I know, I know...I haven't posted anything lately! I've been absolutely swamped--but in a very, very good way! I've been busy writing for SHAPE, OK!, and Star magazines where I'm now lifestyle editor. I'm super excited about that and also...drumroll please....my book is coming out!

Yes! The FabYOUList: List It, Live It, Love Your Life launches on September 10th! You can preorder the book on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Indie Bound, and some other great sites as well. There's a listing on Good Reads.

Here's a short video about the book...if you're a mom, I have a feeling you will relate to my story.

The Early Bird Catches the View

There are a lot of benefits to being an early riser. I love having a peaceful house, the smell of coffee, and of course--the view!

For the Last Time, I am NOT the Maid

Photograph: George Marks/Retrofile/Getty Images

Dear Kids,

I just wanted to remind you that “mom” and “maid” are not synonyms. I also want to remind you that you are teenagers. There is nothing wrong with your arms, your hands, your legs, or your brain. You are capable of learning to use the washing machine. You can remember when your sports practices are, and you most definitely can make your beds in the morning.  Oh—and that tall basket in your room is called a hamper. Since the one thing I’m certain you do know how to do is surf the Internet, I suggest you Google it.

I’m sorry if I am coming across angry. But, angry describes how I’ve been feeling lately—other than taken for granted that is. I blame myself really, for your not understanding that it takes some effort to keep your room neat and clean and your laundry washed and folded (or ironed and hung—as you, my youngest, so kindly reminded me last night). I have been remiss in teaching you the ins and outs of basic housekeeping.

When you get home today I’m planning to surprise you with a live tutorial of how to work the washer and dryer, the pooper scooper, the broom, the mop, the vacuum, the dishwasher, and the toilet brush. I will impart all I know about making beds and folding fitted sheets (which I’m afraid isn’t much). And then, I will introduce you to my little friend…the chore chart.

Have a nice day,

Your MOM

(NOT your maid)

The Art of Reframing

Nobody gets in line for pain or heartbreak, but it is precisely those things that build our character and grow our wisdom. So why do we interpret bad experiences as bad? I say interpret, because I truly believe that we have a choice in how we process our experiences.

Case in point, my son recently got a crappy grade on a math quiz. I’m sure he’d love that I’m sharing this with the world right now! He was absent the day the teacher went over what was going to be on the quiz. He asked her what he’d missed. She didn’t mention one type of problem that ended up being on the quiz. And so, even though he’d done the responsible thing and checked in after having been absent, and even though he studied, he came home with a 6 out of 10 on that quiz. He was feeling pretty upset. He went to the teacher the next day and explained what had happened, but she refused to allow him the opportunity to retake the quiz or do any extra credit work. She told him he’d just have to make it up on the next test.

Now that’s a pretty crappy thing to have happen. But after my son worked through feeling upset about it, he decided to look at it as a challenge instead of a setback. He met with a tutor. He studied straight through his free periods and lunch, and for hours at home last night.  In other words, he put in a lot more time studying for the test than he would have if he’d received a better grade on the quiz. The test is worth a lot more than the quiz was. Getting that low quiz grade might have been exactly the push he needed to bring his overall grade higher than even he thought he could.

I know a lot of adults who look at a setback as a just that, a setback. Not my son. He reframed that setback and turned it into a challenge. My son is in 10^th grade and I’m grateful he’s learning how to do this now. It will make a huge difference in the rest of his life.

Yours Truly,

One Very Proud Mom

There’s an Upside to Everything, Even Natural Disasters

Many of you know that my daughter just started college at Tulane University. We'd no sooner dropped her off when along came Isaac. What a welcome wagon!

I was fully prepared (okay, kinda prepared) for the emotional rollercoaster of having her leave home. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced extreme happiness and extreme sadness simultaneously. I knew we’d be weathering an emotional storm. I didn’t know we’d be weathering an actual one.

My daughter is a trooper. She’s a natural leader and she makes friends easily. While I was worrying, she was having fun. Yes, fun. She felt like the whole thing was a great bonding experience. And I realized she was totally right.

She had made some friends at orientation in June, and all of them were assigned to a different dorm. Up until she was locked in with her dorm-mates she really hadn’t socialized a lot with them. Isaac became the unwitting host to the biggest slumber party in Tulane’s history.

I know Kayla will look back on this initiation to Louisiana weather fondly. She will no doubt have made lasting friendships that she might not otherwise have made. And, it gave both of us the opportunity to know just how capable she is of taking care of herself. She doesn’t need me to be physically present each and every time something bad happens--even hurricane level bad. So thanks to Isaac, my daughter had a crash course in bonding and I had a crash course in separating.  Proof once again, that there’s an upside to everything, even natural disasters.

Try it, You Might Like it. Or not.

