zone
For those of you wanting a little romance in your life that doesn’t involve a trip to the hairdresser, try one of these great books for Valentine’s Day.
1. Stardust by Neil Gaiman
If you dream of a time where fairies and other magical creatures were part of this
world, then this is the book for you.
2. Scarlett by Alexander Ripley
The perfect sequel to “Gone With the Wind;” apparently Rhett does give a damn!
3. Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D.H. Lawrence
For those of you that prefer something a little more cerebral.
4. The Cinderella Pact by Sarah Strohmeyer
If you liked “Bridget Jones’ Diary,” you’ll love this!
5. Midnight Bayou by Nora Roberts
Perfect combination of mystery and romance.
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