Mrs. CPA

Much Like The Mom Jean, Mom Hair Must Be Observed in its Natural Habitat

Observe the Evolution:

At one point, I looked like this:

 

Long, Blond hair and my teeth hadn't begun to mutiny. 

My hair styles rapidly devolved into THIS:

 

 

That was an outfit the Easter bunny brought me when I was in the third grade. It was my favorite. The pants MATCHED. I think the haircut speaks for itself. It was actually an improvement over the bangs in the front - curly in the back look I had going for the 1st and second grade. There's picture I can't seem to locate right now of my holding a long, unattached to my scalp ponytail. Which is what started this whole mess.

 

I really don't know when this hair style came into being. I think my subconscious has blocked it. I did keep you from having to see the "rockin' around the clock" dancers on my fabulous sweater. You'll thank me later.

The hair though, dear Jesus, what was going on here? It was like I tried for a mullet and couldn't quite get there.

 

This must have been some time around 6th grade, right before I got braces. I couldn't spare you this splatter painted masterpiece. I hope it's a long time before you have to go to sleep, you might have nightmares about it. May I also point out my cruel attempt at "fixing" my bangs? It looks like a bat slept in the front of my head, I work up and saw it , and said "Huh, Kelly that looks fabulous, now go put on that multicolored shirt of awesomeness and your paint palette-swatch-knockoff-watch and get  yourself to school!"

I was delusional.

Probably rabies from the bat. 

This photo, conveniently dated 1989 on the back, is something my children will use at my competency hearing when I am 77. "Look, she wore her pants up around her armpits! Her hair could have been used as a satellite. It's blending into the walls! And the suspenders! Our mother had clearly lost her mind even then, judge!"

I won't fault the judge a bit when he commits me.

At least I don't have on a belt.

 

I call this one, idious-junior-highus because clearly, I have no freaking idea how ridiculous I look with curly hair. And if you can't recognize the patented pre-teen look of disgust on my face, then you haven't lived a full life.

Eventually, I got a little sense and straightened that lama perched atop my head.

There was this one time when I went to the beauty shop and requested that the stylist (and I use that term in the broadest sense of the word) "Make my hair look good so it can grow out." I had about 2 inches of hair left on my head. And the closer my hair gets to my scalp, the more long and oval my face gets. I basically looked like Bert. (That was the one and only time I have ever cried about a haircut. I probably should have done that more often, but like I said, I had no sense.)

As an adult, I haven't really learned my lesson. I continue to walk in Super Cuts and expect them to make me look like Cat Deely.

Need I mention that my hair is so thick that when it starts falling out after I've given birth, it's not noticeable?

This is what my hair looks like tonight. A day past needing to being washed, and in 100 degree Arkansas 4th of July weather.

I want to walk in somewhere and say, "Make my hair look good." And two hours later ,walk out, having said nothing else, and look my best.

People at Sparrow Hair - please fix this for me. I promise I'll say y'all a lot and let you have your way with me, as long as it includes highlights.

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Why am I posting unflattering photos of my hair disasters? I want to win something, of course.

In a few weeks (wOOt!) I'll be at Blogher and there's an awesome contest (sponsored by these awesome bloggers and hair folks: Foodmomiac, No Pasa Nada, Friday Playdate and Sparrow Hair.) to win a hair makeover. Which I desperately need. And I'm not afraid to beg.

I Went to CPE Last Week and Took Some Notes for You

 

I had to eat a semi-gross Jason’s Deli box lunch. Why do I always get the one with the gross peanut butter cookie? (Don’t argue with me, it’s gross.) The lunch on Wednesday was much better than Friday’s lunch.

There was almost a cage match between this old guy with Mister Wilson glasses and haircut and the instructor, who probably weighs 100 pounds soaking wet. They were arguing about GOODWILL. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that accountants aren’t passionate. It may be passion about the Financial Accounting Standards Board having a double standard in regards to asset vs. income classifications, but it’s passion nonetheless. Seeing as how the instructor has absolutely nothing to do with making the rules, all he accomplished was making the rest of the class roll their eyes and sigh loudly.

