We may or may not be embracing our personal energy

I'm new to social networking and social media. New to blogging. All of it. From an outsider's perspective, it's one giant fascinating ball of wax. Like sitting at the foot of a table watching a cross-section of society play Monopoly and fight over who gets the thimble while others scramble for a seat. Here's what I've observed over the last couple of days, and my pointless ruminations and blather about it all, contained in the form of a series of run-on sentences and inappropriately placed commas, sure to set Holly Jahangiri's frontal vein a'bulging.

• Sometimes people create lists that contain mentions of other people. Those mentioned on the lists are happy, but those not mentioned are hurt and often feel betrayed. Why then do people devise such lists? And why do people continue to care about them? Why are people who create such lists often catapaulted to the top of social networking strata if they aren't already there? For the same reason Rob and Amber were so successful on Survivor. They were leaders, and others thought them untouchable. Also, because in the world of social networking people rely on other people to spread the word about them, and to make introductions. To get a nod of approval from a big cheese in the world of social networking can send flocks of followers one's way. Why is this a good thing? Exposure. To promote your brand. And for some, to quote the big N.D.:
  "But I got an emptiness deep inside
  And I've tried
  But it won't let me go
  And I'm not a man who likes to swear
  But I never cared
  For the sound of being alone'"
  


• There is a lot of resistance out there to positivity. There are a lot of life coaches on Twitter and Facebook. A lot of people telling other people how to use Twitter and Facebook. How to present themselves. How to express themselves. How to "be". There are people making a living this way. I don't mind them myself. For the most part, they are a harmless bunch. And is it really such a bad thing to be around people who encourage us to stop wallowing in our own muck and self-pity, embrace our energy and our personal power and just GO FOR IT? I suppose it is if you're not the go for it type. Some would do well to drop their wall of jokes and listen to what they have to say. Being happy is okay. Happiness and positivity are not tantamount to idiocracy. But all people weren't meant to be energetic and perky. Just because one is low key and expresses him or herself with a quiet and sardonic wit or a dark seriousness does not mean they are not embracing their energy. Some dance to the beat of a different drummer. Any attempt to alter them is, in my opinion, a crime against nature.


• There are posers among us. Or poseurs. Or possers. Depends on the observer calling out the poser. What is a poser you ask? I have no idea. If you know, please tell me. I am so out of the loop. But posers or poseurs or poosers are apparently supposed to be blackballed on one's Twitter, or Friend Feed, and we're not supposed to Digg posers. Don't even think about Friending them on Facebook. Why? Apparently posing is anti-social. Unless it's in a cute hat.


• We may or we may not be dillweeds. If we tell other people what to do, it's likely that we are dillweeds. I'm starting to suspect that being a dillweed is not a good thing. I'm starting to suspect that I may even be a dillweed. Some people don't get the tongue-in-cheekness of my "How to be a Woman" blog title, and think that I am positioning myself as an authority. To anyone who actually reads my blog, this is laughable and couldn't be farther from the truth. The whole point of this blog is that I haven't a clue how to be a real woman. I am an apprentice. I'm on the path, not the path. I admit that I am a big jerk who is flailing around, trying to learn how to be happy, how to be strong and steady and do right by the family I love. I'm going to get there somday. And I'm perfectly alright with being a dillweed. I like pickles better than cukes anyway.


• Twitter is addicting. There are so many fascinating people out there. I really, truly mean that. They're out there, and they are actually willing to communicate with you. There are talented artists, writers, singers, comedians, business moguls, you name it, right there on your Twitter screen. Right there at your fingertips. Where else are you going to be presented with the opportunity to communicate with such incredible people first-hand? At this point, I would argue nowhere. Not like this. Not this instantly gratifying. And if you're nice to them, they have to be nice to you. Heh. Because if the rest of their followers should witness them being a jerk to you without provocation, then they're likely to hear about it. You've got them over a barrel. Ain't it cool? Note to self: Do not become obsessed with losing followers. Those who matter don't mind, and those who mind don't matter. (Thanks, Annette.) Just be yourself, have a blast, and let the chips fall where they may. Note to self: Spend less time on Twitter and more time with your kids and your projects. Note to self: A little Tweeting is perfectly okay.

Signing off,
Dillweed in California

Women know that stuff is just stuff

The Bitter Half just brought me the latest (12/22/08) issue of Newsweek and pointed out Anna Quindlen's latest "The Last Word" editorial called "Stuff is Not Salvation". He knows that I feel the same way and was thinking that I might want to blog about it. Am I a lucky woman or what? Thanks, Mr. Snugglepants.

"The drumbeat that accompanied Black Friday this year was that the numbers had to redeem us, that if enough money was spent by shoppers it would indicate that things were not so bad after all. But what the economy required was at odds with a necessary epiphany. Because things are dire, many people have become hesitant to spend money on trifles. And in the process they began to realize that it's all trifles."

"... he covets. That's his nature. And how do we begin to covet, Clarice? Do we week out things to covet? ... We begin by coveting what we see every day ... don't your eyes seek out the things you want?"

There you have it. We are in the midst of a period of enlightenment. Due to economic necessity and the cyclical nature of things, more and more of us are starting to "get" the mentality of the generations of Americans that came before us. Credit is evil (think Lindsey Lohan). Idle hands do the devil's work (think Lindsey Lohan). Less is more (think Lindsey Lohan). Self-indulgence is wrong (think Lindsey Lohan). Waste not, want not (think - okay, you get it).

We're beginning to feel a little foolish and to wonder how and why we ever consumed so conspicuously. When I was making a lot of money and had few expenses, I used to go shopping all the time. Malls, discount stores, boutiques. When I wasn't out shopping, I was in shopping on eBay and Amazon. I saved nothing. And you know what? I can't think of one thing I purchased during that period that I still have today, that I still use or value. Not one thing. I've moved a few times, so what wasn't loved or useful went to charity or friends. What a sobering thought. Nothing that I purchased was loved or useful. It was a massive, pathetic, orgy of waste. None of my purchases filled the deepening hole inside me for longer than an instant. One might even speculate that they added fuel to my fire. I picture myself back then and see flashes of credit cards, last minute eBay sniping, back rooms piling with stuff. Sitting in the dark buying more and more, lonely and wasted like a flaming oil field off in the distance.

