When your kid wants THIS for their birthday, do you buy it?

 I'll just show you the video and you can tell me...

Summer Vacation used to be fun, but now?

My kid said I was the only mom who moaned at the mention of summer vacation.
"Most moms like spending time with their kids. They want them home."

I laughed. Really, really laughed, like one of those Rosie-oops-I better change my drawers laughs.
It's not that I don't want to spend time with my kids. I love them. They amuse me. They help me. They bring me joy.

They are also loud and busy and messy and needy and yearn to be the center of my attention.

Did I say I write in an open room in my house? Did I say I write best with peace and solitude? Did I say I tend to walk around with pages, reading them aloud, pacing the clear, wide areas of the house looking for inspiration? Did I say I tend to produce less work in the summer, but failed to figure this in to my spring work?

sigh.

So, this next few weeks, before I pack up my two kids and their two friends and drive them to the beach, I will try to learn to write wearing headphones, in the bathroom, balancing my laptop on my knees, behind a locked door.

Asking to be liked, feels like middle school all over again.

 Facebook has its glitches, we know this. One of which is the LIKE button, which looks more like a gray/blue thumbs up.

There are certain features that unlock if you have 30 likes, others at 50, some at 100. I really don't understand any of it, especially the way that I cannot LIKE my own page, as the error message tells me I have to dump friends and/or other pages I like. This means I can't send any friends to my page, by suggesting it.
 In a way to circumvent the problem, it was suggested we post private messages to the friend list, a chunk at a time... of course, what this really meant was, a bunch of people got a bunch of notices, emails, replies and generally were harassed- all in the name of Linda wanting to be liked.
 sigh
 Now, like middle school, I am out there apologizing and apologizing, explaining what I think happened, though I'm not really sure and asking for second chances.
 Does it ever end?

If you understand this feeling, if you see the corn in the poo, if you get what I'm throwing down please, LIKE ME HERE because, I just can't stand not knowing what happens at magic number 1000.

How's this whole New Year thing working out for you?

So far so good on my end. Thanks for asking. 
Sure, there have been a few glitches. 


Like a surprise snow-ice debaucle in the sunny South that left most rednecks scritching thar haids and saying, "Why lookie there."


Then going back inside for 7 days.
 Nah. That was just me.

Like most people entering a new year, I made some determinations- not resolutions. I do realize the difference. ANd the best part is- I never told anyone. So if I don't do them? Who will ever know. God, that sounds psychopathic.


It turns out, my kids are pretty good at the parenting part, so in a role reversal, when my brain is fried, or I am just too worn down to say "no" one more time, I let them tell me what to do. Take me to the mall. Let me have a sleepover. Order pizza. Buy  this thing on the internet that I don't need but you will never have to leave your desk chair and I will  go away and not bug you for another twenty minutes at least so you can continue to troll facebook profile pictures of strangers who look interesting because of the things in the background of their shadowy image uploaded at 3 AM.


I started a new novel.


Yep. That's all I'm saying right now.


I blew off the MRI for the shoulder, afraid of what they would tell me...finished the Naproxin and now just winch alot all day long. I created my own rehab program, with elastic bands, trips to the gym, yoga stretches and shots of tequila. So far, so good.


I rearranged my closet. To make room for more shoes.


I bought my kid a 5 foot long bean bag that took 45 minutes to re-fluff upon vacuum packed arrival, and totally killed my shoulder to haul up the stairs.


I have only been reading ebooks- which is strange. And wonderful.

I realized I went almost 2 months without really eating vegetables. I'm embarrassed to admit that. Which is not half as bad as my friend who admitted he'd gone almost 3 months without drinking any water. How do you even DO that?


I went to a passion party which is really a sex toy party and came up with all these ways to be a better salesgirl than the salesgirl, even got roped into a drunken yes moment with a gal pal asking me to start a business venture with her, but in the end, I just wrote a check and decided to write a story about the whole thing.

I can honestly say that I may have my hand in too many pies, my spoon in too many broths, my mind in too many gutters- I mean directions- and that I really should try to limit my tentacular reach so I can focus more... I just made up that word- tentacular. 
Go ahead. you can use it.


