Favorite Things Friday: Cracker Chips

As you know, last month I jumped on the calorie-counter bandwagon in an attempt to shed some layers and return to a much healthier me.  I'll dish the scoop on month number two later, but now I want to share my happiest discovery thus far on this journey: Kellog's Special K Cracker Chips.

Sweets were never my cup of tea, but my love of carbs runs deep.  I crave them.  I need them.  I have to have them so no one gets hurt.  Bread, pasta, and crispy, crunchy, salty snacks were always my go-to comfort foods.  As I said last month, I haven't totally eliminated any specific foods from my diet, but simply eat them less frequently and in smaller portions than before.  It has worked well in regard to meals, I have adjusted and I'm content with my occasional carb indulgence, but there was a definite void in the snack department.  I love carrots, and applesauce, and fiber bars, but once in a while I need that delightful crunch you get only from eating a chip-like munchie food.  

As a result of this process, I have morphed into a die-hard label reader.  I don't eat anything without checking the stats and determining what consumption would mean to my overall bottom line for the day.  I have to say, the labels on traditional snack foods are enough to make my stomach turn and I just can't justify wasting that many of my precious daily calorie allotment on such junk.  Then I discovered these cracker-chips, and my world was suddenly right again.

The taste is hard to describe.  To me, it's sort of a mix between potato chip, cracker, rice cake, and the Mum-Mums Punky ate as a baby.  They are light and crispy, salty and crunchy, yet they seem to dissolve in your mouth with very little chewing.  They currently offer four flavors that mimic potato chip varieties, and I really like them all.  As an added bonus, Punky's dad hates them so my snacks are safe in the pantry.

I keep a box in my office at work for my mid-morning snack.  I only eat yogurt for breakfast, and by about ten o'clock my stomach starts to turn.  I was always like that.  If I don't eat something solid in the morning, I get very nauseous within hours.  These cracker-chips are perfect to curb that feeling while giving me a guilt-free fun snack just when I need it.  And at night, when I need that little something crunchy, they do the trick as well.  The sea salt variety is especially good with some mild salsa.

Now for the numbers: 110 calories per serving, and a serving is 27-30 chips depending on the variety.  Considering the cracker-chips are about the size of a half dollar, that's a mighty good snack in my book.  Most of the time, I only eat half a serving and it's more than enough to satisfy my munchie carb craving.  And 55 calories is easy to justify with the confines of my daily goal. 

So, go buy some of these chips and get snacking!  I can't let this product line fail or I'll be back to square one.

Favorite Things Friday: Bathroom Cleaner

Well, it's one day shy of a year since I've done one of these posts.  As Punky gets older, blogging is becoming much more difficult.  Not for a lack of material, that's for sure, but a lack of time.  Naps have officially gone out the window, bedtime has gotten later, and keeping her occupied long enough to finish a single paragraph without interruption is no easy task.  But I recently found something worthy of a favorite things post: Kaboom Foam-Tastic bathroom cleaner.

It's no secret that I'm no domestic goddess.  The little cooking I do, I do solely out of necessity.  In other words, Punky's dad is at work and I need to feed her something other than string cheese and oyster crackers.  In the same fashion, cleaning gets done when it needs to be done.  I'm not one of those women that clean for the hell of it.

I think the whole idea of having a spotless, picture-perfect house has gone by the wayside in my generation.  I remember my grandmother, and even my mom for that matter, routinely moving furniture to get near-invisible specks of fuzz off the carpet.  Curtains were washed frequently.  Summer and winter clothes were rotated and spent the off-season neatly packed away in boxes.  Who has time for that these days?  With both of us working full time and raising a two-year-old, we're lucky we have time for the basics.

Aside from the general straightening-up, the laundry gets done, the dishes get washed, kitchen counters get wiped, the garbage gets taken out, and the vacuum gets run at least once a week.  Mostly everything else gets done in small spurts when needed.

When the TV screen looks dirty, I clean it.  That means I grab the Windex and a paper towel and I'm finished in sixty seconds flat.  It does not mean I stop what I'm doing and spend the next hour cleaning the entire living room.  When the dust on my dresser is high enough for me to notice from across the room, I clean it.  Again, I grab the Pledge and a rag and I'm done in two minutes.  I do not clean the whole room right then.  When the microwave is gross, I clean it.  That simple act does not mean the whole kitchen gets scrubbed.

