Product review

Because I'm such a prolific blogger, I am often approached by companies to do product reviews.  (That's a lie.)  I always decline their offers of free stuff, exciting vacations, or staring roles in their upcoming ad campaigns.  (That's a lie, too.)  But recently, I came across a product with such surprising and awe inspiring powers that I just couldn't keep it to myself.  This is the most amazing product and I am excited to share it with you now.

Ladies and Gentlemen (or is it Lady and Gentleman?), allow me to introduce you to Neutrogena Clear Pore Cleanser/Mask:

Several months ago, I was in a health and beauty pinch and was forced to purchase this tube of face cleaner instead of my normal brand.  I chose it because of it's duel function as a cleanser you can use in the shower AND because it can also be used twice weekly as a face mask.  Blam-o.  Clear skin, here I come!

After using it for several days as a cleanser, I decided to give the "mask" feature a whirl.  I applied it liberally and walked around the house for several minutes looking like Mrs. Doubtfire.

Jeremy was startled.

As instructed by the product instructions (redundant much?), I left the mask on for several minutes, then used warm water and a soft cloth to remove it.  My skin felt fresh and rejuvenated.  I clicked my heels as I walked down the hall.

And that's when the secret, magical powers of the Neutrogena Clear Pore Cleanser/Mask began to reveal themselves.  Not only did the mask clear my pores and make me look hours younger, there was another long lasting side effect that I'm still rejoicing over.

Let's just say that Jeremy and I received some beautiful towels and washcloths for our wedding.  We'll say that because, well, we did.  We chose these lovely blue linens specifically because they were blue and we liked them.  (When I say we, I mean I.  I chose them.  Jeremy nodded and asked to be excused to go to Lowes.)

Don't you just love that color?!?  Me, too!

And let's just say that I used one of those beautiful blue wash cloths to remove the Neutrogena Clear Pore Cleanser/Mask from my face.  We'll say that because, well, I did.

And guess what happened!

This.  This.  Happened:

Those humble folks at Neutrogena didn't even tout the fact that their face product doubles as a wonderful BLEACH that can take the color out of most any CLOTH, especially WEDDING WASH CLOTHS.

You'd think, somewhere among all these words and statements:

...would be some confession of the magical powers contained in this small, plastic tube.  Just think of the market share that could be gained by such a disclosure!  Tubes of this marvelous cleanser/mask could be stocked in the beauty aisle AND in the laundry aisle.

If you're looking for a last-minute gift idea for that hard-to-buy-for person on your list, might I suggest a tube of Neutrogena Clear Pore Cleanser/Mask?  I feel certain that a little more investigation might reveal even MORE little known features.

Like, I bet it tastes really great on a sandwich!

The height of maturity

If, at some date in the future, I find myself applying for another job working with children or teenagers, I have the perfect response for the interview question, 'How are you uniquely qualified for this job?'

I will lean forward earnestly in my chair and respond thusly:

'I am in tune with the world around me and I recognize the potential in every parcel of creation.  For example, I see an onion slice on my lunch plate and recognize immediately its cry for artistic interpretation.'

'Furthermore, I inspire others to the same sort of greatness.'

Joy to the world

This story starts on what was probably a damp and chilly night in October.  I sat on the couch, in my pj's (I'm guessing), looking at Pinterest.  I'm a fan of the website.  Back in the day of printed magazines and scissors, I used to have an Idea Book.  When I found something in a magazine I liked, I'd cut it out and add it to the book.

Pinterest has revolutionized my idea book.  It's my idea book on steroids.  I find that I mostly "pin" cute outfits, which is a bit odd because I don't dress nearly as cutely as one would assume by viewing my Pinterest wardrobe.

ANYWAY, back to the chilly night in October.  I was pinning away probably trying to tune out my husband as he watched "Gold Rush" on full blast.  (BTW, have you ever watched that show?  Might need a whole separate blog post to analyze my thoughts on that matter.)  I found this pin:

...and thought right away that it would be an awesome thing to give the many, many volunteers who I work with at church.  I try to do a little something each Christmas to celebrate the fact that we've made it through another year together.  That we survived the snot, and face bites, and tricky conversations, and lived to tell the tale.  Last year, each volunteer kindly accepted a thank you note (budgets were tight), but this year I wanted to do something more.  This year has not been easy for me, and there have been months on end when I've struggled to find joy.  But often times, I needed to look only as far as the nearest volunteer at church.  I stole little bits of their joy without them knowing.  To see them interact with sweet kids or sweaty teenagers, to listen to their ideas, or see their faces light up when I asked for help.  They helped me see joy.

