Me according to my Twitter followers

I spend quite a bit of time on Twitter just being my usual goofy self. I tweet random thoughts that pop into my head as I go through the day. I tweet supportive or funny messages to my Twitter friends. I reply to questions. I forward info that I find pertinent or useful.

The gist of it is that I'm a busy tweeter and I'm most definitely all me when I'm on there. And people must like me because I kinda get a lot of followers. As in probably 30 or so new followers every day. Which, I know, is totally insane, because I'm not really that funny or that interesting. But anyway, that's neither here nor there.

When you're on Twitter and people follow you, you get a handy little email that tells you that they did so you can go check out their profile and decide whether or not you'll follow them back. I'm anal so I check each and everyone of the profiles and make a careful decision based on whether or not the bio is filled out, the person actually converses with others, and oh yeah, if the person says things that might be of interest to me.

All that is fine and dandy, but here's what I want to know:
Should I take it personally that the majority of the people who follow me are either Career Counselors or Fitness Gurus. I mean, is Twitter trying to tell me something? Like maybe that I should get off the couch, find a job, and start exercising more?

Or am I just being a bit hyper sensitive?

More bare naked embarrassment

I had probably babysat for this little boy once, maybe twice. He was an adorable baby; huge blue eyes and a shock of dark curly hair. He was an easy baby, a joy to watch, and I really, really wanted the parents to keep hiring me.

In an effort to make a good impression I showed up a few minutes early, and, again in an effort to make a good impression instead of sitting quietly on the couch, waiting for the parents to leave, I called to the little boy so I could start playing with him right away.

On my honor, after I called out to him his mother called back from her bedroom, "He's in here!"

Seriously, what would you have done? I took that to mean "He's in here, come and get him."

I was wrong.

She must have heard my footsteps because I heard her scramble. I think I knew before going into the room that I was making a huge mistake, but I remember not being able to stop and turn back. The door was wide open and I stepped into the room, still prattling some nonsense directed at the baby.

And there she was. 100% in the buff. Clutching her little boy to her front in the hopes that his tiny body would somewhat shield her from my eyes. Let's just say that he was really small, and not so good as a cover up.

I blushed from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes and backed out of the room spouting off repeated apologies and hurried to go sit on the couch that should have been my original destination. Minutes later she walked out, fully dressed, and handed me her adorable son. She walked me through the routine instructions and we did our best to not make eye contact for the rest of the evening.

She never mentioned the incident. I never mentioned the incident. And I went on to babysit for them for years, so clearly she forgave me. But that was almost 18 years ago and I still remember every single painful slow-mo second of that moment when I realized I was about to walk in on my naked employer and I was powerless to stop or turn around before seeing more than I was every supposed to see.

That memory is almost as painful as the time years later when I broke that same little boy's tooth while giving him a bath, but that's a whole other story.

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I was overwhelmed by the response to my last post on embarrassment. I blush every time I think of how my loyal readers rushed to defend me. Then, the author of the email I was so embarrassed about left a comment... and well, I swooned. Nothing makes a blogger happier than when readers show their love, unless it's being able to spark a little controversy.

I rode that high and somewhere along the way I inadvertently agreed to blog about the naked babysitting story I mentioned at the start of that post. Sharing it was the least I could do for my awesome readers! Of course, since y'all are insatiable, I bet you're going to want to know the broken tooth story next!

Wordless Wednesday - Go! No!

Happy Wordless Wednesday!

"Go!"
"Noooooo!"

I can do anything for 30 days

Tonight I got kicked out of the kitchen by my family for being overly grumpy. Seriously. They took a vote and decided unanimously that I needed to go chill out in another room.

Harumph.

It's not my fault I'm grumpy. It's the chocolate's fault. Or rather the lack of chocolate, and bread, and candy, and everything else. I'm grumpy because I hate feeling like I can't eat whatever the heck I want. Nothing makes me crave food more than knowing I can't have it.

On the flip side, nothing makes me feel better about myself than being able to control my urges and seeing the result on the scale. It's shallow, I know, but there it is.

Today I started a new weight loss program. It's a 30 day deal. 30 days of planned meals and scheduled exercise. 30 days. I can do 30 days without chocolate and without candy and without the freedom of being able to eat whatever pleases my fancy.

I knew day 1 would be hard. I've cut out sugar in the past. It's like a drug for me. The first few days are hell, then it gets easier and easier to resist. I knew that I would be fine for the first 2/3rds of the day and that I'd get crabby and hungry just around the time I brought the kids home from daycare. I had a hunch that that was when my resolve would falter and I'd get grumpy at the thought of another healthy meal for dinner. I worried I wouldn't get through the day without cheating.

What I didn't take into account was my family, who, instead of letting me get grumpier and grumpier, sent me out of the room to chill out with a cup of tea and a handful of carrots. Ten minutes later I felt better, the hunger had passed and I was more relaxed and able to face the evening.