Moms—I’m sure you will relate to this. You ask your kids to try something new, whether it be something to eat, or an activity, and they balk at the idea telling you they “hate” whatever that thing is. How can they hate what they’ve never tried? I always tell my kids, “If you never tried ice cream, how would you have known you liked that?”

When my kids try a food that they end up not liking, they can always spit it out. But when they get stuck doing an activity that I’ve conned them into doing encouraged them to try, sometimes they are stuck for hours.

This is what happened to us just yesterday.  We're on vacation right now in Montana. It's such a breathtakingly beautiful place. We’ve enjoyed white water kayaking, and zip lining, and a whole day in Yellowstone National Park. Our boys went skeet shooting in the morning yesterday and loved it. In the afternoon though, we were going to try something that most Montanans consider a religious experience, fly fishing.

I had an idea that this was not going to be one of my kids’ favorite activities, but since I’d swooned watching Brad Pitt in A River Runs Through It—which was by the way, filmed on the very same river we were going to be fishing—My husband and I took a risk and decided the whole family would give it a try. When we got to the place, the guides broke us into two groups. Fly fishing involves hooks and a lot of casting. Keeping five novices in close proximity would be dangerous. We hadn’t thought about this, and so when faced with deciding how to divide ourselves, we didn’t have time to weigh the pros and cons of every possible grouping. We simply split into a group of three (my husband, my daughter and me), and a group of two (the boys).

For about 3 ½ hours we were separated. I had no cell signal, and no way to know how they were doing or what was happening. The Gallitin River is beautiful, swiftly moving, full of slimy slippery rocks, and about 55 degrees. It was overcast when we left, and while we were out there, the wind picked up and it started to rain.  Our little group did okay—I caught a fish, my daughter caught a fish, my husband had one on the line, but it got away, which I still count since we were letting them go anyways. By the time we headed back to base it was rather chilly, and like I said, it was raining. We’d been wearing waders, boots, baseball caps, long sleeved shirts, etc. so we were ok. I figured the boys were, too. The only bad thing I could imagine might have happened was that they wouldn’t catch a fish, or worse, that one would and the other wouldn’t. That would have been a mess, and of course it did happen that way. If only that were all though! Our youngest son, Aidan, after suffering the sting of not catching a fish while his big brother did, fell into the river not once, not twice, but three times on the way back across. Why the guide had these two city kids crossing a rushing river on foot over slimy rocks I have no idea. If he hadn’t gone all the way in, the waders would have saved him. But he’s not one to do things half way. By the time we arrived he was sitting on a bench outside, in the chilly air, wearing soaked clothes and a massive scowl. He was wet, freezing, and madder than hell. And to be honest, so was I. Why did the guide make the boys walk across the river? And why did he not keep a towel and an dry tee shirt in his truck or something? This certainly couldn't have been the first time he’d taken kids out fly fishing. And I can’t imagine Aidan was the first kid ever to fall into the river.

One thing about Aidan is, when he's mad, he gets really mean. It doesn’t matter that we had nothing to do with him not catching a fish, or falling into the river, or getting stuck out in the cold sopping wet, well…maybe save the fact that we signed him up and made him go in the first place. He was determined to take it out on us in spite of himself. I guess he doesn’t realize that when he refuses to change out of wet clothes, it doesn’t make us feel any wetter or colder. I bought him a long sleeved thermal and made him change immediately anyway. He was furious all the way home, and showed it by continuing to sling sarcastic and mean remarks at all of us. It was tempting to get angry at him for being so, well…angry. But then I realized, if I were him, I’d be pretty upset, too. And even though his anger was misdirected (really—that guide deserved it, not us), it was still warranted. I tried the old, “Well, not everything’s gonna be your favorite thing,” but he was way too far gone for that.

Instead I told him I was on his side, I was sorry he’d had such a lousy experience, and that I totally “got” why he was upset. I also told him I didn’t like that he was being mean to the family when we hadn’t done anything but try to console him. When we got back to our little place I ran a hot bath and made him some cocoa, after which he apologized for being mean and thanked me for being nice to him anyway. We went to a late dinner and let him order whatever he wanted. By the end of the meal he was back to himself again—upbeat and joking around.

I still think it’s good to have the kids try new things, but in the future, I'll stay close by, just in case. I guess we can officially add fly fishing to things Aidan’s tried, and not liked, along with brussel sprouts and sushi, and with any luck, the next new thing he tries will go over like ice cream.

Another Reason to Read with Your Kids

Yesterday I sat down and read with my son. I know this is something most moms do, but probably not when their teenagers.

My son Rory was assigned C.S. Lewis's The Great Divorce for summer reading for Honors English. He's going into 10th grade at a college prep school. I had never read anything by C.S. Lewis other than The Chronicles of Narnia, which wouldn't be a shock except that I was a lit major in college. Well, technically I was a writing major in the literature department, but that involved tons of lit classes.

