Forget the films, let's talk fashion at the Oscars

I admit it. Even though I'm a distinctly non-fashionable person in real life, I love to analyze the glamorous gowns seen on award shows.

After a quick click through Wire Image's red carpet photos on Yahoo, here's a snapshot of who scored and who didn't:

Reese Witherspoon never looked better in her life. The smooth yet slightly tousled blonde hair, the smoky eyes, the deep purple gown with its graduated shading and irregular hem conveyed confidence and glamour in a backhanded fashion. She looked impossibly sexy, and she's not someone I ever expected to pull that look off.

Nicole Kidman has morphed into someone who inspires an uneasy fear, like the White Witch in Narnia. She's too thin and too pale, her hair is too straight, and her face has been botoxed and surgically re-shaped until it has all the emotion and radiance of a plastic mask. Add the blood red dress and she just gives me the shivers--in a bad way.

Helen Mirren is who I want to be when I grow up. Elegant, beautiful, sexy, confident. I loved her gray hair, the fabulous beaded dress with the swishy skirt, her genuine smile and expressions. Plus the sight of REAL boobs and naturally sloping cleavage on the red carpet was refreshing.

Meryl Streep leaves me feeling so confused. A part of me admires the chutzpah it takes to show up at the Oscars in a kimono accessorized with chunky bohemian jewelry and post-menopausal bedhead. Is she making some kind of statement opposing the perfectly-turned-out character she played in The Devil Wears Prada? I don't know. Her talent is such that it seems a shame to quibble over her clothes; maybe she doesn't care but I  care. Meryl, you're the QUEEN, don't be afraid to shine a little!

JLo's unfortunate choice of a Grecian-style gown and country club bob took all the sizzle out of her Latina sex appeal. Sad. And every time I see a photo of Marc Anthony, I want to suggest a blood transfusion, IV, and some vitamins. He looks tubercular. Any second now, he's going to cough up blood.

Penelope Cruz's dress was so over the top, so va-va-voom. I didn't like the ballerina pink color and the fussy details yet I feel compelled to give it a thumbs up. She's Spanish and a former ballet dancer so a dress that is sweet yet spicy suits her.

And what's up with Cameron Diaz? She looks like she's going to the prom in that horrid white dress with the awkward portrait collar and freaky train. The messy hair and the orange tan--bleah! She has GOT to fire her stylist. Whoever is advising her on fashion, hair, and makeup is failing miserably. Come on, if you can't make Cameron Diaz look good, you ought to be working as an engineer or something!

Gwyneth Paltrow looks like a WASP-y version of Morticia on the Addam's family. In other words, I think she'd make a good date for Marc Anthony!

Beyonce is so beautiful, so radiant, so glamorous in an understated way, she deserves the best Oscar for styling. She is ALL THAT and pulled her look together perfectly.

And me, in my jeans, turtleneck, and down vest, I'm rockin the keyboard and glad no one cares (or knows) what bloggers wear.

February 26, 2007

How to make a big boy cry

Saturday we were at Chievres Air Base, visiting the military PX and commissary for our monthly trip to stock up on American products and groceries. We’d gotten a late start, and by the time we finished shopping, it was dinner time and we opted to enjoy good old American fast food from the Burger King franchise on the base.

We were almost done eating when I noticed the light on at the barbershop and thought, “This is the perfect time for A to get a haircut!” Getting a haircut in Belgium always seems to be such an ordeal, mostly because the local shops have very limited hours and require an appointment and we also have to deal with a language barrier. The military barbershops are the only ones where a guy can simply walk in and wait to get a haircut.

Because it was so late, we sent E-Grrrl over to see what time the barber shop was closing, not wanting to slip in at the last minute and extend someone’s work day. She came back and reported that the barber had said he would give A a haircut if we hurried up.

Mr. A did not want to get a haircut. He hates getting his haircut because he finds the process uncomfortable and itchy. We reminded him that next weekend he’d be getting up in front of a lot of people for a school competition and he should be well groomed and not shaggy. He sighed and E took him over to the barbershop with the instructions to have it cut short on the sides but with enough hair on top to part and have some bangs.

Even though E spoke to the barber in both English and French, there was a MAJOR communication problem. With the first stroke of the clippers, the barber went down to skin and E knew there was no turning back.

When E stepped out of the barber shop, he had his arm around A’s shoulders and I momentarily caught my breath. Mr. A looked like a cancer patient and he was crying. “He shaved my head! And next week I have to get up in front of all those people,” he choked out.

The barber had left a bit of fringe in the front and spiked it with gel. If Mr. A wasn’t already upset enough by the hair cut, he was mortified they had put GEL in his sole remaining patch of hair.

As we walked to the car, E-Grrrl said the perfect thing, “You’re not bald, A. I think it looks cute! You look like the other boys.”

