Reality Covered In Chocolate

Fifteen

2011-04-01T15:02:00.000-04:00

Guess who's 15 today???

And sure, we're doing the whole present/cake/party thing for Ziggy but sadly I knew I had a motherly responsibility to explain the sheer unluckiness of this particular birthday.

"So it's the big day, huh?"

"Mmmmhm."

"Fifteen."

"Yeah."

"Almost sixteen."

"Cool."

"Too bad it's such an unlucky number."

"Not funny."

"Who's trying to be funny? Ides of March, right? That was on the fifteenth. Really bad day for Caesar."

"That was March. My birthday's in April."

"But still. Fifteen. Dude was killed. Had to be the worst day of his life."

"Whatever. Still not funny. Or relevant."

"If you were Jewish it would be different. You'd have a bat mitzvah. That would be fun."

"That's at thirteen mom, not fifteen."

"Exactly! If you were having a bat mitzvah at fifteen that would be very unlucky. Since all your friends would've done it two years earlier. So you'd be, like, the slow kid. Short bus."

"You feeling ok?"

"Though I suppose if we were Hispanic, you'd have a quesadilla. That might have been nice."

"Ugh. It's a quincenera!"

"It is? Well I've never had one but it doesn't sound nearly as tasty as quesadilla."

"Mom, I think we're good here. You can stop talking now."

"Ok well... no, wait. What about Abigail?"

"Who?"

"Taylor Swift's friend? You know in the song, Fifteen?"

"Where are you going with this?"

"Ziggy please. "Abigail gave everything she had to a boy who changed his mind." And she was... you guessed it. Fifteen. Sad, really."

"What is wrong with you?"

"I'm just saying. If you can get this one over fairly quick it would be better for us both."

"Oh because I can make 365 days go by in what, like 240?"

"Might be worth looking into, Zig. I mean, what's 15 anyway? Not even it's own number. It takes a 1 and a 5 to make 15. And when you add one and five together you get six. You see what I'm saying?"

"Ummmm... no?"

"Six, Ziggy. You get six. Exactly the age I was when my first pet, a sweet little stripey thing we called Tiger, ripped my pajamas to shreds while I was wearing them. While I was wearing them, Ziggy! Can you imagine how traumatized I was?"

"About as traumatized as I'm going to be after this conversation?"

"I'm just saying. Fifteen, well it's kind of the black eye of birthdays. Something nobody really wants. No one ever says "Black eye? Why yes, that'd be awesome!" You see, it's like the Lindsay Lohan of birthdays, just you know, really messed up. No wait, it's like - "

"Great mom. Good talk."

"Oh, right. Good talk. Yup. And hey - happy birthday Ziggy."

:-)

What's Not Awesome

2011-01-18T17:14:00.000-05:00

Here are some random thoughts on what's not awesome.

Poop.

I don't care who you are. No one thinks poop is awesome.

People who think they are awesome. And are wrong. A.k.a not awesome.

Disappearing Acts.

It doesn't matter if it's a friend, an employee or a dog, disappearing is just not awesome.

Exes.

The only exception to the above rule. Exes = not awesome. Exes who disappear? Totally awesome.

Loading my razor up with toothpaste. That really could've hurt.

My BFF watching me do the above.

Listing charity work on your resume that you didn't actually do. Not only not awesome but really kind of jerky too. Yeah, talking to you DT.

Stupid girls who don't know how awesome Moose is. Stupid girls. Totally not awesome.

Hitting on a pastor's wife. God's going to show you how awesome that was not, buddy.

Whoever spoke the F-bomb in front of my three year old. I will not awesome up the side of your head when I find out who you are.

Parents who let their kids scream, bang spoons and run around in restaurants.

Boy smell. Moms of teenage boys, I have felt your pain.

Miley Cyrus. Hannah Montana was awesome. Miley Cyrus? Not awesome. Unless she put ona few more clothes, acted less hoochie and maybe threw in a few morals.

Reality Shows. Really? Enough already.

The four thousand eight hundred trillion seventy nine million dollars and sixty two cents it takes to keep a teenage girl happy. For six hours.

The Snooki hair thing on a sixty year old. Or a six year old. Either way. Not awesome.

Granny panties. Unless you're, you know, a granny.

Dogs who barf in the middle of the night. Nasty crap that they had no right eating in the first place. On my freshly cleaned carpets. So. Not. Awesome.

So, what's not awesome in your life?

As a side note, this is dedicated to my good friend Woman in Love, who didn't make this list because she is totally awesome... sorry for the wait. Hugs and kisses!

No Ordinary Angel

2010-12-28T14:19:00.000-05:00

I reach my hand into the gift bag with a level of excitement not felt since Santa and God answered my Christmas-time prayers with a Cabbage Patch doll.

Long before my fingers touch the sculpted plastic skirt, I just instinctively know it will be a most unnatural shade of yellow. Oh my niece has outdone herself this year.

Yes! This is THE one.

I fondle the eighteen inch molded figurine like an actress does her first Oscar. Running my thumb over her synthetic hair and admiring the carefully applied blue eyeshadow, I am teary eyed with gratitude.

Her arms are locked in what appears to be the "open for hugs" position and my heart skips a beat. This is no ordinary angel. My day-glow doll has a purpose.

My niece shyly produces a roll of toilet paper, carefully lacing it between my angels arms.

"Auntie, now pull the toilet paper. Pull it!" She giggles.

My wildest imagination could not have envisioned a more perfect gift. I lean closer to my husband, who is watching the toilet paper unravel with envy.

"Top this one, pally."

I look up at my niece with sincerity, clinging to my toilet paper wielding angel. "This is the Best. Gift. Ever. I have just the place for it."

"Your niece gave that to you. You wouldn't dare." TK whispers in my ear, envy seeping into every word.

"It's my gift."

"But your niece gave it to you. You shouldn't re-gift it. That's just wrong."

"Look, clearly this is a set up. She gave it to me knowing it's final home would not be with me."

"In that case I don't think it qualifies."

"Qualifies? Oh there are rules now?"

"The whole point of the after Christmas swap is to bring your worst gift. It's not the same if it's a gift given with the intent of re-gifting."

"Bring your worst gift swap. Not bring-your-worst-gift-that-the-giver-thought-was-awesome swap. And hey, it's my party." I nudge him. "What about when we bought the Nascar coffee mugs because all our real gifts rocked that Christmas? Or the year I gave you the leopard print thong and you swapped it?"

"That was different. Besides, I think you actually wanted me to wear the thong."

"Eww."

"Those gifts were different. This is just... well, it's just different. In a bad way. You need to keep that angel. It's only fair."

I stood, careful not to unravel the toilet paper as I lovingly placed my gift on the mantle.

I leaned in close, my cheek brushing the waving cascades of yellow hair as I smiled and whispered to my Christmas Angel.

"Don't you listen to him, angel baby. He's just upset about the leopard thong."

The Ultimate Gift

2010-12-19T07:21:00.000-05:00

I was dreading the call as much as I was anticipating it.

My angel of Christmas, in the voice of my social worker, gave me the only gift I had hoped for this year.

"The judge has terminated parental rights."

She reviewed the finer points of the decision. The parents' right to appeal. The process. The timeline. DCF's involvement. We discussed post-termination, post-adoption.

Both bio parents currently missing. Neither one successfully rehabbed off of the heroin they poisoned my babies' system with during pregnancy. One possibly in jail, the other who knows where this time. The court's leniency in future visitation. The likelihood of the appeal, and the certainty of the outcome.

We talked about the case in a factual, intelligent manner as if we were discussing politics and not the future of the little people who were waiting at home for me.

The two not-quite-toddlers we met for the first time a year ago November. Who have taken over our house with their toys and diapers and crayons.

Who have taken over our lives with their runny noses and nighttime fevers and tantrums in airports.

Who had taken over our hearts with their hugs and kisses, their cuddles and their sleepy-faced smiles first thing in the morning and last thing at night.

We covered every aspect of the thirty page ruling while I drove, barely noticing the highway as it sped past.

"I'll get these pages faxed over shortly and we'll talk again soon in the coming month. I think that's everything, any other questions?"

I thought about all the information I had just heard. The legal aspects, our responsibilities going forward, the adoption that can finally take place this coming spring.

And I asked the only question that really mattered.

"So they're ours now. Forever?"

"They're yours forever. Merry Christmas."

Oh hey, Christmas.

2010-12-03T09:30:00.014-05:00

Oh hey, Christmas.

How long have you been standing there?

I mean, I knew you were coming but you didn't have to creep up on me like that or anything.

I sort of wish you would've, you know, called first.

Or texted maybe.

Sorry the place isn't quite ready. I really meant to clean up those leaves before you got here. Did you bring any snow?

What's that behind your back? A light up inflatable Mickey Mouse in a Santa Suit? Um, right over there is good. Just nudge those rotting pumpkins aside.

You know you're always welcome here, right? But we haven't even polished off the Halloween candy and now I'm expected to go all candy cane and fruitcake. Don't even get me started on those sugar plums dancing in my head.

I'm not using a tone. No, I don't have an attitude. Maybe you're the one with the attitude.

I mean technically you're a whole month after Thanksgiving but we both know you expect us to roll out the red carpet the second the turkey is out of the oven. Sooner even.

Like a whole flippin' season of Christmas.

No, no, don't go! I'm sorry, of course we're excited to see you! That's crazy talk. Just a little unprepared, is all. Holiday moodiness and all. I'll be into the Christmas Spirit in no time! You'll see.

Tinsel? For me? Hey, you really shouldn't have!

I did! I did get you something too! Wait, it's right, um, here... I picked it up along with four thousand other things on Black Friday. You know me though, it won't be wrapped til just shy of six a.m. Christmas morning.

Well listen, you make yourself at home while I run around for the next 21 days or so.

Just throw your things on every available surface, wall and window.

I'll clean it all up sometime in January.

Maybe.

Post Thanksgiving Post

2010-11-29T07:32:00.001-05:00

The holidays have officially arrived and though I didn't post a pre-Thanksgiving blog I had actually started one.

Then I edited it.

Then I deleted it.

So instead here's my post-Thanksgiving post.

Aside from my incredible life and awesome family, I am very thankful for my friends.

And right now I can't think of any one that may have had more reasons to be thankful this year than this one -

< Ms J's Thanksgiving >

(The post was so beautiful I forgot to ask why her turkey is black)

Hope you all had a great Thanksgiving!

It's Over.

2010-11-15T10:46:00.000-05:00

My cold is like the last date of a short term relationship.

It’s lingering.

It knows I want it to go.

It knows this relationship lasted far longer than either one of us would have expected.

Ice cubes have turned to water in his glass.

The check is on the table.

He's gathered up his things and said all there is to say.

One foot is out the door.

So why can't you just let me go?

Ok cold, this is it.

For real.

It's over.

You go your way.

I'll go mine.

This was never meant to be more than a weekend thing anyway.

So good luck with... you know, everything.

And hey, seriously?

Let's not stay in touch.

Employee Evaluations. Simplified.

2010-11-05T08:00:00.002-04:00

A Man. On a Mission.

2010-11-03T10:15:00.000-04:00

It's not always easy being married to this guy.

Oh wait, wrong guy.

There he is, that's my husband.

Like any married couple we have our ups.

We have our downs.

Some ups are up for weeks.

Months even.

Some downs are down for well... like the internet, down is down and no matter how long it's down for it really just sucks, right?

And sometimes the ups are just a "what-ever, dear" away from the downs.

But with the grace of God and a lot of love, we always find our way back up again.

Three years ago today we were together on an island, surrounded by the Carribean Sea.

We said our "I do"s with sand between our toes as the sun set in one of the most beautiful places in the world.

We watched the sun rise from a secluded hammock on the beach.

We sipped cocktails by candlelight.

And now TK is once again on an island surrounded by the Carribean Sea.

Only this time I'm not there.

He's traded the sand between his toes for the blisters on his hands.

Soreness in every bone in his body and showers from rainwater have replaced cocktails and candlelight.

But there's a smile on his face and more love in his heart than he had on the day we were married.

And I couldn't have imagined a more perfect way to celebrate our anniversary.

TK - I am so proud of you and the work you are doing in Haiti. I love you and look forward to being your wife for the rest of my life.

And then some.

Granny Panties No More

2010-10-27T07:31:00.000-04:00

Friends have a way of creeping into your life and settling in where you least expect them.

Kind of like a wedgie.

But in a good way.

And what wedgies are to thongs, friends are to me.

Many years ago, before Hanes invented the "no-ride-up" panties, we had wedgies.

We.

Had.

Wedgies.

Of global proportion. And don't even get me started on panty lines.

An embarrassing, uncomfortable pandemic among women, the wedgie was one more obstacle we suffered through.

For generations.

In silence.

Until one brave woman tossed aside her granny panties and declared "As God as my witness, I shall pick my bum no more!"

The thong was born.

From adversity is born brilliance. The thong is the preferred panty of wedgie-less women everywhere, overshadowing granny panties 3 to 1.

Thongs have set the standard for my friendships.

Does the friendship fit well?

Is it there when you need it?

Does it provide adequate coverage and complement your life?

Are you sensitive to its care?

Do you wear it well?

And treat it with the delicacy it requires?

Well then, that's a friendship worth wearing.

- sk

The Rope

2010-10-22T10:16:00.004-04:00

Ever think about what kind of an employee you have working for you?

Give them some rope.

From my point of view, there are four types of employees.

1 - The Interpreter.

This employee will rise to the challenge. They will do things to this rope you didn't think humanly possible.

None of which remotely resemble what you'd like them to do with the rope.

2 - The Hanger

Enough said?

3 - The OverAchiever

A true star among employees, not only will this employee tie the rope, she will weave it into a hammock. She will purchase more rope, creating a desk, a fax machine and a life-sized portrait of your dog. She will implement a rope-tying seminar for those less fortunate.

She'll write books entitled "Rope Tying for Dummies", "Who Moved My Rope?" and "Me, Myself and The Rope: A Candid Portrayal of Mysteries in the Workplace".

She will win the Nobel Peace Prize for her work. She will dedicate the award to you.

4 - The Evaluator. This employee will gaze at the rope for hours. With hostility. Why is this rope on my desk? Stupid rope. Is this supposed to be my rope? After much rope-staring, he'll inventory nearby other cubicles. Who else has rope? Is their rope bigger?

He'll review his job description. Visit HR. Email counterparts in other departments. Other companies.
He'll start a spreadsheet evaluating the time it will take to tie this rope. How he wouldn't necessarily object to rope-tying. If in fact he is compensated more for it. Assuming of course that there is also a title change.

Corporate counsel advises you to remove the rope from his desk.

He'll feel singled out, ostracized from his cubicle counterparts. Mocked and abandoned.Ultimately he will require paid time off due to rope-stress.

Which type of employee do you have?

What would you do with the rope?

I've always hated goodbyes

2010-09-30T08:00:00.001-04:00

I have not blogged for a very long time. I know the blog is supposed to be about us....but I've been lazy and have let Sharon take over and it really is not fair to claim that it's about "us" when it's mostly her who is doing the writing. So we've decided that this will be my farewell blog.

So much has happened for me in the past year, all great things and I'm the happiest I've been in my whole life. A little over a year ago I met Batman. Things were good, and eventually I fell in love. We just recently moved in together, which was a HUGE, I'm talking GINORMOUS (yes I know it's not a word but just go with it) step for me. I'll admit I was a little nervous about the move, and weeks before "D" day I was very anxious. Being the commitment phobic that I am, this was a big step for me. But this is it, this is the man that I am madly in love with. This guy who I love with my whole heart, who treats me with kindness, respect, and love is everything I've ever wanted in a man.

