{Unwritten}

It's not Easy Being Superman

2012-03-05T07:58:00.001-07:00

Superman and I have a few things in common.

We both look good in tights, although I usually wear mineunderneath skirts instead of as pants.

We both have a slight wave to our hair, although mine’s frizzier.And has more gray. And there’s no S-curl on my forehead.

We both worked for newspapers, although I got to covercooler things, like school board meetings wherepeople were irked about the number of napkins in the cafeterias. And city planningmeetings where people were irked about the number of gutters on the streets. And citycouncil meetings where people were irked about the number of dogs in theirneighborhoods.

But the biggest thing we have in common is our super senses.

When my husband fills up the gas tank and hops in the car,he smells like he squirted gasoline all over himself. I roll down the windowand stick my head out to make the smell go away, as any mature person would.

I see spider webs everywhere I go, even though nobodyelse ever notices them. It’s like super-spider-web-sensing sight. And I wave myhands around to make sure I don’t get any on my body, as any mature personwould.

I hear people walking around outside, even when ourwindows are closed. And I sneak a peek to see who it is, as any matureperson would.

The other day I heard someone talking outside the livingroom window. I jumped up from my laptop to see who it was. When my husbandasked what I was doing, I asked if he’d heard the people talking, too.

“You need to get your ears checked,” he said, shaking hishead.

“I have perfectly good hearing,” I said.

“It’s too powerful,” he said.

I asked if he was jealous of my super senses.

“Nope. If you had worse hearing, you wouldn’thave to jump up and go check on things," he said. "Ignorance is bliss.”

"Yes, I’d like to visit the moon. But I don’t think I’d like to live there.” ~ Ernie

2012-02-27T08:48:00.000-07:00

Everything I need to know in life, I learned on Sesame Street. Includingthe fact that I don’t want to live on the moon.

It’s not that I have anything against the Great Nightlightin the Sky. I appreciate a huge harvest moon as much as I appreciate a hugepiece of pumpkin pie. It's the flying-there part I don't like.

I don't have good luck when there are clouds beneath me.

My trip home from Tokyowas a thirteen-hour roller coaster, made even more turbulent due to The Flintstones movie playing in thebackground. I cluched that Sick Sack and prayed I wouldn’t have to use it. Orthe oxygen mask. Or the floating seat cushions.

My trip to Mexicowas in a tin can. It rattled and shuddered and dripped mysterious liquid downthe walls the entire way to Puerto Vallarta.

My trip to Chicagowas a doozy. The pilot said we would experience some turbulencebecause there was an engine problem and he needed to reduce our altitude. Thecabin lost pressure, and we breathed hot, stale air while bouncing catawampus in our seats before the plane made an emergency landing in Indiana.

The janitor never could clean off those kiss marksI left all over the ground there.

The hullabaloo on the street is that if Newt becomes president, the US might form a new state. On themoon. Far from Indiana. And Oxygen.

But you wouldn't need to worry about emergency landings in Indiana if you bought a sleek Lamborghinispacecraft. You'd have eight hours of smooth sailing all the way to the moon. Since my budget doesn't stretch far enough to fit a Lamborghini spacecraft in it, I’d endup in a clunky 1970 Gremlin Rocket. It would be a five day fight-fest for the kids. Ten days, if we have to pull over and add a little more coolant tothe radiator.

If Newt becomes president, we’ll all have the chance to takea two-hundred thousand mile trip through space, andrelocate to the beautiful suburbs of the moon. And if we build it, Walmart,McDonald's, and Home Depot will come. There will be swimming pools and moviestars. It will be just like home.

We’ll pack our kids into the mini-rocket, along withumbrellas, bug spray, and moon-juice boxes, and then we’ll rush to soccerpractice. Being a Soccer Mom won’t be quite as time-consuming on the moon,because the ball will float off into oblivion after the first kick, andeveryone will head home again.

If Newt becomes president, his plan will be dandy. Except for thewhole part about being in a rocket ship for five days. Far from Indiana. And oxygen. And gravity.

I think I’ll stay here in my hometown. Which is on the ground. Far from a rocket.

A Not So Sweet Affair to Remember

2012-02-13T06:03:00.000-07:00

Sugar might look nice, but he's not. He's just a big bully.

He gives us cavities. He makes ustired. He shrinks our clothes.

Despite his bad reputation, hestill gets invited to all of the Beautiful People’s Parties. He even makes agrand appearance at all of the Not-So Beautiful People’s Parties. A holidayisn’t a holiday if he’s not there. And what kind of a vacation would it bewithout him?

Just when I thought I had controlover our friendship, he laughed wickedly with his head thrown back. “You can’tlive without me,” he said, with a fake French accent.

“Yes I can,” I said, with fakeenthusiasm.

I tried to. I really did. But Sugarwas too tempting. If I went a few days without having him around, I’d run backto his awful embrace. I felt deprived, having been gone so long.

Sugar wasn’t always in my life,though. In college I never let Sugar come near me. I was a health major, andactually enjoyed practicing what I preached.

But, while I was busy cramming the fascinating facts of human gestation into my brain, my absent-minded physiology professor forgot to mention thepart about how all babies are all born clutching a bag of Skittles. I found outthe hard way after gestating a few kids of my own.

That’s when Sugar’s brainwashing reallybegan. I didn’t want my family to be so eccentrically Sugar-free that theywould go crazy like squirrels during a nut shortage if anyone offered themcandy when I wasn’t around. So we invited Sugar to our house every day.

Gummy fruit snacks were healthy,because they had the word “fruit” in them. Cocoa Krispies were healthy becausethey had eleven essential manufactured vitamins in them. Girl Scout cookies werehealthy, because cute little girls sold them. And cute little girls could neverhurt us.

Then my pants started to look like theywere painted on. Sugar shrunk my clothes!

He handed me a heart-shaped box ofchocolates and said, “See me. Want me. Love me.”

I’ve never been good at breaking-upa relationship. I snivel, and quiver, and my nose turns red. However, it wastime. Sugar and I had a fun fling, but he wasn’t my type. I’d been a health educator,and that was who I still hoped I was, somewhere deep down inside, beneath thosepainted-on pants.