Now there are 29 days left on this new plan. 29 days. I can do 29 days. Can't I?

Much to my chagrin - one ambitious blogger's embarrassing tale

For the last few weeks I've been straining to think of one decent embarrassing story I could share with you. Something better than the day a friend sent a Valentine's rose to my high school crush in my name. Or something better than the day I headed into the parent's bedroom to collect the toddler I was babysitting only to walk in on his very naked mom who was clutching said child to her chest to keep me from seeing her in all her glory.

Then, because life sometimes has a way of delivering the ideal blog fodder at the most opportune time, this week I handed myself a doozy of an embarrassing tale. Lucky you, I have finally drunk enough wine to be able to share it with you.

It all started with a coffee meeting with a friend during which I mentioned my brilliant post about Flip hacks. He suggested I email it to David Pogue, brilliant columnist at the New York Times and avid fan of the Flip. I got all cocky about my post and I sent it post haste to Pogue, high with the thought of maybe being mentioned in a column and getting a nice burst of blog traffic.

HA!

In fact, hold on, that might require a double HA!

HA! HA!

Don't get me wrong. David Pogue wrote back. He even read my post because he's a stand up guy like that. This is what he wrote:

Great post!

(Just by the way... there is no apostrophe needed in “its” unless you mean “it is” or “it was”... :)

dp

I died. Then I rushed to fix the grammatical error I should have spotted before I hit post. Then I died some more. Because the one thing frankly way worse than being ignored by the famous reporters you probably shouldn't even be pestering with your cutesy blog posts is being noticed by them for the heinous grammatical errors you should definitely not be making at all.

This week the Silicon Valley Moms Blog book-club is exploring the mortifying pages of Much to Your Chagrin, Suzanne Guillette's fabulous memoir of a girl very much like you and me who just does her best to overcome the terribly embarrassing stuff that takes place in her every day life.

Thanks to Suzanne I know I can not only recover from my most recent bout of mortification, but that I might even be able to find a way to turn it to my advantage. Who knows, maybe David Pogue was so impressed with my stammered apology (you can too stammer in an email!) that he's now subscribed to my blog and is just waiting for another brilliant post to link to in his column. Hey! A girl can dream, can't she?

Weekly Winners - Bigger by the week

I don't always have a chance to take pictures during the week. You know how it is, the chores run into each other, the hours fly by, and all of a sudden another week has sped by without a single photo to show for it. Then in one afternoon I capture smiles, frowns, silliness, and their overabundance of life. And I see, clear as day in the viewfinder, that inexorable proof that they've grown again. For this week's Weekly Winners I bring you my babies, bigger than ever.

See what I mean?
When did she get so grown-up?

Not that she can't still ham it up properly.

But still, that's no baby. It's not even a toddler.
It's a big girl. A big, beautiful girl.
And this one?
Well, clearly she's not getting any younger either.
But at least she never gets less goofy.

Check out out other fabulous Weekly Winners at Sarcastic Mom's awesome blog.

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Have you entered my Lemonade Stand Graco 3-in-1 Nautilus giveaway yet? Why not?

Friday Flashback - Five classes I would have taken

Friday Flashback is all about bringing to light some of my favorite posts from my archives to breathe new light into them. This is part of a post that was originally published in April 2008 in response to a meme sent to me by my good friend Mah-meee. If you'd like to see the two paragraph rant about French public education being short on extra curricular classes that preceded this post, by all means click here.

Five classes I wish they had taught in school

1) Self esteem 101: You Rock! And don't let anyone tell you otherwise!
A quick course aimed at boosting your self esteem and getting you to believe that, yes, it really is his loss. Darn it! This class will focus on getting you to realize just how awesome you really are.

2) The world is your oyster 104: If you want it you can have it.
Just because you didn't study the migration patterns of bees in middle school doesn't mean that you can't be an apiculturist if you so choose. This course will show you how to keep learning long after high school, college, or even grad school! Bonus classes will teach that choosing one career path doesn't mean you can't change later on down the road.

3) Self creation 102: Be who you want to be.
Don't like who you are? Don't want to be the shy mousy girl in the corner? Take this class and reinvent yourself. We can show you the secret to shucking off your shyness* and fear of rejection. OK. Maybe not that last one, but the shy thing for sure.

4) A little self love never hurt anyone. No, not that kind of self love, the other kind.
This short course will teach you the importance of being kind to yourself and of taking care of your needs before the needs of those around you. Especially important for anyone intending to eventually become a parent.

5) How to make millions doing exactly what you want.
You want to sit on your couch all day eating bonbons and watching Charmed reruns all day? Fine. 18 holes of golf six days a week? No problem. Marathon shopping excursions? Why the heck not? This class teaches the secret to making money without having to do any work. Nope, no work at all. Pinkie swear.
What? Wouldn't you have taken this class? Come on now, be honest!