My boy is doing fantastic, school will be starting up again and he is actually looking forward to it. He was accepted into the the Graphic Communications program that he wanted. We did have a bit of a tough time when we lost Bob the wonder cat. It was tough on the boy, and I have to admit I was a bit sad too...but we're in negotiations for getting a new pet soon.

So while I've been busy spending time with batman and mourning the loss of our family pet...Sharon has been entertaining you with her sometimes witty, sometimes thought provoking, but always entertaining blogs. I've always said, she is the writer in this relationship and so I'm going to let her continue writting while I fade off into the sunset.

Farewell followers - I must warn you thought - I'll still be lurking, as I will now have more time to devote to my cyberstalking - enjoy the blog - I know I always do!

One of Those Days

2010-09-29T08:12:00.015-04:00

I have a feeling it's going to be one of those days.

It's unseasonably muggy and sticky.

One of the little kids has been producing her weight in boogers.

I'm still not back to normal yet after my surgery (insert your own joke here).

I've had all of one day back to work since being out and am lost in a forest of issues, problems, and havoc, oh my.

In my need to lighten and brighten my day, I'm going to share with you things that make me smile, chuckle or laugh so hard I'm the one sporting boogers on my face.

Enjoy.

What do you do when you know it's going to be one of those days?

Paging Dr. Fudge

2010-09-22T15:20:00.008-04:00

My first official surgery is now under my belt.

Well, technicially not "under my belt" but slightly above it.

Let me just say this about surgery - I don't dig it.

Prior to any semi-important undertaking in my life, whether it's a presentation to a client, an early morning flight or Ziggy's first day of school, I am anxious.

I can't sleep.

I toss. I turn.

I watch the clock all night.

So one would think I was restless and sleep-deprived prior to this procedure. And yet...

I slept great.

No worries.

No bad dreams.

Just sleep.

And then I woke up.

Panic-stricken.

What if I have an asthma attack while under anesthesia? And they don't realize it, because clearly I can't tell them, so I choke to death?

What if Dr. Fudge (I kid you not) fudges my surgery and removes the wrong body part, leaving me to poop in a bag for the rest of my adult life? I really don't want to poop in a bag, Dr. Fudge.

Hey nurse, you sure that's my name on the top of that chart?

You there, Dr. whats-your-name-with-the-anesthesia, did you hear what the nurse said about the IV line? Ok, just checking.

10 - 9 - 8 - zzzzz

Fast forward to the recovery room where I am up to my elbows in discomfort.

There's the vomit that's threatening to come up and out.

And the mind-numbing pain in my abdomen. Man, that flippin' hurts.

But what's even worse is the fact that I'm too hoarse to yell to the guy on the other side of the curtain.

"Hey! As much as I'd love to know if holding it in because you won't poop at K-mart because the bathrooms are gross, even though your wife will poop at K-mart because those things don't bother her, is causing the sore anus you're talking about VERY LOUDLY I'm a little preoccupied with other things right now so be quiet!"

Sleep.

Pain.

Wheelchair.

More pain.

Home.

So I'm laid up for another day or two with nothing but time on my hands and some little white pills that gives the pain tolerably fuzzy edges.

Frustrated with my inability to tackle my "to do while recuperating" list I had created. Laughing at myself for creating it. Frustrated at my lack of motivation.

I don't do nothing very well.

However...

My mind wanders. The story teller in me refuses to walk away from an uneventful gall bladder surgery without even a twinkle of a drama. No I-woke-up-during-surgery stories. No removal of the wrong organ.

Bo-ring.

My first surgery and no tale to tell. In a few short weeks there will be nothing left behind except for the four angry scars on my once unmarred stomach and a no-drama gallbladder removal.

But look at those incisions, would you?

Huh.

They're kind of round-ish.

Nasty looking things, aren't they?

Two on the side.

One above my rib cage. Another one by my belly button.

Hmmm... you know what they look like?

Don't you?

Listen, should it happen to come up in conversation, I mean if anyone asks you...

Scratch your head, glance around like you're not supposed to tell, lean in uncomfortably close and whisper...

"Gunshot wounds."

See You at Arno's

2010-09-15T06:59:00.023-04:00

May 2009.

Backspace Conference.

Manhattan.

Four aspiring writers arrive in the city, exhausted but hopeful.

A bar.

A kilt.

An Italian love song.

A cat named Felicity.

Little did they know their lives were about to change forever.

Join me as a new blog chronicles this fateful day and follows them on their path to literary-world dominion.

See You At Arno's

- SK

My Life Story

2010-09-10T08:00:00.002-04:00

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about my life.

I think about where I came from.

I think about the instability I had growing up.

And the stability it eventually created in my life.

I think about the awesomeness that is my life now.

My children.

My husband.

My self-appointed family.

My God.

I think about the people I know.

And the ones I have known.

I think about the people I've lost.

And the ones I haven't found yet.

I think about how I'm so very lucky to have what I have.

And I have so much.

I think about how lucky I am to not have some of the things I shouldn't have.

I think about how far I have come from where I have been.

And how much further I still have to go.

I think about more things than I could ever fill this page with.

When I'm alone with my thoughts,

and the night is quiet and still,

I think about

every moment that has passed me by.

I think about

every moment that is yet to come.

But mostly,

I think about

who's going to play me in the made-for-TV movie.

More Things I Wish I Could Say

2010-08-20T08:42:00.006-04:00

Last summer I wrote this post - Things I Wish I Could Say.

I'll admit, it was somewhat therapeutic to get some of that off my chest.

However it was also somewhat frustrating.

So many people called, texted and emailed with a variation of the same question - "Was that about whats-her-name???"

Some, like Ziggy, knew exactly which one was intended for them (see number 8) and now when I look at her for more than 2.7 seconds I get an earful of "Mom! Stop staring at me! You are SO creeping me out!"

Some, like Doreen, went down the list and knew exactly who I was talking about.

And then there were others who knew I could never ever possibly say any of those things to them. Especially the statement they liked the least.

For those people, see number 4 below.

More Things I Wish I Could Say

Thank you so much for opening up. It made you more you.
I've been there, done that and survived. You will too.
Jesus loves you. The rest of us.... well, let's just say we're not Jesus.
Read it again. Slowly. Recognize yourself? You should.
Stop talking. No just stop talking. Yes you are. See how your mouth moves and words come out? That's still talking. So don't.
Swearing doesn't make you cool.
I didn't mean to appear rude but was distracted and never had a chance to apologize for that. I'm sorry.
It would be super awesome if you paid closer attention.
I know how much you are hurting and wish there was something I could do to make it better.
You make food noises when you eat. No one likes food noises.
How about, just for kicks, you stop doing what's politically correct and just do what's right?
You are such a sweet kid and I am so glad to know you. I'd tell you that in person but Ziggy would be mortified.
Stop. Making. Excuses.
Your blank stare when I ask you to do something is kind of annoying.
I didn't become a Christian to forget my past. I became one so that I can look forward to my future.
Making the same mistake twice is making the same mistake. Twice.
Letting them go would be the best thing you've ever done for them.
Lighten up, you're bringing us all down.
Don't do it for credit or acknowledgement. Do it just because.
I worry that sometimes I don't measure up to your standards.

Are there things you wish you could say? Post them in the comment section below.

I Regret...

2010-07-26T06:00:00.000-04:00

Nothing.

It's true.

I have lived a lot of life in my 40 years (shut up. I am.) and even if I think really, really hard about it...

I regret nothing.

Don't misunderstand. There are things I have done or contributed to that I am vastly embarrassed about.

My hair, for example.

From 1986 until about 1992.

My choice in men.

From, uh, 1985 until perhaps 2001.

The thank you notes that I didn't send.

The time Doreen and I sent spoons to a couple of guys in a restaurant, so they could share our dessert with us.

Which um, they didn't.

The snots I blew all over my pants when I sneezed. In a very public place.

The ice cream-Doritos-leftover-Mexican-Snickers-bars-oreos-frozen-pizza feast I gorged on while watching back to back Meg Ryan flicks.

Believing that this time Spendy really would pay me back the allowance she borrowed.

Decisions I made that weren't appropriate, smart or sane.

Embarrassing?

Yes.

Stupid?

Perhaps.

Regretful?

Well, no.

Of course there are people I may have offended in some way or another but trust me when I say I never offend people with intent or malice.

And if I have offended you in any way you need to know it really wasn't you.

It was me.

I am quite adept at getting those flipper feet of mine lodged firmly in my mouth. And do it with some regularity.

But do I regret it?

Not exactly.

Everything I've done, all the mistakes - big and small (and there were some BIG ones) - have brought me to where I am.

And I like where I am.

Having said that...

If you ever, ever, and I mean ever catch me with mousse in one hand and hot rollers in the other, slap me.

Please.

Paco's New Friends

2010-07-20T07:25:00.001-04:00

Once again, I Paco Suave, am a guest blogger here on the Reality Covered in the Chocolate.

I like chocolate.

Is very good on bananas.

Reality, not so much.

Some of my amigos invite me to a lobster fiesta. We no have lobster where I come from.

So I go.

My English no much good so instead of the talk, I share with you the photos.

Of course I no feed lobster.

Paco eat lobster.

Stupido sign.

Make room in the jacuzzi for Paco!

Good thing I bring my Speedo today.

No! No big lobsters in the jacuzzi!

Okay, Paco come out to play with you, big lobster guy.

This is fun!

Now you be King Kong, I be the lady with the dress.

Hee hee, that tickles. Stop big lobster guy!

Don't eat me! Please lobster guy, don't eat me!!

You no want to eat Paco? Ah, that good.

Then what you doing?

No wait, don't kiss me!

Please big lobster guy, don't kiss Paco!!!

Big lobster guy needs a breath mint.

Now Paco know why we no have lobsters in my town.

The Big Kids

2010-07-16T05:40:00.000-04:00

I've been a bad blogger. I know I have.

And I'm sorry.

I'm not trying to make excuses but...

I have excuses.

Four of them actually.

As life has transitioned and settled in with the Litt le Kids - as much as life can "settle in" with two pre-schoolers - the Big Kids are moving on and moving out.

I can't believe how fast it's gone by. Wasn't it just yesterday that Moose was doing the chicken dance in kindergarten? And when did Ziggy get longer legs than me???

Three weeks ago Ziggy graduated eighth grade and all of a sudden, she's a freshman.

Two weeks ago four hulking ~~boys~~, no men, came to my house, loaded a truck with 23 years worth of Moose stuff and just like that, my boy was out in the world.

In the time it took to say "momma, look!!!" we've gone from this

to this

and just a few weeks ago

to this

I blinked.

I blinked and suddenly Ziggy wasn't rushing to the door, screaming "mommy!!!" and wrapping her arms around my legs as if she hadn't just seen me an hour ago.

I blinked and Moose went from an unassuming boy who preferred video games over people to a man with a firm handshake, an easygoing manner and a cocky "I know things" expression.

Where did the time go?

Did we enjoy every moment to the fullest? Did I tell them I loved them enough? Did they learn what they needed to learn to be good, upright, respectful adults? Did we have fun?

Before I know it there will be another graduation for Ziggy. A promotion for Moose. Disappointments. Love. Heartaches. Engagements. Weddings. Grandchildren.

I don't want to miss any of it.

I don't think I'll ever blink again.

Where's Alice?

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

Dear Alice,

When Carol and Mike made the life changing decision to blend their families and create the happy chaos that became their world, you were there for them.Thick and thin. Good times and bad.

You were the glue that held that family together and you know it.

Every time Carol was in the kitchen, whether she was preparing a snack for the cheerleaders after practice or a gourmet meal of pork chops and applesauce for her family, there you were.

When Marcia's date for the school dance canceled, you rallied to find a substitute better than the original. When the kids came down with measles, you were their Florence Nightengale. Whatever Mike and Carol needed to make their lives easier, you did it - and Carol didn't even work outside the home!

All day every day, you were there for them. Even your relationship with Sam the Butcher was put on hold for "your family".

And what did you get in return?

Really Alice, take a moment.

Remember this? Yeah, you may have been smiling but who were you kidding?

What kind of people were they that they would let this happen to you? I shudder to even think about it.

So where are they now?

Alice look, the kids are grown and gone. Greg is too busy with his career to return your calls. Cindy doesn't even send you Christmas cards since she's gone all new age or whatever. And don't even get me started on Peter. I know it sounds hurtful but I'm telling you this in love.

They just don't need you anymore.

But here's the thing - I do. We do!

Just imagine all the fun we could have chasing around the rug rats, cheering Ziggy on at competitions, helping Moose decorate his new house and hey, TK loves pork chops and applesauce!

I may not have the groovy clothes and blonde flip that Carol sported back in the day but maybe you'll come to love me anyway. C'mon at least give it a try. What do you have to lose???

Listen - I've never had to share my kitchen, but I will. The menu planning, the meal prep and the boundless joy I experience from cleaning up meal after meal after meal will all be yours.

I will selflessly give it over to your capable hands. My gift to you, Alice.

And even though laundry duty is my personal source of happiness I will gladly cede the immense pleasure I get from sorting, washing, drying and folding so that you can do what you do best. There's a glow about you that can only be achieved when you're carrying a full basket of clean clothes.

I bet you miss that. I can help you get it back.

Mopping, scrubbing, vacuuming - hey, it will be a sacrifice for me to give these things up but for you? I would give these things up for nobody.

Nobody but you, Alice.

We both know relinquishing the abundant delight I receive from managing this household will be a challenge for me. But knowing you will be by my side as I leaf through magazines and pull out new recipes for you to prepare will make it all worthwhile.

The next chapter in your life is starting Alice - be bold!

Don't settle for humdrum when you can have it all, right here, right now!

Embrace a new adventure!

Live a life worth living once again!

Your room and uniform are waiting, Alice. You deserve it. Now come get it!

- Sharon

Black Suits No More

2010-06-02T08:00:00.000-04:00

Smart Business Casual.

Business-y, but in a smart, casual sense.

Why not call it Dumb Business Formal?

Business-y, dumbed down.

Not that many years ago getting dressed for work was a no-brainer.

I could close my eyes, reach my hand into my tiny little closet and pull out the first thing I touched.

Two piece suits lined my closet. Depending on my mood I would grab a short, black skirt with a fitted jacket (I was really into that whole Ally McBeal look) or a gangster - not to be confused with gangsta - striped pant suit or for a blah day with a blah client, a square cut, no shape, conservative Talbot-esque suit.

As recently as ten years ago we wore stockings too. Every day, even in the summer.Then came the easy part - Black shoes or oh I don't know, maybe um, black shoes?

Oh how I miss those days.

Somehow dressing down has made getting dressed more challenging than ever before.

Jeans today?

Can I dress them up with a sweater or should I just throw on a company logo-ed polo shirt?

What if I already wore a company polo three days this week?

If I wear black slacks with a blouse will I appear too serious? Intimidating? Too dressed-up in my dressed-down world?

Wait, if I bend over how far down my backside will these jeans travel?

Banana Republic t-shirts are ok but baseball t-shirts are not... or is it the other way around?

Is the difference between business casual, smart casual and casual whether or not you wear a belt?

If I shouldn't wear flip flops to a meeting and my flip flops are made of leather, does that make them sandals and therefore acceptable?

If I leave on the pants I slept in, will anyone figure out they're not cotton pants but actually pajama bottoms? Will anyone actually care?

I wonder if the company name was spelled out in letters across my bum if that would be considered company logo-ed attire?

And since when did muffin tops become fashionable? I've noticed all the ladies at work are sporting one - now there's a trend I'm not going to follow... I hope.