Someone had to be the Responsible Adult,and my kids weren’t stepping up to do the job. So I told them why fruit snacksweren’t healthy, even though they included the word “fruit.” I told them whyCocoa Krispies weren’t healthy, even though they had eleven essentialmanufactured vitamins and minerals. I told them that yes, sometimes cute littlegirls can hurt us, because Girl Scout cookies are addictive.

My kids still go crazy like squirrels during a nut shortage when they’re at parties, and they eat way toomuch junk. But they did that even when we had sweets every day. They get justas excited when I let them eat a whole apple for their afternoon snack.

So, I’m standing up for my family.

I’m standing up to advertising tricksthat make us crave junk food.

I’m not going to let Sugar bully usanymore.

I just hope he leaves that box ofchocolates on the table before he lets the door hit him on the way out…

Surviving the Middle School Jungle

2012-02-08T07:25:00.000-07:00

1986 was the year to remember. IBM started us down theTechnology Addiction path with the first laptop computer. Tom Cruise lookedlike a hunky-bug with huge sunglasses in TopGun. The Bangles taught us the appropriate way to Walk like an Egyptian.

And I entered middle school.

I was a prospector on an untamed planet. A minuscule 6^thgrader, fresh out of elementary school, making my way with an oversizedbackpack amid a crowd of hairy 8^th grade giants in their natural habitat.You don’t know the meaning of intimidation until you’re eye-level with theskull and cross-bone t-shirts on the man-boys who eat raw meat for lunch, andalmost need to shave.

And whoever decided scrawny 6^th graders couldhandle a loaded locker combination without extensive training was never elevenyears old. My arms dragged on the ground for an entire month, due to thehalf-dozen heavy books I packed around all day, because I didn’t know how toopen my locker.

If I asked a hairy stranger for help, they might steal mycombination. And who knows what would happen then. They might open adiscothèque in there. Or something worse. Like an oxygen bar. Then I’d get introuble. And going to the middle school principal is like visiting a hungrylion at feeding time. It’s not pretty.

There’s one solid rule when you enter middle school. Don’tact dumb. Through my keen observations skills, I discovered hairy 8^thgraders shoot off sharp, sarcastic arrows, and can take down any poorkid who happens to look a bit dim-witted.

But, the worst thing you can do in the rough middle schoolenvironment is be unfashionable. You need camouflage. The more name brands youcan hide behind, the better. It helps you blend into the scenery, so hairy 8^thgraders can’t aim their sarcastic arrows at you.

I was lucky I wasn’t eaten alive the day I showed up wearingpink elastic-waist pants and a ruffled golf shirt. The outfit accentuated myshiny braces and frizzy perm. Therewere enough kids looking dumb all around me, I lived to tell the tale.

You won’t find these facts in the history books, even though1986 was a year to remember. Which is tragic. I’ve heard that “those who forgetthe past are doomed to repeat it.”

So I’m sorry, all you 6^th graders out there.You’ll probably have to go through middle school, too.

Just leave your pink elastic-waist pants home.

I’m not bossy, I’m just The Mom

2012-02-06T06:35:00.001-07:00

I used to be a “Whatever” person.

“Do you want to sit in the front seat or the back?”

Whatever.

“Do you want to eat a burger or a hot dog?”

Whatever.

“Do you want to go dancing or play miniature golf?”

Whatever.

I wasn’t an opinionless bimbo. But most choices in lifeweren’t important enough to care about. I’d still get to wherever I was going whether I sat in the front or the back seat of the car. I liked burgers and hotdogs.Same with miniature golf and dancing.

Then I had kids.

Making minuscule decisions became my sole duty. I was TheMom.

So they get hamburgers over hotdogs, because I don’t want mykids to turn into hairy green aliens from all of the chemicals in the scary franks.They sit in the back seat because bulky car seats are so darned cute, and alsoI don’t want to go to jail. They get to dance instead of play miniature golf,because they can do it in the living room, and it’s free.

I’ve been in the same profession for over a decade now, andnobody else seems to want to step up and be The Mom. So I keep doing it. I’mnot trying to be bossy. It’s just part of the job description.

Looking back on things now, I should have applied for TheDad position. The other day I asked my husband what he wanted for dinner.

He just shrugged. “Whatever.”

Waning Gibbous came around the other night

2012-01-30T06:31:00.000-07:00

Good old Wane.

He’s not a movie star. He’s not a pop singer. He’s not evena he.

Up until the other night, I had no idea who (or what) Wanewas. But my 4^th grader knows.

He also knows about missing addends, minuends, andsubtrahends. Our after-school homework session conversations often sound likethis:

Him: I need help finding some missing subtrahends.

Me: Did you look in your brother’s room? That’s where everythingends up.

Him: You did learn math once, right?

Me: …..Um, sure. Let’s Google it.

Him: Mom, am I smarter than you?

I then take a few minutes from our regularly scheduledafter-school homework session to remind him I was in 4^th gradealmost thirty years ago.

I remind him that no, he’s not smarter than me.

I remind him that I’ve been known to find several missingminuends when cleaning under the sink in the bathroom. Some addends andsubtrahends, too. And I’ve even found one or two missing subject fragments,when I’ve scrubbed the toilet too hard.

The calendar told me we were going to have a Waning Gibbous.Being the genius I am, I Googled it and then went into my 4^thgrader’s room, hoping to trick him into thinking I was brilliant.

Me: Hey, do you know what Waning Gibbous means?

Him: It’s what the moon looks like a few days after a fullmoon.

Me: Curses, foiled again.

Wondering if I was the only supposedly-smart adult whodidn’t know who (or what) Wane was, I found my husband reading The Professor’sBook of Really Big Words.

Me: Do you know what Waning Gibbous means?

Him: Nope.

I guess I’m smarter than a professor.

But we are not smarter than a 4^th grader.

Saving the World, One Laundry Basket at a Time

2012-01-23T09:50:00.003-07:00

Levi’s has a new style of denim called Water<Less. Which is fabulous. That’s how I wear my jeans.Without water.

