It's Spring and a Break is Needed

I come off looking like a disorganized dolt in this little tale so I'm going to start by saying this: My elementary school children and my junior high schooler do not have the same spring break (should that be capitalized? Google is torn). Boy-Child#2 and Girl-Child have two weeks off and Boy-Child#1 has one week, which is the second week of Boy-Child#2 and Girl-Child's break. So they eventually merge. And even though it makes it so that I can't plan anything that isn't local until they're all out at the same time, it's not a horrible arrangement.

This year the elementary school break starts the last week of March; the week that ties into April. And for whatever reason, even though it's written on the calendar clear as day, I had it in my head that this was the last week of March. All this past week, whenever there was whining over getting out of bed in the morning, or grumbling about homework, and OHMYFREAKENLORD the science fair project that needed completing...I would appease the chi-drens with "this is your last week and then it's SPRING BREAK!!!" YAYWOOTWOOTREJOICING! I sent them off to school this morning with a this is your last day yayyy!!

I set off to the grocery store to gather the necessary items one would stock their shelves with when having the kids at home all day. And it was here that I ran into two of my girlfriends. One was there shopping for a camping trip.

"For spring break?" I ask.

"No, just the weekend." she says.

It took me like three days to load my basket onto the conveyor belt and I was all, I bought a ton of stuff. And they note how it's mostly kiddie snacks and I'm like, yeah...getting ready for spring break and the kids being home this week.

What. Are. You. Talking. About?

Today is the last day and then it's spring break <---this was said with a lot less confidence and enthusiasm than when the conversation started. Because our kids go to the same school.

Ummm...yeah...that's next week.

After the three of us and the cashier collected ourselves from fits of laughter I was finally able to say: Man. Are my kids gonna be bummed.

And they were. Not to mention both of them told me I was wrong the second I picked them up from school.

The end.

This Will Hurt Me More than it Hurts You...Or Will it?

Today was one of those days when I felt like a big, steaming pile of poo. You know those moments, as a parent, when you have to do something because it's the right thing...nay...the responsible parent thing? But it kills you to do it?

Quick side note to bring you up to speed: Our neighbors down the street are moving, out of state, and are taking their ten year old son with them...the gall! And this boy and Boy-Child#2 are like *this*. They play outside together almost daily. And fight and piss each other off about once every other month. But they always eventually make up and are back to daily outside adventures. So these neighbors are moving. Tomorrow. Meaning, this was the boys' very last weekend to play together. And they'll probably never see each other again.

Well, except maybe on Facebook.

Okay, well, this past Friday afternoon, Boy-Child#2 found himself grounded. I'm not going to go into detail as to why, but believe me the punishment was dealt swiftly and justly. And that punishment includes but is not limited to: no video games, no computer, and no playing outside.

I am a stick to my guns kind of parent, people. I don't cave. I don't make deals. Otherwise kids will know that there are no real consequences to their behavior - and that their parents are pussies. Not this mama.

Boy-Child#2 spent the weekend working on his science fair project and enjoyed reading a book; not an altogether horrible experience. Until the boy down the street came to the door today to see if Boy-Child#2 could "play out" - that's what the kids call it these days. I hear them murmur to each other through the screen door and my son comes to me to ask if he can play. I tell him that he is grounded and the answer is no. And I say it loud enough so that Neighbor Boy can hear so that Boy-Child#2 won't have to explain it himself. He's got his street cred to protect.

There's more conversation between the screen in hushed voices and Boy-Child#2 pleads again...Mommy PLLLEEEAAAAAAAAAAAASSSEE it's his last day to plaaaayyyyy. And again I tell him no. And with that he closed the door.

And my heart broke for him. But I was sticking to my guns [Editor's Note: that sound you just heard was Tootsie, writing, using past tense]. I started an argument in my own head... this is their last day to play together how can you be sooo mean?! ... He should have thought about that before he got himself grounded ... he's eleven and hasn't mastered the art of abstract thought ... please, the kids a genius, he knows what's up .... even still... I can't back down ... he will blame you for this forever ... you're so dramatic ... and you're being harsh. The voices in my head told me to consult with Mr. Farklepants.

Dear Husband, what's a mom to do?

Mr. Farklepants: let him go out and explain that this is a special circumstance and he's still grounded. You're making too big a deal out of this.

Hmmph.

It was already 6pm. Boy-Child#2 was allowed to play outside one last time until dinner at 7pm.

Good thing we turned the clocks forward or it would have been too dark and too late.

I am curious though, what would you have done?