Alright, I've stared at my closet long enough. It's time to bite the bullet, push aside my coffee cup and anxiety and just get dressed for work.

I'll be back in just a second.

Amuse yourself for a few minutes... visualize what you wore on your very first day at your very first "grown up" job. Now there's a picture I'd like to see.

Ok, I'm back.

Whew! That took a little longer than I thought but I feel I've finally pulled together an outfit with just the right combination of smart and casual. Something that speaks to the level of my experience and status without intimidating the staff or clients. An outfit that truly is me.

Let me know what you think.

Paco and the Mouse

2010-05-13T08:00:00.004-04:00

Hola, my name is Paco!

I am so very happily excited to be writing my very first blog that I just tinkle in my pants a little bit.

The lovely senora ask me to fill in for her today, so here I am!

Ok I not so truthy on that.

She sleep much after we drink the tequila that she can no write no more.

I know she no want to disappoint you all, who have not had any new blog to read in a long time so I think I will help her.

But how?

And then it comes to me, like a shoe it hit me on the head and I think - I, Paco Suave, I will write blog!

So I say to myself, Paco, what to write about?

And I say to me, do I write about my bromance with the Swedish Chef?

Or maybe I tell you about my service to our great country, when I served proudly alongside the GI Joes.

But then I turn on my ipod and my favorite song comes on. Yes, you know the one. It's a Small World After All.

It's a sign! I must share with you my joyness from my first trip to the happiest place in the world, si?

Si.

So I share with you today, my blog amigos...

Paco's Trip to Disney

Here I am, on the bus.
You think I look lonely, si?
But I no lonely.
A very nice lady from Wichita sat next to me.
Her name is Madge.
We are now Facebook friends.

I love the Hollywood movie senoritas, and they love me back.
Paco knows this lady, she sing to me. She wink with the eye at Paco.
We have the, how you say, connection.
She no want Paco to go but hey lady, this is the DisneyWorld.
The Tower of Terror is calling my name.

This man take all of Paco's pesos after we play cards.
And then he drive away in his little tiny car.

I luff the Great Movie Ride.
One time I watch Wizard of Oz sixteen times in a row.
Drinking Red Bull.

And singing The Lollipop kids song.
While inhaling helium.
Best night of Paco's life.

Imagine, Liza Minelli's hands were underneath where Paco's um, burro is sitting.
Miss Lisa Minelli, I luff you.

Speaking of Paco's burro...

I warn Ziggy not to sleep on bus stop bench but she no listen.
Sorry, that turkey leg I just ate did not agree with me.

If we go now, we can just make it to the Beauty and the Beast show again!

The Vicar never shared his Popsicle with me.
Or his corn dog.
Not even one time.
Paco so hungry.

Best ride in the park, right here.

So that is me, Paco, and my first trip to DisneyWorld. You notice I no have picture of me and The Mouse.

I try.

I really do.

But the Minnie Mouse, she give me the big winky winky every time I see her and the Mickey, he no like that.

So no picture of Paco and the Mouse.

I did get the Minnie's cell number so is ok.

Next time you go you take me, yes?

Give and then Give Again

2010-04-29T07:00:00.002-04:00

Charity is a funny thing.

Not a ha-ha kind of funny. But "it's-amazing-how-when-life-sucks-people-can-be-so-darn-good" kind of funny.

Six years ago I founded a charity based in Boston that has done fairly well, as these things go.

It's a one night event, held every spring and well known in our industry (the industry I work in that keeps me in shoes and also supports my vacation addiction). Actually it's not only the largest charitable event but it also boasts the highest attendance of any single event for our industry in New England.

I'd like to say it's me - that I brought it to where it is today. But you know what? I'd be lying. It's not about me. I am so not the draw.

The beneficiary is not a faceless organization, a scholarship or some kind of foundation.

It's a person.

Every year it's someone different. Someone we all know. Or someone we've heard of. Or someone we don't know who works with someone else we do know.

That guy.

He's the draw.

It's a lot of work, this one night event. People go out of their way to attend, flying in from Vegas and Dallas and Atlanta. Driving up from New Jersey and Pennsylvania and Connecticut. Reaching deep in their pockets, even if it means emptying them out.

Amazing.

Every year I am grateful for their support. And sadly, I am grateful to God that I get to stand on my side of the microphone. It takes a lot to hold back the tears as we talk about why we're here. Why we're really here.

And sometimes I just go ahead and cry anyway.

Because this event, this one night of support and friendship and love, won't take away the cancer. Or the kidney failure. Or the loss of a loved one.

Tonight's event was a lot of work and it's not over yet. It will be frustrating at times. It will be hectic and chaotic. And it will be fun for me too, at some point, and hopefully for everyone there as well.

Then finally, at the end of the night I will go home with sore feet, a raspy voice and desperately in need of sleep knowing what little I could do, I did.

And it's so worth it - when I see his face, that guy who we all came out to honor and support, there's that split second when the realization will hit him.

I see it every year and if I had to put words to the expression it would be something like - "Wow, these people are here for me. I didn't ask and yet, here they are. Some I've known for years and some I've just met but... these people, these are my people."

You know what Caleb?

You may have cancer but you also have us.

And we'd kick cancer's ass from here to the moon for you if we could.

Because you're right, dude. We are your people.

The Marriage Project

2010-04-24T10:07:00.004-04:00

I’m a project type of person.

I’m all about planning, researching and list making. The only thing better than a list on the back of a used envelope is one with every item crossed off.

Home improvement project? Bring it on.

Fund raising project? Where do I sign up?

Marriage Project? Whoa… what???

Admittedly when I committed to reviewing Kathi Lipp’s latest book The Marriage Project: 21 Days to More Love and Laughter I thought I would blow through it in a day and bang out a quick review. Easy peasy.

Yeah. Not quite.

The introductory section of The Marriage Project was like a skewed version of my own life. I had a lot of “Oh my, has she been looking in my windows?” moments. Kathi is on her second marriage (ditto). Kathi brought two children into the marriage (ditto) as did her husband Roger (ditto). And about six months into her marriage, Kathi and Roger looked at each other and thought “What have we gotten ourselves into?” (Do I even have to say ditto again?)

Kathi is not a marriage expert, and honestly, who is??? She’s a devoted wife and mother who has discovered that a great marriage doesn’t just happen. You make it happen.

Keeping the format simple, Kathi breaks the 21 days down into three categories 1) daily “projects” - suggestions for one or both of you to do each day that will not only show your spouse you care but are so easy you will wonder why you didn’t do them before, 2) major “projects” – weekly date nights with some wonderful suggestions on how to spend quality time together and 3) bonus “projects” – a way for you and your spouse… well, you should probably just buy the book.

With insightful views on marriage, funny anecdotes that keep the pages moving and project suggestions that are less complicated but more rewarding than tying your shoes, Kathi Lipp proves that 21 days of projects devoted to bringing more love and laughter to your marriage.

The Marriage Project is your 21 day guide to the good stuff.

Kathi Lipp is a national speaker and author who inspires women to take beneficial action steps in their personal, marital and spiritual lives.

Her wit and wisdom will give you new ways to:

Avoid settling for less than God’s loving plan for your life.
Develop new levels of warmth and tenderness with your husband.
Return fun and flirting to your marriage.
Boost your confidence to follow God-given dreams and goals.
Create and environment of encouragement in your friendships.

You can learn more about Kathi on her site www.kathilipp.com.

Her books can be found on BN.com and anywhere great books are sold!

The Day Before The Day

2010-04-22T11:30:00.000-04:00

I have a picture hanging in my office that mirrors how I feel today.

Great big swaths of blue and yellow run across the paper, faded now from the sun that has streamed through my office window for more than a decade.

It's the first thing I see when I unlock my office door in the morning and when I stop to think about it, I can't help but smile.

I remember picking Zig up at the big red house where she attended preschool, her running into my arms, shouting "Mommy!", me picking her up and smothering her with kisses.

The glow on her sweet little apple-cheeked face as she presented her masterpiece to me. I don't remember but I bet I had tears in my eyes when I read the caption. Her work of art now hangs above my desk and is the first thing I see when I open my office door in the morning.

In the upper right hand corner I can barely make out the words the teacher had written at Zig's direction.

"My Last Day as a 2 year old. 3/31/99"

Was she sad that she would no longer be two? Excited at the prospect of being three? Did she look forward to the year ahead as full of new challenges that she would master or full of obstacles she would struggle with?

I didn't ask and in my defense seriously, she was two.

Today is my last day as a thirty nine year old.

If given a large canvas and jars of paint, I suspect my picture would look incredibly similar.

The nose knows

2010-04-21T08:56:00.005-04:00

When you perceive a smell and suddenly remember something that you've forgotten for years, that is your olfactory and memory at work. There is a more detailed explanation of how the two do their thing, but I'm not here to give you a lesson in olfaction, look it up if you don't believe me - geesh do I have to do everything?

I bring up the olfactory nerve synapses (don't I sound all smart and stuff?) because the other day I was taken back to my late teenage years, yeah...way back. I walked into the grocery store, like I do every week without olfactory interruption - mostly because I am always in a hurry. I'm not one of those people who browse the isles at a moderate pace, no I'm a speed shopper. I'm in and I'm out. That's just how I roll. But this week I wasn't in a rush, I had no place to be so I took my time. When I walked in the smell hit me. (just that regular grocery store smell, if you don't know what I'm talking about take a moment and breathe it in the next time you go)

I was taken back to a time when I worked in the meat department of my local grocery store. I thought about getting there at 6 AM every morning. I thought about how freaking cold it was in that little room behind the glass. Yeah people, it's freeeeeeeeezing in there. I thought about how simpler my job was back then. Put the meat in the tray, weigh it, run it through the machine and slap on a price sticker. Now my days are consumed with ROI reports, revising our company web page, weekly meetings, spread sheets, presentations and endless emails of people who all want a little piece of me. Almost like I'm a piece of meat, funny how life comes full circle that way.

It always amazes me when I have moments like that. When just a smell brings back a memory or a feeling.

The smell of Eternity perfume reminds me of when I was in my early 20's. I practically bathed in that stuff.

I love the smell of books (especially old books) because it reminds me of the fifth grade, when I realized how much I loved reading and would spend hours in the library.

The smell of fresh cut grass makes me think of playing in our yard when I was a kid.

The smell of the laundry when it comes out of the washer brings me back to helping my grandmother hang the clothes outside.

The smell of a fire burning outside makes me think of the summer I spent camping with friends at the beach.

It's incredible how the whole olfactory nerve synapses thing works. How just a smell can bring you back in time.

Do you have a certain smell that brings you back?

The Adventures of Paco Suave

2010-04-16T08:37:00.008-04:00

Blog friends, meet Paco Suave.

Paco, say hello to our blog friends.

Paco has been with us since shortly after Christmas when a friend brought him to our annual after-Christmas Yankee Swap.

There are 2 rules for our swap. 1) rewrap a gift you received for Christmas - something you don't want, don't need or truly dislike and 2) swap it and take home the gift you wind up with.

Someone brought Paco to the swap. Someone wound up with Paco. Someone left Paco behind.

I'm not going to sugar coat this. The Swedish Chef did it.

In his original state Paco was an unnamed flat body encased in plastic and turned into a dartboard. An inappropriate dartboard.

I was certain it was an oversight. How could someone leave such a delightful gift behind? The only thing better than a naked man dartboard would've been an Obama chia pet.

In my efforts to reunite gift and owner, I tucked the naked man dartboard into a bag with other assorted things for The Swedish Chef and left it on my porch. The bag was picked up. Paco was left behind.

Well, needless to say, if naked man dartboards had feelings, Paco's would've been hurt. The Swedish Chef heartlessly deserted poor unsuspecting Paco.

So I did what any caring, thoughtful person would've done. I left Paco on the Swedish Chef's bed. With a note written by Paco professing his everlasting friendship and love.

Since then Paco has undergone a serious transformation. His naked dartboard body has been replaced in the first ever naked-man-dartboard-to-Ken-doll transplant.

Check out those abs! With his new body he has found that he is much more mobile and has developed a taste for social networking, travel and adventure. And also stylish clothes.

He returned to Beck House via a FedEx box a week after he was found in the Swedish Chef's bed.

He created his own Facebook page.

He snuck into a bag and hid by the kitty litter boxes at the Swedish Chef's house.

He bought some stylish new outfits.

He found his way into the glove compartment of Babs Killabez's car.

Paco has made new friends, underwent a body-changing makeover, traveled down the East Coast and created quite a stir along the way. I've asked him to guest blog about his adventures but he's shy and needs encouragement. You'd think a previously naked man dartboard would not have any reservations...

However I have a feeling in the next few weeks you'll be hearing more from Paco Suave.

My Hair

2010-04-05T09:30:00.004-04:00

One of the girls in my office recently got her hair cut. She went from long to short. I love the new look. I have hair envy. I've been wanting to do something different with my hair and Melissa has inspired me.

I called my friend Judi, who owns a hair salon in town. She told me to come down, she just had a cancellation. So I walk in with a photo of my soon-to-be new haircut. I'm sitting waiting for her to finish up with her client and I'm looking at this photo and suddenly I am having second thoughts. Will batman like it? Can I pull off such short hair? Is my face too round? Will this even look good on me?!? I was in need of a second opinion. So I sent batman a text. His text messaging is in shorthand so I will translate for you.

Me: Will you mind if I cut my hair short
Him: No
Translation: You are beautiful to me no matter what your hair looks like
Me: I'm talking really short
Him: Okay
Translation: You are a goddess
Me: So a crew-cut is all right with you?
Him: Can I call you buzz?
Translation: I love you

So I have batman's blessing and Judi is just finishing up. I'm ready. This is it. She washes my hair, we head on over to the chair.

"So what are we doing?"
"Just a trim"

I'm such a chicken.

Inventory

2010-04-02T06:59:00.005-04:00

Ahhh laundry.

Don't you just love the sorting, the folding, the laying-out-flat-to-dry sweaters? The sense of accomplishment when the clothes are clean and folded precisely. The balled up piles of bleached white socks. The stack of fluffy soft towels and crisply ironed sheets.

And as if that alone weren't enough, you also get an added bonus: the shiny smiling faces of your family as they cheerfully take their pile of clothes, kissing you on the cheek as they march off to their rooms with shouts of "Hurray Mom! Thank you for keeping us clean and presentable once again!"

Riiiiiight.

The laundry room - a necessary evil. Giant devices of torture that can turn a hundred dollar sweater into a ball of cat yarn. Eater of socks and stockings, it waits until your back is turned and it's filled with a load of whites before snarfing a red tshirt into it's cavernous piehole.

In an effort to placate the gods of all things clean and fresh-smelling, I had our laundry room repainted and added some new shelving it to this week. In preparation, I cleaned around and under the washer and dryer - a task that is not regularly part of the daily, weekly or even monthly to-do list.

No you don't clean under yours regularly. Don't even try to tell me you do. I've been to your house and guess what? I checked. And it's nasty.

Anyway, in only three and a half years of living at Beck House, here's what has accumulated under and around that area:

Seven white socks, each totally unique and vastly different from the other

Three colored socks in varying styles of stripes and polka dots

A twenty dollar bill, freshly laundered and still folded

Two tubes of chapstick, also freshly laundered

One tube of lip gloss

One tube of some sort of body lotion with glitter

A wife beater t-shirt

A navy blue toddler slipper

A thong

Three laundry detergent caps

A bag of microwave popcorn, still in the wrapper

Ok, I get the detergent caps, which speak to the function of the room but don't say much about my ability to clean it.

If you're wondering where your missing socks go when you do laundry - I have found them. Please come claim your socks before they run away and hide again.

