Neutrogena Ultrasheer Liquid Sunblock Review – First Impressions

I began using my Neutrogena Ultrasheer Liquid Sunblock over the Holiday Weekend. I knew I was going to be outside most of the time, so I wanted to give this sunscreen a run for its money.

I’ll admit I was a bit surprised by how small the bottle was, but once I started rubbing it on my face, neck, arms and so on I realized how little it took to get the job down. The liquid was light and did not have the “sun screen smell.” Initially, it felt a little sticky after rubbing it in, but after a few minutes the feeling went away and my skin felt soft.

I spent all day Saturday and Sunday outside in the sun, and I did not notice any change of color on my skin. I typically don’t burn, but within minutes of being in the sun my freckles darken by several shades. Since I’ve been using Neutrogena Ultrasheer Liquid Sunblock, I’ve noticed very little darkening of my freckles.

__________

Would you like to review UltraSheer®, too? Then go to http://www.giantwavepool.com/ultrasheer!

Or get $2 off your UltraSheer® purchase at http://www.neutrogena.com/suncoupon.

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received the product mentioned above for free for review purposes from Tidal Labs. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

Mischievous Monday

People talk about the terrible twos all the time. From the time someone finds out you are pregnant, you get looks of pity, and comments like, “Do you think you can handle the terrible twos?” Bookstores are constantly sold out of books on the subject of two; parents spend hundreds on therapy to help get them through two.

Why doesn’t anyone warn you about THREE? I feel blind sided here people. A little heads up would have been nice. This child has not worn me out like this since she was an infant and we were screaming at each other because we were not so- good-at the breastfeeding thing. Don’t get me wrong, so far three has not been about tempers. It’s been more of a “I’m three, check out what I can do,” kind-of-thing. Scouts’ honor, the day she turned three, she dialed the energy up to an ear piercing level. When she wakes up in the morning she is ready to put on her running shoes and go, when we get home in the evening she is ricocheting off the wall, and she is still going when we put her down for bed. On top of the energy that only belongs in a pinball machine, she has also pulled out the independence and experimentation card. What gets me more than the crazy stunts is that when I react  freak-out, she’s completely calm and like, “It’s cool, Mom. I’ve got this.” She has no fear of my fear. She is not impressed that I am hyperventilating and sweating bullets.

You think I’m over reacting don’t you? You think I just need to drink a few sodas and get over it. Don’t lie to me because I see it in your eyes. Let me paint you a little picture of our Monday evening…

Moanna and I get home, and I go to the bathroom. Moanna comes to the bathroom door to tell me that she is ice skating. I should have been alarmed, but I wasn’t, she has a good imagination. About 30 seconds later I hear water splatter all over the kitchen floor followed by gleeful squeals. I rush out of the bathroom (no time for washing of the hands), and to find that Moanna has dumped her water cup all over the kitchen floor for her to “ice skate” trough. “MOANNA WHAT DID YOU DO?” “Mo000mmmmyyy, I’m ice skating.”

About an hour later, I’m making dinner and Moanna taps me on the leg and say, “What is this?” as she is holding up the floor air register that she has extracted from the kitchen floor. “HOW DID YOU DO THAT? I WAS STANDING RIGHT HERE!” “Mommy, why is there a big hole in the floor?” “You better put that back before you fall in the hole.”

Still not impressed?

Not more than half an hour after the whole in the floor, I hear Moanna in the bathroom. It sounded like she was going to the potty. Just when I was feeling proud, I heard water running in the sink. My eyes get wide and I drop the tomatoes because even with her step-stool she can’t reach the water. I turn the corner to the bathroom to find her standing in the middle drawer of the vanity brushing your teeth. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? HOW DID YOU GET UP THERE? YOU ARE GOING TO GET HURT. IF YOU WANT TO BRUSH YOUR TEETH, YOU NEED TO ASK FOR HELP.” “Mommy, it’s OK. I can do it by myself now. I don’t need help.”

And that was Monday people.

I don’t know if I have Tuesday in me.

The Loss of a Lexington Icon

If you grew up in the Lexington, Virginia area, you know the Southern Inn. If you’ve ever visited Lexington, you know the Southern Inn. If you’ve ever passed through downtown Lexington on your way to some place with taller buildings and brighter lights, you know the Southern Inn. You may have no idea that the spinach dip there is addictive,  or that there are coat hooks on the end of each booth, but that  two-story blue sign that says “PARKING IN REAR – SOUTHERN INN RESTAURANT” is unforgettable. With a sign like that, you know the place has stories to tell – stories of romance, business deals, friendship, bank robberies (OK, maybe not bank robberies, but if a movie needed an early 1900′s bar for a scene where a bank robbery was being planned out the Southern Inn would be perfect).

(The church on the left was destroyed by fire ten years ago almost exactly ten years ago)

Late Thursday night a line of severe thunderstorms charged through the Lexington area. It was a welcomed relief to the desert like weather we had been having for what seemed an eternity. It rained enough to cause flash flooding and bring hope to those with gardens. As Lexington woke up the next morning, refreshed by the cleansing down pour and cooler temperatures, it was handed devastating news. While most of Lexington was fast asleep, the Southern Inn had been destroyed by fire.