Fighting the Signs of Aging and Losing the Battle

The thing about me is this...I'm vain. I'm very concerned with how I look and the depth of that concern varies from situation to situation. If I have a new outfit, fresh haircut and color, or something as simple as a manicure or a brow wax; it makes it that much easier to get out of bed in the morning. I'm working on this illness. Sort of. Not really. Whatever. I've kind of always been this way. Like the time in my early twenties when I broke down and bought myself a new car -then promptly went to the mall and put myself in debt buying new clothes to go with it. I mean, wtf? Who does that?

Unless I'm going to work out, I rarely leave the house without putting myself together. The problem I'm finding lately is: my face. It is aging. And the progression seems to speed up with each passing month. I'm pretty sure my youthful appearance peaked in 2006. And I've been on a downward spiral ever since. It has got to the point, no matter how much of any age defying product I slather on my face, that this practice is becoming a costly exercise in fail. It does nothing except give me hope that eventually something might work. And I've come to the realization that I've reached a crossroads. Where crossroads equals I'm going to have to start paying dearly to get my face back. I've been thinking...drumroll....Botox. Now before you all lose your freaking minds at that last statement, let's weigh the pros and cons.

Pro: one of my close girlfriends recently invested in a Botox/Resylane combo. She looked amazing! It was like someone turned her clock back five years and unless she told you; you'd never know. So I high-fived her and then followed it up with a secret hand shake-fist-chest bump combo. Then she told me...

Con: It cost FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS and only lasts THREE TO FOUR MONTHS.

And that was the end for me. It's simply not in the budget for me to drop five hundred bones every three months into my face. I'd rather have new floors in the house. Or a new stove. Or a trip to France. Perhaps I'll try to work in a more affordable bi-weekly facial so that I can have flawless non-existent pores like a certain blogger who shall remain Bossy.

Tootsie's Academy Awards Pre-Cap. Reporting to You Live From the Red Carpet

Get your game face on, folks, cuz it's Oscar weekend and time to discuss the time honored tradition that will take place this Sunday. In order to do this, Vintage Thirty takes you live to the red carpet.



Why yes, the red carpet is covered in a thick sheet of plastic that sounds like bubble wrap when walked on, but red carpet nonetheless.

Vintage Thirty Correspondent in Blue & White Stripes:"Tootsie, who are you wearing?"
Tootsie: "I'm wearing my Hudson jeans and a black sweater that I got for 80% off from Kohl's, the boots are from someone whose name escapes me at the moment, but trust me, they were a steal"
Vintage Thirty Correspondent in Blue & White Stripes: "What a major coups! But forgetting the designer's name is a major red carpet faux pas"
Tootsie: "Faux pas? Isn't that one of the Jolie-Pitt kids' names?"
Vintage Thirty Correspondent in Blue & White Stripes: "No, that's Pax, Knox, and Maddox."
Tootsie: "So you understand my confusion"
Vintage Thirty Correspondent in Blue & White Stripes: "Certainly"
Tootsie: "They're probably saving 'Faux Pas' for the next child"
Vintage Thirty Correspondent in Blue & White Stripes: "Most likely"

The crew is working hard making all the necessary preparations for Hollywood's elite to stay warm and dry. Including Oscar himself.





In case anyone is confused why Hollywood Boulevard and the surrounding streets are shut down, there are plenty of clues to let you know why.




Vintage Thirty takes it to the street to get the people's opinion. Let's ask this gentleman hanging upside down from the streetlight; he looks like a local.

Vintage Thirty Correspondent in Blue & White Stripes: "What do you say Spiderman?"
Spiderman: "Am I allowed to climb the Oscar statue? And will you give me a tip if I do?"
Vintage Thirty Correspondent in Blue & White Stripes: "Shooo...you crazy. Back to you Tootsie."

Let's check in with one of our own correspondents from the Vintage Thirty team.

Tootsie: "What is your opinion of all these preparations, DorothyZ, and do you think George Clooney would be willing to leave his hot Italian girlfriend at home and bring me as his date instead?"
DorothyZ: "Dream on, sister. And I'm just here to take pictures, strike a pose Tootsie."



Tootsie: "Hey, you're aces, DorothyZ. Is there anything else you'd like to add?"
DorothyZ: "Yeah, what does a bitch have to do to get some lunch up in this joint?"
Tootsie: "Excellent question, DorothyZ. Let's scour the premises to find Salmon Farfalle."




Tootsie: "Well done. Good work, team. Any closing thoughts you'd like to share with our audience?"
DorothyZ: "Yeah, ladies is pimps too."

Word, DorothyZ. Word. See you at the Oscars.






*pictures by Dorothy Z. No actual pictures of Dorothy Z.