Rocks In My Dryer

But I'm Still Waiting For "National Fold Your Own Dang Laundry Day"

This blog puts me on the receiving end of so many curious PR pitches that if I were to print them all out, I would single-handedly kill all the forests in Brazil, or Oregon, or wherever it is all the forests are. It's many, many emails.

But the ones that pique my interest most are the declaration of new national holidays. Today I learned, for example, that October is National [Food-Item-Which-Shall-Remain Unnamed] Month. The irony is, the Food Item Which Shall Remain Unnamed is a food item that I loathe with such fervor that I'd rather go chew on the soccer cleats that are stinking up my laundry room even as we speak.

But now it has a month, all its own.

Well, not all its own, because I did a little poking around on some PR sites today and learned that October is also National Chili Month, National Sarcastics Month (whatever), National Orthodontics Health Month (if I tell my orthodontist I posted about it, do you think I can skip my October payment?), and National German-American heritage month (I raise my schupfnudel to you).

It is also Squirrel Awareness month. That one just needed a paragraph of its own, and I suggest you sit here and think squirrely thoughts for a minute before you continue reading, because it is very, very important that we are all properly Squirrel Aware.

I know it's a PR ploy, of course, and I suppose at times it's been successful. Some of the causes are important and have become meaningful traditions--Breast Cancer Awareness and Black History Month both come to mind.

But on the whole, I have to wonder: does this ploy really work? Do we really need a National Rice Month (September)? I mean, are there really throngs of people who rise up in celebration and finally see, for the first time....um, rice? We most certainly do not need a National Southern Belles Month (April), because if you have ever met a true Southern belle, you know that she will not be confined to one month, no ma'am, nevah evah.

I find it especially curious planning that March hosts National Eye Donor Month right alongside Workplace Eye Health and Safety Month. Interestingly, March also is home to National Optimism Month, which means, I presume, that after those 30 days you can go back to grouchy.

I laughed at these things all afternoon, until my 6th grader burst in the door after school. "MOM!" he shouted. "Tomorrow is National Talk Like a Pirate Day! I've been waiting for it all week!"

So I guess it works after all, at least in the 12-and-under crowd. I don't know what to say. Except, perhaps, Aaaargh.

When You've Lost Control Of the Imaginary Friends, You've Lost Control

...I get eye-to-eye (I think) with Katie Mexico and tell her that she has to play by our rules, or she can’t play with Corrie anymore. Corrie nods self-righteously, for emphasis. I give Katie’s head (I think) a pat, and off the two friends go.

(They don’t prepare you for this stuff in Lamaze class....)

{Read more at Parenting.com}

Is This Thing On?

Hi, blog friends. I'm back. Or at least back-ish. It's been a long and strange several weeks: the normal madhouse of back-to-school chaos (including our first year of middle school), plus the frantic pace of a book deadline, plus the sudden death of my father-in-law. (And by the way, many thanks to those of you who sent such kind expressions of prayer and sympathy--that meant more than you know.) I'm not sure I've ever been sprinting in so many directions at once.

Case in point: I went to curriculum night at my kids' school a couple last week, dashing out the door after a full day of writing and a thrown-together meal of macaroni and cheese. I talked with all the teachers, and I had a nice chat with the PTA president and principal and several other parents. As I was leaving the school, I looked down to see that the entire evening I'd been wearing a giant, streaky blob of macaroni and cheese stuck to the front of my shirt.

NICE.

While I'm quick to kick myself for letting things get so chaotic, I don't want to miss the lessons in the mayhem. Times like this have a way of forcing me to focus on what's important: Turn off the computer and enjoy the cool evening. Love my husband. Check my shirt for wayward pasta. Live and learn.

The good news is that the book is going very well. We're almost to the halfway point, and we're so proud of what we've done so far. You TypePad users already know how many changes are taking place as the new version continue to get up and running, and we're writing this book to the new version of TypePad, not the old one. This has meant many, many hours of poking around in my dashboard, learning the new lay of the land (and, by the way, loving it. I don't always love change, but this new TypePad design has really grown on me.) If you're a new TypePad user (or you're an old one who is still getting up to speed on all the changes), I really think this book is going to be a great help. Sit tight--I'll tell you more about it soon.