Here's why: There’s a secret file deep within the FBI’s vault called Questioning Tactics too Ghastly to Use. Themethod goes something like this:

“If you don’t tell us what we want to know, we’ll put you inwatered-down denim.”

“No! Anything but that. I’ll spill the beans!”

Trust me. I know all about this kind of torture. When I wasa kid, I walked to school. Actually, when it was dark outside, it was more of ascurry. When it was hot, I shlumped instead.

On snowy days, I sat around in wet jeans for several hours afterwalking to school. My calculus teacher thought I had concentration issues. In realityit was Watered-Down Denim Syndrome.

It’s hard to focus on the Cylindrical Shell Method when yourLevi’s are rug-burning your legs. Peeling wet jeans off for P.E. could beconsidered a cruel and unusual punishment. Squeezing cantankerous legs back intothe same wet jeans is something school principals use to control unrulystudents, when the threat of detention doesn’t seem to cut it.

But these new “Water-less” jeans aren’t about torture. Or scurryingto school in the snow. Or even about calculus. It’s all about preserving theenvironment.

Apparently, making denim uses a lot of water. They have towater the cotton. They have to water the cotton pickers. They have to water thebrand-spanking new jeans to make them look like brand-spanking old jeans.

In a burst of genius, someone decided to use stones to washthe jeans, instead of H20. Even though they did this back in the 80’s, it tookthirty years to realize wearing 80’s jeans can save nearly two million litersof water. Peg-legging the 80’s jeans will leave even more of an impact on theplanet.

Levi’s has done their part, and now they want me to do mine.If I cut back on laundry, I can save over 8 million liters of water. Just thinkhow much I’ll conserve if I never do laundry again!

It’s nice to know I’m making the world a better place, onelaundry basket at a time.

The Life Cycle of a Non-Alien

2012-01-16T09:41:00.000-07:00

My five year old isn’t human.

If you call him that, he’ll deny it. Whenever it comes up innatural conversation (as the question of being human always does) he letseveryone know he’s not.

At the grocery store, he’ll say, “Look at that human overthere.”

The clerk scanning our gourmet canned chicken chunks willsmile and say, “Are you an alien?”

At the post office, he’ll say, “Why is that human taking solong?”

The guy in front of us buying Elvis stamps will raise aneyebrow and say, “Does that mean you’re an alien?”

During Sunday brunch with Elvis, my five year old will say,“Why does that human’s lip keep going up like that?”

And Elvis will touch his raised lip and say, “Now, don’t gotellin’ me you think you’re an alien. Everyone knows aliens aren’t real.”

It’s not that he has anything against humans. And there’snothing wrong with being an alien, either, if that’s your thing. They’re alldandy, in his book. But he’s not one of them.

According to my five year old, he’s “just a kid.”

This is how he explained the human life cycle to me theother night over our gourmet dinner of canned chicken chunks:

1. People start out as babies.

2. Then they become kids.

3. Then theybecome humans.

4. Then the humans have babies, who become kids, who becomehumans, then have more babies.

Out of curiosity, I asked when kids become human. Apparentlywe all go through The Change when we reach the ripe old age of 18.

Every time I look in the mirror, I see a human staring backat me, sneaky gray hairs and all. Secretly, I sometimes still feel like a teenager inside.So maybe I’m not quite human yet, either.

But don’t tell anyone. I don’t want Elvis to think I’m analien the next time he comes over for Sunday brunch.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, if that’s yourthing.

Don't Hire my Kids...

2012-01-11T06:43:00.000-07:00

They were trained by the best in the field during Grandpa Camp.

They learned how to gather intelligence, crack codes, and shadow bad guys.

They may look cute as spies, but don't hire them.

Here's the scoop.

My favorite dress went missing.

It was a dark and stormy night.

We moved across the country, and the dress disappeared.

Vanished. Vamoose. Hasta la Vista.

You get the picture.

So I hire these guys to find it.

They're cute as spies. I thought they could get the job done.

They were my only hope.

I said I'd pay them the big bucks, because the dress had sentimental value.

I needed to get it back.

They put on their dark glasses, hats, and shirts.

They pulled out their notebooks and magnifying glasses.

They searched for months.

Nothing.

The clues they found led them to believe, and I quote,

"A 16 year old guy came and took it, and now it's in Iraq."

I gave up.

The dress was gone.

I couldn't afford a ticket to Iraq.

This morning, I caught my husband holding my dress.

Turns out, it was in his sock drawer the whole time.

Turns out, you don't need to wear a lot of black socks

when you live in a swamp.

Those cute spies?

They're fired.

What’s more American than Pageants?

2012-01-09T07:02:00.000-07:00

The Miss America pageant is comingup on Saturday. If you’ve never heard of it, it’s a valuable national treasure,like rock and roll, peanut butter, toast and jam. Fifty-two brainy-yet-beautifulwomen in high heels and swimsuits will convince us about the importance ofworld peace while twirling batons and smiling.

In sixth grade, my dream was to beMiss America.I wanted to wave at admiring seventh grade boys from way up high on a flowery float,with a crown on my head and a sash hiding my flat chest.

But the every-day hardships offrizzy perms and food stuck in my braces made me forget my grand pageant dreamsuntil my senior year of high school, when a friend asked if I’d be in the localpageant with her.

“No way,” I said, hoping she’dinsist.

“Just come to the meeting,” shesaid.

She’d twisted my arm. What could Ido? I had to go.

So I stepped into city hall withmy mom, and a handful of brainy-yet-beautiful girls with their moms. We’d allknown each other since those frizzy perm days, so it was hard to size up thecompetition. Especially since some of us (me) still had those frizzy perms.

Our local queen breezed in wearinga crown. The swanky city council room lighting accentuated every fake diamondthat sparkled above her head. A dozen brainy-yet-beautiful girls began to droollike Pavlov’s dogs.

The director stood up andexplained the time commitments and cost involved with pageants. She said wecould sell ads and earn fifty percent of whatever we sold, to help off-set ourexpenses.

To inspire us, the current queen playedthe cello, motivated us about the importance of world peace, then came backinto the room wearing a fluffy white bathrobe – a gift from the state pageant.She proceeded to glide across the room in a swimsuit and high heels.

