Brains

Have you noticed the plethora of Heal-Your-Brain-Because-It-Controls-Everything books that have come out lately? There's Change Your Brain Change Your Body (which I get sucked into whenever I pass by PBS and that guy is on there because he is so skinny that I worry about him having the strength to finish his talk; he always seems on the verge of an asthma attack to me), Change Your Brain Change Your Life (same skinny author), The Brain Power Cookbook (really?), This Is Your Brain On Joy (it does NOT look like scrambled eggs), Change Your Mind Change Your Body (changing your mind sounds much easier than changing your brain, no?), The Brain That Changes Itself (kinda like the ultimate baby!), Buddha's Brain (think I'll wait for the movie), and Train Your Mind Change Your Brain (so. very. confused.) just to name a few and I'm starting to believe that my brain does control more than I think because I am physically and emotionally exhausted (even my foot is asleep!) yet my brain is refusing to let me fall asleep and where the hell on Amazon.com is Change Your Brain And Get a Good Night's Rest?

THAT Old

I'm doing major cleaning of the house today, which means I left the house in the exact condition that every What-Not-To-Wear-French-Girls-Don't-Wear-Gym-Shorts-Book-And/Or-Reality-Show tells you not to: ponytail, baseball cap, no makeup, bad t-shirt, shorts, Ugg sandals. Oh, I was quite a sight. My groceries from Market Fresh included a bottle of wine because, really, all this cleaning makes me the kind of cranky that only wine can undo, and the lovely young woman checking me out rang up the bottle of wine, then rang up a few more items, then paused, then asked to see my ID. In the condition I was in I was happy to hand it over. (I really should keep an over-sized-donation-to-a-charity-check copy of my driver's license in my car for just such situations because I am a LONG way from needing to be carded.) "Aren't you nice!" I said. "Well..." she shrugged.

Then she gasped.

It was an actual, audible gasp.

"You don't look THAT old!"

"Oh, thanks," I said.

"No, really," she went on. "I never would have guessed you were even close to THAT old!"

Honey, you made me feel so good that I'm going to forgive your many "THAT olds." I'm sure the number seems frightening to you but let me warn you that it was just yesterday that I was in my 20's and feeling invincible and pretty darn sure that I would never be THAT old. Your time is a-coming.

Faster than you think.

Texting While Working

Did City of Detroit employees learn NOTHING from Kwame Kilpatrick?

Apparently Interim Detroit Police Chief Ralph Godbee had a relationship with ousted Chief Warren Evans' girlfriend (I know, you practically need a program to keep all the players straight) and Evans' attorney turned over text messages from Godbee to Girlfriend in an effort to help Evans get his job back. These text messages were supposedly from last fall (and also - from what I can gather - on Godbee's personal cell phone so Girlfriend must have turned them over which leads to a whole OTHER set of questions like "Why did she save them?" and "Why was she dating two different superiors?" and leads me to wonder if she's actually the smartest or dumbest person in this whole situation) which was WELL after the Kwame-texting debacle and wouldn't you think that a smart guy would say to himself "You know, maybe I shouldn't be texting his kind of mush to a co-worker, no matter how much I like her."

A Love Letter to Rob Reiner (And Why You Should See Flipped)

Last year my son nailed his first-ever movie audition. According to the Casting Director (I was not allowed in for the meeting) he made Rob Reiner laugh and Rob (may I call you Rob?) said "You've got the part!" and our summer then revolved around one line in a flashback scene which was minuscule in the overall movie but huge for an 8-year old boy.

I got the opportunity to work as an extra as a teacher and spent eight days on the set surrounded by middle-school kids and got to watch Rob Reiner work. Not that I've spent a lot of time on movie sets, but it was obvious that he's an easy-going director. He knew exactly what he wanted. He was great with the kids. He was friendly. He was serious, but didn't take it too seriously (if that makes sense). And this is how nice he is: he picked me out of the teachers for a classroom scene and when we were walking back in after a costume change he asked me if I was on camera in the last shot. "I'm just here to do what I'm told," I said. (Yes, I'm completely eloquent under pressure). "You were. You were on camera," he said. When he walked away the Assistant Director came running over and asked me what Rob said to me. I told him and he said "No, you weren't on camera." Oh well. (But I was!)