At any rate, he read the book himself, but then was struggling to understand the meaning behind it. It's full of symbolism and analogies, and while it isn't Olde English, the language isn't exactly what an American teen is used to. So, we sat down and read it out loud. Well, I read it out loud. He listened. And at first I was thinking that I'd probably be bored out of my mind reading this book. I know C.S. Lewis to be a very religious writer, and I don't consider myself to be a very religious person.

I am however, a lover of good stories. And even though the book was clearly arguing a certain perspective, one that I'm comfortable not being certain of, I appreciated the descriptive language, the development of the characters, the drama of the plot, etc. In other words, I found myself enjoying the book very much. It made me think. Which to me, is what qualifies a book as good. It certainly is what makes some of them stand the test of time as this one clearly has.

I'm not suggesting everyone run out and buy a copy of that particular book, or that everyone spend four consecutive hours reading out loud to their teenagers. But, I do recommend picking out one of the books your kid (no matter how old they are) has to read, and reading it with them (although, in this case, reading it aloud helped my son understand it a lot better). You can get a copy of your own, and read the book simultaneously and check in every few chapters. Create a kind of family book club. I think the kids will appreciate that you take an interest in what they're learning about. It will give you something to discuss (which believe me, for a lot of moms of teens boys, is huge). And of course, even if it's a book that you'd ever read on your own, it just might make you think.

Roots, Wings, and Inevitable Things

The summer seems to by flying by and each day that passes brings me closer to the day my daughter leaves for college. She’s worked very hard in school, always been a great kid, and now, she’s going to be off on her own, starting a new chapter in her life.

And by default, so will I.

I’m tearing up just typing these words by the way. I'll always be her mom. I knew this from the moment she was born. But, she won’t always be a child. In fact, she’s gone and grown up before I could digest that fact. It’s heart wrenching to be at that point where I’m supposed to let her fly. Roots and Wings always was a favorite analogy of mine, until now.  Now I’m perched at the edge of my nest, my baby bird ready to soar, and I’m trying very hard to let her go. I only hope that her roots will bring her back at least for holiday breaks and the odd long weekend.

I remember back when she first went away to overnight camp. All the moms were standing there trying to convince their crying little ones that they’d be fine at camp, and that they’d be home before they knew it. My daughter was already on the bus, waving happily from the window, calling out to me, “You’ll be fine at home, I’ll be back before you know it!” In the sea of moms who were drying tears, I was the one shedding them. Seems like I’m that mom again.

I’m happy for her, I am. And I’m happy for myself to still have 2 kids at home to mother (note I didn’t say “smother”!). But I just can’t believe that this time has arrived--well almost arrived. I still have her until the end of August. I hope to spend as much time with her as I can.

I remember when the kids were really young and people used to come up and tell me, “Enjoy this time, it goes by so fast.” I used to stand there, covered in whatever slime they’d wiped on my shirt, my hair a frizzy mess, my make up nonexistent most days, and think…not fast enough! Oh how I wish I could rewind the clock and tell that younger version of myself to take heed. These well-intentioned strangers spoke the truth. It’s gone by in a blink.

Announcing...My New Site!

I have a new site and I'd love for you to check it out, follow it, and share it.

Susan Campbell Cross

Let me know what you think!

My Children May Be Vampires

Is it me, or are there suddenly vampires EVERYWHERE? Actually, I take that back. Not the everywhere part, the suddenly part. Because it really isn't suddenly. Sorry Twi-hards and True Blood fans, I have two words for you. Ann Rice. For those of you who are too young to know who that is, I'll wait while you Google her.

Yes, the undead have been ubiquitous for a while now and truthfully, for the most part, it hasn't phased me. I used to have nightmares as a child about "drac-lee-uh" as I called him (probably I'd stayed up too late one night and caught a glimpse of some old movie on tv), but over the years my fear had dissipated. Probably in part due to bad casting of the movie version of Ann Rice's book Interview with the Vampire. If only they'd switched Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise's parts, I might have taken vampires more seriously.

I'm a grown woman. The Twilight series did nothing for me. I'm too busy to get into yet another cable tv drama, like True Blood. So why is it that I'm suddenly freaking out again about vampires? Because I am afraid I may have given birth to three of them!


Yes. It's summer time, and my children have turned into the undead. All the telltale signs are there.

1. They are nocturnal. During the school year my kids have to go to bed at a reasonable time, because they get up so dang early for school. But, now that school is out, and they're all three teenagers, they have turned their days into nights and vice versa.
2. They're pale. They're fair to begin with, but they're looking downright anemic lately, no doubt due to the lack of sunlight. That's what'll happen to you when you wake up at 1:30 PM, lounge around until 4:00 PM, and become active only after the sun goes down.
3. They hate raw garlic. Although, this may not mean anything since I don't believe many people like raw garlic with the exception of every cab driver I've ever been driven by in NYC.