* Don't want to be shy any more? It's easy: just pretend you aren't shy. I know, it's corny, but it works. Next time you go to a party just pretend you are super self confident. Chanel that cool girl in the corner. I guarantee that in no time you'll feel less shy. Eventually it'll become second nature. You may always be shy inside, but no one will ever know. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about.

More Perspective

I came home from a lovely evening out with my husband watching the live broadcast of Ira Glass' show This American Life ready to vent about my stressful and irritating day.

Before opening my blogger dashboard I checked my email and found a lovely note from Shana. Yes, Shana, from Gorillabuns, mother of the adorable Thalon who passed away unexpectedly two weeks ago. Her precious baby is dead and she's taking the time to email everyone who left a comment on her blog. Mindboggling.

Then, because the two will forever be linked in my mind, I went to check on the Spohrs, whose sweet daughter Maddie passed away also unexpectedly shortly before Thalon. Today Maddie's oxygen tank, an essential piece of life maintaining medical equipment, was picked up from their home. It's absence is now a painful visual reminder that their daughter is really gone.

I left a couple tearful comments and swallowed in an attempt to dislodge the lump in my throat before turning to my blog post. And that's when I drew a blank. I can't help it, venting about irritating insurance practices or waxing poetic about my writing style of choice just seems petty in the face of all that sadness and loss.

I'm sure I'll be back with something trite or funny tomorrow. Or maybe an anecdote about some mundane part of our lives. But tonight I'm going to go to bed and think about those two little children and their parents and how I know they wish they could just be going to bed frustrated about silly arguments or irritating insurance claims.

Preschool Circle Time Guilt

Three days a week, Monday, Wednesday, Friday, just around 12:10, when I'm finally good and lost in my work, I spot the clock in the corner of my laptop screen and I jump. I have five minutes to get to the preschool that's ten minutes away.

I slam the laptop shut, shove it into my laptop bag, throw my notebooks into my bag, and grab all of it as I make a mad dash for the car. Even as I look at the dashboard clock I know I'm not going to make it in time, but I can't stop hoping that maybe I'll hit every green light and sneak in under the wire.

I never do.

Instead I always arrive a good five or ten minutes late. I sneak into the classroom and try hard not to disrupt the group. I sit quietly behind C and gather her into my arms. My hug doesn't make up for being late again. And her smile and kisses do nothing to dispel my guilt.

On those days I have no one to blame but myself, but at times I'm not solely responsible. For instance, this morning I got trapped on an endless conference call that I thought I couldn't leave. At 12:10 I was unable to pack up and dash despite the fact that the call was already running ten minutes over. At 12:15, imagining the children and parents settling themselves on the blue circle-time rug, I squirmed, but I kept listening even as I started packing up quietly. And at 12:20 I quietly hung up on the call and hoped that no one would notice I was missing the end.

You see, I might well be at fault for sometimes (OK often) missing all or part of circle time, but I don't ever want to have to explain to C why her mommy arrived after all her friends have gone home. No call, article, or meeting is ever going to be worth letting her down like that.

Celebrating Earth Day with Small Changes

Tomorrow (today, depending on when you're reading this) is Earth Day. It's a day for going to out to a nature preserve and rediscovering all of nature's bounty. It's a day for taking stock of your ecological efforts. And it's a day for really looking around and appreciating the earth and everything we get from it.

I can't remember a time when people didn't talk about doing things more greenly, didn't push the eco-agenda, but I do remember a time when people brushed it off as tree-huggery hooey. Then, over the last couple of years people stopped joking about it and started thinking twice about using less plastic, pumping less gas, recycling paper, and spraying fewer harmful toxins into the air.

I'm like you, or at least like most of you, and apparently like the rest of the world too. I don't make huge sweeping changes in my life. Changing everything at once isn't sustainable. What works instead is making small changes one at a time, and moving on to the next change when the first one becomes routine. 10 years ago none of us recycled, now the majority of us do. 10 years ago the question paper or plastic was never asked, now it's routine, and other, even more ecofriendly options exist. Change happens. It just happens slowly.

I was going to admit that I feel shame that we don't have a very green home, then I started to think back on the little changes we've made this past year.

1. We switched to using a steam cleaner instead of chemical cleaner for our floors.
2. I started reusing ziplock backs as frequently as possible.
3. I switched to green cleaning products for things that couldn't be cleaned with the steam cleaner - dishes, windows, all purpose spray.
4. We haven't watered our front lawn this year.
5. I switched to using microfiber cloths instead of paper towels.
6. I've started unplugging unused chargers as often as possible.
7. We got rid of our gas guzzling Jeep Cherokee and got a more fuel efficient Honda. (This may not have been an entirely voluntary move, but it was something we desperately wanted to do, so I am definitely counting it!)
8. We hunted down a massive water leak in our front yard and put an end to the wasted water.

