Thanks to Nutrisse, my hair is getting better nutrition than my children.

Full disclosure: The L’Oreal Incident did not drive me back to the salon (still thrifty!), but my hair-on-fire post was several weeks ago¹, and it is already time for a root touch-up on the hair color.

[Note: I moved the footnote up here so you might actually read it before you get too tired. Skip down if you want.]

¹This post was actually drafted May 29, 2013.My failure to post in a timely fashion was due to:(a) my natural tendency to start far more things than I will ever finish, including stripping and/or reupholstering old furniture, various needle crafts, interesting and uninteresting conversations, sentences, thoughts, graduate degrees and blog posts, and/or (b) genuine concern that the act of carefully documenting how I frequently fail at the most basic of adult life tasks (which is the theme of most of these blog entries, if you didn’t already pick up on that) will not result in something so ridiculously comical as to be redemptive and ultimately restorative to my sense of self-worth; rather, it will result in a self-absorbed,  pathetically detailed re-living of  my feelings of inadequacy and serve only to grease the slippery slope on the negative spiral of depression.  Which is I guess what happened.  Which is why many people choose paid employment over blogging, I suppose.  Something to think about for next time.

So I am back to brown  Good old brown.  Brown, brown, brown.  Actually, Nutrisse, Medium Ashy Brown, or something like that. Garnier, you have some really uninspired names compared to L’Oreal.  But the color looks good, which is the thing that matters, right?  And Garnier Nutrisse is the only permanent haircolor creme that nourishes with grape seed and avocado oil. The nourishing color creme enriched with fruit oil concentrate, penetrates deep into hair fibers to nourish and condition and blah blah blah.  All’s well that ends well.  (And, since we have had ZERO sun this “spring,” the color should actually stay brown for awhile too.)

French Eclair is actually Cheetos Orange.

Just don’t be seduced by those delicious-sounding L’Oreal names like”French Eclair” which in fact deep-fried my hair to a shade more like Cheetos Orange. Truth in advertising, people.

The most exciting development in the past several weeks [again, remember we are still in May] is not the return to brown hair color, though.  It is that my cartoon blog hero, Allie Brosh, has returned after a long absence to once again give us a brilliantly illustrated, hilarious and soul-baring tale of her Depression, Part 2.  So honest and fresh and (judging from the several thousand comments) clearly the best thing many people have read about such a difficult to describe condition.

Did you ever go check out her blog?  Well, I have asked you several times in a nice voice, and I’m losing my patience, so don’t make me–oh, wait, never mind. I forgot who I was talking to because I have mainly been talking to the kindergartner and the second grader.  Sorry.  Because I am not your mother I will not pull rank and threaten you with my big voice or loss of privileges or anything like that.  I will simply say, lightly, breezily, even, (I should really try this with the kids, shouldn’t I?)  “Say . . .you might enjoy reading this cartoon blog?”  (And as I type the question mark at the end of the sentence, I am reminded of and actually embodying the suggestive selling technique of the Chi-Chi’s wait staff, who according to my inside sources (thanks Jo) were instructed to respond to all margarita orders with a specially choreographed head-tilt and this pithy little up-sell: “Jumbo?” )

Proper execution of the head tilt is not unlike an attentive pup.  Allie's simple-minded dog demonstrates.

Proper execution of the Chi-Chi’s head tilt is not unlike a dog trying in earnest to understand what you have just said.  Allie’s simple-minded dog demonstrates.

And not only might you enjoy reading the blog, as an added educational bonus, you might also think twice before saying or doing anything to someone who may be clinically depressed that might inadvertently make them feel worse, for example like telling them to “Look at the bright side!” or “Stay positive!” or “Enjoy each day!”  (i.e. Let’s name all the things I can’t do!”).  Please go there now . . .

My other exciting development is that we have hosted a number of recent pizza oven gatherings and I am actually getting better at being a hostess that doesn’t just invite the people over and then sit on my ass while my chef husband does all the work!  You *can* in fact teach an old dog new tricks!

Had to take a photo of the second-grader’s Lego vignette of a typical pizza party.  Pretty good reenactment!


The second-grader's Lego reenactment of a pizza party.  I love how she has herself serving us, which has pretty much never happened.  The kindergartner and me waiting to be served is pretty accurate, though.

I love how she has herself serving us (which has pretty much never happened).  For added realism, I would take the little orange flames off the Batmobile and add them to the oven, and put me in the lounge chair from the Olivia’s House set, with a wine goblet from the Castle figure guy.  The kindergartner would be doing couch dives.

Lucky Pierre's Pizza Parlor, by Dennis Price.  Don't you want to build this?

Lucky Pierre’s Pizza Parlor, by Dennis Price. Don’t you want to build this?

My husband is a way more on-task and generous host and when we entertain he usually has to remind me to put down my glass of wine and get off my butt and go see if the other guests need anything.  Only he says it nicely.  It’s just my weird brain that translates poorly and adds words like “lazy” and “for god’s sake.”  Or maybe it’s something in his clipped tone.  Anyway, he will sometimes ask “Can you give me a hand?” which is a little vague so maybe I have a blank expression while I’m processing what exactly he means.

Again, Allie's dog illustrates.

Again, Allie’s dog illustrates.

