Are You Sure You Have The Right Dylan?

This year Dylan is in Kindergarten at our local charter school and our family has been catapulted into the competitive, fast paced, high stakes, world of elementary school. Long gone are the lackadaisical care free days of nursery school. No longer can we miss school on a Friday to beat the holiday traffic to Grandma's, we have entered a system of truancy laws, permanent record, and dress code violations.

I am thrilled that Dylan is attending the BFPC-Charter School, he loves it there. I on the other hand have always had a love hate relationship with elementary school. I hated elementary school and they loved to hate me. I was a straight C student with undiagnosed ADD. All my teachers sent the same not home.

"Lydia is so smart, but she never tries." Yeah, news flash, Lydia was trying as hard as she could with her frontal lobe spinning like a rocket powered hamster wheel. I couldn't win, the teacher's thought I was lazy and punished me, and the kids just punished me. I was the fat girl with the dysfunctional family who wore ill fitting clothes and had no self esteem, I was like a fat blind mouse in a cat shelter. They ate me alive and to cope I ate everything in sight. I went in to the Lawrence school in Brookline, a sweet little Kindergarten and came out after 8th grade as a 180 pound- shell shocked-jittery-big fat-crazy mess. The emotional scaring I sustained daily in elementary and middle school helped sales at Frito Lay and Hershey's skyrocket throughout the late 1970s and into the early 1980s.

Needless to say I was terrified that Dylan or Alice might have inherited my childhood ability to annoy teachers and repel other children. Kindergarten started in September and so far so good. Dylan seems to have many friends and I pray that it stays that way. Because if Dylan ever comes home from school in tears I will go to that kid's house and beat the snot out of that little sucker. Don't worry, I will make it look like an accident. I'm not a complete nut job.

Seriously, I don't think that I have to worry, Dylan is having a different experience in school than I did. At least that's what I thought before his parent teacher conference. I was nervous about going in to talk with his teacher all week. Sitting in that little chair with her staring at me. I was afraid that she was going to call me out. Say something like:

"Lydia, I know who you really are. Did you honestly think that your son would pass for normal. We were contacted the town of Brookline and the Lawrence school sent us a copy of your permanent record...we are on to you."

I was so nervous about the upcoming meeting so I made a plan. I didn't want to screw up like I did for Alice's nursery school parent teacher conference. I almost missed Alice's all together. I was out shopping in Plainville, unshowered, dressed in nasty sweat pants, tee-shirt. I picked up my calendar to get a coupon and saw that the meeting was in less than an hour. I left Stop and Shop, my groceries in the cart and ran next door to TJ Maxx. I quickly bought pants and a blouse and changed my outfit in my car, to the amusement of several onlookers.

Their I am parked in front of the store in my granny panties trying to pull up these new pants. I am lying down as low as the front driver's seat goes, but I know people are watching me. One woman walks by and gives me a knowing smile. I am too busy tugging and removing tags to care. I put the new shirt on over my tee-shirt and then simply extract the tee-shirt from underneath. Easy right. Let's just say a guy in a UPS truck saw way more of me than guys I've actually gone on dates with.

Outfit changed I drive to back to Franklin, park at her school, jump out of the car, make a few key wardrobe adjustments now that I am standing, throw my hair in a ponytail, run up to the classroom and knock on the door with a minute to spare. Only to hear that she can color, play, and, use play dough. Oh the joys of no pressure preschool.

For Dylan's parent teacher conference I was ready, well as ready as someone like me could be. I picked out a nice professional looking outfit. You know to try and blend in with the other moms. I was dressed in black dress pants, and a pink tank top, under a nice crisp black dress shirt. I even wore a little make-up and heals. I looked fantastic, well as fantastic as an anxious, over tired over weight mother of two can look. I dropped Alice at school for the morning and then I dropped Dylan off at his friend's house. I drove white knuckled to the charter school. I go that first day of school knot in my stomach and wondered why I didn't bring the dog for emotional support.

I walk into the school, up the stairs and knock on the door. I sat down and with out small talk Dylan's teacher got right to the point. She looks me right in the eye and told me that my son is doing great. That he is doing academically, socially, and behaviorally great. I quickly run out the door to check the room number. Then I ask if their is more than one Dylan in the class. She assures me that my Dylan is the only Dylan in the class, and that he is her "little sweety". He has lots of friends and everyone loves him.

