Random Ramblings

Rubbing Shoulders With The Stars

2012-01-23T19:43:00.002-05:00

For someone who has always believed that one day I will end up as an award winning actress in Hollywood, I have had surprisingly few brushes with fame. And it’s never been my own fame I’ve brushed. I’ve always brushed up against someone else’s. For example, I used to ride and show Arabian horses. So did Patrick Swayze. He came to one of the horse shows I participated in several years ago and I watched him gallop by on his horse. That’s the closest I’ve come to meeting and interacting with a star.

My sister was once on a plane to Birmingham where she saw and spoke to Courteney Cox and David Arquette. I’m sure she now regrets what she said since we have done nothing but tease her about it since she admitted it to us. She told them, “You’re so much cuter in person!”. What a tool.

My friend Amy was stopped on the street and interviewed for the ABC program, What Would You Do?. I know this because I happened to be watching it – which I never had before and have not since – and all of a sudden there was my friend responding to a question about how she would handle it if she knew her boss was about to be fired and also about to lay down a bunch of money on a new house. She came off sounding reasonably intelligent despite a. representing the south and b. having just been randomly approached on the street and asked to respond.

I was interviewed once on the local news. I was just leaving the Fresh Market on a rainy and blustery day having made the decision earlier in the day to let my hair “go curly”. I was also newly pregnant. Not pregnant enough for it to be obvious I was pregnant; but pregnant enough to, with the addition of my stringy, frizzy hair, be thoroughly unattractive. They asked if I’d talk to them about my opinion of the legitimacy of global warming. Did I really have an opinion on global warming? No, not really. I didn’t and don’t know enough about the subject to have an intelligent response. Apparently that was just what they were looking for because they insisted I talk to them. I gave some rambling, idiotic response about how “I tend to believe it’s real”. (I’m really not sure I do.) What a tool.

I also had a couple of instances where I ended up on the radio in my teens where I was calling after a slight dusting of snow to inquire about the status of school being open. (It always was, dammit.) In addition to that, I was also quite the tubular contestant on Chattanooga’s local (now defunct) 80’s station’s Totally Awesome 80’s trivia. I won 3-4 times but I never gave my real name on the air. I was too embarrassed that a person my age would be moronic enough to call in. But I did get a couple of car washes and massages out of it. What a (totally awesome) tool.

So imagine my elation when, on a trip to New Orleans for the BCS game (which I cared nothing about) I spotted 3 celebrities and came face to face with them! First of all, the trip to New Orleans was great fun! Mike and I went down with my sister and brother-in-law and met up with my brother and his family. We got to stay in a house right off of St. Charles in a kind of historic district with street cars and old, gorgeous southern homes. We ate and drank. And drank and ate. I saw a stripper come waltzing out of one of those nasty clubs on Bourbon Street (didn’t see anything other than what was hanging out of each side of her thong, but still – a real, live stripper!). I drank a Hurricane – although to be honest, it wasn’t nearly as awesome as it was when I was in college and had not yet developed a palette for good wines and cocktails. It was a truly New Orleansy experience. What I was not expecting was the number of celebrities who would be out and about.

Our first encounter with the rich and famous came shortly after our arrival the first night we were there. What’s the one thing you hope you won’t have when you have a few days away from the kids? You guessed it – your period. (Unless you’re a man in which case you’d answer that question, “a wife who has her period”.) So, we had to find a store close by as you clearly must know from my previous post. We women bleed so much that with both my sister and I bleeding in unison (you know we all start menstruating when we’re around each other), it could have been Katrina all over again.

At any rate, we found a Whole Foods. Because, let’s be honest - we need organic tampons. We need soy or wheat or flax or something like that in them. I want to be able to plant them in the backyard when I’m finished with them. I only buy TamFlax tampons. I say that as a joke, but they probably exist somewhere. Anyway, we had to stop at Whole Foods for tampons and who do I walk right past on an aisle? Russell Crowe! You’ll be glad to know, he was not purchasing tampons. I’m not sure what he was getting, but I looked up as we passed each other and thought, that looks just like Russell Crowe. He was even dressed down as though to “fit in” like a “normal person”. He was dressed in an unassuming flannel shirt and blue jeans with his gorgeous, multi-million dollar, Oscar-winning face.

At that point, I rushed over to Marc, my brother in law, and told him what I had just seen. I wasn’t 100% sure, but I knew he’d go check it out. So, Marc immediately went to the check-out girls and asked if they had recognized him. They had no clue who he was and didn’t seem to care much that I wanted to stalk him. Marc then went and asked someone about the signature on the receipt. I’m still unclear on this, but I believe they were able to confirm it was The Gladiator himself. As soon as I got back to the car, I grabbed my iPhone and searched for information on Russell Crowe. Turns out, he’s in New Orleans shooting a film. I knew it! I saw the Gladiator in the flesh – or really, the flannel – but we walked right past each other. We made absolutely no eye contact at all, but something passed between us. I felt it. And I’m damn sure he did.

So, the next day, in between rounds of eating and drinking with impunity, we decided to go shopping along Magazine Street. I like that area a lot. Lots of cool shops and coffee houses. Also lots of weirdos. It’s great! Anyway, we came upon a cigar shop and my brother ran in to go get a few cigars for himself, Mike and Marc. While he was in there, the rest of us (my sister in law, Yisel, my sister, Mary and I) hung around outside since the stroller holding my niece Harper was too big and bulky to go into the shop.

While we were milling around minding our own business, a tall, lanky, dark-headed man approached with his young daughter. He was talking to her the entire way. I was struck by his accent. He was very obviously English. He had a kind of cockney accent like the one I can do when I am exaggerating. But his was real. And believable, as opposed to mine. He and I made eye contact and I smiled. He looked familiar so I’m actually not sure if I smiled or if I simply studied him. He held my gaze for a moment. It was kind of a weird look. Sort of like he was undressing me with his eyes. Really, it was nothing like that (not that I’d know that look…). But it was just…odd. I realized later he was likely looking at me waiting for me to recognize him or say his name. He’s used to that. But it didn’t register with me right away who he was. He, too, was dressed very casually. Jeans, a t-shirt and ball cap. When he got up next to the stroller, he turned to his daughter and said, “Look at tha li-uhl bye-bee”. He and my sister exchanged “hi’s” and they went past us. I turned to my sister and said, “That’s Sasha Baron Cohen”. She agreed it did look like him. I pointed out I knew he had a daughter probably close to the age of the little girl and that, in fact, the girl looked like his wife, Isla Fischer. Mary looked back toward them and said, “There’s Isla Fischer!!” Yisel and I got all excited and I dashed into the cigar shop to alert my brother that a comedy genius had just spoken to his daughter. When I came out with John, they were gone. They had disappeared down a side street.

So we did what any other kind, respectful fans would do. We tried to find them and gawk at them again. It dawned on me that he had been looking at me funny because he might be so used to people quoting his movies to him or falling all over themselves to engage him that he was surprised at being left alone. Russell’s M-O was to just look completely past me in order to avoid the fawning and idiocy that the average person must subject him to. He came across as cold and aloof. Sasha seemed friendlier, since he had made eye contact and acknowledged my niece. He seemed like a better sport about his celebrity than did Russell. Of course, it is conceivable that I am reading an awful lot into two experiences whose combined timing lasted all of about 10 seconds.

We walked down the street for a while until we decided that they had probably ducked into a private location and we wouldn’t see them again. When we had finished with our shopping, we went back in the car and drove down Magazine Street on our way home. We were talking about how cool it was that we had seen the man who played Borat and how neat it was that they were just out enjoying the day as a family not worried about being hounded by the paparazzi when we spotted them again. We were so excited! We yelled at told John to pull over so he could get a good look. As you may remember, John hadn’t seen them yet. He was buying cigars.

Chaos erupted in the car. John was not really sure if we were serious that he should pull over. I mean, we were adults, right? We shouldn’t be behaving this way. They’re just famous people. It’s not like it was the President or the Pope. Just two actors. And not even highly recognizable ones at that. I told Mary to roll down her window to get a couple of pictures so we could brag about this to everyone later. Who would believe we had seen so many famous people in such a short span of time? We needed photographic proof. Yisel was sliding as far down in her seat as she could; clearly uncomfortable that we wouldn’t leave these people alone. Mary leaned the camera out the window as inconspicuously as possible. They were across the street from where we were and it is a busy street so hopefully they were blissfully unaware of the amateur paparazzos in the white Toyota. And here we had just been discussing how refreshing it probably was for them to be able to go out in public without being hassled!

Although I don’t normally post pictures on this blog, I did want to share the shots we got so you will have irrefutable proof of our celebrity sighting.

This first one is of Isla Fischer whom you may remember from her role in Wedding Crashers.

Okay, a car drove by right when Mary took the picture. This one clearly shows her.

And here’s Sasha with one of Isla's eyes making into the shot.

Clearly my sister has no future in the paprazzi.

In case you are doubtful, I looked it up and he, too, is filming in New Orleans. It was them. We know it was. It’s just that we need to brush up on our ambush photography. We did consider going back up to them and saying, “That was so rude of me. I meant to say hello.”, but ultimately, we got back into our lane and began the drive back to the house.

Along the way, we kept thinking we saw famous people, but it turned out to just be everyday Joes. Here some actual examples of things that were said during the remainder of our trip:

Also on Magazine Street –

Look! There’s Zach Galifinakis!

No, no, I was wrong. It’s just a fat guy with a beard.

Along St. Charles Avenue –

Look! There’s Lance Armstrong!

No, no, it’s just a guy with one testicle riding a bike.

Also along St. Charles –

Look! There’s Forrest Gump!

No, no, it’s just a guy running.

At Brennan’s Restaurant –

Look! There’s Verne “Mini Me” Troyer!

No, no, it’s just someone’s toddler.

At an outdoor basketball court -

Look! It's Matthew McCoughnahey!

No, no, it's just a guy who doesn't wear deodorant playing the bongos without his shirt on.

In the bar at Jacques Imo’s –

Look! It’s Tom Cruise!

No, no, it’s just a guy making cocktails.

At dinner at Jacques Imo’s –

Look! It’s Paul Newman!

No, no, it’s just an elderly man tasting salad dressing.

In the French Quarter –

Look! It’s John Travolta!

No, no, it’s just a gay guy trying to appear straight.

Ah, the fun you can have when you’re riding the “I’ve just had a brush with fame” high.

In researching if I had actually seen Russell Crowe, Sasha Baron Cohen and Isla Fischer, I noted that there were other celebrities shooting in New Orleans as well. For the rest of the trip we were on Leo watch. Others reported via Facebook having seen John Lithgow on Bourbon Street, but alas, these were the only celebrities we saw while we were there.

We had a great trip, lots of great food and drinks, and lots and lots of laughs. But now I’m back to my life as usual without any routine brushes with fame. And here I sit, wasting time telling this story when I should get myself ready and go out and be productive. I’ll wrap this up and head out. Until next time…

Look! It’s Charlize Theron!

No, no, it’s just a mirror.

The Magic of Christmas: 2011 Edition

2011-12-29T20:12:00.001-05:00

Christmas, Christmas time was here. Of course, that’s the Christmas song that Alvin and the Chipmunks made famous and one of the ones that I’ve heard 715 times this season. I still have all of my favorite Christmas songs stuck in my head since I have been listening to nothing else since November 25th. I am officially in my post-Christmas funk which happens every year. Why does it happen when I know it will come? Can’t I prepare for it? Can’t I get less swept up in the holiday spirit so that I don’t get the blues when it all comes to an end? The answer is that I cannot.

The build-up to Christmas is such a magical time for me. And there’s no “over” like the moment you realize Christmas is over. It makes you sad to hear the music. It is bittersweet to see the TV specials. I get sad looking at my decorations because I know that I’ll put them away and will not see them for eleven months. I saw some of that same sadness in Kate this year. There was a moment on Christmas night when she realized she had played with all of her new toys and began crying. She was sad because it was all… over. Sure, she appreciated her gifts and had a great day. But she said the words I’d said so many years as a kid, “I wish every day was Christmas”. I heard myself respond the way my father would respond to me; “If Christmas was everyday, it wouldn’t be as special”.

I am giddy for about the entire month leading up to Christmas. I love getting Christmas cards in the mail. I love the music, the lights, the merriment. I am a Christmas nerd. I’ve admitted it before and I feel no shame about it. I. Love. It. But then, Christmas day comes and I already have the sinking feeling Christmas morning that it’s about to be over. It’s almost like I can’t even enjoy the actual day because I’m spending so much time thinking about and dreading the fact that it’s coming to an end.

I do enjoy the day, of course. I love watching my kids experience the joy and the magic of Christmas. This was my first year to have Christmas without my parents present. They went to be with my sister’s family this year. Mike was worried that I’d be weepy about it. I was fine, actually, although I did miss having them over. But this year, the focus was solely on our little family of four. We did have Mike’s parents over for Christmas dinner – which was almost a disaster since Christmas “dinner” is really a late lunch but they understood they’d be joining us at dinnertime which threw all of my pre-ordained traditions into a temporary but ultimately resolvable tailspin. But, for most of the day it was just the four of us.

I was a little worried leading up to the big day because last year’s Christmas was so memorable due to the 8 inches of snow we had. It was my first white Christmas and theirs, but they now associated Christmas with snowman-building. I kept telling them that it was not likely to snow this year, but they just wouldn’t hear of it. In their minds’ limited retention, it snowed every Christmas and they were going to be disappointed if everything wasn’t covered in snow when they awoke. And I must say that the snow made it kind of an extra-special Christmas for me last year. It’s just so rare that we get that much snow all season – let alone in one day. And on Christmas! No wonder there are songs about people dreaming of a white Christmas. It was a magical dream come true.

But I digress. On Christmas Eve, we got the house ready for Santa’s arrival and put the kids to bed. They were worried that they wouldn’t be able to sleep for all of the excitement and that Santa wouldn’t come since “he knows when you’re awake”. About 10 seconds after assuring them that they would, in fact, sleep, they passed out. Mike and I poured a glass of wine and sat out on the porch in front of the fire listening (Mike, begrudgingly) to Christmas music. He’s such a good sport to put up with the forced compliance my Christmas requires.

On Christmas morning, I experienced what my father has relayed to me about our childhood Christmases. Mike and I were awake, waiting for the girls to come bounding down the stairs to “wake us up” and get us all opening stockings. It doesn’t seem right that the parents would be awake first – you’d think the kids would burst into the room at 5 a.m., but for us, as it was for my parents, it’s a waiting game to see when they’ll wake up. My first tinge that “this is almost over” came when I finally heard them rustling upstairs. Once the day was in motion, it couldn’t be stopped from progressing. It was at this moment that I realized that it wasn’t really Christmas that I love, but the build-up to it. The entire experience of it. People you don’t know wishing you a Merry Christmas. People generally in a happier mood (unless in traffic or a mall). The anticipation of what’s to come. The parties. And, oh my – the food!

But they began stirring and came running downstairs and saw the gifts Santa had left. We began opening our stockings, ate a nice breakfast and then started in on the rest of the gifts. I decided to relax my mandatory Christmas routine slightly and not go through my normal showering-before-opening-gifts routine. We actually were allowed to open gifts in our jammies. I didn’t even wear a bra. A Christmas miracle!

The first gifts opened were the ones the girls had made for each other. Kate had made Meg a crown out of pipe cleaners. Meg had colored a picture for Kate from her Charlie Brown Christmas coloring book and had put smiley face stickers on it. They were both excited about the gifts they were giving – which is a very important lesson for a kid to learn. It warms my heart that they not only wanted to make each other a gift, but that they were so excited to give them that we had to start with those gifts in particular. What a special way to start the day.

The girls were also thrilled with the rest of their presents. They seemed to love and be excited about everything they got. Kate would unwrap something neatly and carefully at first. She would then discover what it was and say, “Yes, yes, yes! I LOVE THIS! THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!!” and would rip through the remaining paper. Meg would say, “OOOOH, I wanted this!! Ohmygosh!!” Both of them were so happy and had so much fun. After everything had been opened, the real opening began – removing the layers and layers of impenetrable plastic wrap encasing Barbies and Disney characters as though they held matters of national security. We also had to play every game and remove each and every teeny tiny piece that came with each play set. One Strawberry Shortcake grocery play set alone came with 28 tiny food items, all of which I have stepped on in the four days that have passed since Christmas. The Barbie nurse they got came with a damn doctor’s bag, stethoscope, clipboard, and all kinds of crap my kids will most certainly lose if they haven’t already. Don’t the makers of these toys know who will be receiving them? Does any kid keep up with all of these accessories in a nice, neat compartment that never get in their parents' way??!

But anyway, with each year that passes, my girls seem to experience more and more of the joy and wonder of Christmas. This year, they enjoyed giving. They, of course, enjoyed receiving. They loved the music and the playing. We had a blast together even though we really didn’t do all that much. We had fun just hanging out as a family and watching movies together and popping popcorn. We all had a lovely time during the holidays and on Christmas day. I can’t wait – although it will be a long one – until we can do it all again next year.

And you know what? None of us even noticed that it didn’t snow.

The Nutcracker

2011-12-29T20:09:00.000-05:00

Forgot to post this before Christmas.

Well, it's been a while since I've posted, but it's because of all of the nutcracking that's been going on in my life. First, I took the girls - along with their grandmother (Nonny), Aunt Anh and cousin Ella - to the Chattanooga Ballet's rendition of the Nutcracker. I don't know much about the story of the nutcracker because my parents apparently were communists and never took me to see it as a child. (I was also never taken to Disneyworld, so they're either communists or aliens.) So, I was excited that this year the girls were old enough and well behaved enough to go. Except they weren't. But I'll get to that in a minute.

The girls have been taking dance at their school on Monday afternoons and both have been learning dances for the school’s production of the Nutcracker. So, they both get so excited every time one of the songs comes on my iPod (since I've been listening to nothing but Christmas music since the day after Thanksgiving). So I thought that they would be interested enough, based on their new found love of the music, to sit through the show.

The first problem (and there were several) was that the show didn't start until 8:00 p.m. That's a problem for a couple of reasons. First - my kids go to bed at 8:30 Second, I got to bed at 9:00! How were we going to survive this? We grabbed a rushed dinner at Lupi's Pizza just down the street from the theatre. I was in charge of ordering and due to my deplorable math skills, I miscalculated how much pizza would be needed. I ended up only having two pieces and I was not happy. I normally eat 4-5 pieces because I am a gluttonous beast. As is their usual ritual, the girls shook enough Parmesan cheese on theirs that their slice was completely eclipsed. They had cheese everywhere. All over their the table. All over their clothes. In their hair. In their shoes. Stuck to their tights. Everywhere.

After we scarfed down our pizza, we headed in the frigid air, a few blocks away to the show. I was pleasantly surprised to see how close to the stage our seats were. We were in the orchestra left section which means our party of six had a row all to ourselves. It was great - except that we were so close and so "left" that the last two people in the row had a hard time seeing the entire stage. The hefty, tattooed girl in what appeared to be a 1980's prom dress who sat directly in front of Meg's seat, also was a problem. Meg was very particular about where she sat. She was fine in the two left seats, but anything past that she said, loudly, "smelled like throw-up". I leaned over to smell it to see why she would say that and I couldn't smell anything. The only thing I could smell was the Parmesan cheese that was still all over her. And honestly, it smelled a little like throw up. Could it be that she was offended by her own smell? If so, why couldn't she smell regardless of where she sat? Anyway, she and I were bound to the two seats on the far left due to my fear she's make a scene.

The second problem was that I had misjudged Meg's interest in seeing this ballet. She kept pointing at the hefty, tattooed girl in front of us saying, loudly, "she's in my way". She also continued to comment (loudly) on how everything seemed to smell like throw up - even though she was the only one who was smelling it. She had one nostril that was stopped up which is admittedly very annoying and uncomfortable thing when it happens. However, she KEPT sniffing and blowing and sniffing and blowing and finally sniffing and crying and made it clear to me that I was going to have to make an early exit with her. I wondered why she was trying so hard to breathe when she could only smell throw up, but it didn’t matter. She was determined to get her nostril clear. We had only been there about 15 minutes and I was very worried that her behavior was bothering the people around us. As you are already aware, I always end up sitting next to people who make me question why I ever go out in crowds and I certainly did not want to force this on the people around us.

The third problem, which helped me with the second problem, is that the first act just wasn't that good. The way the story was depicted early on didn't make much sense. The dancing was just "okay". The first part of the story doesn't showcase the best music of the show - the memorable pieces like "March" and "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy". It just wasn't that impressive. So, when the intermission came, I decided to scoop up my crying, sniffing, throw-up-smelling daughter and carry her out into the lobby to get her away from the people around us. Once we were out there, she became the most pleasant, sweetest kid I could ask for. I knew we wouldn't go back into the auditorium (which was actually fine with me given that I hadn't been bowled over by the show so far).

So, the second half started up started up and Meg and I played in the lobby. We bought a nutcracker ornament being sold by the vendors in the lobby. We cuddled together on a bench. She performed her dances for me and other onlookers when the music she recognized began streaming in from the auditorium. We actually had some good Mama and Meg time. Kate, meanwhile, was beginning to hit her own wall. I had left her in the very capable hands and lap of Nonny. But as I've mentioned the show started at 8:00. She is used to going to bed at 8:30. And she is my sleeper. Until maybe 6 months ago, she was still taking 2-3 hour naps. She's the kid who tells the babysitter, "I'm ready to go to bed". Every time a new song would start up Nonny reported to me later (since, as you recall, I was in the lobby), Kate would gasp and whine and groan a very disappointed, “Nooooooooo!”; almost like what I picture a deer does once it has been seized by a hunter's bullet. Not only is she my sleeper, but she's also my kid most likely to behave in most situations, so that's as bad as her behavior got. Just the constant moans of child being forced against her will to sit through the ballet at this late hour. But, lesson learned. They weren't ready for a ballet. Certainly not one that started at 8:00. From what I could tell from the crowd's reaction, the second half was WAY better than the first. But alas, I couldn't watch it. But maybe there was still hope. The girls had their Nutcracker recital at school coming up, so I was finally going to get to see it in its entirety.

Two nights after the Chattanooga Ballet Nutcracker debacle, I finally got the last of the Parmesan cheese out of their hair the girls had their Nutcracker performance at school. From the looks of Meg's costume, I could deduce that she was supposed to be a Sugar Plum Fairy. From the looks of Kate's costume, I could only assume she was some kind of Hoochie Mama. It looked nothing like anything resembling Christmas or nutcrackers or even childhood. It was this black almost flapper-looking, form-fitting, spaghetti-strap something-or-other. And she wasn't happy about it. Meg had wings and pastel colors so there was a lot of jealousy on Kate's part. She was mad because Meg’s costume made her look beautiful (her word) and hers made her look like a tramp (my word).

Still, I pulled their hair into a bun – a welcome change for Kate who is in the early stages of the dreaded growing-out-the-bangs phase, gave them each a tiny bit of make-up for the stage, and off we went to what I was sure would be a better experience than the evening ballet. A better experience? Yes. A better production of the Nutcracker? Um, no. It was about as dog-and-pony as anything I’ve seen. Not that should I have expected anything different. It’s not like they take dance at a studio – it’s just an after-school class taught by one of the school teachers. But I guess I thought it would be more polished and coordinated. Or just polished and coordinated at all.

That’s overly harsh. It was fine. The girls did a good job. They were precious, actually. The quality of the sound system left a lot to be desired. A lot. It probably would’ve been better and clearer if I had just stood up and hummed the music. Also, most of the kids performed as though this was the first time they had actually seen the dance they were doing. But, it was cute. It was fun. Watching kids perform amid organized chaos always is. In this particular performance, I’m not sure there was an actual storyline. There was a giant cardboard nutcracker as part of the scenery and one girl danced with a doll in a way similar to what I had seen at the Chattanooga Ballet. But past that, I have no idea what on earth was going on. Just a bunch of fairies and hoochies flailing about.

During Meg’s dance number, I heard this kind of ferocious splash and then saw a group of people scatter. An attendee, not a performer thankfully, had just thrown up in the audience. Those school workers, probably very seasoned in just such a circumstance, sprang into action. I’ll bet half the audience didn’t even know it happened. They had it cleaned up and covered in that nasty looking kitty litter stuff in no time. I share that because that was probably the most exciting part of the show. But, the girls did their dances, tried their best, and paid attention to the teacher at all times. They were proud of themselves which makes me happy, and they really enjoyed the flowers their daddy brought to give them after their performance. It was very sweet.

So, I have been busy lately with all of the trips to see the Nutcracker and I technically still haven't seen the Nutcracker. Not in it's entirety anyway. Well, there’s always next year’s festivities. Hope you and your family enjoy the Christmas holidays!

T.M.I.

2011-11-22T20:02:00.000-05:00

The other night I met a guy named Jason. We spent about 2 hours together and I was able to extract a lot of information from him. For example, he works at TVA. In management he said, but I have my doubts. He has four kids: two boys, two girls. His girls’ names are Tori and Ni-vay-yuh (not sure how it’s actually spelled, but that’s how you pronounce it). They are six and two respectively. He loves being a father. Greatest thing in the world, he says. He’s actually a single father. His wife died two years ago. He didn’t go into how she passed away which leads me to believe it was likely not true. More likely it was a way to get some sympathy and maybe some company for later in the evening. He thinks the USA is the greatest country in the world. He has some unambiguous feelings about the leadership in the city of Knoxville. He likes to follow every sentence up with, “Know wut I mean?”, just to drive his point home. He’s a real charmer, this Jason.

I met ol’ Jason at a John Mellencamp concert. Now that you know that, please ask yourself why I know so much about his life. I was there to listen to music. Not make a new friend. I was there to spend time with the friend who invited me. Not to engage in anything more than the occasional “excuse me” if we were to accidentally bump into each other while dancing to Crumblin’ Down. I was there to maybe exchange pleasantries with the people around me. Not to have to be accosted by a 300 pound redneck whose ample body exuded the stench of years’ worth of chain smoking. Every time he opened his mouth, I inched closer to a lung cancer diagnosis.

Not only did he continue to talk about his personal life in a room that was, at it’s quietest, 150 decibels, but he would also occasionally give me his profound take on Mr. Mellencamp’s singing abilities after all these years. No fewer than seven times did he turn to me and tell me that for a guy in his 50’s (he’s not, by the way – he’s 60) he still “had it”. “I hope I’m still about to do that when I’m his age”, he would say. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that because of his current stature, he couldn’t even do it at 28, which he also shared with me at some point during the show. “That’s cool”, he kept saying at various times for God knows what reason. He’d literally just turn to me at various times and offer the obligatory, “That’s cool”. Only it was really more of a “coo-wuhl”, coming from him. Enchanting.

When we had our little conversation about his age, he of course had to ask me mine. I told him I was older than he was. That didn’t satisfy him. He guessed 26. Now, I’m no mathematician, but I do know that 28 is GREATER THAN 26.

Me: “No, older than 26.”

Ol’ Jason: “No way”. (He is actually charming the pants on me at this point.)

Me: “A lot older, actually.”

Ol’ Jason: “34?”

Me: I’m tired of this game. “38.”

Ol’ Jason: (nodding with seriousness and sincerity like he really wants me to feel what he’s saying) “Man, you look awwwwesome.”

Me: A half-hearted appreciative smile, and then a quick turn to my friend to end this conversation.

I am so seldom flirted with that I feel like I probably would have trouble recognizing it if and when it were to happen. But, this was not flirtation. It was something more pathetic. I don’t know if he was hoping to get into the pants of an equally desperate lady or just what. What would he have done if I had really been into him? No, I just happened to be the unfortunate soul whose ticket placed her next to him for the duration of the show. I resented that he was encroaching on my time to enjoy the show and the friend I was there with. But I knew. I knew as soon as I saw him bounding down the aisle that he was headed straight to me. It happens every time I go to a concert or sporting event. Without fail, the loser sits next to, in front of, or behind me.

Of course, public events and venues like that are really just loser conventions anyway, aren’t they? So, it stands to reason that losers would be all around me. It’s just amazing to me that these people don’t understand common etiquette in these situations. Haven’t they ever been seated next to someone who drove them crazy? Don’t they know how it feels? Why do they inflict this on the rest of us?

Every time Mike and I go to a concert, about 20 minutes into it we find ourselves asking why we chose to do it in the first place. We once saw Lyle Lovett at the Alabama Theatre in Birmingham. A nice venue. A good, low-key act. What could possibly go wrong? Well, for starters, the couple in the seats in front of us were making out (complete with tongues and smacking) for most of the show. Really? Lyle Lovett inspires this? Every time they would get going, Mike and I would look at each other in utter bewilderment as to why it was happening. We heard the people behind us laugh a few times so we assumed they were in agreement with us that this was unreasonable behavior. It was only later we realized that they were making out, too. Who finds this to be acceptable public behavior? And why at a Lyle Lovett concert?! I thought his fans were older and lame like Mike and I are. Nope. They are, apparently, horny rednecks.

So, back to ol’ Jason. My friend, Wendy, feeling sorry for my situation, kept trying in vain to peel me away from his boorish conversation. She’d lean over to me when his body language would indicate that he was about to approach me with another one of his profound musings, and begin to talk to me about nothing in particular so he’d take that social clue to mean that I was unavailable for conversation. But ol’ Jason is persistent. He doesn’t let something like that derail his attempts at a budding friendship. He would simply and politely wait for me to finish talking/nodding/laughing with Wendy to dazzle me with more of his reflections on fatherhood.

After the show, Wendy told me what a nice person I was to continue to talk with him. You can actually see from this post that I am, in fact, not a nice person at all. I was nice to him and I did participate in conversations with him. What if he was telling the truth about his wife? Then maybe he was just a lonely guy who needed some companionship. I couldn’t be rude to him. But he was rude to me. I paid money (really I didn’t – the ticket was a gift) to see that show and be entertained by John Mellencamp. I was there for that reason and that reason only. Ol’ Jason prevented me from getting the full enjoyment out of the show. It’s people like ol’ Jason who will keep me at home the next time an act I’m interested in comes to town. It’s just not worth it to have to suffer through the shenanigans of obnoxious fat guys and maker-outers.

Know wut I mean?

Girls Gone Wild

2011-11-10T21:39:00.004-05:00

Q: What do you get when you cross six former college roommates/sorority sisters with a weekend of drinking and debauchery in Charleston?

A: Conversations about va-jazzling, copious usage of the "f" word, too many inside jokes to name, good food, good drink, and lots and lots of laughing.

Let's rewind:

(I won't go into too much detail in order to protect the innocent. And anyway, trying to recreate it wouldn't do it justice anyway, so I'll just hit the high notes.)

For the past five years, four of my college girlfriends and I have been getting together each summer at one of our houses to catch up and let the kids spend time together. I must confess, when the idea of starting to do this first came up, I was skeptical. It was all sounding great - we'd meet in Charlotte; all stay at one person's house, go out to eat, have some wine - what's not to like? Then someone mentioned something about needing to get a babysitter for one of the nights. A babysitter? You mean we're bringing our kids? This just got a lot less fun...

But it was fun. And I was so glad I went. We've been doing it every year since then and it is so neat to watch the kids get excited to all see each other again. My kids are among the youngest participants, so when I mention that we're doing it again, I am met with the "Who's Miss Paige?" question each time. Funny that this time, they knew exactly who she and everyone else was (we went sans kiddos this time and they were not pleased at our decision to leave them out of the whole affair). So, last year, as we were deciding where we would meet for summer 2011, someone had the INGENIOUS idea to have just a girls-only trip. No kids. (Insert organ music, the clouds parting and a brilliant, white light shining down from the heavens here.) We got our calendars together and picked the first weekend in November - the first time that all of our over-scheduled lives permitted us to all be in the same place at the same time. As the date drew closer, I was almost giddy. I look forward to this event - these girls - every year. And to be able to visit with them without the running and jumping and constant requests for Cheez-its and juice boxes and all of the crying and screaming and whining and noise and fights and uproarious laughter and yelling and breaking and someone-grab-the-bandaids-ing (of course, most of these things come from Amy) was a long time coming.

So every year, Amy, Elizabeth, Paige, Nicole and Maggie have loaded up the kids and traveled somewhere for a few days of reminiscing and creating new memories. Each year, the group begs Sarah to come along. Sarah is smart enough to make the declaration that if the kids are in, she's out, so we have never been successful in our pleading...until this year! The six of us gathered in Charleston thanks to the wonderful planning of Nicole and Elizabeth. I need them to plan every trip I go on from now on. I didn't have to think of anything. I wonder if they've already thought to write themselves a thank-you note from me. Sure hope so.

We had a nice condo at Isle of Palms, plenty of rooms and, more importantly, bathrooms. We didn't spend too much time there because it seemed we were always on the lookout for our next meal. Most meals had been taken care of with reservations, but of course the older you get, the more your entire day revolves around your next feeding. Charleston was awesome - plenty of terrific food and drinks, tons of shopping. Of course, we saw nothing of "historic" Charleston. We'll have to catch that on the next trip. When someone needs to find a fun pair of boots, we just can't be bothered to slog on over to some stupid museum or cultural place of interest. Whatevs.

As we were first catching up, we began to notice that there was a lot of depressing conversation - friends we knew who had cancer, people who had divorced, problems with peoples' kids that we knew. Very somber stuff. Someone questioned why all of our topics were turning into sad stories and I remarked that this is kind of our Big Chill. For those of you who haven't seen that movie, it is about a group of college friends who gather together several years after they graduated and went their separate ways. They are late 30's early 40's (sound familiar?) and none of their lives have turned out as they had planned or hoped they would.

Now, I will say that the stories we discussed were not about ourselves. We actually talked about how we had a carload of pretty damn happy people. But, still, we were struck by the amount of sadness - Big Chilling - out there around us. Every time the conversation took a Big Chill turn, we'd try and interject some humor into it and from then on, the conversations were mostly hilarious and ridiculous and things I won't repeat here. An interesting side note: The morning after our first night there, Amy ran up to the bathroom and said to me through the door, "You have to come into the den right now". I walked out to the den and guess what movie was coming on tv? The Big Chill! Coincidence? Not sure. But I do know we all have better hair than those people did when that movie was made.

So, by now, you may be wondering why this post is titled "Girls Gone Wild" when really it seems as though all we did was eat, drink (lots), shop for boots, and watch The Big Chill. Well, it's a joke, We didn't go wild. We didn't need to. We all prefer hanging out with a drink and relating to interesting people (not sure how I landed in that mix, but grateful I did). I think the latest I stayed up was midnight. But we had a blast! We laughed more than I have for such a sustained period in a long time. We talked about the kinds of things that if I heard someone else talking about them, I'd think they were a trashy, vapid, horrible person. But, man, it was hilarious! And we did drink. A lot. We were hoping for the return of our college friend, Drunk Liz, but Elizabeth kept her faculties about her rather well despite the constant requests that she become "Drunk Liz". I will admit that I was "Slurring Maggie" on Friday night which led to "Headache Maggie" Saturday morning. But all, in all, we kept it classy. Really, the way we talked, we kept it more "Klassy" than "Classy", but who's keeping score? We had a brief period where we discussed the fact that Sarah was the first person I had ever heard use the "f" word (it was actually "M-F") where it sounded funny to me instead of dirty. It is because of her that this is my favorite curse word. Once Paige admitted that she hated this word, it pretty much gave the rest of us license to try and break a record for how many times it could be used in a weekend.

The only Girls Gone Wild moment for me actually occurred the morning after I returned home when I was dead sober. As I made my way to the bathroom to get my shower, I ran right into the enormous suitcase I had packed (for a three day trip) and was too lazy to unpack the night before, and broke my pinky toe. If any of the girls from the trip are reading this, please understand, it was my TOE. Not my finger. (inside joke)

Oh yeah, and the conversations about va-jazzling? None of us do that. But we talked - at length - about it. If you don't know what it is, congratulations! You have some class! But those of us who don't have class discussed that it is the practice of women bedazzling their hee-hoos. And by "discussed it", I mean that we spent hours upon hours laughing about it and asking rhetorical questions about why such a thing was necessary. What else do you talk about with people you've been friends with for almost twenty years? Seriously, I'm asking. We've GOT to have another topic of conversation next year. I did have a lot of fun trying to make up new words that begin with va-jazz. That just never gets old.

On Sunday, we all scattered and went back to our own little lives and routines. I miss Mike and the girls when I'm away (going wild) and was so happy to hug their necks. I was sad, though, when we all left, because I know it'll be another year before I see these beautiful, smart, fun and silly women again. Even longer until we see Sarah again (next year the kids are joining us). I am so thankful for their friendship and for the time we get to spend together. It was a va-jazz-tastic weekend!

Steve Jobs, Lionel Richie And The Commodores

2011-10-25T17:55:00.001-04:00

I got a text a couple of weeks ago on my iPhone telling me that Steve Jobs had passed away. What wasn’t surprising was that I got the text. My friend Amy and I always try to race to be the first one to tell the other some breaking celebrity news – usually a divorce (Ashton and Demi are keeping us busy these days) or a death. What was surprising was how sad I was to hear about it. Of course it wasn’t unexpected. A diagnosis of pancreatic cancer does not offer much hope. But to hear of his death – the death of an icon – was really sad to me.

Can you imagine inventing something that changes the way people live their lives? I can’t imagine first of all having that good of an idea. Not to mention having the energy to actually design it and share it with others. And surely no one would want my idiotic invention anyway. Let’s say just for laughs that I did have an idea and got off the couch long enough to make a prototype. What the hell would it be and who on earth would want it?