Most of the house gets cleaned this way, piece by piece, with one exception: the bathrooms.  And I'm really not sure why.  Maybe it's because they are small and deceitfully appear easier to tackle.  Maybe it's because when one thing in the bathroom is disgusting enough to catch my eye, I'm grossed out enough to want the entire room sparkling.  Maybe it's just because I love cleaning bathrooms.  No.  That one's definitely not it.

I hate cleaning the bathrooms.  Is there anyone who doesn't?  Bathrooms are yucky, stinky, germy little places.  Some would argue that cleaning the toilet is the worst chore of all.  I disagree.  I would clean the toilet a thousand times over if it meant not having to face my ultimate nemesis: the shower. 

The bathroom off our bedroom has a shower stall.  Two walls are tile, two walls are glass.  First of all, the only way to clean it is from the inside, which means getting covered in chemicals, breathing in toxic vapors, and ending up soaked from head to toe.  Not fun.  And to add insult to injury, most of the time the glass looks almost as bad when I'm finished as it did before I began. 

We're in this house almost three years and I've probably tried every shower cleaner on the market.  And they all suck.  No matter how much shit I cake on the glass, no matter how hard I scrub, no matter how much I rinse, it never looks clean.  A film of some unknown matter has a death grip on my glass and nothing can cut through it.  Over time, it really started pissing me off and landed me on a mission to find something, anything, that would work.  Well, it was either that or hire someone to etch the glass to make it less noticeable.  Oh yeah, I priced it.  

About two months ago, on one of those long insomnia-filled nights, I was channel surfing and saw a commercial for Kaboom Foam-Tastic.  I totally mocked the commercial like a six year old at recess.  Blue foam that magically turns white when the surface is clean...ah, bullshit.  The power of oxi-clean stain fighter...big deal.  No obnoxious fumes...yeah, right.  But, when I landed in the cleaning supplies aisle a few days later, I couldn't resist the temptation to buy a can.  Damn commercials.

It sat in the cabinet a few weeks while I mustered up the energy and desire to tackle the shower again.  On the can it clearly states that heavily-soiled areas may require longer contact time.  My shower surely qualified; I was prepared to let it sit a few days.  I sprayed the neon blue foam and within seconds it started turning white.  I stopped after half a wall and immediately started cursing.  Another shitty product that would leave my shower looking like hell.  There's no way it could work that fast, not on my armor-coated glass.  The worst part was that I still had to get in there and wipe it off, and then get soaked to rinse it.  

I was still bitching under my breath when I grabbed a rag and started wiping.  I could hardly believe my eyes.  The glass looked...clean.  Perfectly clear.  I couldn't see any trace of the film that clung to it for years.  I rinsed and dried a small section.  The glass felt...clean.  Perfectly smooth.  I couldn't feel any trace of the film with my fingertips.  I was completely dumbfounded.  

Once the initial shock wore off, I tackled the rest of the shower with a vengeance.  I sprayed the magical blue foam in every nook and cranny and giggled like a school girl as it turned white.  The more I sprayed, the louder I giggled.  I was like a mad scientist gushing over a new experiment.  Punky's dad came in to see what the hell the commotion was about and I gave him an over-excited, wide-eyed "It's alive! It's alive! It's alive!" 

He grabbed my hand and escorted me out to the porch for a much-needed breath of fresh air.  I think I was a bit buzzed.  I was so wrapped up in my science project I never even noticed the vapors building but it almost knocked him out when he opened the bathroom door.  So, while I have to say without a doubt that this stuff really works, I still get to call bullshit on their "no obnoxious fumes" claim. 

Of course, it could just be that I was trigger happy and sprayed almost an entire can in a matter of minutes while standing inside the 3' x 4' shower stall with the door closed.  I was having so much fun, I just couldn't help myself. 

Favorite Things Friday: Cross Stitch

If I had to name the one thing most I miss about my life post baby, it would be the time I used to spend cross stitching.  My Sunday morning routine used to consist of a pot of coffee, news shows, and sewing for a few hours.  Now I'm lucky to finish a single cup of coffee before it gets cold, cartoons have trumped my news shows, and cross stitching is a feat comparable to climbing Mount Everest.