I'm pretty sure I wouldn't get away with driving a stake through their hearts or shooting them with silver bullets, so I've come up with another way to get rid of the vampires living in my house. I've signed them up for summer camp! Well, two of them anyway. Starting tomorrow morning they'll be rudely awakened (yes, I plan on waking them rudely--it's payback time) at 7:30 AM so they can be ready to leave for camp by 8:15 AM. Hopefully waking up that early and being active during regular human hours will make them tired at an appropriate bedtime. Regardless of whether they're tired or not though, they will be going to bed at 11:00.


I'm tired of being out of whack and off my own schedule because of these undead offspring of mine. They may or may not be less vampire-like, but I'll definitely be less of a witch. Minus the "w" and plus a "b".

LA Mom in New York (Fish out of Water Again!)

You would think that after having been to NY several times now that I would have gotten used to the whole "riding in taxis" thing. You’d be wrong. Yes, my fish out of water experiences in NY don’t seem to be ending any time soon.

Good thing my trauma is amusing to others. I often find myself saying (out loud and to know one in particular), “Oh well, at least this will be a funny blog post.” It makes me feel better to know the worse an experience, the better the blog post will be.  I like a good silver lining. And so, I’ll keep writing.

Right now I’m in NY for a few meetings. Some are with people I’ve met before on previous trips so they’ve gotten to know me a little bit; well enough for them to ask me straight away, about my funny taxi story. They knew there had to be one. And I did not disappoint.

Last time I was here I had to battle the rain. I live in L.A. and am unaccustomed to having to deal with weather of any kind. When it started raining on my last visit I was thinking how smart I was for packing a packable lightweight umbrella. As the rain fell harder I was thinking how stupid I was for bringing a lightweight umbrella, as it flipped inside out almost immediately and broke, leaving me completely defenseless in what seemed to my thin LA skin to be a typhoon. Needless to say, I showed up to most, if not all, of my meetings that trip looking like a drowned rat.

This trip, so far, the weather is great. No rain. I've learned to give taxi drivers cross streets and landmarks and not just addresses. I've also learned that the little light on the top of a cab means it’s available, and that I actually have to wave at the driver and sometimes shout, “Taxi!” to get their attention. This is very much against my nature, but I'm happy to say that today it worked like a charm. I was feeling really proud of myself as I was whisked off toward my destination.


It was a great day. The sun was shining, the air was warm. So warm in fact, that the driver decided a little breeze might be nice. He rolled down not just his own window, but all of the windows of the cab. It was fine when we were in traffic, but once we were zipping along my hair began to fly every which way. So while I did not look like a drowned rat, I did look like the woman from Alfred Hitchcock’s film The Birds, minus of course, the actual birds. If I’d had birds in my hair there would have been no need of an explanation, and therefore no funny taxi story to tell before my meeting, and no funny blog post for you to be reading right now. See? Silver lining. Works every time.

Check Your Receipt for Double Charges. Check Your Receipt for Double Charges.

I just got back from a little retail therapy session with my step mom. She and I had wandered into an Ann Taylor Loft store in Calabasas and lo and behold, they were having a sale.

We didn't really need anything, but who doesn't like to save money?

She and I proceeded to try on half the store and so, we were pretty tired and dazed by the time we checked out. The gal who'd been helping us rung up our items, and we were on our way.

Once home, my step mom, wise woman that she is, checked her receipt. I wish she'd been wise enough to do it in the store, but at least she did it. I wouldn't have checked it at all.

Sure enough, she found an item that should have been marked down, but she'd been charged full price. She made a call and they were able to adjust the price over the phone.

Then we went over my receipt. I thought it would be way too much of a fluke for the gal to have made a mistake like that twice in a row. I thought wrong.

Sure enough, I'd been charged twice for an item that was half off. So basically, I had paid full price. Because of the double charge I will have to bring the receipt back to the store to have it corrected.

By the time I'm done driving over there, parking, waiting in line, locating my car again (I really should  drop bread crumbs in parking lots), and driving home, I'll probably have lost 45 minutes of my life. Is it worth the money? Probably not.

But, I'll go out of principle. The principle being that even if the sales gal wasn't paying attention as she was ringing up our purchases, I should have been. Next time I'll double check my receipt to make sure I'm not being double charged.