I did have an idea once that I thought should be looked into. I think loaves of bread should be smaller. I throw out a lot of bread. Not half as much as I did when I was single, but still it’s a lot. I could invent a half-loaf (patent pending). But technically bread has already been invented. So, maybe it’s not so much an invention as it is a good idea. Although maybe it’s not so much a good idea as it is a random thought. Personally, I think a half-loaf would be the greatest thing since… sliced bread. (I wish I had invented that.)

But back to Mr. Jobs. He revolutionized the way we communicate. That’s HUGE. Imagine the movie Jaws in today’s world. Chief Brody is chucking dead fish into the ocean hoping to lure the killer shark. The shark appears and Brody jumps back in fear, the hair raised on the back of his neck. He tells Quint that “they’re gonna need a bigger boat”. Quint is unconvinced (because he’s kid of crazy-obsessed with the shark). Matt Hooper appears and pulls out his cellphone, calmly calling for back-up. Back-up arrives and kills the shark. The credits roll. Sure, that’s not as good of an ending as getting to see Quint spit up blood when the shark bites him in half. But a cell phone would have totally changed the story.

Think of Star Wars. Luke Skywalker is wanting to know more about his nemesis, Darth Vader. So, he grabs his iPad and does a quick Google search that turns up all kinds of personal information (and a few questionable photos). Luke reads about his past learning more about what motivates Vader so he can use it to defeat him. He clicks on a link to Vader’s Facebook page. He sees a mobile upload of Darth with his own mother! What?!! It can’t be!! Darth Vader was with my mom? That must make him… my dad! They talk via Skype and then use Mapquest to find the best route to a good restaurant. Father and son bond over a wonder feast prepared by all of the creepy little creatures in Tatooine (Had to Google that. Had no idea where Luke Skywalker lived.) Again, totally different movie if it had been made today. And maybe we could have avoided having to suffer through JarJar Binks.

What was really interesting was learning of Steve Jobs’ death via a text to my iPhone. I remarked that I wondered how many people also were using his invention when they discovered he had died. President Obama also made a similar remark, but I said it first. I think it’s remarkable that we saw that kind of genius in our lifetime (Steve Jobs, not me, although I am very wise as evidenced by this blog). I believe his name will be alongside the Thomas Edisons and Albert Einsteins of our history. What a neat man and a wonderful contributor to our way of life and our culture.

Which brings me to Lionel Richie. I’ve never posted a picture on my blog because it could really become just a forum for me to show you how adorable my children are. That’s what I use Facebook for, so I want the blog to be different. So, instead I bore you with my profound musings about life and popular culture. But today I feel compelled to post a picture because it is so ridiculous and makes me laugh. No other reason. Well, one other reason – it made sense to do so in order to have a clever title for this post (as you will see when I get to the part about the Commodores). So, ladies and gentlemen, I give you this picture that was sent to me via email (again, thanks, Mr. Jobs).

Funny, huh? I have no idea who came up with this or why, or even why I find it so funny. Maybe it’s just the utter ridiculousness of it. Maybe it’s his hair. (I’m sure it’s his hair! Look at it!!!) Maybe it’s the fact that no one has pulled one of the stubs. Could be the turned up collar. But it’s most likely the fact that someone has just now come up with this. This would have been hilarious 25 years ago! Why now? Not sure, but I’m glad someone thought of it.

Which now brings us to the Commodores. Not Lionel Richie’s Commodores, the Vanderbilt Commodores. The three legged, blind, stupid puppy of the SEC. Mike and I took the girls to their first college football game a couple of weeks ago. It was the UGA/Vandy game. We chose that game because we thought it would be a good introduction to college football (although some would argue that that particular game could hardly qualify as “football” but… Mike is an alumnus of Vanderbilt (grad school), so we technically are fans, I guess. I mean really, how do you not root for the ‘Dores? I think I might even root for them if they were playing my undergrad team (Auburn – War Eagle! Woo Hoo!) because they just never can win a big game. At any rate, we figured it would be an easy trip to Nashville and an easy, not terribly crowded game. We sat in the Vandy section (hence the lack of a crowd) and had plenty of room to stretch out and take everything in.

The girls were excited about seeing the cheerleaders. A kind man whom I had approached to ask him where he had gotten his shakers, had given Kate and Meg each one of the two shakers in his possession. Not at all what I intended when I asked (and it kind of made me wish I had asked him where he had gotten his Tag Heuer watch) but it was very nice. So, they girls wildly shook their shakers during the game yelling, “Cheer! Cheer!”, which is what they think the cheerleaders say.

The other thing they were excited about, and I have to admit I was too, was the food. Whenever I go to a sporting event I eat as much junk food as I possibly can before my stomach explodes and other patrons are pelted with the popcorn kernels and pepperonis that I have digested. My kids are no different. For those of you who have seen my children, you know that they are very petite. Try and imagine them eating the following: a hotdog, two small pieces of pizza, popcorn, reese’s pieces, m&ms, a blue slushy thing, a lollipop, some water, and some peanuts. You can’t? WELL THEY DID!! They ate all of that. As did I, except I had a diet coke instead of the slushy thing and I didn’t eat “some” popcorn. I ate a veritable shitload. And, of course, I decided to stop at the little hotel mini-mart on the way back from the game and get a can (large) of sour cream and onion Pringles.

But at any rate, my kids became ravenous beasts. They rarely paid attention to the game itself. They were so engrossed in their food and our friends who we went with. They would periodically look for the cheerleaders or comment on the band, but that was pretty much it. At one point, I leaned over to Kate and tried to explain the game to her so she’d understand what she was supposed to be watching. I explained that we were supposed to cheer (cheer! cheer!) for the team dressed in black. When they did something good, we needed to clap or yell. So, on the next play, Kate saw me cheer (cheer! cheer!) for the ‘Dores and she yelled – and this is a word-for-word quote – “GO BLACK PEOPLE!!!” While I appreciated that she is embracing diversity, this was not exactly the best way to support her team. I asked her to change it to a simple, “Go Dores!” and that was the end of her embarrassing cheer.

The weather was perfect. Our hotel was right next to the field. We spent some good time with some great friends. It was a very nice weekend. It makes me happy that our family enjoys spending time together. And even though I was miserably full of food and fearing I’d have a heart attack and die in the middle of the night, it was a great memory.

So, that’s been my last couple of weeks. Steve Jobs, Lionel Richie and the Commodores. Now I need to wrap up this post so I can grab my iPhone and text my friend Amy. It appears that Lindsay Lohan may pose for Playboy and Kim Kardashian may be headed for divorce…

Gratitude

2011-10-16T21:54:00.000-04:00

I have been reminded over the past week how blessed I am and how I need to be more appreciative of the things I have in my life. I like the line from Mary Poppins where she wisely tells the children that, "Enough is as good as a feast". I have enough. I have more than enough. But still I lose sight of that. Two things happened this week to help bring this back into focus for me that I will now share with you.

A few weeks ago, I interviewed for a new job. There are some aspects of my current job I have not been happy with and they seem to have been more pronounced lately. I went into this job three years ago telling myself I wouldn't like it and I have been telling myself for three years that I was right. And yet, I love my boss and my coworkers. I laugh every day I'm there.   make a (small) difference to some of the people there. I have a decent reputation. My opinions are sought and valued. I have a good amount of flexibility and some freedom. I'm paid well and I'm part time. WHAT IS NOT TO LIKE?

But I've managed to convince myself that I'm not happy. Sure, my job can be hard and is overwhelming from time to time. But what job isn't? I interviewed for this other job - outside of my current company - and received the offer a few days ago. That's when things really got hard and overwhelming. I really fretted over it. I was stressed out and torn about making the right call. I had two migraines in one week which is very rare for me, but that's how physically affected I was by the whole thing.

Without going into too much detail, it was a good opportunity. But, at the end of the day, it was not a better opportunity than what I have now. I don't know why I've never viewed my current job as a good opportunity. I haven't been grateful for it. But I was reminded through this whole experience just what a good thing I have and how foolish it would have been to give it away.

One of the main motivators for me to decline the offer was that it meant a move to a full time work schedule.  Today, my youngest daughter Meg lives for Tuesdays and Thursdays. She wakes up happy on those days because she knows she will be spending it with me. The three days during the week that I go to work, she's very weepy and latches onto me begging me not to go. Now I'm not saying that I have allowed a four year old to make this decision for me. I am well aware that in two year's time she will have no choice but to go to school five days a week. But I also hated the thought of having her and Kate in school and then after school care five days a week. I know other parents can do it and do it well. I do not believe am one of those parents. I'm barely organized enough in my life to be able to manage everything only working 24 hours a week.

At one point during this decision making process, I had decided I was going to accept the new position. As soon as I have made that decision, I began to get very upset and uneasy. I felt such guilt. I thought it was just the guilt of forcing them into after school care five days a week. But I also couldn't shake the feeling that I had been ungrateful to my current company in the past three years I had had this particular job. I realized that much of the guilt I was feeling was a recognition that I had this great set-up and I was just about to throw it away. So in this process, I had waffled quite a bit and had now made the decision to accept the new role. The anxiety and uneasiness made me decide finally, ultimately to decline it. As soon as I had made that decision, I immediately felt better physically.  A short while later that night, I was helping Meg into her jammies and she started crying, anticipating the next day which was a school day for her. In between the tears she said, "I don't wanna go to school".  I knew then that I had made the right decision. For her and for me.

I decided that this while exercise had been designed to make me realize how good my situation has been and how lucky I have been to have it. That has definitely been the most important thing I have taken from this (that, and the stroking my ego got when I was offered the job). I decided I would change my approach to,my job and not view it as a burden but view it for what it is - a great opportunity for me to contribute something of value to an organization, to work and interact with good and interesting people, and to have the flexibility with time and money it allows to do the things that are most important in my life. I could have done without the stress this process brought me this week, but I am choosing to be grateful for it. I took my new grateful attitude to work on Friday and I had a really good day. It's just too bad it's taken me over three years in this role to come to this understanding of it.

Then, Friday night after work, I met Mike and the girls out for pizza downtown. It was a nice evening so we ate outside. People would stroll by - most of them very wisely heading to Ben and Jerry's for some yummy ice cream - when something caught my eye. It was a shiny, round thing I was seeing - almost like a smooth ball. But where I was seeing it was out of place and it took a minute for my mind to make sense of it. I looked closer and it gave me a jolt to realize I was looking at the perfectly round, perfectly smooth bald head of a 10-12 year old girl.

I was stupefied. I mean, I know there is such a thing as childhood cancer. I learned too much about it when I worked at MTSU and did terrific fundraisers for *St. Just Children's Research Hospital. But there it was - 15 feet away from me. This pretty little girl out with her family. Battling cancer.

What the hell am I worrying about?

What the hell do I have to complain about?

I have enough.

I have plenty.

I have more than I deserve.

I don't know what gratitude is next to this family.

This family is grateful to all of their friends and family who are supporting them in this fight. They are grateful to the team of doctors, nurses and other caregivers who are responsible for her care. There are grateful for a good day like today when she's healthy enough and feeling good enough that they can go out together as a family and do something mundane like getting ice cream. They are grateful for her strength and her confidence that she can be out in public at her age with a bald head and not worry about the double takes she gets from ignorant people like me. This family knows gratitude. And I am spoiled and unworthy of the things I have. To this point, I haven't been smart enough to know that enough is as good as a feast. But I know it now - having been shown it it two different ways within a span of 24 hours. And I will make it a priority to never lose sight of it again.

* For information about donating to St. Just Children's Research Hospital, please follow this link.

Whiskers

2011-10-11T13:21:00.002-04:00

So, I recently celebrated my 38th birthday. I don't mind aging particularly (yet) but I am starting to feel older than my age would dictate that I should. All summer I have dealt with major back pain that even physical therapy and chiropractic intervention took a while to heal. I swear I have had a few hot flashes already. And last, but certainly most disturbing, I am growing whiskers on my chin and neck.

I noticed this strange growth a year or more ago. I was rubbing my chin and thought I felt something kind of wiry - like stubble - growing there. I got my vanity mirror out and turned it to the side that magnifies all of my hideous flaws, and discovered that yes, in fact, I was growing a whisker. In the time that has passed, I have routinely and dutifully plucked it when it gets long enough - about once every 2-3 weeks. Like clockwork it returns. But it hasn't been too alarming up to this point because I've only been battling one. I'm afraid that battle has now expanded and I feel like they have me surrounded.

Now, I do have a fair amount of hair on my face. I'm not proud of it by any means. I'm certainly not bragging. It is simply a fact. I always kind of thought is was just an extension of my hairline. But I suppose if that were the case, it wouldn't make sense that my hairline covers my upper lip. I never really considered it an issue until a few years ago when I was getting my eyebrows (more of my hairline?) waxed. The stylist (is that what an eyebrow-waxer is? A stylist? A waxer? A browologist?) asked me, "Would you like me to get your mustache while I'm at it?".

My mustache? My mustache?! Which mustache? The one I thought was light enough that no one noticed it? Or, the one I really didn't realize I had until that insulting question was asked? In either case, I guess the answer is yes. And by the way, this will be my last visit to you.

So, the ~~bitch~~ browologist waxed my mustache. And so began my journey into extreme self-consciousness over my facial hair. After the mustache was yanked off of my lip, I didn't feel the need to wax it again, but I was certainly more aware of the amount of hair I had on my face and, perhaps more importantly, the lack of it on others' faces. I never really liked my mustache or the amount of hairs I had around my jaw and chin but it didn't become something horrifying to me until the introduction of the whisker.

I can't really pinpoint the first time I noticed it; only the horror that came over me upon realizing what it was. I could picture my grandmother and the prickly little hairs shooting out of her chin that were visible to me when I'd visit her in the nursing home. I was in my early thirties and already starting to grow my you're-old-senile-and-stuck-in-a-nursing-home beard. If I didn't want others to snicker that I was growing a beard, I was going to have to pluck away my new little friend every time he (it was definitely a male hair) showed his little face.

I kept up this routine for several months - even years. I was self-conscious enough about it that I would subtly run my hands and fingers over my chin in an effort to discover any new friends that may have sprouted. The whisker problem appeared to be limited to my bottom left chin. Or so I thought.

In the past year, as I have run my fingers across my chin, I have found a new little patch (a patch!) of them - this time on the lower right hand side. This new cluster grows at a different rate of speed than my original one and because of that, I can't simply declare one night of the week as Whisker-Pluckin'-Wednesday. It doesn't work that way. I may pluck lefty this Saturday and then turn right around on Tuesday and have a soul patch to contend with on the right side.

As I mentioned, my hairline comes right up under my jawline. At times, I have been known to find a random hair that's a quarter inch long and something I feel I should address before others begin to notice it. The way I search for these annoying but very thin and light and hardly noticeable neck hairs, is I'll take my first two fingers and I'll run them across my neck and jawline making a scissor motion to try and find a hair that I can pull away from my neck with them. If no hair ends up getting pulled between my fingers, I'm in good shape. If there's one that seems to be a little long, I'll pluck it like I do my my brows or whiskers - on an as-needed basis.

Late last week, I was on a search for hairs on my neck. I catch myself doing it sometimes in meetings and wonder if people around the room know what I'm doing. If they do know, I don't think they're disgusted by it. I think they are probably relived and appreciative that I'm aware of the problem and trying to correct it. I was in this meeting subtly fishing for neck hairs when all of a sudden my two fingers caught something and began to pull it away from my neck. I grew concerned when I pulled it past what I thought was a reasonable distance and it didn't tug at my neck. I kept pulling and kept pulling feeling my eyes widen with the knowledge that there was seemingly no end to this strand growing out of a part of my body that always exposed to others. When I had finally pulled it the entirety of it's length and I could feel the gentle tug on the skin of my neck, I felt two things: relief and utter embarrassment. What if the other meeting attendees were watching what I was doing? Had they already been aware of this spool of thread growing out of my neck? What if they'd noticed the hair all along and were placing bets on when I'd finally decide to do something about it?

I tried to remain calm. I figured the best course of action would be to simply comb it back down, actually pay attention to the subject matter and contribute something to the meeting, and deal with it with my tweezers and vanity mirror in the privacy of my own bathroom. I worried that once home, I would not be able to locate it again. That it would simply blend in with the other blonde hairs around my chin and jaw. However, when I got home and tilted my head up to try and locate it, I saw (without having to use the extra-magnifying side to the mirror) a long, thick, black strand of hair that was practically waving at me with balloons and sparklers; begging me to see it and do something about it.

I was mortified. How long had this hideous thing been there and why was I just now becoming aware of it? And why was it so dark? Was someone secretly slipping me testosterone? How could I be capable of producing such a long, thick hair? I plucked it immediately and actually considered saving it to show Mike. I just couldn't believe how long it was and felt someone else needed to share in my astonishment. I reconsidered, thankfully (for him and for me), after realizing that a husband probably would begin to view his wife differently if she started growing more hair on her face than he did. So, I threw it away.

So, I'm 38 years old and I am already turning into an old ~~man~~ woman. If this is what I have become at this age, what on earth kind of shape will I be in at 48? Should be ~~frightening~~ fun to see. I know one thing for sure: I will never be far away from my tweezers.

Back To School

2011-09-12T22:08:00.000-04:00

This post was actually written in August, but I just couldn’t get it finished and posted. So, while it’s a bit outdated, you may still find something that resonates with you.

Last night I went for a run. I went earlier than I have been going lately because it was a wee bit cooler and it seemed to be getting dark earlier than it has been. I ran my usual course – a course I am so familiar with that straying from it causes my puny body to peter out prematurely. I kept hearing this strange sound as I ran down the sidewalk. I finally realized that the sound was leaves crunching under the weight of my running shoes. I hadn’t heard that sound in months. It dawned on me as I looked up and around at the houses, that I was the only person outside. Where were the kids? I passed this one house where I used to run into a gaggle of boys playing a pick-up game of football in the yard. There was no one in sight. Just a lamp I could see lighting the den. Everything was very quiet. The only thing I could hear, other than those crunchy leaves, was my lumbered breathing. Where was everyone? Where was the noise? The heat?

It was gone - because it is becoming fall and the hustle and bustle of school and the start of everything is beginning anew. Normally, this only affects me in two ways:

1. Much more traffic on the main drag in the city where I work

2. Excessive annoying posts in my news feed on Facebook about football teams, games, players, crappy calls, stupid fans (from opposing teams, of course), tickets for sale, pain, misery, elation, etc.

But this year, it has a different feel. For the first time, I have a child entering kindergarten. This is the first time that school starting will have a significant impact on my life (other than when I was in school). Of course, it will have a greater impact on Kate’s life, but we’re talking about me here. This is the first year of the next 12+ that we will go “back to school”. I am having to change my mindset about being able to keep her and Meg out of school on a Friday so we can go out of town. We will now have to be more deliberate about reading together and discussing what they are learning. We always did that, but now there will need to be more substance to it. I’ll have to be strategic about getting them to bed early since there will be no nap at school. That means I’ll have to be strategic about EVERYTHING that precipitates bedtime. Ugh. I’m getting my first back-to-school headache.

I actually bought school supplies on Sunday. I’ve never had to do that before. All those pitiful looking people digging through the notebooks and folders that I’ve seen through the years – I was one of them. I was trying to be good about buying the “right” kind of pencil pouch. I was afraid that if I got the wrong style or color, Kate would be ostracized on her first day and would never forgive me. There was an off-brand of crayons that I never even considered buying. A kid who shows up without Crayola? A total loser. Past that, I don’t know what the acceptable brands of these items are. Mead? Trapper Keeper? Seems like a kid in my grade got beat up for having a Trapper Keeper so I’ll steer clear of that.

I am utterly clueless about how to parent a kindergartener. When Kate has homework, do I write the answers for her or do I spell everything out to her and let her write the answers that she won’t be able to read? When I ask her what she learned at school today and she responds, “I don’t know” what am I supposed to do? Do I drag it out of her or do I just let her tell me in her own time? She and Meg are starting at a new school this year and we all have some trepidation about that. Do I worry about everything on the front end or do I just let them grow and blossom in their own time and just get out of their way? I realize the answer to that last question of course, but I am not built that way. I worry about all of the possibles instead of just trying to concentrate on any probables. It’s what I do. How am I supposed to let go of all of the things I fear for both of my girls and just allow them to experience this time for themselves?

I realize I don’t have a choice in the matter. They will experience all of the things that are typical of childhood regardless of what I do. They will have good days and they will have bad days. They’ll have best friends one day who won’t speak to them the next. They will compare themselves to other kids and think they come up short. They will be self-conscious. They will be good at some things and not so good as others. They will doubt themselves. But those moments will be fleeting. If Mike and I do our job right, they will get past those feelings and learn to be happy with who they are and proud of the good things they do. I think my most important job is to make sure they feel the love I have for them. If they feel love, then those painful things they’ll experience during the next few years will simply be learning experiences for them. I am smart enough to know this, but I’m not yet seasoned enough to be confident in my ability to lead them through their childhood.

Of course, this IS just their first week of school. Perhaps I should just take it day by day as I am encouraging them to do. I just want so much for both of my girls. There’s not much I can solve for them tonight, so I think I'll focus on what I can do which is to put them to bed so they can get a good night’s sleep. I’ll leave you with this quote:

There are two lasting bequests we can give our children. One is roots. The other is wings.
- Hodding Carter, Jr.

Best of luck to you in establishing roots and providing wings.

Best Day/Worst Day

2011-09-11T22:15:00.000-04:00

When I was in high school, the movie City Slickers came out. At the time, I thought it was hilarious. Now that I'm older and understand intelligent, clever comedy, I realize it was really just an average movie. But there was one scene that stood out to me even then. It was a scene in which the men - unhappy in their middle age - begin discussing what were their best and worst days. I struggled then to try and figure out how I would respond to that. Now that I am older and have some experience behind me, I can absolutely answer it.

My best day is kind of hard to pin down. I have had a lot of fun times.  I have been able to do many of the things I have wanted to do. For the most part, I have had a very happy life thus far. I have two beautiful children and while nothing has been more significant in my life than having my girls, I can't say that the days they were born were my best days.  Kate was born in my 29th week of pregnancy.  It was tense and scary. Ultimately it was a wonderful outcome but at the time we were scared to death not knowing if she would be okay. We had no idea what to expect. All we knew was that we would not be taking our baby home for a long time so it wasn't exactly a time to celebrate.

With Meg, my post-partum depression had already kicked in (unbeknownst to me) so I was already in a bit of a downward spiral. Her birth was not as dramatic as Kate's was by any means. I was just kind of already in a fog. We were relieved she was healthy, but at the time, I really was not. I knew I loved her, but I was scared to death at the prospect of having a newborn PLUS a rambunctious almost two year old.    Again, the outcome was beautiful. But at the time I wasn't myself. So, neither day can go down as my best day.

What was my best day you may be wondering (if you are still reading)? I would have to say it was the day after I got engaged to Mike. The actual day-of was a pretty crappy day until about 9:00 that night when he popped the question. But that next day I was absolutely floating. I could not get over the sudden appearance of this beautiful ring I thought would never be on my finger. I couldn't wait to talk about it with my family and friends. Mike and I were free to talk about our future together without me fearing I sounded like a a psycho girl trying to sink my claws into the first man who didn't run away screaming. I was so excited and giddy at what my future had in store with this wonderful man. People were so kind and seemed genuinely happy for me. It was a lovely day. Although I was excited beyond words, I could not have known what a wonderful life I would have with him and then with our girls. And things are still going strong.

My worst day, you may have gathered by the date of this post, was September 11, 2001. It was the day after my birthday and the morning after my first quasi-fight with Mike. He and I had come home from my birthday dinner to find that Dudley (my dog and now Mike's step-son) had experienced explosive, projectile diarrhea in our absence. The little gift he had left us was all over Mike's pristine, cream-colored carpet. Mike had spanked him even thought I had told him that Dudley wouldn't understand at that point why he was in trouble. I was angry with Mike for hitting him especially after I had told him not to. I didn't say much to Mike that night after it happened and after we scrubbed and scrubbed his floor (to no avail).

The next morning, I was still irritated with Mike and I had a headache. I had an event later that day on campus where I worked and so I decided to go into work late. I lied down on my couch in the den and closed my eyes listening to the Today Show. That's when I heard about what was going on in New York City. My first thought, like many of yours, was, "Man some air traffic controller is gonna get fired over this". Of course, the whole thing unfolded before my eyes and before the eyes of just about everyone in America that day. I was absolutely stunned at what I was watching. Mike was supposed to be flying to Chicago that day and I grabbed the phone and called him to beg him not to go. Of course, in the end, that decision was made for him.

I remember watching the TV on the phone with my sister when the first tower collapsed. I was hysterical because I thought bombs were going off. It just didn't occur to me that those massive buildings could fall. Before the collapse I was just heartsick watching the images not only of people jumping to their deaths, but seeing those stuck above the impact zone you knew were not likely to make it out. And when the cameras cut to a picture of the Pentagon engulfed in flames, that's when I lost my innocent, naive view of the world forever. This was a deliberate, coordinated attack perpetrated by people who hated us. I couldn't understand that kind of hatred. I don't hate any group of people. Why couldn't these people just live and let live? What on earth would drive them to kill all of these innocent people? There were towers collapsing. The Pentagon was under attack. There were other planes unaccounted for. There was a sickening feeling in my stomach because you just didn't know what was going to happen next. It was the most scared, sad and hopeless I have ever felt in my life.

I ended up going in to work because I just didn't know what else to do. I was scared and felt so alone and helpless. I knew that there had been tremendous loss of life (and I am still flabbergasted and grateful to the public servants and heroes who saw to it that the numbers were not higher that day). I needed to be around people - although I was of no solace to any of them. I needed Mike. (Dudley's little gift the night before was a distant memory.) He and I snuggled up together that night and listened to President Bush and Rudy Giuliani try to calm the public while clearly stating that the people responsible for this would pay. I was grateful for their words. I had a lump in my throat watching our members of congress come together and sing God Bless America. I felt such pride that I really hadn't thought about before about being an American. Sure, I knew I was lucky to have been born and raised in this country, but I never understood what it meant until that day.

I cried a lot that day and in the days to follow. The more TV coverage was on, the more I watched it. I listened to people's stories of loss and stories of survival. There were so many heroic acts that day. I'm sure that there were several acts of heroism that none of us will ever know about because those involved did not live to tell the tales. To this day, I can get absorbed into a 9/11 documentary no matter what I'm doing. I feel like I need to watch those stories in order to honor the dead.

It's been ten years and it as still as vivid to me and to so many as though it was yesterday. It is still so utterly scary and indescribably sad. Our understanding of our world has changed. The world in which our kids will grow up is different than the world we thought we were growing up in. And let's not forget the thousands of people who lost someone they loved that day.   So very sad. And still so very real.

I have been glued to the coverage of the tenth anniversary of that horrible day. So much has changed in my life since that day that I am so grateful for. I got engaged and married in 2002. I had my kids. Have had various nieces and nephews. Have had a lot of happy times. But nothing will ever be quite the same for those of us who were living during 9/11. And my experience is nothing compared to those who were there or who lost someone. But it is part of our collective consciousness as a nation. To be an American is to remember where you were and what you were doing that morning. And so, too, is it American to find ways to press on and live a good and happy life.

So, as we mark the decade that has passed since that horrific day, let us hold our loved ones close and never forget how quickly our world can change. Let us find ways to honor those whose duty is to run into the burning buildings as the rest of us run out. And let us all be thankful for every gift that we have. We all have a lot more than we could have. God Bless America indeed.

My Old Friend

2011-08-01T18:47:00.001-04:00

Those of you who know me know that I have a 14 year old Jack Russell Terrier named Dudley. I have had Duds since he was 6 weeks old. He and I have been through a lot together. In the beginning, I was a single mother. I would work and come home at lunch and let him out of his crate to run around and take care of his bowel and urinary needs. I would rush home at the end of the work day to once again free him from his crate. I would go out on dates based on whether or not the guy was worth sticking Dudley back in his crate during the time I’d be gone. Most of them were not.

Dudley was seen as part of the package when it came to family gatherings. My sister would bring her husband and her young sons for Christmas. I’d bring Dudley. Cousins would share a bed with their spouses. Dudley and I would spoon in my queen sized bed. On weekends, I’d schedule errands around his schedule. I wouldn’t want to be gone too long at a stretch. I’d make sure it wasn’t too hot when we’d go on walks or play with his racquetballs. I’d talk to him a lot. Sing to him (and change lyrics of songs to make them about him). Cuddle with him a lot. Worry and fuss over him. I loved, loved, loved that dog.

When I started dating my husband, I worried that Dudley would come between us. Mike was not used to having pets in the house - much less a dog curled up in his lap or begging for food at the dinner table. After Mike met me, he confided to one of his friends that he liked me enough to where Dudley was not necessarily a “deal-breaker”. Not a deal-breaker? My sweet Dudley?! Let me tell you something, if anyone’s the deal-breaker it’s YOU! Dudley and I are perfectly happy in our little world and don’t need any disruptions to our little routine, thank you very much.

And Dudley did not like Mike at all, either. Their first few months together were just a disaster. I likened it to a teenager getting a new step-parent and pushing the boundaries with all the angst and resentment they can muster. That was how Dudley behaved. He’d growl and snarl at Mike and whimper so I’d think Mike had just struck him (which he hadn’t… that I’m aware of). He was extremely manipulative like a child would be.

You may think I’m exaggerating but picture this: These two hate each other and then we go to my parents’ house for the dreaded, “this is my new boyfriend” weekend of humiliation and Dudley spends the entire time IN MIKE’S LAP. That’s right. He was perched there every time Mike sat down. Now this was due, in part, to the fact that my parents had several dogs and he was trying to “claim” Mike as his. But it also made it seem to others as though Mike was exaggerating or lying about all of Dudley’s childish (doggish) antics. Thankfully, after a potentially relationship-ending encounter between Dudley and some not-quite-dry cement that Mike got blamed for letting him ruin, Mike and Dudley finally made their peace and actually became little buddies in their own right.

In fact, I dare say that Mike is now more of Dudley’s caregiver than I am. When I was single and used to have to leave him in his crate when I’d go to work, I would tell him that someday he wouldn’t have to sit in a crate all day. That I’d create a better life for him somehow. I felt such guilt about having to leave him in his cramped little crate. Enter Mike who is (or, was at the time) self-employed. Dudley now gets to go to work everyday and earn a living. Mike even made him Director of Employee Complaints. Who could complain around such a cute little face? He was the office mascot. And he and Mike got to spend all day together.

Dudley has always been what you’d call a high-needs dog. From a very early age, he had major separation anxiety. It got so bad that at one point he was Prozac – human Prozac – to try and calm him down. It didn’t even make a dent in his behavior, so I considered just taking it myself so I wouldn’t worry so much about him.

In his younger years, we went through a rough stretch where he was being regularly targeted and attacked by a menacing neighborhood mockingbird. If you’ve ever had a run-in with a mockingbird, you know their chirp immediately. They are aptly named – they truly do mock with their aggressive chirps. This one would fly over to a certain point on my roof and would watch him for a while and then swoop down and fly right into him Kamikaze-style with his beak. It got so bad that as soon as we would hear his chirp, Dudley would tuck his tail and run to me, begging to be rescued and taken inside. In fact, we went though a period where Dudley wouldn’t even go outside to relieve himself anymore because he was so frightened of being hurt. I contacted Animal Control who told me that the bird was probably just protecting his nest and that they’d come over and remove the next once I was able to locate it. Okay, I would think locating the nest would be something Animal Control would do. And anyway, I’ve seen the way this bird treats my dog. I’m not going to go try and piss him off. The problem ended when we left for a week on vacation (Dudley couldn’t come – rental house). I guess the bird got bored with no one to pick on and so he flew off to find his next victim.

So, yes, Dudley has always had some special needs. But, they were cute little quirks. Things that made him uniquely Duds. And I loved him for all of the trouble he was. I still do, although my feelings for him have been changing lately. He is now 14 years old which is hard to imagine as you watch him run, swim and play. He looks much younger and is in great shape. But you are quickly reminded when he… say… pees on the bed. Or…just as an example….poops on the dining room rug so that you can smell a hint of feces as you are eating your savory meal. I know he probably can’t help it, but I already have two children. I don’t need a third one. And he now requires more care than I have the time or inclination to give him. And I feel so guilty for it. He has been my little buddy for 14 years and I am getting so annoyed with him these days. It’s not his fault. It’s his age.

I guess it's his age. but I do look at him differently now than I used to. Where he once once the center of my universe he has become a burden to me. Do I find him expendable because he’s old and no longer capable of things that he once was? My goodness - Is this how my kids will feel about me when I begin to age and become incontinent? Will they resent having to yell things to me because I can no longer hear? Will I get in trouble if I chew up the wooden blinds because I’m upset that I’m alone in the house? Will they be angry when I need a bath because I’ve rolled in something dead because it is in my nature to do so? Hopefully not. So why am I so impatient with Dudley? I really do love him and I will be crushed – a sobbing mess – when he dies. It will be awful. Mike and I get teary-eyed just talking about the fact that he won’t be around forever. To actually be faced with it will be excruciating for both of us.

When these things cross my mind, I feel guilty for being so intolerant of him and I’ll go and cuddle with him or scratch him or feed him a piece of something he likes. In the time he has left with our family, I want try and be sure he knows every day that he’s my little buddy no matter where he pees or poops. I’ve seen a lot of posts on Facebook recently where people have had to put their dogs to sleep after a long, healthy life. That will be me sooner rather than later and I don’t need to take it for granted.

Sorry to ramble, but I needed to express it. I needed to focus again on my love for that doggie. Plus, I got nervous that something tragic might happen to me and my last words to all of you would be a post about feminine odor. Thought this one was slightly more heartwarming. Here's a nice quote for you:

Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really.
~Agnes Sligh Turnbull

Yep, I'm Going There

2011-07-21T18:28:00.000-04:00

*Guys, you probably don’t want to read this. You’ve been warned.

A lot of what this blog is, is a platform for me to use to complain about things I find annoying (which is a considerable – and ever growing - list). There is one thing that has really found it’s way under my skin (pardon the pun that you don’t really “get” now but will after reading on a little further…) lately that I have been reluctant to address but feel I can avoid no longer. That is, the amount and the content of vaginal product advertisements out there right now. Not only are these ads completely degrading and ridiculous, but they paint a picture that the only thing women do is drip, itch, and stink.

In a previous post, I talked about my fear of flying and how I feel like the whole time we are up in the air, the pilot is wrestling with the controls trying desperately to keep the plane in the air when what it really wants to do is crash. These ads make me feel the same way because they would have you believe that women have to constantly work to keep the itch, stench and general not-so-freshness at bay in order to function normally in their lives. Now, I have noted before that I am not a big feminist. I’m not even a small feminist, really. But I do think that these ads are demeaning and I am tired of being portrayed in this way. Let’s walk through a couple of examples, shall we?

First, we have a commercial where a woman is in her wedding dress with her attentive bridesmaids helping put the finishing touches on her hair on the most important day of her life. The very reasoned and comforting voice-over says something to the effect of this being the very last place you would want your feminine itch cream to stop working. My first problem with this ad is they refer to it as “feminine itch” as though that is supposed to make it sound dainty and delicate. You are talking about someone’s vagina itching, how pleasant is that? My second problem is pretty much everything else about the ad. It’s as though this woman could one day be looking at her wedding photo album and instead of recalling the cutting of the cake or the wedding kiss, she’ll be thinking, “I just wish I hadn’t had such an itchy vagina”. I can assure you that vaginal itch NEVER crossed my mind on my wedding day. Not once. Well, maybe once. But certainly not twice.

Another commercial that is loathsome to me is a tampon ad wherein there is a lady in a white bathing suit doing a flip off of the diving board. They pause her mid-spin and leave her there, upside down. She tells you that this is a time she hopes that she can rely on the strength of the tampon currently collecting what must be a geyser in her vagina. As though the tampon will fail and she will look like one of those old vaudeville clowns that shoots seltzer water at the crowd. Again, it leaves the viewer to assume that women are hyper-bleeders and that at any moment one could blow and we’d all be neck-deep in…well, you get the picture. I mean really, why should we even leave the house when it’s “our time of the month”? It’s much too risky for all involved.

Finally, the commercial that really prompted me to cover this topic in the first place is the one for Vagisil Feminine Wash. In the ad, there’s a girl who seems to be headed into a party or something. She very sheepishly opens the door to enter with a look of nervousness on her face. You see, she is self-conscious because of her “feminine odor”. And who wouldn’t be?

Let me ask this: How little are you bathing if you are concerned that merely walking into a room will reveal your palpable vaginal stench? Based on this, the next scene in the commercial should be her walking by and people collapsing into the punchbowl because the pungent smell has overtaken them. And then, her friend – the only one who hasn’t passed out due to years of building up a tolerance to it after repeated exposure – would walk over to her and say, “Sally, you really must do something about your vagina”. I don’t recall how it actually ends because I change the channel every time it comes on.

Come on, is this product really necessary? Can’t the Dove or Dial I’m currently using keep things ship-shape down there? Do I really have to have a separate cleaner for my crotch? Do men have Scrotophyl Penis Wash? No. So, why is this necessary? And who buys this stuff?