Forget the crown, I wanted thatbathrobe. If I had to glide across the room in high heels and a swimsuit toearn a bathrobe like that, I was in. Even though gliding in heels and swimsuitshad never been my strong point.

I was a brainy-yet-beautiful girl.I could learn.

In between learning the classypageant line dance, Achy Breaky Heart,I sold ads.

In between practicing mymotivational world peace speech and searching for a modest-yet-fashionableglittering gown, I sold ads.

In between ~~wobbling~~ glidingaround in my high heels and swimsuit, I sold ads.

When the Big Night arrived, Idanced the classy Achy Breaky Heart.

I ~~wobbled~~ glided around inmy high heels and swimsuit.

I motivated the audience about theimportance of world peace.

I showed off mymodest-yet-fashionable glittering gown with puffy sleeves that doubled as ahang glider.

They called my name. I steppedforward, glowing with happiness and pride as they handed me the award forselling the most ads. But for some reason they wouldn’t let me ride on thefloat in a fluffy white bathrobe and crown.

I’m beginning to wonder if itwould have been more time-efficient to head over to Kmart and purchase themmyself.

In honor of this valuable nationaltreasure happening on Saturday, I think I’ll treat myself to a fluffy whitebathrobe and crown, snuggle on my couch in style, nibble on peanut butter, andwatch 52 brainy-yet-beautiful women convince me about the importance of worldpeace.

You can’t get more American thanthat.

The Long Winded Road to Becoming a Part-Time Vegetarian

2012-01-05T08:07:00.001-07:00

I’m no Rachael Ray, but I can whipup a tasty meal. Most of the time.

Back when I lived in the Rocky Mountains, I made my fair share of gourmet frozenchicken pizza, and frozen chicken fried steak, and frozen chicken cordon blue.Of course, that was when I had a house with a big kitchen and central airconditioning. And a normal sized oven.

We made our big move to The Southin the first week in August. When we arrived at our apartment and stepped outof the car, someone threw a bucket of sweat all over us. I didn’t get to seewho it was because we were blinded by the perspiration dripping into our eyes.It was so hot, we were about to die. A pile of western people, hard-boiled inthe humidity. I could see the headlines flashing before my eyes.

Our big move gave me the uniqueopportunity of cooking in an Easy Bake Oven. Actually, that’s an insult to EasyBake Ovens. The apartment featured a quaint (that’s the Southern word for“small”) antique (Southern for “old”) gas oven.

My cookie sheet was lucky itdidn’t have to lose any weight to squeeze itself into the Easy Bake Oven. Itfit like a glove. A spandex glove.

Pilot Light Man came and lit ourEasy Bake Oven, and instantly I wanted to call him back and insist he turn itoff again. It had to be a trick, because that was not an oven. It was a heater. Cooking in the middle of the kitchen.In the middle of the Summer. All. The. Time.

Which is how I became a part-timevegetarian.

It’s hard to read recipes when youcan’t see past the waterfall of sweat flowing over your eyelashes, due to theEasy Bake Heater in the middle of the kitchen. And my family didn’t appreciatethe extra salt (Southern for “sweat”) in their gourmet frozen chicken potpies.

So instead, we ate things like raw cookies (which is different than raw cookie dough), raw bean tacos (which is differentthan raw Taco Bell tacos), and crazy gazpachos (which is different than a crazymuchacho). And my kids even asked for more.

Watch out Rachael Ray. Maybe thesenew-fangled cooking experiences will help me get my own cooking show one ofthese days. I can see it now:

Part-Time Vegetarianism with an Easy Bake Oven

Sounds like a hit.

A small pirate quiz (don’t worry, it’s open book)

2012-01-03T08:34:00.000-07:00

My family watched the ancient 1991 movie Hook the othernight. A scene stuck out that made me realize I’m noPeter Pan. I’m not even a Lost Boy. I’m a pirate. Here’s how I know:

Rufio skateboards toward PeterBanning, who forgot he used to be Peter Pan. Rufio jumps off the skateboard andswings on a vine. Peter says, “Oh, that is so dangerous!” Then Rufio pulls outPan’s sword.

PeterBanning: Okay,mister. Alright, show's over now. You put that thing away! No, put it downbefore you poke somebody's eye out.
[the Lost Boy all laugh at Peter]
Peter Banning: You're not old enough to shave! What are you doing with a sword. I'vebeen flying around - This is an insurance nightmare! What is this? Some sort ofthe "Lord of the Flies" pre-school? Where are your parents? Who's incharge here?
[the Lost Boys all point to Rufio]
Peter Banning: [in disbelief] No! No, Mr. Skunkhead with too much mousse. Youare just a punk kid. I want to speak to a grown-up!
Rufio:All grown-ups are pirates.
Peter Banning: Excuse me?
Rufio:We kill pirates.
Peter Banning: I'm not a pirate. It so happens, I am a lawyer.
Rufio:[with the rest of the Lost Boys pulling out their weapons] Kill thelawyer!
Peter Banning: [laughs nervously] I'm not that kind of lawyer!

Then the Lost Boys chase Peter around for a while, while heshouts about how they should be wearing helmets.

When I was in high school (back in those ancient pre-internet days) I watched this movie in the theater. I didn’t understand whatPeter’s problem was. He was excessively stuffy, shouting about helmets andinsurance and kids poking their eyes out.

But according tothe Lost Boys, I’ve now become a pirate. I’m the one shouting at my kids to puton their helmets. I’m the one telling them they’ll poke their eyes out whilerunning with sticks. I’ve become a grown-up. And it’s all because of insurance.Now I’m the one paying the medical bills every time someone in my family getshurt.

So, just in caseyou aren’t sure where you stand, here’s a small quiz to help you decide whetheryou’re a Lost Boy or a pirate.

1. When you see kidsdoing crazy stunts on skateboards while not wearing helmets, is your firstthought about how they might crash and need stitches? And whose insurance willpay for it?

2. When you see kidsclimbing on railings two stories off the ground, do you call out for them to becareful, because both you and the insurance company know kids can’t fly?