The lip gloss, lotion and chapstick belong to Ziggy, who's pockets are filled with them daily in and effort to beautify what is already, in my modest opinion, perfect.

It's just a guess, but since I know Moose and TK don't wear them the wife-beater is probably a leftover from Moose's birthday party last summer. With 16 twenty-somethings sleeping over, something is bound to get left behind. I'm just grateful it was only t-shirt.

Clearly the twenty was mine - remember the time I told you I was pretty sure I was missing twenty dollars? No? Well I was. So it's mine.

Ditto on the thong.

Even the slipper I can figure out - it's small, probably fell out of the hamper and before you know it, it's scurried under and behind the machine.

But the bag of popcorn??? Seriously. Popcorn?

Anyone care to explain this one to me, please feel free...

Happy Birthday Zig!

2010-04-01T07:00:00.002-04:00

It started with a simple Facebook invite. Nothing big, just something to send out so a few friends could celebrate her birthday with us.

Even so, I wanted a theme.
Ziggy didn't.
Ok, it's her birthday so... no theme.
But me being me, I created a funny-to-me picture for Ziggy's birthday.

Which Ziggy, her being her, did not find amusing.

She begged me to replace it with a boring bunch of balloons.

But still - no theme mom! Really. I don't want a theme, it's no big deal.

Fine, no theme. Fine, balloons.

Yawn.

I casually ~~complained~~ mentioned to a friend or two that Ziggy lacked enthusiasm for the ridiculously funny picture I created for her.
Because the more I thought about it, the funnier it was.
Birthday present. In my shorts. Ha!

Yeah.

Then I sat back and let the good times, or ahem, the toilet paper, roll...

Her gifts came wrapped in toilet paper. There were toilet paper games.
Poop jokes for weeks leading up to her birthday. And then... there was the cake.

It was so good I wish I could take credit for it but it was the creation of two of the best embarrass-your-children-masterminds of our time...

A close up of the delicious cake - made with crushed cookies and cake, pudding, food coloring and hand crafted out tootsie rolls.

Drips over the side add a certain level of authenticity, don't you think?

Served on the kitchen floor, where else?

That's one tasty treat right there.

Zig - all I have to say is, it wasn't my idea.
Remember that when you decide to get even.

Cleaning house

2010-03-31T08:46:00.006-04:00

I have a love/hate relationship with face book.

I love it because It helps me stay in touch with friends and family that in the past I would not talk to for months because of distance or time just slips away from us. I admit I am guilty of face book stalking from time to time. Don't judge, I'm sure you do it too.

On the other hand I hate face book. It changes constantly, I think someone over there at face-book-headquarters whose name is probably Satan, has only function, and that is to figure out ways to make things more difficult for people to figure out, oh and to create annoying things like FarmVille, CookVille and CritterVille.

Over the past year I've come to realize there are all types of people on face book, I've broken them down and listed a few:

Friend Whores: These are the people who just like to have as many friends as they possibly can, strangers, the mailman, your friend's cousin that you met once when you were four... let's be face book friends! The more the merrier!! Maybe it makes them feel like they are truly loved. Whatever.

TMI Tellers: Sink sex? Good for you. You know what would be more interesting than reading about the details of your sink sex-capade? If you posted pictures.

Chronic Complainers: Every single thing they type is negative. "I seriously hate my job", "I'm so broke", "I hurt my leg", "My leg still hurts", "Why is my leg still hurting?", "My boss is mean to me, it's his fault my leg hurts". Take a prozac and step away from the computer. Seriously.

Fakers: If your life were really that wonderful, you wouldn't be spending 90% of your time on face book. Admit it.

So, I've started the de-friending process. By the time I'm done, I'll probably only have like 20 friends left ... but at least my wall won't be filled with meaningless crap from people that I don't even speak to, ever. I just don't have the time to filter through the BS when I log into Face Book.

After all ... I'm much too busy with all my friends, that is when I'm not having sex on my sink, because my leg hurts, but it's all good because I just LOVE MY LIFE!!!

Some Advice

2010-03-25T08:00:00.000-04:00

Whatever it is, whatever is holding you back, I have some advice.

Next time you say, think or type any of these words -

Can't be

Wanna be

Should be

Would like to be

Wish I could

Why can't I

When can I

Why shouldn't I

Why should I

It's difficult

It's challenging

It's confusing

Too soon

Too late

Too far

I want to but

He's holding me back

She's holding me back

No time

No money

No nerve

No support

Listen to me carefully. Whatever it is, stop procrastinating, plug your nose, close your eyes and step off the cliff.

Even if the water is cold and the cliff is steep "I jumped!" makes for a much better story than "Me? Jump? Uh no, but the view was pretty."

You can thank me later. Or now. Now is good, too.

The Test

2010-03-24T06:46:00.004-04:00

Dear Job Applicants,

Yes, there is a position open.

And I am sure you're well qualified.

But if you want it, I mean really want it, why not read the ad? Well, yes, clearly you read the posting or you wouldn't have applied but I mean the entire job posting.

Yes, the whole thing.

Did you do that?

No. You didn't.

How do I know?

Because I knew I needed to hire someone that paid attention to detail. Someone who wouldn't balk if I, or a client, asked for something that wasn't within your realm of "normal". And you're just not that person. I want someone who does first and questions later. Or doesn't question at all. Know what I miss? Secretaries who get coffee.

I digress.

So if you are job seeking, seriously looking for good, steady employment then for heaven's sake, you should have read the ad!

Don't scramble and run back and try to fix it now. Too late.

You missed one important detail. Perhaps the most important detail. Because if you had included this but not your name I still would have read your resume. See right after the job description and before the benefits? Yes, right there. See that? What does it say?

Please reply via email with Admin/Your Name in the subject line and a resume attached in a Word document. To be considered, your email introduction must include your full name, desired salary, anything about you that stands out, questions you may have, your favorite color and your contact information.

Now you see it, don't you? Include your favorite color.

Because I really want to know you as a person? Nope.

Because I am studying color and the effects it has on the employer/employee relationship? Good guess but not even remotely close.

Because I care that you love purple and that you find it so uplifting and vibrant? Um, no, actually I don't.

By not including it in your email you saved me the trouble of having to read your resume.

Can't follow directions? Skim over information and miss a detail that's not important to you but could be vastly important to someone else? Judge me for asking, will you?

Delete. Delete. Delete.

To be honest I should thank you for not including this trifling bit of information. By not fulfilling my request, I only had to read 40 resumes, instead of 320. Hours I would've spent poring over resumes were instead spent creating mind-numbing spreadsheets. Hmmm... maybe I shouldn't thank you after all.

Come to think of it, yes I will thank you - Job seeker, thank you very much for not paying attention. You've freed up my workday and made my job that much easier.

Sincerely,

The Employer You Won't Be Working For

Should Be...

2010-03-17T07:34:00.006-04:00

It's not that I procrastinate. I really don't.

I'm a List Maker with a capital "L".

And I derive intense pleasure from crossing off each and every little thing on that list.

But there are days when the nagging voice in my head that closely resembles my own (hey at least it doesn't sound like my mother, can you imagine???) reminds me that what I am doing is not constructive, productive, accumalative, creative or any other word ending in -ive.

Right now?

What I am doing - posting to the blog I've neglected.

What I should be doing - performance reviews for employees.

Earlier this morning?

What I was doing - sleeping.

What I should have been doing - working out.

Last night?

What I was doing - watching American Idol and eating Moose Tracks ice cream while curled up with Ziggy.

What I should have been doing - lease comparisons, website updates, revising spreadsheets, reports, reports, reports. Oh and some reports.

Not to say I'm a slacker. Far from it. But there are some days that I shift priorities away from what I should be doing to what I want to be doing.

I'm thinking today might be one of those days. So if we happen to cross paths and you catch me (gasp!) reading a book in the middle of the day or taking a walk that doesn't remotely increase my heart rate please don't stare and point and cover your gaping mouth with your hand in horror. No need to make me feel guilty for my lack of accomplishment - the voice in my head is right there with me, mocking me as I bake cookies for no reason whatsoever.

Listen, before you get all this-isn't-the-Sharon-I-know-and-who-or-what-has-possessed-her-body on me, take a step back. Don't call the freak police just yet - even when I'm not Type A on the outside, it doesn't come without excessive self-induced guilt. Trust me on this. The Type A on the inside won't let this leisurely creature exist for very long. I'll be back to my driven, over-achieving, list-making, goal-setting, schedule-adhering self before long.

But for right now I am now going to sit and stare at a wall and dream of a day when the stars will align, all will be right in the world and if I'm very, very lucky, what I want to do and what I am doing will turn out to be exactly the same thing.

Oh Morning... why are you here?

2010-03-08T08:21:00.000-05:00

4:47 a.m. It feels like it's time to get up. Please don't let it be time to get up. If I look at the alarm clock I might find it is time to get up and I really don't want to know. But if it's not time to get up I should find out so I can go back to sleep, right?

4:48 a.m. One eye peek. Just look at the alarm clock. If I do it quick the clock won't even notice me looking.

4:49 a.m. Oh bless you alarm clock! I can go back to sleep.

5:12 a.m. Why can't I go back to sleep?

5:36 a.m. Am I in the office today or telecommuting? Because if I'm telecommuting then I probably should've brought home that file on Ms. I'm-So-Entitled so I can prepare for her unemployment hearing.

5:41 a.m. I can't stand Ms. Entitled. Who does she think she is?

5:59 a.m. Must be time to wake up. Ok, I'll just get up now.

6:00 a.m. Ha! I can still sleep for another hour. Or I can get up and work out before anyone else wakes up. Or, I know, I'll get up and write! Yes, I'll get up, make a cup of coffee and write!

6:03 a.m. By the time I finish getting dressed and putting my sneakers on I won't get much of a workout. Guess I'll write instead.

6:12 a.m. That was weird. I blinked and eight minutes went by. There's no way I fell back to sleep. Ok, time to get up and write. Who am I kidding? By the time my laptop is up and running the whole house will be awake. I'll go back to sleep, I'll feel better with some more sleep.

6:30 a.m. Why do I set the alarm to wake up Ziggy, knowing I don't actually have to get up for another half hour? Remind myself later to buy Zig her own alarm clock. I really should keep a pad of paper next to the bed so I don't forget what I need to remember to do.

6:38 a.m. Ziggy's been woken up. Twice. I can probably close my eyes for a few more minutes. Yeah, that'd be good.

6:43 a.m. Is that Zig running water in the bathroom or is the heat turning on? I should make sure she's really awake.

6:48 a.m. What am I wearing today? Dress up for work or dress down to clean my file cabinets out? Hmmm... not in the mood for big girl clothes so dress down it is. Jeans, sneakers and white t-shirt. Easy.

6:55 a.m. If I write a blog entitled "How White Are You?" will readers be offended? Will they still be offended if the post is addressed to my drawer full of white, semi-white and grey-ish white t-shirts?

6:58 a.m. I really should wear that white Duran Duran t-shirt Babs Killabez gave me... Definitely sometime soon. Not today. But soon.

7:00 a.m. What on earth is that dreadful noise and where it is coming from? It is so not time to get up yet. Ugh. Apparently it is. Whatever. You win, morning. I'm up.

Blogger Award!!!

2010-03-05T08:00:00.000-05:00

I follow myself with a Google Alert.

No idea why I started this, but it's a great way to keep track of who else is talking about me on the web. When my name is mentioned on a site, I receive an email alert. Cool, huh?

Oddly enough, I get emails on a regular basis.

Not so odd, the website that features my name pretty regularly is, um, this one.

So imagine my surprise when my Google Alert yesterday told me someone other than me was talking about me. And sure enough, there I was on on the fabulously funny Little Ms. J's site, getting a little blog love.

Many blog sites will award blog awards to other sites that they love, adore, respect, follow or worship daily.

Not sure what prompted Ms. J to nominate me but if I had to guess... all of the above perhaps???

So.

I am now the proud owner of the Blogger Buddy Award.

Yes indeedy.

I. Am. Somebody.

I think, though I could be wrong (in which case just hush up and pretend I'm right) that I am supposed to post 5 random things about myself as recipient of this award and, in turn, pass the award on to 5 other sites that I love, adore, respect and worship daily.

So here goes:

1. I love a good debate. Not just an argument for argument's sake but an intelligent discourse with someone who can defend their position in a calm, reasonable tone without resorting to "Oh yeah??? Well, well, well... you're dumb".

2. I would rather lose a debate than win one. And will respect that person forever for making it impossible for me to win.

3. I can spell almost anything backwards. esaelP t'nod tboud em. gnitanicsaF tnsi ti?

4. From the time I was 8 until I was about 13, I had convinced myself there was a pretty good chance I was adopted. Turns out it was just wishful thinking.

5. My most embarassing moment as a child involved recess, a nose full of snots and a giant sneeze. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

And my Blogger Buddie Awards go to:

Amy at Amy Sue Nathan - Editor extraordinaire, spewer of great advice and soon-to-be-famous author.

Debbie at Suburb Sanity - A unique perspective on, well, just about everything.

Jen at Cake Wrecks - When I'm in need of a laugh, I go here.

Jon at Stuff Christians Like - I talked my pastor into taking the "How Metrosexual is Your Worship Leader" quiz featured on this blog.

So there you have it, 5 random things about me, 5 awesome blogs for you to visit today - after you comment, that is!

Happy Friday!!!

Three Words of Advice

2010-03-01T11:18:00.005-05:00

Last week I blew through Meg Waite Clayton's novel, The Wednesday Sisters.

I have only three words of advice for those who haven't read it - BUY THIS BOOK.

Seriously.

Ok, I'm lying.

Not about buying the book. About only saying three words.

As you may have noticed, I've become cynical when reading a new or new-to-me author. Actually I've become cynical about some of my old stand-by authors too.

A dwindling pile of books to read demanded I go to B&N, where I may have overlooked this treasure. But the book gods interceded, so an errand to Target (where I never buy books. Ever.) and a tight schedule had me wandering past the endcap where The Wednesday Sisters were hanging out, calling my name. How could I resist?

I'm not going to ruin it for you. Or even provide a synopsis.

What I will tell you is this - the woman standing in the corner with her back to you in the lobby of the Hilton, well, that was me.

I didn't want you, or anyone else, to see me sobbing and laughing at the same time. I'm pretty sure my nose was running, too. Sure, maybe I should've stopped reading and waited until I was alone. But... I couldn't put it down. Yes, it's that good.

Now why are you still online? Go buy this book. NOW.

Is There a Doctor In the House?

2010-02-23T07:00:00.001-05:00

Ziggy has known what she wants to be since she was, oh, maybe five or six.

I'm not sure when it happened, or even how... but somewhere around that age she decided she was going to be a doctor.

I'd come home from work and there she was, like most kids her age, sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the tv.

Only unlike most kids, Zig was watching a caesarean birth. Or the separation of conjoined twins - this one was always a hit with her. Or a heart transplant.

Around the age of seven she chose her college - Harvard. I think it had more to do with the fun vibe of Harvard Square, not to mention the huge candy store.

I took Zig to Manhattan for the first time when she was nine or ten. By this time she had narrowed her chosen field down to surgery. Not only would she be a doctor, she would be a surgeon.

My suburban girl fell in love with the sites, sounds and ugh, even the smells of New York. She tries to talk me into going back for a night or two every few months.

And so her career was still focused on medicine but now her college of choice? NYU.

Not only did Manhattan have Times Square and peanuts on every corner, but Mary Kate and Ashley went to NYU and if it's good enough for them... yeah.

