Project: Me?

Project Runway will be starting a new season very soon, and I have a decision to make: am I willing to become a Lifetime woman in order to watch?

Before Project Runway, I could very honestly and proudly proclaim, "I don't watch 'reality shows.'" The whole Survivor thing totally passed me by. It puzzled me that people would find that sort of thing interesting.

Okay, I did watch the first season of The Real World, when I was still in high school. Back in those days I would have watched anything if MTV aired it. I was also a fan of Beavis and Butthead and Liquid Television (were the animated series Aeon Flux began). But that's not "reality television," because the term didn't exist then.

All right, I followed one of the seasons of Big Brother, I'm not sure which, but it was in the single digits. My defense for that is our lack of cable television at the time. Beaumont, Texas only had five stations that were analog broadcast; we didn't even get the WB!

But I never really got "hooked" until my 2 a.m. feedings with Princess introduced me to a giant maniac named Santino and the gentle wisdom of Tim Gunn. I became an avid follower of Season 2 of Project Runway (still, in my opinion, the best season) and have never looked back.

For those of you unfamiliar with the show, here's a quick tutorial:

1. Heidi Klum: Host and judge. Heidi plays the role of "everywoman" on the judging panel; she has no experience designing or sewing, but she spots things that would be visible to most supermodels capable of walking the runway at a Victoria's Secret fashion show eight weeks after giving birth. You know, just like you and me.

2. Tim Gunn: Mentor. Tim Gunn is the most fabulous being ever created by reality television. He uses wonderful big words like "egregious." His job is to help explain the challenges to the designers, oversee their shopping trips, and give feedback about their designs-in-progress. He always gets teary at just the right moments. He defines "unflappable." I love Tim Gunn.

3. Michael Kors: Judge. Michael Kors is a well-known American designer who has dressed many celebrities and important persons. He uses phrases like "I'm underwhelmed" and "I feel like the Pope at a sex club," though I'm fairly certain those were in response to two different challenges.

4. Nina Garcia: Judge. Nina is a bigwig in the fashion magazine industry, first as fashion editor of Elle magazine, then editor-at-large. Nina is completely bored with everything anyone has ever worn ever, and wants something new. She scares the contestants more than any other judge.

5. Guest Judge: Sometimes celebrities (Natalie Portman, Sarah Jessica Parker) but usually fashion insiders, these guest judges are generally connected to product placement or sponsorship in some way. They can be entertaining, but rarely.

6. Designers: Each season starts with 13-16 designers who, each show, must create a garment (or outfit, which they call "a look") within certain parameters. At the end of each show, one designer is told, "You're out," by Heidi, and that poor sucker goes home. The final three (or four) show a 12-13 piece collection at Fashion Week in New York.

Naturally, a lot of the show is drama between the designers. Sometimes they have to work in teams. One time they had to dress themselves, another time they had to dress each other. Tempers run high and artistic temperaments break down. Delicious.

Seasons 1-5 of Project Runway were on the Bravo Television Network ("TV for Gay Men and the Women Who Love Them"). The focus was on the snipy, the snarky, and the fabulous. Season 6 of Project Runway will air on Lifetime ("Television for Women Who Cry Soft Tears and Hold Each Other Gently"), which is not my thing at all.

Will this change my beloved PR? Will they begin to focus on the female designers, as though female designers are capable of any sort of personal feeling? Will they have to dress women who weigh more than 82 pounds?

I don't know. The premiere is Thursday, August 20, and all I can say is, I'll try.

Now pass me that Kleenex and hold me. Gently.

Blogging Through the Pain

I just dropped Princess and Dexy off for their first day of day care for the 2009-2010 school year.

Sven drops the kids off, as a rule. He can do it. I break down in tears every time I have to leave them. The only time I drop them off is if Sven is sick.

Except, of course, I go on the first day.

Dexy was very concerned when we got there. His little brow furrowed, and his cheeks puffed out as he held on to his lower lip, struggling not to cry. He hates to cry when he's scared. Fortunately, the wonderful Miss DeeDee said the magic words ("Would you like some breakfast?") and he went to her. He clung to my neck when I hugged him good-bye, but there were no tears. From him, anyway. I left too quickly for him to see mine. I risked a look back, and he was examining breakfast with Miss DeeDee, his arm around her shoulders, Mommy and Daddy forgotten for the moment.

I should have felt better.

Then, we took Princess to Miss Liz. All of the children over three have breakfast together, so the room was full of much bigger kids who were already noisy and playing. Princess got nervous and began to pull against my hand. We took her to the breakfast table, with her chanting, "Maybe we should do this tomorrow."

Then she saw him.

