I HEART BUILD-A-BEAR WORKSHOP

About five years ago, my sister gave me one of the most ridiculously awesome (or awesomely ridiculous) gifts ever.  I received a pink faux suede jacket with pink leopard trim and matching hat.  Oh, did I mention it was sized to fit a critter from Build-A-Bear Workshop?  Tucked in with the outfit was a gift certificate that would buy me any stuffed animal of my choice.  I was delighted.  I've always been fonder of stuffed animals than is normal and my mania has not diminished with age.  I was immediately drawn to a lovely little leopard doll, christened "Dooney" (for reasons obvious to anyone who ever reads my blog).

A few months later it was the Christmas season and The Inmates were happily torturing Uncle Chester with her least favorite Christmas song -- "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas."  It's one of those annoying songs that makes Chester writhe in agony, so The Inmates spend most of December serenading her with it.  She thought it would be fun to really get each a hippopotamus for Christmas, so off we went to Build-A-Bear Workshop.

In the years since we've bought dozens of outfits and I acquired a male black bear to go with Dooney (named, of course, "Bourke").  They reside permanently in front of the fireplace and have become my favorite seasonal decor item.  They're set for Valentine's Day, Fourth of July, Christmas, Thanksgiving.  There are bikinis and wet suits and skiing outfits with gear.  The Professor rarely gives his hippo, Harold, a glance these days.  Foghorn occasionally gets her hippo, Nancy, down to play, but just as often she takes off with Dooney and I have to race behind her with threats of bodily harm if she damages my leopard.

I'm ashamed to say I have not gotten them dressed for Thanksgiving yet.  I don't know what's wrong with me.  It just won't be a holiday until my furry friends are dressed up as pilgrims and Native Americans.  In the meantime, I give you a taste of the Build-A-Bear freak show in my home.  Enjoy.

We're not actually Jewish, but my son really likes the idea
of celebrating Hanukkah.  Every year we have a menorah and how
could I resist dressing Bourke up in a yarmulke?

Pilgrim Harold.

Dooney decked out in New Year's finery, Harold as
Santa (with beard, no less), and an angelic Nancy. 
(Dooney recycled the same outfit for the royal wedding
in April.  She looked divine with the addition of a
mini tiara.)

Get out the green beer!

Skateboarder dude.

Dooney in her 4th of July get-up along side (what else?)
two Dooney bags from our visit to the Williamsburg
Dooney and Bourke outlet.

Nancy and Harold hanging at the beach.

Foghorn with a vacationing Dooney
in her grass skirt, lei, and coconut boobs.

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*  THE WHY'S HAVE IT

*  DON'T YOU HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO?

ANOTHER KIND OF BED-LAM

I don't want to say my husband, The Vulcan, is cheap.  I want to say he's a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner, but Charles Dickens might get pissed. 

Usually I get around my husband's frequent cry of "stop spending money!" by simply not telling him I spent it, one of the benefits of being the person in charge of household finance.  I also tend to hide my purchases in plain sight and it usually takes a good year for him to notice the new purse on my shoulder or the earrings dangling from my lobes.  My latest purchase, however, wasn't likely to go unseen.  Our 16th wedding anniversary is in a couple weeks and I learned about 12 years ago not to depend on him to pick an appropriate gift.  I've been much happier since I started simply buying a gift for myself and informing him afterwards.  I had every intention of picking myself up a Dooney & Bourke purse this year, but, alas, fear for my children's safety led me to a different gift.

We have a finished basement and on the weekends the kids sleep on the sofa beds down there and watch Netflix until the wee hours.  The Professor sleeps on a fold-out love seat my sister passed on to us when she moved.  Unfortunately the bed part is not functioning properly anymore and both he and the dog have to sleep on a mattress that slopes down at a 45 degree angle.  And that's the good sofa bed.  The other was purchased from the seller of our first home 15 years ago and it was gently used then.  It has since been through two kids, three dogs, and two cats, all of whom like to sleep on it or scratch it or bounce on it.  When unfolded, the mattress sagged in the middle, several springs were missing near the foot causing the mattress to dangle and scrape the floor, and stuffing was starting to come out of the back.  The arms had already been patched and the cushions recovered twice.  I feared some day a piece of metal was going to snap and one or both of my children (or my dogs) would be trapped and  turn up on "News of the Weird" due to the freakish cause of death.

