Thursday, April 24, 2008

Things Girls Can Do

I am currently annoyed by a commercial that seems to be playing zillions of times a day on E! It's ruining my constant influx of True Hollywood Story and Chelsea Lately episodes. The commercial in question is for Nutrisystem and it features the notoriously annoying Jillian Barberie.

In this Nutrisystem commercial, Jillian proclaims her love of the pre-packaged diet foods and happily notes that she lost 40 pounds. She probably could have lost another 15 by taking out the huge faux boobies, but I digress. This is somehow supposed to be a sports-themed commercial, although I don't think Jillian Barberie and sports go together very well aside from the fact that she may have been in a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue once. She waxes poetic about how she, unlike most girls, is into sports. Right, Jillian. You're the only woman on the planet who loves football. Insert giant, dramatic eye-roll here.

At one point in the commercial, a football comes flying in, slowly, from off-screen. Jillian catches the football, looks impressed with herself, and then puts the final nail in the coffin for this commercial. "What girl can do that?" she asks. What girl can catch a football that is tossed gently to her by a production assistant that is standing a few feet away? Oh, not many, Jillian, I'm sure. My 6 year-old can do it, but she's an anomaly.

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

The Recap

I've been trying to decide what I want to say about the New Jersey trip for a few days now. After thinking on it, Camp Baby comes down to three main "take-aways," as we like to call them in the biz.
1. Johnson & Johnson paid for me to go to New Jersey so that I could meet some really interesting people, drink wine with Ted Allen and become addicted to Twitter.
2. Meeting my co-worker Stephanie face to face after merely emailing one another for 3 years was AWESOME. I live for Stephanie's nuggets of wisdom. Also she makes me laugh kind of a lot.
3. I will be happy if I never hear about bladder prolapses again. Though the incredibly juvenile vag jokes that came from that camp session were, admittedly, really amusing.

The hotel was pretty great, which was nice because that was pretty much all I saw while there, aside from a restaurant that served the most amazing chocolate cake that has ever passed my lips. At the hotel, there was a near-constant supply of soda and snacks, so clearly they were prepared for my needs.

Before the wine tasting, they set out a buffet so we could attempt to lessen the effects of the wine to come. There were more than 50 women there, so table space was limited around the buffet. Stephanie and I thought we were being really crafty by taking over one of the trays that was intended for dirty plates (before there were any dirty plates on it, thank you), so that we could eat properly. But then the other trays filled up with dirty plates. And someone put a dirty plate on our tray. And then suddenly a waiter swooped in and snatched the tray right out from under us. I remember the look on Stephanie's face quite clearly. She had just taken a bite from her plate. Her fork was still in her hand. And she had that sort of "is he doing what I think he's doing?" look going on. And then we both started laughing. She dropped her fork on the tray just as he lifted it away entirely. I was only able to save my water glass from the food-napping. I'm not sure if he thought we were eating from other people's dirty plates or just didn't feel that using a tray as a table was appropriate in such a fine establishment. Either way, the guy had guts. I should have bitten his arm when he swooped in for the kill.

Even my water glass was not meant to be truly mine. As we wandered into the room where the wine-tasting was to happen, a man in a black suit, a gatekeeper of sorts, grabbed it out of my hand before I could even protest. "There will be water at your table, ma'am," he said. OK then. No moving water goblets across inter-hotel lines. Got it. The above incidents happened back to back, and frankly, I could not stop laughing about them once we got into the wine tasting room. Thankfully, others seemed to have the giggles, too, so I was not the ONLY person in a room full of grown women being shushed by event coordinators. And then they gave us wine. They provided buckets into which we were presumably supposed to spit the wine after tasting it, but come on! The buckets quickly became hats and the laughter in the room got just a wee bit louder.

The full day of camp in the middle was filled with educational sessions, including the aforementioned bladder prolapse discussion. Other tidbits I learned: we should feed our children fruits and veggies, fecal matter is EVERYWHERE, and there is a nifty program out there called InfantSee that allows parents to get a free eye checkup for their baby in order to get earlier treatment for some eye conditions that could result in vision loss later in life.