In the meantime, I'll continue to be in and out here at my blog, until we hit our final deadline later this fall. OH, the irony that spending many hours a day writing a book on blogging doesn't leave any time for...um, blogging. Also, a quick note--I'm using my personal blog as a guinea pig for implementing some of the TypePad features I'm writing about. Hopefully the changes will be (mostly) unnoticeable to you, but if anything seems wonky, now you know why.

Enough about that. What's new with you?

Digital Parenting

...I know, for example, that the rules matter. If I plan to hold my kids to high standards in their online interactions (and I do), I need to respect (and insist that my kids respect) the rules that are in place. For example, Facebook says you can’t have an account until you’re 13. Whether I agree with that or not is entirely irrelevant: it’s their site. If I circumvent that and allow my 12 year old to lie about his age to get an account, I’m telling him he only has to stick to the rules he likes. I’d like to start this journey on firmer moral ground. {read more at Parenting.com}

An Open Letter To Summer (Part Two)

...And now you’re gone, tiptoeing away quietly in the school-supply section. Stocked to the brim with enough Elmer’s glue to coat a small nation, I guess we crowded you out.
 
You’ll be missed.  We have consumed our weight in popsicles, and our hair still has that summery-blonde streaking that will surely not make it to October...    {read more at Parenting.com}

Here's To the Strict Parents

When I was a teenager, my dad was strict. He was, I would’ve told you back then, unreasonable, over-protective and stubborn, and I would’ve rolled my eyes to illustrate my point. (Seeing as how those same eyes were thickly be-decked with Clairol Electric Blue Mascara, my moral authority should have been taken with a grain of salt...)  {read more at Parenting.com}

I'll Be Back

Last August, I made an important mental note and filed it away in the dark recesses of my brain.  It went something like this:  Every year, you forget how busy the back-to-school season is.  You overcommit and over-extend yourself, and you make your family a little crazy, what with all the emotional breakdowns and carryout pizza.   Don't do it again this year.  Simplify, simplify.  Clear your schedule. Whatever you do, do NOT--I repeat--DO NOT take on any additional projects in August and September.

Unfortunately, also lurking in the dark recesses of my brain are a bunch of empty Diet Coke cans, reruns of Diff'rent Strokes, and badly-conjugated French verbs.  Very important mental notes can get lost in there, as evidenced by my curious decision to write a 350-ish page book in 14 weeks spanning across (yep) August and September. 

(It's going really well, by the way.  Melanie and I are managing to carve out big chunks of time at the library, and we're chugging along.  We'll chug better once the kids are in school, but still, we're making good headway.) 

Our writing schedule, as you might imagine, is pretty rigorous; coupled with the demands of the busy back-to-school month, it's a lot to manage.  I'm going to slip away and take a bit of a blog break, because something really has to give.  If something doesn't give, my kids may very well look back on August 2009 as the The Month That Mom Went Crazy.

I'm stepping away until Labor Day, so I can work on the book, enjoy the last 18 minutes of summer with my favorite people, and elbow my way through the school-supply aisle with the rest of the free world (I am not afraid to FIGHT for twenty-cent bottles of Elmer's glue).  I'll run a few things from the archives, in the meantime.

Hope to see you back here in September, my friends. 

I Think This Makes Me a Professional Dummy

So.

I'm writing a book.

Yes, really.

This has all happened very suddenly, and I didn't want to spill the beans until things were absolutely official.  They are official now, and I can finally tell you the scoop.

Wiley Publishing produces the best-selling Dummies books--you've probably seen them around your bookstore or library.  They've actually made quite a name for themselves in the technical category, publishing titles such as WordPress for Dummies and Google Blogger for Dummies. Wiley contacted Melanie and me a few weeks ago to ask if we'd be interested in writing TypePad for Dummies (TypePad, if you're a blogging newbie, is the name of the blogging platform I use to write and manage my blog).  I'm not a technical writer by trade, but I have a long history (in blog years) with TypePad, not to mention a deep, possibly fanatical affection for their service. 

(A funny aside:  When I taught a beginning blogging class at SheSpeaks last year, I frequently referred to my fondness for TypePad.  There was a lot of "TypePad this," and "TypePad that", etc. Finally someone raised her hand and asked, "What is this Top Hat you keep talking about?"  The moral of the story is that the word TypePad, while an excellent blogging platform, may not translate well to an Arkansas accent.  Thankfully, this isn't an audio book.)   