I leave the class room in a daze. Go out to my car and cry. Tears of relief, tears of regret from my own childhood, or tears because I haven't worn my dress pants in three years and the are at least a size too small and I can't breathe.

I don't know for sure...

The Binky-Fairy and other Hairy-Tales

As I wrote yesterday my baby-girl is turning three in two days. I thought that we should commemorate the occasion with some big girl milestones. My plan for today was to get Alice a big girl hair cut, prepare for the arrival of the Binky Fairy, not to mention order the birthday cake for her and Dylan's joint birthday party, buying presents for the two parties they are going to tomorrow, buy the ingredients for the home made pizzas I promised Dylan we'd make tonight, and if I can grab a free second go bra shopping (Yep, ole blacky is not smelling too fresh).

The most important items on my list were Alice's hair cut and buying a special present for the Binky Fairy to leave for her. O.K. that's a lie. After I dropped off Dylan at school I drove to the Wrentham outlets to go buy a bra. only to find that they weren't open yet. Then I decided to go get Alice's hair cut, but they weren't open yet. BJ's Wholesale is 2 seconds away do we went shopping. I bought pizza dough, check off the list. Then I bought a birthday present for the boy who's having the firefighter birthday party tomorrow at 10:00am, and a present for the little girl who is having the swimming party tomorrow at 4:30pm. Leaving us ten free minutes on Saturday!

I also found a beautiful Cinderella doll. Alice saw it and screamed. "Momma my birthday!"
Perfect, I grabbed the doll when she wasn't looking and stashed Cinderella under the cart. Binky Fairy present check!

Of course being early in the morning I didn't think this plan all the way through. Being a wholesale store BJ's doesn't provide bags when you check out. I distracted Alice while the nice cashier sandwiches the doll between toilet paper and a big bag of salad. Just to make sure put a huge box of wipes in front to completely block her view. The cashier winks at me and I smile. We are so smart...

Alice walks over to the cart bends down tilts her head to the side and says; "Look'a momma my dolly." I glare at the cashier who shrugs her shoulders and gives ma a nervous giggle. Alice starts getting louder.

"Momma! My Dolly! I want my dolly!" People are turning to stare at us. I quickly locate a box, shove the doll in covering it with the toilet paper and salad. Just to make sure their is no peeking I drop the box of wipes in the box as well. I completely squish the salad and warp the toilet paper rolls but the screaming is starting to scramble my brain waves.

We finally get out to the car and she is calmed down with promises of birthday dolls, cake, ice-cream, and perhaps a pet pony. She is locked in her car seat as I am loading the car. By the time I sit in the drivers seat she is unbuckled, I see her feet flying into the air as she is tumbling head first into the my Outback's large open trunk. THUNK! Then I hear the sound of a box opening.

"Momma look my dolly!" With in seconds she is extracted from the trunk and locked back in her car seat. I have squished my fleece coat into the box, covering the wipes, salad, toilet paper and the doll, and pulled down the trunk cover.

Now I calm her down with promises of a lollipop at the hair dresser's shop. Hey, I know super Nanny would not approve, but she would if she had to deal with my kids 24 hours a day with no days off. Since Dave was away from Sunday afternoon until last night after bedtime I have been on duty with out as much as a 15 minutes break. Even sweat shops workers get a 15 minute break. O.k. maybe the don't but they get paid. I work for free.

We arrive back at Kingdom Cuts she sees the shop and perks up. The tears end and she runs happily into threw the front door. I put her name in at the front desk and call my husband. I want to warn him that his little girl with the flowing strawberry blog curls is getting a short bob. I know that the haircut is drastic but I have been having the worst time fighting with Alice over her hair.
Washing her hair is traumatic for both of us. We both end up crying and sopping wet. I can't get near her with a comb or brush with out suffering scratches, bruises, and hearing loss from her ear piercing shrieks. I've tried head bands, barrettes, clips, ponytails, pig tails, and even braids. The only thing that she can't rip out are those little baby sized elastic bands. To get those in I have to chase her around the house, corner her, put her down on the floor, rap my legs around her lower body and work as fast as I can. I usually have about 10-15 seconds to get the hair up before she wiggles out. If she wiggles out she always tries to run, but I am still holding her hair and then she starts to cry. My heart breaks, I let go and this is why my daughter's hair usually resembles a crazy brambling bird's nest.