3. When you seekids sword fighting with sticks, do you think about how sticks and stones canbreak their bones, and how insurance won’t be the only one paying for it whenthey poke their eyes out?

If you said yesto one or more of these questions, you might be a pirate, too.

I felt a twingeof longing for my pre-pirate days when I realized I’d become a stuffy oldperson who worries about things like insurance, instead of having fun. Thosewere the good old days, back when I didn’t have a worry in the world except whymy secret crush was ignoring me, or how to keep pimples off my face. Insurancenever crossed my mind.

But then it hit me.Being a pirate isn’t so bad. If we were all still Lost Boys, there wouldn’t beany grown ups around to patch us up. Doctors wouldn’t exist, because they’dstill be kids, too. There would be a lot of missing eyeballs, crooked arms andlegs, and huge scars all over our heads from skateboarding without using ahelmet.

I think I preferthe world where Lost Boys grow up. The Aflac duck is much easier on the eyes.

Highlights of 2011

2011-12-30T13:24:00.000-07:00

My blog has only been alive and kicking for a year, but it's been quite the experience. I thought I'd share some of the highlights with you:

The most looked at post (apparently a lot of people around the world love the Yamada quote): she went out on a limb...

The post that had the most people emailing me thank you notes for: how to be a mom without misplacing yourself

The possible reason I started writing in the first place: a little story

The things I learned during my family's big move: ten fascinating facts about driving across america

The post about the biggest event in my life: from apprehension to awe: a birth story

The reason behind the title of my blog: first blog entry

The post that was passed around cyberspace the most: 8 uncomplicated steps to becoming utterly unforgettable

The thing I have to remind myself about when I'm trying to balance writing and being a mom: where did the years go?

The cool game I discovered, but have yet to play: confession...

It's been a great year, with thousands of people checking out these posts from all over the world. People stumbled onto my blog in varied and strange ways (including the search keyword plastic pacifiers, which I never discussed anywhere in this blog...), and I've made lots of new friends along the way.

Happy New Year, and thanks for sharing 2011 with me!

cyber punk scenery

2011-12-20T08:50:00.002-07:00

I'm a fan of fantasy and scifi, and so I got all excited when I saw these videos. If you haven't seen them, you should! the really cool part starts about 1:20 in.

&lt;p&gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/ifr&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Myr0xiODN7A" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&lt;/p&gt;

Here's another fun one. A giant pinball machine on the side of a building!

This one is awesome at about 4 minutes. I can see some of these buildings in my cyberpunk novel (the one that only has 30 pages left, but I just can't force my self to finish it for a fourth time...)

The Book Job...

2011-12-19T12:10:00.002-07:00

Even if you're not a fan of The Simpsons, this is an entertaining look at the publishing world.

technology trumps safety?

2011-12-16T06:34:00.000-07:00

One of the manuscripts I've been editing over the last year and a half is a cyber punk story about a world where people are too dependent on -- and distracted by -- technology. It's everywhere, taking over all aspects of their lives. Like all fictional stories, mine is more extreme than what's happening in real life, but it has also made me more aware of technology and what's happening in our world.

According to Harvard's World Health News, and the New York Times, doctors are often given the latest technology (including smart phones) in hopes of cutting down on medical error. So they can have instant access to patient data, drug information, and case studies. Not a bad thing. But...

After reading all sorts of books and articles on technology, I wasn't surprised by the statistics of this story.

"55 percent of technicians who monitor bypass machines acknowledged to researchers that they had talked on cellphones during heart surgery. Half said they had texted while in surgery. About 40 percent said they believed talking on the phone during surgery to be 'always an unsafe practice.' About half said the same about texting..."

You know those kids who've been plugged in since birth? The ones who've never experienced life before cell phones became a need instead of a want? The ones who've been taught that everything is instantaneous? Someday they'll be doing surgery on us. While texting their friends about what they want on their pizza.

I just hope they'll get me a slice of pepperoni while they're at it.

Is there an award for Mom of the Year out there?

2011-12-14T07:58:00.002-07:00

Someone should nominate me! Here’s my application essay:

Dear Judges of the Mom of the Year Contest,

I’m really good at taking care of my kids, as you can see from the following three examples.

When they tell me they are starving, I say, “If you were really starving, you’d be too weak to tell me about it.” My kids do what all tweens do and show me Wikipedia (where you can always find the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth…), which says, “early symptoms of starvation include impulsivity, irritability, hyperactivity and possibly submissiveness.”

Those are symptoms I've noticed in each of them since they were born, so maybe they really are starving.
However, I’ve found that if they’re hungry, they eat dinner much better than if they're already stuffed with chips and cookies. And when I give them healthy stuff (such as broccoli) to snack on while I cook, they think they're being sneaky, eating before dinner. So starvation isn't such a bad thing after all.

When they complain that they ran out of clean socks, I check their sibling’s drawers to find socks. If those drawers are empty, too, they get to wear my fancy woman-socks to school.

Then I consider teaching them to wash their own socks. You know the old Chinese proverb, “When you give a kid clean socks, he’ll just get them dirty again and need more clean socks. When you teach him to wash his own socks, it’s not your problem anymore.”
But I guess I need to wait until more of them can actually reach the buttons on the machines before this proverb can be fulfilled.

When my son complained for an entire year about his bad eyesight, I brushed it off because he’d already told me too many times how cool it would be to have glasses (and he really did say it with an italicized cool). I thought his so-called blurry vision was just a ploy to be cool.

But then last week the school nurse sent a note home that said he needed glasses.
And the eye doctor concurred. “He has 20/100 eyesight. He needs glasses,” the doctor said.
“Cool,” replied my son.
So he gets to look ever-so-cool in glasses now. And he’s going to like it, whether he likes it or not.

So as you can see, I’m probably one of the best moms on theplanet.

Thank you for your consideration for this esteemed award,

Gaylene

who put the ram in the ramma ramma ding dong?

2011-12-12T10:30:00.000-07:00

If someone wishes you “Happy Holidays” today, you might wantto ask, “Which one?”

Today is National Ding-a-Ling day. A holiday created justfor people like me.

