The rules are, post 7 random things about you and then tag 7 other bloggers to do the same. After which, you are to leave a comment to let them know they’ve been tagged, etcetera, etcetera.
- Remember the Love Boat? I used to live a few houses up the street from Ted Lang who played Issac the bartender.
- I keep receipts as if my life depended on it. I just threw away a bunch from 2003, today.
- I eat a bowl of Kashi’s Oat Flakes and Wild Blueberry Cluster cereal with soy milk every single morning for breakfast.
- I went to Oahu, Hawaii when I was 10 years old. What’s big deal about that? It was a fifth grade field trip for gifted students.
- When I was sixteen, my friends taught me how to kiss using the back of my hand and a soda bottle at school in the girl’s bathroom.
- I was on Cal’s ski team my sophomore year there. It was fun while it lasted, but I had to abrutly leave. It wasn’t the fact that we had to make ski trails in Tahoe to earn lift tickets that made me quit, but rather picking up dirty diapers, saliva soaked peanut shells, and tobacco spit filled cups after a football game that caused me say sayonara.
- I met Magic Johnson during the summer of 1989 at the Palladium in Hollywood. How? I’m so glad you asked. Because of the long list of celebrities attending this grand event the admittance fee was $25. Well, my two triffling male college buddies didn’t have any money, and I only had $50 in my wallet. So, I allowed them to talk me into using my female charm in an effort to convince Magic to let us get into the club free as his guests. I ran behind him like an idiot calling him Mr. Johnson. When he turned around to see who was yelling his name, the following words fell from my lips, “I just wanted to say it was really nice meeting you.” He took my hand in his and said, “The pleasure is all mine.” I ran back to my friends like an hysterical banshee, screaming “I couldn’t do it…I just couldn’t do it.”
I’m tagging anyone who wants to participate.
Initially, the purpose of this blog was to chronicle my life after the birth of Mademoiselle, hence the name The Fashionista & Baby. I wanted to tell you about my struggles to maintain my identity and a sense of style while raising two boys (ages 13 and 7) and a new baby girl. But at the same time, I wanted to write about my first love – fashion and beauty. Since the conception of this blog, it seems as though I’ve mainly focused on the later. I tried, and still continue to search for some balance between the subjects where I can merge them all in an interesting way that will be appealing to you. So, what I will do is alternate each theme and sometimes incorporate them into one story. That said, though I do plan to eventually tell you about my crazy pregnancy and how fashion was my saving grace, I’m going to fast forward a little and talk about my current health issue.
As with my other two pregnancies, the nurse told me, since I was breastfeeding, that it would be awhile before I could start expecting a visit from aunt flow (some refer to her as Bertha) again. This news made me so happy, even though I had just been given a nine month break from her irritating, unwanted visits I wasn’t ready to deal with her. I wish that I could tell you this story had a wonderful ending, but I regret to inform you that my joy was short lived. Two weeks after the normal bleeding a woman experiences after giving birth, aunt flow magically appeared out of no where. And what’s worse is she decided to pay me a visit not once, but twice a month. The cycles were also extremely heavy. I didn’t think anything of it at first because I assumed it was normal.
I grew concerned when it seemed as though the bleeding was not going to lighten up after a few months. Before I go on, let me just tell you that I’m unable to leave the house or sit on my furniture without a water proof pad when it’s that time of the month. I also have to change pads every 30 minutes to an hour. When I told my doctor of my symptoms, she quickly wrote a referral for a pelvic exam to determine what was causing the menorrhagia.
During the pelvic exam, the sonigraphers facial expressions read like a major headline story on the front page of a newspaper. It was at that point when I knew something was terribly wrong, but I would have to wait an agonizing 24 hours before finding out exactly what was going on because the sonigrapher, legally, was not allowed to give me any information.
The next morning as I’m rushing to get the boys off to school on time, the phone rings. It’s my doctor’s soft voice with a serious tone, informing me that I had a tiny fibroid tumor. “Since the tumor is small,” she said. “Surgery is optional. I’ll evaluate you every six months,” she added. “To make sure it isn’t growing.”
I can’t recall for you my exact emotions, but I felt like crying and I blamed myself for allowing my eating habits to get out of control. I kept thinking about all of my aunts and grandmother who have had hysterectomies due to fibroid tumors. Though I have no plans to bare any more children, I don’t want to share the same fate. I also thought about the fact that I didn’t have the tumor prior to becoming pregnant. Studies show that high levels of estrogen during pregnancy contributes to the development and growth of fibroids.