Tales from the Crypt Revisited

NOTE TO READERS: Recently someone asked me what a few of my favorite blog posts were. This one came to mind immediately. In light of my impending birthday, and my subsequent thoughts of starting a facelift fund, I thought I'd re-share it. If it makes you laugh, please consider following this site. And...I LOVE comments. People often email me comments instead of posting them here, or they put them on my Facebook page. That's great, too, but this really is the best place for them. That way, when I go back and look over the older posts (which I will be doing soon since I'm working on a book based on the blog), I will know what you all thought! So...that all being said, here is a post about something extremely important if you live in L.A....PLASTIC SURGERY! Well, not just plastic surgery...read it and you'll see.

I went to the mall yesterday for a little retail therapy.  Hey, I'm just trying to do my part to stimulate the economy.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  While I was wandering around the mall in my state of bargain hunting euphoria I started to notice the faces of some of the women there.  Now granted, this isn't your run of the mill mall.  It's in an affluent area and the people who shop there can, well, afford to shop there.  But as I looked at their faces, I could see that they can also afford a few other things.

One woman who had been walking in front of me for several minutes appeared to be in her mid to late twenties--from behind that is.  She was dressed in a trendy, but tasteful body conscious outfit.  Designer jeans, cute wedge sandals, printed cotton top, cropped cardigan, basically the uniform for suburban women of taste.  Her hair was gorgeous from the back.  I was just admiring her highlights and her perfect layers when she abruptly stopped and turned around.  Maybe she'd dropped something, maybe she'd passed the store she was looking for.  I don't know what made her do it, but I hope she didn't see my reaction, because when that woman turned around she suddenly was not a twenty-something fashion plate.  She was the Crypt Keeper.  Well, not so much the Crypt Keeper as the Crypt Keeper after several visits to the plastic surgeon.

I don't know if women realize when they decide to go to that level of tightening that they aren't really going to look younger.  I know people argue that they aren't trying to look younger, just "refreshed".  But, I can tell you that this woman did not look younger or refreshed.  What she did look was surprised.  That about sums it up.  She had a permanent look of shock on her face that I must say, did not match her outfit in the least.  Her eyebrows were so far up on her forehead that they had taken up residence in the neighborhood directly adjacent to her hairline.  Her eye lids had also been tweaked (and that's putting it kindly).  I'm not sure she could blink actually.  Why, there wasn't enough slack for her face to show any expression other than surprised.  And even if there was, the botox would have kept her from making it.

I think I may have let out a slight gasp when she noticed me stopped dead in my tracks staring in disbelief.  And that's when, the saddest thing of all happened.  She smiled.  I tell you, it was the most pained, swollen, collagen injected,  wanna-be smile I've ever seen (sorry Lisa Rinna, even your trout pout runs a distant second).  It was as if two overstuffed breakfast sausages had been Crazy Glued in the spot where her real lips should have been.  They completely filled the space between her perfectly sloped and buttoned nose and her chiseled chin.  With so little surface area left it was amazing that she could even force those lips into anything remotely resembling a smile.  I was shocked.  I was stunned.  I was hoping I didn't look as surprised to see her as she looked to see...everything.

It was too late to run, she had made eye contact.  So I did what any polite suburban shopaholic would do.  I said, "Um...nice shoes," and I cut and run into Nordstrom.  Now I'm as insecure as the next woman when it comes to aging.  As I sipped my half caf, non fat, post traumatic soy latte in the cafe by the juniors department I had to ask, was that my future self?  As startled as I was by that woman's appearance, I could understand the desperation that lead her to the plastic surgeon's office.  This is a harsh reality women face in this society.  Sean Connery can be weathered and bald, Brad Pitt can be slightly rumpled and still sexy as can be as he approaches the half century mark.  But when Jamie Lee Curtis stops coloring her hair and vows to embrace aging gracefully, it makes headline news.  Honestly, the woman was on Oprah, that's how rare it is for a woman to willingly go into that goodnight.  Most fight it every step of the way with methods as simple as hiding their roots to the varied array of alterations that can only be done under general anesthetic.  I am not immune to this desire to look younger, fresher.  I'm holding steady for now, but who's to say what time will bring?  Will my insecurities leave me looking permanently surprised?   I decided to cut my retail therapy session short.  When the waiter came with the check I handed him a sweaty, balled up twenty.  "Sorry it's so wrinkled,"  I aplogized.

"That's OK." He smiled smoothing out the bill, "It doesn't matter how wrinkled it is, the value is the same."  I wish buddy.  I wish.

Well Fiddle-Dee-Dee, My Daughter's College Bound

If you've followed my blog for awhile you know all about my daughter Kayla. She's super smart, super pretty, super talented, super athletic and NO...I'm not super biased just because I'm her mom!


Anyways, she is a senior in high school (when the hell did that happen?) and has finally, after much deliberation, settled on where she will go to college this fall.


She was accepted to six fine universities. They are, in no particular order...Kieran, dim the lights...


St. John's
Dickenson
UCSD
Boston University
Boston College
Tulane University


And the winner is...drum roll please.....


TULANE!!!!