Actually, I can tell you who buys these things. And it ain’t pretty. I was in line at the grocery store behind a woman who appeared to be in her mid-sixties a few years ago. It was very troubling to me which is why I still remember it. She was purchasing two items. Bananas and douche. The check-out guy was about 18 years old and was probably thinking the same thing I was: this woman is going to go home, eat a banana, and cleanse her vagina. (At least I hope to God that’s what the bananas were for.) I have no idea why this woman felt she needed a good dousing, but apparently she did. Even if I ever needed a product like that – which, I haven’t so far after 37 years of reasonably decent hygienic practices – I would never buy it. I wouldn’t want someone to be pondering just what in the hell was wrong down there as he or she was ringing it up.

Sorry to be so gross and so negative. I just get riled up about these things. Plus, I get that way when I’m about to start my period. Everyone, seek cover.

Kneel Before Zod

2011-06-26T23:53:00.001-04:00

For those of you who do not recognize the title of this post, you are either A. too young; B. too cool; or C. both too young and too cool. I however, know exactly what it means since my sister and I proudly work it into at least one conversation every other week. It is a very powerful line from *one of the best action movies ever made, Superman II. I use it as my title today in order to prove how awesome I am and to engage in a little foreshadowing for how my kids will turn out.

Yes, I am slowly ruining my children. I am exposing them to things that I think are funny or interesting or cool and I see them emulating that and it scares the crap out of me. You see, I am almost 38 years old. I can go around quoting Superman II and it could be perceived as ** "funny" or "hipster" or "hey, she's SO cool she can quote a lame-ass movie and still be okay with herself". But if my kids watch, say, *** one of the all-time greatest musical movies ever - The Pirates of Penzance - and walk around singing the songs, the other kids will simply think they are weird. And will most likely stop playing with them.

You know, the older we get, the more comfortable we are in our skin. We know ourselves better. We care less what others think of us. We are fine with our little weird tastes, habits and idiosyncrasies. We are even fine if someone else thinks we're weird because - HEY - maybe they're weird. They don't sing folk songs by The Kingston Trio at the top of their lungs in their car??? What's their problem?!! But when we are kids, we want desperately to fit in. Even before we understand what it means to fit in, we want acceptance from others. We want the same bow so-and-so was wearing in her hair. We don't want to be ****the last person picked for the kickball team. We want others to like us and think we're neat.

That's where this issue with my children begins to get complicated. You see, I have a fairly juvenile sense of humor. I will do anything to make my girls laugh even if I have to talk about boogers and poo-poo to do it. You know they march into their school and tell people what their mother has taught them. They don't dare mention that I also taught them how snap their fingers or to make a ponytail. It's the idiotic things I do that most likely make it to the playground. I dance around like a robot when I give them their weight-gain shake they have to drink so they won't be forever saddled with my childhood body. They laugh. I continue to do it. They have picked up on this little routine and now dance the same way I do. They don't realize they are being taught to dance by a complete moron.

I like Bugs Bunny cartoons. They now watch them, and quote them, religiously. They are really funny - to people in their 60s. Seriously, how many kids nowadays watch those cartoons? Few if any. They are classic. Utter ridiculousness. My sister and I still quote the silly lines to this day. You know what kids are quoting today? Fart jokes. But, I won't let my kids say "fart". We don't fart in the McCallie household. We toot. All of their friends can say "fart". My kids want desperately to say "fart" and will even say it in a hushed tone so I can't hear it. But they know they aren't supposed to and so they usually go with "toot". I fear the labeling of them as weirdos has already begun.

Getting back to Pirates of Penzance, Kate has now proudly proclaimed on several different occasions that this is her favorite movie. MY GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE TO HER? I love the movie - grew up watching it - and the music is great. And yes, my sister and I still quote it. But no ***** self-respecting person admits this. And certainly no child should admit to this. I am so embarrassed for her that I have begun a process of manipulation to convince her that Despicable Me is actually her favorite. I think it's rated PG (I'm wanting her to be the "bad girl") and it has Steve Carell in it. What could be cooler than that? But no, she insists that Pirates of Penzance is her favorite. And really, what 5 year old wouldn't love the song stylings of Mr. Rex Smith and the incomparable Angela Landsbury? Kevin Kline and Linda Rondstadt are also in it which ******slightly raises the cool factor, but geez, it's still Angela Landsbury! I don't think my kids could identify Justin Beiber or even Hannah Montana. But that lady from Murder She Wrote? They know her. Rex Smith, who hosted Solid Gold in the 80s alongside Marilyn McCoo? Yep, they know him. Kate sings the songs and discusses the various predicaments of the characters all the time. You know the kids on the playground are thinking, "who the hell is the Pirate King?".

And then there's Meg. She is slightly better off because she doesn't emulate things that I do to the degree that her sister does. But I'm afraid I have warped her a bit, too. A good example is this coming Halloween. My kids have been talking about what costumes they want to wear for months now. They both love the movie Annie (Starring Aileen Quinn. You know, Aileen Quinn. Hello? Anyone?) so I suggested to Meg that she go trick or treating as Annie. She happily agreed and now there is no talking her out of it. That's great and all, except it was totally my idea... from 1982!! Other kids will be going as Jessie form Toy Story with their hair braided and their cute cowgirl boots. Other kids will dress up in a pretty dress with long, white gloves and a tiara and go as a princess. Other kids will wear pretty, sheer wings and have glitter in their hair and go as a fairy. Meg will be clomping around the neighborhood wearing a big, red afro.

So what are some other things my children have to *******look forward to? Well, my sister and I happily quote Superman II (as well as the original Superman of course!), The Pirates of Penzance, Looney Tunes, Annie, and scores of other embarrassing, ridiculous movies pretty much EVERY time were speak to or see each other. We do quote a lot of Saturday Night Live, but before you go thinking that somehow ********redeems us, you should know that a lot of it is from the early 80s when people like Tim Kazurinsky were on. (In case you are wondering, her kids are probably no better off than my own. My apologies to them as well as to my kids who are doomed to turn out just like me.)

While I am doling out apologies, I obviously owe a big one to my sister whom I have outed as being as gigantic a geek as I am. I will have to now throw myself at her mercy. I hope she doesn't hit me with a stern, "KNEEEEEL BEFORE ZODDDDD"!!!!

Anyway, if you or your children come in contact with either of my girls, please do your best to undo some of the monumental damage I have done. Please put them in touch with the right movies, music, dancing and popular culture for a child their age. Please intervene as you see fit and they will thank you for it one day when they realize they have forgotten all of the words to "A Rollicking Band of Pirates We".

* No one has ever called Superman II one of the best action, or any other type of movie, ever made.
** It is actually perceived as none of these.
*** The Pirates of Penzance has never been labeled as one of the all-time greatest movie musicals ever. Ever.
**** Say hello to the last person picked to be on the kickball team. :(
***** I have no self-respect.
****** Not nearly enough.
******* Dread.
******** As if anything could.

Questionnaire

2011-04-26T23:04:00.000-04:00

The other day I was flipping channels as I often do when I should be cleaning my house or interacting with my children. I came across Inside The Actors Studio – a program which I love hosted by James Lipton whom I also love. Mr. Lipton has always seemed to be a neat guy, but it wasn’t until his hilarious turns on Arrested Development (R.I.P., sniff) and Late Night with Conan O’Brien (call me, Sweet CoCo!!) that I discovered how hilarious he is. Of course, many people only know him from Will Ferrell’s spot-on impersonation of him on Saturday Night Live, but I’ve watched his show several times over the years when he’s had interesting guests appear.

My favorite part of his show is not the dreaded Q&A part at the end. I cringe whenever they hand a microphone to someone to ask someone else who is infinitely more intelligent than they are a question. My husband and I went to a John Irving appearance and reading at the Ryman Hall in Nashville a few years back (gosh, that makes me sound so intellectual and stuff) and he (my husband, not John Irving) and I both wanted to just crawl under the seat every time some tattooed, pierced goth girl got up and asked him what advice he’d give a new writer starting out. I don’t know why, I just think the questions people ask end up sounding juvenile and poser-y (it’s a word, I swear). I feel the same way when the ITAS students introduce themselves (I’m a third-year film student…) and ask questions about “the craft”, etc. I don’t want to listen to them. I want to listen to Kevin Spacey, Morgan Freeman and Tina Fey.

No, my favorite part of the show comes right before the Q&A starts. It is a 10 question questionnaire tailored after the Proust Questionnaire (whatever the hell that is). You know each guest has rehearsed his or her answers to these questions prior to coming on the show because Lipton asks them on every episode. They always have these profound answers – actors can be so smug. So, it’s a little annoying that their answers are not spontaneous, but I still like listening to them. I have often wondered how I would respond to the questions. I don’t think I’ll ever be on ITAS for a lot of reasons the main one being that I am not a famous actor. But that doesn’t mean I can’t answer these questions for you, my adoring fan(s). So here goes. And I haven’t rehearsed these answers, I swear!!!

Q1. What is your favorite word?

A1. My favorite word is most likely obsolete by now. It is tocadiscos, the Spanish word for record player. (If you look at the word, it is comprised of two separate words – toca, which comes from tocar which means to play. Then there’s discos, which are records or, I guess now, CDs.) I like this word simply because of how much fun it is to pronounce. If you don’t lose about a tablespoon of saliva when you say it, you’re not trying hard enough. And I always say it as a plural when I say it (which admittedly isn’t very often) which is los tocadiscos. Here is how you want to pronounce it:

First, “Los”: You should drop your chin a little bit and kind of form a square shape with your mouth. Your eyebrows should be furrowed (you’re not angry, you’re just getting a good, guttural drawl going) and your teeth should be showing. You reach deep within yourself and say "lllloooossssss!" And you say it with conviction.

Then there’s “tocadiscos”: You still have the furrowed brows (those are important). The Spanish “T” can sometimes sound like a “TH” and you need to try and get somewhere between the T and the TH when you start off. It packs more punch that way. So, with your jaw semi-clenched, you say “th/tohka”. Of course, following the toca is the best part – the discos! With a little more emphasis than is necessary, you launch into the deeeeeskohs part. It is important to continue to form your mouth into a square during this part as well. And you should try and say it fast. It just comes out sounding more fierce if you say it fast.

So there it is. My favorite word. Tocadiscos.

Q2. What is your least favorite word?

A2. Usually when a celebrity responds to this question, he or she will say the typical bleeding-heart “oppression”, “suffering” or “intolerance”. Mine isn’t quite that deep I’m sorry to say. No, my least favorite word is smear. I just think it sounds gross. Nothing pleasant is ever smeared. If I write a book someday, I’ll never describe someone smearing lipstick on her plump, supple lips. She will have to apply it. Or, God forbid, simply put it on. No smearing. Yuck.

A runner-up would be haberdasher. This isn’t an offensive or even gross word. I just don’t like it. It just sounds so Old English. So snooty. And where does a haberdasher work? A haberdashery? I guess so. I don’t like it.

Q3. What turns you on?

A3. I don’t think this question is meant to have a sexual connotation so, much to your relief, I will not answer it from that perspective. Instead, I’ll assume it is getting at the things in life that interest you and/or make you happy. So, what turns me on is humor. A sense of humor says so much about a person. One, it says that you don’t take yourself too seriously which means you’re generally pleasant to be around. Two, it says that you are reasonably intelligent. People who don’t “get the joke” are not clever or intuitive and so they are not interesting. Three, it makes you more fun to be around than people who aren’t humorous. I’ve met people who aren’t funny. There's a word for people like that. Bland. Can you imagine not laughing everyday? What do these people talk about? Who falls in love with them? What stories do they tell?

Everyone in my family (husband, children, parents, siblings and extended family) is funny. Most of my friends are funny. That’s not an accident. I purposely seek funny people out with whom to surround myself. Life is too hard and too short not to find reasons to laugh.

Q4. What turns you off?

A4. Pretty much all of my previous posts have covered this. My quick answers would be Reality TV, Katherine Heigl, Donald Trump’s hair, Atlanta traffic, anyone with the last name Kardashian, Organic carrot juice with fresh ground ginger, stupid songs, and Kate Gosselin.

Q5. What sound or noise do you love?

A5. I love the sound of my kids cracking up. We laugh a lot in our house. We act silly. We dance around. But when my kids get really tickled at something and just get into a laugh of complete abandon, it cracks me up and warms my heart.

That’s the nice answer. The weird one is that I love the sound of a good congestion-y cough. Love it. I realize that the sound I am hearing is the loosening of phlegm, but the heart wants what it wants. I get so disgusted every time I have one of those dry, irritating coughs. What’s the point? If I can’t hear that exquisite crackling sound it is an utter disappointment. Kids get those good, wet coughs. As much as I hate for my kids to feel bad, I do enjoy listening to that rasp. Love it. Love it. Love it.

Q6. What sound or noise do you hate?

A6. A dry cough, of course. Just a total letdown. But also, a really thick New York accent. Nothing against NY. It’s just such an ugly dialect. I know people think a Southern accent makes people sound stupid (which it does and which many of us are), but a Bronx-ian accent makes someone sound like a shrill, know-it-all, obnoxious ass. Mike and I were in Chicago walking down a crowded street behind these two ladies who were obviously from NY. They were talking about some girl named Ellie or Allie (couldn’t really tell). At one point, one of the ladies, disgusted with the conversation, turned to her friend and said, “Well, theeeaat’s just EEEAAllie. She’s sucha howahh.” (For those of you who need a translation – That’s just E/Allie. She’s such a whore.) Not only is the accent grating, but people outside of the south also are a lot louder and talk more freely than we do here. If I were calling someone a whore, I would do it under my breath and not broadcast it so that everyone on Michigan Avenue could hear me. I would say it, of course. I’m not above that. But I would say it so only my friend would be able to hear it. And since when does the word “whore” have two syllables?!

Q7. What is your favorite curse word?

A7. Motherfucker. Hands down. And I used to NEVER say the “F” word. I thought it was the worst word you could say. Which it is – at least, one of the worst. I thought it was so dirty and so disgusting. And then you add the “mother” to it and it just completely morphs into the worst and most demeaning put-down ever. But, I’m afraid this word has crept into my vocabulary over the years because a few of my friends were able to show me the joys of using it. It just perfectly sums up what you need to say. I use it as an expression if something isn’t going my way. Sometimes I’ll refer to someone as that but usually only if I am joking. Like, I’ll refer to someone’s grandfather as that. It just sounds hilarious to accuse an 87 year old person of being a motherfucker.

I don’t know where the word came from or how it first got its start. You have to think that when a language is developed, one person uses a word and then other people hear it and like it and so they start using it. I’m not sure who the first person was to use the word motherfucker. I imagine it was probably a caveman who was trying to bang out a wheel with some primitive tools and hit his thumb and said, “Well Mo-ther-Fucker!”.

Q8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

A8. A writer for SNL, Conan, or 30 Rock. How awesome would it be to be part of that synergy? Can you imagine how much fun those people have? Can you imagine sitting around a room and coming up with a concept and then playing off of each other trying to make it better and funnier. (I’m not at all sure that this is how the writing process takes place but in my mind, this is how it goes.) That is what I do every day of my life. Wouldn’t it be awesome to get paid for doing that? I’m not funny on my own. I need people to play off of. I need a good audience. That’s why all of my friends are funny. That’s why I enjoy being with my family. They make me funnier. I would love to be funny and write funny things for a living.

Q9. What profession would you not like to do?

A9. Anything in the medical profession; particularly nursing. Nurses have to wipe bottoms and clean up vomit. I do that now for two little girls that I love more than life itself. I would never, ever want to do this for a stranger. And next time you’re in Wal-Mart or the airport or anyplace where large numbers of people gather, take a look around. These are the bottoms nurses are having to wipe. I know that I keep my bottom relatively clean. I can’t say with any confidence that the dude standing in line in front of me at the DMV with 2/3 of his crack peeking out from above the waistband of his pants does the same.

Q10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

A10. This is the hardest one for me to answer. I really don’t know what I’d want Him to say. I’d need to start off by saying, “Sorry I wasn’t really sure this place existed”. I’m afraid He would say, “This is a mix-up. You’re supposed to join the rest of your friends and family who have gone before you in hell.” But, if it does exist and I was forgiven for having doubts, I’d hope He would say, “You were a good person, a good wife and a good mother and you made people feel good about themselves.” I hope I treat people with kindness and sensitivity and help them to laugh. I hope it makes a difference to the people I have in my life. I hope He says, “The people in your life whom you loved, loved you in return”. I also hope He shows me over to where my loved ones have been since they’ve been there. I’d hug my Gannie first.

So there’s my list. It was harder than I thought it would be which is why I am convinced now that all of the guests who come on the show practice it over and over before their appearance. Next time a hoity-toity actor gives a neatly thought out answer, I’ll know that they likely spent hours going over their responses in order to perfect them and sound pompous. Those motherfuckers.

WHY; Vol. 2

2011-04-14T21:56:00.003-04:00

So, it’s been about a year since my first WHY post, so I thought perhaps I should revisit the idea. What I did was pose some questions that had been gnawing at me to see if you, my loyal reader(s?), could help explain them. I got 5 comments out of it – sadly that’s a personal best for me – so I thought perhaps you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. No? Well, let’s try it again anyway.
1. WHY is it that Donald Trump is trying to run for President?! Does he really believe he has a shot in hell of being elected? He’s not used to people telling him no. How would that go over in dealing with Congress? Other world leaders? Would he simply “fire” Ghadhafi and expect all of those problems to go away? He’s not qualified to be our president. He’s not reasonable enough to be our president. And if, for no other reason, I would not vote for him because he doesn’t have sense enough to abandon that ridiculous hair. That, more than anything else, proves he is incapable of leading this country.

2. WHY are people buying tickets to Charlie Sheen’s Torpedo of Truth tour? WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE?? It is bad enough that we must be kept abreast of his every move via the media, but for people to actually be interested in what this man has to say – it’s ludicrous! Last year I was ranting about being disgusted that Kate Gosselin was all over the place and that we were all expected to care about her. The interest in her has (thankfully) waned, but unfortunately has been replaced by interested in him. And he’s CRAZY. Or high. Or both. We shouldn’t listen to him. We should shut him up and hope that someone gets him some help. The fact that Japan could have a tsunami that could kill thousands of people and he would make the cover of People Magazine is a sad, sad commentary on what we think is worth our time and attention.

3. WHY is every song now sung by someone and “feat.” someone else? Half of the top 10 songs on I-Tunes are sung by one artist but “feat.” someone usually with a completely ridiculous name. All these hip-hop artists have the most absurd names. Big Boi, Mista F.A.B, Sista Soulja, Ludacris (which I actually think is clever since his actual name is Chris), Acafool (that is not a typo), Sticky Fingaz, Flo’Rida (he’s actually from Florida! Who knew?!) Killa Priest, etc. Then there’s C-Murder. This guy’s not even trying. No clever innuendo. No double entendre. He just goes straight to C-Murder. Perhaps we don't have long to wait before becoming acquainted with MC-Drugs or J-Gun Violence. C-Murder?! That’s not clever at all. It’s not a witty pun. It’s not a krazy spelling. It doesn’t mean anything – just… C-Murder. Sounds like a charming young man. Mom, Dad, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, C-Murder.

I think these names are so silly and in a lot of cases so violent. Their names need to evoke more positive images than murder and mayhem - especially during these tough times that are upon us. Here are some of my suggestions:

Skippy Meadows

C-Kittens

Chair I Tee

Mista Rogers

Sunny Fancypants

Anything but C-Murder. What a downer!

4. WHY is everyone so fascinated by the upcoming royal wedding? Newsflash people: They are not our royal family. And monarchies are silly and archaic anyway. What do we care about Prince William and Kate Middleton? I hope they have a happy marriage, but I hope that for anyone getting married. Aside from that, I don’t much care about it. I don’t want to know her wedding workout regimen. I don’t want to buy a commemorative plate with their faces on it. I don’t want to win a replica of her ring. I don’t plan to watch it on TV. I plan to wake up that day and go through my normal routine. My life won’t change when they get married. Will yours? And if it will, what is wrong with you?!

5. WHY do I always have to pee ten times before going to bed? I think it’s a mental thing – this irrational fear that as soon as I get comfortable and on the verge of sleep, I’ll have to pee. So instead of ever getting comfortable, I just have to get up and pee several times. It also happens whenever I go snow skiing. I’ll get all bundled up in my 17 layers of clothing and then have to take it all off (or pull it down – whatever) and go to the bathroom. Very annoying. Another weird fact about my bladder (since you asked and all…) is that whenever I am hiding from someone, it instantly makes me have to pee. Not that I hide from people regularly (that kind of makes me sound like a freak) but even as a kid if I was playing hide and seek, I would go hide in the closet and almost wet my pants. It happens today if I am playing with the kids. Does that make me weird? Have I over-shared?

6. WHY is it that when I give up chips (except for chips in a Mexican restaurant – I have to have an “out”) for Lent as I have done this year, every room I walk into smells like Fritos? Or Cheetos? Or Doritos? Or tasty Sour Cream and Onion Ruffles? Or Barbecue Lays? Or Funyuns? I can smell these beautiful smells everywhere and yet, I cannot indulge. After Easter, I know it will go away and every room will begin smelling like stale breath and/or feet again. Isn’t that how it always works?

7. WHY are so many people still being diagnosed with and, in many cases, dying of cancer? One of Mike’s friends has Stage 4 cancer; one of my friends has Stage 2 colon cancer. Two of my work friends have very close family members who are incurable. And, of course, you all know a person or people who have it or have had it. So many young people are being diagnosed, too. What is going on? And all of these people who are stealing identities and creating super viruses that can make your computer explode – what would happen if they used their brains for good instead of evil? Might we be closer to a cure if the number of bad people out there made choices to do something positive for someone else? I hate people who are smart enough to make a positive contribution and then do the opposite. I hate them.

8. WHO (oops! Not a WHY question, but important nonetheless) creates all of the Apps (I hate that word, but I’d sound like a geek if I called them Applications) available for your I-Phone? Who has that kind of time? Who thought, “Dammit! I’m going to create a game where you use a slingshot to hurl a bunch of pissed off birds toward some pigs so they can blow them up!” We haven’t cured cancer but we have Angry Birds. Not that Angry Birds is completely unnecessary. It is nice to have some mindless entertainment. But who thinks of these things? I have no idea why these things are necessary, but apparently to millions of people (myself included) they are. How did we ever survive before Doodle Jump?

9. WHY do people seem to always create a walkway right in front of me when I’m standing in a line? It never fails. If I am in a large crowd and people are trying to push their way through, they will always walk over to where I’m standing and squeeze in between me and whoever is standing next to me. I don’t know if it’s because I’m fairly small and people assume they can just bulldoze right past me and I won’t be able to do much about it, but whatever it is, it’s annoying. I will purposely not make eye contact with people because I know they’ll think it gives them license to use me as a walkway. Even without acknowledging me, they’ll still choose either right in front of me or right in back of me to make their way to wherever it is they are going. Every time.

10. WHY are so many air traffic controllers falling asleep on the job right now? I work for a manufacturing company. If you are caught sleeping, you get fired. There’s just too much machinery and too many dangers to yourself and to others if you sleep. The odds of a person falling asleep and something horrible happening are obviously extremely low, but it’s important to note nonetheless. Now, if your job is solely to keep things flowing safely and smoothly – arrivals, departures – and keep the air traffic… well, controlled, then I would think you would also be fired for falling asleep on the job. These people who have been in the news lately for doing just that are being suspended when they get caught. Suspended! That’s it! If I’m an air traffic controller and I fall asleep, I am risking the lives of at least one entire plane full of people, people on the ground, etc.

Also where I work, good attendance is a requirement for your job. A colleague of mine was in an Unemployment hearing for an associate who we had terminated for poor attendance. The hearing officer actually asked my colleague if the terminated employee had been made aware that attendance was a requirement of the job. We all joked about it at the time – if a person doesn’t realize that showing up is a crucial part of the job, what is the world coming to?! Similarly, if I’m an air traffic controller, I’m thinking at the very least I should be awake. I mean, these people don’t seem to have an attendance problem. But the problem is, they are not conscious when they are on the job – another crucial piece to, I dare say, just about any job out there. What is going on? And why were these people merely suspended? If they have no more regard for the lives in their care, they don’t deserve to have their jobs. What I want to know is, why this happening so much right now? Are these air traffic contollers just inexplicably passing out on their jobs or has this been happening all along and the media is only now becoming aware of it?

11. WHY do kids instinctively know that "potty words" as we call them in our household are so funny? My kids talk and giggle about their bottoms/hineys, poop, their ba-ginas, their beeboos (boobies), tee tee and tooting ALL THE TIME. We've tried to not draw attention to these words for fear of giving them a stigma and making them more attractive to our girls, but that doesn't seem to matter. They proudly use those words - in mixed company or not - and just laugh their little bottoms/hineys off. They'll ask to see my bottom (big mistake, girls, for this is a preview of what yours will look like one day and it aint pretty) and want to touch my beeboos because they know its silly and naughty. How did they turn out this way? When does innocence go away? Apparerntly as early as age three.

And finally...

12. WHY is it that at a time when I am focused on how much money I am spending I choose that exact moment to wreck my car? (Let me clarify here – it’s not that I normally just wildly spend money. I don’t at all. But, I am more tuned in to what we are spending these days because we have made a few renovations to our lake house and we have to furnish a couple of new rooms, etc.) I was driving on this little country road on the way to go get supplies from Lowe’s on Saturday when out darts this ratty looking cat. I don’t even like cats (except Lola, Mary) and yet my instinct was to do a hard swerve to avoid hitting it and ran into a construction sign on the side of the road demolishing my front right tire and side mirror and tearing a huge gash in the body of my car. This (probably) stray cat – whose life is probably worth less than $10 – will now cost us who knows how many thousands of dollars in repairs. And all while I am trying to be contentious of money. That’s what I get for worrying about what I’m spending. I won’t make that mistake again.

A funny side note – My three year old asked me where my car was since I was driving her daddy’s car. I told her I had had an accident in mine and couldn’t drive it. She turned to me and asked, very concerned, “Did you tee tee in your car?” I guess to a three year old, that’s what it means to have an accident. If only I had tee teed in my car. Would’ve been a lot cheaper.

I Hate Atlanta

2011-04-07T21:32:00.001-04:00

Damn you, Atlanta. You with your smug arts and never-ending assortment of things to do. And damn your constant road work and crazy drivers. For they make it impossible for me to make good time while traveling.

As if there wasn’t already enough to do in Atlanta, they just had to go and build an enormous aquarium that makes Chattanooga’s look like a project I could have done for a middle school science fair. Why? Why would they build the one thing that actually draws people to Chattanooga (other than the underwhelming Choo-Choo and Ruby Falls) and do it bigger and better? Do you realize that all we have now is Rock City? And if you’ve seen Rock City once (as countless billboards and painted barns along the interstate advise you to do), you’ve seen it 100 times. Big whoop.

I went to Atlanta (I refuse to refer to it by the hipper, more popular “the A-T-L” that the cool kids use) this weekend with one of my daughters to meet up with my sister and her son who was in a hip hop dance competition (Go, Jack!). We decided to spend our afternoon Saturday doing something Atlanta-ish. We’d not been to their aquarium before so we decided we’d go.

The aquarium was, of course, fine. It was big and nice and had a better diversity of things to see than does the one in Chattanooga. They had whales – whales! – and all kinds of neat things that Chattanooga’s doesn’t… blah, blah, blah. But I was completely irritated before we ever even got there because…well, because I was in Atlanta.

I was driving along minding my own business enjoying a nice, sunny day on the open road. Kate and I were excited to see Mary and Jack. Spring was in almost full bloom around us. It had the makings of a nice day. I even began to think that perhaps I’d get through Atlanta without getting held up in any typical Atlanta crazy traffic.

Wrong.

As I began to descend on the city, there was a lighted billboard that advised that up ahead on 75 South – right where I was going - there was road work that had closed three left lanes (a city is too damn big if there are three left lanes, by the way). My cheerful mood began to dissipate as I saw the sea of red tail lights I was headed straight toward. So, as it usually goes whenever I have to go to or through Atlanta, I got stopped and I sat. And I waited. And I sat. And I waited. And I sat. And I cursed – but internally so Kate wouldn’t learn any new colorful words.

One of the most telling things about Atlanta traffic is a story I like to tell about my experience there several years ago. I was on Peachtree Road over by Lenox Mall and it was just bumper to bumper with nobody moving and everyone getting frustrated. As we inched along, I noticed the entire front bumper (including a UGA license plate) of a car, just sitting there in the road. What that tells me is that someone was involved in a fender-bender in which the front half of their car fell off and they simply said, “to hell with it” and kept driving just so they could get home. I mean seriously – would you not get out of your car and survey the damage? Of course you would. But this was Atlanta. This guy just made an executive decision to leave half of his car in the road just so he could get the hell out of the traffic. Aaaaah, Atlanta.

Of course, on the interstate you had the typical people who thought they were somehow exempt from the road signs who just kept barreling on ahead to try and sneakily merge into the right lane at the last minute. Who are the idiots who let these obnoxious people over? I have a rule that if I leave room for you to get over and you pass it by thinking you’ve got a better deal up ahead, I will do everything within my power to see that you are afforded no such opportunity again. If you pass me when I’ve offered you a coveted spot in front of me, then as God as my witness you are NOT going to try and get in front of me when you run out of road, you selfish bastard. I get so annoyed when people let these people in at the last minute. It doesn’t even register with these do-gooders that they are enabling these inconsiderate drivers to continue to do this in the future.

Then you had the constant lane-changers who kept darting back and forth between lanes thinking they’d somehow get to the next mile marker faster if they could just identify the winning lane. At the rate we were going (which was 5mph), we were all pretty much going to get there at the same time. We didn’t all need to live in fear that someone was about to zip out right in front of us and cause an accident. Had these people not been to Atlanta before? Were they not expecting massive gridlock? Did they not realize that when they dashed into the other lane causing four or five cars to slam on their brakes that they were actually slowing the entire process down? Morons.

So, I finally got through the road work and came upon the exit that was supposed to take me right to the Aquarium. I can see a light change up ahead and only about 3 cars manage to get through before it turns red again. I’m thinking there must be a wreck ahead. But then I see another billboard. Apparently the WWE was having some kind of major event right next to where I wanted to go. While I was appreciative to not have this gathering of rednecks in Chattanooga, WHY did it have to be going on in Atlanta the one day I was there? Atlanta has a bazillion things to do - why on earth is it necessary to have the WWE in town? But in town they were, so it took another 20 minutes just to turn right off of the interstate. My blood was boiling at this point because for much of the past 45 minutes to an hour I could see exactly where I needed to go up ahead, I just couldn’t get there. I wanted to scream but had to stifle it so Kate wouldn’t learn any of the aforementioned colorful words.

So, we went to the Aquarium and it was bigger, newer and nicer than the one we have in Chattanooga. I was annoyed because people didn’t need another reason to go to Atlanta. There's already plenty to do there. There was no need to compete with Chattanooga. You won. We get it. What’s next? “Boulder Town” to rival Rock City? “Red Waters” to rival Ruby Falls? Grrrr. Why couldn’t you have just left us alone? What have we ever done to you?

The ride home on Sunday was just as bad. We got caught in the same construction going north so it took us forever to get out of the city and on our way back to Chattanooga. The good news is that because the traffic happened early in our trek, I was over being angry and irritated about an hour into the trip. The rest of the ride home was fairly uneventful – since not very many people were trying to get to Chattanooga (they were all going to Atlanta where there are neat things to do!). And just when I was thinking how nice it was to be back in a city that was more reasonably sized with the right amount of people (and left lanes), we got stuck in standstill traffic. For almost 45 minutes. Grrrrr.

Food, Glorious Food!

2011-03-30T19:35:00.000-04:00

Here it is the end of March and I haven’t updated this silly thing all year. The truth is, there has been NOTHING to write about. No funny stories. No interesting observations. No witty sarcasm. But Maggie, you may be thinking, you’ve never written about any of that stuff before either. How right you are! Things around here have been pretty dull since the weather has been so slow to change to spring. It’s been cold and rainy/snowy and no one has really done much of anything. But I now have something that I feel may make for decent reading. So here goes.

Since the last week of January, I have been following a new ~~diet~~ nutrition plan. I refuse to call it a “diet” because I do not believe in diets. I think most if not all diets are unhealthy in some way (Eat tons of fat but no bread! Only eat grapefruit! Only sniff ketchup as your breakfast!) They just seem to set you up for failure because you are cutting something totally out of your diet. And obviously you liked eating it because it wouldn’t have been in your diet otherwise. So, you cut it out and lose a few pounds. Then once you hit your target you start eating it again and wonder why you’ve gained all of your weight back. I just think you can only be successful if you eat the things you want in moderation and make more positive than negative choices.

So, here we are on March 30th, 9 weeks into this exercise and I have lost a total of twelve pounds (and a few ounces!!). I have surpassed my original goal of ten pounds. My husband, who has done this with me, has also gotten down to his goal. Now for me, weight loss is not the ultimate goal. Yes, I needed to lose some weight. But the real goal is to be healthy and not eat a bunch of junk. I also have had high cholesterol for about five years no and I know it is due to the stuff I eat. So, at work, there is a program that others have had long-term success with, so I thought I’d give it a shot. The upside to this ~~diet~~ nutrition plan is that there are classes each week that teach you how foods break down in your body and how to pair foods together to maximize fat burning. The other plus for this ~~diet~~ nutrition plan is that it is a program which understands that you like pizza. And tacos. And cheeseburgers. And bacon. And potato chips. And beer. And sausage. And ice cream. And ribeyes. And fried chicken. And cookies. And… you get the point. It allows you to have days where you blow your diet to hell for roughly two days a week which, frankly, is the only way I’d ever be successful.

Now, I am not writing this to be an advocate for this particular ~~diet~~ nutrition plan or to detract from any other program you may be on. I’m just telling you it’s the only ~~diet~~ nutrition plan I have ever heard of that actually appears to be healthy and actually gets sustainable results. If any of you want to talk with me about my experience I’ll be glad to do that, but I’m certainly not trying to drum up business for them. They can do that on their own.

What I do want to tell you about is what I have discovered about my relationship with food. That relationship is, in a word, unhealthy. I never knew how much I think about food, plan my meals, go out of my way for something good to eat, and associate “fun” with eating until I began limiting the bad things I was eating. I learned this because the first week of this ~~diet~~ nutrition plan is fairly restrictive. You basically only eat lean proteins and fibrous carbohydrates for 7 days before you begin adding back in the other things. So, I was staring down 7 days of eating nothing but chicken, fish, salads and vegetables. How did it go?

Well, on day two, I considered going out into the woods to hunt down and kill a wild boar, feast on his sweet, juicy meat, and then pick my teeth with one of his ribs. Not because I was hungry. I really wasn’t. The protein was filling me up. But I just missed the gluttonous meals to which I had become accustomed. I mentioned earlier that this ~~diet~~ nutrition plan allows you to blow it two days a week. As it turns out, I was blowing it two times a day.

My old way of doing things was that I would start out with my very healthy breakfast of yogurt and a piece of fruit. Then, if I was at work, I would start emailing people around 9:30 to firm up my lunch plans. I looked at lunch as my most important appointment of the day. It was a win-win: I got to eat a bunch of yummy food and hang out with my friends. I used to be so annoyed with my friends who were following this ~~diet~~ nutrition plan when I would ask them to lunch and they would decline because they had brought their lunch. Or even worse – if they accepted and then ate fish and steamed vegetables while I drenched my chicken fingers in ranch dressing. What were they trying to prove, anyway?

If I wasn’t at work, it meant I was at home with my daughter running errands and usually grabbing something to eat while I was out. She likes grilled cheese and chicken nuggets and quesadillas and such, so we’d always go somewhere where she could get that. And if I’m out, I’m going to order something good, so I’d eat like that, too. In fact, I’d plan my errands around what restaurants they were close to. I never realized I did that until I decided I wouldn’t eat like that anymore. You know what happened? I lost all interest in running errands. Even fun errands like clothes shopping. What’s the point if I can’t go to Moe’s after I buy a pair of pants to replace the ones I’ve grown out of?

So that would be lunch on any given day. For dinner, we’d eat out a lot. My husband would joke that if I told him it was time to eat, he’d start loading the kids into their car seats. The truth was, we would eat out a lot. I discovered through this ~~diet~~ nutrition plan that one of the reasons we’d eat out so often is because at around 2:00 in the afternoon, I’d start thinking about pizza or Mexican. I’d begin to crave it and before I knew it would have committed myself to a plan that involved either picking it up or going out and eating it. It was strange that I’d even be thinking of food so early because I would have stuffed myself at lunch and still be miserably full at that time. My portions were not what a reasonable person would or should eat. They’d serve me my lunch at a restaurant and I’d think Oh my goodness that’s way too much food. Yet, I’d clean my plate every time.

On the rare occasion that I would actually cook something for dinner, it was usually something unhealthy. If I made it, it was convenient to make. If it’s convenient to make, odds are it’s full of things that are very unhealthy. Sometimes, though, I would decide that I should be sure my children had not lost their ability to recognize vegetables and I would fix “chicken and vegetables”. When I decided to fix this for dinner, I’d get depressed about it as soon as I’d finish my lunch. Nothing to look forward to for dinner… And I’d always be sure that chicken and vegetables included a corn casserole or some kind of side dish that was full of butter, or cream-of-whatever soup or something fatty to make it tasty. So even on the nights we were eating in and eating "healthy", we weren’t eating healthy. And on top of that, I wasn’t satisfied because what I really wanted was a chili dog.