Let me clarify, I don’t regret having Mademoiselle. I love her with all my heart. I see this as another obstacle I have to get over to move to the next level. I’m taking it day by day, hoping to find holistic alternatives and I plan to get back to my old healthy eating habits. I know this won’t shrink the fibroid, but it may help in preventing it from growing.
I would love to hear your comments on this subject.
I waited for several months before I allowed either of my boys to be vaccinated. Not only was I concerned about their well-being and all the possible side effects, but I didn’t really see the point in getting them vaccinated early since they were so young and their immune system so delicate. Besides, who comes down with two or three diseases at once? And, why would I allow a doctor to inject my child with two or more different viruses. I just was not willing to take that chance with my child’s life. Had I known a lot about holistic medicine, I would have opted out of having them vaccinated, though I could have taken the necessary steps to have them legally exempt.
I bring this subject up because Mademoiselle is eight months now and yesterday she was given her third vaccine. I love my children’s new pediatrician. She listens and is willing to work with me as a team to ensure that my kids remain healthy. Every two months, we go over the list of vaccines and determine which one is needed the most at that particular time. I will not give Mademoiselle more than once shot because if she has a reaction I want to know which vaccine was the culprit.
I mentioned that my children had a new doctor. Their old doctor got on my last nerves. I was tired of him thinking he knew more than I did because he was the doctor. I was sick of the tension between us that was created by me being right when he said I was wrong. Here’s a good example: I love nuts. I eat them on and in everything. Everyday I would prepare a salad with almonds for lunch, and sometimes I would have some eggs for breakfast. After eating the salad, I noticed that Mademoiselle would break out in a lot of tiny little bumps on her cheeks, neck, and stomach. I called the doctor and told him I thought she was allergic to nuts. This idiot tells me, “How do you know? I think you’re just wrapping her too tight. She has a heat rash.” First of all, this is my third child and I have a whole lot of common sense. I know how to put two and two together.
When I got off the phone with him, I quickly scheduled a same day appointment with another doctor in his office who determined that the outbreak was due to an allergic reaction. I left a message on his voice-mail with my findings and a request to have my baby see an allergist (thanks to the advice of my friend, Nanora). Long story short, the allergist found that Mademoiselle is allergic to nuts, eggs, and dairy products, meaning I can’t have any of those things until I’m done nursing. Once the old doctor received the report we were at odds from that point on.
The straw that broke the camel’s back came when he and another doctor in his office told me I had to have my two month old baby immunized or else I had to seek medical care some where else. “It is our office’s policy,” he said. Yeah, since when? It wasn’t a problem thirteen years ago. I told him if something was to happen to my child there is nothing you will be able to say to me besides a lousy I’m sorry. I am responsible for my child’s well-being. I gave birth to this child and I’m not only financially obligated to care for her, but I’m also responsible for her emotional and physical well-being. It’s my child and my choice! As a result, she had her first vaccine at four months old. She did not have a reaction to any so far; not even a fever.
I’m so thankful that another doctor in the same office understands my concerns and is willing to do whatever it takes to see that my daughter and sons have a healthy future ahead.
Not that I’m a vain individual who takes pleasure in doing nothing more than talking about herself, but I’ve been tagged by fellow mommy blogger JJ over at Mischief Makers and feel it would be rude of me not to oblige her request. I won’t get to serious with this one; hopefully, you’ll get a good laugh.
- Like JJ, I hate ironing with a passion. I know this is unbecoming of a self-proclaimed fashionista, and I probably should be ashamed to admit this, but I will go outside in wrinkled clothes if my DH or son doesn’t iron them for me.
- Also similar to JJ, I have a ton of concepts my hubby calls “Hair-brained ideas.” Yeah, he’s heard it all.
- Ssh… I’m a bibliophile. There I said it, and it feels good to finally admit it. I buy books like they’re going out of style. It took a lot for me to turn my back on The Secret of Lost Things and Friday Night Chicas. I’m not going to spill the beans and give you an explanation because my hubby likes to spy on me by reading this blog. I will say, if you’re looking for a good read you must get your hands on a copy of Sugar and the sequel This Bitter Earth by Bernice McFadden. I read both these books in two days; I couldn’t put them down and often caught myself ranting at the book.