I wasn't trying to be better than anyone else by amassing so many useless things. I was shooting for par. I thought if I wore the right suit, had the right jewelry, the right shoes with no scuffs, the right fake highlighted hair, the right fake nails, and a good enough fake tan to hide the fullness in my thighs that I could sit down with the rest of you and not feel ashamed and unworthy. It was a losing battle when fought with things. A battle that was better fought by loving so deeply that everything around me melted and fell away until all that existed was love. Children can do that for a person.

How can we further quell our desire to amass? To keep up with the Joneses? The problem is complex, and I don't think there is one answer. I'm one of the worst offenders myself and need some re-schoolin'. But we can start by working together and walking the talk. Why is it so important to work together? To quote Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs (yeah yeah I know, just hear me out lol):

"... he covets. That's his nature. And how do we begin to covet, Clarice? Do we week out things to covet? ... We begin by coveting what we see every day ... don't your eyes seek out the things you want?"

We watch television. HGTV to be specific. And we see twenty year olds buying massive, gorgeous first homes. We see all manner of people remodeling and "upgrading" their homes, ridding themselves of counter tops that aren't cookie-cutter granite, throwing out anything that does not fit the current and very specific ideal. We see real estate appraisers curling their lips with disgust and pointing and gasping and telling us that our homes, which look so much like those in the "before" scenes, are all wrong and even pitiable, that they simply must be changed and be changed NOW. We feel shame.

We watch The Food Network and see Giada, a professional chef who is a size negative zero, whose curiously large head is always perfectly coiffed, her upgraded nose and cleavage gleaming with perfection. Out of the corners of our eyes we catch our husbands innocently gazing at the television and we feel inferior. Everything about us is wrong. Don't our husbands deserve better? Time for an expensive gym membership. Better run out and buy new cooking gadgets, the most expensive virgin olive oils and serving platters, and lots of hair spray. Aren't the men we love worth it?

We are flooded with images of gadgets and wazoozles. Images that bend us and twist us and fill us with a hunger for things. Because only these things, these very specific new things, will allow us to express ourselves and present ourselves in the desired manner, to create the lifestyle and feel of home that we desire. Only these things will make our children feel loved, our husbands valued and appreciated, only what that guy has will do for them. They see it, they want it, they must have it or I will have failed them. They are so wonderful they deserve only the best.

Time to rip the needle off the record, ladies. As long as we keep buying what they're selling they're going to keep dishing it out. Time to stop letting people with a vested interest in making us feel shame and less than we really are dictate our realities. I don't pretend to know the right way to proceed. For each of us it will be different. But I think a good place to start is by giving ourselves some breathing room. Time to take an inventory of our lives. Get rid of people and things that are not necessary, sentimental or useful. Think ten times before making a purchase. And if we really do need something, let's see if we can repurpose an item we already own, or find it used at a thrift store, or buy it used on Craig's List from a family who could really use the money, or handmade from a stay at home Mom.

And one more request: Please stop buying your kid those $200 designer jeans. She doesn't need them to be loved and accepted. By buying them for her you just might be feeding into her suspicion that she does. And if your daughter is wearing them, then my daughter just might see them and want them because she will want Jordan or Brent to think she's pretty too. And it will never end.

Women seek the greatest gifts

There are some days when the words just won't come. I stare at the screen wishing I could imprint my emotions upon it. But since I can't do that, which is probably for the best, I'm going to post a quote sent to me a couple of weeks ago by somebody special. (to the right)