Tyler.

You remember Tyler, right?

Princess lost all interest in Sven and me. Miss Liz had to prompt, "Say goodbye to Mommy and Daddy," and she threw a casual wave in our direction while smiling invitingly at Tyler.

I'm not sure I care for Tyler.

It took less than 10 minutes. Both children were in day care, seeming secure and happy. I went to the grocery store, thinking about everything I could get done this week, before I have to return to work.

When I stop crying, that is.

After

Sorry, Kristina.

(She wanted me bald like Britney. I considered it.)

Before

Considerations

When two people meet, fall in love, and decide to spend the rest of their lives together (or at least a couple of months), there are certain things to consider. I'm not an expert, but I watch them on TV, and here are some of the things they seem to feel are important:

• Common interests
• Common or compatible career goals
• Money
• Sex
• Other (children, religion, general morality, etc.)

I must say, when one of these "relationship experts" begins pontificating about how "important" it is to "get to know" the "person" you plan to "marry" in so many important "ways," I scoff. I also chortle, guffaw, and occasionally reflux. (It's my diet.) Because they never talk about the things that are really important, the things that make or break 99% of otherwise happy marriages and relationships, according to my opinion:

**THE LITTLE THINGS**

So, here is Deb's Guide to Petty Compatibility. Understanding your Petty Compatibility, on its own, does nothing. However, if you are compatible on the BIG THINGS, take a look at some of these little, petty things. These are in no way based on my relationship.*

1. Toast compatibility.

A. Toasters: some people like leaving the toaster on the counter, some prefer it be put away, necessitating one partner's hovering over the cooling toaster like an anxious mother bird, waiting for it to be cool enough to handle and/or not ignite the paper grocery bags stored in the toaster cabinet because who puts away a toaster, honestly?

B. Toast Material: some people like Pop-tarts that are hot, frozen waffles, or other toaster fare that is not, exactly, toast. Does your partner ever check the darkness setting? Or does he blindly press the button down and walk away while the last two pieces of bread are transformed into charcoal?

Solution: This problem is far from insurmountable. Visit the home of your intended. Is there a visible toaster? If not, make a casual request ("Say, I feel like some toast right about now."). Observe your beloved as he or she toasts the bread. Be prepared.

2. Bread Compatibility

A. Type: some people like hearty, flavorful, whole-grain breads or those crusty breads that are fresh-made. Others prefer the squashy, white, slightly damp plain white breads devoid of all nutritional value. Who is to say who is right? (Me.)

B. Use: some people prefer to use bread down to the last piece. Others prefer to allow the heel and the "buffer" piece to be discarded. In addition, some people eat the bread "in order," starting with a heel piece, while others save the initial heel to help keep the remaining bread fresh. This can be huge.

C. Storage: some people are casual about their bread bags, giving it a twist and tuck and allowing the little plastic-coated metal wire to go by the wayside. Others are obsessive about tracking that little piece of wire to the ends of the earth, if necessary, and use it to seal the bread by twisting it both clockwise and counter-clockwise 87 times with each use.

Solution: While at the home of your intended, take a casual peek into the pantry, breadbox, cabinet, or cardboard box, provided no one is sitting on it. See what varieties of bread are available. If it is unsatisfactory, send your future partner to the grocery store to get some "good bread" and see what he comes back with. (Ladies, you should all do this anyway. It is loads of fun.)

3. Cabinets, drawers, switches, and appliances

Some people are careless about leaving cabinet doors or drawers open, or light switches on. These people are relaxed, carefree individuals who simply have more on their mind than closing some stupid cabinet or drawer. Others may not appreciate this sort of freedom and, Gestapo-like, prowl through the house ferreting out doors to close and switches to flip.

Solution: I'll just shut the cabinet.

So, there you have it. Three points of Petty Compatibility for otherwise happy couples. I haven't even made it out of the kitchen yet. There are countless points I haven't even found yet, because they haven't come up. But they will. If there is one thing I've learned from my 23 years on earth (quiet, Mom) it is this: people will find things to fuss about. I try not to do it, but goodness knows I'm not perfect. And some people don't even try!

But, compromise is possible, when two people love each other and someone is willing to change.

I put my foot down on the bread, though.

*This is totally about my relationship, as I'm sure you have not figured out by now because I did such a good job of keeping things vague and non-judgmental.

Get To Know Me!

I'm not sure I have confided in all of you my love for organizing things.

By "organizing things," I don't mean taking things and organizing them. I loathe that, unless the "things" are pretty and shiny.

By "organizing things," I mean things that are designed to organize other things. I love them. I once went into The Container Store and had a brief out-of-body experience.