When I was driving to work around 9:00AM that morning, I hadn’t heard the news. As I approached the Nelson- Main Street intersection, I noticed part of the road was closed. At first this didn’t alarm me because the road at this intersection is often rerouted for the construction of a new bank. As I approached the traffic light I saw a fire truck, police cars and several rescue workers; this raised my eyebrow a little. However, this is Lexington and because there isn’t much excitement around, it would not have surprised me if the entire town was dispatched for a smoking tail pipe on an old beat-up truck. It wasn’t until I turned the corner to head North down Main Street that I saw what all of the traffic disruption was all about. I looked to my left and felt my heart drop to my stomach as I saw light from the caved in roof pouring into the soot covered Southern Inn and creating a silhouette around one of the angry pig figurines that has been in the window of the restaurant for as long as I can remember. As I continued to creep down the road, following a procession of mourners, I panicked, “Where was the sign!?” I looked in my side mirrors, and there it was, clinging to the side of the building for dear life. Seeing that sign was like getting a big hug from Lexington that I could bury my face in.

I returned to the Southern Inn on Friday evening to pay my respects. I followed the big blue sign’s instructions and parked in the rear. I took a few minutes to take in the back of the building before walking through the tiny alley way that led to Main Street. I stood on Main Street looking at the big blue sign and that angry pig in the window, and began remembering the few times that I was part of the Southern Inn’s  story. The first memory I have of the Southern Inn is when I was a little girl; we went there for breakfast with my mom’s family that was visiting from out of town. I was very young, but I remember having the biscuits and gravy and thinking, “Wow. I better be good; this place is fancy.” My second memory was of going to eat dinner with one of my best friends from high school. We sat in a booth with a coathook on the end; we shared the spinach dip and each had a cheeseburger. The third memory I have, is one of mine and Steve’s first night out alone after Moanna was born. Steve did not want to go to the Southern Inn at all because he thought it was going to be very country; he has a reputation of pre-judging things in Virginia. I can’t remember what we ate that night (other than the spinach dip of course), but I do remember that Steve was pleasantly surprised by the experience.

As  I was about to leave, I looked down at my feet and saw a broken soot covered brick. I picked it up, held it to my face and took a deep breath in. I could smell the fire from the night before, but what I really smelled deep inside that brick was history and memories – stories of romance, business deals, the laughter of friendship and maybe even the plotting of a great bank robbery.

**So far a cause of the fire has not yet be determined.  The owners of the restaurant and building have assured the community that they plan to rebuild and open as soon as possible.

Livid Beyond Reason

I am warning you now, I am on my soapbox today. I’ve setup camp on this bad boy and I don’t see myself coming down anytime soon.

As a result of our quickly approaching move to Georgia, Steve and I are about to change from group insurance to individual/private insurance which is the equivalent of playing with fire and tigers and deadly snakes. Just wait, it gets better. In addition to making the move from group to private insurance, we also want to grow our family in the near future. I know, oil and water, the two don’t mix. And that is why I am up here on my soapbox foaming at the mouth.

We have been researching private insurance and maternity care for an eternity now, and these are my findings. We’re screwed. Insurance and society discriminate against women and growing families in a way that angers me to the point of having chest pain. I am not kidding about the chest pain.

(PS. I’m not currently pregnant, nor are we trying at this time, but we want a new baby in the near future and are trying our best to plan responsibly).

There is only ONE insurance company that even offers private maternity care. Did you hear me? I said ONE. Do you know what that is? A monopoly. Last time I checked, monopolies were illegal, but since insurance companies get away with murder in the first place, I guess we can let a monopoly slide on by too.

So this ONE company has ONE plan/rider that on top of their high rates is an extra $180 dollars a month. AND, there is a 12 month waiting period. AND, there is like a $3000.00 deductible. So before this company even starts paying their sad percentage you have to pay $5160.00! If you have a normal/natural/complication free birth that’s already 50-75% of the cost. A normal/natural/complication free birth is doable, we can probably afford that with little heartburn, but it’s the complicated pregnancy, c-section, emergency situations that we can’t stomach with out selling our first born. Since we tend to like our first born, we’re not interested in putting her on the market.

This ONE company did, so kindly, specify that you don’t have to wait 12 months to get pregnant. You just have to wait three months, get pregnant, and then find a doctor who is willing to wait until you have passed your 12 months waiting period to file the billing. What doctor do you know that is willing to do that? It’s already damn near impossible for them to get paid by the insurance company to begin with. Then what happens if the baby is premature? You are SOL my friend. If that baby  comes before your waiting period is over, it’s all on your dollar. And, premature munckins are expensive.

