5 Habits of Highly Ineffective Bloggers

522591_379600385471432_307731171_nPeople ask me all the time, “Amy, how do you manage to get absolutely nothing done, day in and day out?”

I mean, think about it: I wake up at the crack of dawn most days, with hours of potential productivity stretched ahead of me. But other than checking off my list the things that HAVE to be done each day  – feeding the cat, interacting with the children, getting dressed (and this last one is debatable, like, are yoga pants and long cardigan considered an actual outfit?) – I can never get around to moving forward in my life.

I’m really good at talking about doing stuff – like writing something other than blog posts and fixing the power steering on my SUV that sometimes just inexplicably doesn’t feel like working – but it’s all talk.

It reminds me of something my therapist would say to me from time to time during our early sessions, when I would bemoan the course my life had taken. “Do you know what the definition of insanity is?” she’d ask. “It’s doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.”

So if you, too, would like to experience life similar to Bill Murray in “Groundhog’s Day,” you might want to start following Amy’s Rules for Getting Nowhere:

  1. Check Facebook every 10 minutes. It’s mesmerizing, all those … (NOTE: It is here that I quickly jumped over to FB to find great examples of  just what it was that I couldn’t get enough of, like one of those snarky mom-memes or people wishing happy birthday to their 4-year-olds, when a headline about who’s been cast as the new Christian Grey (meh) caught my eye, leading me down a whole Huffington Post rabbit hole of crap about Kim Kardashian’s engagement ring and why Denmark is the happiest country. It took a huge burst of effort to get myself back to here.
  2. Refresh your site stats constantly. I just can’t get enough of knowing how many people have clicked on my latest post at any given moment. This activity is only rivaled by checking Facebook Insights and gleaning tidbits about my followers like what country they hail from and other demographic tidbits (shout out to the guys who make up 9 percent of my followers!).
  3. Schedule beauty appointments throughout the day. A girl needs to look good, n’est ce pas? Accordingly, time needs to be set aside daily for the brows and ‘stache, bikini upkeep, hair cut and color, manis, pedis and exercise a few times a week to keep it all together. It probably requires a few hours weekly to keep me all glued and taped together.
  4. Order up Netflix and cram 30 one-hour episodes of “Scandal” into a week of your life. Not interested in getting on board with the fabulous Olivia Pope, she of the white hat and gladiator ways? No problem. Try “Breaking Bad” or “Game of Thrones” or “Walking Dead” or “Mad Men” or “Orange is the New Black” or “Homeland” or “House of Cards.” Like me. (This activity pairs nicely with #5.)
  5. Drink wine every day. This, by far, is probably the biggest secret to my lack of success. It makes me sleepy and lazy and just want to watch TV (see #4).

Maybe this is what I’ll write my book about. I’ll cobble together a guide for other would-be authors on how to just not do it. On how to wish your life away.

I just need to check if I’ve gotten any new likes on Facebook first.

 

 

 

 

The Thwarted Ninja

IMG_0642The kids and I crossed a lot of things off our to-do list this weekend. We stocked up on milk and Greek yogurt at Costco, cleaned out about seven contractor bags worth of outgrown clothing, old magazines and Nerf guns from our closets and finally got around to buying the 10 year old’s Halloween costume.

That last one was the biggie.

He had been talking about what he wanted to be for Halloween this year practically since last Halloween. Maybe it was because in this neck of the woods, there was no trick-or-treating last year thanks to Hurricane Sandy.

But other than my inclination towards procrastination, one of the things holding up procuring the kid’s costume this year had been a differing of opinions. While he is totally cool with playing the role of assassin or ninja with a full battery of weapons, I just couldn’t get on board with endorsing violence.

More specifically, what he really wanted to dress up as was a character from Mortal Kombat, and even though his older brother spent a few Halloweens walking around town dressed as a Ninja – nunchucks dangling from the costume’s flimsy belt – 10 years later I would rather not see my child masquerading as a murderer.

Even if it’s makebelieve.

Plus, they wanted like $65 for the costume online.

So after our Costco outing on Saturday we ran into one of those pop-up Halloween shops that mysteriously transform vacant mall and highway stores around here at this time of year.

Number one, I don’t know how people with young children are able to shop in these places. My kids would have had heart attacks as soon as they eyed all the creepy stuff that assaults you as you walk through the door.