I'm still thinking about the drop some things part. 
Maybe I was born to be tentacular.

Small Town News, no Anna Nicole Smith

In my town, there are two kinds of news. Bad news and worse news.

Okay, my town is just like yours. My town is just like the WORLD NEWS at 7pm.

Usually I will skim the bad things, pass over the fifteen thousand foreclosure entires , glance at the DUI pictures and definitely be amused at one or two times in our dinky little local paper on Thursdays when I can read about someone changing their name from Bob Jones to Prince Bigstuff, or the guy who changed his name from Robert John Stephenson III to They.

Yep. Now, he can be the one everyone is talking about when the phrase, "Well, you know what They say... " is uttered.

I saved this paper for long enough that it began to yellow, just so I can show you ... well, go on. Read it.

No, not the top article about opinions shared at education meeting, but the one below:

 MARIJUANA PLANTS FOUND INSIDE TELEVISION.

 I especially like the Sherriff's Dept. spokeswoman's comment. "It is what is was. It was six plants, not a major grow."

"Ohh -kay."

And now let's read the article to the right: TEEN FACES DRUG CHARGES AFTER BROWNIES SICKEN 5. ... 17 yr old faces drug charges after authorities say students were sickened by brownies believed to be laced with marijuana....

Maybe he should have bought his pot from the TV dude.

 Just sayin'

Put it on a Stick. They'll eat it and love it.

 It's STATE FAIR time, and that means a few things: baby cows being born in public barns, spinning rides manned by pedophiles, and more than 50 kinds of food being sold on a stick.

Yep. STICKS. Forget paper plates, inconvenient balancing acts of rolling food on flat surfaces. Step up to the concession stand, and walk away with your meal, no need to even find a chair or table.
 It's brilliant, yes?
I grew up attending the New York State Fair.  The fair was so large then, it took 3 days to see it all. Now, Over one million people will pass through the gates. Look at this:

 GEDDES, NY (WSYR-TV) – A record number of people came out to the Great New York State Fair on its third day Saturday.  At days end, 115,324 people had turned out to the fairgrounds.  That’s 29,690 more people than last year.
The number of visitors also bests the previous attendance record of 94,959 set back in 2003.


WOW
 All the more reason to offer portable food. 
 I was reminded by my fave station: NPR, about all the other great state fairs, and started to think I need to make more road trips.
Here's some food on the stick selections.

The chocolate covered twinkie
 ...a precursor to the new deep fried twinkie, coated in white chocolate, rolled in nuts and dipped in whipped cream. ( not kidding)
 There are traditional foods on a stick like cotton candy, candy apples, and now, cinnamon buns, pie and even deep fried snickers, or oreos on a stick.
At Woman's Day, they explore more "meals on a stick", while here you can see some absolutely gross items, more joke than dinner I hope. Seahorses? really?

Most of the state fairs I found were bragging of 50-70 individual foods offered "on the stick"
 For real??

see some of them here: 

Are you wondering, like me, how many people jabbed themselves with the stick while eating?

The Writer's Lament

A friend encouraged me to "find the time" to write. I know those words. I say them all the time to OTHER people. i was the one rising at 4am for 3 years to write 2 novels. I was the one existing on 5 hours of sleep, committing to multiple projects- and completing them all, while running a household and raising two kids.
 I did that.
 I do that.
 But  summer.
 Ah, summer. Cold air conditioned rooms, soft tempurpedic mattress.
The idea that you  don't HAVE to make a kid's lunch at 5 am. You don't HAVE to tape your 10pm shows, you can actually watch them. The idea that the gym will still be there at 11, as it was at 8... sigh.
 Dangerous ideas.

so this is what I'm back to. Wish me luck.

My son is finally ready to drive, but am I?