When we heard the movie would be premiering at the Heartland Film Festival (after winning Truly Moving Picture of the Year) the kids and I headed to Indianapolis to attend. We weren't even sure my son didn't end up on the cutting room floor (he didn't!). When the movie was over my son said the only thing he wanted was to say hi to Rob and get a picture with him (he even turned down a brownie). We pushed our way through the crowd; of course everyone wanted to meet Rob Reiner. My son wiggled his way close to him and said "Excuse me. Do you remember me?" Now, I don't know if he really did or not but Rob looked at my son and said "Yes, I do. Did you enjoy yourself?" then grabbed him for a photo.

Thank you, Rob Reiner. First, for giving my son his first opportunity and second, for being such a great guy one year later. You've given my son the two best summers of his life.

Now, everybody, go see Flipped. And make your kids go see it. Know why? Because there's a story. No special effects, makeover montages, or unrealistic chase scenes, just a charming story (and some darn fine acting) about two kids actually thinking about things and becoming better people.

And watch for the Teasing Boy in the cafeteria.

The Tooth Fairy *NOT FOR CHILDREN*

My 9 1/2-year old son lost his first molar last night so we had to talk about the Tooth Fairy.

"It's you, right?"

"What do you think?" I said. I hate to just blow up beliefs. My husband, on the other hand, was dying to tell our kids there was no Santa Claus from the time they were four.

"I think it's you. I mean, what would the Tooth Fairy do with all those teeth?"

"It is me."

"So, what do YOU do with all those teeth?"

Cut to this morning: I had put his tooth in a plastic baggie prior to the Tooth Fairy discussion in case he still believed and wanted to put it under his pillow. (Note to young parents: I've learned that putting the tooth in a baggie makes it MUCH easier to find in the middle of the night when you're digging around under your kid's pillow in the dark trying not to wake them up.) He came down this morning holding the baggie-with-tooth aloft.

"Aha! Look what I found!"

"I'm sorry," I said. "Do you want a dollar?"

"No," he said. "I'll just wait for tonight."

He's putting it BACK under his pillow tonight! He knows there's no Tooth Fairy. He knows that I'm going to sneak in in the middle of the night and fish around for the baggie and leave him a dollar and, apparently, that's the way he likes it. He is the King of Suspended Disbelief.

Sometimes I wish I had someone to explain my own son to me.

Curse You Cindy Crawford and Art Van!

My husband and I went shopping last night for some chairs for our family room and living room. We live with two semi-destructive cats and one of the chairs needing replacement is older than our relationship.

We ended up at Art Van. We've gotten pretty lucky there over the past few years. And, sure enough, we came across a really comfortable brown leather chair and a patterned fabric chair that went along with it. The leather felt great and the chairs were everything we wanted; not too big, no floppy cushions, veeeery comfortable, go with our decor. We looked at everything else in the store because we didn't want to marry the first chairs we met but ended up back at the original chairs ready to pull out the credit card and then I looked at the tag.

They are Cindy Crawford chairs.

I'm mortified.

I don't buy into celebrities "designing" clothes or furniture or whatever, or slapping their name on something so it will sell better. It bugs me. I don't want to wear Jessica Simpson shoes or Daisy Fuentes jeans (though I WILL wear a Betty White hoody because IT'S BETTY WHITE!). Plus, when my husband and I started dating he had a Cindy Crawford calendar hanging in his room and I remember saying to him "If you expect me to sit in here and eat jelly beans with you then the calendar must come down." Yet here's Cindy, back in our life. Supporting my husband's tush while he reads. I don't think I like it.

But, damn her, the chairs are SO comfortable. I put up a fight for a while but in the end we bought the chairs and they are being delivered next week. So, come on over and sit on my Cindy Crawford chairs. Tell me how comfortable and pretty they are. I'll still be embarrassed.

PS - If you find yourself in need of Supermodel Furniture head to Art Van in Royal Oak and ask for Ray. I liked him so much I plan to see him for all my Supermodel Furniture needs : )

PPS - Yes, kids. When my husband and I were dating and were alone in his room we ate jellybeans. That is all we did. That is all anyone should do. Until they're married.

Why Are All Realtors Named Nancy?

The last time we went house hunting our realtor was named Nancy. We are now dipping our toes in the house search pool again and found a house we'd like to check out and the realtor listing the house is named .... Nancy. We talked to Nancy the 2nd who is out of town but promised to have an associate call us who is named ... Nancy.

What's up with this? Was Nancy just a ridiculously popular name from that generation or are all women named Nancy immediately told to pursue real estate when they take the Possible Careers Quiz in high school? And if that's true, then is it possible that the people putting out these Find Your Best Career worksheets aren't really taking our interests and skills into consideration but merely lumping us into categories alphabetically? And why am I going straight to a conspiracy theory?