Saturday, March 29, 2014

Dove Vox Box Review

             It's Saturday, and Spring Break is almost over. This blog is a product review. Several weeks ago, I received the Dove VoxBox from Influenster.  Inside the box was the New Dove Advanced Care with NutriumMoisture Nourished Beauty Anti-perspirant Deodorant.   The price for a 2.6-Oz (74g) is about $6.00. This product promises moisture and 48-Hour wetness and odor protection. Let's see how well it worked! 

First, let's look at the packaging information.

 Important Information

Safety Warning
For external use only. Do not use on broken skin. Ask a doctor before use if you have kidney disease. Stop use if rash or irritation occurs. Keep out of reach of children. If swallowed, get medical help or contact a Poison Control Center right away

Active Ingredient: Aluminum Zirconium Tetrachlorohydrex GLY (15.2%). Inactive Ingredients: Cyclopentasiloxane, Stearyl Alcohol C12-15, Alkyl Benzoate, PPG-14, Butyl Ether Hydrogenated Castor Oil, PEG-8, Dimethicone, Fragrance (Parfum), Silica, Polyethylene, Helianthus Annuus (Sunflower) Seed Oil,Steareth-100, Hydroxyethyl Urea, BHT

Apply to underarms only. 

Product Description

New Dove® Advanced Care Anti-Perspirant Deodorant delivers 48-hour odor and wetness protection plus NutriumMoisture™ and an elegant floral scent for the ultimate care after every shave. Find your favorite fragrance now with the best of care from Dove.

My personal opinion

  • Mild fragrance
  • Moisturizing
  • Nice, Floral Scent 
    • Does not last
    • Did not control moisture
    • A little expensive
     The bottom line
                     This  product goes on clear under my arms and leaves no white residues. I love the floral scent. The moisture is amazing, however it didn't  control wetness. I felt that the product is slightly too expensive for something that didn't last all day. It's a good product if you don't mind applying it a couple times a day.