Smoke is coming out my ears right now! But let’s continue…

I was looking at another policy yesterday that is a discounted plan because of a group that Steve is involved in. This “group” plan doesn’t cover maternity care. HOWEVER, it does cover pregnancy complications/ sick baby care (80% after deductible is met). What on earth does this mean? I call the chick at this company and ask her to further explain what it means, and she is little help. What she did know managed to anger me more. When I asked her about what a “pregnancy complication” was she said that it was something that would become life threatening if not treated. So I said, “for example a c-section?” Her response (after going to ask someone else was), “An emergency c-section would be covered if for example the baby’s heart rate dropped and didn’t come back up. A scheduled c-section would not be covered.” My blood pressure is starting to boil. “So what you’re saying is that if it is clear to the doctor that a natural birth isn’t going to be successful and in order to protect the life of baby and mom he urges you to schedule a c-section to prevent a life threatening emergency that would not be covered?” Insurance chick, “That’s correct.” SMOKE IS SPEWING OUT MY EARS AND NOSE RIGHT NOW. “Do you have any idea what position this puts the parents and baby in? They just heard that they are going to need a crazy expensive surgery to safely welcome their new baby into the world, but insurance isn’t going to cover it because the doctor is proactive and doesn’t want to risk you going into labor and risking your life or the babies life. However, if they say ‘no doc, I can’t afford that; my insurance won’t pay for that. I have to go into labor and put me and the baby at risk before insurance will cover it. DO YOU HEAR WHAT YOU ARE TELLING ME? DOES THIS MAKE ANY SENSE AT ALL?” Insurance chick, “A scheduled c-section isn’t an emergency.” “THIS MAKES NO SENSE WHAT-SO-EVER. IT IS UNETHICAL AND DISCRIMINATING.”

Deep breaths…

As a last resort, I researched Medicaid in Georgia.

Before we go any further, because I know this can get heated quick, I do not believe in “working the system and living off the government” nor do I think anything less of people who do have to use Medicaid to have happy and healthy babies. Moanna was a Medicaid baby, and I have no shame – she is beautiful and I had excellent care. However, if you are a tax paying citizen and doing your best, I think it is perfectly acceptable to use government assistance when you need to.

As I was saying, I did some online research about the programs in Georgia and found that we make way too much money to qualify. However, at the end of the month, we have no surplus. Our living expenses and debt suck up the dollars we bring in in a hurry. We have very little at the end of the month to play with, and that “play” money typically goes straight to debt. So while, it may look like we are rolling in the dough that is far from true. It does make me angry that because we are working hard to better our lives, we don’t qualify for Medicaid, but if we were lazy bums we would be handed a free baby.

AND, this new healthcare reform thing no longer allows children to be denied coverage for any reason. However, pregnancy isn’t included in that. Isn’t there a child involved in pregnancy? And if we’re going to be a pro life country, shouldn’t we make sure that every life is given an equal and fair chance from the beginning?

Let’s say that I accept the ridiculous rates and waiting period for that one company that offers maternity care, and we take proper measures to prevent conception. Accidents do happen you know!!

Exhibit A:

Unless we become celebrate for the next year, there is no way to guarantee 100% that another one of these beautiful accidents is going to happen again.

I am boiling over with anger that insurance companies and our society are trying to dictate when I can have babies. Last time I checked, it was a human right to have children and a family, and the structure of our society is trying to control that. I feel like because we are making leaps to better our lives, we are being punished. Because we are choosing to move to a new land so my husband can continue working for a company that he loves (his company doesn’t offer insurance because he’s on a 1099 as an independent contractor) and that we can have more stability and opportunity in our lives, we are getting handed the short end of the insurance stick. Families and children should be the priority, but in this one way I feel like our country is just a bunch of manipulative money hungry jerks. Most of the time I love our country and what “The American Dream” is, but as we pursue our “American Dream” we are being shafted. I told you I was on a soapbox. I am pissed off and on my soap box!

I know you all have advice, and many of  you have probably been in this situation. Is there anything out there that I am missing? There has to be an option out there that I don’t know about because so many other women and families go through this. Are you angry too? Do you think I’ve flipped my rocker? Someone out there must know some secret password to make this situation better!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go breathe in a paper bag and calm down.

Does Jet Lag Apply Here?

Please excuse me, I’m whipped. If the gibberish that follows doesn’t’ make sense, well that’s about par for me, but at least this time I have an excuse. I have jet lag (until recently, embarrassingly recently I thought it was jet leg), at least that is what I’m claiming.

In the past three days, I have spent roughly 18 hours in the car and gotten about five hours of sleep a night. I’ve not crossed into a different time zone at all, but I swear I have jet lag. I’m so tired breathing is a chore, and I’ve had a persistent headache. I’m also queasy from the lack of sleep and proper nutrition during our travels.

Doesn’t this sound like jet lag to you?

OK, no I didn’t get on a plane, and no I didn’t cross into any time zones, but cut me some slack here.

While you’re Googling the proper definition of “jet lag,” I’m going to go take a nap. Let me know what you find, and do forgive me while I take a few days to pull myself  together.

When I return from my extended siesta, I have a lot of adventures to share with  you and a I am in desperate need of some advice on a few hurtles I’m having trouble jumping.