Ziggy's a teenager now and will be entering high school soon. She's still focused, even more so than before. She has narrowed her field even futher - cosmetic surgery.

On the one hand I'm hoping she will be using her skills to help those less fortunate - burn victims for example. On the other hand, I eagerly await receiving the deep family discount on a lift and a tuck. I figure by the time she graduates, I'll need both.

Stanford is now her school of choice. Not sure why, other than the fact that it, like Harvard and NYU, comes with a hefty price tag.

I look at her going to Stanford in a much different light than Harvard or NYU - essentially I have four more years to selfishly talk her out of crossing the country and leaving me for a college too far away to come home for weekends and holidays.

Zig has even planned her marriage and the birth of her two children to work around her education and career training - hopefully she finds the right man at the right time who is willing to conform to her Master Plan.

Did you ever remember having that much focus at so young an age? I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up until... well, last year I think.

I love that girl. But her absolute faith in herself is one of the many, oh so very many reasons I admire her too.

Zig may grow up to be a doctor and realize her childhood dream. She may not. Either way is ok with me as long as she's happy and knows that God has a plan for her life.

But whatever Ziggy becomes, and wherever her college choices and career path lead her (ok, not actually wherever - I meant wherever as long as it's near home), she'll always be her mommy's girl.

The Power of Observation

2010-02-19T08:00:00.000-05:00

You've had that Jeep for how long? Two years? And you didn't know it had a remote starter???

Wait, let me back up a second.

Men are better than women at a lot of things. Lifting heavy objects, for example. And... um... other stuff that I can't quite think of right now.

But observation? Let's be totally honest here guys, you notice very little about... very little.

Maybe you did see the hot girl walking by in the mini-skirt. But did you notice her nail polish is chipped? Or the color of her shoes?

Ok, you notice the grass needs mowing - yay! Bonus points for you. But did you also happen to see that the pool has turned a murky shade of green? You know, the pool - that huge gaping hole filled with water smack in the middle of all the overgrown grass? Yeah that thing.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not totally bashing your observation skills, or lack thereof. Sometimes it even works to my benefit.

TK never notices when I've gained a couple of pounds.

Or that the jet black of my top doesn't quite match the faded off-black-almost-grey of my skirt.

He's not once brought up the topic of waxing and my eyebrows in the same conversation.

Best of all he hasn't noticed that in the 10 years we've known each other I've aged, well, about 10 years. So honey, thank you very much for not noticing.

However.

There are other small areas I would like you to notice.

My new haircut. My new boots. The new furniture.

The milk that you just poured that was the last of the gallon. Because the milkman is not due to visit the house anytime in the next century so someone should add it to the grocery list. Yes, the one we keep on the counter. The counter near the coffee machine. The coffee machine that doesn't work. That one.

You know what else would be cool? If you realized that the brand of shampoo I use hasn't varied since time began and no, I don't use nor want the 45 gallon green jug of shampoo from the warehouse club but thanks for picking that up. It sure looks heavy. And you are good at lifting heavy things.

I used to get frustrated when I sent TK to the store with grocery list in hand only to receive a text from the condiment aisle. "Is whole grain mustard and yellow mustard the same thing? What color is whole grain mustard? And is it kept with other mustards or someplace else? Can I just buy ketchup instead?"

At least you go to the store so I'm not complaining. Much.

But not noticing that the Jeep you have been driving for two years has a remote start button on your key fob?

Oh TK.

What did you think that little button did?

I won't even go into how if you read the instruction manual for your car that you would've known what it did but you're a guy and guys just don't read instructions... but seriously, what did you think would happen if you pressed it?

Would it turn on your invisibility mode and you weren't sure how to reappear?

Maybe it would turbo boost your engine, sending you careening off down the highway out of control, causing accidents left and right like something out of a Keanu Reeves movie.

Or I know, maybe the little button would open the door into a vast portal that takes you to another dimension which would take you far, far away from me so you knew better than to mess with it.

Yeah, that was probably it. Good thing you didn't press it, huh?

Quinn Cummings Interview, re-post

2010-02-18T07:02:00.003-05:00

It's school vacation week here in Massachusetts and to top it off, the little people have me running around doing all kinds of little people stuff... I'll have a new blog posted soon, I promise! But in the meantime, here's one that was originallly posted last July.

My interview with Quinn Cummings.

Quinn Cummings, author, inventor, mother, fellow blogger and in a previous life, actress and agent.

And while that’s quite an impressive mini-bio it wouldn’t be complete without mentioning she’s my new Best Friend. Second BFF, after Doreen of course.

Recently Quinn and I sat down over triple soy half decaf extra grande lattes with a dusting of Guatemalan nutmeg to talk about her new book and well, life in general.

And me.

Honestly, the girl likes to talk a lot about me. (Ok, ok, confession: I was sipping coffee from Dunkins here at home while Quinn was in sunny LA, drinking iced chai tea in her pajamas, emails bridging the distance. Whatever. We were together in spirit.)

Fortunate for you, I am able to share some of our girl-chat with you today.

Me: I've just returned from a jaunt to Barnes & Noble where I picked up your book, "Notes from the Underwire". In spite of my repeated assurances to everyone that I was, in fact, your new BFF, they made me pay for it anyway. And it was so worth it! While my nose is still deep in the folds absorbing that new book smell, I have to take my face out of it for a moment to tell everyone out there: If you haven't had the opportunity to read it yet, you MUST! And I'm not just saying that because we're BFF's either.

Quinn: Thank you so much. So you don't want the other half of my heart necklace?

Me: That would be awesome, did you get my name engraved? Know what else is awesome? Your book. I love the stories you have shared about your relationship with Alice and found myself laughing and cringing right along with you. How was your relationship with your mom similar? How was it different?

Quinn: I'm fanatic about telling her the truth, which I think is very much how I was brought up. We laugh a lot; my mom and I did that. But my mother had to work for financial reasons and I'm home with her a lot more in any given week. Not better, not worse, not cheerleading for Team Stay at Home Mom, but it's very different.

Me: What was the biggest life lesson you learned from your mom that you hope to pass on to Alice?

Quinn: My mother told me often that my talent was very nice but it was something I couldn't help, it was a gift from God, but she took as much pride in my being punctual, professional and courteous. She was right; the arts are full of badly-behaved moderately talented people and very few make it the distance, because too many people are all too happy to see them fall.

Me: Speaking of writing, which post on my blog was your favorite and why? (Ok, just kidding. No not really)

Quinn: Oh, that one where you...said stuff! It was great! Really, hysterical. Also, I cried. The sordid truth is that I've been very light on reading first-person confessional blogs lately, because my writing-voice has a nasty habit of taking on the flavor of whatever I read. It's like literary tofu. I'm safest with pictures of cats captioned in pidgin English but really, aren't we all?

Me: During our conversation, you’ve said several really nice things to me. Thank you, you’re so sweet! What's the nicest thing a person ever said to you as a child? As an adult?

Quinn: There was an interview Tom Shayles did about me when I was a kid where he noted that, all things considered, I was a pretty normal little kid. Considering how weird I had seemed in every interview up until then, I remember being pleased. Now I like when I find someone who, commenting about my blog, describes me as "You know, a pretty normal person." When you're a former child actor, normal is a very big deal.

Me: So if you could either act or write, which one would you choose? What if you never had an audience to perform for or to read your writing, would you still choose the same?

Quinn: I wrote for several months before I got a hit counter or, as I refer to it, "The outer manifestation of my inner worth." During those months, I tended to assume no one was reading the blog, because I'm Eeyore-ish like that, and yet I kept doing it, because it pleased me and it made Consort laugh when he corrected my punctuation. I loved the bit of acting which comes between "Action" and "Cut," but I disliked the rest, and the actual acting part of the acting life is statistically insignificant. I've already spent more hours in happy pursuit of writing than I did acting.

Me: When writing your book, was there anything that you considered taking out before publication? Or was there anything that was removed that you regret deleting?

Quinn: I thought long and hard before I added in "Like a Tattoo on Your Butt," because I was concerned people would think it was an attack on my mom. She made a difficult decision about keeping a health situation secret because, among other reasons, she was afraid she would get fired for being sick. Anyone feels like judging her, they can answer to me. Anything I removed was for the best.

Me: Some people remove the nuts from their brownies. As my BFF, you know I prefer my brownies with nuts. Are you more of a "with nuts" kind of person, or "without"?

Quinn: See, nuts are perfect because then you can pretend you're only eating the brownie for the Omega-3's in the walnuts. That’s why I'd eat my weight in pesto with a clear and happy conscience, not to mention a wide and copious butt.

Me: If your book was a fine wine, would it be deep and peppery? Fruity and light? Would it go well with chocolate or brownies? How would you describe it?

Quinn: I'd like to think I was very drinkable and that I have a stronger kick than you'd expect. Also, oaky. I've always like that wine term and it would please me to be oaky.

Me: Since you’re not getting the hint that I’d like snacks and a beverage, let’s talk more about your book. Writers and actors everywhere talk about their "amazing journey"; it's become the catchphrase of our time (and one I despise). Without using the words "amazing" or "journey", tell me what led you to write about your, um, amazing journey.

Quinn: The kid who just sailed around the world before he turned eighteen is allowed to discuss his amazing journey. My book is a bunch of stuff. I like to think I probably have the same amount of embarrassing incidents as other people but am blessed with a nearly eidetic memory for my own petty humiliations and a lack of the genetic material which tells you when you're defaming everyone who shares your last name.

Me: You mentioned previously that "normal is a very big deal". Based on your book, that seems quite an accomplishment when living in LA. What do you do to stay normal?

Quinn: I live my life. Yesterday was publication day, which was exciting. But the kid still needed to get her hair trimmed and the dog had to have an antibiotic hidden in butter. It's hard to feel fancy when you're slipping a pill into a butter-pocket.

Me: Oh I know the feeling, girlfriend. I do the same for my husband’s sleeping pills. When he’s not sleeping, TK frequently steps up on his soap box (as written about in my blog) when it comes to certain political practices. I can get heated up when I discuss family issues. What gets you up on your soap box? And what does it take to bring you back down?

Quinn: People walking dogs who are abundantly unneutered make me start mumbling under my breath like a crazy person. Dude (and it's usually a man walking him), the world doesn't need another red-nosed pit, lop those off.

Me: Know what keeps me up at night? I think the next generation is suffering from many things but mostly, I worry about their lack of good ad slogans. We grew up wondering how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop, wondering where the beef was and what we would do for a Klondike Bar. If you had only one catchy slogan used to sum up your life so far, what would it be? Would it be the same if you had to print it on t-shirts and hats and wear it until your dying day?

Quinn: I've always had a fondness for "Exit, pursued by a bear." It covers both my general lifetime unease and will, I suspect, also end up being my obit.

Me: That’s great, maybe a title for your next book? I confess that while I have not finished “Notes from the Underwire” yet, I did skim through the second half to ensure there was a "happily ever after" ending. Imagine my disappointment when one glaringly obvious fact became, well, glaringly obvious. I see that you forgot to mention me. Was that intentional? I mean, will there be a sequel featuring me? Or did I just ruin the surprise by asking that?

Quinn: It's like this. First, I stalk you. Then, I live behind your trash cans for a while. Then, I write about you. Now please stop bothering me; I'm weaving hair I found on your hairbrush into an ankle bracelet.

Quinn, thank you for being such a good sport and joining me on the blog today! Quinn's book "Notes from the Underwire" is available at Borders, Barnes & Noble, Amazon.com and everywhere else really cool books by really cool people are sold.

This thing called love

2010-02-15T08:14:00.005-05:00

Dear Friends,

I'm in love. Yup, me. Let's face it, none of us saw this coming did we? In the past eight years, my dating life has been fodder for your entertainment. It's been an experience that is for sure. Since this is a rated PG blog I won't go into details, but you all know what I'm saying.

As funny as those stories were, most of the time dating was not so much fun. I appreciate that you've always been there for me. At times, it was difficult always being the "single one" of our group. But it wasn't in me to settle just for the sake of having a boyfriend. So I was always the chick without the +1 for our group events. You always opened your homes to me on major holidays so that I wouldn't be alone, and I love you guys for that. But the truth is, I've always felt alone - for 64 major holidays, I've been alone.

This love thing, it's new to me. So please be patient with me. I know I don't spend as much time with you as I used to and I miss you. You've all been in your relationships for a long time now, but remember when you were in the beginning stages of love? How you wanted to spend as much time as possible together? That's where I am right now. It doesn't mean I don't want to spend time with you and we all know that in time things will slow down a bit. But for now, be happy for me okay?

There is plenty of room for everyone in my life, and I love that you want to spend time with me too, but can you cut me a little slack? I'm just new to being a +1. So bare with me. It will all work itself out.

Love,
Me

A Mother's Love

2010-02-04T08:00:00.002-05:00

Ziggy - "Mom, stop! No seriously, stop! Ok -" insert dry kiss on cheek here, "I kissed you good night. Now go!"

Me - "Smooch! Smooch! Smooch!"

Ziggy - "Ok, enough! Why do you keep kissing all over my face. AAAAARRGGGHHH! Oh no, mom! Not hugs too! Stop! Squeezing! So! Hard!"

Me, still puckered up and now hugging Ziggy with a grip GI Joe would envy - "But I loooove you sooooo much baby girl!"

Ziggy - "I love you too but you don't see me hanging and slobbering all over you. You're so close I can see the hairs up your nose. And I think I see a gray one."

Me - "Now that's not funny. Ok, maybe just a little bit. But I love you and this is how I show it, whether you like it or not."

Ziggy - "Well I don't actually like it so..."

Me - "Ok let me put it this way, what if Spendy invited you over for chicken and you were all like "oooh I adore chicken!" and then she served it on a blue platter and you didn't like blue platters. Would you tell her to take the chicken back and serve it on a pink dish instead?"

Ziggy - "Um. Chicken?"

Me - "It's an analogy, Zig."

Ziggy - "So you're the chicken?"

Me - "Yes. I mean no. My love is the chicken. And my kisses and hugs are the blue platter."

Ziggy - "So what does the pink dish have to do with your love?"

Me - "Ugh! I am trying to show my love, or the chicken, by giving you hugs and kisses, aka the blue platter. But instead you want, I don't know, let's say a trip to the mall to buy boots, which is represented by the pink dish."

Ziggy - "So you don't want to take to me to the mall then?"

Me - "No, I don't. I mean yes. I don't know, maybe. There was a cute scarf I've been meaning to pick up..."

Ziggy - "I'll get my coat."

Me - "Wait. Focus for a second. I really want to make sure you get what I'm trying to tell you. It's important. Not just for me and you and our relationship now but for future relationships, too. Someday you'll meet a great guy. And you'll want him to love you. And he'll show it how he's comfortable showing it. You can't want someone to love you and then criticize the way they show it. Chicken equals love, my girl."

Confusion crossed her face and then cleared. Her face lit up. Oh my goodness, this was it - our mother daughter moment. A bonding moment that will be relived for generations to come as Ziggy falls in and out of love. A Hallmark commercial in the making. My eyes began to glisten with tears as my daughter reached a hand out to me.

Ziggy - "If chicken equals love, and chicken nuggets are 100% white meat, can we stop at McDonalds on our way to the mall?"

Ohhh Zig. Of course we can.

Faceless Fairy

2010-02-03T12:51:00.015-05:00

I make cookies and cakes. I am by no means a professional baker, but my cake decorating skills are slightly above average. My cookies are a work of art. Word of mouth through co-workers and friends keep me busy. I've never had a complaint, except when it comes to TK & Sharon. It's not that they complain, but I've noticed a trend when I make cakes for them.