"This Christmas, mend a quarrel. Seek out a forgotten friend. Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a letter. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Manifest your loyalty in word and deed. Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Try to understand. Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else. Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more. Express your gratitude. Welcome a stranger. Gladden the heart of a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. Speak your love and then speak it again."

~~~Howard W. Hunter

To my family—my nutty, wonderful, wacky family—I love you all so much. I am grateful to God for placing you near me down here on Earth. I shudder to think how I would have survived had I been set down in a wicked or unkind pasture. I know that many of you were and that you've managed to survive so that your gifts and your sweet souls may bring comfort, joy and inspiration to the lives and hearts of others. Please don't make the mistake of thinking that the magic and the hope and the promise of the best of life has passed you by.

To a dear old friend, thank you for your honesty and for taking that baby step.

Look and see how many beautiful flowers emerged from that bed of manure.

Women love Chrissy! (And Stinkerbell Accessories)

Stinkerbell Accessories designer Chrissy Gaynor and her beautiful family

I met my friend Chrissy at our iVillage expecting club back in 2006. She was carrying her youngest, Grace, and I had little Joe Joe swimming around in my belly. Chrissy is one of those people who is just cool. She's fun, drama-free, and friendly to everyone. When the fur was flying over there and hormones were raging because we were all ten months pregnant and ran out of pop tarts on the same day, Chrissy would come in with a "What the H*ll is going on here?" type of post and bring everybody back down to Earth. She's the real deal.

Chrissy has been a stay at home Mom extraordinaire for as long as I've known her. So when she told me she'd found something that she enjoyed and was good at, (besides oh I don't know, keeping her husband Pat happy, having and raising beautiful children, keeping a home, watching a friend's child and looking sickeningly good in a bikini), I was well and truly happy for her. She wanted to send me some headbands and only wanted me to pass out a card or two when people asked about them. I told her not to, because I didn't want her to suffer the expense, but she insisted. And I'm so glad she did!



Lily, who is almost six months old, just loved our photo session. She didn't get irritated the way she usually does when, God forbid, I try to put a cute hat or headband on her. In the pic up above, she is wearing the Carina.



Here she is sporting a new model similar to the Audrey found on Chrissy's pink page.



"Aren't I beeyootiful?" she seems to say as she mugs for the camera.



The headband is crocheted out of soft, satiny fabric. It stretches and fits like a charm, even on my baby daughter's head, but isn't too tight. Some headbands leave a red mark on her head, and when they do that they get tossed into the trash! Not Stinkerbell Accessories, though. They look great on older girls as well, as you can see in the photos of the flower headbands modeled by Chrissy's lovely daughter Grace and beautiful stepdaughter Jessica, both of whom are so special to Chrissy. I know because I've heard her brag about them for years. She has a very handsome young son named Brett as well, who I know appreciates not being asked to model a headband for posterity's sake.

From the About Us section of Stinkerbell Accessories:

Designer Chrissy Gaynor uses the daily inspirations she receives through the joy of raising her children, and interpreting their love of nature into hair accessories. She feels that the right accessory can not only change the entire look of an outfit, but can also transform the way one feels about herself. Whether these items are used casually, for fun, or for formal use, we hope that our accessories make each little girl feel as special as she truly is.

Go, Chrissy!

Stinkerbell Accessories
Chrissy Gaynor
(847) 383-5430
www.stinkerbellaccessories.com
stinkerbellaccessories@yahoo.com

Women sometimes have baby birthday meltdowns

It's Joe Joe's birthday. See? I can barely type that. I had a meltdown yesterday. Yes, it's true. Calm, cool, collected moi melted down like an ice cream cat cake on a hot tin roof. (Hey, I didn't sleep last night so it's the best I could come up with.) Other factors played into it of course, but when I started warbling about my son and his birfday mid-meltdown I knew I was in the throes of baby birthday angst.

It happened last year, too. Out of the blue I was sobbing and snapping at my family for not getting their butts out of their rooms to wish Joe a proper birthday. For not getting excited about watching Joe open his present. For not caring. For not feeling the magnitude of the magnocity of this day. Now did they care? Probably. Did that stop me from snapping like a twig? Nope. I didn't see it coming and was not prepared for it. My baby. ONE YEAR OLD. Joe Joe's birth was at that point the most significant event of my life. My love for my little Joseph Hunter brought me to my knees and made me feel fearful and powerless. I held my heart in my arms and looked down at him and told him that my life no longer belonged to me, that it belonged to him. I know now that that was a silly thing to say, but it's the way I felt at the time. I love him so much it rips me up inside.

Now he is TWO YEARS OLD. My baby boy. My beautiful, bright, curious and silly boy. My boy who will put Lily's binky back in her mouth after she drops it, then rock her in her bouncy chair. The boy who will hug for no reason, but not on command. The boy who sometimes refuses to look at you when you're talking to him but who takes in everything you say, as well as what you don't say. He is so sensitive, I just want to hold him and love him and keep the world at bay with curses and a torch. I know what's out there.

I'm going to go now and leave you with a poem that expresses how I feel. I'm crying again and all poofy and wet and I want to get myself together so I can be cheerful when Joe wakes up.

The Vow
By Carol Lynn Pearson

How could I hide you
From hate?
I would,
Though my arms break
With the trying.

Life leans in
At the window there,
With its bag
Of dark treasures
Trying for your eyes—
So utterly open,
so unaware.

You will see
Men smile over blood,
And you will know
There is hate.
You may see bombs
And butcheries,
And you will know
There is horror.

Against all this
What can I do?
Only vow
That before you
Leave my arms,
You will know
Past ever doubting
That there is
Love, too.

I love you Joseph Hunter.

Women just shake their heads

I'm not professing to be a brain child, nor am I any good at politickin'. But come on folks. What is up lately?

1. We've got the Governor of Illinois acting like he's suffering from Mad Cow disease. To his credit, at least he actually overtly looks and acts like a sociopath so we can pluck him out of our system, strap him to a raft, and point him in the direction of a waterfall. Unfortunately, since our political system is set up to reward shady back-door dealings, (as opposed to back-door dealings that are on the up and up), and since public policy is bought and sold, he's just a bleeding ulcer on a spetic system. What kind of nut wants to hold public office anyway? Why would anybody want such a thing for themselves and their family? What kind of person has the kind of spotless background it takes to get elected? The kind of person who isn't human. If you haven't made a lot of mistakes and learned from them, how can you be a wise leader? Our system is broken. Why do we allow lobbyists? Why is that even legal? What, it's okay for people to buy legislation? I don't remember voting on that one. Oh, and do you mean to tell us that nobody was aware of this nutcase and his dirty dealings before the 2008 Presidential Election? I don't appreciate having this type of information hidden from me in order to help shuffle a particular candidate into public office. That stinks worse than government cheese. We should have been informed so that we could make a better informed decision. Boo! Hiss!