It really is the oddest of hobbies for me.  Sometimes I still can't believe how much I truly enjoy it.  I never expected to, not in a million years.

Cross stitching involves a needle and thread.  That simple fact should've been enough to deter me.  Sewing is not my cup of tea.  The first day of eighth grade, when I realized protocol automatically signed me up for home economics, I marched right to the principal's office (along with three other girls) and switched classes.   Metal shop for half the year; wood shop for the other. How dare they assume that we would want to learn to cook and sew just because we're girls...

Cross stitching is crafty.  As in artsy-crafty.  As in not me at all.  I'm not the crafty, creative type. Also in eighth grade (damn, that was a rough year for me) my art teacher bluntly told me that my salt ceramic bunny was the ugliest rabbit she'd ever seen.   I can't draw.  I hate anything that involves glue, tape, or cutting straight.   Hell, at thirty-seven years old, I still don't stay in the lines when I color with Punky.

Cross stitching takes time and patience.   Let's just say patience never made my top ten list of shining qualities.   I'm not sure it even made the list at any number.  Normally I have none.  Not an ounce.  And cross stitching requires a great deal.   Maybe it helped prepare me for life with Punky because I've also been able to muster up the patience required to be a mama.   Most of the time...

About fifteen years ago, someone I worked with suggested I try cross stitching as a way to relax and de-stress.  I just laughed.  Apparently it was something she really enjoyed and she was one of those people who wouldn't let it go until I tried it.  So, I tried it...fully prepared to report how much I hated it and get her off my back.

Strange thing happened.  I didn't hate it.  I actually kind of enjoyed it myself.  It was tedious.  Monotonous.  Frustrating at times.  Finishing a single project would take forever.  Yet it was weirdly relaxing.  Almost trance inducing. It seemed to provide a steady beat...like a rhythm pulsing in the background...that actually helped me sort out my thoughts.   Put life in order. Restore a balance in the chaos.  Incredibly odd indeed.  I still haven't figured it out exactly.

Anyway, through the years I got used to spending a few hours a week, usually Sunday mornings, de-stressing with my cross stitch.  And I even managed to finish several projects and felt a sense of pride and accomplishment with each one.

When my nephew was born almost five years ago, I made him a cross stitch birth record.  A personal gift for my godson that he'd have forever.  Then my sister got pregnant again.  And I was going to have a beautiful goddaughter as well.   Can't play favorites...I needed to get stitching.

A few months would’ve been enough time to finish one under normal circumstances.   But I had one new factor in my life: Punky.  I finished my last cross stitch project about a month before Punky was born and hadn’t touched it since.  I did miss it and was really looking forward to getting back into the habit.  Making a birth record for my niece was the perfect opportunity.

Sitting and sewing for hours on end is no longer an option.  Even during her naptime on the weekends, I have other stuff to do.  Stuff that needs to be done.  And by the time she gets to sleep at night, my eyes are too tired to focus on those tiny little stitches.

I started my niece’s birth record in December, before we even knew it was a girl.  I took it to the hospital with me so I could work on it in peace while my sister was in labor.  Anyone who read that story knows how that went.  I only got to work on it about an hour.

I tried to step it up after her birth.  I had visions of finishing it about the time she entered junior high if I kept at the previous pace.  I snuck every free minute I could and set my sights on finishing it in time for her christening.

These last two weeks were rough.  I was hell bent and determined to finish in time.  I relied on Elmo videos to amuse Punky for a bit in the evening so I could work on it.  I stayed up late every night.   I even took it to work to sneak in forty-five minutes of stitching on my lunch hour.

The christening is tomorrow.  I finished about an hour ago.  Of course I still need to iron it, buy a frame, and get it in there straight.  I have that feat penciled in for the two hours between the ceremony at the church and the party in the afternoon.  But the stitching is done.  It counts.

Although it felt more like work than relaxation as I raced to finish these last few weeks, I’m anxious to start another project.  On my time though.  My very, very limited time.  But the opportunity to de-stress is one I really shouldn’t pass up if I can help it. It may take a few years to finish another one, but it’ll be worth it.