Yes, my daughter will be heading south to New Orleans this fall. Or should I say Naw'lins? I am now working on my southern accent, and looking for a hoop skirt in green and white.


Roll Wave to y'all!


Susan Fiddle-dee-dee Cross


P.S. Mint Julip anyone?

Recipe by Bobby Flay for Food Network

Ingredients

• 5 fresh mint leaves, plus a few mint sprigs, for garnish
• 1 teaspoon sugar
• Shaved ice
• 2 1/2 ounces bourbon whiskey
• Lemon slice, for garnish, optional
• Orange slice, for garnish, optional
• Maraschino cherry, for garnish, optional

Directions

Place mint leaves, sugar and a splash of water into a silver julep cup or a 12-ounce Tom Collins glass. Muddle the mint, sugar, and water together with the tip of the handle of a wooden spoon. Fill the glass with shaved ice, add the bourbon, and stir until combined. Garnish with a lemon or orange slice, a cherry, and a few sprigs of fresh mint.

My Glass was Half Full, but it Spilled this Morning

Today is Monday. Any normal person would know just by that fact alone that it was going to suck. But, I have never been a hater of Mondays. It may be the optimist in me, but I've always thought of Mondays fondly.

Mondays represent a fresh start. Mondays are the best days to hit the ground running. And today, I was planning to do just that. Literally.

I had made a plan with my friend Kay to meet at her house and take a brisk walk/jog. I had to take my son to school, get home, change, and then let the dogs out before leaving for Kay's. I have five dogs:  two terriers and three cock-a-poos. Actually I have two terriers, two cock-a-poos, and one cock-a-poo/Houdini mix. She knows how to escape from everywhere, including our fenced in yard. She does it almost daily. How she hasn't been eaten by a coyote or swooped up by a hawk, I do not know. Maybe in addition to her escape skills she also knows how to make herself invisible. I don't know. Magicians never reveal their tricks.

At any rate, I made the mistake of taking my eyes off of her for a nano second and *poof*, she was gone. So I text my friend and told her I would be late. Finally I found her--she reappeared on the slope and looked not the slightest bit remorseful. Good thing for her that she's ridiculously cute and hard to be mad at.

I was in a rush, and so I decided to take my little zip around car, which was parked right out front. My Mom-mobile was in the garage and I didn't want to waste time walking to the other end of the house. Silly me.

I got most of the way to my friends before my zip around car stopped zipping. Entirely. It was out of gas. This has only ever happened to me once before. Luckily I had my AAA card and a bar or two on my cell phone. The tow truck came, put in a drop of gas, and I drove to the closest gas station to fill it up the rest of the way.

I know this is life, these things happen, and I am quite fortunate to have had the AAA card, and cell service, and even a car---I know there are plenty of people wish they had a car that could run out of gas. And I'm lucky to have had the money to fill the car up again, etc. There I go, trying to fill that glass half full again.

My Monday Morning Moral is:  In order to keep my glass half full, I need to make sure my gas tank is half full, too. That and I need to invest in invisible fencing for that dang dog.

Lay Off Jessica Simpson

Considering that this is an election year, and that our country is in economic crisis, and North Korea launched a rocket over the Yellow Sea, it’s no surprise that there are so many headlines about Jessica Simpson’s pregnancy weight gain. At least we have our priorities straight as far as what’s newsworthy, right?

Now that I’ve complained about the amount of media attention her pregnancy is garnering, let me just add to it. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

OK…Jessica Simpson has gained some weight with this pregnancy. Clearly. But, in her defense, she’s only about 5’2” tall; so it’s no wonder that she looks more, how shall I say, round, than the average pregnant woman. And, if she’s more round than the average pregnant woman, then she’s humongous by celebrity pregnant woman standards.

How do these celebs hide their pregnancies for so long? They're usually taller than average, start out way too thin to begin with, they wear baggy clothes, and carry suitcase sized purses that conveniently hide their midsection. It’s a wonder we ever find out they're pregnant at all until we see them months later, size triple zero again, having traded in the suitcase/purse for a baby, which, let’s face it, is the absolute best celebrity accessory there is, at least for getting photographed anyway.

I have nothing against these women who seem superhuman in their ability to carry a baby and look like they’ve swallowed an olive. But, I hardly think it’s fair to call Jessica Simpson fat, or declare her to be unhealthy just because she doesn’t carry that way.

She’s always had curves, and she’s never hidden that fact. She’s had some weight fluctuations, but lord knows most women do. So what, she’s pregnant and she looks pregnant. Good for her. Congratulations! If she's having a health issue as a result of her weight gain, I’m sure her doctor will monitor her—so the rest of us really don’t need to.