2. What is up with ball players? First Plaxico's shooting himself in the thigh in a night club and now TO's at it again. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth the way these ball players are groomed from childhood to throw and catch and run, the way they have sweet smoke blown up their bottoms by everyone they encounter. The way they're bought and paid for and sold and re-sold like human chattel. The way we put up with all manner of crap from them because if you can catch a ball and run with it you can get away with rape and murder. I've had enough of bling bling and gun-toting and self-aggrandizing tough talk. I'd like to see a little more passion for the game, fair play, respect for players, coaches and fans. What about the little kids who look up to these guys and emulate their every move? We know this, but yet we turn the other way. Why? Is it so crazy to make these athletes sign morality clauses and make them stick to them? You mess up, then buh-bye!


3. Why is my shower never the correct temperature? It's always either too hot or too cold. Here's my showoral procedure. I turn on the hot knob and allow the water to go from cold to hot. Then I turn on the cold knob and try to net myself a stream of warmth. It's always still too hot, so I do the right thing to save water. Instead of turning up the cold knob, I turn down the hot. Does this work? No. It never works. Why not? I have no clue. It's always too hot or too cold. I can never ever find the sweet spot. Who cares, you say? I like hot showers you say. I turn them on my lower back and groan with pleasure. I'm with you on that. The rub is that I'm still nursing Lily and if water that hot gets within six inches of one of my boobs then letdown starts and I dribble milk all over myself and my towels when trying unsuccessfully to dry myself into a clean and unsticky state.

There's more, but I don't want to bitch too much all at once. God lets me do it in bits and pieces. If I go too far he starts to think of me as unappreciative of the blessings set before me, and a fool for focusing on things that don't really matter. Time to hug the babies, visit my Mom, and then come home and wait for my husband to arrive home safely. Ain't it cool? Have a good weekend!

P.S. Please pray for my friend Nicole. She and Eric will be married soon, and then he is off to Afghanistan for a year or so. Also, please pray for Nicole's best friend and his family. Her best friend was recently paralyzed in an accident right before his wedding. Light a candle for his recovery and remember that every day your family is around to irritate you is another blessing-filled day. Not that my family irritates me. More likely, it's the other way around. But I digress. Off to the races! Be well!

Women like Candy

I heard it today. "Candy" by Cameo. Each and every time I hear this song my mouth draws open in amazement. I raise my hands and shake my head and open my ears as wide as they will go, and just take in the sheer mastery and horror that is Larry Blackmon's voice, and the symphony of Godawfulness that is the song's lyrics.

I have a burrito theory. Let's suspend reality for a moment and imagine a situation or thing as a tortilla. One one end of the tortilla is blood-curdling badness like Rosie O'Donnell or John Basedow. On the other end is pure goodness like a baby kissing a chipmunk. Now wrap that tortilla up like a burrito. The two ends overlap and touch to become one entity. In this sweet spot you will find things so horrid they become terrific, and so terrific they become horrific. In this sweet spot you will find Larry Blackmon's vocal stylings. In this sweet spot you will find "Candy".

Here. Let me share the lyrics. To enable you to better comprehend my burrito theory, I've included my notes.

Artist: Cameo ~ Song: Candy

It's like candy
I can feel it when you walk What, Candy? You can feel candy?
Even when you talk it takes over me
You're so dandy
I wanna know
Can you feel it too just like I do (What, an impending intestinal malfunction? Why yes Larry. Yes I do.)

(hoo!) <-?!?!?!?!?!?

This stuff is starting now
It's the same feeling
I always seem to get around you
There's no mistaking; I'm clearly taken
By the simple mere thought of you

(oh!) What, this stanza isn't "hoo!" worthy?


This stuff is starting now
This stuff is starting now
This stuff is starting now What stuff? What stuff? What stuff? What are you talking about??


(hoo!) Oh good, it's back.


My eyes roll in my head Ew.
I toss and turn in my bed Ew.
In the morning when I think about you

(yes I do) You'd better not.


Simply put, you're the reason why Why what?
Even though I'm real shy Clearly.

(real shy)

I attempt to look my best for you Women love codpieces, so you're on the right track.


(indeed I do - just for you)

Cause you affect me, fascinate me
I thank heaven for the things that you do (for the things that you do)
It's like candy
You sure are sweet - Sweet!
You're so dandy
You're taking my appetite - but it's all right You don't mean that. You just said it because it rhymes.


It's like candy Again with the candy.


(ooh, vanilla! oh, chocolate!) Vanilla candy?


You look real nice, wrapped up tight
You're so dandy
(in the night, if I have a little bit more like that) Huh? Like what? Little bit of what? Why at night?
You're giving me a heart attack I'm sorry!
It's the kind I like Oh, you like the heart attack. My bad.


It's like candy, you're so dandy...

(Why you do - why you do - baby)

You're like a brand new feeling (feeling)
In a special way What kind of man says special???
A surprise package
On a bright clear sunny day (you're so dandy)
And wrapped up tight

(so good - so good)

Strawberry! raspberry!
All those good flavors!
Violets and gumdrops
That's what you're saying to me I'm saying that? I"m sorry. I must be losing my mind. Violet isn't even a flavor, it's a color.


(ow!) You okay?


(sweet candy - candy)
It's like candy
Sure seems like good candy oh baby!

You're so dandy
Just keep doing what you do

you know what i mean
baby
it's like candy ohhhhhh
your so tender sweet candy
your like your like ohhhhhh

its like candy
fades

ETA: For Andrea, who's never before had the pleasure, here's Cameo on Arsenio Hall:



Can you think of any other songs of this caliber?

Women need sleep

My Lilyfus, who sleeps in a cradle next to my side of the bed, did it again. Woke up all cute and perky way too early this morning. She was actually cooing and dare I say frolicking? Yes, it is possible to frolick in a cradle. After fumbling around with my outstretched arm trying to locate her Godforsaken binky, and failing miserably, I {groan} lifted myself up on my elbow for a better look and accidentally locked eyes with her. That, of course, means that the ball game is over. She's got me now. She knows I'm awake and there and is convinced that I'm trying to engage her in a game of peek-a-boo. So I did what any good Mother would do. I scooped her into bed next to me and plopped a boob into her mouth to quiet her so she didn't wake up The Bitter Half. Her little feet were cold. How did her feet get cold? She has a lovely little pink baby afghan (with lots of holes) wrapped around them. Hmm. I put them on my belly to warm them and rubbed her little toesies. Yeow! She fed just long enough to preclude the possibility of me falling back to sleep, then passed out. I lovingly placed her back into her cradle and stared at her for about five minutes, then got up.