So going back to that first week, it was a shock to me how bummed I was because I knew I wasn’t going to get to eat anything I wanted until the weekend. (I had decided to allow myself to blow it on the weekends from the beginning.) Food consumed my every thought. And when I say “consumed”, I am well aware that I have chosen a word that is very closely identified with food. I was at work one day and we were throwing out ideas about how to get some members of our team more engaged. I started thinking to myself about having roundtable meetings for these associates early in the morning. Before I knew it, I was thinking about getting Chik-fil-A to cater breakfast biscuits for everyone. My mind immediately went to the social nature of eating and how that was the glue that would hold us all together. I was so fixated on food that I was using it as a means to have a meeting. Forget the content of the meeting. I really wasn’t thinking about that at all. I was thinking about and salivating over chicken biscuits. In the early days of following this ~~diet~~ nutrition plan, I found myself doing that a lot. I discovered that I largely associate food with EVERYTHING. And I did it all the time.
On the second day – the please let me kill and eat a wild boar day I like to call it – if my husband had said, “let’s quit” I would have in a minute. I was almost depressed about not being able to eat something big and nasty. We had a sitter for the kids one night and my thought was, well what’s the point of going out? We can’t eat anything good… And in my mind, I was struggling with thoughts of I’m never going to enjoy food again!!!!.

But as I stuck with it – and I’m proud of myself for sticking with it; it’s very un-Maggie-like – I began to notice that if I could make it through the week on healthy foods, I’d be okay and would celebrate on the weekends. As more time passed, I celebrated less on the weekends. Now, I didn’t cut out the burgers and junk food altogether on the weekends. But I also wasn’t doing that at every meal. In other words, I began to feel a little guilty for just going hog (there’s that wild boar again) wild on Saturday and Sunday. I was getting results (didn’t have to stuff myself into my pants and squat for several minutes at a time as much) and so I wanted that to continue.

As things stand today, I have dropped two pants sizes and have lost more than 15 inches all over my body. My entire family is eating healthier foods on a regular basis. My kids like squash and broccoli. Who knew?! And that’s just since the last week of January. I’ve seen this ~~diet~~ nutrition plan work for others and I can attest to the fact that it does work if you are committed to it. I am not as tired. I am more alert. I am exercising more (healthy patterns tend to develop when you are getting results in one area). And I’ve been able to go out and get some new clothes and not feel guilty about it – I can’t wear many of my old clothes!

So, what is the lesson here? Well, there’s not one. I’m not here to educate you. I’m here to entertain you (in case that wasn’t obvious). But I will say that I don’t think I’m the only one obsessed with food. Most TV commercials are about restaurant offerings (and erectile dysfunction remedies, but I can't help ya there). There are billboards everywhere picturing plump, glistening cheeseburgers. Food is everywhere. And our country is fat. No one has time to commit to changing their lifestyle. But I’m here to tell you that I changed mine. And I’m not one to commit to anything that requires a lot of work. Or thought. Or energy. Or time. Or planning. And other than that second day, it has been relatively easy. And I’ve been satisfied with what I’m eating as well as the results I’ve seen.

I weighed in today just to see how it was going. The last time I weighed, I had lost almost 10 pounds. That was two weeks ago. I ate like a pig last weekend. I stepped onto the scale just to see how I was doing and discovered that I had lost just over two more pounds. Some habits are hard to break – when I saw this the first thing I did was consider getting a chili dog for dinner. I even texted my husband and sort of jokingly said that’s what I wanted to do to celebrate my weight loss. If he had agreed, guess what I’d be eating for dinner.

I Resolve To Be Resolute

2010-12-31T10:12:00.000-05:00

Well, it's that time of year again. Time for my annual New Year's Resolutions list. Or what I commonly refer to as the the first lies I will tell myself in the new year.

Last year's resolutions were admirable. Weight loss. Less cursing. More patience. Let's have a quick review and see how I did.

1. Complete Meg's scrapbook from her first year of life - As of today, December 30th, this has neither been completed nor attempted. Meg turned three in October.

2. Limiting my intake of sweets to weekends and special occasions - Last night I ate 6 pieces of chocolate because it was in the house. I would have eaten more, but I didn't have any more. Last night was Tuesday.

3. Not cursing in front of my children. I still do this, but I do it more quietly. So, that is kind of a win.

4. Keeping my car clean and neat - I am going out of town today, so I cleaned and vacuumed it last night. I removed 6 dolls, 5 receipts, 1 half-empty bottle of water, two Target bags, 1 coffee cup, 1 empty styrofoam cup, a box of melted crayons, 3 empty DVD cases, 2 jackets, and 3 socks.

5. Send thank you notes - This one I actually attempted. We had a birthday party for Meg in October and I actually wrote several thank you notes. They were in a box on my kitchen counter for a couple of months and I finally moved them somewhere else when it was time to put out the Christmas decorations. I'm not sure where they are now. I did deliver one to a friend of mine at work. Technically, that is more than I sent out in 2009, so I'm calling this one a win.

6. Stop complaining - Read any blog entry of mine from this year and you'll know whether or not this one was met.

7. I will be more patient with my children - Talk about setting yourself up for failure! What was I thinking?

8. I will be healthier - Considering that I am heavier now than I was when I established this as a resolution, I don't think this one was achieved. I did run in two 5ks this year, so that's something. But, do you know what I ate for dinner prior to the 6 pieces of chocolate? You guessed it - Taco Bell.

9. No serious posts - I had a couple. Sorry.

10. Do more to combat my inherent laziness - I sat around a lot in 2010. And I took a lot of naps. I have added no new hobbies. I averaged about 5 showers per week. A couple of pairs of my pajamas are now beginning to look threadbare. This doesn't look (or smell) like success.

Which brings us to 2011. What shall I set for myself this year? Well, for starters I'm not setting 10 of them again. That was just stupidity. One could argue that I got so bogged down in trying to meet all of these goals that it didn't lend itself to my accomplishing any one of them successfully. That isn't the case - I didn't actively try to reach any of them. But, one could still make that argument.

1. So, obviously one important one is the one to be healthier. I seriously need to do that. Once again, my physical showed that my cholesterol is higher than it needs to be. And I know that my kids are learning their eating habits by watching mine. I need to set a better example for them. I need to be thinner. Not way thinner, but I weigh more than I need to for my frame. The last time I weighed this much I was pregnant. I am still eating for two... Or three... Men. Large Men.

2. I am going to go room by room and clean my house. Well, not clean it. But straighten and de-clutter it. I have a closet upstairs off the guest room that is a fairly big size and is where I do all of my wrapping. There are bags and receipts up there from Christmas 2008. Guests cannot hang their clothes on the rods because they cannot physically make their way over to where the old, out-dated, non-fitting clothes that need to be given away are hanging.

The girls' rooms and bathroom have baby things/toys/soaps/crap that need to be thrown out or given away. I need to update the pictures that are on their shelves. I need to throw out the infant Mylicon that my children haven't used in close to three years. AND I need to start requiring that they keep their rooms tidy. They are old enough now that this responsibility should fall to them. Lord knows I'm not doing it. Perhaps they'll do a better job.

The girls' playroom is a disaster. They still have baby toys down there as well. Toys I've tried to give away previously, but they've seen in the give-away pile and decided that they couldn't live without. We have about 12 tons of Happy Meal crap toys that could probably fill an entire garbage bag to overflowing. There are playing cards all over the place. I know there are plenty more than 52, but certainly not all from the same deck. And we have enough kitchen toys to feed a pretend army. It is a nightmare in there.

My pantry is just horrendous. Everything used to have it's place but now the peanuts are with the mandarin oranges and the olive oil is with the rice. I can't find anything in there. And here's something I just learned at 37 years of age. Spices expire. Did you know that? I'll bet I've been using the same coriander (do I ever use that?) since 1997. I wonder if that means that things like flour expire. And when was the last time I used Crisco? It's probably hard as a rock by now.

In 2010, I did clean out the cabinet under my bathroom sink (which was horrifying) as well as my tupperware cabinet. I have been much less stressed in those areas of the house because I'm not constantly reminded of how disorganized I am. If I could do this in several other rooms of my house, think of how peaceful my life will be.

3. I've got to do Meg's damn scrapbook. Seriously. She'll develop a complex if Kate has one and she doesn't. There is no excuse for not having this done. Actually, I'm sure there is a great excuse. I just haven't thought of it yet. I'm sure it is somehow Mike's fault.

At work we talk about setting SMART goals. That is, goals that are:

S ...uh...whoops. Something I can't remember.

Measurable

Attainable (I think)

Necessary

Timed

No wait, that's SMANT. Well, anyway, the acronym helps you make sure they are realistic (that's the R!!) and that you can easily determine if you have met them. I'm thinking those 3 goals are all of those things so I will end the list there.

Surely to goodness I can accomplish three things in a year. If I cannot, then the resolution in 2012 will have to be to have a crane come in and remove my 500lb ass from my sofa.

I hope you set some good SMART and SMANT goals for yourself in 2011 and that it is your best year yet. Cheers!

...oh yeah, the S is Specific.

I Never Dreamed Of A White Christmas

2010-12-28T18:48:00.001-05:00

Like the Frasier Fir tree standing tall in my living room, I am a Christmas sap. As clichéd as it sounds, I truly love this time of year. There is such a build-up to Christmas with the music, the smells, the songs, etc., and then every year I get weepy and nostalgic when it must come to an end. We had an extra special Christmas this year in the McCallie household. Below is our Christmas story. Enjoy… and may your days be merry and bright.

We decorated our house during the first weekend of December. This is very early compared to when we would decorate when I was a kid, but fairly late as compared to many of my neighbors. This was really the first year that my kids really seemed to get into the wonder and excitement of the holidays. I missed that for a few years as I made the transition from my traditional Christmas to creating a special experience for my children.

For a couple of years, I was down in the dumps during the holidays because I was no longer doing the things we did when I was a kid. It was no longer about enjoying MY Christmas; it was about creating a Christmas experience that my kids would always remember. As selfish as that sounds, it made me very sad to let go of what I was accustomed to. Of course, now MY Christmas is all about the joy my kids experience. I didn’t realize that fully until this year.

We went and purchased our tree on Sunday, December 4th. We have been going to the same place for several years now – just like my dad and I used to do in Birmingham. Usually, my marriage begins to unravel when we arrive because Mike and I start with very different ideas about what the tree should look like and how much it should cost. This year, we both found the same tree and arrived at a decision in under 10 minutes.

The unraveling of the marriage continues as we bring the tree into the house and place it in its stand. This year, it went relatively smoothly. Sure, we got needles everywhere, and there was some drama with me trying to bear my portion of the weight of the tree as we carried it through the house to its destination (I should say that my portion of the weight is still only about 10% of the weight, but seeing as I have no upper body strength, even that is a challenge). Mike stood it up for the first time and it was leaning just a little. With a quick repositioning, it was straight and ready. One adjustment. That was it.

Now, over the years, I have always been more excited about decorating the tree than Mike has been. Mike generally sits on the couch with a ballgame muted on the TV and hands me the ornaments to hang while I listen to Christmas music. I have secretly resented this because I want him to be excited about the holidays and look forward to all of the traditions I am forcing upon him (tradition that he most likely secretly resents…). It’s not that he’s a Scrooge. He’s not at all. He’s just not the Christmas uber-nerd that I tend to be. This year, the TV was off and we had Mike’s full attention. I know he did it because it’s important to me and to the kids. I think he enjoyed their faces enough to where next year he’ll look forward to doing it. And his participation in it this year without prompting from me kept our marriage intact. At least for another year.

Anyway, the girls were bummed that we made them take their naps when we got home – they wanted to immediately put up the tree and decorate it. Mike and I put the tree in the stand and had it ready to go so that it would be ready to be decorated by the time they woke up. When they woke up, I was busily preparing the spaghetti sauce that I decided we needed to eat for dinner. I had done this early in order to give the flavors time to permeate. Of course, that had set me back in stringing the lights on the tree. The girls were growing impatient because they expected the tree to be primed for decorating when they woke up and seemingly, I had made no progress.

So, with the spaghetti sauce bubbling away in the next room, I began the arduous task of stringing hundreds of lights around the tree. This is usually the time when I am cursing Mike in my head for being of no help while I’m being covered in sap from head to toe with a long strand of lights that are tangled up beyond reason. Granted, light-stringing has to be a one person job and there’s no way I would let him do it. Still, by this time, I’m usually rankled to the point of just being angry at him for anything and everything, so the easiest thing to do is simply curse his name while I try to wrap the lights around each and every branch. Of course, halfway through the project, I lose interest in being so meticulous so every year we end up with hundreds of lights on the lowest third of the tree and the rest of them sparsely twinkling here and there.

This year, the lights went up without incident and it was time to hang the ornaments. The girls were literally squealing and jumping up and down when we told them it was time for them to help. This year is the first time that’s happened. They were bulldozing their way past me and grabbing ornaments out of the storage container as fast as they could. They loved every ornament they saw. “This one is SO beautiful”, they would say with each new snowman or candy cane they would pull out. They got really excited when they found one they had made at school or one that had a character on it they liked. (Try as I might, I couldn’t keep them from finding and hanging Barney…)

We had the sounds of O Holy Night and The Holly And The Ivy filling the air as we all decorated the tree. I was madly snapping pictures so I could capture the smiles and togetherness. I got a great shot of Kate on her Daddy’s shoulders hanging one up high. And, of course, I got several of the one branch that the girls had hung 78 ornaments on; weighing it down so much that it almost reached the floor. And every few seconds we would hear a gentle “thunk” or “clank” as the ones that had been hung by little hands simply fell repeatedly off of the branches. It was a scene that warmed my heart. And the fact that we made it though it without an outburst or meltdown from me was… well, I suppose it was nothing short of a Christmas miracle.

As the weeks drew on and our Advent calendar showed fewer and fewer days left to celebrate, the girls were giddy and were unusually cooperative. You see, Allison, our Elf on the Shelf, spent the holiday season with us for the first time this year. She kept close tabs on the girls and was often used as leverage when they would act ugly. If Meg would pout, Mike would say, “Do I need to go touch Allison and take away her magic?” If Kate talked back to me I would say, “Are you seeing this, Allison?” Boy, are we going to miss having her in the house. Someone needs to needs to come up with a “Gnome in Your Home” (patent pending) to watch them for the rest of the year until Allison comes back.

All season, the girls sang Christmas songs. I loved hearing their interpretation of the lyrics:

We Three Kings Of Oreos Are

God Rescue Merry Gentlemen

Deck The Halls With Balls Of Jolly

And Kate, sweet Kate, wanted to give her daddy a picture for Christmas. She asked me if I would wrap it for her. I told her I would so she went into the next room with her paper and her crayons. She came back a few minutes later with a picture of a green stick figure and a heart. I asked her who the person was. She said it was her daddy. Then she told me, “I made him green since it’s his favorite color. And then I drew a heart because I love him.” I almost collapsed into a puddle of tears, but before I could, she quickly gasped and said, “I forgot to make a rainbow!” and ran out of the room to finish her masterpiece.

After it was wrapped and under the tree, she would pick it up almost daily and look at it and ask when it would be time for Daddy to open it. Finally on Christmas morning, it was time. Well, it wasn’t exactly time. We hadn’t even started on our stockings yet. But Kate was about to burst out of her skin for Mike to open it. So, we agreed he should go on and open it. You could see it all over Kate’s face – the pride she had in her work. The hope that Mike would love it. It was one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen. He loved it, of course, and gave her a big bear hug. Meanwhile, Meg opened a stocking stuffer that did not meet with her approval so she chucked it across the room. My girls are very different. And I love them both to pieces. (In Meg’s defense, for the rest of the day she would say, “Thank you SO much” every time she opened one of her gifts. Very sweet. Just don’t give her a bouncy ball that lights up in her stocking. Lesson learned.)

The other thing that made this Christmas extra-special – aside from being together with Mike’s family on Christmas Eve and my parents on Christmas day – was that we awoke to snow on Christmas morning. And it continued through the late afternoon. In all, we got about 5 inches of accumulation. At 37 years old I had my first white Christmas! It was absolutely beautiful! I couldn’t stop watching it come down. And it gave the girls something to look at in wonder after all of the presents had been opened. They were too busy wanting to make a snowman and roll around in it to realize that Christmas had ended.

And so it ended. As it does every year. The gifts were all opened. The food had made us all uncomfortably full. Christmas music was playing, but you knew that tomorrow you wouldn’t be listening to it anymore. The build-up was over. This magical season we’d anticipated for so long was over and we’d only have the blah of the winter to look forward to. Actually, we have a trip to my sister’s for New Year’s to look forward to. That’s the only thing that keeps me from being really sad on Christmas day. Knowing we’ll be in Greenville doing it all again in a week.

On Christmas night, my dad and I were the only ones still up. We sat out on the screened in porch in front of the fire with my glass of wine and his glass of scotch listening to Christmas music for the last time for 11 months. We talked about his Christmases growing up. We talked about my love of my childhood Christmas and how fun it was to watch my kids experience it for real this year – perhaps for the first time. It was a sign of a lot of fun and memorable Christmases to come. I was getting a little sad wondering what would be the last Christmas song I’d listen to this season. We decided to end on a silly note – Stan Freberg’s Christmas Dragnet which is probably 50 years old. He laughed at the nostalgia it brought to him. “I haven’t heard this in probably 50 years!” And I laughed at the fact that I was such a nerd that I actually think it’s just as funny as he does!

I turned off the fire and then the music and we came inside closing the door on a wonderful day and thinking to myself, okay, only 364 days to go.

How 'Bout Them War Eagles!

2010-12-06T20:40:00.004-05:00

In this season if miracles, perhaps there are none bigger than the fact that Auburn is ranked #1 in the BCS poll. It seems like as long as I have been an Auburn fan (and, I’ll get into what that means later) it has been one disappointment after another.

Not that we haven’t had some really good seasons – we have. We went undefeated when I was in school there in the early-mid 90’s. Of course, we were on probation at the time so we couldn’t go to a bowl or have a shot at the national title. Then, more recently, under Tommy Tuberville we were undefeated and did not get an invitation to play for the national championship. Very discouraging. We seem to always find a way to shoot ourselves in the foot.

Until Cam Newton. Except…oh, wait…we might have paid him to play for us. I certainly hope it isn’t true and the NCAA doesn’t seem to think there’s been any wrongdoing (at least for now), but I still have an uneasy feeling about this season. Cam is a tremendous athlete and has been awesome (or, AUsome, I suppose) to watch. It has really been a fun season to experience except for the dark cloud that has been following us around amid rumors of possible pay-to-play shenanigans. I hope it’s not true and I hope we win in Arizona. I will be cheering (and probably cussing some too) for my Tigers from home and will be very proud of we win the title. That would be AUsome for us, for sure.

And that’s about the extent of my plans for the game. I’ll be excited if we win and bummed if we lose. And, you know, then I’ll go back to my day to day life. So, that’s what makes me an Auburn fan and not an Auburn person.

You may find yourself asking, "But Maggie, what the difference in an Auburn fan and an Auburn person?" Let me see if I can explain it to you the way it I understand it as exemplified by my college boyfriend.

An Auburn FAN is someone who goes to some of the games and roots for Auburn to win. They are able to take a win or a loss in stride and focus on their job, their family, their hygiene and other essential duties in their lives. They don’t really like people who root for Alabama but have a healthy respect for the rivalry that exists. If it rains or if there’s a blowout, they’ll leave a game early. They may have their diplomas framed in their office and could perhaps have some kind of Auburn trinket on a bookshelf in their house. They look back at their college time with mostly fondness (but perhaps some regret at the choices of hair) but love their life now and wouldn’t go back and do college over again.

In contrast, an Auburn PERSON is a complete loon who was born and raised to worship Auburn and everything associated with it. These are the people whose parents said to them, “You can go anywhere you want to for college. But I’m only paying you to go to Auburn”. Their mood rises and falls with the performance of the football (or insert other sport here) team. They absolutely loathe University of Alabama graduates and are unable to see reason where this is concerned. They stay at a game until the bitter end no matter how crappy the weather or how much Auburn is winning or losing. Their Auburn paraphernalia isn’t limited to one bookshelf, one wall, or even one room. No, their love of Auburn is proudly displayed in most rooms of their house. Whereas some people may have contemporary style, these people’s style is called “Auburn”. They get down to Auburn any chance they get and probably organize neighborhood or work caravans for multiple sporting events. And last but not least, they believe wholeheartedly and will actually spend the time on several occasions to tell you that there is actually a difference between an Auburn fan and an Auburn person.

I suppose I’m just a lowly old fan. I love Auburn. I’m glad we’re winning. And that’s about the end of it. Have I given us a few “War Damn Eagles” this season? You bet! I’ve been excited. It is exciting. But I've kept in it what I would consider a healthy perspective.

My college roommate, whom you may remember from this story, and I always thought the battle cry “War Damn Eagle” was funny. We understood “War Eagle” even though a lot of people are confused by that since we are the tigers. But throwing the “damn” in there, kind of makes us sound like a bunch of loudmouth, football-lovin’ Alabama rednecks. As in, “War Dayum Eagle, Yeeeeeeeehaaaaaw!”

We thought it would be funny to insert some other curse words in there just to see if it packed the same punch. A few of my favorites:

War Poot Eagle!

War LordyBabyJesus Eagle!

War Butthole Eagle!

War Buns Eagle!

Oh, the fun you can have when you’re 19!

So, on January 10th, I’ll be tuning in like a good little Auburn fan and will be very emotional about it – win or lose - in the 15 minutes after the conclusion. And that will be that. And hopefully, the NCAA is truly done with their investigation and this cloud of suspicion around Auburn athletics will dissipate. I won't give anyone a hard time for thinking that Auburn did something dirty to get Cam to come and play. Because it is very possible that we did. I'd love a win and a BCS title, but I will keep it in perspective and not go all "Auburn person" on you about it.

Until next football season, War Sphincter Eagle to ya!

I'm Unsophisticated And Stuff

2010-11-13T16:19:00.000-05:00

I just re-read my last blog post and I feel I must apologize for it. It was horribly boring and was not at all packed with the usual, copious amounts of sarcasm. Therefore, I am returning to my roots and "giving the people (my 1-2 readers) what they want".

I went out of town last weekend on a much needed girls' trip. We went to the North Carolina mountains and got to shop, drink, relax, drink, eat, drink, laugh, drink, and drink. There were seven of us from the neighborhood and we had a lot of laughs and even got to see a little snow.

Of course, as always happens when a bunch of girls get together, everything that was planned was planned around the next meal. Where it would come from. Who would cook it. When we'd eat it. It's all we could talk about. It's all we wanted to think about. So, one day we ended up going to a lunch place where part of the group had been the previous day before the rest of us had arrived. They described the menu as "eclectic" but very good. Usually an "eclectic" menu means that they are going to have a bunch of weird stuff that I will not recognize. This place was no different.

We walked in and it smelled wonderful. It was a cozy little place with funky decor.  I began to get nervous.

I'm not cool enough for this place, I thought to myself.

She's not cool enough for this place, the other patrons seemed to be thinking.

Still, we went to our table tucked back in a little room and began opening our menus. The first thing I noticed was that there seemed to be an exorbitant amount of dishes that featured tempeh. The one that stood out the most was an avocado tempeh melt. I hate to admit that I was not entirely sure what tempeh was until I looked it up for the purpose of typing this story. Tempeh is basically a soybean patty and is not exactly that "out there". I mean, it's a topping option at my favorite pizza place, so how weird could it be?
But when it's the main ingredient in several menu items, I begin to get irritated. It's almost like the menu is saying,

Tempeh is so normal that we use it as a base in many of our dishes. If you don't know what it is, your palate is not sophisticated enough, you boorish hillbilly.

I don't know about you, but when I see a menu item that is a "melt", I am hoping to receive something horrible for me. Tempeh and avocados? Who are they trying to impress?

So, as I began pouring over the menu I became less confident I would find something that I would recognize and, consequently, would want to eat. I saw an appetizer - the always popular plantains with mango yogurt (WHAT??!! Ever heard of nachos, people?). I wasn't really that hungry, so I skipped past the appetizers and looked toward the main dishes. I scoured through all kinds of words I didn't understand like "aioli" and finally landed on fish tacos. That seemed fairly harmless, but I am so unrefined that I really don't like to eat fish in my tacos. I'm a beef kind of a girl. Fish makes a dish more distinguished. The assumption you would make if you looked at this menu is that only a common redneck would eat chicken or beef in a taco. But, I was happy with my choice so now it was time to tell the waitress (In a place like this, I'm sure the word "waitress" would be frowned upon, They probably call them "waitperson" or "cuisine attendant") what I would be having to drink.

I asked her for a diet coke. You could practically hear the music screech to a halt and all conversations cease when I made this request. She looked down her nose at me and told me that they did not have Coke products, but they only had Zevia colas. Naturally, I had never heard of a damn Zevia, but I ordered a "Zero-Calorie-Zevia". This was supposed to be the closest thing they had to the barbaric Diet Coke that their simple-minded patron (me) had requested. I was growing more and more disgusted with the pretentious menu.

And then it happened.

As the others at my table were skeptically ordering their Zevais, I noticed another drink option that had been kind of set off from the rest in order to make it stand out. It was "Organic Carrot Juice". And it was $4.00. Seriously? Organic carrot juice? I shouldn't have been surprised that they had organic juices.  I mean, this place was dripping with organic and vegan and farm-raised and non-antibiotic-eatin' things. But seriously - WHO DRINKS CARROT JUICE?!! I have watched enough Looney Tunes to know that Bugs Bunny does. Anyone else? Anyone? Anyone?!!

WHO has EVER ordered that?! WHY would you order that unless you just want your friends to think you are soooo cultured?

It gets worse.

Right beneath the place where it had Organic Carrot Juice it had a blurb that announced the you could get it with ginger for seventy-five cents more. A bargain if you ask me!

So, let me get this straight. Not only am I going to be a complete douche bag for ordering freakin' organic carrot juice, but I am now going to shout from the rooftops that I am an even bigger A-hole by demanding they add ginger to it?! How pretentious could this place be? Or, I am just a simple-minded imbecile who has no culture and no palate?

Places like this are so annoying to me because they just cannot be normal. They try way too hard to be so genteel and sophisticated which makes them a total turnoff to me   They want me to know what a dolt I am because I do not regularly eat what they are offering. They tell me I am also probably killing innocent animals, melting the glaciers, and raping the land just by waking up in the morning. Why do I even get out of bed?

Maybe I am just too simple. Maybe not wanting a tempeh melt makes me weird. Maybe ginger is what makes organic carrot juice the drink of choice for the fine folks in the Carolina mountains. Maybe the Diet Coke executives run sweatshops overseas and the good people at Zevia are building elementary schools in Somalia. Maybe I could learn a few things at a place like this.

Or maybe I should have a coke and smile and move on.

What I Am Loving These Days

2010-11-09T21:54:00.000-05:00

Well, it's been three weeks since my last post, so I suppose I'm supposed to have something witty or important or both to say. Since I don't, I figured I would just share with you some things I am happy about/thankful for/interested in these days. Since I probably will be too lazy to post something else before Thanksgiving, I thought it would be a perfectly festive topic. Here we go. Brace yourself!

1. Mike and the kids, family, friends, blah, blah, blah... all of the predictable ones.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way...

2. Brickbreaker - I am completely addicted to this silly game on my Blackberry but I am AWFUL at it! I play it while I'm on the phone on hold. I play it while stopped at red lights. I play it while my kids are swinging on their swing set. I even dream about it. I hate when I end up catching the "Flip" bullet - I die every time. I love the "laser" bullet. I end up just shooting through everything in order to advance to the next level. But, alas, I've never made it past the 10th level. I hear other people bragging about getting up to level 30-something. Bastards!

3. Fall smells - I love the crisp scent of Fall in the air. It smells fresh and earthy from the leaves on the ground. We live down the street from a campground so we can also smell the campfires wafting over here. This time of year, it is lovely. Plus, I have pumpkin pie scented reed diffusers all over my house. I can also see the beautiful (although this year, not so much) colors in the trees as the leaves change. I love everything about Fall. My grandmother used to say that she didn't like Fall because that's when everything dies. Having been a student for so long and then working for several years in higher education, the Fall was always the start of everything for me. I love the anticipation of Thanksgiving and Christmas. I love the smells and the colors. I love the temperatures. I love it all.

4. Auburn has a shot at the BCS Title - For the first time in a long time (maybe ever?), Auburn has a chance of playing for the national championship. I realize a lot has to happen between now and the end of the season, but it's been exciting to be an Auburn fan again. We have a Heisman candidate for the first time in a long time, too. I said it's great...to be...an Auburn Tiger!

5. There is a video I've seen on a couple of different websites that shows a woman solving a Wheel of Fortune puzzle after only revealing one letter. What I love about this is that I DO THAT ALL THE TIME! I can do it with no letters revealed! Why is this news? I should totally be on that show, but then I'd have to suffer the humiliation of having been on that show. She's now recognized as a genius (by Wheel of Fortune standards, but still...) and here I sit, solving puzzles without the recognition I deserve. But still, even in my anonymity, I have still been shown by this video that I am, in fact, a truly special person who can solve the hell out of some Wheel of Fortune puzzles. Yay me!

6. Oprah's Farewell Season - Okay, I am not the "crazy Oprah lady" who goes out and reads all of her Book Club recommendations and purchases all of her favorite things. I think she's self-important (even though I know she is very generous) and an alarmist, but I also think she adds a lot of value to our world. I am loving her season so far! She has reunited the cast of The Sound Of Music after 45 years! She has interviewed George W. Bush and made him appear as a reasonably intelligent person. She spoke with Lisa Marie Presley about her bizarre relationship and marriage to Michael Jackson. She even made Ricky Martin seem interesting.

7. The book One Day by David Nicholls - The last really good book I read. We meet a couple the morning after the first day they've met. Each chapter takes you to that date exactly one year in the future so you can see how their lives and their relationship progresses over time. I found myself dying to get to the next chapter so I could see what their lives were like. Very well drawn out characters and an interesting way to take you through the story of their relationship.

8. Okay, number 1 on my list really already encapsulates this, but I am loving the way my girls are relating to each other these days - They fight a lot of the time, but they also have these little conversations that are just so ridiculous and sweet. They correct each other and tattle on each other and show consideration for each other make each other laugh. They are best friends and I am fortunate enough to get to be in the same space with them. They make me proud every day and make me realize how much I would have missed if I hadn't decided to have children. I'm a lucky gal.

9. New music on my I-Pod - Every now and again I get into a music slump where I've worn everything out on my I-Pod and desperately search for new music. I have been in one such rut lately, but have happened upon a few new things that have made me happy. (Let me clarify - it's "new" to me, not new music. I don't listen to anything new. I'm too lame for that.) Crooked Fingers - a new find for me, old Traveling Wilburys stuff, Violent Femmes stuff from my high school days, Duquette Johnston - a guy who went to my high school and graduated the year after me, and Kings of Leon who I have just recently discovered. I'm excited to listen to my I-Pod again! Oh! And I also found Goody two Shoes by Adam Ant and added it to my workout mix. Jealous?

10. Finally, Conan debuted on TBS last night, so all is right with the world. Oh, how I have missed my sweet, sweet Conan! It was great to have him and his ridiculous sense of humor back on the air. His ratings were good and he's gotten mostly positive reviews. I, of course, think he is a genius and the funniest of all of the late-night hosts. Welcome back, Coco!

Well, sorry for the boring post. Perhaps some stupid reality show person will be in the news too much in the days to come and I'll have some fresh material for you. Happy Tuesday!

Giving My Kids The Sun, The Moon And The Stars

2010-10-18T21:21:00.002-04:00

A couple of days ago as I was driving the kids to school, Kate said from the back seat, "The moon is the sun". I responded back to her in the manner I often do when my mind is on other things - with a dismissive, "Mmm hmm, yes".

Then I thought back to an article Mike had read about how children develop and thrive. The author's point was that children whose parents continue to challenge them in the absence of school (spring break, summers, etc.) and take advantage of educational opportunities wherever they exist become more successful than children with parents like me. The author didn't mention me by name, of course, but I'm pretty sure it was implied.

So, when I thought of that article, I decided that Kate deserved a better response and further, a better life, than what I was giving her.

"Actually, Kate," I said, "the moon is a moon and the sun is a star."

"What, Mama?" "What is a moon?"

Dang. I don't really know what a moon is.

"The moon is a moon, kind of like a planet, but the sun is a big, bright star."

"The sun is a star?"

Oh, Lord, here it comes, I thought. She's going to ask me what a planet is versus a star. How the hell am I going to explain that to a 4 year old when I don't really know the answer as a 37 year old?

"Well, yes, honey, it's our brightest star," I began, now second guessing if the sun actually was star. "It's kind of a nebulous body that gives us our light and our heat."

Oh, great, I thought. Like she's going to know what nebulous means. Do I know what nebulous means?!

"What I mean is that it's a big, fiery ball of gases up in the sky and our planets revolve around it."

Terrific, I thought, all she knows of gas is that it goes into a car or comes out of her bottom. How am I going to explain this one?

I started to kind of panic. Every time I tried to explain it in a new way, I used words or metaphors that I was worried would elicit more questions from her. I just wanted the conversation to be over, but in a way that made her a more curious, intelligent person and not the mouth-breather I was currently molding her to be. I wanted to feed her thirst for knowledge, but I wanted out of the current conversation because I knew I had no hope of explaining the intricacies of the universe to her. I do well to just explain why she has to empty her bladder before she goes to bed each night. But I continued. I should have stopped, but I pressed on.

"You see, God created the earth and there was this big BANG..." Okay, now I am teaching creation and evolution in one breath - and neither one very well. I can't have her telling her friends at pre-school (in a church, no less) about the big bang theory. But I also personally believe in the evolution argument, so now what am I going to do? I want my daughters to learn both theories and decide what they think and believe. But is now the time to go into all of this???

"There are nine planets (there are 9, right?) in our solar system." What the hell does a 4 year old know about the damn solar system? WHAT AM I DOING?!! "We live on the planet earth and we have a moon that we call... the moon." I am an idiot. "The planets all ~~revolve~~ move around the sun and it keeps us warm."

What if she asks me what the moon does? I don't know what the moon does. It just sits there and... moons around... and stuff. "We've sent people up all the way to the moon before. There's an American flag (and a Tri-Delta pin so the story goes) up there." Why is my mouth still moving? Now what am I going to say if she asks if people live up there? Or, worse, what if she wants to know if there's life on other planets?

At this point, I could feel perspiration forming on my forehead. It was becoming ever clearer that I was too dumb to have had children. At least I knew I was too dumb. Most dumb people don't know they're dumb. So, I guess I had one up on them. I began thinking about about how much worse this would get when the girls would bring their homework home and ask me for help. They'd end up in remedial classes if I was the one to offer assistance. Mike was going to have to be their tutor.

I was picturing the four of us sitting around the table in a few years. Mike would be explaining math or geography or something. Kate and Meg would have their books open and would be listening intently. Then, pan over, and there's me. Furiously taking notes so as not to miss a word he was saying. Their schooling would be my ticket to an acceptable level of education.

"Does any of that make sense, sweetie?", I asked Kate.

Silence.

"Kate?"

Silence.

I looked in the rear view mirror and there was Kate. Earphones on. Staring at the TV screen. Watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Not listening to any of the foolishness coming from the front seat. How much had she heard, I wondered. Did she only hear me absent mindedly agree with her? Did she hear the word "nebulous"?

Of course, I do see the irony that here I am freaking out trying to educate my daughter and yet I have allowed her to be glued to a DVD for the 15 minutes it takes to get her to school. I am clearly part of the problem and not part of the solution here. I can only hope she never asks me another question ever, ever again.

The only thing I am left to wonder is, what the hell is a moon? Perhaps there is a 4 year old out there who can explain it all to me.

Where you start is not as important as where you finish. - Zig Ziglar

2010-10-05T22:15:00.002-04:00

This post is a little late, but on Sunday, September 26th, I "competed" in Chattanooga's Susan G. Komen's Race For The Cure. I signed up to participate with my friend Wendy with whom I had run in the only other 5k I have ever entered. This race took place well over a year after our first one. I suppose it took me that long to decide I wanted to do it again. You've seen in previous posts that I feel like a 5k is probably the very least I should be able to do successfully. I'm fairly out of shape, but I figure if I can run 3 miles at any given time, I'm doing pretty well.

Back in April, 2009, we decided to sign up for Knoxville's Dogwood Classic. What appealed to me about that particular race was that it was in Knoxville on Cherokee Boulevard along the beautiful Tennessee River. Wendy and I were friends from college and, in college, we were both pitifully out of shape. Now she and I have remained very good friends over the years and I love her to death. But she is no athlete. Growing up, I danced for 14 years and I rode horses competitively for about 6 years. I'm certainly not a stellar athlete, but I knew if she was my competition I'd do pretty well. Plus, Wendy weighs about 78 pounds soaking wet. She's tiny. I thought that her poor, fragile little body would tucker out around the second mile. She was the perfect person to run with because I knew my time would suck. I assumed hers would as well and we'd have a good laugh about it.

Pretty much immediately after I signed up for the Dogwood Classic, I abandoned exercise altogether. I have no idea why, but I just lost interest in it. I figured that I had been running about 3 miles on the treadmill and that once I got into the spirit of the competition, my adrenaline would take over and it would keep me going.

