I can’t not do it.

I’ve done it before.

In lots of other places.

I try not to do it, but something just keeps pulling me back, whispering in my ear, “Do it! Do it! You’ll make somebody so so happy! Even if you touch just one person, you could change a life forever! It’s worth it. Do it!”

I need to do it.

I need to say, yet again, how much in love with my Keurig coffee maker I am.

Deep, deep love.

My husband likes Extra Bold. I like a nice medium roast. The Grannies come over and want some decaf. The grandfathers prefer tea. In the winter, the kids slurp cocoa like no other.

Any time of day. Without complaint. For well over one year without the slightest hitch.

My baby does it all.

Listen up, yo. None of what I write here in See Jane Shop is the consequence of any solicitation by any of these companies or products or services. This is just stuff I like. I haven’t made any deals to get compensated. Having said that, I like to consider myself a PR friendly person. If you have something you want me to review, I’m happy to do it. In that case, I’ll disclose that the review was solicited, and everyone will be happy.

I’ve been called all kinds of things, some lovely, and some unprintable, but among them “lush” and “voluptuous” are not.

But 1 out of 3 ain’t bad.

Especially if that one is Lush.

I’m smell-oriented. I have strong reactions to smells that please me and even stronger reactions to smells that don’t.

My son and daughter are the same way. The other day we went into a Lush store in Georgetown and he just about fell over. He insisted on waiting outside until I was finished shopping. My daughter, on the other hand, flitted from pile of soap to mountain of bath bombs to shelves of body washes in glee.

I was right there with her.

And though I love love love the Mange Too massage bar (which looks like soap but is really a solid moisturizer bar that smells so good you want to eat it but don’t because holy hell it’s not food!)

and the hilariously named “Too Drunk To…” emotibomb that you chuck into a hot shower with you on the morning after whatever happened the night before,

My absolute favorite is the Flying Fox shower gel. It smells like my honeymoon. I don’t know what else to say about that. Except that maybe my honeymoon was spent in a ridiculously chi chi resort in Bermuda and the air was scented with a magical honeysuckle jasmine salt air breeze.

Listen up, yo. None of what I write here in See Jane Shop is the consequence of any solicitation by any of these companies or products or services. This is just stuff I like. I haven’t made any deals to get compensated. Having said that, I like to consider myself a PR friendly person. If you have something you want me to review, I’m happy to do it. In that case, I’ll disclose that the review was solicited, and everyone will be happy.

I wear ridiculously large sunglasses.

Fortunately, my head is normal sized so I don’t end up looking like Rachel Zoe. And if you don’t know who Rachel Zoe is please don’t bother to look her up because it’s bad enough that someone thought she was relevant enough to get a tv show that we don’t need to prop her up with any google search stats. She’s a lollipop head, emaciated “stylist” who wears clothes that all seem to be recently shorn from a wooly water buffalo and the most godawful shoes the world has ever seen. Enough said.

I also wear regular glasses, at night and if I run out of saline, which is like once a year. The running out of saline happens once a year. Night happens slightly more frequently.

It’s convenient that I don’t wear my regular glasses often because I am not very good at taking care of them. Say, on a scale of 1 to 10 if 1 was “put them in the garbage disposal and then the toilet” and 10 is “keep them in a safe place,” I’m like a 2. Maybe a 3.

I wear sunglasses almost every day. Even when it’s not sunny, although sometimes I wear them as a headband which I realize I should have stopped doing sometime around 1986 but they don’t squish that spot behind my ears the way other headbands do and I like having my hair pulled back but not in a haphazard MomTail.

I can’t, therefore, buy nice sunglasses. If I were capable of taking care of them, I’d buy one of these Kate Spades:

Or these Kate Spades:

But I’m not. So instead, I buy about 10 pairs of $8 plastic sunglasses a year. These are the most recent. Other than what my husband said, which was something exactly like, “You look like an insect or a car with huge headlights,” and he didn’t mean “headlights” in a good way, I’ve had more compliments on these cheapies than any of their predecessors in years.

Best part…I bought them in a store I’ve never been in before in my life. NY and Company. Although actually, maybe it’s the worst part, because now when I trash these I’ll feel compelled to go back in there and I’m dangerously allergic to pre-ripped jeans and tackiness. Maybe if I bring an epi-pen?