On Sunday I wandered into the local Furniture Fair and twenty minutes later left with an order for a new futon.  The Inmates tested it in the store and as long as they're willing to sleep next to each other it will accommodate them both.  Chester's old sofa will stay, since it's totally functional as a couch, just not as a bed given its resemblance to a ski slope.  I thought I was being very mature about this.  I wasn't whining about not getting a purse (well, just a little) and I didn't insist this purchase should come out of general house maintenance money, even though I've always viewed being given a practical gift as only one step above being given the clap.

I informed The Vulcan that I bought a futon.  His reaction?  I quote:  "You better not have!"  Huh?  Apparently he thought there was nothing wrong with our old couch, that it was perfectly functional and not unattractive if I put the slipcover back on.  Plus, he insisted, this futon was expensive.  Why, he asked, couldn't I have gotten one for under $200?  I informed him that not only hadn't he bought a couch in decades, but apparently he'd never even been in a store with one since Pope John Paul died.

I give you my photographic evidence of my old couch.  You decide.

Personally I think Child Protective Services might have had something to say if they showed up...not to mention PETA and the SPCA.  The deliverymen were apparently so horrified by the old couch that they took it away, but left the crappy cushions behind on the floor.

On the other hand, the kids keep talking about how comfortable the new one is, I keep looking at the fresh unblemished fabric, and Frank immediately curled up and took a long nap.  Yep, The Vulcan is outnumbered as usual.

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*  TO TREE OR NOT TO TREE

I HEART KIDS CONSIGNMENT STORES

Friends and family of The Warden know this about her if they know nothing else:  she has a Dooney and Bourke purse addiction.  Seriously, I need a 12-step program.  It started when I was deathly ill one weekend and had the t.v. turned to QVC as I was in and out of consciousness on the couch.  The Today's Special Value was a Dooney & Bourke satchel, which I thought was horribly expensive.  Then I kept seeing the purse as they showed it over and over and over throughout the day and by midnight I had ordered one.  It was my downfall.  It was that first potato chip or that first bite of Ben & Jerry's.

Now, before you start thinking I'm some horrible spendthrift with credit card debt up to my boobs, let me assure you that I do not spend all our income on purses, no matter what my husband says.  I do, however, like to save money where I can and to that end I love, love, LOVE kids consignment stores.  I've shopped them for so long I get sticker shock and have to be resuscitated when I go in a regular store.  And I feel very virtuous, since the money saved at the consignment store can then be put in the kids' college funds, the IRAs, or used for...well...PURSES, if you must know.

I ran up to Once Upon a Child this morning after receiving an e-mail that they were having their summer clearance, with 50% off marked merchandise.  (Cincinnati-area residents, make note of the sale!!!)  I came home with about half a dozen each of next year's shirts and shorts for Foghorn and an equal number of shirts for my every-growing son, who's been eating so much lately I'm convinced he has a hollow leg.  Including one special non-sale item I picked up for Foghorn, the grand total was $50 and change.

Now, about that special non-sale item.  I just purchased tickets for Grandma, Uncle Chester, Foghorn, and me to see Wicked at the Aronoff Center in Cincinnati this November.  (Tickets go on sale to the general public tomorrow, August 26th, if you're interested.)  Well, as I was slapping through the racks of clearance items, I spotted this little beauty out of the corner of my eye:

And the first thing that went through my head was, "Oh, my God!  It's a ruby slippers dress!"  The pictures don't do it justice, as the color is much richer, the fabric beautiful, and the sparkles catch the light and twinkle like mad.  My girl likes a little bling, so the red sparkles will thrill her.  And it's just the style of dress that suits her tall, lean body.  She looks good in anything, while I clomp around looking like an Irish potato farmer (but with a fabulous giraffe-print purse).  She didn't need the new dress for Wicked, but you just know how the other girls will be dolled up for the occasion, so I thought a $7.00 splurge was in order (particularly since it still has the Kohl's tag hanging from the sleeve).

Oh, and regarding that 12-step program I need, let me add that I've been clean and sober since Christmas.  Yep, no new purses this year...yet.  See, I have this anniversary coming up in October...