I am on the petite side myself, and had very healthy sized babies. As a result, I looked pretty darn pregnant when I was pregnant. Nobody dared tell me I was too fat—at least not to my face anyway. I hope that Jessica can tune all of the negative comments out and enjoy the rest of her pregnancy. I also hope she doesn’t feel the need to starve herself on some sort of cabbage soup diet in order to drop the weight at record speed after she gives birth. Although, if she does, I’m sure there will be a ton of headlines about that, too. I’m not sure how she will get the media to ignore her. Maybe if she were to launch a missile or something…

Classism in Flight: A Tale of Two Toilets

Recently I was on a flight from L.A. to N.Y. when an older woman from first class made her way to the back of the plane where I was sitting in coach (I'd rather spend my money on shoes!). She had come to complain to the flight attendant that someone from coach had the gall to enter first class and use the first class restroom.  The horror of it all.

The flight attendant listened politely and then said that the fasten seatbelt sign was on, and the woman really should return to her seat.

The woman was having none of it.

At this point I made an educated guess that the lowly commoner from coach who's unworthy buttocks had defiled the golden toilet seat in first class,  must have been a) closer to that bathroom, b) worried they might have trouble walking all the way to the back of the plane with the turbulence, and/or c) really needed to pee.

To hear the woman carry on you would think a serious crime had been committed. Not just committed, but committed against the fine people of first class.

"It's absolutely unacceptable," she scolded the flight attendant. "If people from coach are occupying the first class lavatory, then I have to walk all the way back here to use the coach lavatory." She went on to explain that she normally is in a wheel chair, and it is very difficult for her to get to the back of the plane--through coach--it's simply too far for her to have to walk.

I started to see her point, I mean, the cooties alone are a risk she simply shouldn't have to take. And, as  the lady had said, she normally is in a wheel chair. Then it dawned on me...she wasn't currently in a wheel chair, and, hadn't she just successfully walked all the way back to complain about how it was too much for her to walk all the way back? Not only had she walked all that way, she had done so while carrying a full glass of red wine--of which she hadn't spilled a single drop.

I kinda wanted to tell her maybe she could solve her problem by drinking that glass of wine. It might help loosen up her be-hind so the stick that no doubt has been up there for all eternity might fall out. That'd be a healing I'd pay for and pray for!

Instead I just bit my tongue. Literally. So I wouldn't bust up laughing.

The flight attendant seemed also to be trying not to laugh. She cleared her throat and once again, advised the woman that the fasten seatbelt sign was lit and she should make her way back to her seat.

Good thing she didn't try to use our restroom before she did. There might have been an uprising.

Sh*t My Friends Said, Reposted Here for Your Amazement

I have the funniest and most insightful friends on the planet as evidenced by the following quotes that I stole from their Facebook posts.

LD:  It is as much of a disservice to overestimate people as it is to underestimate them. 

AW: I have a DEFCON 5 Bikini threat on the horizon: San Diego AND Maimi Beach with my most Barbie-like friend!!!!!


BA:  Totally counts. Especially if one of the guys with the horse carriages whistles at you...


RM: You spot it, you got it.

DM:  I finally figured out that "Neko Case" is not a bunch of opaque candy wafers, purchased in bulk.

AC:  Drop kick me Jesus through the goalposts of life...


MH:  Yup. That's my high school in the background and in the title. Sort of Ironic that the school that told us to "know something, do something, be something" will now be made most famous by a weed smoking rapper....I like it.


Am I right, or am I right?

Send in the Clones

Hello Dolly.

If necessity is the mother of all invention, then why haven't mothers been cloned yet?

Today my daughter has a soccer game at 3:00 in one city (Go Blazers!), and my son has a lacrosse game in another city at 5:00 (Go Lions!). No problem.  Send in the clone.

I really wish I could be in two places at once.  In fact, there are days I wish I could be in three places at once.  Thank goodness Aidan's basketball season ended or I'd really be in trouble.

It's beyond difficult as a mother to choose which kid is going to get priority when they have conflicting events/activities. Kayla's team is in the semi-finals, so I could say that trumps any other game. The thing is though, that I already used that justification last week when Kayla had a play off game and I missed Rory's first scrimmage. Why oh why is it always the middle child who gets the short end of the stick--in this case, the lacrosse stick? Today it's not just a scrimmage, it's a real game--and it's his very first one. I feel like he should have a parent there cheering him on, and I want to be that parent.

The problem is, I also want to be that parent for Kayla. And it's humanly impossible for me to be all the way the heck down by South Central for her game, and make it all the way back up to the valley for Rory's. So, even though it's a semi final, I won't be there. If I had a clone to send in my place, I would. But, since I don't, I will just have to know that I am there in spirit, and her dad is there in person to text me the play by play.

Don't Wait

My mother-in-law passed away February 1st. She was a wonderful woman and I learned a lot of lessons from her.  Perhaps the most important though, I learned the day of her funeral.