I have dozens of shoulder bags for work, church, and school. I haven't yet found "the one." You know, the one that will hold everything I could possibly need in an organized manner, be slim and attractive, and hang on my shoulder without falling off or hurting me.

I have dozens of purses. I haven't yet found "the one." You know, the one that will keep everything neat and organized, hold enough items to get me through an unexpected weekend away, but be small enough and light enough to be cute and feminine.

I have an inappropriate amount of affection for Rubbermaid. I can easily spend four figures in the Rubbermaid aisle at Wal-Mart. Easily.

I absolutely adore luggage. Sven won't really let me walk down that aisle at Wal-Mart, but I bet I could find a lot of stuff I like.

So, naturally, I found a hobby that combines my love for organizing things with my passion for shiny things:

I collect jewelry.

I hasten to clarify: I collect quirky, unusual, or antique pieces. I have nothing truly "valuable" in my jewelry collection.

Years ago, when my accumulated jewelry began to overflow the simple box my parents gave me as a teenager, Sven bought me a pretty red leather jewelry box. I have spent the last 12 years or so filling it:

I love this jewelry box. It had neat hidden compartments, and lots of different places to organize, so I could keep pearl jewelry in one part, silver in another, and gold in the rest. That being said, it did have drawbacks. The clearance for the ring slots was fairly low, so my higher-profile pieces were always in danger of scraping across the top. There were many compartments, but each was fairly small, so big pieces were really squished.

I don't wear a lot of jewelry, as a rule. Generally, I wear a wedding band. The one I wear now is stainless steel, $7.95 from Amazon.com. What I do with my jewelry collection is take it out after the kids are in bed and play with it. I look at the pieces, put some of them on, lay them out, and just enjoy them. That's all.

After one such night last week, I came to a conclusion: I need a new jewelry box. My beloved red leather one was crammed full, and many of the pieces couldn't be seen.

It arrived today.

A train-case style, brown leather jewelry box. Here's the comparison between the old and the new:

Don't pretend you're not impressed.

The kids and I spent a happy hour this afternoon transferring all of my "pretties" to the new "pretty box."

I can already tell you I will spend many, many happy hours playing with my new "pretty box." There is room to spare.

Maybe, one day, there will be need for my little leather one again. Perhaps I will use it for my costume pieces, or my everyday pieces, and store my new bad boy somewhere out of the way. For now, Red Leather goes into the closet to wait.

She's earned a rest.

Good News, Bad News

I was cleaning my house today.

No, that's not all, but it's fairly momentous in and of itself, since I simply don't "do" household chores.

Anyway, I was cleaning my house the other day, and I uncovered a box we inherited when Sven's oldest brother, Olaf, passed away. Olaf, who was the oldest of the boys, was 7 years older than Sven. He was only 39 when he died; he passed away the day we brought Princess home from the hospital. Understandably (I hope), when Olaf's partner Jim gave us boxes of things Olaf wanted us to have, we simply weren't able to get through it all. We tried, but the demands of a newborn won out over everything else.

Then, two years later, another newborn came along.

So now, almost four years after Olaf's death, I uncovered this box. Inside the box was Sven's father's watch (Sven's father died when Sven was 17), some other costume jewelry pieces, and some mysterious bagged objects.

The bagged objects contained some real treasure.

As many of my readers know, I'm LDS. We LDS spend a lot of time on family history, or "genealogy," to use the technical, outdated term. My mother's family comes from a long, long line of LDS folks, so much of my family history, at least on her side, is done.

Grandma and Grandpa Debmom.

The Debmom Family Reunion, 1998

Sven's side, on the other hand, is a huge mystery.

As I said, Sven's dad died when Sven was 17. His parents had been divorced for over a decade at that time. His mother, Helga, was an only child; Helga's mother died when Helga was 18. Helga's father, Rufus, lived to be 97, but was a fairly incoherent man by the time Sven knew him. (He knew Sven as "the other one.") Sven's relationship with his paternal family was somewhat distant after the divorce, so he didn't get to know them very well.

In short, there was a lot of missing information. So, imagine my joy when we opened the box to see this:

Sven's dad's Bible

And this:

Cassette tapes of Sven's Uncle Snookie telling the family history and lineage

And these:

TONS of pictures and newspaper clippings, mostly preserved in the Bible.

That's the good news. The bad news was this:

Yes, when I opened the family Bible, I was greeted by a wad of anonymous human hair.

Many of the pictures had no captions or notes, so I'm writing letters to Sven's surviving aunt and great-aunt to see if they are interested in helping me find this information. I sincerely doubt they can help me with the hair.