This is also why people feel the need to inform me all day long that Alice can't see and that she needs to have her hair up. Thanks so much for your advice. I know her hair is a nightmare and the child can't see. Unfortunately the child can wiggle out of a leg lock and shatter a wine glass with her screams.

Today was the day that she got her hair cut making both of our lives easier...or at least it was supposed to be. Alice has her video picked out, she is sitting in the chair with her little cape on getting her hair sprayed with water. I ask the stylist if Alice's hair would keep the curls once it was short. The stylist said that she couldn't tell, nor could she guarantee the curls wouldn't be cut off. I looked down at my daughter's claim to fame, her beautiful strawberry blond ringlets, with golden red highlights. If I cut off her curls not only would my mother and my mother-in-law hunt me down and beat me, but every mom I know would inform me all day long that I shouldn't have cut off those glorious girls.

I told the stylist my whole hairy-tale and about the birthday and the Binky Fairy. The hair stylist was a mom too. She went to the counter and came back with a beautiful large pink brush. She told me that she would guarantee that this brush wouldn't hurt Alice. She brushed Alice's hair, then I brushed Alice's hair and no tears! She even put Alice's hair up in an elastic and she didn't cry! We left with long hair and a new brush!

Hairy tales do have happy endings!

I'll keep you posted about the Binky Fairy and the Doll.

God Bless Wendy The Binky Fairy

My daughter Alice is a binky girl. When she was born she was put in the Special Care Nursery, she had a few health issues that needed to be monitored. After a few days of special medical care she was back with me in my hospital room. She was strong and healthy except for a large round growth covering her mouth. BINKY.

Life with a new infant and a hyper toddler at home I had a lot to handle. I was recovering from a C-section, not sleeping, having breast feeding troubles, and more often then not I reached for Binky. Binky was magic! Screaming baby...insert Binky and voila quiet baby-happy mommy.

Fast forward two years, eleven months, and 27 days. Now I have a toddler who has a binky habit and she's got it bad. Last year at her two year-old-visit the doctor told me that binky fairy had to come as soon as possible. For those of you who don't know. The Binky Fairy comes in the night and takes the binky's to new born babies. Like her cousin the tooth fairy, the Binky Fairy leaves the child a nice present. This idea terrified me! I made a counter offer for after the Holidays. He accepted, but made me promise.

I am a weak woman we already covered this. Thanksgiving passed, Christmas, New Years Eve, Valentines Day, the 4th of July. I avoided the Binky Fairy like the plague. Their is never a good time to have your toddler screaming herself blue in the face because you have taken her drug of choice away. I kept hoping that she would wake up one morning and day. "Mommy, I am a big girl now. I am done with my binky, now give me a cup of coffee and a pack of cigarettes."

Like all addicts Alice's binky dependency has actually grown stronger. She can stay abstinent during the two and a half hours while at nursery school. Then the second she leaves the building she starts in. "Binky, momma my binky? Momma I want binky! MOMMA!"

One day I forgot the binky at home and her whining turned into a shrieking fit. As we were driving the 2.1 miles home she was shaking, flailing her arms and legs, and I was afraid that she was beginning to show signs of withdrawal. We caught her in time and a binky was inserted quickly neutralizing her condition and avoiding disaster .

I promised myself that we would get rid of the binky by her third birthday. Or at least have the Binky Fairy come by Alice's third-annual doctor's appointment. Alice turns three in 3 days. I had a great plan to do my best to ignore my promise and instead eat lost of cake and ice-cream, throwing myself into a nice placid sugar coma. (We all have our addictions). Their is always her fourth birthday? That was my plan until I met Wendy the Binky fairy.

Today Alice and I were in the YMCA playroom when I saw a peaceful white light. From the white light appeared a mystical being with long fluffy white wings. She was an angel wearing a long shimmering white gown and a hallow shone from above her head. A hallow adorned with jewel-toned binkies. "Dear God" I whispered. "It's the Binky fairy".

O.K. so it happened nothing like that. Alice is playing on the slide with a huge bright yellow binky in her mouth. The Binky Fairy approaches me. She is disguised as a suburban soccer mom. After avoiding her all year she has come to find me. She politely asked me how old Alice is and then reminds me that on the show Super Nanny, Jo, says that kid's Alice age have to stop using the binky. As I have written in other posts, I hate when other mothers give me unwanted advice. However the Binky Fairy is right, I saw first learned about the Binky Fairy on Super Nanny as well. But, of course she must already know that, like Santa she is watching us, making sure that we are following the Binky rules, which I was not. On the other hand, unlike Santa who just gives you a lump of coal and a harsh note, the Binky Fairy goes through all of the trouble to track you down and give you a second chance.