He was that little once, just a lot blonder. I still imagine him like that sometimes, when I glance over and see him sprawled across the entire 7 foot long couch, when I watch him eat an whole pizza on his own, washed down with three sodas and followed by a bowl of ice cream... even then, I can still see his baby side. He is his mother's child. And as two Aries, we get it. I mean we get IT.
 So, I know what he wants ... usually. And was a bit concerned when he wasn't chomping at the bit to drive. I mean, I have a HOT CAR.

Who wouldn't want to drive it? ;-)

So, I  took him to get his driver's permit, a few weeks after he turned fifteen. That's the rule in Georgia. He had been doing some parking lot driving, some pullthecarout  of the garage stuff, but no road work.
It started then. There was a log we were supposed to fill out, an instruction manual, a lot of what appeared to be MOMMY homework.. uh, no thanks. I got my license, paid my tickets, er, dues.
 This should be on you, I told him. So, after a few days, a few close calls in traffic, a half bottle of Xanax.. he wasn't driving so much.
I waited to see when he'd ask. He didn't. I waited when school let out, to see if he'd want to take the lessons at school. He didn't . I watched his friends get their licenses, enjoyed seeing the neighbor girl do her mom's last minute pre-dinner oops  shopping, and thought of all the places I could send my son.

So, he's taking driving lessons, from a stranger. A cute old Brit, actually. Who reprimanded me for speeding into the driving school parking lot, a turn we ALMOST missed.
He says in his sweet English accent, "That was a lovely two wheeled turn, there. And you're bringing HIM to driving lessons?"
I laughed. "Well, one of us has to know how to drive now. Aren't you glad it will be him?"

Next week, the boy rides one on one with another stranger, then it's my turn. Rut- ro, Scooby.

I walked 12.8 kilometers through a gorge in Crete Saturday. What did you do?

 And the whole way, the 11 year old WHINED. I was kind of glad the 16 year old was lagging behind.
We finished in under 5 hours.  
Do you KNOW how far 12. 8 kilometers is? 

AND at the end of the hike, you still aren't done. It's another 10 minutes to walk into town, another 100 meters to the beer stall and another 50 meters to the tzatziki.

 I'm just saying.

Sure, I worried about the missing boy.I asked strangers, cute Swedish hiker dudes, and  after my daughter and I ate, drank and swam in the Libyan Sea, I convinced a man with a little bus to drive me up a hill- all in sign language. I wasn't walking anymore... even for my firstborn ...
Oh, not to worry. I found him. 
He was hot, sweaty, sore, and had just finished eating a hamburger.

19 days until my life changes...again.

Spongebob Squarepants Saved Her Life!

 I don't watch the TV news, and I canceled the newspaper a year ago.  I read the Yahoo headlines and listen to NPR... and then get schooled in snippets of overheard conversation in grocery store lines.
I like this place for my news.
 HAPPY NEWS 

 Especially today, when I see that a SPONGEBOB episode taught one twelve year old a valuable lesson.

Spongebob Credited For Helping NY Girl Save Friend's Life

APRIL 24, 2010David Johnson, Citizen Journalist

When Allyson Golden began choking on her gum, then turned red and started kicking her legs, her best friend Miriam Starobin flew into action and performed the Heimlich maneuver, and the gum popped out.However, the 12-year-old Long Island girl had not been through a First Aid class or CPR training - she had been watching Spongebob Squarepants! In one episode of the Nickelodeon animated series, SpongeBob retrieves a clarinet lodged in Squidward's throat. In another, Patrick revives Squidward after he swallows a fork.Allyson, who pleads guilty to chewing a wad of Trident Original Flavor, realized almost immediately what her friend had done. "I gave her the biggest hug and I was like, 'Miriam you just saved my life. I owe you big time.' And she's just, 'Oh, no, it was no big deal.'"She rejects any suggestion that she is a hero. "I mean heroes are people who literally risk their lives to save people," Miriam protested. "I mean I did something that really anyone could if they tried."for more on this story, check out this link: www.chicagotribune.com/entertainment



I can almost forgive him his annoying giggle. Almost.

"16!" Both a joy and an excuse.