In my class on Wednesday, we were required to form groups to present cases related to business ethics. Our group leader said copulation instead of compilation throughout the entire thing. We preformed our case presentation as a skit. We added an off the cuff affair by one of our “partners” with the unethical client’s ex-wife, which was not in the case study (we are so freaking creative). There was a fake phone call during our skit to reiterate this relationship, which brought down the house, so to speak.  I guess you had to be there.  I really wanted to rap our case (al la Metalia) but nothing rhymes with CPA, accountant, ethics, or scrap metal cash skimmer. Nothing funny, anyway.

This poor instructor, while obviously a smart and capable discussion leader, had her Yankee self challenged at every turn by a group of grumpy old men hecklers in the back. Again, she doesn’t make the rules. She’s just telling you what they are. SHUT UP.

My phone battery was fading fast, limiting my ability to facebook while still looking engaged and attentive.

One saving grace – they have a free coke machine. All the money spots say “00”!

There was a girl who waved at me on Friday when I walked in. I thought she was an HR person from my old job, since she looked vaguely familiar. I figured she didn’t know I wasn’t at that job anymore, so I told her. Uh, no, she is from a local firm; I just saw her at a lunch meeting on Tuesday and even had an extended conversation with her and her friend. It took me until TWO THIRTY to figure out what a complete idiot I was. That’s some great personal PR there.

There was a moron old lady in the back who wouldn’t turn off her cell phone ringer. Her phone went off at least 6 times. The last time she practically laughed when everyone turned around to give her the audible cell phone stink-eye.

I caught up on my feed reader, but I still had my book on the right page. I'm sorry, but the A & A updates are mind numbing.

Sometimes I Am So Awesome I Surprise Myself

Just look at the level of craftiness I achieved this weekend:

 

Lesson Learned

If I were a better writer, this space would be filled with a 2,000 word treatise on “what getting my ass fired taught me.” I would have gotten a book deal out of it with my witty prose and would be called “The Next Jen Lancaster!” Jen would write one of those quotes for my book jacket and she would invite me to her next 80’s party.

What I would actually had written would read more like one of those forced August “What I Did Last Summer” essays full of clichés and generalizations about how picking up trash in the city park made me realize what a great country we live in. Or in my case – loading and unloading the dishwasher because there was nothing other than soap operas and A Baby Story on TV made me realize what a soul crushing existence I would have if I stayed at home.

All that said, I have to have learned SOMETHING during my brief furlough from the corporate grind right?

I enjoyed doing freelance CPA work. I enjoyed it a lot. I set up my desk on the bar in the kitchen and went to town. I bought office supplies and stapled and added and paper clipped to my heart’s content. I did some great, fun work in my pajamas. (Y’all can laugh all you want, but it was fun.)

My kids are the best, most fantastic and SICKLY children on the planet. Dear Jesus, they had pneumonia, MRSA, colds, ear infections, and diaper rash. If I thought that staying home while the kids went to daycare would be relaxing and regenerative, I was rudely awakened during week two when Hudson’s leg turned into a giant summer sausage like appendage because of his tetanus shot induced MRSA. I loved every minute home with them, even if they were sick. And grouchy. And crying a lot. Well, I mostly enjoyed it. Everything except the vomit. (Maddie's sleep regression was particularly harrowing. I thought it was to get her little brain ready for full on crawling, but apparently it was to get her ready to PULL UP ON FURNITURE. Which she is doing now with great gusto and disregard for her personal safety.)

Picking a daycare that is close to where you work is probably not the brightest plan ever. Because when you get fired, that 40 minute commute you had with 5 minutes to work becomes a 3 hour trek to trade cars with your husband and drive the million miles to the place and then take all the kids home. You have to go early too. Because what’s the point of picking them up at the same time you did while you were at work and still hitting all the traffic? You’ve got to get them early so the daycare people don’t think you’re a lazy beeyotch who is sitting at home doing nothing. And then you get rear-ended.

My husband is the most patient and forgiving person on the planet. He never got upset with me about getting fired. He was madder at my old employer then anything. He didn’t tell me not to leave the house with my wallet. He didn’t keep me from having lunch with my friends. He watched both of our children while I went to Nan’s and helped her for tax season to make us some extra money. He nearly went through the roof when the job drama of a few weeks ago unfolded, threatening to call the recruiter himself. He took the kids to daycare everyday and picked them up a couple of times a week, even when he really didn’t want to. He asked me if I was depressed about losing my job, and why when he came home I was sitting with the TV on and one lamp on in the whole house. (I was saving electricity.) He does more for me than I deserve. And he handles the money, so he’s the one who made sure we still had DirecTV and groceries.