Writers are notorious for being a bit scatter-brainy. Wehave so much on our minds – inventing fictional friends, going to imaginaryplaces, and accomplishing amazing feats of bravery in our own heads – wesometimes forget to feed our families, clean our houses, or make sure ourhusbands have enough black socks to wear to work. And then our husbands have towear our girly black socks, which barely fit on such manly feet.

One day I took my spaciness to a new level. I was knee-deep in another world, and I forgot I hada family at all.

(A demanding pounding sounds on the front door)

Me: Now who could that be, interrupting my imaginary world.

(considers ignoring rude people pounding on door, butinstead, crosses room and opens it up to two cold 4 year olds standing onporch, breath coming out in icy puffs)

4 year old: Mom! You forgot to pick me up from preschool!

Other 4 year old: Yeah, lady! I had to walk your kid home,but I’m just a kid, myself, if you haven’t noticed.

Me, looking at my son: Oh. Do you live here, too?

(Or maybe I just said sorry for forgetting, and then made hot chocolate. I’m such a ding-a-ling, I can’tremember.)

I’d like to say this only happened once. But then I’d bylying. I may invent stories where fake people go fake places and do fakethings, but I’m no liar.

If you have ever been an air head, or a scatter-brain, or a ditz, or even just a flibbertigibbit, you can buy yourself a Ding Dong, and join with me as I make a toastto all Ding-a-Lings in the world. If you've ever been odd, or crazy, or kooky, you can join in, too! This is a festive occasion for all.

And if someone wishes you "Happy Holidays" today, watch out. They might just be telling you exactly what they think of you!

Happy Holidays!

this tooth fairy quits

2011-12-07T08:51:00.001-07:00

My seven year old lost another tooth a few weeks ago. And the tooth fairy forgot to come. Again.

The first time this happened, she was really upset. But this time she didn't seem phased as she told me, "The tooth fairy didn't come."

Out of curiosity I asked, "Do you really believe a little fairy comes around collecting teeth and leaving money behind?" (Because, hey, if she doesn't believe it, let's not go through this charade!)

She rolled her eyes and said, "I know it's you mom."

My five year old son was sitting there, his eyebrows flew up in surprise. Poor kid hasn't lost a tooth yet, and his grand illusions of getting rich off the tooth fairy have already been crushed.

"What about the Easter Bunny?" I asked my daughter. "Does he really hop around leaving candy and eggs?"

"No. He's not real."

"What about Santa?"

With a serious expression, she said, "Yes. Santa is real."

Then she said I could just give her the money instead of waiting for the night to come around again, since last time I forgot to wake up. So I gave her a hand full of change and we called it good.

My five year old said he will take a turn being the tooth fairy next time someone looses a tooth--which is kind of funny considering he'll probably be the next toothless wonder at our house. He can play tooth fairy to himself.

It's okay that my brief days as a fairy are over. I never looked good in wings, anyway.

sneaking a peek at Santa

2011-12-05T08:49:00.001-07:00

Being a seven-year-oldis never easy.

Being a seven-year-old with major Santa doubts at Christmas isbrutal.

Asthe sparkly holiday made its grand appearance, I began to notice Santa everywhere.He was at the mall, the grocery store, even driving a car on the freeway. Howcould one man -- even a magical one -- be all over the place at the same time?

I sat on his lapat a church Christmas party and told him my wish for a new doll, despite my growingskepticism. A kid can never be too careful when it comes to presents.

But deepdown I knew it wasn’t really him.

The guy was wearing black sneakers instead of boots.

There were too many Fake Santas to count. Some had blue eyes, others had brown. Somebeards were shiny white, others were dingy yellow. Some were so heavy there wasbarely room for a kid to sit down, others seemed stuffed with pillows. I didn’t know how I had fallenfor their act so many years.

My mom said all ofthese people were Santa’s helpers, letting him know who was naughty and nice,telling him what kids wanted for Christmas. Soon, I began towonder about Santa’s toy factory. Did he really build name-brand toys at theNorth Pole? The exact same ones I saw in the stores? It didn’t make sense.

The yuletide doubts crept in.

By Christmas Eve Iwas convinced my parents were filling my stocking. My little brother stillbelieved in the jolly old man, so I kept my opinions to myself. Plus, I didn’twant to hurt my chances of receiving a few good presents, just in case my theorywas all wrong.

One night, afterwe were in our pajamas and the Nativity Story had been read, my dad said hewanted to take a walk. My older brother and I followed him out into the darkness and crunched through the snow, shivering in our pajamas and moonboots. We crossed the deserted, icy street and hid around the corner of ourneighbor’s house, right next to the water meter.

My dad didn’t tellus why we were there, or what we were looking for. We waited in silence, lookingup and down the empty streets, watching our breaths make little frozen cloudsevery time we blew out. An airplane flew overhead and my brother and I wonderedout loud if it the flashing red light could possibly be Rudolf’s nose.

Suddenly, threehouses down from ours, Santa Claus walked out of the front door and slowly madehis way to the next house. He had a list, and seemed to be checking it twice.His big black bag was slung over his shoulder and the bells on his bootsjangled lightly through the crisp, still air.

I watched him walkright into the next house, Ho-Ho-Ho-ing loudly. He would be at our house soon, and we weren’t in bed asleep, like good kids were supposed to be when Santacame. We ran across the street, tying not to slip on the ice, and hurriedinside our lit-up house. I wondered where he hid his reindeer and sleigh. Maybeit was parked on someone’s roof.

My brother and Itold my mom what we had seen, and she laughed, then said we had better go tobed. Suddenly the front door opened and in walked Old Saint Nick. My littlebrother was sitting on the top step of the staircase wearing only underpants, and he screamed in surprise.Santa asked us if we had been good kids, and told us he would come back laterwhen we were sleeping. After he closed the door, we scuttled around and rushed to our beds.

As I lay in thedarkness, trying to force myself to fall asleep after having such a hugeadventure, I realized it didn’t matter if Santa was real or not. The toys and treats in our stockings were fun, but it was the excitementand anticipation, the warmth and love that created the real magic of Christmas.