Some of my favorite bloggers do these beautiful, touching homage pieces to their kids and their husbands on birthdays and anniversaries, some post monthly wow- look-at-you growth re-caps of babies. Some take us through the death of their cancer-ridden pussycat, the passing their strong, wise Granny, the sudden demise of a hamster named Mr. Nibbles. Me?
 Not so much.

I'm the go-to girl if you want to hear about planning a party, writing a novel or what I think about bad drivers. Come to me and read about dresses and shoes and shopping. About killer shots in beach bars and where to find the best place to skinny dip. I can tell you what to read, how to install a surround sound system with projector and custom screen and assure MACs kick the ass of any PC.

But do not have me go to my tender spot.
Because Lord knows, I have become my father- crying at cute puppies, at sad movies, and in really, really happy moments- like a few weeks ago when a friend was surprised at winning this huge, daunting award... something her son wrote an essay for to win her nomination. Yeah. wow. I was weeping.


 SO, even if I'm not  gonna get mushy, let it be said. 
I love my kids.
Some days when I close the door on the 16 year old, as he walks out in the dark, down to a bus stop that's also in the dark. I feel a lump in my throat. Part omigod please get there, please do well, please let them be nice to you and please please please come back home... and part, shit, did I do the right things for him yesterday? Will I make the right choices today? And why did I ever think I should be a parent, again?

And when the grumpy almost 12 yr old yells down at 7:30 that I was supposed to have remembered to wake her up early, not be writing on my computer, because she needs to curl her hair, and what was I thinking, motherrrrrr? let it be said, I love my kids. 

So, on this day, April 19. I celebrate, you, my son. A boy born in California, raised on the East Coast and becoming a man in The South. 

Happy Birthday, my tow-headed 9 lb 10.5 oz baby, my 6'1" 185lb man.

Look, Ma, It's a Messy Recipe Contest!

Had nothing really great to share today... yet. So, thought I'd share some mail with you. Someone has been peeking in my kitchen, if they sent me this:

The Best Messy Recipe Contest

• Sponsored by
• 

$500
Contest ends on 02/14/2010

Got a delish but messy recipe that you think twice about making? Bring it! Roll up your sleeves and break out the Bounty because we're looking for your best, most perilously-messy recipe -- definitely not for the faint of heart. From sloppy Joes to saucy ribs and chicken wings, we want to see your most creative original recipe. The prize: $500. But remember, photos must be of the actual recipe submitted, and the recipe must be original. Entries that don’t follow these guidelines are ineligible to win.

   See contest rules     

 

If Paris Hilton lived in Georgia

There are a lot of blondes in Georgia- natural blondes- who still believe in big hair and glitz. I think there may be a bit of "stuck in the 80's" happening around here. And certainly if Paris Hilton came to town, she'd be confused by the accents...
but my daughter was certain that if Paris Hilton was going to go trick or treating in our neighborhood, she'd wear these shoes with a sparkly silver skirt and a BFF shirt while cradling Tinkerbell in her arms.

Of course, we only bought them with HALLOWEEN in mind- it may have been the shiny shiny that pulled us to them, or the $6 price tag.