Listen up, yo. None of what I write here in See Jane Shop is the consequence of any solicitation by any of these companies or products or services. This is just stuff I like. I haven’t made any deals to get compensated. Having said that, I like to consider myself a PR friendly person. If you have something you want me to review, I’m happy to do it. In that case, I’ll disclose that the review was solicited, and everyone will be happy.

I’ve paid the bills, I’ve got all the birthday presents for this month’s round of Chuck E Cheese and Diabolically Noisy Moon Bounce GermPit birthday parties, the fridge is stocked, lunch money has been counted out, the car is full of gas, and there’s a little change in my pocket.

What to do…what to do…

Pay my taxes? Nah, I’ve got tons of time before I have to do that (snort). Savings? What’s that? Kids’ college funds? We’re sort of hoping for scholarships. Extra mortgage payment? BORING.

It’s been snowing around these parts more than usual, and though much of the snow is melted, it’s still wintery and slushy. Spring feels like a long way off. To get myself in the mood, I think some shopping is in order.

I’ve tried to find this magical place called Garnet Hill. In my mind’s eye, Garnet Hill is a peaceful land where one can get lattes and Diet Pepsi for free out of fountains in the town square. Garnet Hill is full of beautiful people wearing stylish yet comfortable clothes. Vinyl and white leather are prohibited, and everybody travels from yoga class to independent bookstore to sandy beach to casual cocktail party to tastefully decorated cottage via classic Shwinn classic cruiser. Google maps was no help at all in my search, because if the map at right is it, the Garnet Hill of my dreams is, uh, more sparsely populated than I would have imagined.

Until I find the exact location of Garnet Hill, MY Garnet Hill, I’ll have to content myself with looking the part.

I’m thinking about the pink. It’s on sale for $68 for the next week or so. They’re practically daring you NOT to buy it.

This sweater is one of Oprah’s picks, which means it’s often sold out. But still…there’s a reason it’s an Oprah pick. It’s perfect.

This skirt is sublime…it has an elastic waist, people. Better yet, an elastic waist that has a little tie thingy on the side so it doesn’t look like it’s an elastic waist. Heaven in skirt form. My only problem is that I can’t figure out which one to get. I like the polka dotted one the best, but what would I wear with it? Funny colors to match. Input appreciated. Or you could just send me the entire outfit you pick out. I’ll give you my address.

I love this whole outfit. I’m a little worried that it might be a tall-girl outfit and I’m not a tall girl. At all. It’s got a little Katharine Hepburn thing happening. And it looks like me. The outfit. Not the girl. Looks like something I would wear. Should wear. Will wear.

Shop on, people, shop on.

Listen up, yo. None of what I write here in See Jane Shop is the consequence of any solicitation by any of these companies or products or services. This is just stuff I like. I haven’t made any deals to get compensated. Having said that, I like to consider myself a PR friendly person. If you have something you want me to review, I’m happy to do it. In that case, I’ll disclose that the review was solicited, and everyone will be happy.

It’s winter.

I’m old.

But I don’t need to tell you that, because my hands tell the story well enough.

Enter, hand cream.

I remember wondering what the hell was up with the ubiquitous Jergens lotion ads on tv and in magazines. Inevitably, my mother had a tube of Nivea in her purse. Even more recently like in the last 15 years because when you’re 42, 15 years becomes “recent,” I noticed that the wife on Everybody Loves Raymond whose name I can’t be bothered to look up even though I know that her REAL name is Patricia Heaton and she’s very open about having lots of plastic surgery puts hand cream on every night before bed. And not that this is remotely relevant or anything, but that always bugged me. If you’re going to read in bed, you should put the hand goo on AFTER you read, otherwise the pages will get all smudgy, right? Right.

I get it now, though.

My two favorite options are from Bliss: High Intensity Hand Cream

and Aveda: Hand Relief

And they work equally well, aren’t greasy, but are sort of luxurious enough that you feel like you’ve staved off Wicked Witch of the West scaly claws for a day or so. The only real choice you have to make here is which one smells better to you, and since there’s no such thing as smellavision or Internet Odorama, you’ll have to just take my word that the Bliss is light and a little citrusy, and the Aveda is a bit more intense and musky, but not in an overpowering or cloying way.