    Wednesday, October 30, 2013

    Monday, January 21, 2013

    Nanny Reed's Tea Cakes

                    I have been blessed with four fabulous grandparents.  My Nanny Turner, my maternal grandmother, sat Indian style on the floor and played War with me all the time when I was little, and hosted family gatherings every holiday.  I can remember sitting in her backyard husking corn, or hulling beans and laughing the afternoon away with my aunts, grandmother, and mom. We had conversations about what I wanted to be when I grew up, and how she had wanted to be a singer (just like me).
                    My Pawpaw Turner drove me to Krispy Kreme for late evening snacks and to watch the donuts being made.  Funny how much I miss those donuts now that I am older.  He took me to get my driver’s license, and would just about maim you if you tickled him.  He could wiggle his ears and make a quack that sounded just like Donald Duck.  I learned how to wiggle my ears from him, or maybe it is a Turner family trait, because now my oldest prides herself on that ability.
                    My Pawpaw Reed honked at the air, which never failed to make me howl with glee. He wore bolo ties and cowboy boots and loved my Nanny Reed unfailingly. He taught me about hornet’s nests, and made leg traps for me as I walked by.  We drank Coca-Colas on the front porch and talked while we swung on the swing.
                    My Nanny Reed listened as I lamented my first crush, read me stories about trains, and made me cookies.  The cookies formed much of our relationship as I grew into my teens.  I tended to be a moody teen, and honestly, from what I am told, was just not very pleasant to be around.  Nanny was sick for several of her last years on earth, though I did not realize just how sick until it was too late. But, even through her sickness, she made those cookies.  Tea cakes, with homemade jam or jelly sandwiched in between two thin tea cake wafers.  Every single time I saw her, no matter how sick she had been, she had a tin full of cookies for me. I don’t think she made them for others, or at least I like to think they were special just for me. I can remember, I would hold those cookies in my room - the tin kept them air tight – and eat one cookie a day, until they were gone. (Clearly I had more self control in my youth.)  I loved those cookies.  They were delicious, but more than that, they were from her to me – a special link between Nanny and granddaughter.
                    I said that she always made them, no matter how sick she was, but there was once, when she did not have a tin waiting for me.  The last time I saw her.   I had driven down from college to visit her in the hospital.  She had been in the hospital many times; I was not worried.  I was young enough, that I assumed being in the hospital simply meant that you didn’t feel well, nothing more. And so, I had sat in the room with Nanny, assuming that this was just like the other times, and that there would be many more times to talk, and certainly many more cookies. 
                    And we did talk, that day in the hospital.  We talked of family history, and that day I learned more than I had ever known about my aunt, and uncle, and my ancestors. Nanny admitted to me that she had struggled to know what to say to me, during my teen years (I was a worldly 22 by then), and I wondered if she had made the cookies to fill the silence, to find a way to connect with a teenager who no longer needed or wanted to sit on the porch and drink Coca Colas.  It was a good day.  I left feeling good, and not at all concerned that it might be the last day.
                    But, it was. Just a short time later, my father called to tell me she was gone.  She had died in the same hospital that we shared our last conversation in.  I was heartbroken.  It was the first time I had dealt with death so close to me before. I had seen the deaths of friends, but not in my family. I went to the funeral, and I can remember wanting to shout at the pastor as he mispronounced her name, her beautiful name, Marion Christine, McConnell Reed. 
                    So it shook me, down to my core.  When I prayed to God, I asked him to tell Nanny I loved her and I missed her, and to fill her in on what was going on in my life. I tried not to have to go to Nanny and Pawpaw’s house, because it just was not the same without her there.
                    But life goes on, and I was in the midst of planning my wedding and graduating from college, so I had plenty to consume my thoughts.  It was several months before I thought about the recipe for my cookies.  I asked my stepmother if she had it, certain she would.  But she did not.  She had thought she had the recipe, but having followed it, she realized it was wrong, not Nanny’s recipe at all. I think when that happened, when there was no chance of getting Nanny’s cookie ever again, Nanny died again, for me, more completely this time.  
                    This past December was 16 years since Nanny passed away, and still, not having that recipe remained one of my life’s chief regrets. So I took my sadness to Facebook and posted a tribute to my Nanny ending with a lament about missing her delicious cookies.  Remarkably, my Aunt posted back, telling me she did not have the recipe but that she knew that Nanny had gotten it from an Auburn cookbook written in the 50s.  Since I was not sure how to come across this cookbook, I thought the chances of finding the recipe were still pretty slim.  I filed it away as something that I would keep my eyes open for, but to not hope for.
                    A few weeks passed, and I opened my email one day at school. My daddy had sent an email with the title “Recipes.” I assumed that it was some recipes that my stepmom, Pat, and I had discussed sharing, and I did not open the email immediately.  It was not till later in the day, that I took the time to look.  The first recipe was from Pat, and I scrolled past it to see which other one she had sent.  Tears sprang to my eyes immediately, as I saw the name of the second recipe, “Nanny Reed’s Tea Cake Cookies.”  I read through the recipe and realized how difficult they must have been to make when she felt so poorly.  Calling my father, he told me that my aunt had been able to locate a cookbook and sent the recipe on to him.
                    I wish I could say that I had rushed home to make the cookies, but they take several hours of chilling and rolling and cutting, so I have not.  I want to have a large amount of time to devote to them, so that the first tasting is perfect.  So, after 16 years, I finally have a way to connect to my Nanny Reed again, by tasting her tea cakes.  I cannot wait to share them with my daughters and pass on those memories to them. 

    Thursday, January 17, 2013

    Last Little Girl

    Today, the snow had just started falling,  and the girls went out to "play" in it.  Honestly,  there was nothing to play in, but they wanted to freeze, I guess.  I watched from the window.

    I was watching Olivia walk down the road in front of our house catching the snow on her tongue, when I realized I was not looking at Olivia at all.  I was looking at Lauryn-Elizabeth.  And just for a second my heart broke.  She looked so grown, not like the little girl she was even just last year. So grown, even,  that I mistook her for Olivia.  I love who she is turning out to be,  but I sure do miss my "La-Bis."

