The rest of life

Is really hard. School is great. I'm learning a ton, and finding out that I am pretty damn well off in the brains department.

What I'm finding difficult is balancing everything else. I mean, I used to work full time with a baby, and still managed to get everything done in time to have an hour for my husband each evening, even if that hour was spent watching Survivor.

Now I find that everything gets gypped: computer time, housework, meal preparation (South Beach Diet? What is this of which you speak?), quality child time, quality husband time, personal time...baths...

I am spinning each morning, trying to get everyone out of the house with backpacks, lunches, jackets, pacifiers, checks for daycare, checks for afterschool programs, picture money, library books, homework, coffee, nametag on uniform...well, you get the picture. It's getting so frazzled, I actually locked myself and the children out of the house one morning last week. Had my coffee and homework, had no car/house keys.

Oh, and my uniform? Is WHITE. Which is great for work...it can be bleached clean. But not so hot for trying to get to work in the fast lane drinking my coffee. Or for sticky baby hands that want to maul you when you walk in the door.

So I've taken to making tons of checklists. And laying everything out the night before. And fixing lunches, eating breakfast, and packing backpacks in my underwear.

Owie Chowie

Today we waxed. And waxed. And waxed.

My brows, my upper lip and my armpits are bare as a baby's bottom. How supermodels and porn stars do this shit all the time is beyond me. But I'll be virtually hairfree for two weeks, so it was definitely worth it.

Later this week we do legs. And arms. Not that I ever thought my arms *needed* waxing, but hey...it's for credit, so rip it out, baby!

Oh, and Jill was out today. I thought perhaps last week just fried what might be left of her brain and she dropped out. Alas, sick kid. But she missed the waxing videos and demos.

I'll be damned if I'm letting her try it out on *me*.

Now why didn't I think of that?

This week we are starting skin ananlysis: skin types, skin conditions, contraindications for facial massage/products, etc. There was a whole section on skin medications, and which can keep you from performing a facial on a client.

Apparently there is a whole group of drugs made for acne (Accutane being the best known) that actually thin your skin something fierce. They make you shed more skin cells. In fact, they are being monitored closely by the FDA, since taking Accutane in too large a dose makes your ORGANS actually shed cells. Freaky.

Most of us are horrified at that thought, and make a note that if someone is on Accutane, we don't want to do anything to exfoliate or make them lose more facial skin than they already are.

Jill's question?

"So does that stuff make you lose weight then?"

This blog's about to get busy

Because I fully expect to have many stories to share about school.

First of all, I LOVE IT. LOVE LOVE LOVE it. We just jumped right in and actually began giving facial massages today on real people. We face the public in less than two weeks. Much to learn in a little time, and then I am going to be trusted to rip hairs from total strangers.

Beauty school? Ain't nothing like college, friends. I am going to be a total snob and say there's a reason why you only need a 10th grade education and a GED to attend. I'm one of two people in the class over 25. Most are 18-20. Really a bunch of sweethearts, most of them. But a few? Not the sharpest knives in the drawer, friends. Especially one, let's call her "Holy Shit if you ask one more stupid question that the teacher just answered five seconds ago, but you would know if you'd had your head out of ass, I am going to poke my eye out with this comedone extractor"...or Jill, for short.

Jill actually looks like she's stoned. She acts like she's stoned. She drops her stuff, rummages in her bag, gets up at inappropriate times and knocks people's books down while walking through the room.

Apparently Jill doesn't abide by the adage "there are no stupid questions", because she asks the DUMBEST questions. Seriously. Think "so, are they gonna pay us to do a facial and how much money do we get" questions. Um, dumbass...it's a beauty school. They pay the school, not you, moron. And if I were you, I'd not be looking for a big tip, either.