Death: another life lesson

I've always been an animal lover. The kind who kept secret pets in boxes under the bed, the kind that fed strays and insisted they "just followed me home, I swear."
For at least four youthful Christmases, the only thing on my list was a kitten, except for the one year when I changed it to puppy.
Of course, as soon as I moved out of the house, I got a pet- or fourteen.
My boyfriend at the time had 2 very large Burmese pythons and a natural love of animals.
We added a ferret to the mix, who was given to us by a couple with a new Akita puppy and a baby on the way. I guess they figured they had enough to deal with.
When the ferret gave birth to four tiny little babies and shunned the runt, I took it upon myself to feed it every few hours with an eyedropper and massage it's little belly. This was well before the internet, and I did what the pet store guy told me, but as much as I wanted the runt to live, she died in my hand. That was 1985.
Since then, I have seen my share of animal deaths, from a slew of fish- boring, cheap, and expensively exotic to baby Jackson Chameleons, green iguanas, zebra finches, hamsters, mice, water dragons, bearded dragons, anoles and snakes, even a tarantula and three turtles. Most of these coaxed little to no mourning from my animal loving soul. I chalked it up to survival of the fittest and moved on.
We went through a cat phase, capturing and humanizing a feral cat, then giving it to a friend, adopting a kitten from a cardboard box for a dollar, which broke its leg and was adopted by a kitty lover who we met in the vet parking lot, then the really fuzzy Lancelot who died after licking pest spray. Yeah, I began to figure cats weren't my thing.
In the late eighties, I had a purebred basset hound puppy who drowned in a friend's swimming pool- herded to his death by two evil Australian shepherds. No one was a witness, which was part of the problem, and I am sure to this day, the teen girl who left the yard when she was supposed to be dog sitting still feels guilty.
I cried for days over that puppy, and told myself how dumb it was, he was only a dog. I'd only had him a few months... but I was devastated.
My boyfriend made it up to me by bringing home another basset hound and a basenji. I loved those pups and raised them for a few years, until we broke up and the boyfriend left with the basenji, leaving me with a houseful of reptiles, a 100 gallon tank of Cichlids, a ferret and his dog- the basset hound. Lord Remington Sand Acheron.
As life would have it, I had to give up all my animals, but finding homes was easy. They were happy and healthy and I thought better off without my hardly there schedule.
Fast forward a few years and I am given two kittens by another man ( sense a pattern here?) and I love the shy boy one, Amos even more than the pretty girl Maine Coon, Tyre. Within months, the ferret dies in her sleep and a friend gives me a stray cat - just until she can find a home for it... you know how that goes. The day before spaying, my Maine coon gets out and comes home pregnant- living up to her name.
By the time her babies arrive, I am living with a not so animal loving man, that I am planning to marry. What a test he has to pass, as the cat goes into labor while I am working the late shift at a brewpub. My soon to be husband delivers all the kittens and even saves the runt by wrestling a chubby baby off a nipple. One of the kittens only lives 4 days, but it wasn't the runt and we don't name them because we know we can't keep them. A month later, a family adopts the mom and all kittens and we have to give up the other two cats, Amos and the stray, Mischa to the adoption society. I send my fiance to do the dirty work. And to this day he speaks of wishing he'd kept the runt.
When we finally settled in our own home in Northern California, had our first child and began to feel like we had some control over life in general, we decided to try to the pet thing again. This time, we brought home a pure bred yellow labrador retriever, marked as pet quality from a litter of 13. Our son was almost two and beginning to be cautious of large dogs. Not good. We researched all breeds and options, saved our money, found a reputable breeder and selected our puppy in the Spring of 1996.
He chose us, following us around the pen, nuzzling my pant leg, bumping into our toddling boy. We picked him up, signed the papers and agreed to the breeder's request to keep part of the parentage in the kennel name. We registered him as Kid Kallahan and welcomed another boy to the family.
He was a typical lab puppy -chewing everything, chasing everything and very very lovable.
But within a week, he got sick. Really sick. He was being crate trained, sleeping on an old flannel shirt of mine, with a pillow, and when he cried at night and I went to him, I knew something was wrong. The next day he was diagnosed with parvo and given very little chance of survival. We left him overnight for meds and rehydration and when I picked him up the next day, he felt like a bag of jello. I spent four days nursing this hairy baby, sleeping on the floor with him, one arm in the crate, one under my head, so I could take him out if he needed to go, so I could soothe him when he cried.
He made it. Beat the odds. Our wonder puppy. Thing was, he couldn't socialize with any other dogs, as he was still basically quarantined... so he couldn't learn to be a good dog to strange dogs, just to people. He thought he was a person.
As he got older, we took him to dog parks and dog beaches and doggy daycare, so he could look at the other four legged people and learn to do what they did, but when I looked at his eyes, he was saying, c'mon lady. Let's go home and watch Oprah.
For years and years, Kallahan was our fourth family member, and when my daughter came along, he reluctantly agreed to protect her too- as if he was shrugging and saying, well, okay, if I have to.
Even with his two head bonking traumas which led to a ten year regime of daily phenobarbital, and the addition of a Yorkipoo puppy three years ago, Kallahan continued to serve his human family well, being everything a good dog should and can be.
And we never forgot to build him a dog food birthday cake every January, or buy him a toy every holiday.
I loved how he would follow me everywhere- going outside when I was out, in when I was in, laying beside the bed when I was in it, coming to check on me if I took too long in the shower, resting his head on my feet under my desk as I wrote.
God, I'll miss my boy.
Doing the right thing isn't always the easy thing, and watching your family dog die is heart wrenching, but letting him suffer or prolonging something for your comfort is more cruel.