Her family, like so many families, has it's share of drama. There are people who don't get along, who don't speak to each other even. There are people who go years without seeing one another--I'm afraid I am guilty of that last one.  In fact, my children and I had never even met one of their first cousins, and she's turning 7 next week.


We always have good intentions, we always say, "Hope to see you soon!" in cards and emails, which are also too few and far between. But, in the end, we don't make the effort.


This was something that my mother-in-law always talked about--how important family was, how much she wished to have a good relationship with everyone, and that we all have a good relationship with each other. She had a huge heart, and always managed to find the good in people, even people who had wronged her.  She was capable of putting differences aside in order to stay connected and keep the peace.


All of us, the ones who have such a hard time figuring out how to find time to get together, and the ones who didn't want to talk to each other, let alone be around each other, managed to make arrangements and get to her funeral, and with very little notice. Proof that it isn't nearly as difficult as we make it out to be.


It was a lovely funeral.  My mother-in-law was an excellent and thoughtful planner and she, knowing she was very seriously ill, had written down exactly how she wanted her service to be. She had requested certain readings and songs, and people who should do those readings and songs.  I was honored that she had asked that I sing Amazing Grace--and even though I was very doubtful that I would be able to sing it through without falling apart, I did. I wanted to honor her request, and her. I hope she knew how very much I loved her. I wish I could tell her one more time, but she's gone on now to a better place.


After the funeral everyone went over to her brother's house.  His wife graciously and spontaneously opened her home to everyone, and we all came together. People were talking, hugging, laughing.  The very same people who hadn't interacted in so long, had crossed an imaginary bridge built by my mother-in-law's love. Differences were set aside because they were, as my mother-in-law knew all along, simply not important enough to keep people apart.


She would have been so happy to see everyone together. I wish we'd done something like that sooner, so that she could have been there in person, and not just in spirit.


The lesson I learned is this. Don't wait. Don't make excuses. Tell the people you love that you love them right this minute. It's not impossible to find time to get together. It's not unheard of to take a weekend and plan a reunion just because, and not just because someone has passed away.


And for people who have rifts within their family, branches so far apart that it's hard to believe they even grew from the same tree--grow up. These are your people. Don't let your anger block your love. Nobody is asking you to let go of it. If you want to be mad, be mad. But at least put it aside enough to leave room for hope, and love, and joy.

To my beautiful mother-in-law:  Just look at what your love did!

What Would Emily Post Do?

It is common knowledge that there's a lag time between technology and the law. I believe there is one between technology and etiquette, too. It used to be that when faced with a question about etiquette all one had to do was consult Emily Post.  She had all the answers:  wait until 3 people have been served before starting to eat, send a gift within twelve months of a wedding, and a thank you note for gifts received within one month. Where is the Emily Post equivalent for the questions brought on by modern day technology?

For example, what is an reasonable timeframe in which to respond to a text message? Anybody? When I text someone, I expect them to text me back.  Not the instant they get it, but within a day or so. If there is a question within a text, I believe a recipient should answer it.  If it’s just a random text like, “This funny thing just happened!”  Then maybe it doesn't warrant a reply, but when someone sends me something like that, at the very least I send a “J” or "LOL". That way, the sender knows that I got their message, and that I am indeed alive, and not dead in a ditch somewhere.  But that's just me.  And I am considerate.  Unfortunately, I am also sensitive.  OK...I am overly sensitive.  That's why when someone doesn't return one of my texts, I can't help but think that they must not like me very much.  Or they don't care about my feelings.  Or worse, they know it hurts my feelings and that's why they are not answering me!  It's a long, dark rabbit hole, and I have a very hard time not going down it whenever someone doesn't text me back.

And what about Facebook? It used to be that if someone was going to have a party, they mailed invitations to the people they wanted to include. These invited people then knew better than to go around broadcasting the fact that they were invited, because it was commonly understood that it would be rude to those who were NOT invited. That common courtesy has gone out the window with the invention of Facebook. Now everybody knows about the party, knows ahead of time when it’s going to happen, who all is going, and that they were not invited. Then during the event they have to see all the pictures that the invited people post of themselves enjoying the party, as the event is played out in real time. Of course I know that I could just not log onto Facebook in order to save my feelings, but there are so many other things I’d miss knowing about if I do that. For example, I wouldn’t know what kind of sandwiches my friends ate for lunch, who had a cold, who got a new kitten, etc.

I'm not saying that I'm perfect. I'm sure there have been a few times that I forgot to respond to a text message, or posted pictures of some soiree I'm having (or attending), without thinking about how that might make people who were not invited feel. I just wish there was some rule that we could all agree to and abide by. Until there is, when faced with a high-tech etiquette dilemma, maybe we ought to ask ourselves, "What would Emily Post do?"