“I know it’s a shock, buddy. It’s a shock for me too, but you do look like one of those athletic types, like your cousin Gilles!” I added.

Mr. A was upset and then angry, railing about how impossible it is to get a good haircut here. Our preferred barber had been counting the money in the register, and his brother had ended up doing A’s haircut. E and I exchanged a look that said, “Was he punishing us for being the last appointment of the day?”

Once in the car, Mr. A spilled fresh tears, crying hard, reiterating again that next week he was going to have to be in front of all those people during a school competition and he had the most horrible haircut ever.

I said, “What are you worried about? Think of K and W—they’re boys and they have to get up in front of everyone wearing TIGHTS and pipe cleaners!” (They’re dressing as aliens as part of a skit.)

That made Mr. A smile and almost laugh.

“No one is going to even notice you while W and T are in those crazy costumes. TIGHTS! HEADBANDS! SWIM CAPS! You’re going to look so NORMAL in comparison. And you know what, I think this haircut looks kinda cute! I like the spikes!”

And I do, kind of, though I’ll be glad to see his hair grow out. My son had more hair when he was born than he has on his head right now, but he is always and forever My Boy.

Copyright 2007 Veronica McCabe Deschambault and V-Grrrl in the Middle. All rights reserved.

February 25, 2007

Caught in the Web

When we first arrived in Belgium, we had to wait for our belongings to catch up with us and for close to two months, I lived without a computer in my home. Not having daily access to e-mail, news, and the weather increased my sense of isolation from my local environment and the world at large. Our apartment had a TV but all the programming was in Flemish or French. Ditto the radio.

When our computer finally arrived and we had high-speed Internet access hooked up, I was thrilled. Every morning I could check the weather and news, read excerpts from my local paper in the U.S., shop online, e-mail friends and family, and research places to visit and expat resources in Brussels. When I started blogging a few months later, my time online blossomed along with the scope of my online community.

Writing and reading blog entries and answering e-mails now consumes several hours a day. I enjoy both my new and old  relationships and the chance to write creatively, but it’s been too easy to start drifting into dead space on the Web, to escape the gray skies outdoors by keeping my eyes fixed on the blue glow of my monitor.

It’s hard to face that the very tool that has liberated me from my expat isolation and boredom has the capacity to undermine quality of my life as well. With the weather warming and the flowers beginning to bloom, I need to get out of my office and exercise more, pick up my camera and record the view, tackle the basement and attic clutter and give the house a good spring cleaning, step out of my routines and explore the world outside my door.

The challenge, of course, is to translate good intentions to actions, procrastination to productivity.

Do I limit the time I spend writing and exploring the Web by setting a timer, the same technique I use with my children? Do I wheel my computer chair out of the office so I can’t sink into it and click over to worthless Hollywood gossip sites when I’m bored or looking for an excuse to sit down? Do I make myself a daily and weekly schedule with explicit goals? Could I live with that?

Finding a balance will be tricky. While I think structuring my time is a good idea, I’m also a creative type who likes to follow her Muse whenever and wherever it leads. Will my Muse follow me if I take the lead? Can I devote my time online only to the sites and tasks that deserve my attention and ignore the rest?

Do any of you consciously manage your Web time? Do you think you spend too much time online?

© 2007 Veronica McCabe Deschambault and V-Grrrl in the Middle. All rights reserved.

Surgery for E's Mom

Remember when I mentioned that E's mother had taken a sudden and inexplicable turn for the worse a few weeks ago? In a matter of days, she went from being mobile and mentally stable to being in near constant pain, confused, and unable to walk. Her doctors attributed it to her Parkinson's, rheumatoid arthritis, and dementia.

E's sister, responsible for their mother's care, didn't accept that answer as the final word on the matter.

The neurologist ordered an MRI to see if a recent fall might have caused a hematoma on my mother-in-law's brain. It was negative.

But an MRI of her spine yesterday revealed a herniated disc that was in the process of disintegrating, shedding chips of bone into surrounding tissue and impinging on her nerves. One look at those images and my mother-in-law's escalating symptoms got her a priority slot on the surgery schedule for today. The damaged disc could cause paralysis and permanent nerve damage.

So it's off to the operating room to see what can be done...

While I know her case is complicated, I can't believe it's taken nearly a month to diagnose this, and that on top of everything else, my mother-in-law has to endure surgery.

I'm glad E's there, and while I miss him, I wish he could stay longer. He arrives home Thursday.

February 20, 2007

All About Monday

When I got up to pee this morning, I sat on a wet toilet seat

Noticed my sock was now damp 

And discovered we were out of toilet paper.

Thank God for Kleenex

But too bad the box was in my bedroom.