Her message to me is that Alice is no longer my baby, that she is a big girl and that Alice will stop having tantrums and stop acting out if I start treating Alice that way and take away binky. The Binky Fairy is blunt and tough, but that is her job and she does her job well.

I get so caught up in the moment that I walk right over to Alice and pull the yellow Binky right out of her mouth. I instantly hear Alice's reply to my theft.

"Momma, my binky! Momma binky, my binky Momma!" Her high pitched scream echos off of the bare walls of the little room sending shock waves down my spine.

I turn to the Binky Fairy, she looks at me her eyes wide, her eye-brows raised up by her temples. Perhaps she has been watching us all this time with the mute button turned on.

"Well she does have another few days til her birthday. Perhaps right now is not the best time?" She says nervously, I put Alice's binky deep in to my pocket and smile.

True Confessions of a Dirty Girl

Dave is out of town and I am symptomatically room by room trashing my entire house. At this pace by the time he comes home on Friday the house will be reduced to a pile of filthy smoldering rubble and unrecognizable debris. The kids, dog, and I will be huddles in our camping tent in the back yard. Along with survival necessitates, a stack of novels, flash-light, a big bag of cheese curls, a few bottles of wine, a wine opener, and a laptop.

I know you concerns, how will I recharge the laptop with out electricity, and what about a glass, and do I really want to pee in the woods behind my house? All good points, I could use a car charger and if I am already peeing in the woods is drinking directly from a wine bottle that much of a stretch? No, I couldn't do that. I enjoy watching the beautiful red liquid swirling around the sparkly glass. With out the glass thew whole experience is ruined! Knowing that my kids and I could never keep a delicate wine glass in one piece for more than 3-5 minutes in a small tent the decision is made.

DAMN IT! I have no other choice I have to clean!

Their are those of you who don't like to clean. I am the type who hates to clean! I hate to do dishes & laundry, I hate to sweep, I hate it all. When I lived alone I only washed the dishes when the dish cupboard was completely empty. I'd eat cereal out of a crock-pot with a ladle before I would clean a single dish. The sink and counters would be so stacked up overflowing with dishes that I'd have to fill up the bath tub. What? You have never cleaned your dishes in the bathtub?

You stack them in there fill the tub up with hot water and a half a bottle of dish-washing soap. Scrub them with your favorite sponge or bath scrubber for crusted on food. Rinse them with a scalding shower. Dry them with a soft towel and stack them back in the cupboards. Ah the good old days. My husband hates dishes in the sink.

If I leave my coffee mug on the kitchen counter to go take a pee and when I come back the mug is cleaned and in the dish strainer. Same thing with laundry. I leave my Pajama's on the floor and they magically disappear and reappear washed and back in my drawer. I am a lucky woman in many ways!

When I was single I would never do laundry. If I ran out of clean underwear I would just go buy more. If my tee-shirt was dirty I'd just turn it inside out and throw on a sweater. It's a wonder that I got married at all?

I did get married. I married a guy who likes to see the floor when he enters his bedroom. A guy who thinks the kitchen table should have enough empty space uncluttered for place settings. A man who thinks the Christmas decorations should come down before the fourth of July. He might have married the wrong girl, but I know I married the right guy. He has helped me in huge ways!

I am neater than ever before, I pick up after myself, most of the time. I just can't keep up with picking up after the kids. I can't! They are totally insane and it's always two against one and don't forget the dog! The house is a complete and heinous mess that I need to clean it before Friday.

I hate to clean, but I love my husband. If you'll please excuse me I have to go run a hot bath for my dishes, and finally figure out which machine is the washer and which one is the dryer. Wish me luck!

Thanks so much...now piss off!

Why do complete strangers assume that their advice is imperative to the survival of me and especially my children? Like yesterday, in the morning I was bringing Alice to nursery school. I pulled up to the school and my quiet little princess took one look at the school and started shrieking. Removing her from the car took all of my upper and lower body strength, where are the Jaws of Life when you really need them? I am staggering up the walkway that for some reason looks as long as the 25 mile Walk for hunger route today. Alice is flailing her arms and legs, and I suddenly I feel the sting of a razor blade slicing my lip and I realize that I never did get around to cutting her finger nails the night before.