Like, my kids cried the first time they saw the characters at Disney World. Chip n’ Dale had them weeping with a wave. And once we took them to the Rainforest Café in Orlando as a big treat and they almost passed out when it started to storm and the fake animals surrounding us came to life.

Anyway, we walk in and it’s just like a weirdo-fest in there, with employees walking around in creepy costumes and spooky animatronic dead things shrieking at you.

My mission was to get in and get out asap, but my son is a slow decision maker, especially when he’s being told to choose something other than what he wants to pick.

He drifted around for a while and inspected the big, rubbery Gru mask and the section with all the Adventure Time costumes (which didn’t exist in 2011 when he wanted to dress up like the character Finn from the then-obscure Cartoon Network show; we had to piece together the costume, which included a backpack his sister sewed using a YouTube video as guidance).

Then we came to what I like to call The Violent Section, which included an array of Ninja style-costumes and an extensive selection of weaponry (but, alas, no Mortal Combat). He spent some time inspecting the various daggers, swords and shields lining the wall before reluctantly moving on.

In the end, he quickly chose one of those one-piece skin suits in yellow that’s styled to make him look like a crash test dummy. He seemed pleased with it and it fit him so perfectly when he tried it on that it was pretty creepy how much he actually looked like one of those dummies.

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I feel bad that I thwarted his dream to be the Mortal Kombat dude. That I needed to control his fantasy. I just couldn’t endorse a character based on a video game that is known for its extreme violence.

A video game we probably have right now in our basement. My 21-year-old son has all those terrible games, but he didn’t when he was 10.

So maybe I’m a hypocrite, but I just preferred my youngest pick something else.

And he did, because he’s that kind of guy. He didn’t argue or carry on. He didn’t threaten to boycott Halloween if he didn’t get his way.

He just found something else.

Pretty soon it won’t matter anyway. They stop dressing up by the end of middle school and then I’ll just see pictures posted on social media, if I’m lucky, of them dressed up at costume parties in college. I saw my oldest guy dressed up like a nerd at a party last weekend and thought it was pretty cute. It got my Mom Seal of Approval.

But until then, my little guy will be stuck humoring me. It could be worse. He could have been a girl and then I’d be up against all the sexy fill-in-the-blank costumes that are out there. Then maybe I’d be wishing she’d cover herself up as a Ninja.

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Amy’s Week in Review (Oct. 14-20)

bullseyeWell, it’s been a quiet week in Lake — wait, I don’t live in Minnesota. But my own little corner of New Jersey has been calm and that’s more than alright with me.

One interesting and unexpected thing that happened this week was that my 10-year-old son called me a “perv.”

First, let me begin by saying that I actually used to be a reader of books. Literature, even. Like during the darkest days of my divorce, I read “War and Peace.” I’ve read Cheever and Updike, Franzen and Chabon. I even read the Count of goddamn Monte Cristo, not so long ago.

Now, I’m lucky if I get through the latest issue of “People.”

But one thing I never miss reading is the back page of “Entertainment Weekly,” which features a fun roundup of what’s hot in the entertainment industry each week called “The Bullseye.” Like last week’s issue featured  a picture of Jessica Lange’s new witchy “American Horror Story” character at its center and says, “To paraphrase Barbara Bush: Rhymes with bitch.”

Then there are assorted pics radiating throughout the dartboard indicating what celebs/movies/tv shows, etc. hit the target and what missed the mark, including Ed Harris (“Most welcome cameo in ‘Gravity'”) and Hank Williams Jr. (“Least welcome cameo in ‘Gravity'”).

So I was standing in the kitchen looking at this week’s issue yesterday and noticed at the bottom a blurb about Charlie Hunnam pulling out of “Fifty Shades of Grey” last minute (“Something Christian Grey would never do,” according to EW.).

“OMG you guys,” I said to my two kids sitting in the kitchen with me when I remembered this next very important bit of information. “Guess who I just heard is going to be the new Christian Grey?” (As if my 10 year old had any idea what I was talking about.)

IMPORTANT NOTE: I may having a hard time getting through “Middlemarch” right now but had no problem reading the entire 50 Shades canon over the course of one weekend.