Today we were discussing contraindications for treatments: obvious rashes, heart conditions, visible sores, etc. Basic stuff. She begins her stupid-diatribe with "can't I just send them to the manicurist if they want a foot treatment and have dirty feet" and moved on to "do I have to do a bikini wax if someone has herpes"? Short answer: yes...because you wear gloves, and if you don't see it, who cares, you're safe. Also...it's your FUCKING JOB. But that really wasn't enough. We had a TEN minute discussion about herpes, transferrence of herpes, how gross they are, how her sister got them from giving a blowjob, etc...TEN MINUTES. Finally I just asked the teacher "um, is this on the test tomorrow"? To which she looked relieved to have an out, said "NO", and we got to move on.

But this chick...seriously, I will start documenting. And reporting.

But other than Jill, the class is great. The teacher, Miss M, is about as big as a minute and newly pregnant, so she excuses herself to either eat a snack or pee every hour. Homework consists of ONE chapter and the cooresponding workbook page. Where the young'uns kvetch and moan and freak, I'm like: dude, it beats the hell out of five chapters of Chekov's "The Cherry Orchard" and a five page essay to go along with it. Typed, double spaced.

My essay due Friday? "Why I want to be an esthetician". It's okay if I write it by hand on notebook paper. With the little spiral edgies torn and hanging.

Dude, I love school.

...my lunch packed up...my shoes tied tight...

Yep, back to school. That's me. After about 7 years of wondering what it would be like to pick zits and get paid, I get to find out, starting Monday.

See, I'm a "picker" from way back. I distinctly remember in the seventh grade, sitting next to a girl with a big yellow headed zit on her nose. She just kept talking to me, acting as if nothing was awry. All the while I'm nodding and smiling, I'm thinking "My God, woman! Do you not FEEL that humungous zit on your schnoz? I mean, it's like a red ringed sun, right there on your face! Two seconds and I can totally get rid of it for you."

On my own face? I can never leave it alone. I am the one that loves a great overhead light in a friend's bathroom, just because I can sneak up close to the mirror after I flush and wash my hands and squeeze just that ONE IRRITATING PIMPLE that keeps taunting me. And god help me if I find a magnifying mirror. It's all over and they may as well think I fell in...because I'm not coming out for ten minutes.

People with mild obsessiveness over things like this do one of two things: become accountants or estheticians. I never got better than a C in math, so I'm going for esthetician.

Not only do I get to give facials and make people happy all day long, but I get to pop millions of offending zits, making cleaner faces and happier people.

Then? I get to be trained in waxing. As a firm believer that eyebrows make or break the face, I get to give people beautiful arches and banish all the unwanted stubble. Clean your stubble, clean your life, man. It's a purge. Tell me you don't feel you've lost a layer of filth when you shave? I get to offer that to people. And they will PAY me to do it.

So Monday it begins. I'm going to Beauty School. Ask my mom how happy she is for me, after blowing about $100K on a nice fancy bachelor's degree. I was able to allay her fears by telling her I would someday put it to use again...when I own my own high priced and hoity toity salon.

Everyone else says it better than I can, but this? Comes awful close.

Worst Mom moment ever.

My son grabbed my curling iron off the counter. Full on hand grab...hot ass iron....it's bad news. Have you ever seen the scream of no sound? Yeah, that. We saw that, then it was followed by an hour of ungodly screaming.

Ice, neosporin, bandaids, ice water bowl in the bathtub, and lots of "don't touch it honey" later, and we're okay today.

But Friday was BAD.

And I feel like a shit mom. Of course, it's not technically my fault. The baby just got fricking tall over the last few weeks or something. And I need to put that shit to the back of the counters, apparently.

This weekend? We bolt all drawers, especially those with knives. :/

Possibly the best carrot cake you'll ever have

And I made it last weekend for my friend's birthday party. Make it, I promise you'll like it.

1 package spice cake mix
1 3.4 oz. butterscotch instant pudding mix
3/4 C orange juice
1/2 C vegetable oil
4 large eggs
3 C. grated carrots (about 5 medium)
1/2 C. raisins
1/2 C. chopped walnuts or pecans

Mix it all together and bake it at 350 for30-35 minutes for two 9" round pans. (Greased and floured, or lined with parchment paper).

Assemble cake in layers with some cream cheese frosting (I cheated and used canned).

Top with more nuts if you like, or just hack into it and eat a big fat piece, like I did. :)