I made a cake for Ziggy's 13th birthday - perfection

I made a cake for Ziggy's cheerleader dinner party - spectacular

I made a cake for one of the Rugrat's birthday's - fabulous

And then I've made other cakes that are just cursed. I've decided that it's a chocolate cake curse, because every time I make a vanilla cake, no issues. But request a chocolate cake... and something ALWAYS happens.

Case in point - TK LOVES chocolate cake with raspberry filling and chocolate frosting. Last year I was asked to make the cake for his birthday party. Sure, no problem - I've made this type of cake before plenty of times. This should be easy. Ironically, that weekend I had two other cakes to make - so I put TK's cake off until the last minute. Well, the frosting was a chocolate fudge frosting that is made by melting the chocolate and then adding confectionery sugar. Add the fact that the chocolate cake had not completely cooled before I frosted it - and you have a disaster. The cake itself tasted great, but it was not very pretty to look at.

After I made Rugrat #1's cake in December, his sister told me she wanted a Tinkerbell cake for her birthday in January. She wanted a chocolate cake. Do I need to say anymore? I made the cake the night before, it came out awesome. I had it sitting on my dining room table in the cake carrier ready to go. I spent the night at Batman's house... we had a lazy morning, I made us breakfast...we took our time that morning. After all, the cake was made, I just needed to stop by my house and pick it up. The party is at 1:00. At 12:30 I head home to pick up the cake. It is tipped over on the floor, still encased in it's protective carrier - but now Tinkerbell is just a blur of frosting. Panic. I tried to repair her, but it was not working...so I had to re-frost the entire cake! The frosting I use is not some store-bought-in-a-jar stuff. It's made from scratch. So I had to redo Tink and still try to make the party. I was late, and Tink had no face. She was a faceless fairy. I didn't take a picture of her because I was rushing around and by the time we got to the party (2 hours later) People were ready for cake.

So the moral of this story? Need a cake? I'm your gal ... but I warn you now, if you ask for a chocolate cake - there are no promises on what you'll get.

I'm just sayin.

Books, Glorious Books!

2010-02-03T08:00:00.005-05:00

Dear Sweet Loving Books,

I was wrong.

There I said it.

I got the words out and didn't throw up (much) as I said them.

Ok allow me to rephrase that.

I was right at the time I said all those things I said to you, you know about how shallow you are, how boring, how blah, blah, blah.

I was right. Then. At that particular moment in time. Now? Not so much.

I was, I will admit, perhaps a bit too harsh. Maybe a tad too quick to point the finger.

The truth is... I do believe I've fallen back in love with you.

My incredible friends have stepped to the plate and well, like all good friends can do, they whupped me up side the head and talked a little sense into me.

You have them to thank for saving us. So say thank you.

It started with Sarah's Key by Tatiana de Rosnay. I was sucked in by the back cover copy and though I braced myself for disappointment... none came. None! It was engaging, moving and well written. Finally, a book I could respect and recommend!

Then one of my newer BFFs in the making, Funky Diva, recommended The Pillars of the Earth (Ken Follett). In all honesty I haven't read it yet but when she suggested it I remembered that I meant to. Which means it must have piqued my interest at one time. So it's on the list now and I'm excited at the prospect of cracking it open.

Then my nook was whining. A lot. "You've had me since Christmas... buy me something already!" Writers in my writerly circle were all abuzz about Saving CeeCee Honeycutt by Beth Hoffman. So my first official ebook purchase was made. Beth, you had me at "Steel Magnolias meets The Help..."

What would I read next? I no sooner asked the question than it was answered by fellow blogger and writer Shelby Dupree , who was kind enough to feed my reading habit by hosting a giveaway on her site, giving away... you guessed it. Books! Not just any books, but books she swears she read and enjoyed. Thanks Shelby!

Then as if the Book Gods weren't smiling down on me enough, Randy Susan Meyer's debut novel The Murderer's Daughters was released. Well, Randy is not only a fellow Backspace member but also a Boston girl... how could I not read it? Plus I'm seeing her on Thursday so the least I could do is read it, right?

Let me interrupt myself for a moment... I have a few writer friends / acquaintances. Do you have any idea how hard it is to be friends with a writer?

Or, to be more specific - Do you have any idea how hard it is to be friends with a writer who gets published before you and whose book you shelled out twenty bucks for only to think when you finish it is what great kindling it would make for your fire and would the marshallows you roasted over it while it burned now taste nasty?

So, yeah, I was a bit nervous about reading it.

Well let me just say this - It's all I can do to sit here and write this post and not crawl back under the covers with Randy's book. I. LOVE. THIS. BOOK.

Last night, after TK peeled the book from my face (I just rested it there for a second, I wasn't sleeping, really), I climbed out of my toasty warm bed and shuffled downstairs to make some coffee just so I could stay awake and find out what happens to Merry.

Then I remembered my Keurig was broken.

Stupid Keurig.

Anyway, my point is... I'm sorry Books. I was right. You were wrong. And then I was wrong. Now you're right.

But if we give it one more try I think we can make this work. Because I love you Books.

And if loving you is wrong then I don't want to be right.

Now stop gloating and hush up so I can get back to my reading.

Just Like That, Only Different...

2010-02-01T08:00:00.001-05:00

When I tell people I'm a writer I typically get one of three responses.

1 - Really? I have always wanted to write. People tell me I should write a book about my life, as it's so fascinating. Which it totally is, you know. You see it all started when I was four and my family moved to Pittsburg. Or was it Akron...

2 - Wow you write? Like books? What's it about? No wait, do you know Stephen King? Or, hey do you know that lady who wrote the vampire book? Now that's a great writer! Can you get her autograph for me? Hey Maureen! Sharon wrote a book, about vampires!

3 - What did you say your book was about? Huh. I like it. No, I really like it. But you know what would be even better? (click on the video for the rest of this conversation)

* Saw this first on The Swivet, a blog by Colleen Lindsey, agent at FinePrint Literary Management

Why have you forsaken me?

2010-01-29T08:00:00.000-05:00

Keurig, look, I'm trying to be nice.

I'm trying not to pick a fight.

But it's seven a.m.

I want coffee.

No I need coffee.

And you're totally holding out on me. It's too early and I'm too crabby to cajole and coerce so, really...what's your problem????

Seriously, is all the attitude necessary?

I take care of you. I follow your instructions as best as I know how. I do what I'm told, when I'm told. I give you love and respect and hey, I even talk you up to my friends. Last week I was singing your praises to a total stranger in line at the grocery store.

I don't know what else to do to prove I love and need you. When did we lose that specialness? That certain something we shared? The quiet mornings when I curled my hands around you and snuggled close, you warming me from the inside out. Why has our relationship has become so one way?

I give and I give and I give. And what do I get back?

I mean sure, you act like you're going to give back. I'm convinced of it as I hear the brewing noises, those sweet little sounds you make that tell me you love me too. And then... Dribbles. A splash. Brown mud in the bottom of my cup.

What's up with that?

I'm not gonna lie. There's only so much I can take. I'm only human Keurig. And I have needs. You can shut me off for only so long before I can't bear it anymore.

I know where I can get coffee and I'm not afraid to go there. Dunkins, unlike you, is always there for me. Twenty four seven.

Tell you what, why don't you stick that in your pot and boil it for a while then we'll see who's left with an empty cup.

Nizmo the Wonder Fish

2010-01-27T06:41:00.003-05:00

I bought Moose a fish after a particularly rough weekend, hoping to cheer him up.

Cute fish.

Within a few days Nizmo was lifeless. I checked on him frequently.

Tuesday. Nope. No movement.

Wednesday. I tap the glass. Tap, tap, tap. Nothing.

Thursday. Hmm. Why isn't this dead fish floating to the top? Maybe beta fish don't do that?

Friday. Well, at some point dead fish start to smell. I should probably flush dead fish.

Saturday. Ok, that fish is dead.

Now what? Do I mention it to Moose or will that make him feel worse? Ugh. Clearly it's time to RIP Nizmo.

Off you go to the great beyond, where all good fishes go. Traveling the way of your ancestors.

Bye bye Nizmo.

Poor dead Nizmo.

With my hand on the flush I bid Nizmo safe travels. Which is when Nizmo came to life and began swimming vigorously.

I looked at Nizmo. He smiled. He gave me a thumbs up. I'm pretty sure he wanted to stay.

I'm almost positive he wanted me to flush him. I can say with a keen degree of certainty that he did not want me on my knees, toilet-side, reaching deep into the bowl to retrieve his sorry old self.

A ladle, a measuring cup and a soaking wet shirt later, Nizmo was back in his bowl.

Stupid fish.

You look just like...

2010-01-25T09:30:00.000-05:00

Originally posted 5/13/09... thought I'd repost it as I'm not feeling particularly "Reece-like" today...

Depending on the time in my life, I've been told I look like various people, and thankfully I've always found myself flattered... but lately, the celebrities are getting younger (and surprisingly shorter). I won't complain, not once have I been compared to say, Billy Bob Thornton or Michael Jackson (although you know who MJ looks just like? Peter Wolf. Check it out, I kid you not)

Anyway, I'm checking into a hotel earlier this week and the woman at the desk looks up at me (I was having a very good hair day, and face day too) and it went like this:

Woman: "You know who you look just like?"

Me, all flattered: "Probably but go ahead"

Woman: "Reece Witherspoon"

Me, cocky after having it heard it all of twice before (not going to lie, one time he was drunk) "Yeah I get that a lot"

Of course she looks down at my driver's license, up at me and, naturally has to ask "But you're not, right?"

Hee, hee... no, I'm not. And not even close if you ask me. However Jake Glynhallal (or however you write his name) did visit my hotel room later that same night, but that's another story...

My husband, gotta love him, insisted on calling me Reece all that day, much to my daughter's mortification, going so far as to put our dinner reservations under Reece. Funny guy.

So which famous person do you resemble? Add your comments below...

PS - someday Reece Witherspoon will be checking into a hotel and the conversation will go something like:

Woman: "You know who you look just like?"

Reece: "I know, Reece Witherspoon, right?"

Woman: "No, actually Sharon K, the author. But you're not, right?"

oh yeaaaahhhhh baby

~Sharon

Dearest Books,

2010-01-20T08:00:00.004-05:00

I never thought we'd have to have this conversation but... well. I can't put it off any longer.

It's not you.

It's me.

You see I've changed. I'm no longer the enchanted, wide-eyed, credit-card wielding ingenue you seduced many years ago with your high profile novels. I am no longer impressed with your end cap displays, your glossy cover art or your famous name. I can't pretend to be interested in you when quite frankly, I'm downright bored by you.

I need more.

I need intrigue and suspense. I yearn for twists and turns, characters I feel so strongly about that I'm sure I know them, a storyline I can't forget.

We had that once, you and I. We shared so much together. You always knew just what I wanted no matter when, no matter where. You were with me at the beach, on late night flights and in countless waiting rooms.

What happened? Where did the mystery go?

Come on, don't you remember when I didn't know what was going to happen next, and how exciting that was for me? For us?

We had something special. And you were so, oh, I don't know. Unpredictable. Exciting. Dare I say stimulating?

Now?

Not so much.

Now I can read you like, well, like a book. I know what's going to happen on page 234 right around page 10. I confess, sometimes I don't even need to read beyond the dust jacket. And there it is in black and white - start, middle and end. Pre. Dict. Able.

Which makes the next 250 pages about as exciting as watching grass grow on a Chia Pet. But I stuck with you anyway. Hoping I might be wrong. Knowing I'm not.

Look, I've tried to make it work. I really have.

I gave you the benefit of the doubt time and time again, hoping that this time I will feel something. Anything. This time will be special. This time there will be magic. With a capital M.

But no.

Instead I'm sticking toothpicks in my eyelids to keep them open.

I know, we have so much history and yeah, we've had our moments together. The Time Travelers Wife... oh, that was a good one. I felt it, you know? And remember The Camel Club? How I stayed up all night because I couldn't wait to find out what happened? And The Help - so delicious I couldn't have written it better myself. What? Yes, you're right, I did love The Shack, you know I did.

It's just... well.

What have you done for me lately?

It wasn't that long ago that you would draw me in, romance me, immerse me so deeply into your world that my surroundings would melt away. I was so into you that nothing else existed when we were together.

Last night instead of reading before bed you know what I did?

I flossed.

Twice.

Look, I know I'm not perfect. I've made some mistakes. You don't need to remind me about the book with the world-jumping, language-challenged bear. In hardcover no less. I said I was sorry about that. And I still am. But it wasn't even my fault. There was that great blurb on the cover. Plus it was on a table at the bookstore. A table, which you know always draws me in. Not. My. Fault.

But even if I am to blame (which I am most certainly not), does that justify your behavior? Does that make what you are doing to me ok?

No, no it does not. And I'm not going to take it anymore.

I am no longer going to be charmed by your blatant lies. Your offers of excitement and fun, romance and suspense. Your fancy end cap displays. From now on I am not going to be swayed by your empty promises.

My friends tried to steer me in the right direction, recommending other books.
Books written with me in mind. But I wanted you. I rebeled.

They pointed me towards websites and reviews that told me how wrong we were for each other. I balked at their efforts.

I defended you, I tried anyway. Whipping open your latest effort I pointed to page 74, only to find I could deny it no longer.

No connection. No spark. Just words. Not even good words. Blah, blah, blaaaah.

And then to add insult to injury, just yesterday even Rachelle Gardner, literary agent extraordinaire, reinforced what I had been hearing all along.

When it comes to books, recommendations are where it's at.

Huh. Who knew?

Here's the thing - I want, I need, to be moved to tears. To laugh out loud. To feel emotions so powerful when we're together it's all I can do to contain them.

On second thought I don't want to contain them. I want to dance and sing and tell strangers how in love I am with my books! I want to sing your praises and buy second and third copies just to share because I love you so much!

That's it. Mediocre books, we are through.

From now on I am not going to cave to your seductions, your wanton come-hither looks from across the bookstore floor. From this day forward I am listening to my friends, and my sister and my husband and the NY Times Bestseller list and strangers on bn.com and and and...

You know what?

I lied.

It's not me.

It's totally you.

Cast your Ballot!

2010-01-19T07:57:00.005-05:00

I don't usually climb up on my soapbox like TK does.

But today is your chance to send a message to Washington. Today is your chance to speak out and be heard.

The message might be something like "Yeah, let's work harder and make less so we can give it to those that choose not to. I want to support an administration that majors in Finger Pointing and minors in Not My Fault. And while we're at it, I'm all about supporting a government that makes decisions contrary to what the people want or need!"

In that case, your message will be sent to Washington in the form of a vote for Martha Coakley.

But if your message sounds more like "Please don't make decisions that I am in not in support of. I work hard for my money. And pay my taxes. But I'd like to keep some of it. When I came to the town hall meetings and voiced my opinion, I was not placed there by a right-wing extremist. I came because I cared and would've appreciated if you listened. I'm all for supporting those that can't support themselves. But I am not interested in supporting those that can but won't. I'm not asking for much - I'd just like to live in a free country, a democratic society. Sure, socialism might work for some people but it really doesn't work for me."

In that case you should tell Washington you're serious, you're paying attention and you've got your eye on those in power. In that case, vote for Scott Brown.

Of course there's another message you could send.

If your message sounds more like "I prefer not to make decisions, for myself or anyone else. I like to complain a lot but I'm not so inclined to do anything about it. I'm looking forward to the end of this election nonsense so I can tell people what I would have done differently, had I chosen to do anything. Also so they can stop election coverage on the local channels and I can get back to watching uninterrupted prime time re-runs."

If that's your message to Washington, just keep on doing what you're doing.

So what message will you send today?

Twice as Nice???