Not so. What ended up happening was that after about 15 paces, I had to stop and walk. I couldn't believe how quickly I had to stop and gasp for breath. Admittedly, I hadn't exactly trained for this, but I was very surprised at how different running was when I didn't have a treadmill creating my momentum for me. I can tell you, one of the worst feelings I have ever experienced was the feeling I had when I came upon the sign that said MILE 1. WHAT??!! I have two more of these damn things to go??? By the time I reached that damn sign I had already had to stop and walk about 4 times! Are you kidding me?

In case you are wondering how Wendy did, she beat me. We started out together but then I had to peel off and walk. She managed to keep running the entire time. I was proud of her and a little embarrassed for assuming that I'd actually somehow manage to beat her. I was ashamed that I used to be in great shape - thin, flexible - and now I couldn't even run one mile without stopping. I vowed that I would run in another one. I just wasn't too anxious to actually sign up for one.

Fast forward 17 months, and she and I were registering for the Race For The Cure. This time, however, things were different. Ever since around the middle of the summer, I had been back on the treadmill. It wasn't in anticipation of a 5k. It really was more because I was overweight. I used to kind of joke about it because I've always been so unattractively skinny, but there really wasn't any getting around it. None of my clothes were fitting.  I had that little layer of belly that was hanging over my pants (which were so tight that you could make out the imprint of the buttons on my skin). I needed to do something. So I started walking/running again.

I had been kind of off and on with my exercise routine, but once Wendy and I registered for this race, I really began to take it more seriously. I made sure I ran at least 4 times a week. I even ran at least once a week outdoors so I could get used to having to use my puny muscles to propel my own body forward without the help of the treadmill.

And I hate running outside. I hate it. I can't stop and get water which I need several times during a workout. I don't like passing cars because there's that awkward Are they going to wave to me? moment before I wave and they don't and I feel like a complete tool. And I suffer from an affliction that is highly embarrassing and probably very noticeable. The affliction is: shorts-gathering-up-in-my-crotch-itis. I have hideous legs that come together and touch at the very top of my thighs. What this means is that they rub together when I run. My shorts then begin to get drawn up into my crotch and I have to tug them out which is neither attractive nor conducive to running. I think I am beginning to understand why the cars won't wave to me. I have grossed them out...

Anyway, the day came and I was ready. I had a power mix cued up on my I-Pod to help motivate me. I had been fitted for running shoes and was wearing Nike running clothes to more look the part of a runner. I looked like I belonged there and this time, I felt like I did, too.

This time, Wendy had actually kind of fallen into the same pattern I had the last time around. She admitted not having trained much for the race and was just going to see how it went. I felt like this time I would be able to actually keep up with her and was disappointed that she may need to stop and walk since I was determined not to stop. She and I gathered together with the runners who claimed to be able to run a 10 minute mile. On the treadmill, I can do that. Outside I wasn't so sure. But, that's where I decided to place myself. I was confident this time. I was prepared.

I didn't have a goal in mind as far as the time I wanted to finish with. For starters, I couldn't remember my time in the previous race so I didn't really have a baseline. The main thing I wanted to be able to do was to keep running for the duration of the race. I was actually excited about it. Wendy and I lined up as best we could in a crowd of hundreds of people. They shouted the obligatory, On Your Mark! Then they shot the gun and the race was underway. As soon as my first foot hit the pavement, I looked up and was in a cloud of dust that was my trusted pal, Miss I-Didn't-Train-For-This Wendy. For someone who was claiming to not really be ready for the race, she sure left my ass in a hurry.

No matter. I pressed on. Almost immediately, there was a giant hill. No, not a hill. A mountain. What kind of cruel joke was this?!  I had run in my neighborhood (which is hilly) during my training, but the hills were usually at the end of my trek when I could then stop and walk to cool down right afterward. We were just getting started and already my legs were burning and I was losing my breath. I continued up the hill with just about every other entrant passing me by but I did not stop. I kept plugging along. Again I came to the dreaded MILE 1 sign, but I was feeling good. I just may do this, I thought to myself. Of course, the time came - earlier than I thought it should - when the people who had already made the loop and were on their way back to the finish line began passing me. Total buzz-kill. They really should design a route where we don't have to see those people finishing when we have barely started!

As I ran, I kept trying to find Wendy, but I didn't see her again. I wondered if maybe she had petered out and I had somehow passed her without knowing it. (She hadn't.) I kept running and I kept running. Even when I would grab some cold water from a volunteer, I kept running. Of course, I had water dripping down my face and legs because I was slinging it everywhere, but I kept running.

Did I reach my goal? Well, no. I did stop between the second and third mile. I walked for no more than about 15 seconds, but it was what I needed to get my breath back and finish the race. I was bummed because once I actually did finish the race, I knew I could have kept going without having to stop.  I could have made it. I just lost my confidence in that moment. I really did step it up when I got close to the finish line. I'd say for the last 1/4 mile I was actually running instead of jogging. I remembered back to when I finished the other race - even getting to the end of the race with people cheering couldn't get me to run faster.  I was too exhausted. This time, I was RUNNING!

As I passed through the arches made out of pink balloons, I looked for the clock. I couldn't see it.  I had no idea what my time was. It really didn't matter because I had only walked for 15 seconds, so I knew it was going to be better than my previous time. My main objective at that time was to somehow find Wendy in the huge crowd and to go collect a bunch of free stuff from the vendors working the event.

We met up and discussed our experience and then spent the rest of the time walking around trying to get as many give-aways as possible. She had not stopped to walk at any point. She, too, hadn't seen the clock when she finished. We drank our free Gatorade and ate our free M&Ms and then made our way back to the car to go home.

I got a text message from her later that night. They had posted our times online and she was irritated that she had only beaten her previous time by - as she put it - "a whopping 14 seconds". So, when I got to my computer, I pulled up the scores. One depressing thing that happened was when I began to scroll through all of the different age groups to find my name. I scrolled for what seemed to be a ridiculous amount of time before I finally got to my age group (35-39). Scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. Good grief, how old am I?!! It should not have taken that long to find myself.

But then, there I saw Wendy. She only finished 2-3 people (in my age group) ahead of me. So, I guess that was a small victory.  I saw my time and it was a pretty good time for me.  I was satisfied with it. Felt good about it. Then I went and looked up my time from the Dogwood Classic. Scrolling, scrolling, scrolling...

Scrolling

Scrolling

Then there it was. Maggie McCallie. My time. I had beaten my previous time!! I had beaten my previous time!! My hard work had paid off! I was vindicated! I had beaten my previous time by...

Drumroll

Drumroll

Drumroll

A whopping 15 seconds.

Car Sickness

2010-09-19T15:21:00.005-04:00

Having nothing new, interesting or insightful to say, I thought I'd write about something that one of my friends suggested I write about. That is - the personalizing of cars (windows, bumpers) craze.

I had thought about writing on this subject many times, but there are so many customized car windows and bumpers out there that I thought surely I would offend at least some of my readers. But, being that I only have 9 "followers", perhaps none of those nine will be guilty of any of the following crimes against good taste:

1. Monogramming of car windows - Why oh why must people place a placard with their initials on their rear windows? Is the fact that you own (or lease, whatever) the car, drive the car, and fill the car with your trash, your music, and your monogrammed travel coffee mug not enough to prove to the world that it is, in fact, your car? This is mostly a female affliction from what I have observed. I've not seen too many men driving around out there with big, pink scripted letters with their initials intertwined on their cars. So, are we as females so insecure that we cannot be satisfied by simply having a nice looking sedan or SUV? Must we now compete with each other to see whose monogram font is the cutest? It is really annoying and appears to me to be a desperate cry for attention. Plus, what if I accidentally cut someone off in traffic (or in some other way inadvertently make someone else mad while I'm driving)? If I've got this or anything mentioned below, my car is now much more recognizable and easy to identify. I much prefer to fly (drive) under the radar.

2. Cutesy family characters on car windows - The thinking here is that in case passersby cannot see into my car, I want to assure them, that this is a car holding a loving family of cute stick figures; including adorably sketched cats, dogs and fish. Do we do this because we want to confirm to our high school nemesis that we did get married and successfully had children? Are we bragging about how proud we are of our little perfect family? What is the point of announcing to the world that I've had two children by placing a caricature of them on my rear-view mirror? And please, please do not forget about the ones where every family member, including the aforementioned pets, are wearing Mickey Mouse ears. Don't get me wrong. I admitted in a previous post that I am now a Disney nerd. But not so much so that I'm going to completely embarrass and humiliate my family by plastering it on my car. My car! My car is a means to an end. Not a shrine to myself. I'm not that vain. Why, then are other people?

3. Piss on________________ - Ah, those clever little Calvin and Hobbes-looking characters who are urinating on Fords, Chevys and any other truck that needs to be taken down a notch or two. One thing I will assure my readers and my fellow travelers is that if I ever own a truck, I will not "piss on" whatever truck you may own if it differs from mine. We can both own a different model of truck and still be friends and kind to one another. That is my promise to you as a good citizen of the road.

4. Political Bumper Stickers: There are far too many to name but we've all seen them.

Don't Blame Me, I Voted For Kerry

I'll Keep My Guns, My Money, And My Freedom, You Can Keep Your Change

Obama/Biden - Because Everyone Deserves What You Worked So Hard To Obtain

I'd Rather Go Hunting With Dick Cheney Than Driving With Ted Kennedy

Jesus Was A Liberal

The arrogance of these bumper stickers amazes me. As if some clever little saying on my back fender is going to change the political mind of the person who passes me in traffic. Why are we so consumed with telling everyone everything that we think, feel and believe? Does anyone care? The answer is no, no one cares. If someone wants your opinion, they will ask you. They won't get in the car, fasten their seat belt and go driving around in search of some sensible solutions for the country.

5. "Clever" or "Funny" Bumper Stickers - I actually have a friend who sends me an email or a text message anytime she sees one of these little gems. I do the same with her. There are so many idiotic slogans and musings out there that you wonder A. Who took the time to come up with it; B. Who took the time to actually have it printed; and C. Who actually would pay money for it? Below are some of my favorites from recent memory:

Cowgirl Butts Drive Me Nuts

Do Not Meddle In The Affairs Of Dragons For You Are Crunchy And Taste Good With Ketchup

Whose Cruel Idea Was It To Have An "S" In "Lisp"?

Atheism is A Non-Prophet Organization

Everyone Is Entitled To My Opinion

Wear Short Sleeves - Support your Right To Bare Arms!

There's really nothing I can say about any of these that they don't already say for themselves. And yet, every time I get into my car, I run the risk of coming face to face with these and countless other stupid sayings. When I see things like this, I begin to hope that somehow my tires will kick up a rock and crack the other person's windshield. They would deserve it for making such a poor choice when adhering the sticker to their car.

I guess what bothers me about all of the things above is that it speaks to me of a society looking for attention. The 15 minutes of fame we hear so much about. The I'm not content to simply be on the road driving around quietly from location to location attitude of it all. The I need to shout mentality. Shouting - just like they do on CNN and Fox News. Just like they do on every reality TV show. I need you to know exactly what I think whether you care or not. I need to be seen and I need to be heard because that will make me more interesting than I actually am.

It's not enough these days for people to simply exist in and among everyone else. They have to have their initials, their "footprint" branded into everything to feel a sense of worth. Well, I can tell you I am perfectly happy with the barely-noticeable sticker I have on my own back window. It is one that supports local law enforcement. I have it there in case I am pulled over again for speeding in the hopes they'll see it and kindly let me go with a warning. If they saw something there about cowboy butts, I think I might be looking at a ticket...

Before signing off, I will answer the question many of you probably are asking:

If she thinks that people with their initials on their cars are desperate for attention, what does that say about someone with a blog?

The only thing I can really say that would make sense would be:

Everyone Is Entitled To My Opinion.

Stupid Songs

2010-08-22T23:05:00.002-04:00

Well, it's been a while since my last blog entry and it's pretty much because I've been lazy, sick, and on vacation (and at one point I was all of those things at one time!). Anyhoo, I've also had nothing even mildly interesting to say, which sadly, is still the case. But, I was listening to the radio today and one of the dumbest songs ever came on: Escape (The Pina Colada Song) by Rupert Holmes.

I get so annoyed every time this song comes on. It was released in 1979 and for some reason, 30+ years later, can still be counted on to be played on just about any radio station multiple times a day. The premise of the song is that this man decides to cheat on his "lady" because they've "been together too long" and answers a personal ad from a woman who, you guessed it, likes Pina Coladas. And getting caught in the rain, etc. He makes a plan to meet this mystery woman and wouldn't you know it, it turns out to be his "own lovely lady" who had written that ad to begin with! Har har. What a talented lyricist and a clever story for a song!

It got me thinking about all of the other songs out there that I think are stupid that I am constantly accosted with. I'm not merely talking about bad songs. There are plenty of those out there. And I like many of them even though I know they are bad songs. No, the songs I am referring to are noteworthy because they are bad AND completely idiotic Listed below are some of my picks for some of the stupidest songs ever written. One day when it's been a while since I've posted something and I'm needing to write something I'll probably add to this list, but this will have to do for now.

Fergalicious by Fergie - First of all, I think it is pretty presumptuous to write a song about how guys everywhere want to watch what you've got. I mean, where's the humility? And while I can appreciate that her body is vicious because she is working on her fitness, I do think it's pretty brazen to talk about how delicious she is. Plus, any song that has the lyric - T to tha A to tha S-T-E-Y, girl you tasty just can't be a good song! It just can't.

Am I a nerd because it bothers me so much that she is misspelling the word tasty? I digress. Moving on...

Barbie Girl by Aqua - This song makes me feel like my ears are bleeding. Hearing the high pitched voices screeching out such awesome lyrics as Life in plastic, it's fantastic makes me want to throttle each and every member of the hit-making-machine that was Aqua. No, it makes me want to jab pencils into my ears repeatedly until I can no longer hear. No, no, no... it makes me want to grab a door knob and ram the door into my head and knock myself out destroying the part of my brain that would remember ever having heard that song. It is just awful.

Bruce by Rick Springfield - This is one I do not expect any of you other than my sister to know. It was very obscure even though Rick Springfield was popular in the early 80's. Let's face it; his song titles were not the stuff of legends - State of the Heart is an example. His lyrics weren't exactly complex, erudite musings. Take this passage from Jessie's Girl - You know I feel so dirty when they start talking cute. I wanna tell her that I love her but the point is probably moot. They were all pretty bad. But this little gem has got to be one of the worst ideas ever conceived and then put to music. The song actually alleges that Rick Springfield (you are familiar with his lack of talent, right?) often gets confused for BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN (rock god) because their names are so similar. At one point in the song, there's even a part where his mother mistakenly calls him Bruce. Ho ho.

Unskinny Bop by Poison - So, the unskinny bop is a euphemism for sex. How clever. Is "unskinny" even a word? And how sexy does that sound anyway? These guys were supposed to be hard drinkin', hard livin' crazy rock god sex machines. Were they really calling it this? Did they ever get laid?!

Tiptoe Through The Tulips by Tiny Tim - which isn't really that dumb a song (well, okay, it probably is...) if he would just not sing it like his testicles are caught in a bear trap. On second thought, have you seen Tiny Tim? Not sure he had testicles (God rest his soul). Maybe that was the problem.

MmmmBop by Hanson - Please see the title.

Jenny From The Block by Jennifer Lopez (I just can't bring myself to refer to her as J-Lo) - Welcome to the toilet bowl of popular music. How much more self-serving could this song be? Don't be fooled by the rocks that she's got? She's still, she's still Jenny From the Block?? Did Jenny From the Block only wear her designer baby clothes one time before discarding them? Because her kids do. Did Jenny From The Block's haircuts cost over $15,000? Because Jennifer Lopez's do. Don't worry, Jenn. We won't be fooled by the rocks that you've got. Not for a second.

Well, now I'm just really irritated. I should have just ignored the damn Pina Colada song and just gone on with my day. Now it's 11:00 and I've got to go to work tomorrow. God willing my dreams will be free of visions of the fantastic video experience that was Ben Affleck rolling around on top of Jennifer Lopez in Jenny from the Block.

The "C" Word

2010-07-29T18:28:00.006-04:00

A word of warning, this post is going to be a real downer. I said in a previous post that I wouldn't get all serious on you on this blog, but I'm afraid I need to just this once. You see, we recently found out that a dear friend from Mike's childhood has been diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer and has been given 3-6 months to live.

Think about that. You feel some pain and don't know exactly what is wrong. You go to the doctor thinking maybe it's your gallbladder. Maybe it's kidney stones. You leave the office knowing that you likely will not live to see Christmas. Now every interaction this guy has is met with sympathy and sadness. A gosh, this may be the last time I see you kind of reception. He has two children. They are 9 and almost 6. What could possibly be going through his head right now?

He and Mike had lost touch over the years, as often happens in life. This is adding to the grief and guilt that Mike is feeling. This guy has had a hard life. He had a hard childhood - family issues, etc., gotten into drugs at one point after high school and during that time, they kind of parted ways. Nothing deliberate, really. Just people whose lives were going in different directions. But Mike is now wishing he'd kept in better touch over the years. Thinking maybe he might've been able to get his friend to go to the doctor sooner. All of this is futile, of course. Life unfolds the way it unfolds.

I never knew his friend until now but had heard a lot about him over the years. Most of Mike's stories from childhood involved this person. He practically lived with Mike's family, they were so close. So, when Mike does get back in touch with him, it?'s after he has learned of his prognosis. There is now no time to reestablish a relationship. Only time to reminisce and say goodbye. It is truly heartbreaking. I have been able to think about little else since we found all of this out. Mike and I are both very sad about it - wondering what he is thinking and how his kids will be affected by it all.

I know that there probably isn't a person out there who hasn't been affected by cancer. This story may not be much different than something you yourself have experienced with a friend or loved one. I'm not asking for you to feel bad for me or Mike. I just need to express my sadness over this and reaffirm a commitment to be a better wife, mother, daughter and friend during the short time I am on this planet. In life, none of us are promised anything after this moment and too often we push things aside or focus on the wrong things (Jersey Shore, anyone?). This is yet another reminder that what is important is that we focus our time and energy on things that matter. On family and friends. And on making sure that the people we care about know exactly how we feel about them.

Earlier this month, I got a chance to meet Mike's friend. He brought his kids over to the lake and spent the afternoon with us and our kids and then with Mike's parents when they came over for supper. What a nice guy. There was a sadness to him that I get the feeling was there all along even prior to the diagnosis. He's a good guy who has kind of a had a bad lot in life. Anyway, he talked with Mike about how he lost his father when he was 10 years old. He said his only real memory of his dad was attending his funeral. His own children will not even be 10 when he leaves them. That knowledge is tearing him up. It tears me up to know that, too. He is scared and he is sad. But he is courageous and resilient. He is coming to grips with this diagnosis he got only a month ago. One month gone already. Only a few more to go.

We all die, of course. (I have a big problem with that I may address with God one day. I probably won't though. It's His call, not mine. I suppose I have to respect it.) But few of us know how much time we have left. And let's be honest, he could live for years. We've all heard stories of these fatal diagnoses and people baffling their physicians by outliving their prognosis. But his cancer is aggressive. The chemo may be able to slow it, but it won't stop it. It's too late for that. He's getting along as best he can knowing that his clock is ticking. And ticking loudly.

A few years ago, we lost a friend and neighbor to an unexpected heart attack at age 37 - what I will be in September. In addition to a husband, she left behind a 5 year old son. At the time, I remember thinking that the only thing worse than losing a child (which I absolutely cannot fathom) would be to leave them and not get the pleasure of seeing who they become. As much as a parent loves a child, you want them to always know that and to feel that. If they don't know you or remember you, they won't. The thought of that scares me to death. I always want my kids to know how much they mean to me and how proud they make me. I have been keeping a journal for a while now that one day I can give it to them so they can read exactly what I was feeling for them as they were growing up. I hate to be morbid, but losing that neighbor is what made me decide to do that - just in case I'm not here to tell them myself. And I am also going to be more deliberate about telling my husband, parents, siblings and friends how I feel about them. I want them to know the joy and happiness they have brought into my life.

So, over these next few months, we will keep in contact with Mike's friend and will make opportunities to spend some time with him and his kids. I will continue to pray for him. Continue to cry for him and his children. I will marvel at the grace with which he is approaching his final days in the face of such physical and emotional pain. And, although he will only be in my life for a short period of time, I will be forever changed by the effect he has had on it.

Progress

2010-07-11T09:29:00.010-04:00

Since I am completely devoid of creativity, I thought I'd revisit an old post as inspiration for this one. As you may recall, I set some lofty goals for myself when I came up with some new year's resolutions. I decided to take a look at those and see how many - if any - I have actually kept. Sound fun? Probably not, but it might make you feel better about your own lack of drive and/or willpower. Those that I did not complete successfully, I have no one to blame for than myself as you will see. Here goes:

1. I will make Meg’s scrapbook detailing the events and milestones in her first year of life. (Meg turned 2 in October)

Update - I remember setting this goal. At the time, I considered saying it would be completed by March. Thank heavens I left that part off. Earlier in the year, I enlarged some pictures and sent them to the local Walmart where I would retrieve them and then have what I needed to make her book. However, we changed computers (Went from a Mac to a PC despite all of those clever commercials that let you know what a fool you'd be if you did that) and we STILL have not been able to successfully transfer pictures from I-Photo to whatever it is I have on this HP. I have asked Mike to help figure this out multiple times. He has not. So, I snagged some pictures from Facebook and had those enlarged to fuzzy, disastrous results. I couldn't very well use blurry pictures for my beloved child's scrapbook. SO, delay. But clearly I've done my part. Mike is the one who let me down on this one. I cannot move forward until he fixes the photo problem.

Prognosis - Unmet but still possible. If Mike Will actually get off his rear end and DO somehting...

2. I will limit sweets to weekends, holidays, birthdays, other celebrations...

Update - Well, considering I am eating sugar cookie dough while typing this, no progress. I wouldn't be eating them, of course, if Mike hadn't bought them. Once again, he messes up any chance I have at success!

Prognosis - Not reachable. A stupid resolution to begin with. I should have known better.

3. I will do a better job of not cursing in front of my children.

Update - How in the hell (eek!) am I supposed to quit cursing when f@!king (yow!) people keep doing sh*t (oops!) to piss (ack!) me off?

Prognosis - unf@!kingreachable.

4. I will keep my car neat and tidy (but not necessarily clean).

Update - Well, the "not clean" part is right on target. The rest of it, this "neat" and "tidy" nonsense, is a no-go. My car is more disgusting than ever. I mean, sure, it's dirty. Bug carcasses on top of bug carcasses. Bird poop on the windshield that has been smeared by a failed attempt to get it off with the wipers. But the inside of the car... that's the real horror story. Petrified french fries. Dust all over the dashboard so deep I cannot even see the odometer. Chicken nugget-breading and colorful nerds wedged so deep into the crevices of the carseats that I'm surprised the government hasn't intervened. It's foul and I don't see any hope of improvement. I'm sure this one is Mike's fault, too.

Prognosis - Not reachable. Unless my children's health becomes affected. Then I'll have to do something.

5. I will do a better job of sending thank you notes.

Update - Well, let's see. Our dear friend Lynda came and took pictures of my girls -FOR FREE - and gave me all of the proofs. No note. Mike's cousin gave me a really cool pottery piece that's a chip and dip server. No note. My sister had us in town for New Year's AND gave my daughter very sweet and thoughtful birthday gifts. No note. Of course, anything I do for her, she sends a timely and thoughtful thank you note.

I swear I think she makes things for my kids just to point out what a crappy person I am for never sending notes. She makes me feel really bad about that with her smug way of always being kind and thoughtful. She always sends Lynda a thank you note I'm sure. How am I supposed to compete with that? If we are comparing me to her, I will always lose. It's so defeating. I'm too busy being defeated to be able to find the time or the energy to write a thank you note.

Prognosis - My sister makes it all but impossible for me to accomplish this one.

6. WHY ARE THERE SO MANY OF THESE??!! WHAT WAS I THINKING? I will stop complaining so much.

Update - Well, how would you know if I've accomplished this one? All I said was that I'd stop doing it so much. You have no way of knowing how many times I would have done it were it not for the setting of this resolution. Therefore...

Prognosis - I'm accomplishing the crap out of this one.

7. I will be more patient with my children.

Update - I was laughing as I typed that back in January and I am laughing now. My children aren't laughing though. They are crying because I've just completely lost it with them over something trivial. *Sigh* But, really, if they were better children, I wouldn't have to lose patience with them. Clearly this one is their fault.

Prognosis - Still laughing...

8. I will be healthier.

Update - Okay, FINALLY one about which I can give you some good news! I have recently decided to actually pursue this one. The first half of the year was an exercise in gluttony. I ate whatever I wanted (which was mostly junky foods) and in enormous portions. To be honest, I don't remember the last time my stomach growled. I was never hungry because I was always either full or eating. I began to see pictures of myself (Damn my friends for tagging me in them on Facebook!) and realized that although I certainly looked like it, I was, in fact, not 13 months pregnant. I was, in truth, heavier than I had ever been without being pregnant.

I felt horrible in my bathing suit with my generous gobs of flesh spilling over the sides. My legs were doing that thing where they touch at the very tops of my thighs. I HATE that. In all honesty, my legs are shaped like that and will probably do it even when I'm down to my ideal weight. But, it was so bad that anytime I was in a skirt, I would have to waddle so they wouldn't rub together and chafe. Eek!

I was also tired all of the time because of all of the junk I was eating. We were going out to eat a lot because I was too lazy to cook anything reasonably healthy. So, about four weeks ago I decided I had had enough - just in time for the results to be obvious in the fall when no one would notice.... But, I am happy to report, my legs are looking better; more toned. And I have lost a few pounds. I am also back to being able to run almost three miles without stopping - a tremendous feat given the amount of time I have neglected my treadmill duties. Yay me!

Prognosis - If I keep it up, reachable. But I have to admit, it's a struggle for me.

9. I will not be so happy being frumpy and lazy.

Update and prognosis - But I am really, REALLY happy being frumpy and lazy!!

This one was actually originally written from the perspective of what my husband frequently comes home to - a tired, lazy sweatpants and a raggedy t-shirt or jammies-wearin' vision. This one has actually gotten a little better since I have rediscovered a will to be healthy. But the trade-off is that now instead of me being in my jammies when he comes home from work, I'm in my more hideous "workout" ensemble and covered in sweat and stench. Probably not much better, but hopefully after a shower, he's more pleased with what he sees.

Mercy, revisiting that list was exhausting! and i am really annoyed with all of the people who are preventing me from meeting with success as I pursue these objectives. Why on earth would I set so many goals for myself? I should have known better than to try and tackle all of the areas of my life where I am failing. Surely one or two would have been enough. And since it was so exhausting, I have clearly had my workout for the day.

Maybe I should go on and retire to the couch with a big bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. I've got a lot of cursing and complaining yet to do today...

The real measure of your wealth is how much you'd be worth if you lost all your money. ~Author Unknown

2010-07-06T08:13:00.004-04:00

I saw a report a few days ago in which, once divorced from Tiger Woods, Elin Nordegren would receive $750 million. That is not a typo. $750 MILLION.

I get that he was a cad. I get that he publicly humiliated her. I get that he probably exposed her to Chlamydia and scores of other STDs (have you seen some of the girls he cheated with??). I get that he completely ripped their family apart. But $750 million? Was it really worth that much money?

Think of all the perks she had being married to him. He’s a superstar. He was once beloved (and likely will be again the first time he blows everyone away on the course). Sure, it must have been hell for her marriage to end the way it did, but wouldn’t – and I’m just throwing this out there - $28 million have been enough? How about $50 million? No? What about $100 million? Surely that would suffice.

What on earth will she do with $750 million?

Here is the part of the story where I tell you what I would do.

First, I would give tax-free gifts to my family and close friends. I’m not sure what the laws allow you to give, but I’d like to be able to share my good fortune with those around me. My motives, however, are not entirely pure. I mean, yes, I would want to be able to help them financially (those poor, ingrates who do not have the millions of dollars that I do). But also, by giving them some of my wealth, I eliminate the inevitable problems associated with suddenly being rich.

Here’s what I figure: If I’ve got $750 million, and I go to lunch with a group of friends, they will expect me to pay. "She’s got $750 million. Why should we pay?” However, if I go to lunch with these people and offer to pay, it becomes, “Oh, I guess we’re too poor to buy our own lunch. Not everyone has $750 million, you know…” People begin to resent what you have. It becomes a burden and you begin to doubt if people really like you for you (the real person you were before you were buried under all of that money) or if they just want your money. If you are already sharing the wealth with your loved ones, these awkward encounters are not as likely.

Second, I would buy a beach house. Doesn’t have to be too fancy – maybe in the $15-20 million range. You know, modest. Understated. It would be big enough for my extended family to all be there together but not so big that you’d never see the people in the next bedroom. I might also buy the houses next to it, so multiple families/friends could stay. And the beach would most likely be Hilton Head. It’s nice. It’s convenient. I am a creature of habit and already know my way around. It’s already kind of a home away from home, so why not own an enormous house there?

I’d also buy a house on Nantucket. I’ve never been there, but I hear it is very quaint, very private, and very expensive. Expensive is no longer a problem, remember. I have $750 million at my disposal. I should also buy a house in Vail or Aspen or somewhere like that.

We already have a lake house, so there’s no need to buy that. It is very, VERY small but very cozy. I love it. It is the perfect getaway – relaxing, nice views. It is so small that you have no choice but to spend time together as a family. You’re practically on top of each other. It’s perfect the way it is today. A great place for our family to have many summers making terrific memories. Anyway, once I had my millions, I’d bulldoze it to the ground and start all over. Nothing too fancy, it should be rustic since it’s on the lake. So, it would be shabby chic. More in the $3 million range. (I’m not flashy, for heaven’s sake!)

I’d travel a lot, I guess, but mainly just going from beach locale to beach locale. Mike would want to go to Europe and Asia and boring places like that so I’d do that too, but I would also go to every exotic beach on the map. I may even buy an island while I’m there. Who knows.

I don’t like to fly, so traveling will have to be dealt with carefully. Actually, that’s not true. I HATE to fly. It scares me to death. I feel like being in the air is extremely unnatural and that the whole time we’re up there, the pilot is fighting off the plane’s urge to crash. So, I would have to buy a plane (obviously) and put a very experienced pilot – and co-pilot (in case the pilot dies mid-flight – which could happen!) on my payroll. It would be a commercial jet, renovated to look like a private, chartered jet. I would choose commercial because they don’t crash as often as those private planes. There are reports all the time of entire families or entire management teams going down in a private plane. Commercial would be the way to go, but I’d still want the luxury of a private plane. Actually, I would have a plane like Air Force 1. They make those planes practically indestructible. And it goes without saying that there must be alcohol on board so I can be out of my mind for the duration of the flight. Alcohol would be an absolut must. “Absolut” – get it? My money has started to make me clever…

I would most certainly employ a full-time chef who could cook scrumptious yet healthy meals for me and my family. I would have a masseuse come to the house weekly (daily seems too gauche). I would also have a personal trainer who works with me at least 4 days a week. There would no longer be any excuse for not being in good shape. I would have a hair and make-up person like celebrities do. Have you ever noticed the “Stars Without Make-Up” editions of supermarket tabloids? Those people are HIDEOUS! They have people who know how to work hair and make-up to each person’s advantage. That’s what I need. I don’t think I want plastic surgery – I just want to make the most of what I have. A team of personal stylists should do the trick.

Also, being a multi, multi-millionaire, I would assume I’d have access to top-name talent. I’d fly in Emmylou Harris, Paul Simon, Jimmy Buffett and other favorites to entertain me at dinnertime, special occasions, etc. I’d also have an elaborate movie theatre in my home and buy the rights (or whatever it is you have to do) to see all of the new releases from the comfort of my big, comfy, expensive couch. I’d need servers, of course, to be there when my bucket of popcorn runs low. If I could avoid going to the theatre and being annoyed by all of the talking, cell phones and other interruptions, my movie-going experience would be much more pleasant. Better yet, with that kind of money, I could just pay the actors to come to my house and act the whole thing out.

I do think I would get very tired of having access to everything I ever wanted under the sun. Those things would all be great, and I would finally be smokin’ hot – which I have always felt I was meant to be – but I’d have to do something. Not a job, of course. What are you going to do, pay me $50k a year? That’s pocket change to me now. I’d have to do something worthwhile. Something charitable.

I know I’d give millions to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, the American Cancer Society and the Humane Society. I think I’d get the most enjoyment, though, out of doing things like Oprah does – random acts of kindness for lack of a better, less nauseating, term. I’d like to find people in the community who need help and be able to help them. Be it put them in a new home, pay off medical expenses, send an ill person on the vacation of a lifetime, or pay funeral expenses for families who can’t afford them. Those kinds of things. And I would do it anonymously (although who else in the world, other than Elin, has $750 million and the means to do this?). It would be simple acts of kindness and people don’t show enough of that these days.

I would probably have to start a foundation or two. “The Maggie McCallie Charitable Something-or-other” has a nice ring to it. I’m not sure what all of my causes would be just yet, but I do know of one – I don’t think any person should have to pay to put a beloved pet to sleep. I’d establish some kind of foundation so that euthanizations would be paid for.

So that’s all of the things I would do with such an enormous amount of money. Let me tell you what I would not do:

I would not have a list of demands like a lot of celebrities do like –

I have to have my ice water chilled to a crisp 48 degrees and served to me in a champagne glass.

Or,
No one can look me directly in the eye until after 10:30 a.m.

Or,
I have to have total silence as I walk through an airport.

Or,
Each steak I eat must be cut into 11 equally sized bites.

Egomaniacal celebrities demand unreasonable things like that as though the rest of the world exists only to cater to them. It’s ridiculous and I would not expect or accept special treatment. If I go out to eat, I’ll wait in line like everyone else. Wait a minute – I have $750 million – I’m only going to eat at places where reservations are required! But, hypothetically, if I went to one of these restaurants, I would wait in line like everyone else because the money makes me no better a person than the next guy.

I would also not behave like these vapid socialites we see on TV and in the tabloids. In other words, I wouldn’t turn into a Real Housewife of Chattanooga. I would keep my public drinking under control and always remember to wear underwear – especially when exiting a vehicle with teams of photographers around. I wouldn’t be any dumber than I am now and I wouldn’t try to act dumber than I already do. The people I am referring to seem to celebrate insipid behavior. I would at least try to appear to be deserving of the wonderful fortune that I was lucky enough to have.

The funny thing is, I could do all of the things above – the homes, the servants, the planes, the foundations - and still never go through $750 million. And truly, what is $750 million REALLY if you don’t have anyone to share it with? Seriously. Yes, that much money could buy some measure of happiness. But if I don’t have my family and friends and good times and even the tough-times-that-suck-at-the-time-but-actually-do-make-us-better-and-stronger, then the money is meaningless. I’m not saying Elin needs Tiger to be happy, but she does need love.

I’m happy I have it even if I don’t have the $750 million.

Now, I do believe I have a lot of love in my life. And a faithful and good husband. BUT, if he cheats with even one woman, I’m taking his money and buying a big, fat beach house.

A Message From your Favorite 85 Year Old

2010-06-08T13:22:00.006-04:00

I am beginning to feel like an old lady. I get so irritated with the way we do things these days and long for "the way we used to do things". Today, Kate came home from Vacation Bible School singing:

Father Abraham
Had many kids;
And many kids had Father Abraham.

What?!

Exactly when did Father Abraham stop having sons? Are we really that sensitive that we think we have to change "sons" to "kids"?!! Would Kate have come home crying because she felt left out since Father Abraham didn't have any daughters? Of course she wouldn't have. She wouldn't have cared. And let's not forget that even in the Bible, Abraham only has sons. Period. That is part of history. Are we going to re-write the Bible and give him a daughter named Makayla? (I won't even mention how much I long for the days of traditional baby names - Makayla has GOT to go!) So why is it necessary to change the lyrics of a children's song?

I think we take all of this political correctness - this, let's not leave anyone out-business to the extreme. It's ridiculous. Shouldn't we be volunteering in schools or recycling or trying to cure cancer instead of worrying about semantics?

And you know that in school now, children no longer sit Indian-style. They now sit "criss-cross applesauce".

Really?

Seriously, really?!

This one I guess I understand better than sons/kids because of negative stereotyping, and perhaps if I were of Native American heritage I would better understand why it is offensive. But, why is it an insult to have a name for the way a person sits? It's not like it's called I-Think-I'm-Better-Than-Indians-style...

And, while we're talking things that annoy me, I should probably mention how much I loathe the fact that we have kindergarten graduation ceremonies. Yes, I will attend them when my children have them because I'm sure it will be a cute ceremony (plus, there is a lot of shame in being the only parent not in attendance). But c'mon - what are these kids doing to warrant a graduation? Way to take a nap, children! Good singing, class! Nice pipe-cleaner dexterity, boys and girls! REALLY!

And I am also not a fan of giving everyone a trophy - including the teams that lose. There is a lot of value in learning to lose. Kids have to learn that things do not and will not always go their way. We have to prepare them for that. They should learn to want to be winners, but they should know how to handle themselves if they are not the ones who come out on top. You know that guy at work that you don't like who feels a sense of entitlement, who is a jerk to everyone and contributes nothing of value yet takes credit for other people's work? He got a trophy when he didn't earn one. He doesn't know how to lose and therefore does not know how to function on a team. I don't want to work with him. And I certainly do not want my kids to be like him.

So,

* Abraham now has "kids".

* We sit in a way that is called but has absolutely nothing to do with applesauce.