“OMG who,” responded the 16-year-old daughter in the least-excited voice possible. She is like the Ben Stein of teenaged girls.

“Someone just texted me and said she heard it’s going to be,” I stopped, pausing for dramatic effect, imagining my audience actually cared about my news.

“Eric the Vampire!” I yelled, because I knew they at least knew that I was crazy for that insanely hot “True Blood” character. He’s really the only reason why I’ve watched that show for so long.

“I’m like taking off my clothes right now,” I told them, and that’s where I jumped the shark, as they say, as far as my audience was concerned.

“That’s disgusting,” observed the 16-year-old in a voice so flat you’d think she was one of the undead.

“Yeah, Mom,” said my son, “You’re a perv.”

“Oh come on, guys,” I said. “I’m kidding. It’s a joke.”

“It’s still pervy,” he said over his shoulder as he and his sister walked away in disgust.

And that’s the perfect segue for me to share a few of the other things that happened this week, including a post I wrote indicating that I’m apparently, according to a certain subset, pervy about another dude as well:

IMG_3113The Gos and Me

I don’t know when it started, but as with so many things these days, I’m guessing it was on Facebook.

Maybe I mentioned in a post that I had just watched “Crazy Stupid Love.” For, like, the umpteenth time.

Or it’s quite likely that I then went a bit further and described how my heart skipped a beat when he took his shirt off before the Dirty Dancing scene. (READ MORE … )

And in a rare moment of seriousness, I pondered my faith and my decision to not send my youngest to CCD unlike his three older siblings:

DSC_0037On Being Catholic: The Mystery of Faith

My 10-year-old son had a play date after school the other day and when the friend’s mom came to pick him up, she asked if we were in a rush to get my guy to CCD.

“A lot of kids seem to go on Tuesdays,” she said.

“Um, we’re taking a break from being Catholic right now,” I told her, and she laughed at my joke, but I still feel really guilty about the whole thing.

It must be the Catholic in me. (READ MORE …)

And finally, a couple of things floating around the Internet caught my eye and I shared on Facebook. (Dude, I so want to get my cat drunk and make her tell me why she is so mean to me.)

Never Drink Alone Again Because Now There’s Wine for Cats (Time)

Is Music the Key to Success? (NYTimes)

And totally finally, I wanted to remind you that you can sign up to get my newest posts emailed right to your inbox (C’est incroyable!!).
Just fill your email address in the “Subscribe to blog via email” box, which is to the right of this post if you’re on your laptop or if you scroll way to the bottom if you’re reading this on your phone. It will generate an email and you just need to confirm your subscription and you’re good.
Easy peasy.

 

On Being Catholic: The Mystery of Faith

DSC_0037My 10-year-old son had a play date after school the other day and when the friend’s mom came to pick him up, she asked if we were in a rush to get my guy to CCD.

“A lot of kids seem to go on Tuesdays,” she said.

“Um, we’re taking a break from being Catholic right now,” I told her, and she laughed at my joke, but I still feel really guilty about the whole thing.

It must be the Catholic in me.

I went to a tiny Catholic grammar school – where prayer was a standard part of the day, you went to confession monthly and students always stood when a nun entered the classroom and recited (in sing-song voices), “Good morning/afternoon, Sister _______.”

We celebrated All Saints Day – not Halloween – each year with an all-star parade of saints. My classmates dressed as their heavenly namesakes while I, named not for a biblical sufferer but for a character on a soap opera my mom watched, dressed in the white robes of your standard, run-of-the-mill angel. Oh, to be a Theresa or a Mary.

We wore grey plaid jumpers over short-sleeved, white blouses with Peter Pan collars and didn’t think twice about running around the parking lot out back during recess (no grassy fields for us, no sir, we were told it was our cross to bear) during cold winter months with our bare legs exposed.

Compared to how Christ suffered, you knew you had little to complain about.

I grew up loving the Crowning of Mary each May, the smell of incense that filled the tiny church next to our school as the altar boy waved the lantern during mass and of course, I always looked forward to the cock crowing as we sat on the church’s wooden pews enduring the endless stations of the cross during Lent, trying to suppress yawns and then briefly uncontrollable laughter. Who knew the Bible could be so dirty?

While there were many things I was not sure of during that time – when my parents’ divorce turned my small world upside down – going to Catholic school provided many things I could bank on, like the 10 Commandments and the Holy Spirit. You knew they weren’t going anywhere.