And I definitely believed in that.

cooking the books

2011-12-02T12:40:00.001-07:00

I enjoy cooking.

But I don't enjoy the part where you have to clean up and do all the dishes. Or the part where you have to chop the food, and measure the ingredients.

Now that I think about it, I guess I just enjoy the final product--the eating part--of cooking the most. And maybe the satisfaction of creating something worthwhile.

Last year my oldest son wanted a Harry Potter party, so I scoured the web for Honeydukes recipes. The kids' expressions were priceless as they stared at the bubbling butter beer, or ate the chocolate frogs. It was fun to have literary-inspired treats.

A librarian named Kat has a blog, called Kat Cooks the Books, where she does this all the time, not just for birthday parties. What a fun idea, to read a book and then eat a treat that goes along with it. Her 101 Dalmation brownies are nearly as cute as the dogs themselves, and probably taste better!

Another fun foodie-book blog is The Southern Culinary Book Club. They have readers post recipes inspired by stories they've read. Most of them aren't children's lit, but still pretty cool. Do you have any kid-lit inspired recipes you've tried?

discovering 1000 things that don't work

2011-11-24T05:29:00.001-07:00

lethargy, due to fear of failure...

I just found this fabulous article on our fear of failure in Psychology Today. I don't know that all the facts are true, but it's a feel-good story anyway. My favorite lines include these:

"Whenever we attempt to do something and fail, we end up doing something else or producing something else. You have not failed; you have produced some other result. The two most important questions to ask are: "What have I learned?" and "What have I done?""

" In his early years, teachers told Edison he was "too stupid to learn anything." Work was no better, as he was fired from his first two jobs for not being productive enough. Even as an inventor, Edison made 1,000 unsuccessful attempts at inventing the light bulb. One day, an assistant asked him why he didn't give up. After all, he failed over a thousand times. Edison replied that he had not failed once. He had discovered over 1000 things that don't work."

And finally, "Luckily, [Michael] Jordan didn't let this setback stop him from playing the game and he has stated, "I have missed more than 9,000 shots in my career. I have lost almost 300 games. On 26 occasions I have been entrusted to take the game winning shot, and I missed. I have failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed.""

When we change the way we view failure, it will eventually help us succeed. When someone rips apart my manuscript and points out every flaw, I want to shove it in a drawer and never write again. But several days (or sometimes months) later, I can pull it out again, and see how to improve it.

I haven't failed. I've become better, learned more, and pushed myself farther than I ever thought I could go. And I've discovered thousands of things that don't work along the way. That's a pretty great success!

YA Wednesday: Six Simple Steps to Meet (and be) a Keeper

2011-11-23T07:08:00.001-07:00

One of my biggest pet peeves of YA books is how often a girl sacrifices her time, energy, and personality to please a guy, who frankly isn't always worth keeping. To save you from becoming like those fictional characters, I'm including a few thingsto focus on instead of obsessing day and night about how to make someone fall madly in love with you:

1. Forget about yourself. When you sitaround obsessing about why you’re not meeting that perfect guy, you become lessattractive.Nobody wants to bearound someone who whines about hair, weight, or life in general.

Sittingaround your room listening to angry-girl music or sad country ballads whilefeeling sorry for yourself isn’t the way to happiness. There’s a much greaterchance of meeting someone when you go out with friends, and—now braceyourself for this—you might actually have a good time, with or without a guy.

2. Be the kind of person you are lookingfor. If you are looking for someone smart, he’s probably looking forsomeone who uses her brains, too. A guy worth hanging on to will not want aditz, but someone who they can share an interesting conversation with. Don’tpretend to be dopy just because someone is intimidated by brains.

Furthermore, afunny boy is going to get pretty drained hanging out with a downer he has tocheer up every time he sees her. And if you want someone who is kind, you mightfind an amazing guy is drawn to you when he sees you being thoughtful to others.

3. Oppositesmay attract, but similarities will keep the ground stable. So you are a good-girlwho happens to like a mysterious bad-boy. It may be exciting at first, but eventuallyone or both of you will want your significant other to conform to your ownvalues, attitudes or tastes.

Too many girlshave bragged to their friends, “He used to wear the ugliest cowboy boots and tight jeans when wefirst started dating. I showed him how to dress.” That’s great if he was lookingfor that change in his life. But if not, he’ll start to wonder if you wouldlike him even if he still wore his favorite old tight jeans and boots.

You don’t want aboyfriend who constantly tries changing youto fit their ideal, and neither do guys. If you feel you need to change him,let him go find someone who can appreciate what you can’t.

4. Geeks can be hidden gems. Take a lookaround at the boys who aren’t on the Most Wanted list. Many of them are witty gentlemenwho know how to treat a girl like a queen. And often, when you find inner-beauty,the outside follows. Pimples don’t last forever, and neither do rock-hardmuscles. When you look at your yearbook in ten years, you will wonder why youdidn’t pay more attention to those cute, nice guys.

5. Don’t dwell on the past. Guys don’twant to hear about ex-boyfriend issues, and they especially do not want to listento guy-bashing. It will make them wonder what you are going to say about themwhen they aren’t around. Plus, it’s just not flattering.

Take what you’ve learnedfrom past relationships, whether good or bad, and move on. It’s okay to wallowin the past for a few weeks after you break-up with someone, but realize thereis life after high school.

If you look at thebig picture, there are many refreshing years ahead that will be filled with tonsof interesting guys you are going to have the chance to meet, learn from, andmaybe even fall in love with.

6. Get a hobby. Or a job. Or aservice-project. It’s easiest to meet someone who’s compatible with you at aplace where you will have similar interests or values. When you concernyourself with things you sincerely enjoy doing, you become more attractive,radiating “life” and excitement.

Not only will yoube more appealing to guys, but you’ll actually become more interesting toyourself. If you fill your time with community theater, sports, or whatever yourinterest is, you will probably find that you enjoy life whether there’s a guyin the picture or not. Think of a keeper-boyfriend as a cherry on top of agreat big bowl of ice cream—not essential, but definitely a fun little bonus.

is a pfeffernusse from Dr. Seuss?