I figured since I'm up I might as well cook some eggs for The Bitter Half. Men like nothing more than to be an afterthought. So I put a pan on the oven, cut up some onions, and turned on the burner. Then I realized I should probably get the eggs out. It kind of went on from there. I started lighting candles in the kitchen and living room. I don't know why. It just seemed cozy.

I checked email and Facebook and Twitter and MySpace and thought about writing a blog post, then decided that I was way too brain dead to attempt it. I did that once, you know. Wrote a blog post when I thought I was sleeping but I was really not awake but was typing anyway like with my hands in the air, and then when I woke up the next day I saw I'd been rambling publicly about Mari Smith and Robert Scoble and she'd actually been here to post and I hadn't a clue what to say to her I was so excited. Kind of reminded me of my drinking days. Ahh, my drinking days.

I had one Diet Coke left. I need two to get going. I should probably switch to coffee, but it just seems so complicated. I can't drink it straight. I need some of that fancy vanilla creamer stuff. But then I worry about that adding too much fat. And I don't know if it's better to buy the fat-free version because I keep reading about how fat-free stuff has so much sugar added. And I'm wondering about sugar and fat and thinking I just know the creamer will be expired when I need it, so why set yourself up for that kind of disappointment. I mean, that's practially begging for it don't you think. Ooh doggie I'm tired. Why does it smell like maple black cherry in here? Oh yes, the candles.

Ohhh myyy Gooooddd, it's 8am. EIGHT AY EM! Joe will probably be awake - should have been awake much earlier than this. I usually get him up as I'm getting out of bed, but since I was awake earlier I thought I'd let him sleep in for a bit while I cooked up an onion.

Yawn.

I need a picture for this post. Do I attempt it? Photobucket Photobucket. Photobucket rhymes with OOPS. I wonder if I have anything suitable. I don't want to have to go and find a snoozy simley or something so expected and pedestrian because what will people think of me if I go and do something like that. That's just. Oh wait! Hmm... maybe I'll post Tyler Durden again, people seem to like him. I mean what's not to like, he's kind of an everyman boy next door type of guy. But no, wait. What about my mego Klingon, the one that was unpunched but got punched during a move oh drat that made me so sad. Or maybe this freaked out cow. Freaked out cow always cracks me up, he's like "errr?" lol. Oh boy.

Sigh.

Better get some sleep. I need to post to my blog today. Oh yeah.

Women do unto others as they'd have done unto them

Thanksgiving has me thinking about my fellow man. (Man of course meaning mankind, not the man fellow next to me). I'm not the biggest humanitarian you'll ever encounter. Sometimes, usually while driving, you'll hear me yell out, "Peeeople! AAAAAAgh! PEOPLE! That's it. I'm building a cabin in the woods and I'm going to live off the land."

I would never do that, of course. And not just because I don't have the required carpentry and survival skills. Not that I've seriously looked into it. I would never do it because I believe that we need a sense of community to thrive. We need to feel as though we are a part of something bigger than ourselves. We need to feel included, needed, helpful and appreciated. By other people.

Interactions with other people are going to be as tricky or as simple as we choose to make them. Here are some things I've learned that you might find helpful.

1) You are not better than anybody else. ANYBODY. But here's the good part. Conversely, nobody else is better than you. NOBODY. You will be happier if you relate to all people as peers and equals, with the exception, of course, of children, who need to be treated with respect but are not to be treated as peers.

2) There is no free lunch. No free selfish or nasty deed. I'll even venture as far to say no free selfish or nasty thoughts. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Yes, it's better to think a bad thing rather than to actually act on it, but better yet to train ourselves to purge negative thoughts at the bud stage. They hurt and poison us, and they also have the power to effect those around us.

Taken from Ralph Waldo Emerson's Essays: First Series (1841), Essay III: Compensation:

All infractions of love and equity in our social relations are speedily punished. They are punished by fear. Whilst I stand in simple relations to my fellow-man, I have no displeasure in meeting him. We meet as water meets water, or as two currents of air mix, with perfect diffusion and interpenetration of nature. But as soon as there is any departure from simplicity, and attempt at halfness, or good for me that is not good for him, my neighbour feels the wrong; he shrinks from me as far as I have shrunk from him; his eyes no longer seek mine; there is war between us; there is hate in him and fear in me.

When we are in the throes of negativity, whether it be self-induced or inflicted upon us by another, we are presented with a choice. We can choose to take it in and let us poison us. Or we can brush it off of us like metal shavings from a magnet and remain light of heart and free to love and be loved.

3) When you're feeling pretty good about yourself and things are going right and you're receiving back-pats and accolades from people you admire, choose humility. Don't believe your own hype. It is an illusion. You are just you, the same you you always were, warts and all. You still poop. You still sneak a Dorito every now and then. You still think negative thoughts about your friends and beat yourself up over it. A choice to be humble is a choice to be happy. A choice to be humble frees you from fear of falling and the curse of perfectionism.

4) Do not share your good deeds with others. Keep them to yourself. This is a lot harder than it sounds. But if you know ahead of time that ain't nobody knowhow going to find out about that wonderful thing you're about to do, you will be less likely to step into the bear trap called self-pride. And this can lead to more struggles with humility. You know this already and don't need me to tell you. I'm only reminding myself publicly, not telling you what to do.

Also, as goofy as it sounds, we sometimes stop ourselves from giving to others or doing good deeds because we are subconsciously afraid of the attention we will receive because of them, and the embarrassment that attention will bring to us. People will tell us how wonderful we are, and because most of us really think we're less than wonderful, the guilt and shame will creep in, effectively punishing us for doing a good deed. This of course will cause us to be less likely to give and help and share in the future. Best to keep your trap shut and your heart open.

5) Don't ever give up. EVER. If you give up, you will die inside. Remember that with love all things are possible. Your dream is worth it. You are worth it. A better life must be had. And yes, you can fly.

Christmas is approaching. I love Christmas and Hanukkah time. People are a little nicer to one another. Family suddenly becomes more important to everybody. I'm lucky enough to have people I love around me, and I do not take that for granted. I'm going to keep on working on becoming a little less of a selfish, self-obsessed ninny so I can have more to offer them and you. If you see me acting up, please do call me on and give me a chance to make amends rather than writing me off completely. I promise to do the same.

Women (and babies!) love Bumkins!

Bumkins Grinchmas Gift and Contest! With any Bumkins Dr. Seuss Purchase receive Free Grinch Superbib and automatically be entered to win a four pack of Dr.Seuss How the Grinch Stole Christmas Ornaments! Just enter grinch08 at checkout to receive your complimentary bib.