Favorite Things Friday: Face Gunk

I don't like putting gunk on my face.  I have been blessed with super-sensitive skin plus allergies to most soaps, lotions, and fragrances.  As a general rule, the more crap I pile on to help my skin, the worse it actually becomes. 

By the time I landed firmly in my thirties, I had come to terms with my less-than-perfect, easily irritated skin.  It went from one extreme to the other and back again.  I dealt with the monthly, cyclical break-outs and was fully aware of the consequences of chocolate indulgence.  Such is life.

I stopped trying to solve the mystery and obtain that magazine-cover flawless-looking skin.  I was old enough and wise enough to realize it was most likely all in the photography...and the touch-up session afterward.  Women don't really have skin like that.  Do they?

 

When I got pregnant with Punky, one thing I looked forward to most was the "glow" expecting women supposedly have and the beautiful, hormone-enriched radiant skin that creates it.  What a load of bullshit that is.  In reality, my skin went the opposite direction and got worse with each passing preggo week.  It was awful.  Quarter-size dry patches that would flake and peel throughout the day.  Acne in painful clusters popped up everywhere.  Ongoing redness that I couldn't conceal with any amount of make-up.  My skin was a complete mess.  So much for the glow...

After Punky's birth, I waited for all those hormones to subside and return to my normal, moderately shitty skin.  When it didn't change in a few months, I thought maybe it wouldn't until I stopped nursing.  Months after that milestone, there was still only a slight amount of improvement.  Dammit.

My nephew got me a gift card for my birthday and against my frugal judgement I decided to take a leap and spend it on some more expensive face gunk.  I hate spending money on stuff like that period.  I think the entire cosmetics industry is full of ridiculously over-priced junk that doesn't live up to the miracle claims made by the manufacturers.  But I was desperate.  I needed to try something.

While I was growing up, my mom always had a bottle of Oil of Olay in the bathroom and she used it faithfully.  After studing the aisle of options at the store, I chose to give it a shot.  I bought the Regenerist series and headed home to wait for my miracle.

I decided to use the scrub only once or twice a week.  My skin was so dry at the time and it seemed to only bring on more irritation in the beginning.  But I did start using the facial moisturizer and under-eye serum every day under make-up...new, more expensive make-up than I would typically use but also forked over the cash for to help aid in the miracle process. 

Days passed.  Weeks passed.  Then, about two months into my new routine, I had a sudden realization while glancing in the mirror.  My skin looked...great!  I was so wrapped up in everyday life that I hadn't even paid attention to the fact that the break-outs had subsided.  I didn't notice the disappearance of the flakes and itchiness.  It hadn't dawned on me that I no longer needed to re-apply make-up throughtout the day to mask all the imperfection.  For the first time since pre-puberty, my skin was clear.  Soft.  Healthy.  Maybe not magazine-cover airbrushed flawlessness, but close enough for me.  I even detected a hint of a glow...sans fetus.

In the back of my mind I couldn't help but think it was a fluke.  I prepared myself for the next monthly tide of hormones that would normally cause a problem, but no problem arrived.  It's been about four months now since I embarked on the journey, and all is well. 

So, I have no choice but to draw the conclusion that the Olay Regenerist products really worked for me and made a world of difference in my skin.  And my self image.  And my self confidence.  It could've been just pure coincidence I suppose, but I'm not willing to give up the gunk and find out.  I like this gunk, and I'm sticking with it.  

Favorite Things Friday: My Car

It's been a long time since I've done one of these posts, but I have something to bitch whine about and I thought it would fit the category.

I was twenty-one years old when I got my first car.  My parents could not afford to buy me one, and discouraged me from doing do until I was almost through with college.  We finally reached the point where they thoroughly had it with me using Mom's to commute back and forth an hour each way to school five days a week, to work a few days a week, and to stay out till four a.m. with friends as often as I could.  They caved.

It took forever to find a vehicle we could agree on... See, I was still in school and living at home, so they tactfully played the "my house, my rules, my insurance" card.  After a six month search through every used car in a twenty mile radius, we finally found something responsible, reliable and affordable...that wasn't a butt-ugly granny-mobile.  A teal blue Chevy Baretta.  We put down a deposit and headed to the bank.  I was absolutely thrilled...