It's not a ton, but it's not nothing either. We might not be the greenest house on the block, but at least we're trying. Next I'm going to do my best to remember to unplug both laptops every night and try to be more aware of the amount of water I'm using when I'm washing dishes or brushing teeth. Small changes. Small changes that I can stick to until they become routine.

Happy Earth Day everyone! Hope you have a lovely ecofriendly day!

If you're looking for ways to celebrate, check out the comments on this (now closed) giveaway. There are some great ideas there!

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I'm thrilled to be giving away a Graco Nautilus 3-in-1 car seat at The Lemonade Stand. No joke! Rush on over and see!

The endless war between reading and writing

To write well you have to read lots. It's a simple, unadulterated truth. To write great books you have to have read lots of great books in the same genre. It's like speaking a language - to speak it well you have to hear it often.

Makes sense right?

Well, it does in theory. See, I am an all or nothing kind of girl. I have trouble picking up a novel and putting it down again. If it's a good story I'm going to want to put everything aside and do nothing but read until I've soared through the whole tale. I'll stay up late even knowing full well that the first "Mama!" will ring out at 6am. I'll sit and read despite the nagging to do list and growing number of unread emails.

That always feels great while I'm reading and not so great when the book is done and I'm missing the characters while facing the pile of stuff I've neglected. Add to that the fact that these days I always feel guilty when I'm reading. Not because of the laundry and work, but because if I'm reading then it means that I'm not writing.

As I mentioned in my post here, every day I spend not working on my novel it gets harder and harder to open the file and jump back in. But reading means that I tend to ignore the call of the manuscript. So what's a girl to do? Because I get that it's important to read to write well, but it's also important to not read so I can, you know, write.

Ode to the last M&M

First one. Mmm. Sweet, salty, crunchy, and chocolaty. This could well be the ultimate candy. Another Peanut Butter M&M follows the first one. Then another. And another. I can't stop. The sweet/salty combination is too good.

My hand snakes, unbidden, to the open packet, coaxing the little candies out of the small opening and popping them one after another into my waiting mouth.

I have to stop. These aren't helping me lose these damn pounds. OK. Just one more. OK. Maybe two more. Fine. Maybe just one last handful. Oh! A red one, I love those. I have to eat it. And a blue one! I remember when those didn't exist. Down the hatch it goes.

Shit! Half the bag is gone! OK. This time, for real, I'm putting the bag away. I can do this. I can stop.

Well, maybe after just one more...

Friday Flashback - The Dance

Friday Flashback is all about bringing to light some of my favorite posts from my archives to breathe new light into them. This post was originally published in December 2007 in response to a Sunday Scribblings prompt.

"Step, step, slide. Step, step, slide." The teacher's voice drowns out the beating of my heart. It's our first dance lesson, the first of many. We're getting ready for our First Dance. You know, the first dance as a married couple. We've selected a song, we've picked a dance teacher, now all that's left is for me to learn how to dance. Yeah, all that's left.

"Stop leading!"
"Sorry," I mumble. The only dancing I've ever done was with my mother in the kitchen. We rock-n-rolled to all the oldies on the radio, taking turns leading. Apparently that doesn't count as experience here.

"Step, step, slide." I stumble through the steps.
"Stop looking at your feet. It'll be easier." I take a deep breath and look up at M's face. He smiles down at me and winks. I smile back and feel myself relax. "Step, step, slide."

For weeks we spend every Monday evening in the instructor's private dance studio, and by the time our wedding rolled around I was ready. I still couldn't really dance, but I knew enough to save myself from disgrace on the big day. We had a choreography that we knew backwards and forwards and I felt pretty confident that I could pull it off. I still had a little tendency to try to lead, but M had been taught how to reign me in.

The big day dawned bright and hot. By the time the guests were called to the guest floor everyone was desperate to hide from the heat in the cool ballroom, so when M lead me onto the dance floor the space that we had been told we would have was reduced by about half. Guests circled the hardwood floor, all their beaming faces watched us, waiting for the dancing to begin. Wine, heat, or maybe stage fright pushed all dance and choreography knowledge from my brain. But it didn't matter in the least.

My new husband pulled me close to him and whispered in my ear "follow my lead." I melted into his arms and he whirled me and twirled me around the floor over and over again. There were steps, dips, skips, and everything else we'd learned, but all I remember are his strong arms, his sure step, and his gorgeous blue eyes gazing into mine all the way around. And right there and then I knew that I had made the right choice. After all, what could be better than a sweet kind man who lets me lead whenever I want, but who knows to take charge when I need him to be strong for me?

Fear makes you drive faster

The phone rang and when I saw the daycare provider's name pop up on the screen my heart skipped a beat. She never calls. I mean, she only ever calls if it's a dire emergency, which is never. I've gone to pick up the kids only to find one of them with almost a black eye and any explanation is always accompanied with a dismissive wave of the hand.