    Thursday, January 10, 2013

    A Halloween Surprise

    When I was in about the 1st grade, I wanted a stuffed animal.  Not just any stuffed animal though, this was the most perfect of stuffed animals – a basset hound stuffed teddy-dog (can’t call it a bear since it was a dog).  It was so cute, with big droopy eyes that pleaded with you to come snuggle with him, and soft mahogany fur that was exactly the color I wished my hair was.  There was just one problem: This teddy-dog could not be bought in a store.  Instead, to bring this sweet puppy home, you had to open a new account at the bank.  (In those days, banks often enticed customers to change banks by offering incentives like blenders, coffee pots, and, more important to me, the occasional stuffed animal.)  To make matters even more difficult, my mom worked at the bank, the same bank, in fact, that offered Beaureguard (the perfect plush pet came pre-named).
    So, I appealed to my mommy. “Mommy, Can you please get me Beaureguard?  I really love him so much!”
    “Wendy, we already have an account with the bank.  We don’t need to open another.  I’m sorry, but I just don’t think that there is a way to get that stuffed animal,” my mom explained.
    So, I appealed to my daddy.  “Daddy!  I really, really, reallllllly want Beaureguard! Can you get him for me?”
    “Now Wendy, you have lots of stuffed animals.  You do not really need another one,” my dad reminded me.
    This fact was true.  I did have countless other stuffed animals.  But none were stuffed doggies, and certainly none were as ideal as Beaureguard.  So, I tried again, this time listing all the reasons I felt like he was superior to any other stuffed animal.
    “Daddy, Beaureguard is bigger than me so he can protect me from the boogey-man at night!  And Daddy, he has the softest, most affectionate eyes I have ever seen.  I just know he wants to be my puppy as much as I want him!  And Daddy, did you see his fur?  It’s the color of a horse’s mane, and don’t you just love him as much as I do?” I beseeched.
    But my parents weren’t budging.  They were ever the pragmatists, reminding me it would not be prudent to open a new account, and besides, what did I need a new stuffed animal for anyway, with all the dozens I already had?  So, I tried to content myself with playing with my old, unexciting stuffed animals and Barbies.  But every time I saw the commercial on TV offering the magnificent stuffed doggie with love blazing in his eyes, I felt my heart droop even lower than his basset hound eyes.
    A few months passed, and I tried to put him out of my mind, but the harder I tried to stop thinking about him, the more I seemed to dwell on him.  His big floppy ears and gigantic goofy grin seemed to find their way into every day dream I had. 
    Thankfully, Halloween was approaching and that gave me something to occupy my thoughts for a while.  I was going to be a witch complete with a spinach - green face and a nasty wart on my nose! I was very excited that my mom had even bought me a tall witch’s hat. I was certain I would have the best costume of all my friends! 
    Finally, the big night came, and like every afternoon, I had gone over to the friend’s house after school so I would not be home alone.  I had brought my costume with me so that I would be ready to go trick-or-treating as soon as my parents came to pick me up.  Feeling quite resplendent in my costume, I met my dad at the door as soon as he knocked.  Swinging the door open wide, so he could see what a becoming witch I made, I expected him to be pleased with my hard work getting ready.  But, to my surprise, when I opened the door, Daddy was already beaming like the headlights on our two-toned Chevy Citation.  My mouth dropped open when I saw what was in his hands – Beaureguard!
    I grabbed him up, and held him close to my chest, being careful not to get any of my green witch face makeup on his velvety, soft chestnut fur.
    “Oh!  Daddy! You got him for me!  But how?”  I breathed with wonder in my voice.  “You told me there was just no way!”
    But my daddy just smiled.  “You wanted him,” he shrugged, “and so I got him for you.”  In that moment, my daddy was my hero, and I looked up at him and hugged him tight, crushing Beaureguard in between us. “Thank you, Daddy.  I love you.”
                    We got in the car and drove away to start trick -or-treating, but in my mind, I had already gotten the best Halloween prize of all.
                    And after almost 30 years, Beaureguard still sits on my bed every day, reminding me of my Daddy’s love.


    Wednesday, January 11, 2012

    Broken Hearts and Answered Prayers

    As I write this, there is a little copper dachshund nestled so close to me that I am having trouble typing. I am not complaining, because I kind of like the sweet little nuisance. But this time last week, was a different story.
    Olivia introducing Jack Eliot to snow. He was not impressed.
    We had woken normally, and let our dog of about 6 or 7 years, Jack Eliot, out to potty, like we always do. It was an extra cold day at about 20 degrees, and so Kevin had made sure to bundle Jack up into a sweater and jacket to keep him warm. I always worried about his thin little legs and feet on days like that one. About 20 minutes later, as we all started to gather up our things for work and school, we called Jack Eliot (named for the sweet dog in The Lake House, and my favorite poet, T.S. Eliot) to come in. Oddly, he did not come running. He hated cold, and so he would usually be waiting for us at the door when it was time to come in.
    Jack looking regal

    This sent off a warning bell in my head, but I pushed it back, and we all four went out to call for him. After about 15 minutes of calling, and walking around the house, and honestly, getting a little frustrated with Jack, I decided I had to get the girls to school, and me to work. Kevin
    offered to stay till 8 looking for him, even though that would make him late.

    On the way to school, the girls and I prayed that Jack would be warm, and that we would find him waiting on the porch for us when we returned home. I was comforted by the fact that it was supposed to warm up to the 50s later that day. Lauryn-Elizabeth had made a prophetic (though
    we did not know at the time) comment that Jack could have slipped on a log into the small creek that ran beside our house in the woods. I told her there was no way that had happened. I put it out of my mind, and focused on work as much as I could, but little worries nudged the corners of my mind all day.

    Still, I was not SERIOUSLY concerned. This is the dog that survived being run over by a car. Not hit….run completely over. He survived a massive attach of heartworms. Both times, he was on death’s door, and came back stronger than ever. So, I truly did not think anything was wrong with Jack. I thought he had just run off chasing a smell, and would certainly be home when we returned. Nothing could kill that little trouper!
    Jack Eliot looking at his "Welcome Home" banners
    after his miraculous recovery when I ran over him.
    But, that was not to be.