But back to the story:  Between my freakish TypePad love and Melanie's expert technical writing skills, we were really excited to take on this project.  We've already started, in fact, and it's going great.

Here's the kicker. 

By the time Wiley hired us, the TypePad book already had the green light from their editorial people.  Unlike many book projects, which can sometimes take months to get rolling, this one is already barreling down the tracks.  It's a tight deadline--(roughly) 14 weeks to write (roughly) 18 chapters.  I only bring that up to explain why things may be a little sparse around here for the next couple of months--posting may be even lighter than normal, and you may see a few re-runs from the archives.  Now if I can just figure out a way to serve old blog posts to my family for dinner, we'll be all set.

More updates to follow...

It's Like Being Married To a GPS System

...It was at this point that I reminded him that it’s a family vacation and not a CIA mission.  He laughed good-naturedly, but then he mumbled something about synchronizing our watches...  {read more at Parenting.com}

Have I Mentioned That It's Hot?

While I’m normally pretty tolerant of hot weather, this summer is especially toasty. We’ve even made the national news in recent weeks as part of a “Heat Advisory”. That’s fancy meteorologist talk for “GET YOURSELF BACK INSIDE THE HOUSE...”   {read more at Parenting.com}

Bee-Yoo-tiful

We had three perfectly restful days at Ree's Lodge.  Over the course of our time together, we ate entirely too much food and got way too little sleep. We managed to analyze what is wrong with the State Of Marriage In America, which era of Saturday Night Live was best, what might possibly happen in Iran, and why on earth we wore those clothes in the 1980's.  Sophie, Melanie and I feel so recharged and pampered and well-fed that we briefly considered refusing to leave.  But that would just be bad manners, so we sadly packed up and left yesterday afternoon.

Here are a few of snapshots of all the lovelies:

[First, a disclaimer: Compared to Ree's photos, mine look like they were taken with a cheap camera and by a bad photographer.  Probably because I have a cheap camera and I'm a bad photographer.]

Below, the back deck.  This is where we stood to sing rousing verses of show tunes from the musical Oklahoma.  (Not really.  Okay, really.  But only once):

I'm not sure, but I think this pantry may hold the key to world peace:

Even dirty laundry smells good in here:

The view from the room where I slept:

I would like to report that the reason this guacamole is halfway gone is that I had been sharing it evenly and diplomatically with everyone else and NOT AT ALL because I shoveled half the plate into my mouth so vigorously that my skin has a green tint to it today: 

A scrumptious dinner:

And (*sigh*) cinnamon rolls for breakfast, lightly flavored with coffee:

Signing off now, to go shop for some elastic-waist pants.  

In Which I "Work Some Cattle"

Melanie, Sophie and I met up with Ree at her family's ranch on Monday for a girls' getaway.  Guess how I got to start my day this morning?

Not bad at all.  That strange glow in the air is a phenomenon they call "sunrise", perhaps you've heard of it?  I'm pretty sure the last time I was up this early I was timing labor contractions.  But starting my day with that view is almost enough to turn me into a morning person.  I even hummed a few bars of "Oh What a Beautiful Mornin'".  I had to hum; I was too sleepy to remember any of the words.

Our little adventure started yesterday morning, when we headed out of my city toward Ree's ranch, her meticulous directions clutched in my hand.  I have a poor track record with maps (ask Hubs about the Unfortunate Memphis Incident Of 2006), but I figured that surely three college-educated women with a working knowledge of Google Maps could find Ree's place. 

We meandered our way through the prettiest patch of Oklahoma I've ever seen--tall trees, rolling hills, winding roads.  Then, very suddenly, we crested a ridge, only to find that the curves and hills behind us abruptly opened right up into the wide-open, flat, treeless ranch land ahead.  "Girls," I whispered, feeling every bit like Ma Ingalls, "I think we found the prairie."

(I appreciate the beauty of expansive prairie land, especially the giant sky, but--at the same time--I'm strangely unnerved by it, as well.  I feel a little "exposed".  Perhaps it's a function of growing up in the cozy hillls of Arkansas.  Perhaps I am psychologically unable to function without a silhouette of a Target in the horizon.  Perhaps I'm just one endless parade of neuroses.)

Ree had mentioned that we'd turn off the main highway and drive "a bit" before we reached the Lodge.  So we were picturing, I don't know, maybe a long driveway.