But what a joy it was to see my children's faces echo some of the photographs! Having grown up myself with a strong sense of my own family history, I am so excited to get to compile some of this for Sven and my children.

We're a good looking family, if I say so myself. I know you can't see much detail, but trust me.

However, all of this got me thinking about the nature of family "heirlooms." There are some heirlooms that I love, I mean LOVE to have. My grandmother's pearls come to mind. In fact, I have a jewelry box so full of current and future "heirlooms" that I just ordered another jewelry box, so I can use this one just for costume stuff.

I have a problem. Don't judge me.

However, when I was going through the box, I laughingly pointed out to Sven that, ha ha, Olaf had saved two gas bills Rufus had received in 1956 for the house we no longer own in Beaumont, Texas. Ha!

"Heh," Sven said. "You know Olaf, he saved everything."

"Ha," I agreed. "Throw those away, okay?"

He didn't throw them away.

So, of course, when I broached the subject of throwing away the mystery hair, Sven poo-poo'd all over it. (Figuratively.)

I get that the Bible, which we're sure was Sven's father's, is an heirloom. It's cracked and old, but it's something of his dad's, so I have no problem keeping it.

But the mystery hair? Is that really an "heirloom?"

One of my friends made the point that she saves things because she knows who the things belonged to, but her kids don't so they can feel free to throw them away. (She pointed out that the things she saved were quite ugly.) Sven and I are keeping a wad of hair, hair belonging to various deceased persons, because that hair PROBABLY came from Sven's relatives.

So, I have contained the entire Bible in two gallon-size Ziploc bags, thusly:

and shall label the entire package "Papaw's Bible And Dubious Hair."

I'm sure my progeny will shiver with delight.

Mix Pix: Nix

Today's topic is: travel food.

As my readers are aware, I spent much of this summer in the car. My personal philosophy of car travel is:

1. Eating in the car cures everything (sleepiness, boredom, irritation), and

2. Calories consumed in the car don't count, so

3. I can eat things in the car I would never eat in real life.

Like Slim Jims.

I love Slim Jims. They have just the right balance of salt, spice, and grease. My car eating habits are such that the Slim Jim looks healthy to me; at least it has protein! But I would never think to buy Slim Jims to keep in my home. They are strictly travel food. Imagine my excitement last week when I found a Mega-Sized Slim Jim in a gas station...it was about 18 inches long and had the girth of a cigar. I couldn't finish it. I think Sven had to shoot the second one...it had a decidedly shifty air, as though it was planning to hawk the good silver. We simply couldn't have it in the house.

I have become totally disillusioned with snack mixes, the other mainstay of my travel diet.

It seems that every snack mix I buy contains roughly the following:

72% boring food item that I really don't care about

26% tasty food items that are okay

2% good stuff.

(The above formula does not apply to Cracker-Jack, which is now 99% caramel corn and 1% honey roasted peanuts.)

Chex Mix, the gold standard of snack mixes, has really let me down. I remember when I was a kid, when you had to make your own Chex Mix from the recipe on the box, Chex Mix seemed sophisticated and mysterious. Lawry's Seasoning Salt and Worcestercestercestershire sauce? On cereal? With peanuts? Whoa, are we at the White House? We loved the Mix, because it was so cosmopolitan.

Nowadays, not only can you buy pre-made, bagged Chex Mix, you can buy it in various varieties, savory and sweet. You can get Traditional, Bold -n- Spicy, or Cheese Lovers; you can also get Sweet -n- Salty, Peanut Lover's, Chocolate Lovers Turtle, and Lawn Clippings -n- Pebbles. Chex Mix has really let me down, though. My last bag of Sweet -n- Salty promised "candy coated chocolate pieces" (translation: blank m&m's). At the very bottom of the bag, amid the crumbling remnants of the wheat Chex, I found three brown candies. That was it. Those could have gotten into the bag by accident. I don't think they should list something as an ingredient in the mix unless there is a sporting chance of you finding it when there is still "mix" to be had.

Gardetto's Mix, on the other hand, is the Cadillac of snack mixes. It doesn't delve into the namby-pamby world of sweetness, it's all about the savory, baby. Surprisingly, Gardetto's is made by General Mills, who also makes Chex Mix! Huh. Gardetto's has pretzels, but it also has bread stix, sesame bread stix, and rye crisps. Yummy.

On this last trip, I discovered Planter's Trail Mix. I will give this one my highest recommendation. Salted peanuts, almonds, and cashews, with raisins, dried cranberries, and, of course, Chocolate Coated Candy Pieces. No pretzel filler. CVS Drugstore brand trail mix was good, too. Real M&M's in that one!

At last! I know what I'm doing next summer...