Bleeding and exhausted having only completed 5 of the 25 miles to the nursery school gate I gently lower Alice to the walkway. She immediately throws herself on to the ground and continues screaming even louder. I have no idea if her school will even accept her in this condition so I hurry down the walk way to find a teacher.

We are early and no teacher is outside yet. A few moms are arriving. The day is sunny and unseasonably warm. A perfect day for outside tantrums. At this point Alice is about 20-25 feet down the walkway screaming and flailing on the ground. I watch with disgust as each approaching mother looks over at Alice with alarm and concern. One woman in particular looks horrified and tries to lift Alice off of the ground. Big mistake. Alice fights against her and rolls onto her back screaming even louder than before. The mom is trying to communicate with Alice.

"Honey are you hurt?" "Where is your mommy?"

I wave and smile. I say "She's just having a tantrum, she's fine." The mom says in a snarky tone.

"Oh, I thought that she had fallen down and hurt herself." Translation "You are a terrible mother, your child is crying and you are an alarming 6 yards away! If I had the DSS phone number programmed into my cell phone you'd be in real trouble!"

Yes! She is right! She saw through me! I drove Alice here I didn't stop, I simply slowed down the car unbuckled her car seat and kicked her out of the open door. I yelled "Get your sorry ass to school you pathetic tax credit! Mommy is late for the bar!"

Come on! Do you really think if my 2-year-old child fell and hurt herself I would just stand here?

The only thing worse than "concerned" mother are the passive aggressive advice givers. You know them. The ones who talk directly to your child.

They accost you everywhere, the mall, the super market, church, public rest rooms, changing rooms, no place is off limits. They always feel a uncontrollable need to point out all of your obvious parenting flaws, for the good of the child.

The quietly observe you from afar. You see them peering out from behind the underwear wrack at Walmart. They size you up and shake their head in disgust. Then when they can't hold in their peace as they roll their cart up next to you in the sock aisle and say to your child and smile as they say:

"Honey, how can you see through all of the hair. You need a barrette." Or "Sweety you shouldn't be eating that granola bar they are full of sugar." or "Oh you are so cold where is your jacket." or "Sweet-heart how did such an angel get stuck with such an abusive harpy for a mother?"

How would we ever live with out them. It's a miracle our kids have survived this long! The next time one of them approaches me I think I will confess that I am a horrible mother and since they are so knowledgeable about what my child thinks, feels, and needs that will let them raise my child. I'll roll my cart to them, hand them the baby bag, and say : "Tell DSS I'm going back to the bar!"

It's my party and I'll buy if I want to.

My first experience with a Home Selling party was my mother's short and painful career as a Mary Kay cosmetic's representative. She hated going to parties and giving the scripted sales pitch and she hated promoting herself and the products. Did I mention that for her day job she was a college English professor? She was doomed to fail. She was way over educated and way under accessorized, she dressed out of fashion and had no interest in glamorization. But if a savvy woman wanted to make some extra money she had 4 options. Sell Mary Kay. Sell Tupperware, sell Avon, or sell herself on the corner.

Fast forward 25 years and their are hundreds of sell at home parties out there. I know I have hosted 2 and have been invited to all of them at least 12 times. Why do we go to and host these darn parties? They were horrid 25 years ago and they are horrid now. O.K. so I have friends who love these products and love to sell them. And yes I am still going to Nancy and Selena's tupperware parties (I promised), but I need to speak for those who are suffering in silence.

I know mom's want to make extra money, but there must be a better way. I know when insatiably the invitations arrives by mail or Evite, you open it and moan. Darn! Another party! If you are like me you instantly start thinking of ways to get out going that won't hurt your friend's feelings. Because you might need to recruit them later to go to your party. I learned this the hard way. After spending years avoiding home selling parties I was talking into having a Silpata jewelry party.

I met a great mom at the YMCA we had an instant connection and became fast friends. Too fast, I rushed into liking her with reckless abandon and before I know what hit me I had agreed to host a Silpata jewelry party. Be aware of too friendly moms, they are just setting you up.

Seriously I really liked this mom and I was happy to host a party. At least I was in the beginning. I was optimistic. I am a popular girl! I have lots of friends. I ended up inviting all of my New-Comer Club friends, My Mom's Club friends, my book club, the Mom's from my son's preschool class, my neighbors and my mother & sister. I knew I was in trouble when my own mother's answer to the invitation was. "No way in hell."