We turned off the main highway, and we drove.  And we drove and we drove.  And we drove some more.  Everywhere, as far as we could see, was beautiful, wide-open, gently rolling prairie.  Hardly a tree in site.  Just grass.  And cows.  And an endless amount of blue sky.  We were speechless (a rare occurrence) at the vastness and beauty of it.  A horse (a horse!), taller than my car, stepped out on the road in front of us, then slowly he sauntered off.  Melanie pointed out our next turn, and so I flipped on my turn signal.  MY TURN SIGNAL.  You know, just in case that one truck we saw 15 miles ago needed to know what we were doing.  Suddenly and painfully aware of the "city girl" labels stamped on our foreheads, we started giggling.  Then laughing.  Then snorting.  We were laughing so hard I had to pull the car over.  Delirium had set in.  (It's prairie madness, I'm sure.  Just like the original pioneers, except with an air-conditioned Honda).

But we forged ahead, meeting up with Ree at the Lodge.  She showed up bearing a giant dish full of this--between that and the unhealthy amount of chips and salsa I've eaten in the last 24 hours, Sophie and Melanie may have to roll me home.  We spent a quiet afternoon and evening with Ree, laughing and talking and generally discussing The State Of the World (and sighing some sad sighs over this).  When we parted last night, she let us know she'd be picking us up at the crack o' dawn this morning to work some cattle.  I thought that perhaps "work some cattle" might be ranch-speak for "sit on the deck and read a good book with my feet propped up". 

In fact, "work some cattle" is ranch-speak for "work some cattle".  Marlboro Man kindly offered to saddle up some horses for us.  As tempting as it was to climb up on a horse for my very first time in front of a bunch of professional cowboys, I decided to ride in the car with Ree and Sophie (though Melanie, feeling the need to represent the state of Texas well, gave it a very honorable effort).

Here is the point in this post where I would like to describe to you the morning's events, but my questionable grasp of ranching terminology makes a it a little difficult to communicate.  So instead, I'll just tell you that we watched a whole bunch of very strong cowboys do this:

Mostly, we just tried (successfully) to stay out of the way, and we tried (unsuccessfully) not to ask too many questions.  Our best source of information was Ree's oldest daughter, who is remarkably well-informed about various and sundry ranch-related issues.  When we found ourselves standing in a pen with several newly-branded-and-vaccinated (and understandably cranky) calves, Ree's daughter quietly advised us that "if they run at you, just wave your arms."

If they run at me?

Alrighty.  I'll be sure to remember that while I'm dropping to the ground and crying in terror.

It was only shortly thereafter that one calf, especially frustrated by the morning's events, seemed to zero in on Sophie, Melanie and me as the source of all his problems.  Is it my imagination, or is he giving us a dirty look?

I thought about telling him to wipe that scowl off his face, but then Ree's daughter told me he weighs three times what I do, so I changed my mind.

Now I'm at the end of this remarkable day (not really at the end, but when you're up at 4:45 a.m., mid-afternoon feels like the end of the day).  My feet are propped up on a comfy couch in the Lodge, and I'm looking out over an incredible view.  Ree is headed back up this way in a little while to cook for us (oh yes, please!)

Do you think my family would notice if I decided to stay here just a little longer, like, maybe a year or two?

(Ree, Melanie, me and Sophie)

Conspiracy

...Why did I say that?  Is this really an epidemic of such proportions that mothers of every generation find it worthy of mention?  Are there really ambulance drivers squealing into the pool parking lots all over this nation to pick up little Teddy because he jumped in the water before his corn dog was fully digested?... {read more at Parenting.com} 

Write It Down

Recently a new parent asked me for my best parenting advice.

Hmmm, let’s see...Don’t neglect your marriage. Laugh with your kids. Invest in stain-resistant carpet. Many tidbits come to mind, but the one I’m most inclined to share is simple: write it down. Write down the funny things, the little things. You think you’ll remember them, but take it from a mother with a houseful of kids (and a bad memory) -- you won’t... {read more at Parenting.com} 

Slug Bug: The Official Rules

In this family, we're pretty serious about the game of Slug Bug.  I mean, we're really serious--we even have official rules (complete with a Five-Second Rule and Dealership Clause), which I've shared over at Parenting today.  (I even use a "whereas" and a "herein".  You can't argue with a "whereas" and a "herein".)  You can read it over there.