So, when they call, I know it's going to be bad.

Today it was about Little L.

"She went down fine, but then she coughed so much we went in to check on her. She was just sitting there. And now she won't sleep."
"Is she still coughing?"
"Yeah, she can't seem to stop. We gave her some of her medicine around two and it didn't help at all."
"Is she wheezing?"
"Yeah, it sounds pretty bad."

They never call. Little L coughs and wheezes all the time and yet they never call.

I dropped everything and told her I was on my way; that I'd call the pediatrician on the way to get an emergency appointment. And then I took what felt like the longest drive in the world.

The daycare is all of 15 minutes away, plenty of time for me to imagine the absolute worst. It's been a sad couple of weeks online and two dead babies is two dead babies too many and causes a mother to instantly jump to terrible dark places.

What if this is it? What if this is the really bad attack that lands us in the hospital? What did she mean 'she was just sitting there?' Is she lethargic? Lethargic is bad, really, really bad. Oh God. My baby, my baby is having trouble breathing. Why is this guy driving so damn slow? Doesn't he realize I'm in a hurry?

I have to get there. I have to see for myself. I bet she's fine. That's it. She's fine. They're overreacting. Ha, I bet she even fell asleep while I was getting there. No, no, she wouldn't have, they'd have called me. OK. I bet she's playing and having a grand old time. Yeah. That's it. Or not. Maybe she's not fine and she's sitting there, waiting for me, struggling to breathe. Oh God, why can't this guy drive any faster?

My mind raced much faster than my car, but I finally pulled into the driveway and threw the car into park. I took a deep breath to try to settle myself and I climbed out. As soon as I walked into the door I heard her voice. My baby's chipper happy voice. And then her laugh.

I almost cried. Little girls who are struggling for breath and are suffering from low oxygen saturation levels do not laugh. They do not talk. She saw me just as I walked into the room and she called out gleefully "MAMA!" and ran to greet me.

My eyes met those of the daycare provider as I scooped her up and held her tight, tight, tight. She just shrugged and I echoed her gesture. Little L was fine, very congested and rattly sounding, but fine. Not struggling, not lethargic. Just fine.

I took her home and tucked her in for her nap, and as she drifted away I stood over her crib and watched her sleep, saying a silent thank you that our incident was ending like this, and not any other way.

Our castle in the sky

"My dream house would have a music room. No. Wait. My dream house would have two music rooms, one for listening and one for playing." M said, kicking off our favorite game.

I didn't have to think hard, my dream house would have a library/writing room - floor to ceiling bookshelves bursting with books, large desk, good desk chair, super comfy overstuffed chair with ottoman and a nice size side table. It would have a large window overlooking the yard so I could easily daydream or watch the children play.

My dream house would also have a huge kitchen with tons of counter space and endless cupboards and one of those cool ceiling things to hang pots and pans. The center console would have some high bar stools so the kids could do their homework or color while I'm cooking dinner and a section of the kitchen would feature a cushy couch and a large TV. Right off the kitchen there would be a massive, and I mean, massive, walk in pantry with tons of shelf space. Never again would I have to worry about jars of tomato sauce hitting me on the head when I open the door.

I don't really care about the rest of the house as long as bright, comfortable, and simple define the basic decoration scheme. Oh, and that the garage house a couple huge freezers. You know, so I have some place to store all the food I'll be cooking in my dream kitchen. Food that we'll need on those days I get so caught up in my writing that I can't leave the library/writing room in time to make dinner for the family.

Wordless Wednesday - A year in review

Not a traditional Wordless Wednesday post, but bear with me, it's worth the three minutes!

You know you watch too many cop shows when...

- you look around the mess in your house and wonder if the CSIs would be able to find any clues in all the mess.

- you see a fingerprint on your computer screen and marvel at how perfect it looks rather than the smudge it makes.

- you know exactly what your lawyer husband means when he says: inadmissible, protective custody, or any other legal mumbo jumbo.

- you drive by a big plastic trash-bag on the side of the highway and you wonder if there's a body in there.

- you walk into your house and instantly assess if everything is exactly where you last left it and what it means if it isn't.

- you instantly recognize the show and the episode and know the ending after three seconds of the opening scene... ahem.

- when you see a mess on the floor you look at the splatter pattern to try to figure out who spilled what and when.

-your friends mention some family drama or secret and you can think of at least two shows and episodes where that exact pattern emerged and how the story concluded.

I could think of so many more, but CSI Miami is about to start. Gotta go.

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Giving away the new Barbie Thumbelina DVD! Hope on over to see what all the hype is about.

Sunday Scribblings - Scary

He places the cardboard box on the table and even before he opens the flap or says anything my heart drops like a stone and threatens to stop. My mouth falls open and I freeze. I can't tear my eyes away.