Then I recalled how much I hate going to sell at home parties. How many regrets I had sent to friends, how many lame excuses, how many friends I had simply avoided until the party date had passed. I secretly hoped that my friends were better people than me...aren't they? Then the regrets started pouring in like salt on a french fry. Regret after regret after regret. My friends are busy. People were going away, husbands were going away, people were having company, going to plays, a lot of my friends were just "busy".

32 of my friends to be exact. I didn't hear from about 12 and I had 3 secure yeses,my good friend's Heather & Selena. I also had 7 or 8 moms who gave me firm maybes.
I had in my head that a worst care scenario would be 8-10 people if a half the maybes and a fourth of the "no RSVP" people came.

. I started the week before and cleaned my house from top to bottom. I steam cleaned the carpets, I dusted, the place was immaculate. I rearranged the living room furniture so that 8-10 people could sit there. I went shopping the day before and spent about $75.00 on wine, appetizers, pretty paper plates & napkins. I drove Dave insane because I was insane in my preparations. I don't care what my friend's think, but most of my maybes were Dylan's preschool friend's moms. You know how women judge other women and I had to been to some of their homes. One of them in particular has a family room with the square footage of my houses entire 1st floor.

I cleaned and organized and shopped my self silly. I went out and bought new matching table clothes, one for dinning room table where the jewelry would be, one for the kitchen table where the food would be. I brought out my best service ware up from the basement. The good stuff from the wedding that we have never used. This was my first big event since we moved to Franklin and I wanted to give the right impression. That I just as put together as you. Which obviously I am not, or I wouldn't try so hard.

The big night comes and I kick the husband and kids out of the house. They are off to MacDonald's for dinner. "I can't cook for you people!" My thoughts run wild. I've been cooking gourmet beautiful food all day. You know I don't make the nice food for you...now go before the people come! GO!

With the kids gone and the dog in the basement I set out all of the appetizers. Hot dip, cold dip, the good cheese, expensive crackers & grapes, perfectly sliced fruit & veggies, three kind of wine, soda, seltzer, 4 plates of sweets, and coffee decaf, regular, and flavored. I know I have issues, that's why I never have parties. It brings out the super freak in me, and not the good kind.

My friend comes to set up her Jewelry. Heather comes over and helps me calm down and relax a bit. My neighbor comes over and I get them drinks and send them into the dining room to see the jewelry while I stare anxiously out the door for others. 10-minutes-20-minutes-30 minutes pass and I have my face and hands pressed up against the glass door in shear terror. NO ONE ELSE HAS COME! I grab the cordless phone and run into the bathroom and call Selena.

At this point I am desperate and it's not pretty. Waking poor Selena from a nap, I freak out over the phone and beg her to come over ASAP.

"I don't care if you are in your pajamas and not wearing a bra just get in your car."

To make a sad story short, Selena came over and I had 3 guests at my party. Out of those three guest only one of them bought anything. Because the cheapest item was silver earrings that cost $18.00. they looked like they should cost $3.99 at TJ Maxx. The Silpata jewelry pieces I liked cost over a hundred dollars. The hosting friend couldn't give me even a dollar jewelry discount because the party didn't make enough money. After I spent so much money on the party I couldn't afford to buy anything anyways.

The hosting friend wasn't mad because one of the three guests, the one who bought jewelry, wanted to host her own Silpata party. Of course I would have no choice. I would have to go and if I would have to buy some thing. Who made up these rules? l am forced to go to a party and spend money i don't have on something I don't want because she did it for me? Who wins here? Not the moms! We have to stop the cycle!

At her party I buy an expensive bracelet because it's the only thing I actually want. I wore the bracelet for one day only to find that the flexible band painfully yanks out my arm hair. great I bought a hundred and thirty five dollar Epilady! If I wanted my arm hair removed I could pay $12.00 at a salon.

Why do we do this? Why do we put our friend's through this? Let's stop the cycle! Can we please stop the cycle! What if we all pledge to stop having sell at home parties? Think of the money we'll save? We won't feel obligated to buy over priced things that we don't want? Maybe we'll all save so much money that none of us will have the financial need to have a job selling these products in the first anymore? We can start a revolution?

Until then I'll be avoiding you...but only until your party is over.