- Rarely do I deviate from my usual menu items whenever I go to a restaurant. You see, once I’ve had a delicious dish I tend to stick with it because if the new food selection is not pleasing to the palette I will not only be upset, but will ask the waitress to remove the item from the table and the bill then go home hungry. So for a few years now, I’ve always ordered the Firecracker Salmon Rolls made with sweet hot chili sauce and the Herb Crusted Fillet of Salmon at the Cheesecake Factory. Yummo!
- My cousin, Al, swears to god my lucky month is September since it is the month all three of my children were born. Honestly, the whole thing sort of freaks him out, especially because of the distance between them all. Monsieur D is six years older than Monsieur G and 13 years older than Mademoiselle. Can you figure out G’s age?
- Unlike the average household in America with pet dogs and cats, *when I was a little girl, we had a monkey that died of pneumonia thanks to my father.
- Speaking of monkeys, my husband swears I have monkey toes. That’s right, my toes are like a second set of fingers. Though it may not sound appealing for a girl like me, it’s pretty funny to watch.
*Edited May 29th, 2007.
In stressful times, some people turn to food and others turn to alcohol and I go to the spa. So during the chaotic time I was home in L.A. for my stepfather’s funeral, I took some time out to get a pedicure at Los Angeles’s premiere hand and food spa l.a. vie l’orange with Mademoiselle and my cousin Lorena.
After disposing and boxing up my stepfather’s belongings and dealing with his heartless niece’s, by any means necessary (including illegal), attempts to stake her claims to his property and money, the spa was a much needed escape for a few hours of laughter and relaxation.
Since I could not bare to leave Mademoiselle behind knowing that her attachment to me would make life for the hubby completely unbearable, I sent an email to Tina, the owner of vie l’orange, asking her if she would so kindly grant me permission to bring the little one. Immediately after Tina gave the green light, I followed her recommendation from my last visit and booked two Old Fashion pedicures, which included a yummy oatmeal mask.
Shortly after our arrival, I sat Mademoiselle on my lap as I soaked my feet in a very relaxing warm bath of milk and honey. And so for a few moments the world stopped; I was allowed to just be, not having the weight of the continent on my shoulders or the demands of life pounding on me. It was nothing but rest, relaxation, and pure fun.
Though Mademoiselle was with me, she behaved like an angel throughout my treatment. The other women were not discreet with the evil glances when they first caught sight of the pink and black Pliko stroller being pushed through the doors to a seemingly hidden oasis, a sanctuary of mental safety. But, I didn’t care because it was not the first time I had taken Mademoiselle O to a spa so I knew she was going to be a good girl and that she would have them eating out of the palms of her hands by the end of our evening of pampering.
Before we left, we purchased a couple bottles of l.a. vie l’orange’s Orange and Cucumber body lotion. I knew immediately why this lotion was on Oprah’s favorite things list the second I smelled it and tried a little on my hands. The lotion is not only a good moisturizer, but it’s also like putting on perfume because it contains the right amount of orange and cucumber oils. The two combined make a surprisingly delightful aroma. I love that! I slather it on after taking a shower before bedtime, and when I awake in the morning the smell still lingers as if I had just rubbed it on.
If you haven’t had a facial, massage, wrap, or pedicure, seize the moment now and plan your next great spa escape. Do it for your mental sanity. Trust me, you’ll be a lot happier if you do.
Where are the hot spa spots in your area?
According to mainstream society’s standards, I was somewhat of an anomaly as a teen, always going against the grain by constantly pushing the fashion envelope to the ultimate limit. I guess you can say I was an independent thinker who didn’t follow popular trends. I didn’t care about the opinion of others. I wore what felt and looked good on me.
I guess you would describe it as my personal style. The art of personal style is being your true uninhibited self with confidence no matter what you’re wearing. So, I’m always on the look out for clothes that best fit my personality.
Last year, I was walking past Jeremys, a designer discount clothing store, when I spotted a funky, vintage, urban chic jacket in the window. I rushed in and frantically searched all over the store for the jacket. I finally decided to ask a salesperson for help only to be told the only jacket left was the one in the window. You know I had to have this jacket, right?
After going back and forth with management, they finally agreed to let me try the jacket on. I don’t understand what the big deal was in the first place, either you want my money or you don’t. It’s that simple. Once I tried it on I immediately fell in love because it screamed me loud and clear. When I looked at the label, I discovered the designer was the daughter of Bob Marley, Cedella Marley.