There has been no warning, but there's no doubt in my mind. There are birds in that box. He's going to open it. I just know it.

I was right. He opens the box and at the first hint of a fluttering wing I'm unfrozen and instantly turned away from the scene, my arms protectively curled around my face.

Breathe. My mind whispers. Breathe. You're OK. It's just a TV show. There are no birds in this room. They're on the other side of the screen. Breathe.

I know it's just a TV show. My rational brain knows there are no birds in here, and, after a tense moment, I actually manage to convince myself that it's OK to open my eyes. It's safe. No wings will flutter near my face, no tiny boned feathered bodies will hurl themselves at me today. But it takes a while for my heart to stop hammering and for my breathing to return to normal.

I do not like birds. OK. Clearly that's an understatement. I loathe and fear birds. I've always shunned any winged animal - they're the only thing in the world that can make me completely lose my composure and my right mind.

When I lived in Paris I was hard pressed to avoid the million pigeons that littered every street corner and rooftop in the city. My friends knew better than to question my erratic way of walking down the street - first one sidewalk then switch to the other at the first sign of a cluster of pigeons and then back again at the next sign of trouble.

Here in the Silicon Valley suburbs pigeons are few and far between and just a few loud expletives are enough to scare off the odd swallow or scrub-jay that cross my path. The crows are harder to scare so we have a tacit agreement, they don't flap their wings near me and I pretend they aren't loitering on my front lawn. It's not ideal, but it works. In fact, I thought I was safe. Who could have guessed the hateful things were lying in wait inside my beloved TV?

This post was written in response to the Sunday Scribblings prompt Scary. Click through to read other fantastic entries.

Friday Flashback - My mother, my role model

This post was originally published in May 2008 in honor of French Mother's Day.

If I can teach my daughters

- to stand firm on their own two feet

- to be true to themselves

- to follow their gut and believe in their abilities

- to give people the benefit of the doubt

- to believe in their friends and family

- to always be honest

- to not be afraid to call people on their B.S.

- to tell it like it is

- to unclog a kitchen sink and fix a dripping toilet

- to differentiate good art from cheese

- to cook a tasty meal or ten

- to dare to smell the yucky stuff in the fridge

- to dance in the kitchen, at the grocery store, and anywhere else they want

- to recognize a good bargain

- to know when to laugh and when to cry, and that it's OK to do both

- to always be gracious in the face of adversity

- to stand firm and not let anyone talk down to them

- to be proud to be themselves at all times

well then I'll be half the mother my mother is.

Spectator for a reason

For years I was plagued with the feeling of being a spectator in my own life. I always felt like I was standing just outside all the action and it bothered me to no end. I hated feeling like I could never really be in the moment.

Two years ago I even blogged about how upset I was about the dislocated feeling. I couldn't help it, I felt like I was missing out on everything.

Today I understand why I'm a spectator. I believe it's because I am, by trade and by nature, a writer. I can never really be 100% in the moment because a part of my brain is always trying to analyze what's going on, how I'll be able to describe it best, which parts I'll want to remember so I can write about them. I never think "Oh look, there goes C with a bucket," instead I think "C's golden hair flows behind her as she runs out the door clasping her purple Easter bucket in her little hands." Then I'll spend a minute wondering if her hair is more like spun gold or like molten caramel, before finally deciding on spun gold.

Some days the whole constant spectator bit is still annoying and I wish I could just enjoy my kids and their antics instead of trying to immortalize the moment in words. But for the most part when I catch my brain in hyper descriptive mode I just smile and nod. It's part of the package, like the pens and notebooks that litter my bag and the cramped fingers at the end of a long and productive day. And the bonus is the colorful and descriptive written records of the day to day moments that might have been forgotten if I didn't have my writer's outlook on life.

Crying for a baby I didn't even know

You never know who you're going to meet or what you're going to learn when you turn on your computer. You flit in and out of people's cyber space, connecting, touching each other's lives briefly, or just barely missing each other.

Last night the baby of a fellow SV Moms Group blogger died unexpectedly. There are a million ways I could have come into contact with this family, but I hadn't. Yet.

I wish I had.

I wish I'd been able to meet Maddie face to face or even get to know her through her mother's blog. (Site temporarily down as the server tries to keep up with the onslaught of mourners and visitors.)

I wish I'd been able to chat with Heather and Mike and compare notes about our toddler's antics.

And now I wish I could give them a hug and hold their hand and listen to them share stories of Maddie so she can live on in my heart as well as theirs.

Instead I'm scouring the net for posts about Maddie, weeping, and donating money to their paypal account to help defray the cost of upcoming expenses and to the March of Dimes in honor of Maddie, so that maybe another child's life can be spared. (Click here to learn what you can do to help.)

I didn't know Maddie before last night. Now I'll never forget her.

RIP baby girl.

What shoulds are holding you back?