We knew the seven deadly sins by heart, along with the beatitudes and the Act of Contrition and believed, inside and out, that Jesus had died for our sins.

Next to that, the other thing we knew – beyond a shadow of a doubt – was that CCD Kids were heathens.

They were the kids who went to the public school in town who would use our classrooms after school a few days a week for their religious education classes. We’d return the next day to find the insides of our desks in disarray and trash on the floor. Any time something turned up broken or not working, we’d know whom to blame.

“CCD Kids,” we’d mutter.

Many years later, I found myself the parent of not one but three CCD Kids. Kids who couldn’t tell me a single commandment or holy day of obligation if their lives depended on it, and who would ask me, on numerous occasions, as we waited on line to receive communion, “What do I say again?”

Really? How hard is it to remember, “Amen”?

I probably spent over a dozen years shuttling those three kids back and forth to their weekly religious education classes and then dragging them, kicking and screaming, to mass each Sunday (or to the quicker Saturday night 5-o’clocker if we could swing it). I would make sure to sit in between troublemakers and was not above giving a good pinch if someone was having impulse control issues or a hairy eyeball to someone who thought they’d take it easy and sit when it was time to kneel.

And what was the result of this herculean effort? Well, of course three confirmed soldiers of Christ who can now go on to receive the sacrament of marriage in the church while the flame of the Holy Spirit burns within them.

I also have three kids who really don’t know the first thing about their faith, which might have a lot more to do with the lack of instruction on the home front than what they were taught by all the good souls who volunteered each week at CCD.

Basically, they’re heathens.

miss-trunchbullSo last year, after missing the deadline to sign Kid #4 up for CCD and lacking the energy to suck up to the fairly frightening woman who runs the religious education program for our parish (think the terrifying headmistress in Matilda), I just did nothing.

And the same thing happened this year.

I struggle with the Catholic Church: The failure to address sexual abuse, the politics, and the fact that women are not able to become priests or hold any positions of power. That last one gets me the most. It’s bullshit.

Because as much as I really liked all of the church’s rules and regulations when I was young, as a grown up I see that those rules do more to exclude than include.

It’s been a while since I had been to mass and when I attended the funeral of a good friend’s mom a few weeks ago, I opted out of receiving communion.

It was the first time, since I received First Holy Communion in first grade (1973 for those who are counting), that I attended Mass and did not take part receiving the Body of Christ. It just didn’t feel right.

And that’s about it right now. There’s no tidy way to end this subject. I do like being a part of something bigger than me that connects all of us. And I really like going to Mass, even though they keep screwing around with it (Note to Catholic Church: Please leave the “also with you’s”s alone but get rid of all that annoying singing of everything.).

I just don’t buy everything the Catholic Church is trying to sell. I know you’re supposed to just have faith in the whole thing but I don’t accept that God doesn’t love Jews and Muslims and Buddhists as much as he loves us Catholics.

But if anything gives me hope about remaining a Catholic and embracing my faith these days it’s our new Pope. What a guy. I’m so impressed by everything he says and does and think that Pope Francis really does embody goodness and love. The people seem more important to him than the rules.

And isn’t that what we really want in the end? To be united in our desire to be good people and love each other, regardless of our race, gender or sexual preferences? That’s the world I want to live in and the Church I want to belong to.

 

 

The Gos and Me

My neighbor Susan came over the other day and handed me this:

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And I was like, “That’s weird, cuz I already have this”:

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“I had to,” Susan told me, explaining she saw it while shopping at Francesca’s. “I knew you’d love it.”

And she’s right, of course, I do. That book cracked me up when my oldest daughter gave me the first one for Mother’s Day and I loved Susan’s copy, too. But what’s even funnier is that I have become the unlikely recipient of all-things Ryan Gosling.

Weird.

I don’t know when it started, but as with so many things these days, I’m guessing it was on Facebook.

Maybe I mentioned in a post that I had just watched “Crazy Stupid Love.” For, like, the umpteenth time.

Or it’s quite likely that I then went a bit further and described how my heart skipped a beat when he took his shirt off before the Dirty Dancing scene.

And then maybe I continued to make jokes about how hot he was until the gifts of the Gos started to trickle in.