So today, our sick old man whose back end stopped working right a month ago, whose seizures came back stronger than ever and whose pain was constantly apparent in his sad brown eyes...went to doggie heaven and I'm sure I'll stop crying in a few days, but I know none of us will ever forget Kid Kallahan.
Rest in Peace, my sweet sweet boy.

I want my kids to be like these boys.

There are opportunities around every corner. There are surprises and learning experiences and times to grow- if you go out there and look. If you think PAST boundaries, past rules, past the norm.
I love inventive thinkers. I love people who say I CAN.
who say WHY NOT
Who say, WATCH ME.
I am one of those.

A kid called a dreamer, a kid put down time and time again for not following the rules, for not doing exactly as the others before me had done, for not conforming.
Screw that.
I don't want to raise conformists.

We need DOERS. we need people who will buck trends, step out of boxes, do more than expected and go beyond barriers.

I read this story of these two guys and I got goose bumps. Sure their goal wasn't exactly selfless, or spiritual, but I would SO so so proud to be their Mother, to be their friend. I wish the news was filled with the stories of kids who start businesses at 15 , of kids who write programs to solve computer glitches, of financial wizards, of philanthropists, of scientists who find cures.

I'm tired of meeting people who say, "I can't" or "That's too hard,"or "Nobody does that," and "Yeah right." If we don't believe in ourselves, no one else will.

Another reason to not buy a magazine for its cover.

Image of ultra-thin Ralph Lauren model sparks outrage

• by Brett Michael Dykes, 16 hours ago

In recent years an ongoing debate has brewed over advertisers and fashion magazines using photographs, particularly photographs of women, that have seemingly been altered, or "retouched," by airbrushing and photo editing software such as Photoshop. The latest such image to cause an uproar is one featured in a new Ralph Lauren advertisement that shows a model, Filippa Hamilton, so emaciated that her waist actually appears to be smaller than her head.

On September 29th, Boing Boing's Xeni Jardin posted the ad, which originally appeared on a blog dedicated to pointing out suspected retouched images called Photoshop Disasters, with the comment, "Dude, her head's bigger than her pelvis." Ralph Lauren responded by filing a Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA) complaint against Boing Boing and Photoshop Disasters, claiming that their use of the image was a copyright infringement that fell outside of the Fair Use laws which allow the media to reproduce creative content for the purposes of commentary and criticism.

The Internet service provider hosting Photoshop Disasters (Google Blogspot) deleted the post containing the image, while Boing Boing's (Canada's Priority Colo.) did not. In response, Boing Boing editor Cory Doctorow issued a stern warning to Ralph Lauren yesterday on the website, saying that the company's attempt to silence their criticism has only inspired them to step up their efforts in the future:

"Copyright law doesn't give you the right to threaten your critics for pointing out the problems with your offerings. You should know better. And every time you threaten to sue us over stuff like this, we will:

a) Reproduce the original criticism, making damned sure that all our readers get a good, long look at it, and;

b) Publish your spurious legal threat along with copious mockery, so that it becomes highly ranked in search engines where other people you threaten can find it and take heart; and

c) Offer nourishing soup and sandwiches to your models."