True Confession: I don’t clean my house. I used to. When I was home with babies, my house was clean, clean, clean. Ceilings to floorboards. Windows and the inside of the basement freezer. I also used to cook real meals and watch the Today Show and sleep more than five hours a night... Not so much anymore. In fact, not at all anymore. If something spills or somebody pukes or we butcher a wildebeest in the kitchen and it sprays blood and guts everywhere, then MAYBE I’ll bust out the mop.

I’m a lucky, lucky girl though. Every so often when she is embarrassed to be related to me and fears for the health and wellbeing of her grandchildren, my mother sends her cleaning people over to my house to give it the once over. Barring the spill/puke/butcher scenario, I tend to look at a pile of dust or a grungy-looking side table and go, “Eh. It can wait until they come next time.” Some people call this kind of behavior “Laziness” or “Irresponsibility” or “Disgusting.” I choose to call this kind of behavior “Prioritizing.” As in, “I’d rather do something other than clean right now.”

I do, and by “I” I mean, “We,” do the dishes. And I’ve been known to wipe down a sticky countertop. And sometimes I even wash my hands. My daughter, who is clearly not my own genetic offspring which is confusing because I was pretty sure I was there when they yanked her out of me, likes to clean. When she’s feeling domestic, I hand her a squirt bottle and a rag and send her in the direction of that which is the most violated by fingerprints.

I admit that I leave out the bleach-laden and chemically-corrupted cleaners for the once a month visit by the cleaning people. I delude comfort myself, however, with the knowledge than on those rare occasions when someone in my house is doing this thing called “cleaning,” we are using safe and effective products.

I love Mrs. Meyer’s Clean Day. I use the dish soap, the counter spray, the window cleaner, the hand soap, and the all-purpose cleaner. It comes in a bunch of different flavors…er, scents. I like the Iowa Pine, which smells exactly like Christmas trees, but that’s only carried seasonally. The geranium is another favorite, although you can’t really go wrong with any of the options: basil, lavender, lemon verbena, baby blossom. The products are all cruelty-free, all natural, and biodegradable. If you sign up at the website to receive emails right now, (http://www.mrsmeyers.com/Default.aspx) you can get $5 off an order of $25.

Listen up, yo. None of what I write here in See Jane Shop is the consequence of any solicitation by any of these companies or products or services. This is just stuff I like. I haven’t made any deals to get compensated. Having said that, I like to consider myself a PR friendly person. If you have something you want me to review, I’m happy to do it. In that case, I’ll disclose that the review was solicited, and everyone will be happy.

My feet are enigmatic.

They have great potential, but rarely live up to it. When they are clean and smooth and tended to, my feet are my favorite part of my body.

In winter, however, after they’ve been hidden away and virtually ignored save the cursory scrubbing in the daily shower, they are the stuff of monster legend.

I develop calluses on my heels so thick that you can stick a straight pin a good ¼” in before I’ll feel it. The calluses occasionally crack and bleed and are painful. The top layer of skin on my feet has the consistency of the rawhide my dog chews on and could be a reasonable substitute for 40-grit sandpaper. It’s not a good scene.

Two products rescue my feet from hideosity. Yes, I know that’s not a word. If you had seen my feet last week, though, you might place a call to Mr. Webster. The first of these miracle workers is this:

AmLactin Moisturizing Body Cream is decidedly NOT glamorous. You won’t see any movie stars hawking it, and it doesn’t turn up on the shelves of any of the finest stores. It is, nevertheless, the only lotion I’ve ever used that can soften the concrete that the skin on my winter feet becomes.

This, also, saves the day:

I’m Not Really A Waitress, by OPI is my winter toenail color. In the spring and summer I wear Cajun Shrimp, also by OPI.

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And behold the evidence.

Before:

After:

I have too much stuff. WAY too much stuff.

Sometimes I wonder if my stuff accumulation is really just a subconscious excuse for me to acquire more bags to hold said stuff.

Could be. Something to investigate.

Meanwhile…lots of stuff means lots of bags. And as is so often the case except for when we’re talking about asses or debt, bigger is better.

