My (Bed) Buddy

When I was a kid, I loved sleepovers. My mom didn't let us have them all that often but when she did, she always made them special events filled with games to play and snacks to devour. They were always great fun; noshing on pizza, watching TV and giggling with my best buddies until my mother couldn't take it anymore. Having a good time and driving your mother crazy - what could be better, right?

Until recently, I honestly thought my days partying with an overnight visitor other than my husband were behind me. But I was mistaken. I now have the best sleepover buddy ever, one that puts those popcorn-eating, gossipy fifth-grade playmates to shame.

His name is Jack. He takes up half of a king-size bed, he frequently smacks me in the head with his elbow or fist, and he relishes repeat readings of Fox in Socks. He eats my pizza, wants to watch Toy Story instead of Say Yes to the Dress, and rewards me with disgusting presents in his pants. While his behavior doesn't sound like anyone you would want to spend time with, his bedtime antics don't do much to insure a good night's sleep, and he has the nerve to wake me earlier than any of my previous overnight guests, he is welcome anytime.  As long as he accompanies all of the above with that omnipresent smile and incessant need to cuddle up next to me as closely as humanly possible, he can bunk with me anytime he wants to.

Before anyone has the nerve to go there, I know he should be safely tucked away in a crib (which we do not own) or, at the very least, the portable play yard that lives in his uncle's abandoned bedroom but I just can't seem to give up the opportunity to snuggle up with this heat-seeking, footie-pajama-wearing love bug any chance that I can get. Having raised a couple of kids I know all too well how soon he won't want (or be legally able) to share a bed with his Nana,

Until then, I'm going to enjoy every last snuggle I can.

Until You Use Me Up

It's no secret that America is known to be a little bit wasteful. From food to fossil fuels; water to electricity we have (rightfully) gained a reputation around the world as a nation who squanders its resources with little regard for the consequences. As a public service I have decided to do something about it - I have resolved that 2016 will be the year that I will not purchase any additional toiletries, cosmetics, or personal care items until I finish every one of the one hundred and twenty-seven partially used items that now dwell in my bathroom cabinet.

Okay. I know this grandiose pronouncement isn't going to challenge Al Gore's or Bill Gates's contributions to our environment but everyone has to do their part, right? And think about all the time I'll save not clipping coupons or searching for the "perfect" lipstick when I can combine any of the seventy-eight colors residing in my fourteen make-up bags into a different color every day. Think of the gas I won't be wasting driving to Ulta to "buy two/get two free" or the money I'll save not being hoodwinked into thinking that the latest gel foundation will finally make my skin look flawless or that expensive under-eye cream that Cindy Crawford swears by will return me to me twenty-something glory.

Yes, while others may fall prey to the constant encouragement to indulge in conspicuous consumption, I know what I will be doing. I will be finishing that quarter bottle of Tresemme on the shelf and polishing off the last remnants of that hotel conditioner that smells like coconut. I will be sorting through and consuming any product I find that hasn't been in that cabinet since the nineties. And I will be reveling in every tube, jar, and bottle that I can deposit in the recycling bin. 

And then? It might be time to start clipping those coupons again.