En Vogue…. In Vogue??

Some generous soul mistakenly sent me a Vogue magazine. It’s never been one of my go-to periodicals – I usually opt for Real Simple or Texas Monthly on those rare occasions I have time to sit and flip through the pages. Anyway, fashionista I am not. Ads like this don’t really speak to me. 

Why would I want to buy your clothes/accessories? Y’all look kinda miserable! And you dragged a poor calf onto your boat and who is the captain and why all the gasoline tanks errywhere and for goodness’ sake your $$$$ purse is getting wet! Do you even care?!

At least the models are smiling in this one, but still: I ain’t buying what you’re selling.

Now that I’m all kinds of hyper-aware about what ingredients are going into our products, I found this ad rather interesting:

Page 1:blah blah Natalie Portman you’re gorgeous blah blah sure I’d like skin like yours blah blah OH FANCY! “with skin-caring hydration**” – that sounds… caring! What do those asterisks mean? Kinda REALLY hard to read the shimmery shirt and mirror overlaid by white print, but some of what it says is:

“Dior Forever: The new 24 Hour* wear foundation” (fine print: “*instrument test on 20 women” TWENTY?! My lame high school science experiments and even worse college research projects had more subjects than 20! I’d just take a guess that if I wore this for 24 hours straight my skin would hate me.)

“For the 1st time, longwear full protection with skin-caring hydration**” (“fine print: **at Dior, hydration measured by instrument test, 20 women, Dior Forever Skin Glow.” Ok, you’re just making up things at this point. I need more info, please.)

And the second page:

  • “97% of women who tested it love and recommended Dior Forever***
  • 97% of women who tested it attest to Dior Forever’s longwear result***
  • 98% of women who tested it affirm that Dior Forever improves complexion quality***”

For goodness’ sake, what does *** mean? The fine print: “*** test on 66 women, after 1 week of use, on Dior Forever / “Love” refers to satisfaction level.”

Ok whatever that’s a stretch to define love like that, but let’s go to dior.com to get the ingredients of this foundation that’s caring and will make me look like Natalie Portman:


I’ll just take four of these because my eyes are glazing over. I’ve cross-referenced these four ingredients with Beautycounter’s Never List and have added Beautycounter’s comments for each ingredient.

  1. TETRASODIUM EDTA = Ethylenediaminetetraacetic acid (EDTA) is achelating (binding) agent added to cosmetics to improve stability. May be toxic to organs.
  2. METHYL TRIMETHICONE = (paraben) A class of preservatives commonly used to prevent the growth of bacteria and mold. Parabens are endocrine (or hormone) disruptors, which may alter important hormone mechanisms in our bodies.
  3. PEG-9 POLYDIMETHYLSILOXYETHYL DIMETHICONE = PEGs are widely used in cosmetics as thickeners, solvents, softeners, and moisture-carriers. Depending on manufacturing processes, PEGs may be contaminated with measurable amounts of ethylene oxide and 1,4-dioxane, which are both carcinogens.
  4. PARFUM (FRAGRANCE) = An engineered scent or flavoring agent that may contain any combination of 3,000-plus stock chemical ingredients, including hormone disruptors and allergens. Fragrance formulas are protected under federal law’s classification of trade secrets and therefore can remain undisclosed. Found in: all types of cosmetics.

You do you – you go buy the Dior foundation and look all cute like Natalie Portman and more power to you. That might be great for you. But I can’t unlearn what I’m learning over here, and it is ALARMING that companies that we’ve grown to trust (because why – because they’re there? Because they pay big bucks to have celebrities in their nice ads that make us think they care about us and our skin?) ….sell us products that have known carcinogens, hormone disruptors, and allergens.


I’m a mom of small children. When I’m at the store with the aforementioned ticking time bombs, I don’t have the luxury of taking the time to review the ingredients on whatever products I need to purchase. I trust that the companies selling the products, the stores housing these products, aren’t feeding me junk. Well, that’s not the case. I need to do my research before I’m even at the store. And that research time is a luxury, too, but dangit if my family isn’t worth it.


More to come on this.

gosh pam, control your child.

So after 6ish months of being a bonafide SAHM, I’m finally venturing out beyond my standard cattle trails to Starbucks, Target, and the library and am exploring some of the fun kid-things that this wonderful city offers. I’ll be chronicling the more noteworthy experiences here as time and mental capacity allows.