2010-01-15T08:00:00.002-05:00

Never in my life have I attended the same concert or seen the same performer two nights in a row. Or two nights in the same month.

Come to think of it I probably have not seen the same act twice in the same year either.

Until now.

Naturally you're wondering which performer I hold in such high esteem that I might invest not only my hard-earned money but also my precious time that is in such short supply these days. Of course you are.

I would wonder the same thing if I were you.

And if I were you and I (pretending to be you) knew me fairly well, I would guess Big Head Todd and the Monsters. I do so love Big Head Todd.

I love his Monsters, too. So that would be a great guess.

To which I would say "Ennhhh! Wrong answer!" (on a side note I would totally see him twice in a row however the Big Head doesn't actually do two concerts in a row. He's kind of a one night stand kind of guy I guess.)

If I were you and I (still pretending to be you) knew me marginally at best, I would guess U2. Because who doesn't love to see U2 live?

Wrong again. You're not doing very well today, are you?

John Mayer? Sting maybe? BB King perhaps?

I'd like to say yes but... no, nope and nosirreebob.

Those of you that really, really, really know me already know the answer.

Yeah.

Him.

Nick.

Jonas.

There, I said it.

And you know what? It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would.

Know what else? The kid is good. Really good. Sorta great even.

Nick Jonas performed with his new band The Administration and despite the screaming, crying, does-your-mamma-know-you're-wearing-that teenagers, I actually enjoyed the show. Both nights. (As opposed to the Miley Cyrus concert I suffered through last year. Suh-huh-huh-huh-ferred).

My love for Ziggy knows no bounds and apparently neither does my pocketbook...

Highlights of the night included the opening act, the very talented, incredibly gracious Diane Birch. Diane, a young bluesy beauty won over Ziggy and her friend, though I wonder if her music wasn't just a bit mature for the young audience.

The screamsters seemed to have hard time focusing on her performance while waiting for young master Nick to appear judging from all the texting going on...

The lovely young singer dedicated time after her perfomance to sign autographs and patiently posed for pictures, quite a rarity these days. Ms. Birch - you are certainly a class act.

And then there he was. OMG! OMG! OMG!!!

Nick Jonas is an incredibly talented young man, you just can't deny it (Not even you MB). I just don't think his audience "gets it". What they get is him. Or perhaps I should say what they want to get is him.

However had he removed his name from the band and the tour and released a cd as just "The Administration" I can almost guarantee the audience would have doubled in age automatically.

- I should mention here that the group backing him up consisted of incredibly talented musicians, most of which had previously backed Prince. My generation. When music was way, way cooler. Need I say more?

However surrounded by the screamsters who went limp as Nick Jonas drank water (OMG!!! I drink water too!!!!) and cheered wildly when he talked about being diagnosed with diabetes (what is wrong with you girls??? seriously) it was a bit challenging to focus on the music and really appreciate what we were there to hear.

The fact that he is a talented musician is utterly lost on them. Had he sung satanic verse in pig latin backwards I suspect the teens would have responded in much the same way.

Ziggy? No screaming, no blatant "I love you Nick!" shouted out as if he might notice and reply. Just a smile and a little bopping to the music and maybe some singing along. At a reasonable level. Because she's different.

Sure, she adores the boy but come on - with her eclectic taste in music I'm sure she appreciates his musical talent. It's all about the style. She admires his ability to play multiple instruments. The range of his voice. In fact, I'm not even sure she's noticed what a cutie he is.

Riiiiighhhhttt.

Note to Nick - Use your powers wisely young man.

Second Note to Nick - Don't hang out too much with those band members. You're not of age. Besides, partying is so overrated.

Final Note to Nick - Yes, you did miss out on meeting my beautiful, brilliant and fantastic daughter but you seem like a nice Christian boy. Come for dinner. Bring your parents. I'll make chicken.

Man Texting 101

2010-01-12T08:15:00.001-05:00

*** Don't forget - bone marrow drive this week!

A friend recently asked "Do men text smiley faces to each other?"

Hmmm... do they? I knew what I thought but then again, I'm not a guy. So I called Moose.

"Hey when you're texting a friend and he tells you good news..."

"No we do not text smiley faces to each other."

"I didn't finish."

"I knew what you were going to say. Nor do I use exclamation points. Ever."

"Because?"

"Because that's a chick thing. Guys just don't."

"Ok so say you're texting a friend and you say something and he replies with a smiley face. What do you do?"

"I hope he made a mistake."

"Huh. Well what if, just go with me here, what if you sent him one -"

"I wouldn't."

"I know. But let's just say you did."

"Ok say I did. But I wouldn't. So don't say I did to any of your friends or anything."

"Ok."

"And don't post on your blog that I did either."

"Alright look, let's say it wasn't you. Let's say Superstar texted Man-Ho and Man-Ho replied with a smiley face. With me so far?"

"Is this going to take long?"

"Superstar replies to Man-Ho's smiley face with one of those faces where you stick your tongue out, you know, when you use the letter P for the mouth? Do guys do that?"

"Never."

"So what if he did? What if Man-Ho replied back to a smiley face with a stick out your tongue face?"

"Then he's gay."

"What if he's not gay, which we both know Man-Ho is not."

"Then I'd ask him why he had been pretending he wasn't gay all this time when he clearly is."

"Well thank you once again for your insight."

"No problem mom. And if you mention this on your blog don't even think about saying it was me that sent the smiley faces. Guys just don't do that."

"Hey one more quick question - what if you were texting a girl? Would you send one then?"

"Bye mom."

"No wait! What if the person who received the tongue sticking out replies with a wink? And if it's two guys? Or a guy and a girl? Then what?"

"Love you. Bye mom."

Hmmm...

Do men send smileys to women?

If you're dating and newly in love, I think yes, probably. And it's cute but not annoying. Yet.

If you're just friends and the guy is straight, then no.

If you're married, well... not likely. But if a husband does send a smiley what does that mean? After all, we're pretty sure at this point he's not gay, right?

I say one of three things:

1) He's not currently mad at you. Which is good.
2) He just bought tickets to the Superbowl and is softening you up before telling you. Not so good (unless you have a pair of boots you've been eyeing and are willing to negotiate)
3) He's in the dog house and desperately wants out. Could be good or not so good, depending on how you look at it.

If it's Number 1, maybe you should reply back with a wink. I would.
Number 2, well I don't know how you would reply but me? I would send a >:-(.

And Number 3? Well that might not even get a reply, depending on what he's in the dog house for. Or in the time honored tradition of female communication he'd get a one word reply. "Fine." But again, that's just me.

As for guy to guy smiley faced texting... I have to agree with Moose.

Guys just don't do that.

Imagine this...

2010-01-11T07:30:00.001-05:00

Imagine you are on your way to work. You stop for coffee and a muffin at Dunkins.

As you walk through the parking lot you see a box. And it's on fire.

Inside is a little kitten, it's face peeking out out, it's big round eyes meeting yours. To save her you just need to reach in beyond the flames and pull her out.

Would you do it?

What if it meant scorching your fingertips? Or singeing your eyebrows?

Would you still do it?

What if it meant Dunkins would run out of muffins before you made it to the counter? What if it meant you'd be late for work?

Would you still do it?

What if you knew the kitten was going to scratch you as you pulled it from the flames?

Would you still do it? Would you save that kitten's life?

Now imagine it's not a kitten in the burning box.

It's a man.

A grown man with three beautiful daughters. A man with a loving wife.

Would you save him?

What if the man wasn't in a box, but in a hospital bed. What if instead of battling the intensity of a fire he was battling a deadly disease. What if instead of a hand to pull him from the flames he needed bone marrow.

Would you still do it?

What if to save his life all you had to do was have the inside of your cheek swabbed to see if you are a match? What if that made you late for work? Or made you miss another re-run of Lost? Or made you late for dinner?

Would you still do it?

Imagine now that you are a match for this man. And your marrow would mean that his next Christmas would be spent at home instead of in a hospital bed. It would mean that he could live his life as it was meant to be.

Would you still do it now?

What if instead of the scratch of a kitten's claw you had to feel the prick of a needle? A needle that would remove stem cells from your blood, stem cells that could save this man's life. Or someone else's. What if donating bone marrow was as easy as donating blood and not as painful as you thought it would be?

The question is no longer would you still do it.

The question is - How could you not?

Dean Gordon is fighting leukemia.

A simple act of kindness on your part could change his life.

It could save his life.

Please become a registered bone marrow donor. It's quick. It's easy.

Join me at the Lowell Memorial Hospital Bone Marrow Drive for Dean this week.

Thursday, January 14th, 11 a.m. - 5 p.m. / Lowell General Hospital Drum Hill Campus / 20 Research Place, Chelmsford

Friday, January 15th and Saturday, January 16th, 11 a.m. - 5 p.m. / Lowell General Hospital / 275 Varnum Ave., Lowell, MA

For complete details, including times and ways you can help, please email Michele Gordon.

Not local? Anyone, anywhere age 18 - 55 can register to be a donor.

Find out how on the National Marrow Donor site

Seriously.. how could you not?

Things I Wish I Could Say

2010-01-06T07:33:00.004-05:00

As my days fill up with things I can't even begin to list, I decided that instead of writing a witty (aren't they all?) commentary for today I'd re-post a witty commentary from last summer...

Friday, July 24, 2009

Things I Wish I Could Say

Inspired by fellow blogger Sarah J Henry, who reposted a lovely blog by Steph Bowe, I have created my own list of things I've wanted to say to people I know or have known.

Some things I don't say because I will embarass myself.

Some I don't say so I won't embarass other people.

Mostly it's a little bit of both.

Please don't ask me if I am talking to you. If you think I am, then I probably am.

If just once every so often you thought of me, that would be very nice.

I really adore you but sometimes you smell.

I pray for you.

I wish you took better care of yourself.

I have tried really hard to forgive you but am not there yet.

The eighties are over. I am speaking to you and your hair.

I'm really disappointed that after all I did for you that you can't be happy for me.

Not even a little bit.

I wish I could stare at you for hours at a time but I know that would creep you out so I don't.

You used to finish your sentences, now you get lost mid-thought. What happened?

I'm really sorry for the way things ended between us.

Children do not raise themselves. Yes, as a matter of fact, it is your job.

Please stop drinking so much. It makes you a very dull, boring person that repeats every dull, boring thing at least twice. Loudly.

Remember when I said it wasn't you, it was me? I lied, it really was you.

We're really not as close as I'd like us to be.

I miss you so much it hurts.

Being mean doesn't make you more interesting. It just makes you mean.

Please drink more often. You are a very dull, boring person that needs a little something to loosen you up every now and then.

Your children are so very lucky to have you as a parent and are completely clueless about it. They'll figure it out soon enough. I hope.

As much as I like you, please stop flirting with my husband. I know you think it's funny and sometimes it is but mostly it's not.

When you lost your confidence in yourself you really changed. Please change back.

I hope someday you realize how much damage you've done and that when you do, it's not too late to repair it.

When I needed you, you weren't there.

Loosen up, baby! It's all good!

As it turns out you were wrong, you really didn't know better than me.

Yes, your children are great but do you think you can keep an eye on them once in a while?

If I tell you a secret it's between you and me until I decide to share it with others. Or not.

You have always been there when I need you and even sometimes when I didn't. Thank you.

I wish you could've been here to see my children grow up. I know they would've loved you like I did.

If you weren't so bitter and angry your life could be so much better.

I'd like to be friends with you but making new friends as an adult is so hard.

You know what would be awesome? If you showed up somewhere around the time you said you would.

Please stop being so negative. It's your child for Pete's sake, be proud of what they have done and stop focusing on how it doesn't fit into your perfect plan.

Sometimes when I am shopping for clothes, I think about whether or not it's something you would wear because I really like your style.

You missed out on a lifetime of a good thing and that's a shame.

Know what? God does exist and I think no matter what you say, you really do know that.

You are so young and so smart and could do so much better if you just tried.

Don't keep telling people we are friends. We're not. When you decide to return a call, ask me how I am and really care about the answer and stop being a self-centered witch, we'll talk. Maybe.

I bet if you tried very hard you could find something to talk about other than your job.

I know I'm supposed to be superwoman but I'm not. Lower the bar for me, would you?

What are some things you wish you could say?

2009...you've been a very good year...

2009-12-30T11:59:00.003-05:00

Dear 2009, I have to admit I am sorry to see you go

So many things to be thankful for, I just thought I’d let you know

We started this blog sometime in May

So many things have happened since that momentous day

We’ve shared many stories about Ziggy, Moose and my boy

Because they are the ones who bring us the most joy

Sharon finished her book, no small feat

Now we’re just waiting for that special agent to make her literary dream complete

We’ve met some wonderful people and made great new friends

Just to name a few, the Blackie’s, the Faust’s, the Lapa’s and the Atherton’s.

We purchased a hot tub, ok Sharon and TK actually paid for it

But I’ve got my own spot with a plaque reserving the place where I sit

I met the man of my dreams and fell in love

Not a day goes by that I don’t thank god above

The Beck house has two new rugrats who now call it home

No better parents will they ever find for their own

So I will welcome 2010, and put the old year to rest

But I’ll never forget you 2009, nor the happy memories that I will always cherish

Ghosts of Christmas Past

2009-12-29T07:28:00.006-05:00

I never feel relieved when the holidays are over.

In fact, I wish they'd stretch out just a bit longer.

I must confess, I love Christmas. And Easter. And even Thanksgiving.

But Christmas... What other holiday has an entire season dedicated to it?

The best part of Christmas? The memories it creates.

Sometimes it's the little things. Last year I saw the play "Christmas Shoes" for the first time. In the weeks leading up to Christmas our church performed one scene every week at the beginning of Sunday services. I couldn't wait to see the entire performance on Christmas Eve. And it was amazing.

Many years ago Spendy's mother-in-law sang Silent Night in German, the language it was originally written in, during a Christmas Eve service. As the last notes of Silent Night were sung last week and we blew out the candles at the end of the Christmas Eve service I had tears in my eyes, as I always do. My brother-in-law turned to me and said what I was thinking - "I'll never forget hearing my mother Silent Night."

Taking Moose to cut down a Christmas tree for the first time.

The Christmas I let someone else talk me into a scrawny, sad little Christmas tree that try as I might, still looked like the ugly stepbrother to Charlie Brown's tree.

The year Ziggy was allowed to choose her own gift for me. I wore those shiny gold slippers proudly. (But not publicly).

The best Christmas gifts don't have to cost a lot, it's the memories they create. I love the nook I received this year but I'll never forget the year TK framed the wrinkled and torn piece of paper we had written our wedding vows on.

We decorate our tree with ornaments that have withstood years of abuse - from Moose's Baby's First Christmas ornament that has the wrong year written on it to the red handprint from a three year old Ziggy. We have tried to purchase or make a special ornament each year to add to our collection on the tree. The tree whose theme is simply "Us."

Cinamon rolls and orange juice while opening presents. I can't remember a Christmas without them.

Santa wrapping his gifts in special paper that features his smiling, bearded face. Every single year. Something I just recently learned has gone entirely unnoticed by everyone but me.

This year, as we prepared for Christmas with the added bonus of two new members of the family, memories of Christmases past kept coming back while new memories were being created right before me.

We've had a lot of firsts. First Christmas with Moose. First Christmas with Ziggy. First Christmas as a single parent. First Christmas as a blended family. First Christmas without my family. First Christmas at Beck House.

This year we add another first to the list of firsts - our first Christmas with the Rugrats. And with that, so many happy moments and memories to reflect back on in the future.

Isn't Christmas great???