Until the phone call the next day.  Apparently a drunk driver fell asleep at the wheel and took out about eight parked cars.  My soon-to-be Baretta was one of them.  We were back to square one and I was about out of patience.

Soon after my mom and I went car shopping alone to a dealership in another city.  The stars aligned and I left there with my very first car.  Finally.  A brand new 1993 Chevy Cavalier.  Bright red.  They made one us one heck of a deal, I could afford the payments, it was a reliable vehicle, and although it didn't scream "hip, cool chick" it wasn't ugly enough for me to be embarrassed driving it.  

My dad wasn't exactly thrilled when we pulled in the driveway with a brand new car, but I think my mom was tired of all the searching and caved just to get it over with...hehehe.  I spent the summer washing and waxing that car at every available opportunity.  The newness wore off come fall, but I still took care of it.  I was paying for it after all.

It lasted until 1999 when a head gasket went and the motor cooked.  I was on my own then so I had the freedom of choice for my next car.  I was spoiled by having a new one as my first; I wouldn't even consider a used one the second time around.  Especially not after the six-month ordeal it was last time.  But, I was also poor.  Student loans, rent, planning a wedding...I had to settle for practical if I wanted something new.

A 1999 Chevy Tracker.  Also bright red.  I know, right?  What the hell was I thinking?  It ended up being a really reliable vehicle.  Four wheel drive for the winter, soft top for that wind-blown look in the summer, incredible on gas.  Most of the time I owned it I was working literally a few blocks from home.  When I finally traded it in in 2007, it only had 40,000 miles on it and was in excellent condition.  But this time I was prepared.  I did my homework.  I saved my money.  I knew exactly what I wanted and how much I needed to put down to afford the payments.

In April 2007 I bought my current vehicle.  A Mercury Milan.  And I absolutely love my car.  All-wheel drive, V6, dual exhaust, sunroof, spoiler, fantastic on gas, all the options available (except leather seats, I don't like burning my A in the summer and freezing it in the winter), and finally an adult color.  My car has spunk.  It's fun to drive.  It's comfy as hell and that matters to me with all the driving I do these days.  It screams business professional yet young and sporty at the same time.  Did I already say that I love my car?

No doubt about it, I was planning on buying another one in a year or two.  I've already been saving my pennies for a nice down payment.  There's no way I would even consider buying a different vehicle.  No way in hell.

I got a letter in the mail last week and was almost driven to tears.

It said, and I quote, "The final production on all Mercury vehicles will take place in the third quarter of this year.  The brand is being discontinued."

Not only no more Milans.  No. More. Mercury. Period.

Dammit.

I've spent the past week mumbling, grumbling, whining, and cursing.  Now what the hell am I supposed to buy?  I love my car (in case you missed that part) and there's no way I can afford a new one by the end of this year.

I have a few choice words for the Ford Motor Company.  

Shitheads.

Favorite Things Friday: Chocolate

What woman doesn't have chocolate on her list of favorite things?  Such a creature may exist but I've never encountered one.  Most women know the secret: Chocolate can cure almost anything.

Have a bad day at work?  Chocolate can make it better. 
Have a great day at work?  Chocolate can help you celebrate. 
Feel stressed to the core?  Chocolate can relieve the tension. 
In need of a little afternoon pick-me-up?  Have some chocolate. 
Are you feeling sad and lonely?  Curl up on the couch with a box of assorted chocolates and watch your favorite sappy chick flick. 
Mad at your guy for (insert annoying man behavior here)?  Chocolate can reduce argument length by up to 50% when used regularly.  Individual results may vary.
That magical time of the month?  Gimme the damn chocolate and nobody gets hurt.

It's an unrealistic fantasy to be able to survive solely on chocolate but it would be fun to try.  I can't be the only one who has that daydream.  Besides, if you normally ate nothing but chocolate, what would you eat for comfort in the situations above?  As healthy as it may be, no amount of carrot sticks will get me through PMS... unless perhaps I have a sling shot and can shoot them at people at random.  That would help a bit.

Over-indulging on chocolate regularly is surely a health no-no, but rewarding yourself with the sweet stuff once in a while is a well deserved treat.  And almost every major holiday brings chocolate temptations in one form or another so who can resist?  