When I asked the One Who Gets the Seat Wet

To take down the tents that he had set up in the house,

He did it

Without a fuss. 

And put them away

And swept out the garage when I told him to.

Redemption.

We went to the Army Garrison

To return the movies E had checked out of the library last week

The library was closed

But at the Garrison bookstore, I found a hard cover book on rubber stamping for only $10

And two books for the kids

Which they ignored.

I had to throw out three unopened jars of Peter Pan

There was no peanut butter at the Garrison.

Belgian stores don't sell it.

At least I was able to buy Charmin.

We had burgers and fries to celebrate President's Day

The kids didn't finish their meals

No they're not sick, but 

Yeah, I really wondered

The One Who Ordered The Double Burger

Didn't even eat all his fries.

I bought them Mamba taffy even though they didn't finish their lunch.

Grace takes many forms.

We walked to a toy store to buy birthday gifts for Jared and Reed

But I only had 25 euros ($30),

Which is enough to get two decent presents at Wal-Mart

But barely enough to get two of anything at a Belgian toy store.

I miss Target, and checkbooks, and all the choices in the U.S.

We came home and I played Nerf guns with the One Who Took Down the Tents

and the One Who Makes Pancakes.

The One Who Makes Pancakes always hit her target.

That's my Grrrl.

I fell asleep watching Because of Winn Dixie.

And I woke up and blogged.

And I missed the One Who Is in Florida and Not in Belgium.

But I know he's where he belongs...

And so am I.

February 19, 2007

Am I really wishing away a long weekend?

I’m going a bit stir crazy with the long weekend. With E in Florida, I’m flying solo with the kids, and we have too much time on our hands.

Friday afternoon I was at their school watching the teachers fly out the door at EXACTLY 3 p.m., many ready to hit the road and grab a weekend of skiing in Austria or Germany. Lots of parents had pulled their kids from school earlier in the week and left for exotic locations. With nothing exciting on the schedule, all I’ve heard since Friday is “Can so-and-so come over?” and “What’s for snack?” and “What can we do now?”

We could do cooking or art projects, play a board game, take a walk, kick a soccer ball, throw a frisbee, and get out of the house. But somehow, we don’t, trapped by February’s pervasive malaise.

To compensate Mr. A and E-Grrrl have invited a non-stop stream of friends over to keep things moving. Even though things have gone smoothly, I’m not really good dealing with groups of kids that are not my own. I’m not the kind of mom who easily organizes games and crafts, bakes cookies, or sets extra plates with a smile. I tend to be quickly overwhelmed by short attention spans, loud voices, and messes that sprawl from one room to the next. Still, I can suck it up if I’m not tired, or I have something to look forward to for myself. That’s not the case right now.

Last weekend was overflowing with social commitments: Friday night I got together with the stamping and scrapbooking crowd, Saturday we spent the afternoon with E’s Belgian aunt, Sunday the kids participated in a family service at church and we spent Sunday afternoon with E’s Belgian cousins, and Sunday night my Bunco group met to gossip and throw dice.

This weekend, it’s just a lot of nothing for me and a whole lot of entertaining my kids and their friends.

Really, I’m trying to make good use of my time: I’m doing laundry, cleaning, making cards, and thinking about organizing photos, but the truth is I’m more than a little bored and desperate for adult company.

And there’s still Monday to face.

Bleah!

February 18, 2007

Looking ahead

When E was offered a job overseas, I knew taking it would advance his career and put mine in limbo. A former journalist and editor, I had moved into PR writing after my son was born and worked part time from home.

I worked as a contract employee for a small PR agency, collaborating with consultants, strategists, media experts, event planners, marketers, writers, and designers. I enjoyed my work and my colleagues, and learned a lot from my clients, but after ten years, I was ready to re-charge my batteries. Moving to Belgium was the ultimate opportunity to break out of my comfort zone, take a sabbatical from business writing, and explore other creative opportunities.

Two years into my adventure, I’ve launched two blogs, pursued some hobbies, traveled across Western Europe, done some pro bono PR work, and expanded my network of friends and acquaintances online. Now it’s time to ask myself, what’s next?

We’re scheduled to move back to the U.S. in the summer of 2008. What then? Where does my new-and-improved self fit into the working world? What do I write and who do I write for? What do I have to offer clients that I didn’t have to offer before? What might I have I missed living abroad? What have I gained? And how does the entire expat experience translate into career benefits?

These are questions that are surfacing on my radar as I look ahead to resuming my professional writing career. Today I clicked over to Technorati looking for blogs on PR writing and marketing. It’s time to start wandering out of the coffee shop in my corner of the blogosphere and meet some of the folks occupying offices. What’s hot in communications? What strategies are proving to be effective in the changing PR landscape and what’s old news? Blogging jump started my creativity and took my writing to a new level, now it’s time to see where it might take my career.