So now, much the way some people have a theme that folks tailor their gift giving around – like I knew a guy who had an “apple” theme in his kitchen and folks gave him dishtowels and oven mitts with the fruit printed all over it, or my sister-in-law has a thing for elephants so whenever I see a notepad or necklace with the pachyderm on display I want to buy it for her – I, too, have hit upon something that folks can’t stop giving me.

The Gos.

Well, not the real Gos – I actually don’t know if I could handle that. But I’ve got pictures galore of the actor Ryan Gosling on my Facebook wall, my bookcase and even taped to my refrigerator. And I’ve never seen a Gos meme I didn’t love.

Which is hilarious, really, since I’m not the boy-crazy type. None of us here really are, which is probably why my daughters in particular seem to get a kick out of gifting me the Gos whenever they can.

So now I am the proud owner of two copies of a book featuring The Gos making dreamy feminist statements (and he just knows he can get me by mentioning The Gilmour Girls).

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My other daughter designed her Valentine’s Day card to me this year based on the Gos.

DSC_0007 I’ve gotten the most beautiful Gos collage for Mother’s Day from my niece, Emily.

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Birthday wishes from the Gos, via a meme my gal pal Kathy created for me, that included my top three favorite things of all time.

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This nifty notebook where I can doodle, compliments of my girl Jamala.

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And even encouraging words for the writer in me.

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I’ve even got a big, like life-sized picture of the Gos’s face, ripped out of a magazine, that we’ve taped to the frig and it’s kind of creepy but he always seems to be looking at me now matter where I’m standing in the room but I’ve taped him right at eye-level so if I ever needed to give him a smooch I don’t have to work too hard.

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And the funniest Gos gift I got was a heavily edited photo that shows him standing with his arm around me, but I am actually a mixture of my own head and torso glued on top of Jennifer Aniston’s skirt and legs. A dream come true.

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At this rate, I’m going to have to hire a curator to tend to all these treasures, valuable not only for their Gos-iness but also because they’ve been bestowed by women who really know me. They know I love zombies and “The Gilmour Girls” and have a weakness for super-cute younger guys.

And frankly, if I have to have some kind of a theme, I’d rather have the Gos than apples or elephants.

He’s just so cute.

Amy’s Week In Review (Oct. 6-13)

IMG_1831I get that we’re all busy.

We have deadlines to meet, children to drive and beds to make. Not to mention all the homework that needs to be checked, deli meat that has to be bought for all the school lunches that someone (preferably not me) needs to make.

Believe me, I totally get it.

So, in the interest of my busy readers, who tell me that they aren’t always able to get to all my posts (one friend told me it would be so much better if the blog was printed on paper so she could take it into the tub where she goes to escape her family nightly), I’ve put together a recap of all that’s happened around here this week.

But don’t think my intentions are purely altruistic, because as Don Miguel Ruiz warns us in The Four Agreements, Nothing other people do is because of you. It is because of themselves.” (I learned this yesterday while traipsing through the woods listening to the audio version of this book that, dudes, I think just might change my life.)

I like being able to pull the posts out of the blogger bag just one more time and admire them before they’re released into the great Milky Way of data that is the Internet. It’s kind of like how I like to just stare at my kids sometimes and admire my handiwork.

Forthwith, my week in review:

liebsteraward_3lilapplesBlogger Love:  10 Liebster Award Questions

So, here’s the really cool thing about this blog: Just when I thought the only people following it were all the moms living in my small town and my ex-husband, it turns out that at least one other blogger has started reading along. She’s Connie over at “I Suck as a Parent” and she has even gone so far as to nominate me for a Liebster Award, which she likens to the Grammys for bloggers, minus the red carpet. More …

 

IMG_2385Care Package Goodies: Easy Peanut Butter Cup Cookies

On the occasion of my son’s birthday this weekend, I put together my first care packages of the school year. I’m generally terrible at this type of thoughtfulness but figured I’d also send something to his sister since I was already going to the post office with one box. More …

 

 

photo (3)What I’ve Learned in My 21 Years as a Mom

Twenty-one years ago today, I bought a car. Or at least, I started the day buying a car and ending it having a baby. It all happened so fast. More …

 

 

I also posted links to a couple of articles on Facebook this week I loved:

Are You Raising a Douchebag? (Details)

33 Untold Truths That Writers Know Too Well (BuzzFeed)

“You’re a stay-at-home mom? What do you DO all day?” (The Matt Walsh Blog)

 

 

 

 

What I’ve Learned in My 21 Years as a Mom

I wrote this essay last year in honor of my oldest child’s 20th birthday but aside from the additional year, all of the sentiments remain the same. 