I'm still reading Chapter After Chapter by Heather Sellers, and while I'm still not agreeing with everything she says, she does make some very interesting and startling observations - like the fact that we are all constantly bogged down by shoulds.

I should exercise and eat well.

I should lose the last 15 pregnancy pounds.

I should earn more money.

I should be nice to everyone I meet.

I should answer all my emails, instant messages, twitter messages, and phone calls.

I should finish any book I start reading.

I should repay every favor.

I should attend every event I'm invited to.

I should put paying work in front of my novel.

I should be looking for more paying work.

I should play more with my children.

I should go to bed earlier every night.

I should keep up with all my friends, no matter how estranged we've become.

I should read all the blog posts in my reader.

I should, I should, I should...

Some of these shoulds are unavoidable, while others really aren't. What Heather Sellers says might not always work for me, but she has taught me this: we have to work to recognize which shoulds, which obligations, are keeping us from being fulfilled. We have only a limited amount of energy and time - where do we most want to spend it? On perceived obligations or on what truly matters?

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New review posted at The Lemonade Stand for some adorable children's books! (Includes a ridiculously cute video of C and Little L, but I'm biased, you probably shouldn't take my word for it.)
Also, last day to enter the Great Crayola Spring Giveaway and the Autographed Corneille CD Giveaway don't miss your chance!

Flip Camcorder - My Top Ten Uses

I am a little obsessed with my Flip Mino camcorder. I always carry it around with me and I've found a number of uses for it, you know, to justify its constant presence in my purse.

1) Camcorder - Duh. It turns on fast and is relatively unobtrusive so I don't miss key moments like Little L eating bubble solution or C making it all the way across the Monkey Bars.

2) Voice Recorder - I discovered this the other day when I was driving and desperately wanted to take notes on the novel before I forgot them. (I don't get to sleep much. I forget stuff fast.) Without looking I was able to turn on the Flip and hit record. I spoke all my notes into it and didn't forget a thing. Bonus, I only felt a bit silly transcribing my notes.

3) Unique Birthday Greetings - When a special birthday rolls around for an out of town family member or friend I get the girls to record a quick birthday greeting and send off the video in an email. Much better than the usual eGreeting! Plus with the new Flip software you can add cute borders to your greeting.

4) Distraction in long lines, at restaurants, or at the doctor's office - We record silly videos, interview each other, and do anything else that will make the girls laugh. In a pinch we record "puppet shows" with their loveys. It's a sure thing.

5) Shopping! - Need help making a decision? Not quite sure? Quick video of yourself in the mirror, take that home, send it to some friends. Presto! Decision help.

6) Check teeth, make-up, etc. Forgot your trusty mirror, no problem!

7) Never forget where you parked your car - Never know where to find your car? Before you leave the parking lot grab your Flip and capture the floor, the spot, and the nearest entrance!

8) Child ID - Before heading out to a public space, instead of making a mental note of what your child is wearing snap a short video of your child. If the worst should (God forbid) happen, you can share the video with the police so they have a clear picture of your child.

9) Travel Companion - Stay close to your family remotely. Share the inside of your hotel room, record yourself reading a bedtime story, show off neat things you see along the way.

10) Play games with your kids - Do a close up movie of something and see if they can guess what it is. Create a fun treasure hunt. Play memory. Whatever your imagination dictates!

I can only imagine that I'm barely scratching the surface of Flip hacks. I'm going to keep mine handy just in case.

Sunday Scribblings - Celebrating Banality

"What do you want to do?"
"I dunno, what do you want to do?"

We have that conversation all the time, last night was definitely not a first. It wasn't even the first time we were having the conversation with a sitter standing there waiting for us to leave. We never really know where we're going to go on date night. Our dates are less about the destination than the journey. The journey out of the house.

We made a snap decision, grabbed our coats, kissed the girls and headed out. Then, on our way to the car we realized we could go to Home Depot before heading out to dinner. Which is how we ended up wandering the power tool aisle on our first date night in weeks.

We debated the merits of the different sand paper options, chose the cheapest plumber's snake we could find, and gaped at the prices of the cordless mowers. We kidded around as we hunted down a sales person and relaxed as me meandered up and down the daunting aisles.

By the time we left with our sand paper, weed killer, and plumber's snake all the little squabbles and stresses that had come between us during the week had melted away and we were completely in sync again. As we got into the car I wanted to close my eyes and stop time to savor the perfectly banal and wonderful moment. Instead I sent out a quick tweet to my followers on Twitter.

"Best date ever. went to Home Depot and bought a plumber's snake and now going out for burgers. Love my husband."

My husband is my best friend and my favorite moments with him are the simple, mundane ones. Lunch of the patio with the girls, a walk around the block, a shared moment at the mall. Sure, I won't turn down a fancy dinner or a romantic dinner away, but for the most part give me a burger and a trip to the hardware store and I'm happy.