Copyright 2007 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved.

February 15, 2007

The long road

About three weeks ago, my mother-in-law's health took a sudden turn for the worse. She lives with E's sister in Florida and suffers from Parkinson's disease, an Alzheimer's-like form of dementia, and rheumatoid arthritis.

Until recently she was mobile, plugged in mentally most of the time, and not suffering a lot of pain. Then suddenly everything took a sudden and inexplicable dive in January, and she became bedridden, unable to feed herself, confused, and riddled with mysterious aches.

E's sister, an attorney and mother of four boys ranging in age from 5-12 years, has spent hours at the Mayo Clinic looking for answers, treatments, hope. Meanwhile, her home life has spiraled out of control and her professional work suffered as she has scrambled to deal with the logistics and stress of her mother's condition. E is flying out tomorrow for a week to visit his mom and help his sister catch up on paperwork, set up 24-hour nursing care, and get things settled a bit.

And despite the sad state of affairs, the kids and I will be here wishing we were there.

Because we should be.

Because my children need to see their grandmother before she slides even further into the abyss of pain and illness.

Because she's been part of my life for more than 25 years.

Because E should not be going through this alone.

But he has to.

February 14, 2007

Coming and Going

When we decided to move to Belgium, it was a leap of faith in every sense of the word. I had visited Belgium many years ago but had never lived abroad nor entertained fantasies of expat life in Europe. Yet when my husband’s professional expertise offered an unexpected opportunity to move to Brussels for three years, I didn’t hesitate in embracing it.

Even lacking details on his compensation and benefits, the nature of the position he was applying for, and what our lives would look like, we jumped into the process. It was a decision we made more with our hearts than with our heads. From the very beginning, moving to Belgium felt like the right thing to do. Sure, we discussed pros and cons and practical considerations, but I think we were swayed less by them than by the conviction we both shared that for reasons we couldn’t explain, we were meant to live in Brussels.

It’s been nearly two years since we arrived jet-lagged and nervous at Zaventem, our tired brains trying to process reams of information in an unfamiliar environment. Like other expats, we were both excited and dismayed by the changes in our lives, our moods alternately happy and confident and bewildered and confused. Moments of elation followed moments of despair, but over many months, life found a rhythm and daily life lacked the drama that comes with being a new arrival. Soon we were settled, we found a social circle and a place in the expat community, we got to know our neighbors, and while not fully at home (we still don’t speak Flemish and my French is spotty), we no longer always felt like outsiders.

Now as we approach the beginning of our third year in Brussels, we’re faced with another difficult decision. We have the option of moving back to the U.S. on schedule, extending our time here for a set period (two additional years for a total of five years) or taking steps to live and work in Belgium indefinitely. The decision on whether we leave or whether we stay impacts every major area of our lives. We have to consider how our decision will affect our careers, our children’s education now and when it comes time for college, our financial standing and retirement plans, even our healthcare. Making a decision based on any ONE of those variables would be challenging, considering all of them at once is mind-bending.

You can gather information and parse and analyze it. You can speculate and plan. You can try to be objective about where the “best” place is for you and your family to live, but there are intangibles that can’t be quantified regarding quality of life, a sense of belonging in a community, the importance of proximity to friends and family, the meaning of living abroad and being an expat, and the effect being raised in another culture has on children long term.

I’m a practical person and more often than not, will choose a path based on what makes sense and seems reasonable. But in the end, I think whether we leave or whether we stay will once again be a gut decision based on our convictions and our mood rather than on cold hard facts. Sometimes it’s what you can’t explain or measure that determines your level of contentment. Sometimes it’s easier to admit that life just doesn’t always make sense!

February 12, 2007

Copyright 2007 Veronica McCabe Deschambault and V-Grrrl in the Middle. All rights reserved.

Things I said at the stampin and scrappin fest on Friday night

Responding to a comment on Anna Nicole Smith’s untimely death:

“She may have only been 39, but hon, she was a high-mileage vehicle.”

***

After struggling to get a particular stamp to ink evenly and stamp a complete image:

“This is the third time the cat’s ass has not come out. I think this is just a March of Dime’s stamp!”

***

Javacurls asked about my quest for black pants, which led to a discussion of pants pockets:

Me: “When I wear pants with rear pockets that have flaps, my butt looks like a piece of luggage.”

Javacurls (who is very slender and petite) says, “I NEED those pockets on the back of my pants!”

Me: “You know what we need to solve our pants problems: a FLAP transplant!”

Hmmm, or maybe a fat transplant. I'll graciously offer myself as a donor. ; )

Copyright 2007 Veronica McCabe Deschambault and V-Grrrl in the Middle. All rights reserved.