As if hobnobbing with other Mom Bloggers wasn't enough of a bonus of membership in the Mom Bloggers Club, (a club I still want to be a member of even though they'll have me), I was recently offered the opportunity to review some products from Bumkins new Dr. Seuss line. I know, life's been rough.

This opportunity holds special meaning for me. I've been a big fan of sneezles and kabeezles, yahoo Doris and all things Dr. Suess since my childhood in the 1970's. I've also been on the lookout for a new Bumkins bib ever since "the dark day", which came to pass shortly after Lily Rose was born. Weary and demented from lack of sleep, I had somehow managed to melt Joe Joe's favorite Bumkins monkey bib on our gas stove.

Please don't send any emails of concern for my son's welfare. I assure you Joe was not in it at the time.

The package from Bumkins arrived ceremoniously a couple of days ago. The dogs were spitting and barking and growling and being generally inhospitable. From the sound of things, we quite naturally assumed that the abominable snowman himself was juggling ferrets covered in fish sauce whilst spraying them with a hose. A quick inspection by The Bitter Half proved this to be a false alarm. He returned carrying a brown box and wearing an expression most often seen on Desi Arnaz before shouting "Looothy!".

A dollop of drool began to form on my chin. Bitter Half's eyes widened. He froze. I pounced. Oh, yes! I was excited. I don't get out much I'll give you that. But still - this is Bumkins gear! I couldn't wait to see what they had sent. I cut the tape and let Joe open the box. One by one the treasures emerged and I laid them out on my crafting table and gazed upon them in all their shiny spanking-new glory.

They had sent me the Dr Seuss Fleece Bunting, a Dr. Seuss Junior Bib, a colorful Dr. Seuss Christmas ornament, and their new catalog!!! I fondled them. I sniffed them. The Bitter Half will tell you I even licked them. I basked and appreciated and thought well heck, this is a very nice treat.

I shot a look at Joe Joe, who inexplicably had food on his face. We locked eyes.

He balled his chubby little hand into a fist and ran. I chased him down and got him settled with a clean shirt and a cup of snoozleberries. Then I put the bib on him. He didn't tear it off so I can only assume that he was happy again and had finally forgiven me for maiming his monkey bib.

Then it was Lily's turn. The Dr. Seuss Fleece Bunting is a 12 month size and too big for her at the moment, but that didn't deter me.

I am grateful that the good folks at Bumkins thought to send the 12 month size rather than the 6 month size, so she will be able to wear it all Winter. I love the way the blue and white polka-dot lining frames her face. This outfit would work well for a child of either gender. Both the hands and the feet of the bunting are cuffed and could be turned in to let hands and feet be free, or turned out to form mittens and footies to keep little hands and feet warm on a cold Winter's day. It is soft enough on the inside to be worn over a diaper, and roomy enough to be worn over clothing. I love it. It's a real quality product and I appreciate the thought that went into it.

Lily had a ball posing with the Dr. Seuss ornament. No fun pun intended.

We're all happy as clams here at the compound. Thanks Bumkins for the opportunity to review your exciting new product line. You get two thumbs and a stinky toe UP!

Women Generals say the darndest things

This morning The Bitter Half pussyfooted into the kitchen, Newsweek in hand, brimming with giggles. (He would call them chortles). He said, "You've got to post this on your blog!". What he was referring to was a funny quote from Perspectives section of the 11/24 issue of Newsweek:

"There is no one more surprised than I—except my husband. You know what they say: 'Behind every successful woman, there is an astonished man'."

~ Gen, Ann Dunwoody, speaking at a ceremony in Washington, D.C., honoring her for becoming the first woman to achieve the rank of four-star general in the U.S. military

It was funny! He was right. I responded with a "Well, good thing you'll never have to worry about that!" and a smile.

Not having been a victim of astounding success in any field, I can't speak to the truth of her statement. Is it true? Are the "men behind the women" (figuratively of course) astounded when their xx's achieve critical acclaim, accolades, or crash though a plexiglass ceiling? Successful women out there, please speak to this if you can.

I can't help but wonder if this is the curse of familiarity rather than a gender issue. You know. You've been there and done that. Your loved one introduces you to something, be it a concept or product, and tells you how wonderful it is. You give outward gestures of support and encouragement even though your mind is glazing over. But it isn't until a source outside your bubble of love and nurturance introduces you to the very same thing that you begin to get excited about it.

Then you do it—that thing you swore you'd never do. The thing you'd stab your significant other in the eye for. You go back to your loved one and tell him or her about this great new concept or product, about how it's going to change their life and make everything finally gel and develop new meaning. It's going to crack open their artistic eye and reveal life's true hidden purpose and God's real intentions. Your loved one spontanously combusts in a fit of fury and rightly so.

Generally speaking, that is.

Women like warning labels

I just stumbled across this fun little Warning Label Generator today. Couldn't wait to share it with y'all in hopes that it will bring you some Friday fun!

I'm presently on my first post-Lily period and it's a doozy. Don't say you haven't been warned!

Women love to shop on Black Friday

I am not one of those women.


I suspect I may have a touch of proximity disease. When too many people violate my personal space bubble at any given moment I freak out and start snapping like a turtle. But if I do bend to peer pressure and venture out that day, please don't smack me at The Gap and rip a sweater out of my hands.

For the real women who enjoy this type of thing, here is some news for y'all. Happy shopping!

Apple may launch most aggressive Black Friday sale yet

Best Buy Black Friday Ad Posted Online

Black Friday Sale Updates

Black Friday: Man CRIES on News Because He Didn't Get to Product in Time! (From 2005)

Black Friday Just Got Greener: 13 Tips

Black Friday Info

Black Friday Online

Black Friday Sales Arrive Early This Year

Sears Black Friday Ad Leaked Online

Tricks to Get Black Friday Deals Without Standing In Line (From 2006)

Walmart Forces Black Friday Website to Remove Walmart Black Friday Ad

Walmart's Entire Black Friday Sale Information Posted!

Women fight back against offensive Motrin ads

Me looking like a "real Mom".

If you've been around the web today you couldn't help but notice that some new Motrin ads have Moms in an uproar. At best, the ad folks over at Motrin are misinformed. At worst, they are belittling and downright destructive. It's as though Motrin went out of their way to infuriate their target audience. They want you to buy Motrin because babywearing is hurting your back. Then they insult you for doing it in the first place. I've heard that no publicity is bad publicity. Nonetheless, things don't look good for Motrin, Infant Motrin and Children's Motrin going forward unless they take action to mend the wounds and to prove that they aren't as out of touch as they appear. It's simply not smart to anger Moms, let alone Moms with keyboards.

Taken from News Anchor Mom, here is the verbatum:

Wearing your baby seems to be in fashion. I mean, in theory it’s a great idea. There’s the front baby carrier, sling, schwing, wrap, pouch. And who knows what else they’ve come up with. Wear your baby on your side, your front, go hands free.