The Dark Side

2009-12-21T08:00:00.001-05:00

I always wondered what tempted good people to go bad.

What would bring a respectable, decent, upstanding person to cross that line.

To leave a world of sanity and normalcy.

To voluntarily traverse to a world of sin, despair and darkness.

There are books written on it.

Religious leaders of all beliefs pray, talk and preach about it.

Parents warn their children about it.

Today I wonder no more.

I have found the answer.

The Dark Side has a marketing plan. And it's working.

Caution: they're coming for you next. And I hear they're serving oatmeal chocolate chip.

A Gift Card? Oh, you really shouldn't have...

2009-12-18T08:00:00.002-05:00

Um seriously? You really shouldn't have.

I have a hate / hate relationship with giftcards and it goes something like this: I hate getting them. I hate giving them.

Sure, I have exceptions to this rule. For example, weddings and anniversaries. Maybe. Especially if you know the couple but don't know the couple.

High school graduations, if the child is not related to you.

Nieces impossible to buy for (yes, you know who you are).

Gift cards for personal services, i.e. babysitting or a home cooked meal.

But when did we become a society that gives what equates to money that can only be spent in a store of our choosing instead of one that gives gifts that are chosen with thought and care specifically with that individual in mind?

I know, I know.

It's easy.

It's convenient.

You're only thinking of them, this way they can pick out what they'd like.

Ok, sure it's easy. But if you really want easy, just don't bother. What's easier than that?

It's convenient? For who??? Not for the person receiving it. Now they have to take that "gift" and go out and dedicate time and effort to purchasing a "gift" that they really want.

Which brings me to my next point - you're thinking of them. Really?

If you know the person well enough to exchange gifts with them, well then, don't you know them well enough to know what to get them? Do you listen when they talk? Or do you talk when they talk?

Been to their house for dinner? Ever notice they make a one-dish casserole every time because they actually only one one dish? Hey, here's an idea - buy them another one!

Know what the best part of a gift is? The surprise!

When I was a single mom purchasing my first home Trixie could have given me a Home Depot gift card as a housewarming gift. She knew I spent every extra nickel and every spare moment at that store.

Instead she bought me a toilet.

She dropped off the toilet and decorated my front yard with a ridiculous number of pink flamingoes when I was at work.

Nothing says "I know you and I love you" like a toilet. Or pink flamingoes for that matter. To this day it was one of the most thoughtful gifts I have ever received.

Last Christmas TK framed the scrap of paper he had written his wedding vows on. The scrap of paper he had brought back from Nevis and hung on to for over a year.

Ever get teary-eyed when you get a gift card from Applebee's? Yeah, didn't think so.

So this Christmas as you're standing in line at Barnes and Noble with a gift card you picked out just for me here's something to think about - if you don't know me well enough to figure out what would be a memorable and thoughtful gift, then we shouldn't be exchanging presents.

And if you get a gift card from me, well... that's just not going to happen.

My Feet Don't Smell

2009-12-16T08:00:00.000-05:00

It's true.

It dawned on me after my shower this morning as I was putting on a semi-clean pair of socks.

And it hit me.

My feet don't smell.

It was somewhere between an observation and an epiphany.

An epiphservation. Or an observiphany.

Felt the need to share this with you today.

You're welcome.

Traditions

2009-12-15T10:38:00.003-05:00

On December 20th, the boy turns 16.

Our birthday tradition for years has been going to Friendly's for a birthday dinner. I never was a big fan of Friendly's but it was his birthday and his choice where we went to dinner. Every year at this time, I remember the one special year when Ryan was 8. We went to neighborhood Friendly's and as we sat at our table and talked about his day at school we played tic-tac-toe on those color pages that they give kids to stop them from wreaking havoc. That year one of his gifts was a chess set. He loves the game, and we talked about him teaching me how to play. I guess at one point I must have said something about it being his birthday.

After our meal, our waitress came over and told us that our dinner was paid for - including the birthday cake that she had brought to our table. Some very nice gentleman (she pointed him out - I only saw the back of his head as he walked out the door) heard that it was a birthday dinner and our meal was on him. I was shocked. Ryan thought it was the coolest thing. We talked about what a generous thing that was for a total stranger to do as we ate his ice cream birthday cake. Then my boy did the sweetest thing. He said "Mom, can I give one of my balloons to that little boy over there? It's not his birthday but I bet he'd like it because he keeps looking at them". I looked over at a middle aged woman and a little boy about 4 years old. They were sharing a meal, and the little boys clothes seemed a bit ragged. He was smiling when I looked over at him, his mother seemed tired but she talked softly to him as she wiped his face. My eyes got teary (because even though I act like a bad-ass, I really do get emotional about stuff like this). I told him that it was a very good idea. So he gave the little boy his balloon and his face lit up. His mother thanked Ryan and she smiled at me.

As we walked out I stopped at the register and paid for their meal. Ryan asked me why I was paying if someone already bought our meal. I told him since our meal was free, I thought it would be a nice idea to give someone else a free meal too. When we got in the car, he told me that it was the best birthday dinner we've had. I know it was the most memorable for me. Not because I got a free meal, but because of that really cool feeling you get when someone does something completely unexpected...throw in that the someone was a total stranger....then do the same thing for someone else and it just doubles that feeling.

Fortunately he's grown out of Friendly's.... we're stepping it up this year and going to Fudruckers! Woo-hoo! While I won't miss the food at Friendly's, I will fondly remember the kindness of a total stranger and the impact it had on us both.

The Great School Debate, round 6. No wait, 7. 8 maybe?

2009-12-14T13:00:00.004-05:00

High School.

Blech.

Ziggy is almost there, according to her age and the chronological order of grade levels.

Ziggy is already there, according to her intellectual aptitude as well her parent-directed attitude.

If we lived in a town where the high school was exceptional there would be no debate. Our public high school would be a great option.

But in our town, not so much.

It was a great school for Moose, who would rather die than have to wear a uniform to school every day (jokes on you Moose, I say to he who wears a tie to work now). Moose was, and still is, a bright boy. School just wasn't his thing and that's ok.

Ziggy however... school is very much her thing.

Kindergarten - already reading, the teacher had Zig tutoring the other kids in colors and the alphabet.

First and second grade - Ziggy wanted extra homework because she was bored. The teacher gave her what the other students did and then a special assignment.

Third grade - after watching some pretty intense surgeries on the Discovery channel, Zig decides she's going to be a doctor.

Throughout grammar school her favorite tv viewing time included watching a c-section, the seperation of conjoined twins and pretty much any type of surgery.

Ziggy's Master Plan takes shape. She will go to medical school at either Harvard, NYU or Stanford (how it's being paid for isn't part of her plan).

Sixth grade - Zig narrows her chosen field down to cosmetic surgery. I try to work out a barter - face lift upon graduation from her medical residency. Maybe a boob job too. No deal.

About this time she also chose her high school. Her decision was based upon some very important factors.

Ok, one important factor.

Her friends, the ones not going to public high school, are going there.

From that time until now Ziggy has made it quite clear. She will be attending Big Catholic High School.

TK and I are not against it.

We are not for it.

We need more information before we can commit one way or another. So together, with Ziggy, we tour four schools.

TK and I quickly eliminate one school, Dilapidated Catholic.

Ziggy loves it, of course. Second only to Big Catholic.

Ziggy quickly eliminates another - All Girl Catholic.

Naturally TK and I are completely smitten with everything about it.

The three of us do agree that Private Elitist Prep is definitely not for Ziggy.

And Big Catholic, Tour Number Four?

As the crowds pushed through the open house of this enormous high school, our tour guides skipped over classrooms that were too congested for us to enter. We nodded to a teacher from afar, his bespectacled face peering out from behind a throng of parents and would-be students.

He looked like a good teacher. He really did.

Hard to tell since we never actually spoke. But his nod was filled with vast knowledge and a deep understanding of the teenage mind. I could just sense it.

The one thing we did see was the gym, which was something out of High School Musical. I almost broke out in song and dance.

The truth is TK and I couldn't make heads or tails out of Big Catholic. If wide hallways and a cool gym were important factors then our decision would be sooo easy.

Sadly, neither were high on our lists.

Now if Zac Efron happened to be a student there, well, that's another story. I would be going back to high school too.

Ultimately TK and I loved the feel of All Girls Catholic. Geographically a bit far for us, we agreed we'd be willing to sacrifice the shorter commute in exchange for a smaller school. A keen sense of community. An annual mission trip. Full immersion languages. Beautiful campus. A freshman sleepover in August to begin the friendships that would blossom over the next four years. High ranking SAT scores. Not to mention college scholarships that averaged 65K per student.

So here we are.

Big Catholic vs All Girl Catholic.

Ziggy applied to both. She wrote her essay for All Girl last night and all I can say is, I'd accept her.

Tuesday she writes her essay for Big Catholic.

I'm fairly confident she will be accepted at both.

I am also fairly confident the next few months will be filled with all sorts of interesting debates and plea bargains.

God help me.

Ziggy, all I can say is if you really want to go to Big Catholic, really, really, really want to go, it's time to bring your A game. Sharpen your debate skills and do your research. Like you said in your essay last night, you need to be in it to win it.

Because this is it.

Decision time.

Oh yeah, it's on.

Let the games begin.

Christmas Caroling 2009

2009-12-09T13:38:00.010-05:00

It's that time of year again... the Christmas music the malls have been trying to shove down our throats since Halloween is finally not only appropriate but also welcomed.

And who doesn't love a Christmas carol?

This year however, in the spirit of the craziness of the holidays, I have taken the liberty of writing my own words to several of the more well-known carols.

Sing along with me, won't you?

Sung to Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer

Zhu Zhu the wonder hamster

It's what every kid begs Santa for

One more stupid toy craze

Not found in any store.

Sung to Silent Night

Baked Ham, Apple Pie,

Ate so much, Want to die.

Grandma's stuffing, had to try it,

After New Year's, start my diet.

Wearing sweat pants til then,

Elastic waist bands until then.

Sung to Let It Snow

Oh the shopping at the mall is frightful,

And the sales are so delightful,

But since we're all short on dough,

Just say no, just say no, just say no!

Sung to We Wish You a Merry Christmas

We wish we were in St Kitts,

And we'd stay there a year!

Sung to Deck the Halls

In-laws come and never leave,

In law law law law law, law law law law.

Visit too long and I can't breathe,

In law law law law law, law law law law.

Don we now Prozac and valium,

In law law law law law, law law law law.

Washed down with vodka til I am numb,

In law law law law law, law law law law.

Ok, now I'm in the Christmas spirit... :-)

Playing chicken with love

2009-12-07T13:55:00.008-05:00

For those who know me, they know that I am very picky. I don't settle and I am a little hesitent with commitment. I've been single on and off for 8 years now. I am very independent and enjoy the freedom that comes with not being part of a couple. I do what I want, when I want and it has worked for me.

I've always hated dating. I get bored easily. I always find something wrong with the guy, and on rare occasions they find something wrong with me...but I know the truth, it's not me - it's really them. I find most men I've met are quite dysfunctional. I'm sorry but a 40 year old man should not be living at home with his mother. Oh and dude, how can you not have a car? It's not like you live in the city. Then of course there are those guys who want a "Friend with Benefits". Sorry pal, I've got enough friends...and the benefits you're offering really aren't all that beneficial. Um, no I don't believe you when you say your separated but are still living in the same house with your wife for financial reasons. Do chicks really believe that line? And if it is true, then seriously man - work it out with your woman or move on but lose my number please. I truly believed that I would never fall in love, that I just wasn't capable of feeling that way about any man.

Then I met Batman. We are going on 5 months now and I'm still amazed at how happy I am. He is everything I've ever wanted or could have hoped for. My friends tell me I'm glowing when they see me. There is a sort of calm feeling when you're in a normal, healthy, functional relationship. All I can say is that this is what Nirvana must be like. The fact is, I love him.

Sharon of course was the first to know, but I have not told him. I have no intentions of telling him first. I can say it here because he has no idea about this blog. My friend Pookie tells me that I should just throw it out there. I keep telling him that I'm not going to say it first. He insists that it needs to be said. He calls me a wuss. He continues to harass me on a daily basis "did you tell him yet?". All I say is that I don't need to tell him, and I'm in no rush. We are happy, things are perfect just the way they are. When he's ready to tell me he will, I know he's crazy about me. He tells me all the time, and for now that is enough.

It's kind of like the game "chicken". Who is going to be the first to flinch? All I know is, it isn't going to be me!

So I've decided to take a little pole...in your relationship - who said "I love you" first?

New Reality

2009-12-04T07:20:00.000-05:00

I feel like I've entered a new reality.

Sort of Twilight Zone (the original series. Excellent stuff) meets Sesame Street.

Imagine, if you will, two little people. Little people who speak their own language. A combination of English, gibberish, Hindu and pig latin.

You come from a world of big people. Big people who don't cry when it's time for bed. Big people who do their business in the bathroom, not their pants.

You are comfortable here, in your safe world that you know. But suddenly you are thrust into an alternate universe. A universe that is like the one you came from, only very different.

You have entered the Toddler Zone.

Remember when Doreen redesigned our family room when TK and I were having a date night?

Yeah, well coming home to a houseful of furniture completely rearranged is nothing compared to what it looks like after having two toddlers move in with us.

This time of year I put a pot on the stove with oranges and cloves or apples and cinamon. Or sometimes this awesome candle from Yankee that smells like fresh baked cookies. The house fills with a wonderful aroma that smells so homey.

Right now? Not so much. More like a combination of Desitin and poop, with just a hint of barf.

I can't even tell you how exhausted I have been these past two weeks. I felt the same way last year. But last year I had mono.

This year I have toddler-itis.

Even with mono, by this time last year my ten foot tree was up and fully decorated. My staircase was draped with garland and ribbon. Candle light shone in every window and wreaths hung on every door. Christmas cards were written, stamped and ready to go and my shopping was just about done.

This year... well, your Christmas card may get to you by Easter.

I've gone from making major decisions, running meetings, reading spreadsheets and conversations that begin with "Based on my research, it appears that the best course of action would be..."

To clipping coupons for diapers, comparing brands of apple juice for their sugar content, fighting with a safety device meant to keep kids out of cabinets but instead keeps me out of cabinets and having conversations that begin with "Don't hit your sister, no, no, you can't scratch her either, share that toy, good boy, hands to yourself, wait, let me wipe your nose..."

It took me years to remember to take my car keys, laptop, cell phone, wallet, purse, sunglasses, regular glasses and wedding ring. And sometimes I still forget a thing or two.

Now add to that list diapers, wipes, books, sippy cups, crackers and toy du jour that if you don't bring they will ask for 100 times, like a broken record stuck on that one phrase "Where's Barbie?". 100 times on the 2 minute drive to the store.

The Toddler Zone is crazy, hectic and exhausting. But I have to admit, I'm loving it.

Last of the Pie

2009-12-01T07:55:00.004-05:00

The last piece of my apple pie is gone and I'm pretty sure the pan was licked clean. The delectable apple pie filled with tender, sweet apples encased in a flaky crust with just a dusting of cinnamon was the point of contention between TK and I this past weekend as he stepped on the scale.

TK insisted I was the cause of his over-the-holidays-weight-gain. I argued the very valid point (in my opinion, which validates it just by the fact that it's my opinion) that I only made the pie, I didn't force him to eat it. Like the people that sue McDonald's for making their calorie and fat laden food too delicious to resist, I stand by my argument that a lack of willpower on his part does not make me the guilty party.

As the great debate raged on it reminded me of another pie-eating, or pie-making, incident.

Read on...

http://realitycoveredinchocolate.blogspot.com/2009/09/pie-oh-my.html