* Five year olds dress in caps and gowns to signify their making it through a grade whose most important feat is considered learning to not ingest paste.

* And, losing teams are awarded trophies.

Here are some things that I believe we should be concentrating on instead of the above mentioned items:

1. Making people stop littering and expecting others to clean up their messes.

2. Being more considerate of others by not talking on your cell phone so loudly in public places that everyone has to listen to your conversation.

3. Making people stop driving like complete asses (texting while driving, not letting poeple over, not using turn signals, etc.)

4. Holding poeple accountable for their own actions and not rewarding them for blaming other people for their mistakes/misfortunes.

5. Teaching our children to be kind to people, to be honest, and to be patient. Also, teaching them that things of value have to be earned in this world.

Those are all easily accomplished and would actually do far more for the injustices in society than any of the things in the start of this post. They are certainly more important than the time, energy and cost associated with all of them.

Am I the only reasonable person out there? Or am I truly just out of touch and unable to accept the way the current world works? I know, I know, I sound like everyone's great-grandmother with all of this ranting. Wait, maybe I should say great-grandperson. I need to be less offensive to my male readers.

My apologies.

Lost Without LOST

2010-05-26T16:14:00.000-04:00

I am grieving. I learned Sunday night that some very good friends of mine died recently. They died either on an island, in a plane crash or in some other way that was not completely explained to me. I’ve been very sad ever since because I will miss them. I have cried for them (went to work with swollen eyelids today). I have questioned their purpose in life. I have speculated as to what really happened to them even though I am clearly not to know or understand. I am happy for them because I believe that they are now at peace. And they are with the ones they love. But my friends Jack, Kate, Sawyer, Sayid, Hurley, Charlie, heck… even Rose and Bernard… I will miss all of them. We’ve been through a lot together.

I get attached to TV shows and characters and I am sad when we must part ways. If it is my decision to leave, I can handle it. Like my friends on Wisteria Lane. I decided after spending a year with them that I had too many other friends and I had to cut some people out of my life. So, Susan, Gabby, Linette and Edie had to go. I was okay with that. I most likely won’t even catch up with them when it’s time for them to say goodbye to the rest of their friends. We’ve drifted apart – and I’m okay with that. It happens.

It happened with me and Jack Bauer. Gosh, I loved him. He was so heroic! For seven years I watched him save the world and cheat death. But I also saw him lose a lot. He lost his wife, his girlfriend, another girlfriend and several friends at the CTU. His job was too dangerous. So many things kept happening that it finally just got to be too much for me. Do I wish him well? Of course I do. He’s Jack Bauer! But I had to end our friendship. He stuck around for another year, but I just couldn’t do it anymore.

I can remember back to the first time I realized that TV friends I had come to know and care about would be leaving my life. I knew these wacky roommates – Jack, Janet and Teri. Their meddlesome landlord was always causing problems for them and they were always getting their wires crossed in some zany misunderstanding – usually revolving around someone’s mistaken assumption that two people were having sex. Anyway, one day Jack fell in love and moved in with a girl named Vicky. Janet got married and moved away. Teri became a nurse in Hawaii. The threesome would be no more. Sure, they might keep in touch, but the dynamic they shared would never exist among them again. I had an opportunity to remain friends with Jack and Vicky, but it just wasn’t the same. They only stuck around for a year.

Then there was the Keaton family. Oh, how I cried when their oldest son, Alex, who I used to pretend to make out with, would be moving to New York for a job on Wall Street. Had I meant nothing to him all of those years I followed his life? He just left! I was crushed! Once he moved away, I began hanging out with this group of misfits who spent all of their time in a Boston bar. The hung out for what seemed like weeks at a time at this bar. I’m not sure any of them actually worked. Well, one guy was a mailman. He always wore his uniform.

At some point, I became friends with a group of kids from Bayside High. I am embarrassed to admit how much time I spent with those guys. I even hung out with them a little when they went to college. I was older than they were so really I should not have spent the kind of time with that that I did. We eventually went our separate ways. I kept up with one girl who moved to Beverly Hills and hung out with another group of students I knew – although, I think she got a boob job before she moved. I followed one guy when he became a detective in the NYPD. One girl ended up as a stripper in Vegas – she was pretty gross. I don’t think she had a boob job. I had to opportunity to see her dancing and shaking and I’m pretty sure hers were real.

Eventually I lost touch with those kids. I moved on to this group of friends in New York. They were MUCH cooler than the Bayside High students. These guys hung out in a coffee shop most of the time and had really cool hair. They also slept with each other a lot and in different pairings. I was getting kind of tired of them so when we parted ways I wasn’t too upset when they left.

Now, I was very upset to lose my other New York friends although they were really horrible, horrible people. Our friendship ended when they were sentenced to jail for one year for breaking a Good Samaritan law. For many years, Jerry, Elaine, Kramer and George were just awful to their respective boyfriends and girlfriends and others with whom they came into contact. But they were sarcastic and funny and I knew I would miss them.

Another group of people I hated to see go were the Soprano family in New Jersey. I’m not sure why I liked that family. They were believed to be in the mob. The more time I spent with them, I had a bad feeling that someone would die that I didn’t want to see die. I don’t think that happened. Actually, I have no idea what happened to them. One minute they were there and the next they weren’t. It was like, everything just faded to black and they would never be heard from again. Weird.

But the six years that I knew the Kwons, Mr. Locke, Desmond and the gang were very good years. They always kept me guessing. They made me angry. They made me think (usually I hate that). They made me think about spirituality and about good and evil – real heavy stuff. Things I don’t normally think about on Tuesday evenings. Things that, in their absence, I am unlikely to ponder going forward.

And these people didn’t simply leave me. They died. I had invested so much into them. I had gotten to know them. To care about them. And they are gone now. I know, I know. I’ll make new friends. Probably sometime in the fall, I’ll be introduced to a whole new crop of friends. But it won’t be the same. It won’t be those people in that group. I don’t even know yet if I’ll want to make room in my life for any new friends. It gets pretty time consuming and I have two kids and husband who need my attention.

Plus, I’ve already got plenty of other friends. There’s the group I hang out with from Dunder Mifflin. They are pretty funny, but I work in HR and the things they do make me very uncomfortable. It’s just not appropriate for the workplace. Then there’s Ted, Barney and their friends who frequently get together for drinks over at McLaren’s. I like them, but I’m getting pretty annoyed with them. Ted is making me guess who the mother of his kids will be. I want answers now – stop teasing me! I guess my best friend right now would have to be Liz Lemon. She reminds me of a much cooler version of myself. And what a life – she works at 30 Rockefeller Center in New York for a guy who looks like Alec Baldwin.

So I guess I do have people I can still spend time with. I will just have to move on and be thankful for the time we spent together. I’ll have to enjoy my summer outside with all of my real, actual friends. If you are one of them, I will have to lean on you in this time of grief.

Reach Out And Touch Someone

2010-05-12T08:27:00.005-04:00

I mentioned in my last post that there was a reason I had chosen a ridiculous phone number when I bought my first legitimate (non-bag) cell phone. The number I chose at that time was XXX-FART or XXX-BUTT or something equally mature. One of my all-time favorite stories is the reason for my choosing this phone number. Most of my all-time favorite stories are stories about hilarious things that have happened to other people. But this is one that happened to me that I think is so great on so many levels. It's embarrassing. It's relatable (I hope - or else I'm just a big ol' loser). It's funny. It's one that needs to be shared. So now, here is that story.

Growing up, my best friends were two girls - sisters - who lived at the end of my street. (I will not use their names in order to protect their identities and reputations.) We did all kinds of foolish things together. We would re-create and act out episodes of Three's Company - three girls; we had to rotate who would be Jack Tripper. We would pretend we were waitresses (way to set lofty goals for yourselves, gals) who would receive $1000 tips from handsome men (Good God). We were huge Dukes of Hazzard fans so naturally we would pretend that we were John Schneider's nephews. (You read that correctly - we were idiots). We had a singing group (Heaven help anyone who had to be exposed to this) named the "Cool Fools" (well, we got the "fools" part right anyway...). And... we made prank phone calls.

A lot.

We would do the hilarious Call-The-Butterworth's-House-And-Ask-If-Their-Syrup-Was-Truly-The-Richest-And-Butteriest routine. We would do the always clever May-I-Speak-To-John?-You-Don't-Have-A-John?-Well-Where-Do-You-Go-To-The-Bathroom? gag. We would do the old When-Someone-Answers-The-Phone-At-Their-Residence-Start-Trying-To-Order-A-Pizza bit. Hilarity!

But the most fun we had was calling people's homes whose phone numbers spelled something dirty. Anyone whose last four digits spelled FART (3278) or BUTT (2888) or ANUS (2687) or SH*T (7448) or DAMN (3266) or ...well... go see what 3825 spells... got multiple calls from us. The unsuspecting resident would answer the phone and one of us would say:

Do you realize your number is 822-BUTT?

We would wait for them to say something in return - although it was clearly never as clever as what we were saying.

Then we would hang up.

And die laughing.

I must point out that this was before the Wii and XBox and things like that. It was before cell phones (certainly before caller ID) and iPods. It was pretty much before any type of the mind-numbing entertainment that we have today existed. As a result, we had to come up with our own ways to keep ourselves entertained. And, unfortunately for the people with those phone numbers, a lot of times this meant bothering others. But no matter. That's what kids did before caller ID made it virtually impossible to do it anonymously.

We did this so often that for years, when I would dial a number, I would try to see what it spelled as a means for me to remember it. If someone had a zero or a one in their number it was a total bummer because those numbers just mess the whole thing up. Unless you have a one at the beginning or end of it. Then, a person's number could be 822-1ASS or 822-FAT1. But I digress...

I can't say for sure how long my friends and I made these prank calls. But I'm going to guess it was for years and years and years. It simply did not get old. The person on the other end of the phone always had a different reaction so it was a new game each time we played.

Some people would laugh.

Some people would say they already knew it.

Some would hang up immediately.

Some would threaten to put a trace on the phone so we could be identified. (yeah, right - as if that kind of technology existed in the 80s.)

Some would tell us what naughty little children we were.

Some even told us they'd hunt us down and kill us down if we ever bothered them again.

At some point - though probably not until much later than everyone else our age - we matured and started finding other forms of entertainment. Once we could drive, we were no longer forced to sit at some one's house and try to annoy people. We could go somewhere else to do that!

So, we grew up and life went on.

Years later, I was in college at Auburn. My prank calling buddy had actually introduced me to my roommate. She was someone from our hometown who went to another school. I knew her only through my friend and had only met her a couple of times before we moved in together.

She and I became fast friends. She is still one of my best friends today. She was and probably still is the kind of person who seemed at first very sweet and nice, but once you got to know her had a pretty bawdy sense of humor. We got along famously. Then came the Christmas holidays when everyone would be going home for a couple of weeks. She and I exchanged numbers so we could try and get together over the break.

A couple of days into the break, I called my friend and roommate. As I dialed, I looked closely at the digits and to my delight, they were very familiar.

You guessed it - her home number was 823-FART!

It was like the mother ship had landed for me. What a coincidence that all the time I spent doing this in the past, my future best friend was out there all along being the proud owner of this phone number!! And what was so funny about it all was that for as much as I loved potty humor, she was completely annoyed by it. She would likely see no joy in this scenario and just roll her eyes at me when I told her the great news.

Her mother answered after a couple of rings and she and I exchanged pleasantries. She then called Wendy to come to the phone. When Wendy picked up, the first thing I said was,

Do you realize your number is 823-FART?

She let out kind of an exasperated giggle which I expected. Then she said something that I didn't. She said,

"Actually yes. Someone called and told my dad that several years ago."

Now the stars were aligning for me. It was the perfect storm of my past self uniting with my future/current self. This little habit of prank calling people had finally come full circle for me. It was something out of a coming of age movie (although one that would never be made due to the subject matter) where in an instant my entire life to that point (18 years) flashed before my eyes.

WENDY!!!, I said.

THAT WAS ME!!!!

Of course, she was nowhere near as impressed as I was over the whole thing. She was probably rethinking the whole roommate thing at that point. I'm sure she gave me some kind of a courtesy laugh and then we pretty much just moved on.

Over the years I have delighted in telling that story. I mean truly - what a coincidence. It's held the same weight for me that one of Oprah's A-ha! moments would have for a normal person. It just never gets old. Now if only I could befriend someone who lives at 822-3825 - I could die happy and fulfilled.

I Caved

2010-05-01T09:04:00.007-04:00

I have done something I'm not proud of. It was something I said I would never do and yet... here we are. It is something I got mad at my husband for doing a few years ago. It is something I formed at pact with one of my coworkers about that we would be the last hold-outs.

I got a blackberry.

Now, before you go all "but you hate cellphones already and now this?!" on me, let me explain.

I work three days a week. My job is one that is very difficult to do in only three days. I need to stay connected with work in case a serious situation - or just one that needs my attention - arises. I've been carting my laptop around everywhere - convenient enough I always said. But geez, to drag it out of my car and out of it's bag and THEN to have to connect with the network and enter a bazillion passwords, etc. - I found myself not using it very often. So, I would check work emails from my home computer using the nefarious "Webmail". The problem was, Webmail didn't like my computer and for whatever reason, I could only open emails. I could not respond. So then I would have to open Webmail to check in and then respond via my personal email address.

That was no good because if person responded to that, I could only read it at home. I needed up having half of a conversation at work and half at home. Not good if you are trying to remember what you said you'd do about something.

Several months ago, I saw an ad for the Droid. As soon as I saw it, I knew Mike would come up with some reason why his blackberry was no longer any good thus necessitating the purchase of a Droid. At that point, I knew that when we would have that conversation (which we did about 14 minutes after I saw that first ad) I would ask for his blackberry cast-off.

Those of you who know me well know that I have long resented cellphones. I can remember in high school getting one of those 80 lb, enormous bag phones that had that tightly curled cord that you had to use all of the strength you could muster to stretch to your ear as you drove. I had that phone for ages and only in case of an emergency. I went to Auburn (War Damn Eagle) which was two hours away from home so I needed it in case disaster struck on my way to and from school. I kept that phone until many years later when I was in my first job post-grad school (Go Vols!).

I was living in Murfreesboro (Go Blue Raiders!) at the time and I traded my Acura hatchback for the much safer and more sensible Volvo S40. I was inside signing all of the paperwork - as you can imagine I got a superb deal on this vehicle. I was single and in there by myself handling the negotiations. Actually, negotiations probably isn't the right word. They told me what the price was and I paid that price. A practice I've learned since being with Mike is not at all how you should ever purchase a car, but I digress... - and one of the salesmen who was transferring my belongings from the old car to the new one came in giggling. This is not a direct quote because it has been so long since all of this happened, but he said something to the extent of,

"Hey, boss! Bet you haven't seen one of these since the 80's!!" at which point he triumphantly lifts up my bag phone for all to see.

People, including the aforementioned "boss" began snickering at me and I felt like I had just walked out of Amish country - no make-up, hair secured in a matronly bun. Surely no cultured woman would really still own a dinosaur like this. But then again, a cultured woman would have been smart enough to bring a man with her when she was buying a new car. (While I was there, I kept hearing a tearing sound which, years later, I finally discovered was the new one I was being ripped while I was at Darrell Waltrip Volvo.)

All of this to say, I was shamed into buying a real, actual cellphone. Of course at the time, I bought the cheapest one I could find. Again, I'm not buying into society's constant need to be connected to anything and everything. I remember at the time, a friend (who shall remain nameless for the purpose of this story to protect her identity) and I went together to buy them. We both asked for an easy to remember phone number (I think I chose XXX-FART for mine**.) and had to have explicit instructions to understand how this new piece of technology worked. Of course, it was the late 90's so this really wasn't new technology. It was simply new to those of us who had not yet embraced the future of communications.

Then, of course, time went on and I met Mike. He was Mr. Cellphone - couldn't do his job without one. He let me have his flip phone and he upgraded on one for himself, and so began our relationship of me getting his used phones and him getting the latest and greatest model.

The came the blackberry.

The reason I hate cellphones is because while I was living in Murfreesboro and working at MTSU, I would see students leave their classes and immediately call their friends, parents, whomever as though there was something critically important that just could not wait until later in the day after classes. My thought was, "how freakin' important do these people think they are?"

I just must be able to be reached at all times - I'm that busy and I'm that important.

I still feel this way, by the way. The fact that I am now a sell-out does not change this sentiment. But the blackberry elevated that to a whole new level. You could no longer have a conversation with someone because they were scrolling through their email at the dinner table. You no longer had anyone's attention in meetings, because they were click-click-clicking on their keypads responding to emails. It is ANNOYING! And everyone does it. I just don't want to be that distracted all the time that I miss out on things I need to be paying attention to.

AND - I don't want to start speaking in "texts" all the time. Texting is not really a word, by the way. "Text" is not a verb. It is a noun. OMG, it's a noun!! LOL!!! What self-respecting adult types this way? I can tell you a lot of them do. Text abbreviations look like some silly language I would have used with my buddies in middle school. I mean really, WTF?!!

My reasons for getting the blackberry were honestly very pure. I wanted to have the convenience of checking work emails on my days off. That's it. I don't need to be able to check the Internet from my phone. I don't need to download different songs so that my ringtone is cooler (or really, with my musical taste, lamer) than yours. I don't need all of those bells and whistles. All I need to do is check work emails and place/receive calls. Isn't that really the function of a phone? To call someone? Who decided we should be able to shoot videos with them?!

And don't get me started on the new word that I hate: "apps". This is a loathsome word to me. A grown person should not be talking about all of the cool "apps" they have on their phone. I remember when this word was used to refer to an appetizer when I was a hostess at a restaurant. I hated it then and I hate it now. If you have neat "apps", please keep it to yourself.

I'm sure that now that I have the blackberry, I'll wonder what I ever did before it. I'll probably never go back to a regular cellphone. I'm too good for it now I suppose. I bowed to the pressure to have one. I caved and I admit it. But I will not be zombie in meetings, at dinner, and in day to day conversations with people. I will give everyone my undivided attention whether I'm getting an email on my phone or not. I will...wait...
Wait. Hang on...
I'm getting an email...
Let me check it...
How does this stupid thing...
Oh, I press this...
scroll...
scroll...
scroll...
scroll...
How funny!...
LOL!!!...

Wait, what was I saying?

** For more information on how I arrived at this number, please see the next post.

WHY?

2010-04-14T14:40:00.008-04:00

There are a few things that have been bothering me lately. Nagging questions I have that I would really be happy to find an answer to. Here they are. If anyone has any insight, I would be ever so grateful.

1. WHY are midriff-revealing shirts coming back in style? Other than maybe some 13 year old girls and fat rednecks in KMart, no one is happy displaying their belly!

2. WHY is it that it takes 21 days to intentionally form a habit (exercising) yet it takes no time at all to adopt a bad one (napping when you should be exercising)?

3. WHY does it take men twenty minutes or more to accomplish in the bathroom what I can take care of in less than three?

4. This is a two-part question - WHY is Kate Gosselin famous? *and* WHY hasn't she been voted off of Dancing With The Stars? I do not know a single person who a) likes this woman or b) wants to know anything about her life.

5. WHY did God give me girls when it is clear I cannot style hair? He has seen my hair for years. Why would He do this? I guess He has a sense of humor after all.

6. Ooooh wait! I thought of another Kate Gosselin question - WHAT is up with her hair?! (I guess to fit the WHY theme of this post I should ask, WHY does she style it like that?)

7. WHY do I have a freckle right next to my eye that looks like a permanent eye booger? Perhaps it's the whole God having a sense of humor thing, but really! I had to stop wearing brown eye liner because I was fearful that people who didn't know me or see me often would think it really was an eye booger. Now I wear a bluish-grey color to eliminate any confusion.

8. On this same subject, HOW do you spell "booger"? Is it booger or bugar? WHY are there two options for this word?

9. Wait, wait, wait! Another KG question - WHY was she on the cover of People magazine the week after the Oscars when they could have focused on the winners and losers?

10. WHY is it that certain songs stand the test of time even when they are clearly horrendous? I'm thinking of "Black Velvet" by Alannah Myles. This damned song was released in 1989 and I guess it had some success - spent two weeks at number one on the Billboard Hot 100. But I can be listening to the radio any time, any day and this annoying song will come on. It could be a classic rock station. It could be an easy listening station. It could be a Best-Of-The-70's-80's-90's-and-Today station. It's everywhere! And I detest it. The song is from 1989. It's 2010, people. Let's let it go.

11. Speaking of standing the test of time, WHY are certain expressions still around? Kate came home from school the other day saying sarcastically to her sister, "Nanny Nanny Boo Boo!" Was this expression really that insulting back in the day? I mean, if you really want to cut someone off at the knees, give 'em a Nanny Nanny Boo Boo. That'll show 'em. I guess that way back when, someone said it and someone else thought it was funny. Who knows how many years later, it is still being said in playgrounds all across the country.

12. WHY do people feel they need a nose-ring? There are just certain parts of my body that I guess I just don't feel like need bedazzling. My nose is one such body part. I see someone with a nose ring and I wonder about what is caked all over that thing on the inside. (More booger/bugar talk. What is wrong with me today?)

13. WHY can't people simply let you over when you are trying to get into another lane of traffic? The worst thing you could possibly do if you are trying to change lanes is to turn on your blinker. That little flashing light turns all other drivers into selfish, cutthroat jerks. It's like people think if they allow you to take the position ahead of them that you'll let that go to your head. Or that gasp! you might beat them to your destination.

You want to get over? You can suck it! No one is going to make a fool out of me by beating me to that next mile marker!

14. WHY does my dog always choose the time when I am just about to fall asleep at night to jump up on the bed and begin loudly licking his privates?

15. WHY is it that wherever I am standing to take a picture of my children, I always end up at their backs when I snap the photo? They'll be saying CHEEEESE! and as soon as my finger goes to press the button - BAM! They turn around and face the other direction. So, I'll reposition myself and go over to the other side. Same thing. My children's backs have been photographed in some really nice settings. The only time they cooperate and face me for a picture is when their hair looks like they just rolled out of bed or they have boogies (third and last mention of boogers) in their noses.

16. WHY am I always the very last person in any line? If I'm in line at a drive-thru, there will be 7-8 other people and they are all in front of me. I wait and I wait and I wait. I finally get my food. No one is behind me. If I had just gotten there 10 minutes later, I would have been first. This happens every time! If I'm in line at the bank or at the store - same thing. My timing is off.

And finally...

17. WHY did I just discover that the bag I had removed from Kate's school backpack the day they had their Easter party (a mere 13 days ago) and placed on my kitchen counter top only to ignore it until today contained two real, actual eggs - hard boiled eggs - that have been rotting this whole time.

This is a sign of a few things: My laziness you have read so much about - I never looked in that bag and it has just been sitting there on my counter untouched and unmoved for 13 days. Also, stupidity. Why did the teachers send kids home with real eggs? Surely I am not the only parent who doesn't immediately empty the contents of everything that comes home from school.

Right?

Right??!!

It's also a sign that apparently the scent of rotten eggs really isn't that strong since I never noticed it. The only reason I discovered it was because I finally found the will to tidy up the kitchen. I wasn't searching for a mystery smell that was inhabiting my kitchen. I was simply cleaning up. So, I guess the old expression, "Last one in is a rotten egg" isn't really that much of an insult.

Wait! One more - WHY is that expression still around?

Nine People + 13 & 1/2 Bottles of Wine = An Elderly Brothers Reunion!

2010-03-29T21:37:00.003-04:00

Last weekend I had the honor of being invited to crash a reunion of my favorite band in the world - The Elderly Brothers! That's not a typo. I'm not referring to the 60's rock duo of Phil and Don Everly. I am speaking, of course, of the 1990s/2000s quartet of Jack, Ben, Tom and Andy - four old friends from the University of Tennessee.

Those of you who know me know that Jack is my father. The other guys are fraternity brothers and/or friends of his from the University of Tennessee back in the late fifties/early sixties. They kind of randomly came together back in the late 90s and had a jam session that led to a over a decade of good times, good music and lots and lots of alcohol. And I am lucky enough that they have allowed me to be a part of it.

My sister, Mary, and I have always kind of worshipped my dad. He's just an all-around good man with a whip-smart sense of humor and a kind and selfless way about him. So growing up, we used to park ourselves in the stairwell and listen to him and my mom when they hosted their friends, the Greers. (Greer, incidentally is the aforementioned Ben's last name as well as the middle name of my youngest daughter.) We even took to setting up a tape recorder to record their raucous goings-on and still quote the ridiculous exchanges to this day.

My parents have always been close friends with the Greers. We also grew up hearing Tom's name as he and my dad had been buddies in college. Andy we did not know growing up, but from what I understand my father knew of him when they were in school. They had all played together in various groupings in one form or another when they were in school. I don't think they had ever played together as a foursome until that weekend in Atlanta back in 1998.

When they came together that evening, something extraordinary happened - their voices blended perfectly and they sounded as though they'd been playing together for years. Or, perhaps it was the wine...

Mary and I were there that night, just taking it all in. We both were struck by how neat it was that these folks had drifted in and out of each others' lives for the previous four decades yet came together as though no time had passed at all. They still knew the words and the chords to all of their old standards. They sang the songs she and I had been forced to listen to ad nauseum as kids and now could not get enough of. They sang distasteful (albeit, hilarious) limericks.

And they laughed. They laughed and laughed - each playing off of the next one's narrative. And let's not forget, they drank. We all did. I seem to recall waking up that next morning trying like hell to summon the will to live. (I've woken up many a morning at the Greer's house with that feeling.) At the time, the Greer's older son was engaged and they were in the middle of planning the rehearsal dinner. Someone had the idea that perhaps the four of them should perform there after dinner was served. Then someone else piped in, "You should call yourselves the Elderly Brothers". I wish I could tell you I gave them that name, but I can't. It was my sister and I have hated her ever since for giving them the perfect name.

From there, the band was born. They have played several "gigs" (using that term loosely...) since that time and Mary and I were even asked to serve as back-up singers along with Ben's wife, Lynda. We were the "Viagras", and we were very good, thank you. One of the gigs they played happened to be my rehearsal dinner back in 2002 and it was so fabulous having these men who I dearly love be part of such a special time in my life.

So when we got word that after a long hiatus, they would be reconvening back in Atlanta, Mary and I asked Lynda if they would be so kind as to allow us to once again share in the joy of their time together. Her answer was yes (would she really have said no?!) and down to Atlanta we went. To sing along to songs that no one our age has ever heard of. To laugh harder with these folks approaching 70 years of age than we do with people our own age. To drink copious amounts of wine. And to relish in the bond that these men share after being in each others' lives for so many years.

As much as I love music and as big a role as it plays in my life, my real joy of the Elderly Brothers lies with an important lesson they have taught me. And that is, to surround myself with people of quality and to do everything I can to stay in touch with them as our lives go in differing directions. The people whom I consider to be my close friends are people who interest me and make me laugh. They are worth the effort it takes to keep in good touch.

I said in my very first post that I have been writing a book for some time now. The book is about my experience with the Elderly Brothers and what it has meant in my life. One day, I just may finish it - even if no one ever wants to read it. It's an important thing for me to write, because the subject has given a lot of meaning to my life. What is the meaning of life? I don't know, certainly, but for me it has something to do with creating opportunities to spend time with interesting people who matter to you. That's what the Elderly Brothers do.

Well, that, and they drink lots and lots of wine.

Go For The Goal!

2010-03-16T18:10:00.003-04:00

Well, with Easter coming up in a few short weeks, I thought I'd let you
know how I am progressing toward my Lent goal. The original goal was for
me to exercise four times a week. I had to change that during the first
week of Lent due to my lack of doing anything that even began to resemble
approaching that goal. So, I gave up fast food.

I am proud to say that I have been successful thus far in my quest to stay
away from fast food! When Mike travels, it is so easy for me to just
swing by McDonald's and pick up Happy Meals for the kids and eat whatever
they don't eat (which is most of it). On those nights during the Lent
season, I have been feeding Meg cheese eggs - which she loves and will
actually eat - and I have been fixing Kate Princess Soup. It's just
chicken noodle soup where the noodles are shaped like Cinderella and glass
slippers and such. Because it is princess-ey, she'll eat it. I have been
fixing myself a sandwich on those nights and, as a result, have not been
miserably full for the rest of the evening. It's practically as easy and certainly better food for us to be eating. I think once Easter is upon
us and I can officially eat fast food again, I may be less likely to do
so. We'll see, but I am hopeful.

So, I am in the process of accomplishing a goal - yea me! For me, this is
a huge feat. I'm not a real goal-oriented person. There's just not a
whole lot outside of family and work that I am driven to do. Part of this
is just the laziness that is inherent in my personality. But the other
part is - if my family is happy and my manager is happy, then that's pretty
much what I wanted to accomplish.

I'm not one of those people who has said to herself, "I WILL run in a
marathon!" Nah, I'd like to be able to run in another 5k, but I have no desire
to take it beyond that. And I'm okay with having to walk in part of the
5k. Just so I finish with a pulse.

For me, instead of having a goal to be able to run a marathon, my goal
would be MUCH more attainable like:

After I take a nap, I may do laundry.

Now that's something I can live with. If it doesn't happen, (I'm talking
about the laundry here - the nap HAS to happen!) no harm done. (My
husband may disagree with that...) That way I'm not terribly disappointed
in myself for failing. I've left myself enough wiggle room that if I do
accomplish it, it's a nice surprise. And who doesn't love surprises?!!

I have a few friends who have had their babies without any labor
medication whatsoever. For some, there were medical reasons why they did
it. For others, it was because they are, apparently, insane. I asked
one friend out of curiosity why she chose natural childbirth. Her
response was, "Because I knew I could do it." Really? I'm sure I could
do it, too. I also think I could stand still while a fast-flying baseball
hit me in the teeth, but wouldn't it be more comfortable to just move out
of the way? What does it prove that you were able to have your baby
without meds? That you have superpowers the rest of us do not? I'll tell
you one thing you proved to the other expectant mothers who heard you
screaming while they had their babies with an epidural: that they made the
right call.

I don't mean to say that being goal-oriented makes you annoying. (It
makes you annoying to me, but I am only one person.) I'm just saying that
my method works out pretty well for me. I get to take lots and lots of naps. I watched the Winter Olympics recently and I wondered, when was the last time Bode Miller took a nap? Those people train for like, ever. Who wants that? If I wanted to train for a marathon held in the fall, I would have already had to be preparing for it. How on earth do I know what I'll be doing on the fall? I could be fat by then from not exercising.

So, I'm content with my little no-fast-food goal. I am SOOOOO glad I did not give up potato chips for Lent as I have done in the past. I would have caved for sure - Doritos has a new Cheeseburger flavored tortilla chip that is yummers. There's also a new Sour Cream and Green Onion flavor of Cape Cod chip. Haven't tried it yet, but I'm sure it will be everything I dream it will be.

Hope these last few weeks leading up to Easter are good for you too. Good luck with your goals if you are observing Lent. Now, I'm off to my nap.

First The Oscars And Then Other Things That Actually Matter

2010-03-13T08:38:00.005-05:00

Not many interesting things have been going on lately which is why you have been spared from another blog post from me. But now I'm back but sadly, there's nothing real earth-shattering to talk about.

First, the Oscars. Loved 'em. I thought Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin were hilarious! Of course, I love them both anyway - although Alec may be clinically insane; not sure - but I thought their little quips were silly and fun.

I was expecting all of the people who won to win so there weren't any real surprises. I do think that Meryl Streep's performance carried her movie, so I wish she could have won. But I will go on record and say that I am actually happy Sandra Bullock won. For those of you who know me, I have a list of women in Hollywood that everyone seems to like that I do not. She's on it. I have to say that I have always kind of liked her because I have read numerous stories about her generosity and about how she treats crew members and everyone as equals. What I don't like about her is that she seems to choose roles that are specifically designed to make her look cute and I find that really annoying. She's cute, we get it. She seems to have substance off the camera, so why not choose roles that showcase that? In recent years she has and she was rewarded for it last Sunday. I think I'm gonna have to take her off of my list. That's fine. I'll Kristen Stewart put on it in her place. I've been meaning to add her and her pouty little face for a while now anyway.

Author's Note: I just misspelled the word "recent" so horribly that the spell check's recommendation for a correct spelling of the word was "Rosamund".

I was also very happy for Jeff Bridges. Crazy Heart was a great movie with terrific music. Glad he got a win.

Then, I had a coworker lose a childhood friend to cancer. A battle the friend had been battling for four years. She was a year older than me. Sure seems like more and more people are being diagnosed at a young age. It's just awful how many lives are lost to this horrible disease. I thought again about the Oscars. Makes you wonder why actors (even though I love them) get paid millions of dollars and are universally worshipped and emulated when there are people out there trying to find a cure for cancer.

Anyway, I was talking to my friend about the loss of her friend and she had said that the attitude of her friend had been so inspiring to people around her. She had basically said that for so long she was trying so hard to get past the cancer so that her life could begin anew. Once she had accepted that she may never beat the cancer she told my friend, "Instead of waiting on the storm to pass, I believe I'll just have to dance in the rain".

What a beautiful attitude and one we can all learn from. Instead of saying, okay, I'll be happy once I have this or that, she chose to be happy in her present situation - which was certainly darker than what most of us face. I have a tendency to think that there are certain things I need in order to be truly happy or fulfilled. Why do I do this? I have an incredible life: great husband, great kids, great family and friends... I need to celebrate what I have instead of waiting for an event or a purchase to complete the picture. When I look around, I have EXACTLY what I need.

This girl was 38 years old. I am a year and a half away from that. That is frightening to think about. My mind feels younger than that and in my mind I'm still an awkward teenager. My body certainly feels older than that. I'm grumpy, lazy and tired all the time. I sleep with a heating pad most nights. Next thing you know I'll constantly be reeking of Ben Gay...

I was talking to another coworker earlier in the week and I asked her how old her son was. She said he was almost 34. She shuttered when she realized she was old enough to be my mother. To me, she is my work buddy. It never dawned on me that she is closer to my parents' age than to mine. It is because she is young at heart. Plus, at work, age sort of dissolves. I'll never forget my first week at my first real job - calling people "ma'am" and "sir" and realizing that these people were now my peers.

So, I guess age is kind of what a person makes of it. Look at Betty White. At 88, she is about to become the oldest host in Saturday Night Live history. My grandmother, whom we lovingly referred to as "Gannie", was 94 when she passed away in 2005. It used to really irritate her when people would refer to her as "remarkable". To be called remarkable at 94 was, I guess, a constant reminder that she had already lived longer than most people do. She viewed it as patronizing. Kind of like a compliment that starts out like this:

You look so nice today.

And ends up like this:

Why at your age, it's just impressive that your undergarments are not on the outside of your outfit...

Gannie also told me one time a couple of years before she died, that she had been to the eye doctor and had thought it odd when he said, "See you next year". She said to me, "I thought that was awfully optimistic". Gannie was hoot! Not because she was in her mid-90s and still sharp as a tack at the end of her life, (which actually was remarkable) but because you could have a conversation with her without sensing her age. I've written before about her view of life which was Happiness Is Wanting What You Get. It really is true. Another quote I like is, Be present where you are. Wherever you are, be fully engaged in that moment. if you're not, you could miss something special or poignant or interesting.

I haven't had this stupid blog as year now and I'm already repeating myself with the happiness is wanting what you get idea - but again, I just had a couple of reminders this week to cherish the life you have right this minute even if there are things out there you still may think you need. I seem to have surrounded myself with people who teach me valuable lessons everyday. My coworker's friend who lost her cancer battle this week taught me a lesson without ever having met me. I hope her family knows that this if this is her legacy with me, her life to those who knew her was truly a blessing.

Ask Maggie Vol. 1

2010-03-02T08:08:00.002-05:00

So, I have already had to abandon my Lent promise to exercise at least
four days a week. Last week - the first week of my new commitment, by the
way - I only got on the treadmill twice. So, I've decided I'll just go
with the old standby and give up fast food. I will, however, have to go
an extra day beyond Easter before I can eat it again because I had Zaxby's
on Ash Wednesday. I suck.

Not much that is blogworthy going on here these days. Seems like a good
time to start a new Random Ramblings feature. It's called Ask Maggie and its premise is this: I will read and respond to a printed question in a trashy women's magazine like Glamour or Cosmopolitan. I have wanted to
have a self-help column for a while now because of some of the ridiculous
things people actually take the time to ask about. My favorite was a
question I read in Cosmo several years ago.

My sister and I were in line at the grocery store when she and her husband
(pre kids, so this really was a while ago...) were living in Cary, NC. I was flipping through it and saw this question and just had to read it aloud. It basically went like this:

Dear Cosmo Health and Body Expert Something or Other,

I constantly think about food. I eat a lot of fattening foods and then
feel bad about myself for the rest of the day. I don't tell my boyfriend
all of the candy bars I eat during the day for fear he'll call me fat. I
go to bed thinking about food and I wake up hungry. Sometimes I gorge
myself and then make myself vomit.

Then, the last sentence read - and I am not making this up:

Could I have an eating disorder?

When I read this out loud, the man standing behind me actually starting
laughing along with us. First of all, did this person writing the letter know the definition of an eating disorder? Because she pretty much cited it exactly in her
letter. Second, why would she ask this question to a magazine writer and
not a physician? Third, what an idiot.