Since then, I’ve only been able to find bits and pieces from her clothing line Catch a Fire scattered here and there, and its been pretty frustrating. Although some items are available online through her website, most are out of stock. I know she’s been busy with the new Marley Resort in Cable Beach, Nassau Bahamas, but I’m wondering when she’ll return to doing what she does best, designing clothes for those individuals who dare to be different and are not afraid to live life out loud.
I’m on a mission today; one that will ensure I’m well enough to function by tomorrow morning because the world is unforgiving to a mom who succumbs to the awful dreaded cold virus. The world has the audacity to continue moving without taking into consideration how I’m feeling physically and mentally. In other words, a mother just can’t afford to be sick.
When one child falls ill, I’m usually pretty good at protecting everyone else in the household from getting sick. How? I immediately quarantine the child by sending him to his room, granting permission to leave only to use the bathroom. Everything he touches gets disinfected with Lysol or Clorox wipes. He is allowed, for this one occassion only, to break one of the golden house rules while he is serving his time in isolation, and that is to eat in his room. However, being allowed to break the rules doesn’t seem to make this unsolicited alone time a joyous affair. Unfortunately, it’s something I feel has to be done in order to prevent a widespread household epidemic. Right?
Usually, I’m good at spotting the warning sign very early on, but I don’t know how I allowed myself to be fooled by Monsieur G’s cold this time. I guess because it was so beguiling in appearance, hiding behind the symptoms of an allergy that I was so easily tricked. My guard was down, which made everyone in the household susceptible to this unseen enemy.
Well, reality hit Saturday morning at around seven when I was awakened by Monsieur D’s loud voice yelling, “Mom, he’s throwing up all over the place. It’s so gross!” Only then was I alerted to the virus’s true identity. Let me just tell you right now, I have a very weak stomach. And now, the first thing I have to do in the morning is clean up vomit. A couple months ago, when Monsieur D’s nose met the toilet bowl after he slipped in the shower, there was blood every where. Once I ran upstairs and caught sight of the blood splattered walls, I freaked out! He tried to calm me down by telling me he was fine and that I didn’t have to worry because he would clean the blood off the floor, walls, toilet, and tub. Phew! Though it was a relief to hear, I felt really bad because I’m suppose to have it together, be the tough one when something like this happens. Needless to say, I feared what awaited me downstairs.
Thank heavens it wasn’t as bad as Monsieur D made it seem. Since Monsieur G had nothing but water in his system there was nothing too disgusting to clean up. I simply pulled out my mini carpet cleaner, went work, and presto.
In the back of my mind, I knew it was already too late to quarantine this kid and that there was a great possibility we would all get sick. You know what comes next?? The hubby and Monsieur D, so far, seem to have swam through contaminated waters unscathed, but as far as I and Mademoiselle are concerned…we weren’t so fortunate.
Before I continue, let me tell you that Mademoiselle is a trooper. She’s not letting a little cold slow her down. But I, on the other hand, woke up this morning so very sick. I couldn’t even get out of bed. I laid there flat on my back as I talked on the phone with my grandmother. She told me I needed to make a tea with grapefruit, lemons, and onions. “Onions?” I asked. “That doesn’t sound appealing,” I added. “Trust me,” she said. “You’ll feel 100% better,” she continued.
I followed her instructions somewhat. I ate half of the grapefruit and cut the other half into slices before placing it into a small sauce pan along with slices of a whole lemon, and spring water. I let it bowl on low for an hour. I poured eight ounces of the liquid in a cup then allowed it to steep with a bag of echinacea elder tea for 15 minutes. The tea was actually tasty after I put a little honey in it. I had a bowl of chicken and wild rice soup in which I included a handful of raw onions and cayenne pepper (loaded with vitamin c). Yum!
While I’m not yet feeling one hundred percent, I feel a whole lot better than I did. The thing that seems to linger is a scratchy throat and a slight headache, but other than that I feel I will be able to prepare breakfast and a bag lunch for Monsieur D and take him to school; clean the kitchen, wash a load of clothes, put some clothes away, tend to Mademoiselle and Monsieur G (he’s doing a lot better, but I want to make sure he’s okay so he’s staying home today), finish typing up new rental agreements, make doctor’s appointments, coordinate a year end party for G’s lacrosse team, schedule a meeting with D’s teacher, help with homework, create a grocery list, learn a new program for producing the school’s weekly newsletter (my new position on the Parent Faculty Club, since when did they stop calling it the PTA), and everything else that goes along with being mama daily.