I beg your pardon.......

I've spent two days this week with my new cleaning lady -- ok, I will call her cleaning "lady" cause it seems weird to call her my cleaning girl, but she's half my age. A sweetie who is a workhorse, and not afraid of a big, big challenge. My house.

I don't think I ever realized how much room our house had, till everything was put away. Mind you, when I say put away, I mean it, because I may not find some things for months. But hey, it's definitely a HUGE, huge improvement. She even cleaned the garage (with me) and the hubby's workshop (NOT with me). She's my new favorite person.

My house isn't always a pit, but I've been working overtime lately - hence the lack of posts here -- and it's truly gotten out of control. I've always said that I don't want a museum house, and have no fear of that, trust me. However, I don't want one that Niecie Nash wants to visit, either -- or those crazy British/Scottish women who walk around your house with gloves on, swabbing all the surfaces.

I'm sure that we have several new life forms here, but I don't want anyone finding them till I get the trademark paperwork done. I'm trying to figure out what to name it -- Utter Chaositum, perhaps?

But hey, there was nothing in our vows about cleaning. So, after twenty years, I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden. Which brings me to this little pretty. One of the loveliest lovelies I've seen, thus far this summer, offered to you by Venus Wears Vintage, on ebay.

Teach your children well

Well, ds17 found out today that he got accepted to the school of his choice, so he is definitely headed off to college come fall. I'm happy for him -- he's happy. "Psyched," as he puts it. This boy never, ever gets psyched about anything. Matter of fact, I tell him all the time that he's only a step or two away from being autistic, but that's how he rolls.

And hubby today started rehearsals for his newest play, "Cheaper by the Dozen," where he plays the father. Other than not envisioning him as the character, an overly tall, rather portly man with a heart condition, of which he is none, I think he's perfect for the part. Heck, the guy loves efficiency -- insists upon it, in fact -- and my hubby borders on OCD, most days. The dad in the play is a homeschooling dad, so I guess that works too.

But no, we do not have 12 children. Matter of fact, the hubby told me, shortly after I found out we were expecting ds17 that he planned to father five children. "Yep," say he, "gonna father me FIIIIIVE children." (He said this as we were having a leisurely day, sleeping in on a weekday -- I remember it well, because once the kids are born, there ARE no leisurely days sleeping in. "Who are you gonna father those children with, dear," I replied. "My wife," says he. "Oh, haven't met her yet, huh?" I said.

After the third one was born, he realized the insanity of his thoughts, and had the final solution that put an end to any hope of having anything cheaper by the dozen, the baker's dozen, or anything more than a multiple of three.

So yeah, I guess he can't relate to the character, as far as sheer numbers are concerned, but he can relate to the homeschool angle, so he's got a start. The poor girl playing his wife has no idea what's coming though. I may have to call her and teach her a thing or two about how to be a wife in the house of Utter chaos. And trust me, there is nothing efficient about it. But after almost 20 years, I'm still psyched about it.

Or is it psycho? I get the two confused.

And so, in honor of teachers at home and not, here's a very pretty pink plaid cotton Edwardian dress, from Dorothea's Closet, on ebay. It'd probably be scandalous for a teacher to wear something this pretty, back in the day, but hey, Ang will teach you a thing or two about beautiful vintage.

You can dance if you want to

My husband is quite the dancer. I've probably mentioned that I rent him out for parties, cause he's sure to get it rockin. He had two years of ballroom dance lessons when he was a kid, and it shows, cause the man has a groove.

I like to dance, but he puts me to shame. If I was going to dance with him regularly, I would have to become an alcoholic, cause I have to have a glass of wine in me, or it just doesn't work well. Anymore, I don't have to dance with him every time and probably wouldn't even try, so I tend to sit some out and just let him work the crowd. Keeps the ladies happy.

So, we went to a wedding reception last night for a friend of ours. He got married a month or so ago, in Key West. I didn't think the guy danced at all, cause he once turned me down at a Barry Manilow concert (yes, you CAN rock at Barry Manilow!), but he did dance with the new wife. DJ started the music and yep, the Dan Show started, and hubby got his groove goin on. He even got hit on by some Indian guy who none of us know. But oh well, dh loves to dance, so he doesn't care who joins in.

I couldn't get the kids to dance at first. they got bored pretty quickly and wanted to go home. Typical, cause if I catch them lettin' loose at home, they immediately stop. I tell them all the time that they need to let the groove loose, but they just refuse. I tell them that curbing the groove can be dangerous to their social development, but hey, I'm just the mom and they don't listen.