I got back to reading. I got back to cooking. Unfortunately I didn’t get back to Hudson’s Christmas stocking. But I did learn how to consign stuff and make some money. And how to file for unemployment – a skill I never hope to have to use again. I got back to commenting on everyone's blog instead of hiding out in the feed reader. (I should probably apologize for that.)

For so many years, my job was who I was. I was an accountant. That term was intertwined with my very being. I made sure I pleased my job before anyone else. I got paid well for putting work first. But when someone calls you into a conference room and tells you that who you are isn’t good enough for their business, or someone tells you that your skills are lacking because of your public accounting experience - it calls not just your job but your identity into question. And that takes some getting used to.

Maybe I’m not that person anymore. Maybe I’m ready to put myself and my family first. I think my new job WANTS me to do that. That’s just fine with me. I think I’m ready to spend more time in the backyard rather than chained to my desk.

Dregs

You get the bottom of the barrel today. (As opposed to other days when I give you the best pickles from the top.)

Someone rear ended us yesterday. They were very nice, and I was very nice. It was some old folks towing a camper. I just got off the phone with the insurance company and we'll be getting three new car seats and an SUV to tool around town in while the mom mobile is getting fixed. I've tried to get Tim to buy cheap seats and spend the rest of the car seat money on tequila and hookers, but he's all "Think of the safety of our chhhhiiiiiiiiillllllllllddddddddddrrrrreeeeeeeennnnnnn." Spoilsport.*

My new job starts next week. I'm very excited to get my 10-Key back in action.

The swing set we bought this weekend for Hudson and Maddie and our nephews has taken over our garage. There's wood everywhere. It was all painstakingly laid out and labeled with chalk by me. It took Tim and his "helper", Hudson, only an hour an a half to put together the ladder last night. I think Tim and his Dad are in for a long weekend of screws and splinters. The kids and I are leaving town. Hudson is so damn excited by just the wood that he'll probably fall all over himself when he comes home to find the entire! play set! put! together! Y'all will be able to hear his squeals of delight in Alaska. I'll count it a success if the thing doesn't fall over with the first swing pump and no one ends up in the emergency room while building it.

We took Maddie and Hudson to Waffle House over the weekend. I fed Maddie her frou-frou organic baby food in the stickiest, grimiest highchair I have ever touched. I don't think they get much attention in the cleaning department. She was not wearing any shoes either. Hudson has discovered toast, and he would eat it for every meal, but he isn't touching a waffle. I'm not sure how many Patty Melts I ate in college with scattered smothered covered and peppered hashbrowns, but it was just as good as I remember it. And way faster then IHOP on a Memorial Day Monday.

Are you going to Blogher? If you are, you need to go eat lunch with us! I told you guys how much fun we had at our dinner at Blissdom, and now we're doing lunch in Chicago. Go here to sign up, and friend me on facebook. I need some more (juicy) updates to read!

For the record, my favorite summer TV show is So You Think You Can Dance. I'm sure you can all tell from my gorgeous dancer's body (*snort*) but I did take dance for quite a few years through junior high and high school. I still maintain that my teacher smoked crack before she picked out our costumes. Hot pink, sequin edged 50's jackets and poodle skirts - check - burgundy crushed velvet leotards and skirts - check - suntan tights with sear your eyes yellow and orange outfits - check. And we weren't allowed to wear underwear on stage. I broke that rule every year. No 15 year old should be anywhere without underwear. Anyway, I would say that I love SYTYCD more than American Idol hands down, but not more than The Mentalist or Lost.

Tim is picking up the kids today, so I am free until about 6:15. I plan on watching The Little Couple. I already ate all the guacamole. Sorry. (Can I just say that the hint of jalapeno Tostitos Scoops are the best thing to happen to chips since hint of lime? Don't argue with me. )

What else?

I think that's it.

I'll let you know how the first day goes.

*Y'all know I'm joking, right? I would never do this.