Anyway, my chocolate of choice... Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.  When I'm faced with a dire chocolate craving it's the only thing that brings satisfaction.  It's my escape when I need it, my reward when I deserve it, and it keeps me from smacking some poor soul about once a month.

I've been enjoying these "favorite things" posts, but I think this will be the last for a few weeks.  I'd like to find a few different themes to make me think and maybe cycle them every month or so.  I've been kicking around a few ideas for next Friday but haven't settled on one...and I'm kidding myself if I think I'll do so before next Friday around ten p.m. 

Favorite Things Friday: Coffee

I'm a coffee drinker.  Always have been.  Always will be.

And by coffee drinker, I mean a coffee drinker.  No fancy latte, no espresso, no cappucino, no flavored crap in my coffee, and for God's sake I don't want it iced.  I like a plain cup of joe.  Hot.  Fresh.  A dash of cream and sugar.  And maybe a shot of mudslide now and then... 

And by coffee drinker, I also mean I am perfectly happy drinking nothing but coffee and water, all day, every day.  Sure, I crave the occasional glass of lemonade or maybe even a soda, but that happens so rarely.  Certainly I drink more coffee daily than any doctor would recommend, but I also drink far less soda, sugary juices, and alcohol than they deem acceptable... so somewhere in my head the math works out evenly and I figure I'm no worse off than the next guy. 

Regular or decaf?  Both.  Aside from needing at least one cup with caffeine to get me moving in the morning, I do truly like both.  In fact, years ago when I worked in a restaurant, my favorite thing to do was to mix half a cup of each.  That was the best coffee ever. 

Brand?  Maxwell House all the way.  No others even come close but I'm sure some would disagree.  And my absolute favorite is the Maxwell House Lite with half the caffeine of regular coffee.  It's kind of like having that half cup of each mixed together... 

When I was pregnant almost two years ago, I worshipped this coffee.  Doc's orders were simple: Only one cup of regular coffee a day, but you can drink all the decaf you want.  This "lite" stuff was perfect.  I was able to have two cups in the morning instead of only one.  I found a loop hole.  I felt like I was getting away with something and sticking it to the man in my hormone-infused preggo state of mind.

I think I'll put a pot of coffee on... It's Friday night so I can go full strength.  Maybe I'll be able to stay awake after Punky goes to bed and actually get something done around here. 

Favorite Things Friday: Sneakers

I'm frugal.  Okay...cheap.

Not to the point of a coupon fanatic, but there are just some things I refuse to spend a lot of money on because they get used and/or destroyed.

Sneakers were one of those things.  They get dirty, muddy, uncomfortable.  The rubber soles inevitably start pulling away under the toes.  The stitched seams begin to fray.  Fifteen to twenty dollars was all I was willing to dish out for a pair.  Period.

A few years ago, my mom (on the advice of my sister) bought a pair of Skechers.  Plain, white slip-ons...nothing fancy...and I laughed my ass of at her old lady sneakers.  They had no laces yet she swore they didn't slip off her feet.  She said they were super comfy.  I could've bought four of my cheap but normal looking pairs for what she paid for those ridiculous things.  Never...

A few months passed and we had several conversations about the sneakers she had come to adore.  I needed new sneakers.  I swallowed my pride and gritted my teeth as I coughed up the money for an identical pair...

That was almost four years ago.  I still have those sneakers.

They are comfy, even after years of use.  They've held up through all the dirt and mud.  They are still white, not right off the shelf white, but not the disgusting frayed white most sneakers turn after only minimal wear.  The rubber soles are still intact with no signs of peeling.  

If and when the times comes that I need a new pair, I'm buying another exactly like them.  It turned out to be a great value for me after all; I would've bought six to eight pairs of my old cheap ones over the years I've been wearing these.  

I love my old lady slip-on Skechers.  

And I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Favorite Things Friday: Mint Lip Balm

I know I mentioned this addiction before and it resides near the top of my list of favorite things.  Interestingly enough, just last week the question of the day on Ask.com was whether or not you can truly be addicted to lip balm.  All the scientific evidence says no; I beg to differ.

The winter I was eight years old started me on the road to addiction and there's been no turning back...

That winter my lips were chapped.  I'm not talking a little chapped.  I mean severe chappage, if you will.  Swollen, dried, cracked, bloody, burning lumps of mangled flesh.  It hurt to talk.  Eating was pure misery.  Smiling was not possible.  Kids at school were ruthless.