0511-1010-0812-3638_Compass_Rose_Boating_Navigation_Equipment_clipart_imageTwenty-one years ago today, I bought a car. Or at least, I started the day buying a car and ending it having a baby. It all happened so fast.

My husband at the time and I, babies ourselves, were about to have one and having just moved to the suburbs, were in the market for a second car. I had already started my maternity leave – unable to cope with the long train ride in and out of the city each day – and he was off for the Columbus Day holiday.

And so, much like Columbus whose journey brought him to an unexpected destination, we set sail in search of an extra set of wheels and ended up with me barfing up a giant meal in the hospital before giving birth.

Here’s what I discovered on that day all those years ago: Being a mom is hard.

For months, I had envisioned all sorts of happy scenarios as I rubbed my growing belly and religiously devoured “What to Expect,” but none of it prepared me for the reality of actually having the baby. I had been so focused on the actual birth that I was not prepared for the day-to-day slog of parenting.

And so I had my truly excellent natural childbirth, bringing my 7-pound son easily into the world, and then everything went off script. He couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t expel the pesky placenta. We both labored until he was whisked off to the neonatal unit and I was wheeled into the operating room.

I ended up on the sad-mommy floor, the section of the maternity ward that shielded moms whose pregnancies had gone awry from all the happy families cooing over their newborns with rooms overflowing with balloons and doting grandparents. It was like being in the Land of Misfit Toys, where for one reason or another, our square-wheeled babies couldn’t come join us for a snuggle in our hospital beds.

The baby’s health was so unstable that the hospital had a nun come and perform an emergency baptism on Day 2. Talk about grim.

For many years afterwards – long before I had to end my marriage or had a child slip into the darkness of depression – the hardest thing I ever had to do was leave that hospital five days later without my baby. I had to leave him there, alone in an incubator with tubes running down his throat and wires attached to a shaved patch on his tiny head, and that, my friends, sucked.

I remember standing on the curb in front of the hospital with my mom and my mother-in-law waiting for my husband to come pull the car around and trying not to totally lose it, when the mother-in-law, probably trying to help take my mind off the dire situation, asked me how much weight I needed to lose.

Seriously.

And of course, the rest happened so fast. The baby quickly recovered and in less than a week, he was home and crying all the time, making me wonder what the hurry was getting him out of the hospital in the first place. While he was there, I had been religiously pumping breast milk at home so that when he could finally be fed, I would be more than ready to accommodate his little thirst. We immediately began passing thrush back and forth to each other, which for him meant a little yeasty white patches inside his pink mouth and for me it meant searing pain across my left breast. Like it was on fire.

So, here’s what I learned 21 years, three more kids and one less husband later: I was reading the wrong manual all those years ago. “What to Expect When You’re Expecting”? That’s completely misleading. Moms-to-be should read something like, “You’ll Never Know What to Expect Parenting” or “Never-Say-Never as a Mom.”

Because we all set sail into unchartered waters when we become parents. We think we are clever, with our course clearly mapped and plugged into the GPS of our lives. But kids are tricky and bring with them lots of variables, their insecurities and emotions are the winds and tides that can blow you off course in a heartbeat. So we often end up standing on the shores of some strange land, not where we expected to be, much like Columbus ending up in the Bahamas rather than Asia.

But here’s the thing: as much as I was sure 21 years ago that my life would follow a certain trajectory, I’ve discovered that it’s better in the Bahamas.

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Care Package Goodies: Easy Peanut Butter Cup Cookies

On the occasion of my son’s birthday this weekend, I put together my first care packages of the school year. I’m generally terrible at this type of thoughtfulness but figured I’d also send something to his sister since I was already going to the post office with one box.

It is also good luck that I have somebody living in my house who still has the energy for things like baking, and she made the following treats for her siblings.

I coexisted for about 24 hours with those things, screaming my name from their cooling racks, and only succumbed to eating one of them. But, oh, it was good.