So last night, ds12's best friend was there. That kid WORKED it. He was having dance offs with the dh, and really having a great time. Next thing you know, ds12 was out there, then dd. That's when the groove ripped loose and the wildness started. Ended up that they were begging to stay, and having dance offs of their own. We had a great time, and they talked about it the whole way home.

They can't wait to go to another wedding, so if you know someone close to Indy who's getting married soon, let me know. We'll bring Utter Chaos to you, at no charge. Well, except the cake.

I prefer white cake, please. And 80s dance music -- cause it evokes a lotta memories, and a lotta groove. And yeah, in honor of Sir Dancealot, here's a cute little red square dance dress, from Wildswans Vintage, on the bay.

Home is where the school is

Yeah, our kids are homeschooled. No, they aren't homeschool "freaks," as the dd calls them. No denim jumpers here. We're so far removed from the "normal" homeschoolers that we should probably be excommunicated. But yeah, they're homeschooled, and they don't seem any the worse for the wear. (I'm a different story.)

They did decide once that they might want to go to school, cause ds (then 11, now 17) wanted to "meet chicks." Never mind homework, he just thought he needed to meet some women. Want to go to school? No problem! Off we went to tour the place. The school had entire solar systems hanging from every ceiling -- and we had our own hanging in the dining room, so the kids felt right at home. Also, this happened to be a school where their friends went, so when ds (then 6) saw his best friend in class, the best friend headed our way, looking very confused, and said "are you here to pick me up?" DS said "no, I'm JOINING here!" To which the person touring us around said "oh nonono, you're only visiting."

The woman had issues.

Things went from bad to worse with the school Nazis, who were obviously anti homeschooling, and seemed angry that my first grader could actually read and do math. When we left, ds12 said "well, I'd say we have pretty much a zero chance of getting into THAT school." I agreed, and it wasn't a bad thing, cause those people were nutty. It was a magnet school, so yes, the older kids did need to have approval to get in. They had to take the younger one if he wanted in, but when they offered, we declined.

When I asked dd later what she thought as we toured the place, she said "Mom, those kids are trapped." Pretty profound stuff, coming from a 10yo.

So yeah, they are trapped here with a perimenopausal mother, but we like each other pretty well, so it's all good. And so, in honor of those whacko public school crazies, here's a wonderful 50s solar system novelty print dress, from marie92001, on ebay.

Jethro Tulle

Holy cannoli, did I get a belly laugh tonight. My dh loves to the the Jumble. You know, the puzzle in the newspaper, where you have to unscramble the letters to create a five or six letter word? Drives me nuts, cause he can do it so fast, most days.

Sometimes he gets stuck though, which gives me some satisfaction because, although I rock at crosswords and the like, and can hold my own on sudoku, I am horrible at the jumble. Every once in a while I get it, but most days, I'm awful. It's a rare day when the old guy gets stuck, and he will almost always pull it out in the end.

So not ten minutes ago, the big guy is sitting next to me, doing the Jumble. He turned to me and said "is TULLE a word?" This, of course, gave the wife a giggle. I looked at him and said "you don't sell vintage clothing, do you, dear?" To which he responded, "oh, I forgot. But that reminded me, so forget it, I know what it is."

::scribbles TULLE into his puzzle::

Yep, I had to go there, cause I knew it would be priceless -- "what IS tulle, dear?" To which he looked at me condescendingly over those cheater glasses he wears (5 bucks at Dollar General) and says "It's an embroidered undergarment made from the mid 30s to 1949, marketed in Scandinavia."

OMG I thought I was gonna bust a gut. He looked innocent (that's the look that starts right before the BS does) and said "well, that's what I was always told, so what were YOU told?" "Honey, do you know what a tutu is?" At this point, I got out my shovel, cause he can dig it DEEP when he wants to. His response: "oh yes, the tutu, a ballerina's skirt, named for the French word for tulle, which is tou tou, to make a girl frou frou, or something like that."

I'm drowning in his BS most days, but this one certainly did give me a laugh for the night. If he only knew how much tulle is in our house -- but hey, he thinks on his feet, so I gotta give him credit. If you have a better idea for what tulle REALLY is, let me know, cause I think he did pretty good -- even if he IS totally wrong. But he's cute, so I'll keep him. :-)

And since blue is the big guy's favorite color, I found yet another pretty blue tulle vintage prom dress,from Pinkys Auction House, just to show him what tulle really is.