That's where I come in. I would now like to respond to inquiries like
this one the way they should be responded to. With a healthy dose of
sarcasm! I just really don't like these magazines. All of the airbrushed
models, the "easy" tips to getting fit at work (note to Cosmo, I will not
clinch my butt cheeks at my desk five times a day), the "how to make your
man beg for more" articles, and the stupid "how inhibited are you"?
quizzes - it's all such CRAP. And women and girls just eat it up. This
magazine will solve all of my problems and make me attractive! I don't
like these magazines because they give off the impression that they want to help women find themselves, but really they end up stunting women's growth by placing value on superficial things and outward appearances.

I realize that the way I write would lead people to believe that I am a
complete hag. I'm really not. (Wait, what if I am?!!) I just have for a
long time now been free of the pressure to look a certain way and be a
certain way and project a certain image of perfection. How is it that I
am free? I freed myself by not caring and only investing in people who
also do not care. That's not to say I don't care at all what others
think. I think a healthy dose of concern for that is probably good. As
an example, I try to look decent when I leave the house. I don't want my
kids to have dirty faces or clothes (but I do admit that I am not a
nose-picker and so they normally do have boogies on display) when we go
somewhere. But if they do, I don't apologize for it and I don't let it
worry me. Because at the end of the day, I want my character to be
judged; not the house I live in, where my kids go to school, what size I
wear, etc.

Am I reading too much into these magazines? Absolutely. But I do think they
send a bad message and I am on a one-woman mission to relay a better
message. So, with that said, here goes my first attempt at doling out
advice to the youngsters.

Here is a letter taken from the Single John section of glamour online. It can be found here. Here is the letter:

I've been dating this guy for a year and a half. He is in the military, currently stationed in Japan. We'd been seriously talking about getting married and had even gone to look at rings. He’s been overseas for three months now, and all of sudden he went from wanting to get married to being scared of marriage and telling me it was just too difficult to have a girlfriend while he was over there--that he barely had time for himself let alone time to think about anybody else. It wasn't that he didn't love me or care for me, the distance was just too much. He said he’d be open to getting back together when he's done, which is about a year a half from now. Can someone please explain to me why he is acting this way?

Um... yes, I believe I can.

First of all, you are asking a guy who calls himself "Single John" and works for Glamour magazine. You know that Single John is probably some 40 year old divorced woman, right? Anyway...here's my response.

He is acting this way because he no longer is in love with you. Thanks for your question.

Regards, Ask Maggie

So, there's my first Ask Maggie column. I think it's going to be successful.

My Goal During Lent

2010-02-18T19:45:00.007-05:00

I am writing this on Ash Wednesday. The day after Fat Tuesday. The worst day of the year for me. For, this is the first day I must give something up for Lent. It's not really that I must - I'm not a particularly religious person. I just like to observe Lent because I think it's good to challenge yourself every once in a while - to get out of your bad habits and start some new, good habits. I used to lose weight every year during this time because of all of the junk food I would give up. One year I actually successfully gave up fast food, sodas,
chips and sweets. I lost about 8-10 pounds that year. I found that being healthier in one area kind of spills over into other areas. Since I was getting results eating well, I decided to start exercising as well. If memory serves, all of that came to a screeching halt on Easter Sunday.

The first year I can remember giving something up as an adult, it was fast food which included ordering pizza for delivery (restaurant pizza was okay). I did that for several years with pretty good success. But then I
wised up. One year, I gave up fast food but kept pizza in the rotation. One year, I gave up fast food but not Subway and other sandwich places. My reasoning was I'd give up fast food in favor of healthier fare - like a
meatball sub from Subway. Finally I decided to give up fast food unless I just had to eat it (like on a road trip) in which case I couldn't get a hamburger, but had to get a chicken sandwich. At first I ate the grilled
chicken sandwiches, but don't you know the fried sandwiches just tasted sooo much better.

Then, just to shake things up a bit, I decided to give up potato chips (really, all kinds of chips - Doritos, Cheetos, Funyuns, etc.). The one chip I didn't give up was the tortilla chip that you are served in a
Mexican restaurant. The reason being, I don't normally snack on those or make a meal out of those. The challenge was to not gorge myself on chips every day at lunch and dinner. So, tortilla chips were not the
enemy. Of course, people debated whether or not they should have been included in my definition of a "chip", but I prevailed.

Giving up chips was no good at all. I lost a lot of weight that year and began other healthy eating habits. Clearly I needed to amend my Lent commitment a bit. So, the next year I gave up chips that did not include
tortilla chips (I actually ate tortilla chips and onion dip at a baby shower that year. I'm pretty sure that violated my resolution but I digress...), and added that I could still eat chips that were good for you.
Sunchips for example. As if. There is no chip that is good for you. Sunchips are merely less lethal.

Last year I didn't have the energy to give anything up. Lent snuck up on me and then by the time it started, I had already eaten everything I would have given up. So I just decided to give up Lent for Lent.

This year, I wanted to go back to giving something up. The trouble is, I didn't really want to give up anything. I thought about giving up chips, but I had just a few days ago bought a bag of kettle cooked ranch flavored
chips. I just had to eat those. No way I could have waited until Easter.

I considered giving up fast food again, but fast food is simply too easy to feed to my children. And if I'm already there, I should probably go on and get a big, juicy burger for myself. I thought about giving up red meat but that's simply preposterous. I live for red meat! Should I give up red wine? Well, no. I have people coming in town over the next few weeks and I want to be able to drink it up with them. So, no can do.

I could give up cursing, but there's no way in hell (oops) I could do that. Plus, if I gave up cursing, I'd just use a new word in place of a bad one and then be one of those nerds who says things like, "Sugarfoot!".
I'm not willing to do that. I considered giving up complaining, but who am I kidding? What would I do if I wasn't complaining? My whole personality would change! That's all I write about in this blog. It's all I do with my coworkers. It's mostly what I do with my friends. The Maggie McCallie people expect is the one who is sarcastic and complaining all the time. And, damn it (oops), I have to give the people what they want.

So, if I'm not going to give anything up, I guess I have to add something healthy or good for me or others to my routine. Community service? Sure, it's a great thing to do, but I am too lazy. I can't balance the few
commitments I already have. I can't add another one where people would be relying on me to contribute something of value. No fried foods? I can't do it. I just can't. I should, but I can't. What's the best way to eat
chicken? Fried. When does a potato taste best? When it's a french fry. How should we all eat pickles? Fried and smothered in ranch dressing, of course. If my stomach wasn't coated in oil, it wouldn't understand what
was happening. I couldn't do that to my trusty stomach.

I could cut out the occasional nap I take. On my days off, if I've had a rough night or one of the girls has been up in the night, I'll shut my eyes for about an hour or three and it is just what I need to keep me
going. I think I'm a better wife and mother on the days I get more than 12 hours of sleep. So, giving up my naps would punish others; not me.

So, I guess I'll just have to add regular exercise to my routine. Ugh - anything but that! Actually, I've been thinking since last weekend when Mike ran a half-marathon that I should really get back to running. I think I ought to be in good enough shape that I could run a 5K at any given time. That means, I have to run consistently on the treadmill. I can't run regularly outside because it hurts my knees and legs so much. But I can get pretty good at running about four to five miles on the treadmill. That will equate to a little over three miles on the pavement when the time comes for a 5K. So, my goal during Lent will be to run/walk four days a week for at least 45 minutes.

There. It's been decided. I will add exercise. Hopefully once again this will spill over into other areas of my life and I can be a healthier person for a few weeks. Any little bit helps, I suppose. So, now that I'll be running, I should probably open that bag of Doritos in my pantry. Since I'll be running, I'll sweat those calories out. I should probably check out the new fried pickles at Zaxby's too. It would have been bad before, since I wasn't running regularly. But now that I will be, I can eat with reckless abandon. What a great Lent this will be!

Please Bare With Me

2010-02-10T13:53:00.000-05:00

At what point does an actor decide her or she will be naked on film? And I'm not talking about porn "actors", either. That's a head-scratcher (no pun intended) on so many levels I wouldn't even know where to begin. I'm talking about regular actors like Halle Berry, Gwyneth Paltrow, Julianne Moore, Kate Winslet... These people don't have to do it for the money. Their movies do well without them having to get naked. The whole thing just seems so WEIRD.

Think about it. These people go to work like you or I. Think about your coworkers. Sure, their coworkers are other beautiful, famous people whereas yours and mine are dumpy and acne-ridden or at best, average like you and me. Can you imagine walking into the break room Monday morning and meeting a new person you'll be working with:

"Nice to meet you, Tom. I understand we'll be dry-humping each other on Thursday. I'll look forward to working with you."

THAT'S WHAT THEY DO!!

Maybe they don't refer to it is dry-humping (does anyone anymore?) but they simulate sex with people they work with and IT'S THEIR JOB TO DO SO. Is it me or is that completely bizarre??! Sure, people all over the place have office affairs (which I also cannot comprehend) but that's something they choose to do as an escape from whatever boredom their life has become. It's not a pre-planned, well-rehearsed job duty. (At least it shouldn't be. That's illegal.)

But getting back to porn "actors" again. What makes them decide that that's what they are going to do to earn a living? Do these people have parents?!! Grandparents???!! When they do get the job (no pun intended), what do they tell said parents and grandparents? How does that conversation go?

"Hello?"

"Hey, Dad! I've got some news!"

"What is it, dear?"

"Well, I'm going to be in a movie!"

"A movie? That's terrific! What's it about?"

"Well, um, I play this girl - she's a virginal freshman away from home for the first time and she orders a pizza with extra meat for her sorority sisters. Then, well, there's um, this kind of bizarre hazing ritual and...um, you know what, never mind. Just... forget I brought it up (no pun intended)... it's uh, it's not really a big (no pun intended) deal and, uh, the acting isn't really very good... and... say hi to mom for me. Gotta go."

It's just hard (no pun intended) for me to wrap my brain about that one. But to already be a famous, successful actor and now you're going to allow all the world to view your bare hiney???!!! I don't know about you, but I spend most of my waking hours trying to mask all of my many imperfections. I think if anyone other than my husband ever saw me naked I would just have to kill myself. Can you imagine writhing around on another person completely - or even partially - naked, cameras rolling, and knowing that at any time anyone can view this? YIKES!

I'm sure you are wondering what prompted this post. I was watching a movie recently with Gwyneth (to clarify - I wasn't watching the movie with her; she was actually in the movie...). It was called "Two Lovers". In it, there is a scene where she stands in front of the window and flops a boob out for Joaquin Phoenix and the rest of the world to see. I realize that any men who were reading this are now scrambling to get to their Netflix queue but for those of you still reading, why does she do this? She has enough clout and enough acclaim to not have to do that anymore. Nudity should be reserved for those people trying to make it (no pun intended) in the movies and think that there is no better way to do so.

Anyway, it just struck me as odd that part of an actor's job (no pun intended) could potentially be to be nude in front of their coworkers. Sure, I'm grateful that it has been part of Daniel Craig's job (N.P.I.) and hope it will be again. I'm just sayin', I think it's weird. Hard to grasp (N.P.I). Perhaps I shouldn't concern myself with the comings (N.P.I.) and goings of these people. I guess when I start pondering something, it's kind of hard for me to just sit on it.

No pun intended.

I Hope You Have Wine...

2010-02-03T20:16:00.003-05:00

... because this post will be full of cheese.

Yes, the family and I went to Walt Disney World for the first time last week and I have to admit - it was magical! This was my first trip (how un-American are my parents?!!) and the first trip for the girls. Mike had been a couple of times when he was younger and was not exactly overly excited about going. I just thought it would be a glorified county fair or something - cheesy and tacky at every turn. I was stunned to realize how great it was and how much fun we had as a family. Watching my girls respond to everything around them was truly a beautiful thing.

See? I told you this post would be cheesy. The thing about it is that Disney sucks you in. Yes, it's commercial. Yes, it's ridiculously overpriced. Yes, there are people roaming around that would make Wal-Mart patrons look smokin' hot. But this place does tourism like no other. They have managed to turn it into an art form. And even a sarcastic cynic like myself was able to be completely taken in by the magic. And the crazy thing is, I am DYING to go back and experience it all again.

I watched Kate, who turned four while we were there (more on that in a minute) react to seeing the princesses, Mickey and his friends, the evil stepmothers, etc., with the kind of wonder and awe that only comes from a child. It really was innocence in its purest form - captured right there on her face. To her, it really was Snow White. It really was Cinderella's castle. That really was Goofy even though he was enormous and never did anything other wave and give her high fives (he never uttered his catchy "Goarsh!").

On her birthday, she wore a button that said Happy Birthday and a park employee wrote her name on it. All day, everywhere we went in the park people said, "Happy Birthday, Princess". Being the bashful girl she is, she would bury her face into her father or me, but she secretly enjoyed it. She was treated like a little princess all day.

And for the record, I hate princesses. I was never a girly-girl (shocking, I know) and I swore that my kids would NEVER be into the princess crap. Fast forward four years and that's all they can talk about. Kate even told me the other day that her Daddy was her Prince Charming. Four years ago, I would have vomited in my purse if that sentence was uttered. Now, her saying it reduces me to tears.

Meg also enjoyed it but on a different level. Being that she's two, everything is still kind of a new and exciting adventure for her so this was just like stimulus -overload. She started out the week being so excited to see the characters, but if any of them came anywhere near her, she'd flail her arms to cry and scream for them to go away. By our last day there, she was running around dressed as Tinkerbell high-fiving everybody and kissing Mickey's face which was bound to have every communicable disease known to man right there in one convenient location.

She enjoyed the rides and the ice cream and all of the merchandise that we swore we'd never buy yet of which somehow we came back with five bags. We stayed in the park all day each day which meant that we had to forgo her nap. She passed out in the car on the way back to the condo every night except for the one night when she passed out inside the park and Mike had to carry her listless body about a mile to the car with her legs dangling at his sides.

We've been home for a week now and neither girl can stop talking about their trip. I cannot stop either. I'm sure I've told 50 people how great it was and they're probably all thinking what I was when people used to tell me about Disney - I'd rather lick the floor of a public men's room than ever go to that place.

So, enough blathering on about this whole experience. This blog is supposed to be about useless rambling, not anything of substance - and to my loyal readers, I do apologize for being cheesy and sentimental. My advice on Disney would be this:

If you have kids, take them. Especially young kids. That innocence won't be there forever and it is something you really have to see. Go in January. There were barely any lines and the weather was just perfect. On second thought, don't go in January. You'll just crowd up the rides and then I will have to wait. Don't try to do it all the first time you go. Feel your way around the park and let your kids decide how the week should play out. Get past the touristy stuff and buy into the magic of the experience. I'm so glad I did. It was truly one of the best trips I've ever taken and one which our family will talk about for years to come.

Okay. I'm done with the cheese and effusive prattling. You may now commence vomiting in your purse.

A Week of Whoa!

2010-01-20T21:10:00.003-05:00

Yes, it has been a woeful week. First, my beloved Conan O'Brien was informed that he was losing the Tonight Show. True, this really doesn't affect me, but I hate it for him. I really like him. He's a genius, but apparently too goofy for the mainstream. I started watching his Late Night show early on after seeing clips of it on another hilarious show, Talk Soup.

What piqued my interest was a sketch he and Andy Richter did where they played a practical joke on an oscillating fan. They actually placed it into a walk-in freezer and then sat back and commented on how this fan must be wondering why in the world it was in a freezer. The sketch was reminiscent of TV's Bloopers and Practical Jokes where Ed McMahon and Dick Clark would provide a voice-over while the practical jokes were taking place. During the fan incident, Conan and Andy would remark things like, "this fan has NO idea why it's cooling off a freezer!" It was absolute lunacy. And I thought it was the greatest thing I had ever seen. And don't get me started on one of my favorites from his Late Night days - Country Cuckoo Clock Codpiece Zulu Warriors. Seriously, don't get me started. I will sing the theme song ad nauseum.

Conan will be okay, of course. They'll pay him millions of dollars to leave NBC. I hope he'll be able to start a new show. I have the DVR set every night to record him. Once he goes off the air, I'll really miss my CoCo. The girls will, too. They love his crazy dancing around the stage. Who knows what the real story is, but Jay Leno sure seems to be the common denominator in both this and the David Letterman Tonight Show mess. I don't think I like him. I'm on Team Conan!!

Second, I lost the previously-blogged-about photo contest. I didn't lose it, per se. I just came in second. Lost to my neighbor. On her blog, she informed her readers that she "smoked the competition". That would be me. Smoked. Toasted. Squished. Obliterated. Ground into a million tiny pieces then flushed down the toilet. In other words, I got second place. I thought I made it clear in my post that she didn't deserve to win - what with her cute hair and great personality. What part of that didn't my readers get?! Oh well. Second place isn't so bad. Let's all remember Suzette Charles if we need to be reminded of how awesome a second-place finish can be.

What? You don't know who she is? I find that pretty hard to believe, but if you really don't know, she was the first runner-up to Vanessa Williams in the 1984 Miss America pageant. After it was discovered that Vanessa Williams had posed for some tawdry photos, Suzette became Miss America. So see? The same thing could happen to me!!! I'm not saying that Amber has any of these kinds of photos on the web. I'm just saying that it wouldn't surprise me if she did and I think it should be investigated. I mean geez, her photo that won the contest was a picture of her topless baby. Where do you think he learned to pose like that?

Finally, I rounded out the week with a lovely bout of the horrendous stomach bug that is going around. I should have known better, but I have previously bragged about how my family seems to have a pretty strong constitution. I mean, every time there is something going around it seems like all of my friends pass it around their entire family. That just hasn't happened in the McCallie household. Until now. And what a bug to catch for the inaugural communicable illness!

It hit Meg first, but at the time I did not recognize it for what it was. She vomited once Tuesday night, but it wasn't very much and she seemed to feel okay, so I thought maybe she had just overeaten. Then, she vomited twice more (low volume) on Wednesday morning. Then nothing. No other symptoms. I thought we were in the clear. Fast forward to Sunday evening when I'm in Birmingham for a quick, overnight visit because my sister and her kids were in town. I was drinking wine on the couch around 7:00 p.m. and I began to feel a little queasy. Then I began to feel REAL queasy. Then, I was begging for death.

I won't go into the gory (and I do mean gory) details, but I was completely empty after about 6 hours. I finally was able to go to sleep around 1:00 when the agonizing pain in my stomach subsided only to be awakened at 1:30 by the sound of Kate crying and the scent of vomit wafting in from the next room. I dashed into her room and was quickly reminded that she had been served spaghetti for dinner and had, for once, eaten a good amount. I got her all cleaned up and sprayed as much room deodorizer as I could find leaving the room smelling like freshly squeezed lemon-vomit.

She threw up one more time (no diarrhea, thankfully, however, I was not so lucky) and we both managed to get a few hours of sleep. By the time I arrived back in Chattanooga on Monday, it was beginning to hit Mike. The tally climbs, however, because my parents informed me tonight that they were both visited by this nasty little bug in the wee hours last night. This thing is just the gift that keeps on giving! I am keeping my fingers crossed that I don't get a phone call from my sister telling me that we've infected her household. I've never had a stomach bug before and this one was a doozy. The best way to describe it is to quote a friend of mine, Victor, who went through something similar years ago when we worked together. Upon his return to work, he said very little about the effects the stomach virus had on him. He simply summed up the experience by saying, "I've got a lot of laundry to do".

So, there's my week in review. The "poop" if you will. (Couldn't resist the pun, sorry!) Here's hoping you are having a good week and that next week finds me with lots less laundry.

A Battle to the Death (of my dignity)

2010-01-11T20:31:00.001-05:00

I am embroiled in a battle. It is not a battle of wills or a battle of wits, thankfully. But it is a battle just the same. And I want to win.

A photographer in Chattanooga is holding a contest the winner of which will receive a free 16x20 portrait or $150 off of a future session. She is using her favorite photo from each of the sessions she had in 2009. The one she chose from her session with us is a sweetly beautiful picture of Kate outside holding onto the handrail in our backyard. She looks so gentle and innocent. You would never know by looking at her face the way it was captured what an imp she can be. There is an opportunity to vote between now and January 15th. So, those of you who read this blog and are not in the running, please go and vote: www.dianasimpson.com (then click on her blog, then vote for my daughter).

This contest is not really about whose kid is the cutest. I will tell you emphatically that mine is, of course, but that’s not the point. You’ll go to the website and you’ll see other adorable children. It’s not really about which picture is the best. All of the pictures are good and worthy contenders. The picture of Kate is simply and truthfully one of several very good pictures of a very cute child.

What the contest is about, since we’ve established it should not be based on merit, is the fact that I want to win the prize. Do I want it for the bragging rights? Kind of, I guess, but that’s not my main motivation. Do I view it as a popularity contest? Sort of, I suppose. He (or hopefully “she” please oh please oh please) who has the most friends willing to vote will win. Do I want a 16x20 portrait for free since the pictures are so freakin’ ridiculously expensive? YES. I do. And I’m not ashamed (though I probably should be) to admit it. Nor am I ashamed (though I definitely should be) to tell you why you shouldn’t vote for my friends and neighbors whose photographs are also in the running.

First, there’s the Charapata photograph. A really good one, by the way. Probably better than the one of Kate. Amber is the subject’s mother and my closest friend in the neighborhood. Her boys are big buddies with my girls. She’s a great girl all the way around. That’s just the point - she is very pretty, she has beautiful hair, she has tons of friends, she has a really cute figure, great clothes, magnetic personality… she doesn’t need this. Plus, she’s a lot younger than I am. She has more time to win things in the future.

Then there’s the Cobb photograph. It’s one of my favorite photos ever of a kid that is not mine. Noah looks so sweet coloring in his room. It’s a great picture and Noah is a great kid. I love his mom, Denise. She lives right across the street and we used to get together with them a lot when the weather was better. She is hilarious, pretty, has the haircut I want but would look awful with, is in great shape – great figure, is very intelligent and has really great style – clothes, jewelry, shoes, everything. I can tell you that she already has quite a few pictures on her walls from her session with the photographer. I simply don’t know where she would put another 16x20. It would probably stress her out to have to find a place to put it. Clearly, she’s not the best choice.

Finally, there’s the Blackiston portrait. It’s a great one and was actually used as their Christmas card. It has the whole family (all 5 and growing) on the bed with a gift wrapped in pink to indicate the newest addition they expect next month. Very sweet picture of a beautiful family. And Steph, the mom, is a beautiful girl inside and out. She is tall and thin (save for the current baby-bump), is always smiling, and has the most gorgeous strawberry-blonde hair I’ve ever seen. She does more with her day than I do with a month. She home-schools her three boys, she cooks, she has a blog that has a bazillion readers, she is outgoing, positive, creative, and spiritual. What could she possibly need with a win? Her whole life is a win.

Which brings us to me. I am frumpy and disheveled most days. I only shower about 4-5 days a week. I lose my patience frequently with my kids. I use questionable tactics to try and win contests. AND I am clearly a horrible friend (as evidenced by the previous three paragraphs). Will I be happy for my friends if they win? Yes, I will. Do I want things to go in their favor? No, I do not.

Okay, I don’t deserve it. That’s clear. But don’t think of it as a vote for me. Think of it as a vote for Kate. Sweet Kate.

You know she was born 10 weeks early right?

Only weighed 2 lbs, 10 oz.

But if you want to vote for someone who was born full-term, please don’t feel guilty.

Here’s one more tidbit for you: At the end of our session, the girls were playing in the backyard on the swing set while the photographer was loading up her equipment. At the same time, she and I turned around and watched helplessly as Meg, my sweet two year old, fell off of a ladder she was climbing to get to the top of the slide. It was so scary! She fell on her neck and then flopped over. My first thought was that she could have cracked or broken her neck. Meg and I both cried for about 30 minutes after it happened. Such trauma. She’s okay, thankfully, but it really was a harrowing experience watching her fall from that height and then seeing her body go end over end. I don’t want you to feel pressure to vote for us simply because of this mishap, I’m just telling what happened. You can let your conscience handle the rest.

So there it is – my plea for votes. I know it is shameless and I really do feel bad about it. But this is war. War is ugly. What are you gonna do?

To vote for Kate, please go to www.dianasimpson.com and click on BLOG. The contest is at the top. Kate is midway down the last under “McCallie”. You can vote as many times as you like.

To vote for someone else’s kid, please find another contest.

New Year’s Resolutions

2010-01-04T20:43:00.002-05:00

As with each new year, I have been reflecting recently on the things I need to do or to fix/change in my life in order to be a better, happier person. I’m happy in general. Very happy, actually. But there are always things we can all point to that we’d change about ourselves and each year we resolve to do just that. And, for the first two weeks of each year, our diet is better, our closets are cleaner, and we are much more likely to stay within the speed limit. Then, we go inevitably go back to our old, gluttonous ways and lay the groundwork for the next year’s resolutions.

I don’t really care much for resolutions. I don’t think you should decide to work on things one time a year. I think of it in the same way I do dieting – nothing will work unless or until it is a change in lifestyle. Quick fixes don’t solve the problem. So, that being said, I thought I’d go through my annual process of picking several things I will never change, and set myself up for failure by vowing to change them. There are also goals I am setting for myself that are not necessarily things that need changing, but thing that just need starting.

Here is my list for 2010:

1. I will make Meg’s scrapbook detailing the events and milestones in her first year of life. (Meg turned 2 in October)*

2. I will limit sweets to weekends, holidays, birthdays, other celebrations, times when I get shaky and need something sweet, times when I’m at a party and am drunk and have forgotten that I’ve vowed not to eat sweets, and other times when no one will find out that I've caved.*

3. I will do a better job of not cursing in front of my children. It's not good to curse as a general rule, but I really need to be cognizant of it particularly since my kids repeat everything they hear. But, it's hard. Damn hard.**

4. I will keep my car neat and tidy but not necessarily clean. It's so hard to find the time to have it cleaned or clean it myself, so saying I'll keep it clean is just an obvious lie. But I could do a much better job of keeping it from being uninhabitable. There is dust EVERYWHERE, toys, paper, wrappers, and any other kind of junk all over the floor, and God-knows-what smashed into the crevices of each car seat. It's foul. And, at all times it either smells like fast food or faster food. Yuck.*

5. I will do a better job of sending thank you notes. Ugh, why did I even write that? I am horrible at that. Don't people know that the best gift of all is being excused from sending thank you notes? Why don't people give me gifts and then say, no thank you note needed. Those of you reading this who give me gifts on occasion need to pay attention to that last sentence and perhaps work that into your own 2010 resolutions. Thanks.*

6. I will stop complaining so much. Yeah, I agree. Never going to happen.**

7. I will be more patient with my children. (I was laughing as I typed that last sentence.)**

8. I will be healthier. This means I'll eat better, exercise more, and focus on positive things instead of filling my mind with anger, blame, depressing thoughts and the crap that's on TV. I won't guarantee that everything I put into my body and mind will be healthy, but I'll do a better job of keeping myself healthy. The older I get, the more I realize that it's a wonder any of us ever make it. There is so much sadness out there. Diseases. Bad luck. Bad food. How much happier would we all be if we took ownership of our bodies and our surroundings?

9. I will not post serious things like that last resolution. People are expecting sarcasm and this just throws them off. **

10. I will not be so happy being frumpy and lazy. The first thing I do when I get home from work is slap my hair up into a rubber band, rip my bra off and change into my pajamas (or if I want to dress up, some sweats). My poor husband. I'm sure he'd appreciate seeing some trace of the woman he married. She is buried under about 20-25 pounds she's put on since their wedding, flannel pants, and a fairly repulsive old, pit-stained T-shirt. I'll show him that I care about his happiness by paying a little more attention to what he comes home to everyday.*

That seems like a pretty good list. I'm sure I'll come up with some new ones as I break these over the next few days. But this is at least a good starting point.

I wish you luck in keeping your resolutions and I hope 2010 brings you much happiness and contentment.

* Denotes items that I am unlikely to actually accomplish
** Denotes resolutions I have already broken

A Story From Christmas Past

2009-12-26T13:43:00.004-05:00

Merry Christmas, everyone! Hope you were with loved ones enjoying the magic of the season! I know I was exactly where I wanted to be - in my home (the kitchen, mostly) with my wonderful husband and sweet girls and my parents. We have so many blessings to celebrate and thoroughly enjoyed the day.

As you age, you begin to realize that giving truly is better than receiving. Particularly when people give you things you don't like. Kidding, of course. But the old adage it is better to give than to receive really does hold true. This year, everyone seemed happy with the things I had gotten for them. The girls excitedly riped through the wrapping paper and were overjoyed by the treasures inside. My mom was very excited about the John Prine tickets I got for her in addition to a DVD and a decorative piece for their house. Dad seemed happy with his gifts from me, although to him the best gift is being with his family on Christmas.

There were no disasters when it came to what I had gotten for Mike this year which is always a welcome change when I think back to The Year Of The Teapot. I cannot remember what year it was, but I'm thinking it was Christmas of 2007. Mike and I were home for Christmas with our girls and my brother and his (now former) wife and daughter were in town as well. As usual, there was no shortage of sarcasm in the room the entire day. At one point we began saying that what we would really prefer to the gifts we had been given would be the cash equivalent so we could go out and get what we really wanted. Each eagerly-awaited package would be opened and then a shout of "CASH!" would follow indicating that it was a nice effort, but that we'd still prefer the cash used to purchase it. All of this was in good fun of course, as it always is. Until...

Mike was opening his final gift from me. I had gotten him a teapot from Williams Sonoma because he and I had both recently begun drinking tea at night. He had mentioned an interest in having one, so I got him a nice one from a nice store. Although it wasn't terribly creative or expensive, I still thought that it was a thoughtful gift and thus would be well-received.

So Mike was unwrapping it and began to see the box as the paper was ripped away.

"Oh, yeah, a tea pot", he said sarcastically, thinking (or perhaps hoping)that this box was a decoy and his real gift would be something quite different.

"No, Mike, it really is a teapot", I said gently, hoping that he would not get his hopes up that there was something better inside the box.

"Right, Maggie. Sure. It's a teapot.", he went on to say. Now he was trying to break the tape at either end of the box so he could reach in a pull out his real gift.

"Mike, I'm serious. It is a teapot. Listen to me." I said emphatically. Now I was beginning to have tears stream down my face. For one thing, I cry over everything, so of course this would happen during all of this. But another thing was that this was happening in front of my parents. In front of my brother. When Mike discovered that this gift really was a teapot he was going to feel SO bad for making fun of it. I wanted so badly for him to quickly remove both feet from his mouth and close it before he tried to insert them again.

"Maggie, I know it's not a teapot", he said with almost a tone of irritation. I mean, WHO would give their husband a teapot for Christmas? The very thought of it is ridiculous! It was as though he wanted me to drop my act and just admit that the teapot box was hiding something wonderful inside.

Sadly, it was not. This banter went on for what seemed like 17 days. I was crying and then laughing because I couldn't stop crying. He got a look of confusion on his face; not knowing exactly what was happening and whether or not this was all some kind of joke.

He reached into the box, saw that it was a beautiful, stainless steel teapot and immediately said, "Well, I love it. It's really nice. I mean, we DO drink a lot of tea. It's a very thoughtful gift. I just wasn't expecting..."

He understood now why I was crying. The realization was hitting him and it was not lost on him that he and I are not the only ones in the room. He thought he'd hurt my feelings (which, he sort of had). But truly I just felt so bad for him because in the moments leading up to this, he was basically indicating that no person in his or her right mind would ever give this as a gift. Not that he had anything against teapots (he and I both do, now). I guess it was just something that a (straight) man in his early thirties wouldn't really get too jazzed about. Who could blame him?

I was able to dry my tears and pull myself together, of course. We went on to have a scrumptious meal as we do every Christmas and still enjoyed a sarcasm-filled afternoon. As a result of this little blunder though, my brother nicknamed Mike "Teapot", but it didn't really stick. Mike has gone on to be overly appreciative of any gift I gift him which was a nice side benefit of having to live through this experience.

The moral of this story is to never make fun of a gift until you are absolutely certain that what you are making fun of is not what you are opening. Also, that it is better to give than to receive. Oh yeah, and stainless steel teapots are very handy for hitting someone over the head.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

UPDATE - Socks, Highwaters and Owls, Oh My!

2009-12-16T16:21:00.005-05:00

Just an exciting update to share with my (two) readers:

This past weekend, I met my sister (well, we had met before...) in Atlanta for a day of shopping and a night of food and beverages with friends. Mary, being one of my faithful blog followers, had read my post about my hideous fashion taste and decided to intervene. Of course, she was already aware of my lack of taste since we see each other several times a year, but I guess when she read it and knew that others probably were making fun of me, she decided now was the time to offer her counsel. Normally when we take this trip, it is to finish up any last-minute Christmas shopping. But this year she was on a mission. She was going to help me find and buy some decent looking, non-"mom" jeans. And guess what - she was successful!!

First we had lunch at Houston's (sssssslurp!) With a friend of mine from college. We had a great time despite the fact that I am not a friend mixer. You will never be invited to my house and be introduced to someone you do not know. I HATE being the common person that links a bunch of people who don't know each other. It makes me extremely uncomfortable. I almost passed out at my own wedding reception because I had people from every corner of my life {family, high school, college, work, all of my former lovers (as if!)} in one room together. Ugh! At any rate, Alisha is a college friend and had actually met my sister before when they both served as bridesmaids at my wedding. She is a pretty easy person to know, so I was able to relax and enjoy my meal. She also treated us to a glass of champagne to get our little shopping spree off on the right foot.

Somehow my bill for the lunch was $85.00. I'm still unsure as to how that happened, but apparently the champagne worked because I didn't seem to care much. I just paid it, hugged Alisha, and off Mary and I went. We went to Lenox and I was immediately reminded of why I hate Atlanta. There are ENTIRELY too many people in the city of Atlanta - and most of them were in Lenox Mall that day. We first went to Macy's to find some jeans. Of course, Macy's in as big as the entire mall in Chattanooga so finding the perfect pair of jeans for my misshapen legs was not going to be easy. Our first order of business, however, was to find the restroom.

Because it had been so long since either of us was in this mall, we weren't sure where the restrooms were. So, we followed the signs whose arrows were purportedly pointing us toward the facilities. We were following one sign when I looked up and saw another sign showing the restrooms were in the opposite direction. Frustrated, we shrugged it off and assumed we had just gotten mixed-up somehow. After a few minutes of walking in this new direction, we realized we had ended up in the exact same spot we had just been in. No restrooms. We were growing more frustrated and our bladders more full with every step we took in the wrong direction. Then we saw another sign that we started to follow claiming that the restrooms were in yet another direction. Long story short, about an hour later, our bladders were empty. I hate Atlanta.

Anyway, we found the section with the jeans and I have to say I hated everything I saw. The wash was so dark that it looked absolutely ridiculous. The jeans looked like Wrangler jeans that people wore back in my horse-riding days. I feared I would look like a cowgirl if I purchased them. But, my sister loving told me to shut up and let her handle it. She gathered what had to be 27 pairs of jeans and we trotted to the nearest fitting room. With skepticism, I tried on the first pair. I tried as hard as I could to pull them up to my belly button but 1. they were too tight; and 2. they were not designed to go up to my belly button**.

"These are WAY too tight", I told my sister. Her response? "Those look GREAT on you!". What?! They aren't roomy! They're touching the floor! I can still see my belly button! I look ridiculous! But no, she advised, this was how they were supposed to fit. This was how they were supposed to look. You have got to be kidding me! These jeans fit so snugly that every time I pulled them off, they clung to my granny panties and took them down with them. I made sure to position myself each time I slid a pair off so that my sister caught a nice glimpse of my "assets". She had been making fun of my taste and fashion sense this entire time, so I retaliated by giving her a nice shot of my cottage-cheese-resembling hiney. That'll show her... Of course, she then became concerned by the size and length of my underwear and, perhaps, has now formed a new mission - to get me out of granny panties and into, gulp, thongs!!! Eeek!

I tried on a few more pairs and honestly did begin to see that my grotesquely-shaped rear end and thighs did kind of look better in these jeans. What's more - I actually began to look taller. She informed me that our next stop would be to find a fun pair of boots that I could wear with these jeans. I had never considered using the word "fun" to describe clothing or footwear. I had never gotten past referring to clothes as "comfortable" or "roomy". Apparently, comfort has no place in clothes that you wear out of the house. Who would have thought it?

We did find some boots and even some new casual shoes to replace the clogs I have been wearing for... I'm going to say eight years now (but it's really probably closer to 10). I have to say that I really do like my new purchases. I have been proudly wearing all of it ever since I returned. I must admit, I was a little disappointed that no one commented on how cute my jeans were at a party I went to this week. However, it has occurred to me since then that no one would comment on it because it's not like I'm setting any new trends. I have just finally caught up with the one that is currently out there. Why would anyone comment on a person looking normal?!

My trip to Atlanta was a success not only because of my new clothes but also because I had a great time with Mary and the friends we were able to see while we were there. Plus, I was inadvertently groped as I tried to make my way through the massive crowd in Lenox mall - so there's that. I only got lost twice trying to make my way around the city (I hate Atlanta) and I managed to squeeze in getting a couple of gifts for others on my list. I am thankful for my sister for intervening on my behalf and helping to bring me out of my fashion rut. Never fear - I'm not totally out of it. You, too, can help in the area of shirts, scarves, jackets, underwear, my hair, bathing suits, skirts, pumps, make-up, running clothes, party clothes, pajamas, jewelry, purses, bras that actually match my underwear, home decor, etc., etc. All help is welcomed and certainly appreciated.