2011-11-15T11:48:00.001-07:00

Several years ago I wrote a middle grade novel about a girl and her grandma. I wanted them to make cookies together, so I searched until I found a cool-sounding treat. Pfeffernusse. I'd never heard of it before, but they sounded tasty and had the best name.

Today at the grocery store I was walking past the baked goods, when what to my wondering eyes did appear? A powdery, white, round pfeffernusse cookie! Well, actually, a container of them. Of course I had to try the cookie I'd included in my story so long ago. I'm a fan of spices, so I thought they were delicious.

Here's a recipe, so you can experience pfeffernusse, too. And no, Dr. Seuss was not involved in the naming of these cookies...

Pfeffernusse Cookies
from allrecipes.com

INGREDIENTS:

1/2 cup molasses

1/4 cup honey

1/4 cup shortening

1/4 cup margarine

2 eggs

4 cups all-purpose flour

3/4 cup white sugar

1/2 cup brown sugar

1 1/2 teaspoons ground cardamom

1 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1 teaspoon ground cloves

1 teaspoon ground ginger

2 teaspoons anise extract

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda

1 teaspoon ground black pepper

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 cup confectioners' sugar for dusting

DIRECTIONS:

1.	Stir together the molasses, honey, shortening, and margarine in a saucepan over medium heat; cook and stir until creamy. Remove from heat and allow to cool to room temperature. Stir in the eggs.
2.	Combine the flour, white sugar, brown sugar, cardamom, nutmeg, cloves, ginger, anise, cinnamon, baking soda, pepper, and salt in a large bowl. Add the molasses mixture and stir until thoroughly combines. Refrigerate at least 2 hours.
3.	Preheat oven to 325 degrees F (165 degrees C). Roll the dough into acorn-sized balls. Arrange on baking sheets, spacing at least 1 inch apart.
4.	Bake in preheated oven 10 to 15 minutes. Move to a rack to cool. Dust cooled cookies with confectioners' sugar.

SciFi Friday--everyone could use a PETMAN

2011-11-04T07:14:00.001-06:00

BostonDynamics' mission is "to build the most advanced robots on Earth, with remarkable mobility, agility, dexterity and speed." This PETMAN does all of those things. It was made to test clothing to protect soldiers from chemical warfare. It even sweats, when necessary, to test out the most life-like circumstances.

Think of all the other useful things a robot like this could do. It could pick up your teenagers when they stay out past curfew. It could deal with bullies at school. It could walk the dog (I hear the company even makes a BigDog that doesn't shed or make a mess...).

I need to get a PETMAN of my own, to do all that nasty grocery shopping for me.
Okay, if it insists, I'll let it cook and clean, too. I'm not going to argue with a Robot.

happy picture book month!

2011-11-02T09:12:00.000-06:00

I love picture books. I've probably mentioned this before, but I have a shelf of picture books that belong only to me. It's like fine china in other households -- the kids can look at them as long as they are white-glove, hospital-mask careful (okay, not really. But almost.). They have their own shelves of books, but these ones are mine.

This is a post by one of my favorite authors, Rick Walton (this link leads you to one of my favorite books he wrote, Suddenly Alligator). He granted permission for me to use it here:

It is picture book month. And so, I am required bylaw, as an official author of picture books, to climb on top of my soapbox andexplain:

Why Picture Books AreImportant,
And Why They Are forEveryone

Picture books are often seen as literary baby food,the stuff we feed children until they have the teeth to eat real food.

I would argue, however, that picture books are notbaby food. They are not just for young children.

In fact, I would argue that picture books areperhaps the most important literary format that we have.

Here are 10 reasons why I believe this:

1. They are the first books that children fall inlove with, that turn children into lifetime readers. Lifetime readers becomelifetime learners. Lifetime learners become lifetime contributors.

2. Picture book language is often moresophisticated than the first chapter books that children read, and therefore anexcellent way for children to learn language. It is here that children, andothers, can learn vocabulary, imagery, rhythm, shape, structure, conciseness,emotional power.

3. The picture book is the most flexible of allliterary formats. You can do almost anything in a picture book. Thisflexibility encourages creativity, in both writer and reader. It broadens themind, and the imagination. And given today's challenges, we desperately needmore creativity, broadened minds. Imagination.

4. The picture book, with its interaction betweentext and illustration , with its appeal that the reader analyze thatinteraction, helps develop visual intelligence. It helps us look for meaning inthe visual. And since most of us are surrounded by, and inundated by visualimages our whole lives, visual intelligence is an important skill.

5. Some of the best art being created today isfound in picture books. Picture books are a great resource for art education.

6. The picture book appeals to more learning stylesthan any other format. It is read out loud for audible learners. It is writtenand illustrated for visual learners. It often asks you to interact with itphysically for kinesthetic learners.

7. In fact, the picture book, of all formats, isprobably the best format for teaching an idea, getting across a point. Becausepicture books are short, all messages, knowledge, ideas expressed in a picturebook must be boiled down to their essence. They must be presented in a way thatis impossible to misunderstand. If you want to learn a difficult subject, startwith a picture book. If you want to express a powerful message, a picture bookis one of the most powerful media for doing so. Many middle, upper grade, andeven college instructors have recognized the value of using picture books intheir teaching.

8. The picture book does more than any otherliterary format for bonding people one with another. As a child sits on a lapand is read to, as a parent, a grand parent, a teacher, a librarian reads to achild, extremely important connections are made, bonds are formed, generationsare brought together.

9. The picture book also has the broadest possibleage range of audience. Few four-year-olds will appreciate a novel. But manygrandparents enjoy a good picture book. I have read picture books for upwardsof an hour to groups including toddlers, teens, parents and grandparents, whereall were engaged.

10. The picture book is short, and can fit easilyinto the nooks and crannies of our lives. Five minutes here, 10 minutes there,plenty of time for a complete literary experience.

Picture books are poetry, adventure, imagination,language, interaction, precision, and so much more.

Picture books are not books that children should beencouraged to "graduate" from.

For picture books have something important to say,to give, to all ages, all generations.

Picture books are not just books for youngchildren.

They are books for everybody.