    When we got home, there was no Jack Eliot waiting at the door for us, no excited eyes, no wagging tail. The empty driveway filled me with dread. I was pretty sure what that meant; Jack was nothing if not a loyal dog. He would have been home if he were able. But still, I had some hope. So, we three girls began to search. (Kevin was still at work.)

    And then it happened.

    I had walked to the back corner of the backyard, while Liv had been searching the woods in front of the house, where Jack spent most of his day usually. But Liv had slipped in to the backyard to search with me, and saw him.

    He had slipped into the pool and drowned.

    (Let me interject here, that my heart breaks at the thought of Olivia finding him this way. Two hearts have never been so intertwined as Olivia and Jack Eliot. They truly were best friends. He seemed to know her thoughts, and she loved him fiercely. I desperately wish it had been me.)

    Her screams shook me. I mean really shook me. It was a sound I have never heard come from Olivia’s mouth, and I hope I never do again. I ran to her, but she just ran inside the house before I could make it over to her. In the process I slipped on our deck. At that moment, I guess I was too hopped up on adrenaline to notice, but later I realized I had seriously injured myself. (I limped for a few days afterwards.)

    Lauryn-Elizabeth had heard the commotion by this time, and came running over, a palpable fear on her face and a panic in her eyes. I told her, and she joined Liv in screaming. I grabbed them, and just tried to hold them, but my pain was great, too. I had loved Jack deeply as well.

    This moment ranks as one of the worst Mommy moments ever. I could not make things better when their grandmother had died, and I could not make things better now either. And they just…kept….screaming…..

    That is a moment I will never forget, as much as I wish I could.

    The next hour is a blur. We cried together, and went to our rooms and cried separately. I went outside and stood in the backyard and argued with God for a bit. I remember just crying, and asking why in the world would he break the girls’ hearts like that.

    In the end, we all sat in the living room, and cried together. Kevin had gotten home by this point, and so together, he and I tried to explain it to the girls so that they could accept it. But I am pretty sure we failed.

    The girls slept with me that night, and the following night. They were having nightmares, and
    Liv could not get the memory of what she had seen in the pool out of her mind. Neither child was sleeping well, but Liv was waking with dark circles of sadness under her eyes. She was despondent, and I was really worried about her. I prayed over and over for their hearts to heal.

    And then, God stepped in.

    A friend sent me a message that she had seen a dachshund on Facebook for free! I knew that getting another dachshund was risky, but Olivia told me that as long as our next dog did not look like Jack Eliot that she could handle it. So I crossed my fingers, and looked at the picture. The dachshund was a girl, and a beautiful copper brown- nothing like Jack.

    So, I called about her, and we went over after Liv got out of soccer practice for the day. I was cautiously optimistic, and warned the girls that we were only going to look…..not to necessarily take her home.

    We drove to the house (stopping at the wrong house two times in the process) and cautiously walked up to the door. The dachshund’s owner was already waiting at the door holding her. It wasn’t love at first sight. Olivia stood aloof while Lauryn-Elizabeth sat on a bench and held the dog. She smiled tentatively at me, and the dog shivered, but then looked up and gave Lauryn-Elizabeth a lick on her chin. I sat beside her and the dog looked at me, clearly scared, but willing to let me pet her and hold her.

    Then I asked Olivia if she wanted to hold the dog. She was hesitant. I knew she was scared to love another dog, maybe not even ready. But she took a chance, and held the dog. And then she
    smiled. And I knew we were taking the dog home.

    Natalie, as we call her, had fit right in. She loves to snuggle with us, and is playful and cheerful, and is already one of the family. She brought joy back into our family. I still don’t know why God allowed Jack to be ripped away so suddenly, but I can accept it because he provided a
    way out. He answered our prayers by sending us Natalie.

    Thank you, Natalie, for bringing joy back into our house again.
    We love you Jack Eliot. We will never forget you. Thank you for the joy you brought us. We were proud to be your family.

    Tuesday, June 21, 2011

    Treasure Hunting

    Recently I have been introduced to the world of Geocaching. While we were in Idaho, my family had a free day, so we decided to try out some geocaching. We had so much fun (Even tho we did not find the first one we looked for)! However, we did find our second cache, and from then on we were hooked. We found a few caches in Utah, and now in our hometown. On Father's Day we found a few caches in Kevin's hometown, Elba. Yesterday we went out with a fellow geocacher Beverly Brown and logged 6 caches. I even found my first Geocoin! We have plans to go geocaching in Birmingham on Thursday, and Tallassee on Friday!

    Profile for wlrdew

    Liv finding "The Crabby Turtle"