The U.S. isn't the only place where advertisers are feeling the public backlash over retouching claims. Overseas, a recent Olay ad featuring a virtually wrinkle-free 59-year-old Twiggy caused such an uproar in the UK that the British Parliament recently proposed outlawing retouching in advertisements aimed at teenagers. The movement was initiated by the nation's Liberal Democrats, whose leader on the issue, Jo Swinson, said:

"Today's unrealistic idea of what is beautiful means that young girls are under more pressure now than they were even five years ago. Airbrushing means that adverts contain completely unattainable images that no one can live up to in real life. We need to help protect children from these pressures and we need to make a start by banning airbrushing in adverts aimed at them. The focus on women's appearance has got out of hand - no one really has perfect skin, perfect hair and a perfect figure, but women and young girls increasingly feel that nothing less than thin and perfect will do."

In the U.S., many retouched images featuring celebrities have been the subject of recent scorn, including a L'Oreal ad that lightened Beyonce's skin, an image of Jessica Alba airbrushed to feature a slimmer waist in a Campari ad, and an ad for London Fog featuring Gisele Bunchen in which her "baby bump" was removed.

In response to the growing concern over retouching, a website called About-Face, whose stated mission is to arm "women and girls with tools to understand and resist harmful media messages that affect their self-esteem and body image," has sprung up. The site features a "Gallery of Offenders" as well as a "Gallery of Winners" to highlight who the site's editors feel are the advertising industry's best and worst in regards to improving and harming the image of the modern woman. Site visitors can also contribute money to help offset its operating costs as well as expand programs designed to educate young women on beauty and self-image.

Another website to garner attention for its dedication to exposing photo retouching offenses is Jezebel.com. Speaking on the subject of retouching, Jezebel editor-in-chief Anna Holmes told Yahoo!, "I don't see any point in retouching anymore ... The cat's out of the bag." She added, "I think Americans in particular are sick of having the wool pulled over their eyes ... even if it's regarding fashion models and actresses. The more they do this sort of retouching -- and then try to justify it, as the editor of SELF magazine recently did -- the less anyone believes anything else they have to say, or show. They are, in a sense, digging their own (shallow) graves."

Whether or not Holmes is right about the digging of "shallow graves" remains to be seen, but companies like Ralph Lauren certainly don't appear to be helping their cause by attempting to silence their critics, as doing so has only increased the amount of negative attention to their already controversial ad.

So your child wants to play an instrument, huh?

Welcome to the wonderful world of music.

Perhaps you played an instrument as a child?
Perhaps you play one now?
Uh, no, Guitar Hero does not count.

Don't believe for an instant that your smart, talented child is choosing to join band at school for any reason other than: she followed the cute boy to the sign-up sheet by mistake, she wants something else to torture her mother with, she thought it would be a gateway to international travel.

Or, she just liked the idea of taking music classes more than she liked the idea of taking health classes.

At any rate, your child is now in the band. She is playing the clarinet or the trumpet or the french horn or the oboe, or percussion. Darn, why isn't she playing percussion?
And now you have to hire an instructor and buy supplies and remind her to practice, and listen to her practice, and you are thinking health classes may have been a really really really good idea.
But then you remember how much you enjoy music and how you must have been the same way when you were learning to play the guitar, and when you tried those few months with the piano...
and so you applaud the performance of Hot Cross Buns and you order reeds from Germany and you support as only a mother can.

And you think, maybe someday, not only will the musical portion of her brain that has been stimulated help her with math and science, but maybe someday, she will create a whole new instrument....
something that will make sounds that you can't even describe.
Something like this guy makes.
Meet my friend DIEGO STOCCO and the Experibass.

Diego Stocco - Experibass from Diego Stocco on Vimeo.

now that is way too cool....hotcrossbuns hot cross buns

What you Believe is What You Receive

positive attitude
Originally uploaded by youngdoo

Time for a little positive energy around here.

Kids are in school and learning a whole bunch of life defining skills- including school bus survival. I kiss and hug them and tell them every morning to go out there and knock 'em dead. To hold their head up high and believe in themselves. My husband tells them every night how proud he is of them, how much he expects of them, how worthy they are. They are learning life lessons- that you don't get what you don't earn- and no one hears the whining.

It's time I went on a little positive mental attitude reinforcement trip of my own. And that includes clearing out the cobwebs some creepy little negative energy spider threw up when I wasn't looking.