I have specific and inflexible rules about what styles of bag I like, and “canvas” and “durable” do not usually feature significantly in the description. Sometimes, though, fine Italian hand stitched leather isn’t going to cut it.

Hence? Your basic L.L. Bean Boat and Tote bag comes in a vast array of colors and sizes, and I recommend that everyone have a few of these around for last minute Holy Hell Shove Some Stuff in A Bag We’re Late For Lacrosse Practice moments. The extra large zip top jumbo bag, however, is a must for any household. You need one. Here’s why:

• You can put all the crap that has built up in your car oh come on, you know it’s there – wrappers, cans, bottles, papers, old gum, dog leashes, broken pencils, old lipstick, coffee cups – in the bag and put the bag in the trunk and it looks like your car is clean even though you are actually schlepping enough garbage to fill a dumpster.
• Your mother in law is coming over and bringing the priest who married you who she ran into at the grocery store and who really wants to see you and your new house which you keep saying you’ll invite her to see even though you moved in three years ago so it’s not really new anymore and the living room is trashed. Shove it all the in the bag. Bag in closet. Done. Welcome!
• You are an English teacher who has realized too late that the better career choice would have been Health and Phys. Ed which necessitates ONE research paper a year as opposed to daily homeworks and an essay a week and let us not forget about tests and quizzes.
• You can carry an ill-mannered or particularly sleepy child or perhaps a tiny adult in one of these. You can! Not that I’ve done it. But I could. If I needed to. And so could you. And I wouldn’t judge you.
• Company is coming to stay and you are forced to relocate your husband’s secret porn collection due to your guests’ children’s tendency to find the most inconvenient hiding places imaginable while playing hide and seek with your children. And yeah, I know…it’s probably time to edit the collection. Preaching to the choir.
• Save the planet! Put your groceries in one of these so you don’t have to find yet another place to shove those plastic bags that you think you’ll use to pick up dog poop but instead you trained your dog to poop in the neighbor’s pachysandra so you don’t have to clean it up in the yard. Of course, if you shop like I shop, you’ll give yourself a hernia trying to carry all your groceries in here at once – not that they wouldn’t fit.
• Laundry.
• Should someone appear at your door with airline tickets and the offer to watch your house/family/dogs/car for a week while you go to Europe providing you can pack in ten minutes, you can put everything in here and go. If this happens, please call me and tell me because I could really use this. I like Europe.
• Four pairs of ice skates, two sweaters, four pairs of gloves, three hats, two scarves, a spare pair of socks, two juice boxes, a camera, and a box of Girl Scout Cookies all fit in here. Want proof?
• And, finally, imagine the number of Hershey’s kisses you could fit in one of these suckers.

If you are me, and you aren’t, so already we’re off to a rocky start, but I’m going to proceed as though everything is fine, please play along…

I sleep late.  I rush in the morning.  I shower hastily.  I wear whatever is comfortable and clean and mostly matches.  Accessorizing?  Not so much.

Lately, though, I’ve decided that an interesting coat or jacket can be a good beard for the lazy girl.

Boden is a mailorder operation from England.  Their clothes are cute, well-made, and not outrageously priced.   My only gripe with them is that their pants are all regular length and shorties like me who don’t feel like getting everything hemmed are pantsless as far as Boden is concerned.  Their sweaters – especially delightful.  Children’s clothes – sturdy and fun without being cheesy or commercial.  I hate it when my kid is advertising Old Navy or the Gap and I’m paying for the privilege of doing so.

This coat is from Boden’s spring catalog.  $138 doesn’t seem like much when I figure that it will allow me to wear the same black pants and cardigan twin set under it at least once a week from March 1^st onward.  I like purple.  A leggy and somewhat willowy-er person could pull of the horizontal stripes.

Note:  Boden sizes are UK sizes.  Which means that you have to order bigger than your standard American size.  They are also, it seems to me and I double dog dare you to tell me otherwise, cut a little narrow.  Which means you have to order up.  And if you are me, which I believe we’ve already covered, you don’t like clothes that touch your body aggressively, so you have to order bigger sizes anyway.  Which means that you’re probably going to want to cut the size tag out of this coat when you buy it.  But I won’t tell.

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