Supposedly, it’s a real bonding experience. They say that babies carried close to the body tend to cry less than others. But what about me? Do moms that wear their babies cry more than those who don’t. I sure do! These things put a ton of strain on your back, your neck, your shoulders. Did I mention your back?! I mean, I’ll put up with the pain because it’s a good kind of pain; it’s for my kid.

Plus, it totally makes me look like an official mom. And so if I look tired and crazy, people will understand why.

Here's a You Tube video that sums up the sentiment on Twitter #motrinmoms:

Women learn to expect the unexpected

Two days ago my son flat out refused his diaper. I tried everything. I offered a pull-up aka "big boy diaper" alongside a traditional, classic, more Ralph Lauren style diaper. I even whipped out the big guns—a pack of "big boy" underpants that I had been saving as a reward for the first time Joe took a dump in, or in the vicinity of his potty chair. They glow in the dark. GLOW! He still wasn't interested. Tossed them on the floor and ran out of the room wailing.

I couldn't for the life of me get him to put on a diaper the rest of the afternoon. In his defense, he did yank a dirty diaper from the trash and try to put that on. I asked him why he wanted to put on a wet smelly diaper when he had such a cool big boy sweet-smelling fancy pair just waiting for him. He wailed and ran away. I pulled out the baby powder. I bargained. I told him he could use the whole entire bottle on his butt if he would just put on his diaper! More tears.

At this point a neon green booger began to slide down his face towards his mouth. I plopped him butt nekkid into his high chair, looked him in the eye and delivered my earnest inquiry, "If you have to go potty say 'Potty!', and I'll take you into the potty room and put you on the potty chair." Then, as an awful horrible reflex I finished up with the dreaded, "Okay?". Might as well have put a crown on him and changed his birth certificate to read The Prince of England.

Then I did the unthinkable.

I called The Bitter Half.

There, I said it. He thought it was funny. FUNNY?!?!? After about 30 seconds of passive aggressive silence on my end, he serioused himself right up and offered a suggestion. The same suggestion he gives for everything. The universal cure-all. "Give him a bath!". "Oh please... a bath?!?". Hmpf.

I saw that Joe was finished eating and lifted his leg. No poop. No puddles. Whew. I took him down and said, "Are you ready for your BIG BOY diaper?". The Prince of England shook his head no. Sigh. I sat down at my desk for a little Twitter comfort. Off to my left Joe was pointing to something and proudly proclaiming "Potty!". I didn't need to look. I knew what it was. He had understood my earnest request after all. Just not the correct order.

Perhaps I would follow The Bitter Half's advice. I didn't have to tell him about it, did I? If it was a success and my son allowed himself to be diapered, I could always throw some dirt on Joe to make it look like I hadn't given him a bath. Yes, that sounds reasonable. A bath it is! After a half hour of good fun and bubble making, Joe indicated that he was ready to get out. As I lifted him and the bubbles cleared away I noticed some pebbles on the bottom of the tub.



Hmm... I wonder where he found the pebbles? I wonder... Hey wait! Those aren't pebbles.

I glanced at my son. He had "that look" on his face. He wasn't meeting my stare. Hmm...



Upon closer inspection my suspicion was confirmed. POOP. Sigh. And with the poop came unexpected blessed relief. At least he hadn't pooped on the rug. Has it come to this? Yes, apparently it has. Two minutes later Joe was happily bediapered.

I forgot to throw dirt on Joe and rub jelly into his hair. The Bitter Half arrived home. Oh no! Surely he would notice the sweet smell of soap on Joe's hair and get all puffed up and bask in his righteousness for the rest of the evening. As it turns out, he didn't. But I still glared at him from time to time as though he did. Sometimes you have to head them off at the path.

Instead he motioned me over to look at Lily. "You've got to see this", he said.



"She has her whole hand in her mouth!". Her whole hand?? This calls for closer inspection.



Yes it does appear to be her entire hand. What did it mean? Was she hungry? Was she sending me a message?

Message received and understood. Women must learn to expect the unexpected.

Women take good photos of their kids

Devil in the machine

If I want to be a real woman, I'd better learn to take a better kid pic. Sure, I snap a keeper on occasion. Even a broken clock is right twice a day. But two out of ten is not an acceptable success rate when it comes to capturing priceless, treasured, fleeting, unrepeatable and irreplaceable moments in the lives of my offspring. Two out of ten is surely the devil's work in action.

Case in point:



I took that photo of Joe Joe the other day. I'd finally broke down and purchased a pencil stroller after Joe grabbed three different color groups off of the DMC rack at our local sewing store in one fell swoop and made a run for the border. He put Elmo in the stroller and proceeded to be cute. I wanted to capture his cuteness for all eternity. What I grabbed was a plastic stroller handle insulting my son's face with its very existence.

I even do it to the baby:



Lily's not getting any younger. She's growing up and away from me, farther and faster with each passing day. I'm afraid to blink lest I should open my eyes and find her driving off to college, casually blowing her exhaust onto my teary face. Like the girl the gold watch and everything, it's up to me to stop time. It's up to me to grab the moment. Carpe momentito. Instead I grabbed half a head.

I had better get a grip on the devil's hold over my camera and quick.

Women often encourage feedback

Wh-A-t? Feedback? Why would anyone in their right mind want to encourage feedback??? What good could possibly come of it?

Calming down here—yes, I can see why feedback might be a good thing. It can help you to become better at everything you do. You can become a better wife, a better Mother, a better friend, better at your career, even a better blogger. In fact, feedback is probably integral to growing as a human being. Intellectually, I realize this.

Yet, I don't possess the emotional maturity to handle feedback. To me it always feels like criticism. "Do it my way. You are doing that wrong." I can't quell the voice inside me that whispers doubt. If one procures and takes too much feedback to heart, does one run the risk of becoming homogenized? Do we become a better, sharper version of ourselves, or just stronger, faster, slimmer bionic women who look, sound, and expresses ourselves just like everybody else? Should we make mistakes in our own time at our own pace in order to morph into our true higher selves? Or if we eschew feedback are we doomed to become the snake who eats her own tail?

People are meant to be different. I don't trust people who look, sound and smell too "normal". I can't help but think that they must be tucking their true selves and intentions deep down inside in order to present the desired projection of themselves onto my retinas. I've always enjoyed watching a good makeover. It's amazing how little it takes to "fix" somebody. But in the end I always feel a little sorry for the makeoveree who is left looking like good little soldier for my imagined homogenization movement.

I've begun to question givens. I am always asking myself if buying a product or service is really needed, or if I'm just lining the pocket of group of people who have a vested interest in making us feel like we're not good enough, pretty enough, thin enough, don't have the right hair, the right butt, the right house, and even the right kids. Nobody makes a dollar off of us if we decide to be okay with who we are. If we decide that we already have everything we need.

I won't be asking for feedback any time soon. But when I eventually do, I hope it leads to something good.