So with that sentiment in hand, I set out trying to replicate the pin from Pinterest.

With the help of my sister-in-law (hi, Gwin!), I found cookie cutters.

With the help of my calculator, I counted volunteers.  

With the help of the internets, I found boxes.

I gathered cellophane, recipes, and ingredients.  I. bought. a. rolling. pin.

And then...and then...AND THEN...I set about the task of baking 35 DOZEN COOKIES.  For those of you keeping track at home, that's 140 J's, 140 O's, and 140 Y's.  And a partridge in a pear tree.

Oh, Pinterest.  You slay me.

Thankfully, I had the foresight to reserve the church's kitchen with all its industrial size equipment.  Otherwise, I'd still baking.  For real.

The "troops", all lined up and waiting.  It's at this point that people would walk into the kitchen, pause, and say 'What are you DOING?'  

I'd never used a rolling pin before.  

The almost finished product.

I somehow failed to get a shot of the finished, finished product.  I baked from noon - 5:30pm last Friday.  By the time it was over, my back ached, my shoes had flour all over them, and I wondered what in the world I'd gotten myself into.

But it's kind of hard to feel down when the word of the day is "joy".  It's kind of hard to think about the other, easier gifts I could have given when this one just seemed so perfect.  Fact is, my precious volunteers would've been fine with a hug and a heartfelt "thank you."

But I wanted to do more.  I wanted to somehow give a little joy back to them since I'd borrowed some of theirs this year.  The word of the year for me has been "joy".  Not because I've necessarily had it very much, but maybe because I learned to appreciate it where ever and when ever I saw it.

This somehow turned into sort of a somber post, which was not my intention.  I'd planned to make fun of myself more, to joke about how I made an emotional eater out of the lot of 'em (get it?), and to do a better job of blaming Pinterest for my lofty aspirations.  But I'm not going to change it.

I kind of like it the way it is.

Joy to you this Christmas, friends.  Joy to the world.

Throwing another log on the holiday stress bonfire

With holiday gift giving and gift opening right around the corner, I'm just going to throw this out to see if anyone gives me an "amen!" in return.

If you're like me, you've probably opened a gift in front of the gift-giver before, right?  Or worse than that, you've opened a gift in front of a group of people who are all staring at you (can you say wedding shower awkwardness?).  The gift giver has a hopeful look on their face as they wait with baited breath to see if your reaction to the gift is everything they dreamed it would be.  No pressure, obviously.

Don't you find opening a gift that's been wrapped in a gift bag particularly stressful?  For me, it goes a little something like this:  I reach in the bag and retrieve the first thing my hand hits.  I carefully pluck it from the clutches of ALL THAT TISSUE PAPER, and set about admiring whatever "it" is.  And then (and this part is always the kicker for me), there's that totally uncomfortable moment when I'm not sure if there's anything else in the bag, buried under the mounds of tissue still filling the bag, so I try to nonchalantly put half my arm back in the bag while maintaining eye contact with the gift giver, hoping they won't notice?  Going in for the second swipe is like saying to the giver, "That's it?  There isn't anything else?  Seriously?  No really.  There's got to be something more in here.  The depths of this bag must contain something else.  I mean, the gift giving limit was $30, was it not?"

Totally insulting.

So there I am, tight smile on my face, ohh'ing and ahh'ing over item #1, all the while my arm buried elbow deep in tissue, hand flailing about, trying to surmise if there even is an item #2, trying to play it cool.

Of course, the converse is also true.  Let's say you forgo the second swipe altogether.  Often, just as you begin to set the bag aside after plucking item #1 from obscurity the giver will say, in a mildly patronizing tone, "Now, there's something else in there...".  And that is equally as awkward because in a way you've insulted them by implying that it's just a given that they are stingy.  It's a non-verbal way of saying, "I have received gifts from you before and my expectations are low.  You are notoriously frugal and, to be honest, I'm not expecting much."

Perhaps the solution is to find some way to act really impressed or enthralled with the tissue paper itself?  Like make comments about how it's a lovely shade of red, or that the texture feels as though it must be from recycled material?  If you can manage that little trick (not sure how, exactly), then you could admire the tissue and move it around in the bag while keeping a keen eye focused on yet undiscovered treasure?

Or perhaps, just maybe, I'm over thinking the whole thing?

Nah...