This post was inspired by the Sunday Scribblings prompt Celebrate. Head on over to read other great posts!

Sorry. Can't blog tonight.

Sorry. Can't blog tonight. Too busy learning to kick drones and climb walls and crush buildings.

No. Not in real life. I wish.

Playing Monsters vs. Aliens. On the DS.

Why didn't anyone tell me this was so much fun? Who has been keeping the joy of gaming consoles from me? Why didn't you people tell me of the advances that have been made since Donkey Kong? Seriously. People. I thought we were friends!

Gotta go. Blobs have to crawl through grates and I have to blow some robots to pieces.

Go win a CD or some crayons or something.

Fighting the creep that's keeping me from my love

I raised my arms way above my head and stretched my back by leaning side by side. I dropped my arms and flexed my fingers a few times. I closed my eyes and toke a deep centering breath. I'd worked my way through my overflowing email box. I'd crossed my way through my to do list. Little L was thankfully napping. I finally had some time to work on my novel.

I opened the document, flexed my fingers once more, and... "WAHHHHHHHHH" Little L's howl ripped through my moment.

I looked longingly at the last paragraph I wrote - four days ago - and I pushed myself away from the computer. She's sick. It's not her fault. She needs her mommy's TLC, yes, even if it's been four days since I was able to get anything really done.

Little L's howls continued, rising to fever pitch as I made my way to her room. I tiptoed into the dark room hoping to cajole her back to sleep, but she frantically clawed at my arms as I leaned into the crib to search for a pacifier so I caved and pulled her out. She instantly lowered her head onto my shoulder and relaxed.

One of the books that currently lives in our bathroom is Chapter After Chapter by Heather Sellers. I've been reading it in snippets, which for the most part have left me somewhat irritated both with Heather and myself. I can't tell if I don't like what she's saying because she's right and I don't want to hear it or because she's wrong and I don't like her patronizing tone. Either way, as I stood there swaying in the dark with my baby dozing in my arms the last chapter I had read kept running through my mind.

Most people, especially on their first book, struggle with a terrible insidious mental weed called Creep. If you don't surround yourself with your book, you risk it creeping away from you-or you unintentionally creeping away from you-or you unintentionally creeping away from it.
...
You can't take your eyes off the book. Not for very long, anyway.
...
Fight Creep with intention. Tether yourself to the book every day. When you notice it slipping away, turn up the volume on your writing life. All the way to ten.

I don't mean to let my book creep away from me. God knows I don't want it to creep away! I love writing it, I love the story, I love the characters, and as I've said before, it gives me a huge high to write it. But at the same time it's harder to write than anything else I work on. I have to dig deeper and be more honest with myself. I know when the storyline is failing or when a character isn't ringing true and I have to deal with that.

It's like going to the gym. You don't want to go, you know it's going to be hard, that you're going to have to push yourself, hurt, sweat, everything. But at the same time you know it's going to be great while you're doing it and even better after. That said, it's awfully easy to find a reason not to go, because until you're there and sweating you're still stuck in that "ugh, too much effort" mode.

Working on my novel is the same. I want to do it, I know it's going to be great, I know I'm going to love every moment of it, but I can't always muster up the energy to get going. And, as much as it chafes to say this, Heather Sellers is right, the more time I let slip between writing sessions the harder it is to get back to it. Just like going to the gym.

Little L patted my cheek with her hand and I realized I wasn't going to get her back to sleep. I headed out of the room and asked her if she'd like a snack. I set her up with her snack, her favorite blankie, and her pacifier and turned on the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. I sat back down in front of my computer and flexed my fingers again. Then I started typing and didn't stop until M and C came home, all of ten minutes later. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make me feel tethered to my book again, and it felt great.

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I just posted an incredible Crayola giveaway at The Lemonade Stand. Like art? Got kids? Seriously, don't miss this giveaway - $80 of Crayola products. No joke!

From the Mouths of Babes: Tivo and potty humor

Little L, C, and I were snuggled deep into the couch going through an impressive stack of board books.
"Judy can pat the bunny, now you pat the bunny!" I read for the fourth time when C put her hand on my arm.
"Mama? Can you pause please?"
"Pause? What do you mean, pause?"
"Can you pause the book? I'll be right back."
I'm thinking maybe we need to cut back on the Tivo...

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After the truly painful sleepless night two days ago I caved at 6:30 and pulled Little L into bed with me for some sleepy cuddles. Nearly catatonic with exhaustion I settled myself back into my pillow, shut my eyes, and let one rip.
Little L sat up, pulled out her pacifier, looked at me with wide blue eyes, and asked "Wah da?" in a shocked and awed tone.
"That, was a toot. A bit loud toot." I mumbled as I pulled her back down into my arms.
"Oh. Heh. Heh." She answered with a big silly grin. "Founy." Because clearly, there's no such thing as being too young for potty humor.