I also learned all about Wii sports at Camp Baby. While I was learning about Wii, I also learned that there was an open bar at the Frog and Peach restaurant, and they like to mix their drinks strong.

The following day, before we left for the airport, we visited the Johnson & Johnson headquarters, heard from some of their execs (and they heard from the bloggers, oh yes they did!), and then browsed a store of product samples. Did you know that Johnson & Johnson makes KY products? Yeah, baby. There will be some happy spouses and partners when those samples arrive.

Monday, April 07, 2008


I touched a tick this morning. A huge one. Subsequently, I lost my will to live. I have washed my hand 27 times, applied vast quantities of Purell and used that Mary Kay Satin Hands kit that has been sitting in my bathroom for 6 months to scrub away any skin cells that may still harbor tick molecules. But still, I *know* that my right hand has been tainted by tick touching. Ew!

My dog was also traumatized by the tick. Poor thing didn't even know it was there until I petted her and screamed like my hair was on fire. At least we are both secure in the knowledge that a fresh application of Frontline means that tick's days are numbered.

I had other things to say in my blog today, but I'm sure you understand that I need to spend some time in the fetal position under my desk trying to forget what a fat tick feels like. Gah.

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

J&J Camp Baby Blog

I've joined a group of bloggers who are also attending Johnson & Johnson Camp Baby. You can read about our experiences at the Camp Baby Blog. I just finished blogging about how cleaning before a trip could harm your chances at wearing your cute shoes on said trip. It's a painful tale. Be careful out there, folks!

Is This Kid Mine?

Genetically, I don't seem to have much affect on my child. She looks just like her father, with the minor exception of the dimple on her chin, which is all me. She also acts just like her father. I mean, scarily so. We should have named her Junior, I think. If it weren't for that dimple, and her propensity for using big words when a small one would do, I'd really be concerned that she only had a half-set of DNA.

The latest evidence that she is absolutely nothing like her mother came as she happily brought home a dead, dried out frog from a little hike she went on with her dad last week. She couldn't wait to show me. "Daddy saw it on a rock," she said. "And he said I could bring it home and keep it!" I looked at her father. He looked back. I looked horrified. He laughed.

Maya skipped off to her room with her new friend. Through the evening I could hear her singing happily. A tune she made up, with words to match. "My Dried Up Frog and Me." Seriously.

The next morning after she went off to school, I was clearing the usual breakfast detritus and school papers from the kitchen counter when my hand brushed something unfamiliar. Yes, I had come into contact with the dried out frog. Unlike my child, this did not make me want to sing. AND IT WAS ON MY KITCHEN COUNTER! I fought the urge to call the design center and order new counters right then and there. I carefully used one of her school papers to shove the frog onto another paper and move it to her room, where at least I didn't have to look at it. Then I washed my hands approximately 348 times.

In her kindergarten class, they have this thing called "The Sharing Tub." It's actually a baby wipes box. Once a week, M has to find something to put inside the tub to show the class. She writes clues on a piece of paper so the others can guess what's inside. I let her choose her own items to put in there, because she does a good job of it, generally, and she can write her own clues. As long as she's not trying to shove the dog in there, I leave it alone. Though, she does claim to be looking for a very small real dog that could fit inside that box. Hmmm.

On sharing tub day, though, Maya got off the bus with a somewhat dejected look on her face. She still had the sharing tub with her. Usually, the tub stays at school or goes with another student when she's done with it. Not this day. She wandered over and said, "Mrs. P says I have to clean out the sharing tub." What? What had my child done to the sharing tub? A quick peek inside told me nothing. The box was empty and appeared clean. I pulled the clue sheet from her backpack. The clues were as follows:
1. It is green.
2. It is dried out.
3. It starts with an F.
Ohhh, Maya. The dried out frog? For sharing tub? Really? Mrs. P had placed the frog inside a ziplock bag in M's backpack, so I found myself in all-too-close proximity of it again. *fullbodyshudder*

When my husband arrived home, I handed him a container of Clorox wipes and suggested that he be the one to help her clean the not-actually-dirty sharing tub. He asked why. And then he had the audacity to look proud. And he laughed. Heaven help me. There are two of him.