**The jeans that are designed to go up to a person's belly button can be found at your nearest Sears.

Peace Be With You

2009-12-09T13:31:00.000-05:00

Did you know that doves symbolize peace? Of course you did - that's why people release them at weddings and funerals. We had an encounter with one a few weeks ago that I have been told is blog-worthy, so I am now sharing our story.

We were on our way back from a Japanese Steakhouse (see Fortune Cookie) and pulled into the driveway when I noticed a big, white bird perched at the top of our front door. My first thought was that it looked out of place - we never see birds like this flying around the neighborhood. This had to be someone's pet. My second thought was that it kind of looked from that angle like the barn owl at the Chattanooga Zoo which is obviously a very crappy zoo if the most exotic animal they have there is a barn owl...

Once we had parked in the garage and hustled the kids into the house, I went out on the front porch to take a closer look at our little visitor. I was careful to be very quiet and slow so as not to spook him away from our stoop. Being that this was a few days before Thanksgiving, I was feeling especially sentimental and decided I need to help this bird out. It had flown to me for a reason, dammit, and I would not let it down. All the while, Mike was making comments about how it would make a lovely addition to our Thanksgiving feast. Feeling undeterred, I went inside and called a neighbor to see if she knew who might be missing their pet.

My neighbor was unaware of any neighbors who had a pet bird, but she did suggest sending out an email to all members of the neighborhood Ladies' Association in case someone was aware of an anxious family searching frantically for their bird. I even took some photos (in case there were multiple families with missing birds) so that someone might possibly recognize our little friend and help us get him safely home. All the while, Mike was wondering aloud why we didn't won a BB Gun and wondering who we could call at this hour who would have one. I paid him no attention. Fate had brought this bird to me. It was now my mission to get him back to his warm, safe home. After all, I'd want someone to extend the same courtesy to our dog Dudley if he was ever lost, right? So I viewed this as me simply paying it forward. I called animal control (trying to find someone who could provide food and shelter for the night) as well as the local Nature Center to see if it was their bird who had gone missing. Since it was after hours, I wasn't able to get anywhere with either agency, so the bird was going to have to sleep outside in the cold. Can you imagine? A bird having to sleep outside exposed to the elements!

That night and the next day, I received several calls and emails as well as several Facebook comments about this little guy but sadly, no owner stepped forward. I know nothing about birds (after all, I thought that the bird needed to get home because it wasn't safe for him to be outdoors). At first, I thought it was a cockatiel and was actually telling people that's what it was. Imagine my embarrassment when I was told that cockatiels are native to Australia and are actually parrots. I know what a parrot looks like, and this wasn't a parrot. I also had never heard the bird say anything like "g'day, mate", so I didn't think he was Australian. I had one neighbor who said that it looked like an albino pigeon. A pigeon? I'm doing all of this for a pigeon?! Who's the pigeon now?

The same neighbor who told me this was a pigeon also called him a dove. I didn't realize that a dove is a pigeon, but saying I was doing this for a beautiful, white dove sounded a lot more benevolent than going to these lengths for a stupid, dirty pigeon. This neighbor also happened to have a bird cage and told me that if we could catch it, he and his wife would take it to the local nature center for us. At this point, it had been 24 hours and the bird hadn't budged, which means - you guessed it - bird droppings all over the door and porch. All the while, Mike is threatening to shoo it away, but I again guilted him into inaction by reminding him we'd want someone else to take care of our Dudley.

Begrudgingly, Mike decided to appease me and try and catch the bird and hand him off to our neighbors with the cage. It just so happened that he had been at a meeting the second night we had our dove as a guest and at that meeting was a representative from Animal Control. He mentioned to her that we had someone's pet cockatiel perched at out front door and she volunteered to help us corral it. Imagine her disgust when she arrived at our house and saw not an Australian bird throwing shrimp on the barbie but a stupid, lost pigeon. She good-naturedly tried to help Mike catch it, but it spread it's beautiful, white wings and flew to a higher point on our roof - safely away from the door and from any human interaction, but also perfectly positioned to still be able to effectively defecate on our front stairs.

So, this was night two with the dove, it was going to be colder outside this night than the previous night, and now he was way too high for us to catch. I worried about my little friend. Worried that he would fly away and end up somewhere where no one would care about him. Worried that he was used to being indoors and would get cold in the night. Worried that he missed his owner or that his owner missed him. I filled a box with some towels and lay it on the front porch in case he needed warmth during the night. (Mike later explained that birds don't sleep on the ground, but complimented me on my valiant efforts anyway.) I wondered about his little birdie life. Where had he come from before he was placed in my charge? Who had he been? Was he released at someone's wedding? Was he a pet in a old lady's house where he sang to her while she knitted all day? Was he a carrier pigeon who had gotten lost on his way to deliver the Salahi's their invitation to the White House State Dinner? Where did he belong? And, would I be able to get him there?

On the third day, I awoke and did not see him right away. He was not at his new perch on the roof and had not come back to the front door. Later in the day, however, he returned to the front door and back where we had a chance at catching him. I have a neighbor who offered to come over with a fishing net to try and catch him for us. Unfortunately, Mike thought he had a better idea. Mike, who had had enough of all of this at this point, simply got Dudley's crate, got on a step ladder and climbed up until he was eyeball to teeny, tiny eyeball with the dove. He opened the crate and - best I can tell - expected the bird to simply get up, accept his fate, and waltz into the crate. Instead, the dove spread his beautiful, white wings again and moved to another point on the roof. By now Mike was furious with the bird and I was furious with Mike. If he had just waited for our neighbor, this could have all been over.

Day Four - Bird back at the door. Poop everywhere. Mike losing patience. Marriage crumbling due to the fact that I was neglecting Mike's wishes and still trying to save this God-forsaken fowl. But this time, Mike acquiesced and agreed to have our neighbor come over with his net and catch the bird. Which he did, in one fell swoop. He then transported the bird from his net to the cage and off he went. So the bird was saved! Drama over! But questions remained. Who was he? And how did he get here?

Well, he was identified as a White Homing Pigeon named Clarence (okay, his name wasn't Clarence, but I kinda felt like he needed a name for the purpose of this story). He had a tag on his leg that showed him as having originated in Beaver Falls, PA. My neighbor contacted the breeder in Beaver Falls and was given the name of the owner in Riceville, TN. The owner indicated that the he was being trained to be released at weddings and funerals and had become lost and disoriented on his first training flight when a hawk scared him. The bird was less than a year old and had been missing for about a month. He was very appreciative of us and of our neighbors' efforts in bringing him safely home.

So, there you have it. A Thanksgiving and perhaps even a Christmas miracle. I found a bird of peace and was able to bring about a peaceful resolution to his plight. I was given a duty and I accomplished it to the best of my ability. I still will glance out my front door to see if he's back and I get a little tear in the corner of my eye when I catch the sight of some of his droppings that remain on our porch. I think about Clarence, and I hope he's doing well. I am now ready to accept the next Christmas miracle that comes my way - only this time, I hope it's in the form of an Ann Taylor gift certificate.

Socks, Highwaters, and Owls, Oh My!

2009-11-30T20:54:00.003-05:00

I was actually excited when I turned 30 a few (okay, six) years ago. For one thing, I like myself and my life better and better with each passing year. I know myself better, too. But the main reason was that 30 seemed sooooo OLD when I was growing up. If someone was in their 30's they were ancient and out of touch. I'm not exactly ancient yet I don't think. But out of touch? Absolutely! I always have been. So turning 30 now makes it allowable, even acceptable, to be lame.

Needless to say, this is good news for someone who has been lame for a very long time. Nowhere is my lameness more evident than in my closet. I've never dressed well. I look back in horror at old pictures of me in high school. I should have known better; of course I should have. But I didn't. And if you've ever met my mother, you know I didn't have much help in the fashion department. My sister had better taste, but she was kind of a nerd until college, so again... no help. And yes, looking back I'm horrified, but I don't really know how to change all of the wrong fashion choices I made. Would I do things differently today? I guess. But what exactly I don't know. So when I turned 30 I figured I could continue dressing badly just as I always had, but now it would somehow look better because it would be more socially acceptable for a person in her 30's to be wearing that shirt, or those shoes. Or have, gulp, that hair!

To this day, I don't really know when it's okay to wear socks with dress shoes. In the spring and summer I think I'm in pretty good shape with my assortment of sandals. But since I have to dress up (somewhat - business casual) for work, I can't wear the clogs I normally wear in the fall and winter. I have to wear close-toed shoes in the cooler months. Is it okay to wear socks with them? I've noticed several of my younger coworkers don't wear them. But then, they wear tall heels with really pointy toes. That looks really painful, so I wear something with a low heel and comfortable sole. This translates into - an ugly shoe. Would socks make them more or less attractive? I just don't know.

There are a lot of times at work when I'm in the restroom where the full-length mirrors are and I notice that my pants come down to around my ankles. I have never viewed this as a problem, but my younger, cuter coworkers never have any ankle showing. Their pants are practically all the way to the floor! I'd trip over my pant legs if I did that! And anyway, the more weight I gain, the higher my pants seem to rise. So for these reasons, I sometimes wear high-waters. A bold fashion move or just a bad look for a thirtysomething has-been? Wait, don't answer that.

I can also tell you - and I'm not bragging here - that I am wearing several sweaters and shirts that I have been wearing for at least seven or eight years now. I'm pretty sure the styles have changed since they were purchased, but I will not be rushed into buying new clothes. Many items no longer really flatter me due to the fact that I'm at least 10 pounds heavier than I was when I bought them. So, I have to stretch them from here to Ohio just to make them fit. But I will not be defeated! I will continue to wear them until they disintegrate, are lost at the dry cleaners, or someone stages a fashion intervention and saves me from myself.

Really, it's not my intention to dress badly. It's just that I have no flair at all for fashion. I truly don't know what works together and what doesn't so I am at a horrible disadvantage. I used to feel some level of guilt about dressing so badly and having such lame taste. But I embrace it now because I'm in my mid 30's. I can proudly wear "mom jeans" and comfortable shoes because I don't have to be attractive anymore. Not that I ever was - but now there's no guilt involved. It's really quite freeing. You should try it. In fact, please do. Then maybe I won't be the only hideous person out there...

Of course I'm thinking of all of this because I was folding my kids' clothes tonight and I came across a couple of shirts with owls on them. What's the rule on owls? Are they strictly a Fall option? I see little girls wearing bunnies year-round and not only at Easter. Are owls allowed the same consideration? Ugh, I just don't know. (or maybe I don't give a "hoot" a-hahahahaha!) This is really hard. I could be shaping my girls' lameness by allowing them to wear something that it completely passe. Someone please help me or, better yet, help them. I'm already a lost cause. But they are young and still capable of being molded into snazzy dressers. Oh gosh! No one even says "snazzy dressers" anymore do they??!! I'm sure "lame" isn't even a cool enough word to describe something lame anymore. I'm probably too lame to know the new word for lame.

Well, please give me some guidance on the socks and the owls. That will at least get me started. And please don't hold my horrendous taste against my sweet children. They are innocent in all of this. I welcome your fashion advice but would appreciate it if you would be gentle with your critiques. I may look lame but underneath the ill-fitting shirts and short pants, I do care.

Fortune Cookie

2009-11-26T22:14:00.005-05:00

I am the only person I know who has had not one but two fortune cookies that were empty on the inside. No fortune. No future? Well, this happened in college, so obviously I have had some kind of a future. But really, how sad is that? Sometimes you open a fortune cookie and you get some proverb that really doesn’t say or mean anything and it’s a total disappointment. (example: "Enough is as good as a feast".) How does this fortune motivate me to live a better life or be a better person? The answer is that it does not. But no fortune at all? What does that mean I should do? Just give up and go home to bed? Actually, it doesn't take much to make me go to bed. Now I have a good excuse!

Sunday night, Mike and I took the girls to Shogun for dinner. We hadn’t been to a Japanese Steakhouse in a while and I thought (mistakenly as it turns out) that the girls would get a kick out of it. So, at the end of the meal, Mike and I were sufficiently stuffed and the girls had hit their time limit on behaving in a public place. The wait staff was passing around fortune cookies which seemed to delight the girls. That is, until they actually tasted the "cookies" and realized that they were not cookies at all but rather flavorless, stale pieces of bread. At any rate, Meg being too young to understand why there was a piece of paper inside her cookie, promptly discarded her fortune onto the floor. Kate, however, was interested and wanted to know what her little slip of paper had to say. I read it to her: A lucky surprise is coming to you in the mail. She got excited thinking that she was about to get some sort of gift, so I tried to distract her by telling her that it was Santa who would be bringing this treasure and she’d have to wait a few more weeks AND would have to be good (since he’s watching and all).

Kate, while very timid and shy with new people or in crowds, is actually a playful little girl. After I read her the fortune tucked inside her cookie, she took it from me and began pretending (or “buhtend” as she says it) to read her fortune. She told me it said, “I Love My Mommy.” She smiled sweetly as she said this. It made my heart melt (well, that and the heat from the still-simmering cook top before us). I then began to envision how this fortune would change in her mind as the years passed. Fast forward 5 years and she’ll say her fortune reads, “I hate my mom”. Fast forward another 5 years and it’ll be, “My mom doesn’t understand me at all.” Fast forward maybe three years and it’ll be tempered somewhat to, “My mom is a total embarrassment” or “Why can’t my mom dress like the other, more attractive mothers?”. Hopefully a few years after that it will be something like, “My mom did the best she knew how to do.” I guess I'll know I've done a good job with her if down the road it reads, “My mom loved me no matter what.”

As things happen to me now, I try to think of a way I can write about it, making it deep and profound for the readers of my blog. I was sitting there in that restaurant, brushing Kate’s bangs to the side of her face with my gentle and loving fingers, looking deep into her eyes – lost in thought as I pondered these future fortunes (again, painting a picture of a profoundly reflective moment in my parenting for the purpose of this story…). I was suddenly bolted back to reality when I realized she was now saying that her fortune said, “Poo Poo Bottom”. So much for my blog-worthy, beautifully crafted moment with my adorable and loving child.

At any rate, my fortune for the evening was something lame like, "Doors will be opening for you" and it was actually a lady at our table who was the recipient of the cookie with no fortune at all. (I still have her beat, though. I had two in one sitting!) When I got home, I found that Kate’s fictitious fortune was correct. Her sister had a dirty diaper (the aforementioned “poo-poo bottom”) that I was lucky enough to get to clean.

The point of this story? There's not one, of course. Much like all of my other posts. Just my wish for you the next time you open a fortune cookie; a quote from Marcus Aurelius, "Very little is needed to make a happy life; it is all within yourself, in your way of thinking".

Hope you had much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving!

I giggle every time Kate refers to her girly part as a "Ba-gina", therefore, I am too immature to be a parent.

2009-11-18T08:23:00.006-05:00

Yes, it's true. Not only have I told Kate that that particular body part is called a vagina (there's just really not a good word for it, is there?), I also giggle when she mispronounces the word. What are some other things that prove I am a sub par parent? Sadly, it won't take long for me to think of examples...

For one thing, I am a voice-raiser. I am conscious of it when it is happening, and yet I allow it to happen. How else am I going to get the girls' attention, though? Really?! Perhaps they are misbehaving because they didn't hear my initial requests for them to stop whatever it is they are doing. So, I raise my voice to make my point and they end up winning whatever issue it was because I am now reduced to a 2 year old or 4 year old level.

I also use bribery in order to accomplish what I need them to accomplish. I said I'd never do it, but here we are. I have watched other parents beg and plead with their child(ren) to get them to cooperate and then ultimately give them some kind of goodie in exchange for their cooperation. Who is the parent here? I would wonder to myself. I wonder the same thing when I promise gummy bears if they will smile for a family photo. What I should do is allow them to act like the little monsters they can be so that later I can point out to them how they ruined every Kodak moment when they were kids. Which brings me to my next struggle:

Sarcasm. If there's one thing kids "get", it's sarcasm. (That, incidentally, was sarcasm.) I use sarcasm all the time with my kids. I am very calm and sweet with them as I chastise them with my words. And I do it with a smile on my face. The day they learn to do this back to me will not be a good day. When I use sarcasm with them, I am teaching them to use it with others. I happen to love sarcasm and think it is hilarious. However, it is an adult way to communicate; not for young little minds who want nothing more than to please their parents. Like I need to tell you what sarcasm is (again, that's sarcasm).

But the good news is, I do have a lot of positive things I want to bestow upon my children. I figure that because I have some good, valuable lessons I want to teach them that even with all of the yelling, bribery and sarcasm, they still have a shot of turning out okay. Plus, their father is a wonderful person. Hopefully his influence will outweigh mine. Here is a sampling of what I hope to teach my girls as they age through my words and more importantly, my actions:

1. Value each other and love having a sister. I have loved having mine.
2. Value family. Invest time with your family as you grow and even as your peer group changes over the years.
3. Seek out a husband who is a loving as your father. Don’t ever settle for less than that. It is better to be on your own than with someone who is less than wonderful to you.
4. Value your mind and body. Demand that other people value and respect it as well.
5. Appreciate what you have. Don’t focus on what you don’t have. (Happiness is wanting what you get.)
6. Don’t get married right out of college. Spend some time on your own developing your own identity.
7. Be nice to everyone. Treat everyone with respect and dignity. It’s better to be known as a nice person than to be labeled as “popular”.
8. Be comfortable doing your own thing. This requires comfort in your own skin.
9. Love the name you were given. It was special to your parents and it should be to you.
10. Surround yourself with people of quality. Recognize that quality comes in all shapes and sizes and from all types of backgrounds.
11. Read to develop your knowledge and interests.
12. Have hobbies.
13. Never let a boy/man come between a good friendship. Better to lose the man.
14. Care what adults think of you. Carry yourself with strong character, class and impeccable poise.
15. Don’t ever take up smoking. Not all people who smoke are trashy, but all trashy people smoke.
16. Insist on a sober driver, or be it yourself. Your life and the lives of your friends depend on it.
17. Never be out of control of yourself. If you are vulnerable to others, they may take advantage.
18. Never let your sister or your friend be out of control of herself and vulnerable to others. (My kids will know who Natalee Holloway was.)
19. Be a good listener. (Most importantly, listen to me!)
20. Whatever you do, do a good job. Yours should be tough shoes to fill.
21. Tell someone if you are unhappy. You don’t have to live in a cloud. There are things that can help.
22. Don’t let fear hold you back; but practice caution.
23. Problems do not go away by failing to acknowledge they exist.
24. Know that behind every lecture your father or I might subject you to, is love.
25. Despite mistakes your father and I make along the way, you are loved and our intentions were always pure.

I'm sure there are more, but that's a start. Parenting is the most important thing I have ever done in my life and it is the one I approach with the least amount of knowledge. We make this up as we go along, don't we? If we invest our time, energy and love into it, though, our kids will realize (through lots and lots of therapy probably) that we did the best we could do.

If I still have readers out there, tell me some of the things you want to teach your kids and I'll add them to my own list (if they're good). I had to end with some sarcasm...

Um... YUM!

2009-11-11T22:06:00.005-05:00

I made these tonight and they are de-lish. I promise to have something witty and poignant for the next post. I figure, though, that every once in a while I'll post a tasty recipe and maybe if I do it often enough, Meryl Streep and Amy Adams will make a movie about me. So, here's the first:

S'Mores Cookie Bars

1 stick (or 1/2 cup) of butter, softened
3/4 cup sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup graham cracker crumbs (I actually probably used a little over a cup)
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
4 HERSHEY's Milk Chocolate bars
1 thingy of Marshmallow creme

Directions:
1. Beat butter and sugar until fluffy. Add the egg and vanilla, beat savagely. In another bowl, stir the flour, graham cracker crumbs, salt and baking soda. Add to the flour mixture and beat it until it begs for mercy. Press half of the dough into a greased/buttered 8x8 baking dish.

2. Arrange the Hershey bars on top of the dough (you'll need to break some of 'em to make 'em fit). Spread the marshmallow creme on top of the chocolate bars. This is the hard part because the candy bars want to stick to the spoon or whatever you're using to spread the seemingly un-spreadable marshmallow creme. Also, the marshmallow creme will somehow find it's way to things and objects you never knew it ever even made contact with. As I type this, it's on my wrist and on the recipe itself. I'm sure next time I use the computer, it'll be stuck all over the monitor...but I digress. Spread the remaining dough on top of the marshmallow creme and press it to form a layer of sticky, doughy goodness.

3. Bake at 350 for about 30 minutes or until lightly browned. The dough itself is kind of a light brown color, so you may not notice when it is lightly browned. Just leave it in until you get scared that you may be burning it. If it is really brown, you've ruined it. Nice going.

4. Let it cool and then cut it into bars. It may be so enticing that you eat it straight out of the dish. It's up to you. Just remember that if you put your entire face into the dish, you're going to get marshmallow creme all over your face and in your hair and then onto your brush and your pillow and so on.

5. Act coy when people tell you how wonderful they are. Hide your face in your hands and blush as though you are embarrassed by the praise being heaped upon you even though you are secretly relishing it. Tell them that it's really nothing and it took you no time at all. Tell them you just threw a bunch of items from your pantry together and voila! Tell them they are so easy to make that even they can do it. But, if they suck, for God's sake don't tell them I gave you the recipe.

Enjoy!

Helpful Parenting Advice

2009-11-04T11:23:00.010-05:00

Prior to having children, I was every other mother's worst nightmare: I was a childless, judgemental know-it-all who freely dispensed advice to people who actually had children. If I wasn't giving out helpful advice I was shooting dirty looks to parents whose children were ruining my food shopping experience by running wild in the grocery store. If my sister's kids were acting up and she was beyond frustrated, I would simply tell her how the situation should be handled. I'm sure she was most appreciative of such wisdom. Free advice at the ready from someone with absolutely no experience in child-rearing - who wouldn't want that?!

In the almost four years that have passed since I became a mom, I have wondered exactly how many times I should apologize to my sister and others for being so completely ignorant and insensitive. (If you add in all of the other stupid stuff I've done, the answer would be, I'd have to do it 24 times a day for the rest of my life.) Something happened to me today that reminded me just how annoying I must have been to other mothers around me for all of those years. Here's the story:

We are having a photographer come to our house Friday morning to do a photo shoot of our family. Because of that, I had the girls at our salon this morning to get Kate's hair cut and my eyebrows yanked out in a desperate bid to be attractive by Friday. When we arrived, Mike was there in Ms. Stacey's seat getting his hair trimmed (took about 6.5 seconds). With the girls in tow, I breezed past the sign at the front of the establishment that reads: For the safety and comfort of our guests, please stay in the waiting area until your stylist can see you.

I plopped down in the empty chair next to Ms. Stacey with Meg in my lap and Kate scaling my leg to try and grab a spot next to Meg. We chatted with everyone - stylists and patrons - for a minute or two when Meg decided she had had enough of me and kicked and wriggled her way off of my lap and onto the floor. People were telling us how cute the girls are (which is so true) and how much fun they must be (sometimes that's true). They remarked about how similar they look (also true) and how sweet they were (not at all true).

Kate was being very coy and kept burying her face into my chest every time some spoke to her or even looked her way. She's very bashful just like I was at her age. Meg, on the other hand, was performing. She was dancing around for everyone; smiling sweetly and waving at everyone in the room. People would compliment her and she would tilt her head and say. "Kank Yew!" to which everyone would reply "Awwwwww".

I am always filled with such pride every time someone compliments my girls. They do have sweet dispositions. They are adorable. They are both very silly and very funny. Who wouldn't be proud? Of course, it never dawns on me how many times I've said these things to other parents just to be nice. It did dawn on me today, however, after one stylist said, "Maggie, could you pick her up? I don't want someone to trip over her."

What?!! Trip over her cuteness? Trip over her blonde, bouncing curls? Trip over her huge personality? You don't mean she's in your way, do you? But...But... She's Meg. She's not that nasty kid in WalMart with no shoes and Kool Aid all over her fat, filthy face. She's too cute to be in someone's way. She's too sweet to be...gasp!...annoying.

How did I miss this? I am always very tuned into the needs and feelings of others, particularly when it comes to the volume of my kids' voices and their heightened energy level. I always wondered how parents could be so oblivious to the fact that their child was misbehaving - could it be that they viewed it as "cute" behavior and assumed others thought it was as precious as they did? Or was I right all along and they truly are just all terrible parents and this was just a rare occurrence for me? I'm just sure it's the latter.

I grabbed Meg up into my arms, embarrassed, and apologized profusely. I noticed that there was not one, "Oh, that's okay" in the crowd. We walked over to the waiting area with Kate following close behind. I was acutely aware of both girls' behavior for the rest of our time there and I have to say, they were pretty well-behaved. Kate sat very still while Ms. Stacey trimmed her hair and even gave her a sweet, sincere "thank you". I apologized again as I paid for her services with Kate standing next to me and Meg zipping in and out of the "tunnel" of my legs. I pondered this important lesson that I was fortunate enough to learn. I decided to never again purport to be a better or more considerate mother than others and I would certainly be smart enough going forward to keep my opinions to myself.

On the way home, we had to make a quick trip into WalMart. We were in line behind this woman whose two kids were SCREAMING and demanding that she buy them some "Bubba" Gum (we live in Lookout Valley where this is the common pronunciation). As I looked at this harried woman, I felt her pain and I thought to myself, Someone should really tell her to shut those kids up.

The Post With The Most

2009-11-01T02:00:00.008-05:00

Well, I was wide awake last night at 2:00 a.m. so I did what any other normal person would do. I "Googled" myself.

I started with my current last name. My Facebook page came up. Okay, harmless. It also turns out that I am a flutist in Missouri (I'm not. Some other, better Maggie McCallie is.). Pretty impressive. Also, interestingly, I was married to Alexander McCallie in Scotland in 1746. Cool! Then I searched under my maiden name. My Facebook page came up again as did several links to information from my time working in Student Affairs at MTSU (Go Blue Raiders!).

One entry that came up under my maiden name was something that I had hoped over time would be eternally lost in the myriad of sites out there in Webland. Something that has plagued me in the 11 years that have passed since it occurred. Something that to this day causes me a great deal of personal shame and regret. It requires explaining so here goes:

I was living in Knoxville in graduate school (Go Vols!) at the time and I had my first laptop in order to type and print papers and projects. I was just becoming aware of this new phenomenon called "the internet". (It wasn't exactly new at the time; it was simply something I had resisted becoming acquainted with because I thought it was just a trend.) A neighbor I had a crush on that never amounted to a darn thing helped me create a username and password in AOL. He told me I would need a username that was unique to me but that also didn't have too much personal information in it. He worked in a security business so he tried to steer me away from having my first and last name present in my email address. So, I did what any other normal person would do. I created a username that paid homage to my dog. Clearly I didn't have a lot going on in my life since that's the best I could come up with.

At any rate, my username was the catchy, maggiejrt@aol.com - the "JRT" stood for Jack Russell Terrier. As I began to navigate my way through this "internet", I did what any other normal person would do. I looked up dirty stuff. At the time, I kept hearing about all of these porn sites and I just couldn't imagine that there were pictures of that kind of thing on display for people to see. Once I was able to see that, in fact, there were millions upon millions of sex sites out there in cyberspace, I began searching for things I was actually interested in. I went to my undergraduate university's website (War Eagle!). I looked up celebrities I liked as well as lyrics to songs I couldn't figure out on my own. Then I did what any other normal person would do. I visited Jack Russell Terrier sites. (I think I may be starting to understand why nothing ever happened with my cute neighbor.)

Yes, on nights and not surprisingly weekends, I had puh-lenty of time to search several pictures of all kinds of Jack Russells. Short ones. Tall ones. Some with floppy ears. Some with pointy ears that stood straight up. Some with smooth coats. Some with rough coats. Some with smooth coats AND floppy ears, etc...

So apparently (well, not "apparently" - it is time-stamped for all the world to see) one Thursday evening in June 1998, I was just chillin' at my pad, kickin' it on a JRT site when I did what any other normal person would do. I decided to "Sign the Guestbook". Why I felt compelled to do this, I will never know. What I do know is that in a state of complete loss of my mental faculties, I wrote the following:

Your website is great! My JRT, Dudley, and I enjoy looking at all of the cute photos of other great JRTs.

And of course, in order to make it completely discernable that is was in fact Maggie Prugh of Birmingham, Alabama (even though I was in Knoxville at the time) that wrote this, I signed my name to it.

I am picturing this lonely, single girl with her dog in her lap spending hours upon hours crying and scouring the internet for the best pictures of dogs while never leaving the comfort of her pajamas. In reality that wasn't exactly the case. I was single, yes. I did have a dog. And I was going to dog-related websites. All of that is true. But I wasn't as much of a loser as the post would suggest. But of course, there was no guestbook to sign at an "I Promise I Am Not a Total Loser.com" site.

So what image do you think this conjures up for previous boyfriends? Certainly not one of "the one that got away". No, this post screams of "Thank God I dumped her"!!! What would this post leave enemies from high school and sorority days to assume? "She is the failure I always knew she would be". And you know they've Googled me. I've Googled them, so I know they've Googled me. That's what losers do.

So, every once in a while I will search for my name in hopes that this site has been shut down or removed so I can go on and live a peaceful - and very full, despite what the post would suggest - life. And every time I am disappointed to see not only the link, but my actual post come up in the results of my search. You may be asking yourself how full my life could be given that I continue to Google myself and have searched for former boyfriends. I don't think I'll address that question. Let's just move on.

So how did I combat this and ensure that my privacy is protected and that I don't post anything stupid out there in cyberspace again? I did what any other normal person would do. I started a blog.

New Diet Plan

2009-10-26T08:49:00.000-04:00

I’m going to lose 10-15 pounds. But THIS time, I’m not going to put them somewhere where I can find them. I should at least make them difficult to find even if I do ultimately remember where I put them.

This weight gain is ridiculous. I’ve been telling people that I need to lose ten pounds even though secretly, I only thought I needed to lose about five. Then, I went for my yearly physical and it turns out that ten pounds is a little conservative and really I need to lose about 15 pounds in order to not be the amorphous mass I have become over time.

What has happened to my metabolism? Could it be that my clothes are all shrinking in the dryer or at the cleaners? That happens, you know. This most recent weight gain certainly couldn’t have anything to do with my eating habits. Let’s see:

Breakfast –
Most days, nothing or finishing of the girls’ food. Some days I’ll east a cup of yogurt or cottage cheese and a piece of fruit. Not too bad. Then the problem must be…

Lunch –
On the days I stay home, I’ll have a sandwich and chips. Or, if we are out and about, I’ll grab something from McDonalds or maybe we’ll hit the Pizza Hut buffet. Hmmm.

On the days I work, I usually begin emailing coworkers around 9:15 inquiring about the day’s lunch plans. I can suffer through a few rejections and not get discouraged. I am on a mission. When I do find someone who’ll eat with me (I realize this is making me sound like a loser, but a lot of times, my friends bring their own lunches because they are trying to eat healthily), it’s usually a Mexican restaurant (at least once a week) or we will go to a “Meat and Three” where I’ll usually get a big salad. Harmless right? Did I mention the contents of my salad are unrecognizable due to the amount of ranch dressing I have drowned them in? Uh oh. I think I see how this all could be happening. Then there’s…

Dinner –
Wait! I forgot my snack on the days that I’m home! Around 3:00, I usually sit on the couch and inhale a bag (a big one) of whatever chips I have in the house. I always have an impressive assortment, so on any given day it could be Funyuns, Doritos (nacho and cool ranch), chili cheese Fritos, sour cream and onion, or some combination of these. Okay, so…

Dinner –
If Mike is out of town, we hit the McDonald’s, Sonic, or Krystal. Certainly not because I want it. My kids like this kind of stuff. I would much prefer a big plate of vegetables… If Mike is not traveling, sometimes we hit the McDonald’s, Sonic, uh-oh. I’m sensing a pattern. But some nights, I’ll pick up a pizza. For the kids. They love it. I only tolerate it. Or, we’ll go to Waffle House. Again, for the kids.

On the rare occasion I am driven to cook, I’ll fix chicken and veggies (something none of us wants to eat) or spaghetti and salad, tacos, or something else that is quick and easy.

Looking over the list of what we eat, it does look pretty bad, but here is how I rationalize it. My kids are horrible eaters. The doctors have kind of given me license to give them fatty foods (in addition to healthy foods) in order to get some calories in them. So, cheese eggs from Waffle House aren’t as horrible as they sound (translation – please don’t think I am the world’s worst mother). Also, I have Jessica Seinfeld’s book that teaches you how to slide puréed vegetables and fruits into foods kids will eat. I do this with a lot of the things I cook. But, make no mistake. I have to hide healthy things in foods for myself as much as for my children.

I just don’t like a lot of things that are good for me. I love fried foods. I love chips and sweets. I love burgers and pizza. Tacos and meatballs. Bacon and sausage. All of it. And when I eat, I am operating under the assumption that this could be my last meal and I deserve to enjoy it. (If I keep eating this way, it very well could be my last meal on any given day.) What I need to do is to change my mindset about food. Do I have to scarf down every meal because it is so yummy that I can’t get enough? Or, should I start looking at food as fuel and eat things that are healthy for me and reserve the “bad” foods for a few times a week when I will see them as treats? Obviously, I should choose the latter. But really, dogs get treats. Am I a dog? No, I am not. I am a person who is 15 pounds overweight. Damnit!

So, how will I lose this weight? I’ve already established that my eating habits could use some cleaning up. I have begun exercising again. And by that I mean I’ve gotten on the treadmill twice in the past week. But that’s something, right? Gotta start somewhere.

Last week, one of my coworkers returned to work after tending to her sick child who had a stomach bug. Her child lost five pounds in one week because the horrible thing. Everyone around me was saying things like, “Poor thing”, “Sounds awful”, and “Bless her heart”. I was thinking, “Would it be weird if I asked if I could lick the inside of her mouth?” You know, just to kind of jump-start the process.

I guess I’ll have to do what every doctor, nutritionalist, and the like suggests – eat less junk, eat more good stuff, and exercise. That just sounds like a lot of work. I think I’ll just sit on the couch and eat Doritos. Anyone have the stomach flu around here? If so, can I borrow your toothbrush?

Happiness Is Wanting What You Get

2009-10-21T17:12:00.001-04:00

It occurred to me last night as I was filling my coffee maker with coffee beans to grind for this morning’s fuel, how WONDERFUL coffee smells. I was also struck by the resulting letdown that is one’s very first sip of coffee. That horribly bitter taste is truly one of life’s little disappointments. How does something that smells so intoxicating turn into something so …well, disappointing?

It is wrong. Just wrong. And there are several other things both trivial and significant that you learn over time are not what you expected them to be. First-time sex comes to mind (not that I would know about that – just in case my dad is reading…). Your first sip of wine – blechhh! (Your 1052nd sip? MMMMMMMMM!) Discovering in your mid-twenties while trying to squeeze into a pair of previously loose-fitting jeans that your once robust metabolism is falling victim to the ravages of time. Getting your first “real world” job and seeing how the leaders actually conduct themselves. The inevitable pattern in your life of friendship erosion; losing commonalities with friends you always thought you’d be tight with. Yes, sadly, life is full of little disappointments along the way.

I can recall feeling at many stages of my life that things could be good IF/WHEN… fill in the blank. I will be happy WHEN I go to college; I will be satisfied IF I find a good boyfriend; I will be so much happier WHEN I no longer have this boyfriend; and on and on. So, at what stage do you say, “Things are just as I want them”? My grandmother had a sign hanging in her kitchen that read. “Happiness is wanting what you get”. As a kid, I argued with her: “No, happiness is getting what you want”. At that time, the concept was a bit too much for me to grasp.

Over time, thankfully, I have realized that happiness truly is wanting what you get. In most cases, you’re going to get whatever you’re going to get (It is what it is - ugh…). But what we would be better off focusing on is whether we are happy with whatever it is we get. If we are, that’s great. We are ahead of the curve. If we are not, then it is up to us to change our reality.

So, how do you avoid always feeling like things aren’t as good as you’d wished they would be? Well, one way is to change the things that we are not happy we have gotten. I recommend this one although it may be a long process. Another option that may require less energy (which is often the road I take) is to focus on life’s little pleasures. And there are many.

Finding money in your jeans pocket you didn’t know was there. Seeing yours or your spouse’s traits come out in your children. Taking an afternoon nap. Having someone confide in you thereby giving you an opportunity to help them in some way. Becoming friends with your parents and grandparents as you age. Having a really good hair day (maybe one day I’ll know the feeling of this one). This list can go on and on – hopefully longer than the list of disappointments.

Now, I am a natural pessimist. What’s with this uplifting post? Well, in the past few weeks, I’ve really become more aware of the passage of time and how quickly my girls are growing and changing. I spend a lot of time wishing they were a little older so I don’t have to do as much “work”. It’s like I don’t want to make time for them sometimes. But I have recently had some really good conversations with Kate. She makes me laugh so hard with the ridiculous things she says. And Meg is exceedingly happy and is always so excited to see me. She gives me these big bear hugs we call a “tight squeeze”. One day – probably sooner rather than later (but certainly sooner than I will want it to be) they won’t have time for me. And I will be forced to wonder why I didn’t take advantage of the pleasure of enjoying them now and in these moments.

So I am making a conscious effort to take pleasure in what I have right now. As it turns out, I have wanted a vast majority of the things that I’ve gotten. For that I am humbled and thankful. So, the next time I am faced with some kind of a disappointment or reality I wish wasn’t mine, I will try and choose my response and be grateful for what I have in this moment. That’s really all we have anyway.