Howling at the moon to cure what ails you

DD went to prom tonight. Homeschool prom. Decided not to go with a guy, so she took her good friend. They're sophomores this year, so it's a good warm up for junior year, when most kids go, and to test the waters with no pressure. If there's no guy involved, you can just have fun.

And that's what they did. And very little of it had to do with the prom itself. Went and got a cute dress, in turquoise blue. Got the hair done, the nails done, then had the matching bag, shoes and earrings. They looked gorgeous. Beautiful, really.

Dropped 'em off with the only worry being the dress code, because there was discussion about no plunging necklines, and dd's dress showed off the girls rather more than she was comfortable with, and her friend's dress was probably a little more than 3 inches above the knee. No problem though, they went in like Flynn and home I went.

2 hours later, a rather panicked voice saying "come get us NOW." DD wouldn't tell me why, just wanted to go home immediately. Wardrobe malfunction? Male malfunction? She refused to say. Got there to pick 'em up and home we headed. Turned out that it was just like the public schools, with a huge clicque of kids who all knew each other, all had dates, catty gurls who were text messaging each other (yeah, in the middle of PROM), and a dance floor the size of a postage stamp, with 100 bobbing kids on it. They talked to a bunch of people who wouldn't talk back. Basically, they couldn't wait to leave.

Loved the dressing up part, didn't care for the prom.

So, the mother came up with a plan. Rather than end up with a carpy end to the whole night, we went and just did some random stuff. DD threw on a sweatshirt, over her glittery dress, and we went to get gas. The girls went into Shell and paid, whilst everyone stared at the pretty girls paying for gas, looking like they were ready for a red carpet. Then we went to get random stuff at CVS: ice cream, envelopes, candy, condoms, and milk, among other things. (No, they don't need the condoms. I'll probably give them to ds's best friend as a graduation gift. We have a history of giving each other weird gifts, and who knows, they might come in handy, should he ever actually get even remotely close to a girl.) Then we headed to Blockbuster, where we rented a bunch of random DVDs. "Grease" was playing on the TVs in there, so we ended up dancing through the aisles singing every song from the soundtrack whilst people stared at us. Then we took off toward home, barking, shouting and making weird noises at anyone we saw on the street, including three teenagers who almost went down when they heard the barking.

Drove by the infamous Andrew Day's house several times, with dd yelling "Andrew" in a long, pining sob, each time we went buy, then cackling like a crazy woman. It was priceless.

So yeah, I think I will patent my new invention. The cure for teenaged angst. Just take 'em out and do random stuff involving weird things people over 25 would never do. It'll cure 'em, at least for a little while.

And so, in honor of prom is this Blue Tulle 50s Prom Dress, from Vintage R Us, on ebay.

Map where we're goin'

My two teenagers barely speak to each other. They have very little in common, and don't really do much to acknowledge each other (other than the nastygram for her borther dd left in the upstairs bathroom, on "how to share a bathroom with a girl" -- that's for another day).

When they were little, they used to play together all the time. I went in their room one day when they were probably 3 and 4 and there they were, sitting on the bed, intently studying a map that they'd found somewhere. When I asked what they were doing, they informed me, quite seriously, that they were playing "map where we're goin'." Turned out that they had made up a game wehre they imagined a place, looked at the map on how to get there, then narrated the whole trip.

I got to hear how they got to Toys R Us: what the drive was like, what they looked at in the aisles of the store, and what they brought home with them. They went into great detail on what everything looked like, "did you see...", back and forth, on and on. It was adorable.

I've tried to teach each of the kids how to read a map, so they learn to navigate properly. Hubby's version of navigating is studying maps, cause he loves them, then telling me what exit I needed, about half a mile after I passed it. DS17 once was able to navigate me through downtown Chicago, on 4th of July weekend: "turn left, Mom. Go right. Elvis."

What in the world?

Turned out that yep, Elvis was standing on the corner of Michigan and something, in a white fringed jumpsuit. Never mind that he'd been dead for 15 years at that point -- we saw Elvis, and when that happens, you know you aren't in Indianapolis anymore.

Nowadays, they are both driving, and learning how to navigate around town by themselves. They're not doing a bad job, either. Must be all that map reading, at a tender age.

And so, in honor of my darling children, two ships who pass in the bathroom, and their "map where we're goin'" days, here is a great op art skirt, from Vintage Vagabond Wear and Wares.