I remember my mom gave me some cherry and orange chapstick to combat the problem.  No matter how much of that crap I caked on, my lips were still on fire.  I needed relief.  I needed something to cool the burn.

Somehow I managed to get my hands on the mint variety of chapstick.  Ahh... something was different about the mint.  It tingled.  And cooled the burning sensation.  I re-applied it every time it wore off and my lips began to heal.  They returned to nomal size.  The cracks closed up.  The burning stopped.  I could eat, smile, laugh...and the kids at school quickly forgot the mess I'd been prior to my mint chapstick revelation.

I vowed to never have a repeat of that episode.  My mint chapstick became a routine part of my daily life.  Get out of bed in the morning, apply chapstick.  Brush teeth, apply chapstick.  After a meal, apply chapstick.  Heading outside in the winter wind or the summer sun, apply chapstick.  Any time my lips feel the slightest bit dry, apply chapstick.

In my teens I graduated to mint blistex.  It was much less waxy than the chapstick kind but still had the awesome medicated tingle and cool sensation.  And it felt more grown up somehow.

By the time I graduated college and entered the official real world, I once again changed my preferred choice for minty relief.  I moved on to Natural Ice. It is smoother and lighter on my lips than blistex.  And has SPF 15.  And the same cool tingle.  It's still my choice today and I have no plans on changing unless they stop making it.

The issue I found through the years with all of the mint sticks is the difficulty in finding them in the stores.  I don't know why it is the least popluar flavor and not even carried at all by many drug stores and retailers.  In today's internet world it's not as big a deal; I simply order a box online any time my supply is getting low.  Okay... two boxes... to qualify for free shipping, of course...

We are smack-dab in the middle of another freezing winter. I encourage everyone to feel the tingle and soothe the burn.  Get some mint lip balm.  It's good stuff.  I'd be miserable without it.

But be careful.  Addiction may occur without warning.

Favorite Things Friday: Nose Strips

The time I spend commuting gives me the opportunity to think.  My mind is free to bounce from idea to idea... problem to problem... memory to memory. It's my time to unwind, regroup, sort my emotions, reflect on the past, plan for the future...

While driving this week, I got to thinking about all the little things in life I wouldn't want to do without.  I'm talking simple things...my awful head cold didn't allow for any in-depth analysis of complex subject matter.

There are so many everyday things that make my life easier.  Better.  Happier.  Common products in this modern age that I take for granted but would surely miss if they were to disappear.  If I ever get stranded on a deserted island...

In a few short moments, I created quite the list in my head... which in turn led to this idea.  On Fridays I plan to post a favorite thing that fits this category.  I can't promise every Friday but I'll give it my best shot.  Any product or service I write about is something I truly use and would recommend to others.  I am not being compensated in any way for expressing these opinions.  I am simply sharing things I like and wouldn't want to live without.

So, given my head cold from hell this week, it's only appropriate to start with Breathe Right nose strips.  I use these faithfully every night.  I'll happily look like a dork if it means actually falling asleep.

With all my allergies, I have at least one nostril blocked at all times.  Falling asleep was such a struggle most nights when I couldn't breathe through my nose.  I'd position myself on my side with one hand wedged under my face in an attempt to stretch open a nasal passage so I could breathe.  I was never able to fall asleep with my mouth open so that wasn't an option either.  Sometimes hours would pass before I'd fall asleep. 

A few years ago I saw the commercial and tried these sticky little things.  I honestly didn't expect them to work.  The whole idea seemed ridiculous to me...like a sticky little tab was going to stay in place on my face all night long, without making my nose itchy, and actually help me breathe.  Yeah, right.

To my utter amazement, they do.  All of the above.  I can breathe through my nose and drift off to sleep in a matter of minutes rather than hours...aside from the occasional bout of insomnia here and there.  They stay put while sleeping and are easily removed come morning. 

Honestly, I think they are a bit expensive and they do leave a gooey, gluey residue on your face after removal.  For me it is money well spent on a good night's sleep and the goo is gone with soap and water. 

Look out Bruce Johnson.  If we ever meet, you're getting one hell of a kiss.