Today: Book People children’s storytime.


I love me some Book People. Back when there was freedom, I’d spend hours there, reading interesting books and accidentally running into Brene Brown at her event (met her, she signed the Daring Greatly book I decided to buy after listening to her, we ended the night practically BFFs #lifegoal) or getting a chair massage from a hippie masseuse or picking a new country/destination for the next big trip, so I was predisposed to have an awesome time at this children’s shindig.

But no.

We (convinced two sweet mama friends who each have two kids to join A and me) got there a few minutes early to ensure decent seats, and the people already there were hovering over their kids and marking their spaces. Clearly everyone was wary of everyone else’s kids and whatever germs they were carrying. This was the responsible crowd.

By the time the storyteller began, the delinquents had showed up, crowding all over the place and letting their sniveling children roam wild and free. There was now no semblance of personal space or volume control or acknowledgement of the storyteller for that matter. It was CHAOS.

The storyteller tried to make small talk with the adults, but all I could think of was GET ON WITH YOUR BOOK, LADY. She asked everyone who was a nanny to raise their hands, and over half the adults in room shot their hands in the air. Okay, then. Now that that’s settled we can begin.

Feeling neither young nor sprightly, my legs were falling asleep as I strained to hear her tell these stories with pictures I couldn’t see. Relatedly, I could barely see the words to the songs, and the songs went too fast for us to use the sign language she was trying to teach us. She meant well – maybe she was trying to get this thing over with. This whole ordeal lasted 30 minutes but felt more like an hour – we would have left sooner, but there were SO MANY children we couldn’t escape. Like fire hazard level of people, or maybe I’m just more protective of my personal space than the average human.

So that’s what you can expect if you are planning to attend such an event. You’re welcome. (a simple fix would be to simply limit the number of people after who can enter!!)

The morning was redeemed tenfold by a trip to Steel City Pops afterwards, the best popsicle (or “poppy-sicle” or “popsicabable,” depending on which toddler you ask) joint in Austin. Life goes on. So glad we had some friends with us on this morning’s adventure!! Next time we might stick to somewhere outdoors with a tad more personal space.

Till next time..

rufus the low maintenance dog

NOTE: I’d already begun this post when we ran to Lowe’s to get some paint samples. After witnessing a non-service fifi dog POOP ON THE GROUND IN THE PAINT AISLE and its owner shoot me this knowing sort of “kids will be kids” look, I thought, yeah, this is a good day for a dog post. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!

If I were to fill in the blank in this sentence, “You know I love you if I ________” it would hands down be “pet your dog and feign interest in its wellbeing.” It’s no secret that dogs, especially fifi dogs, aren’t my jam.

Oh sure, I like the idea of having a dog. Guard dog, protector of the house/yard, one that can be sweet to A and she can grow up with, that sort of thing. But truth be told, I’m not really a dog person (or an animal person. I wanted to be a veterinarian when I was little, but that’s a different story I’ll delve into some other time). Oh, and I’m allergic to pet dander. And I’m an adult. And I am my own person. GOSH! Ahem.

A likes dogs. Whenever we see one out and about, she starts flapping her arms and saying, “a-DUH! a-DUH!” and T translates that to meaning that we need to get her a dog. T likes the idea of a dog, too, more so than I do, though the irreconcilable difference between us is that he sees no problem with it being an indoor dog. THIS HILL I SHALL DIE ON.

(I could go on but I’m just going to transition to the main point of this post).

Enter a stunning display of compromise by yours truly.

In a trip to Target yesterday to get one thing (a $.95 ball for A and take a guess at how much I ended up spending on other “necessities” Target convinced me I needed), we came home with this little Cabbage Patch puppy. Adopt-a-pet or something. We call him Rufus.

Rufus the low maintenance dog

He can softly bark, make sniffing noises, and in a weird Scooby-Doo voice can say, “rhy ruv ruu.” No pet dander, no bodily functions to worry about. We can even take him into Lowe’s and…well, I’ve staved off the “we should really get A a dog” discussion for a while. And she’s learning how to “feed” and “groom” him with the little bowl and brush it came with! Teaching her responsibility. All in a day’s work and another MOM WIN.


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