It's time to face facts. I'm prematurely becoming a Senior Citizen.

Hey, I have nothing against the blue of hair and cranky of mood. In fact, some of my best friends are older than dirt. Walking sticks are a fine invention, and are at their best and most useful when being shaken in the face of a passing teenager. I don't think there's a darn thing wrong with standing on your lawn in your walking slippers for hours at a time shooting eye daggers at nothing and nobody in particular.

Yet, silly me, I thought it would be a good 15 years before I was ready to throw in the towel and start looking forward to early bird dinners at Denny's. I was wrong. It's true. I'm over the hump. There is a new trend (besides hip hop which just needs to go away along with showing your thong and your butt crack) that I just don't get. I don't understand Facebook apps. I really, really don't get them. They seem fun and friendly enough. Kate from One More Thing is kind enough to give me a green patch plant every now and then. I copied my friend Sabina and gave myself a Jennifer Aniston piece of flair.

But I don't know what any of it means. Pieces of flair, ok I can figure that much out. But what is "fluff voting"? And why do none of my "stories"? (Stories???) show up on my own news feed. I need them to be there so I can see just how dorky I appear to the outside world. But they don't. They're not there. And nobody in the help section knows how to make them appear.

There are some Mommy apps, (whatever a Mommy app is), but I don't know what to do with them. I just don't get the big picture. What if I do something silly on Facebook and don't want anybody to know about it but a log of my silliness is posted on everyone's profile? Worse yet— what if I do something awesome and nobody is appraised of it? What if my one totally awesome action goes completely, pathetically unseen and dare I say it - uncommented upon?!?

I don't get it. But my friend Patty joined up today and I'm pretty sure she won't get it any more than I do. And I know her well enough to post stupid stuff on her page and not have to worry that she'll think I'm a nuthead. Because she already knows that I am.

Is too much social media a good thing?

If you're reading this blog post, odds are you are already acquainted with social media. I got a crash course myself after I started blogging a few months ago. I now Tweet and even recently plunged down (dare I say its name lest I evoke it?) the Face Hole.

And if you're anything like me you probably find yourself wondering which social media are right for you. I've been trying a few things in order to determine which, if any, are a fit for me. After reading this article today, (which should be helpful to any of you who have recently been laid off), I'm wondering with great trepidation whether or not I should add a couple more platforms to my test route.

Here are the social media detailed in the article. Have you tried any and all of them yourself? If so, please do share your thoughts and opintions about them.

• Facebook - Been there, done that. So far it's not nearly as scary as I expected it to be. But it's not as much fun as MySpace. (I used to have a MySpace account ages ago. Not as me, but as a character, you know, like The Easter Bunny. I wish there was a way to message all friends at once (even though I do not have an expansive friends list). And it's not as much fun as MySpace. I suppose it's more "adult", but it's a bit bland by comparison. Plus, it's confusing to a newbie like me. All the applications have my head spinning. And I still can't find out how to replace my wall with a "super wall". And I don't even know why I want one.


• Twitter - I've been doing a spot o' Tweeting. So far it's pretty fun. I had no idea so many life coaches existed, and neither will you if you start Tweeting as well. They will find you. But hey, they are a positive people and throw out positive energy.


• WordPress, Moveable Type, Blogger or Tumblr - You are looking at my WordPress blog.


• LinkedIn - I've carried the impression that you need to have your suit and glasses on to join this one. It's probably untrue, but I'm sick of suits. I want to dye my hair purple and wear patched overalls while I work.


• Flickr - I really like Flickr. You can share your photos in a social media setting, join groups, and allow complete strangers to view and comment on your stuff. This is a great site and you can learn a lot from others, including professional photographers.


• Upcoming.org - Up what?


• Meetup.com - In person????? *faint*


• Seesmic - Who's Mic and why would I want to see him?


• 12seconds.tv - I can do a lot of things in 12 seconds, but I've never heard of this place.

I want to be a counter-culture revolutionary

I want to raise my fist in the air and shout "Listen, Mr. Government, we've had enough of this buuul*s&i@!" I trusted you like a Daddy. I trusted you to look after my best interests and the best interests of those who I love so dearly and passionately. But Mr. Government, you went out for milk quite some time ago and I haven't seen or heard from you since. Mom started dating some nasty man with a Texas accent and all he does is sit around drinking and throwing his spent beer cans and pork rind bags at his feet for us to clean up."

I want to be a counter-culture revolutionary! I like the idea of it. I like the clothing. I like the attitude and the verve and the drive associated with it. I want to sneak down a back alley to attend a meeting led by a really cool guy with a foot-high afro who always has one eye on the door. I want to be deemed worthy of an FBI file. It would be nice if a black helicopter were to hover me when I take my kids out in the stroller.

If only I could shake my disease. I am almost always able to see both sides of an issue. I used to be easily swayed, but as of late I take a little more time and think twice before jumping on the latest fashion or bandwagon. I'm pretty darn tolerant, and I have learned not to underestimate the power of positive vs. negative thoughts and reinforcement. Sometimes (very rarely) I'm even logical rather than emotional.

Is it possible to be a counter-culture revolutionary and be an individual at the same time? What happens if I'm hanging out with all my revolutionary buddies and they start bashing a person or tradition? Will they still stand beside me if and when I disagree or ask them to consider this point or that? Will I be thought a traitor to the cause, upended and deposited into a smelly dumpster? Is it possible to be a middle-aged revolutionary, or is single-minded determination a luxury only afforded the young or the childless?

Our day at the pumpkin patch/apple farm

I don't know if any group of people looks forward to Fall the way desert folks do. We're perfectly willing to drive an hour or more for the privilege of resting our eyes upon a tree, a real tree. And if a leaf should happen to fall off that tree and gracefully float in our general direction it's enough to set our season-starved souls aglow. That's one of the reasons the pumpkin patch/apple farms of Oak Glen, California are such a draw. All the pumpkins and apples are just a bonus.

My husband and I (The Bitter Half) packed up Joe Joe and Lily and headed up there with the best of intentions. We had a ball. But next time we'll know that there is in fact a parking area on top of the mountain and this will make all the difference. Sigh. That and we need to get there first thing in the morning if we want to net ourselves some Arkansas Blacks.

Oh, and I have to tell you that I picked up a prairie hat for Lily. I saw a little girl wearing one and just had to have it for her. I had Joe Joe model it for a photo, much to The Bitter Half's chagrin.

Here are a few photos to share. Wishing you a beautiful and peaceful Sunday.












All photos in this post © Pickles and Poo 2008. All Rights Reserved.