So then he will then give me short commands that a Labrador could easily follow, like “Get the plates” or “Dress the salad” or “Find some forks” or “Answer the door” while he mans the pizza oven and does all the kitchen stuff.  And if I pass some of those tests we move on to more complicated commands like “Can you make sure the kids have their food? And see what they need to drink.” And then he lets me take it from there without laying out each of the following steps (i.e. ask the kids what they want to drink, find the cups, pour the beverages, pass them out–no, wait, you need to first check with the parents, okay–Can your kid have an Izzy or just milk?  Okay now pass out the drinks,  etc. etc. I surprise myself by finding out that I actually can do all this stuff once I start, it’s just that it’s complicated, and I don’t usually think of things in advance, anticipating what might need to be done, so that ahead-of-the-game, on-top-of-things, competent adult feeling remains elusive. . .

This weekend, however, I helped serve, paid attention to when other people’s glasses needed refilling, washed some dishes as the evening was still in full-swing, and was generally dialed-in and aware of what needed to be done around me.  It even seemed a little effortless.  Fortunate timing in the ADD cycle?  Is ADD even cyclical, or is it just all the other hormones that determine my well-being and general competence or lack thereof?  Who can say.

Maybe the goal is don't get stuck in any one stage for too long.

I don’t really follow this model.  Maybe the goal is don’t get stuck in any one stage for too long.

Let me just add that you have certainly stepped up your entertaining game, Mr. Enz.  In college you would set out large metal bowls of Froot Loops (do I have that right?  Or was it in fact Lucky Charms?) for snacks and serve enough beer that it was, in your mind, a very legitimate affair.  I sort of miss those days of hosting party-goers with so few expectations.  (Beer?  Oh, Yay!)

Which reminds me of the not-so-good development, which is that we have a perfect storm brewing on the Nutritional Shame front right now, because when we entertain, which lately has been often, several nights a week, the kindergartner is allowed to drink Sprite.

I do really like the old logo.

Don’t you love the old logo?  Here, the Sprite name clearly evokes “elf” or “sprite-like elf” i.e. the kindergartner.

So there we are at Southdale Pediatrics for the six-year check-up and the pediatrician is telling us, I mean the kindergartener, no I guess I actually do mean us,  that we have to eat real vegetables, not just do the Flintstones vitamins gummies for our nutrition.  The kindergartner has taken a recent interest in reading food labels, and is explaining that even his (sugar) cereal has “some grams of protein” and probably vitamins, but she tells him that it is just added stuff.   It’s not real.   It’s not the same as the vitamins we get from eating fruits and vegetables.  (I did know this, didn’t I?  Of course I did.  Pretty much.  But I still make a little mental note to ask my food scientist husband if your body can for sure really tell the difference?  Even if you buy the co-op vitamins? But then why do they go to all that trouble to fortify the milk with Vitamin D if it isn’t all that good? Conscious incompetence setting in. . .)

I nod along as if the pediatrician and I and all the other adults of the world have been in agreement on this fact for some time now, feeling like a bad actor, like the bad Munchausen mother, trying to pretend I don’t notice the confused look on the kindergartner’s face as he wonders “Why am I just now hearing for the first time that my vitamins aren’t real?”

There is always much ado about the day's preferred shape and color.

There is always much ado about the day’s preferred shape and color. (Thanks to backyard produce blog for the nice photos.  Although I’m guessing you wouldn’t really endorse these, either?)

But why have we never gotten the Great Gazoo?  No fair.

But why have we never gotten the Great Gazoo? No fair.

I like our pediatrican a lot, and it isn’t like she’s a super hippy dippy health nut or a food nazi or anything.  She is only taking extra time to go over all of this with him us, because when she asked him, “What do you like to eat?” he said, “Macaroni and cheese!” and she asked “What else?” and he said, “Pizza!” and she asked “What else?” and he couldn’t think of anything else.  So she asked what kinds of things he likes to eat on his pizza and he said, “Cheese!” and she said, “How about any vegetables?” and then he made a bad face.  She asked him what he likes to drink and this he answered very excitedly, as if she were actually taking beverage orders.


Genuine excitement, as he believed his doctor was offering him a soda.

Genuine excitement, as he believed his doctor was about to bring him a soda, on a tray or something.

“Well, only sometimes,” I clarified.  “On special occasions.”  Days ending with y.

“What else?”  she asked and he said, “Fruit Punch!” and I’m thinking this is where I feel like I need to say something that will indicate that I am, in fact, an educated person (how else would she know?), and my husband even is a professional, and we do know about nutrition, but no wait maybe I need to just play my Hillbilly Card, which is closer to the truth anyway, a sincere, sheepish nod to indicate “our diet needs work” because anyone who really knows me knows that vegetarianism just means no meat, it doesn’t necessarily mean vegetables and organic  and tofu, although I do occasionally eat those things too.  But fortunately, she finally asked, “What do you usually have to drink with dinner,” and he said, “Milk!” so I guess we kind of redeemed ourselves in the eleventh hour.

After his appointment we went to Broder’s Deli for lunch, and instead of getting a breadstick with his cheese pizza, we ordered a side of asparagus.  And it was delicious.  I felt both pleased with our good choice, and somewhat appalled when I realized how frequently I take the path of least resistance instead of the right path when it comes to our nutrition.  It was such a small, easy step.  Food for thought.

Lucky us.

Lucky us.


2 thoughts on “Thanks to Nutrisse, my hair is getting better nutrition than my children.

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