Beliefs start early, from what you see in your home, to your mentors at school, to what you fill your mind with, from reading and music and film, to your guidance at church. I am thankful for growing up in a strong, healthy, loving family, for my unerring faith in God, for my husband and children who both need me and make me feel loved and wanted, for my encouraging yet competitive writer pals, and of course the strong women friends I have found in Georgia. This is the longest I have lived anywhere, and God must really think I have my act together, because he's been giving me a whole bunch of tests, just to keep me on my toes.

I don't welcome them- who would want trials? But, as a writer, a wife and mother, I see every experience as something to grow from, to use as a metaphor, as a character's motivation, as a teaching tool for the children, as something to enrich and build my marriage, as something to let me know ME better.
I've run into some snags along the way, as I believe in finding the good in everyone, in giving them the benefit of the doubt, of forgiveness and of unconditional love. My husband will look at the bum with the dog and say he's faking his broken leg and I'll want to give the bum lunch, wash his dog and hear the whole story of how he came to be here on this corner.

It's not always easy. I still have a problem going back to stores that mistreated me, or dealing with repairmen who took us for a ride around the block- an expensive ride around the block.
Sure, it may take a bit of grousing and a few mumbled but-why, or we should have- scenarios before I get over the whole thing. But I get there.
Life is too precious, and for some, too short to spend it wallowing in negativity, surrounding yourself with doubters, accusers, and judgmental critics.To allow your own belief system to be soiled by those who don't get it yet.
(I won't call them haters, or evil, or wrong, or bad or even toxic- a term thrown around lately, because then, aren't I lowering myself to their standards?)
I'll just delete the unfitting comment or post, forward the email to a prayer group and walk away. Into a very pretty sunrise in a very blessed place, where a whole new day of good things awaits.

I know there are more days that are coming that I will not want to read what is written about me. Already, I have my dissenters, but I have learned that it's not me. It's their issue. It's their unhappiness, their belief system that broke down. I can't let their problem become my own.

In this house, we don't say, "can't." We don't say something is too hard or impossible. We see only the finish line, not all the pebbles in the path, and we never ever stop believing, because we want a mural, a panorama of life.


"The thoughts we choose to think are the tools we use to paint the canvas of our lives."
Louise L. Hay

She's a Little Runaway

I ran away for a few days. But I'm back. And I was never that far. And I did what I needed to do.

I suppose we all have our runaway stories. My kids have both done it- or at least attempted it.
Not sure what that says about me as a Mommy.
Granted neither one of them got far, they were definitely missed and certainly the reason behind the attempt wasn't taken lightly.

I know I had my share of runaway attempts growing up. The worst part was when I'd thought I'd runaway from home- had packed my favorite stuff, taken some food and a book, managed to stay away for hours and hours and hours... yet when I came home, no one had even known I was gone.
That sucked.

I remember that woman back in the '80's who holed up in her kid's tree house saying she was going on strike- as their mother. I thought she was nuts at the time- especially when her kids lured her down with a plate of homemade brownies- but later, when I was a mother and a wife... I pretty much got where she was coming from and started wishing for my own tree house.

Sometimes, that's what it takes. A strike. A packed suitcase. A white flag on a stick.

Like the 41 year old SAHM who picketed in front of her house in Indiana, saying she was unappreciated and wanted some help around the house... her point was made, even though she got a bunch of hate mail from single working moms and husbands who still believe in the barefoot and pregnant role of house wife...

( of course, you can't be all crazy and do what this mom did. because then you have to go to jail.. and while that sounds like a bit of peace and quiet, I don't know how many of you would be comfortable using that toilet... and no, I'm not going to tell you how I know about using the toilet in a jail cell. )

At any rate, know this. Thinking of running away is perfectly normal. Disguising a little runaway as a guy's golf weekend, high school pal reunion, girls' getaway or spa retreat is also acceptable.
AS long as when you return home, you want to be there, you feel like you've been missed and you are in a hurry to unpack and settle in.

Little Runaway Interlude