Think outside the box (LOL, get it?) and bring them along to any gathering and you’re guaranteed to be the most popular girl there. Or dude. There are some dudes out there reading this.

You just whip up some peanut butter cookie mix, plop in mini muffin tins and squish a peanut butter cop on top (or kisses if you, like some of us, run out).

Heaven.

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Easy Peanut Butter Cup Cookies

Ingredients:

1 pouch (1 lb 1.5 oz) Betty Crocker™ peanut butter cookie mix
1 (9-ounce) package peanut butter cup miniatures, wrappings removed

Coat miniature muffin tins with non-stick cooking spray. Follow directions on back of cookie mix pouch. Place about a spoon-sized ball into each section of muffin tin and bake in a preheated 350°F oven for 7-10 minutes or until puffy. Remove from oven and place one unwrapped peanut butter cup on each partially baked cookie. Let cookies cool in tins for 5 minutes (much easier to remove once they’ve hardened a bit) then remove from tins and cool completely on baking rack.

Got any cute care package ideas or recipes for goodies that travel well? Share in the comments below.

Blogger Love: 10 Liebster Award Questions

liebster_awardSo, here’s the really cool thing about this blog: Just when I thought the only people following it were all the moms living in my small town and my ex-husband, it turns out that at least one other blogger has started reading along. She’s Connie over at “I Suck as a Parent” and she has even gone so far as to nominate me for a Liebster Award, which she likens to the Grammys for bloggers, minus the red carpet.

And while there’s no one winner and it’s more like an ongoing shout out amongst bloggers, it’s pretty cool to be recognized by one of your own. And in a world where some bloggers are busy elbowing their way to the top of the heap, it’s nice to know that other bloggers are willing to share the spotlight with those new to the blogosphere.

But Connie frets about some of her parenting decisions and is a shoe hoarder and counts The Silver Palate as one of the most important books in her library, so how could we not really like each other? She even went to Greece this summer.

The deal is that we nominate our faves and ask them to answer 10 questions and those bloggers in turn make nominations and craft questions.

Herewith, answers to questions posed by I Suck as a Parent:

1.    Why did you start your blog?

While my first impulse is to joke and say I just really like talking about myself, I think I was drawn to blogging because I’ve always been good at telling stories that make people laugh – especially stories about my kids and being a mom. And writing is just something I can do, the way some people can add big numbers in their heads or easily slip into a side split (neither of which can be found in my bag of tricks). But with all that laundry I had to fold and butts that needed wiping, it took me about a decade to get it together and actually make the blog happen.

2. What is your favorite movie?

I love Hobbits and dinosaurs, crying (“Blind Side,” “Out of Africa”), sassy teenage girls (“Juno” “Easy A”) and kitchen porn (anything written or directed by Nancy Meyers but “Something’s Gotta Give” in particular). And the list would not be complete without some shirtless Gos flick (hello, “Crazy, Stupid Love”). Favorite? For purely sentimental reasons, I’d have to say the “Toy Story” trilogy. The movies share the arc of my oldest children’s childhood and the first movie was in heavy rotation on our VHS as my oldest sat and stared, inspired by Woody and terrified of Sid. He and Andy went to college the same year and as I watched the fictional character pack up the stuff of his childhood, it broke my heart that that part of the story had come to an end. Just like mine.

 3.    Where was your last, best vacation?

Blue sky. Hot sun. Salty water. Warm breeze. Crowing roosters. Roaming goats. Seaside villages. Ancient ruins. Pebbly beaches. Endless reading. Flapping sails. Cold beer. Strong coffee. Sweet pastries. Local tavernas. Good company. Lapping water. Starry sky. Greece 2013. Opa.

 4.    Who is your favorite author and why?

Oh, to pick just one is like trying to pick a favorite child. It’s the “Sophie’s Choice” of writing.

So off the top of my head and in no particular order, I need to read everything written by Junot Diaz, Cheryl Strayed, Anna Quindlen, Kelly Corrigan and Tina Fey.

And at the top of the list of favorites is my idol Nora Ephron, who always wove a strong and identifiable voice throughout all of her writing. Even when she wasn’t writing about herself, you could sense her there, among the words. It inspires my writing and encourages me to keep honing my own voice. And her belief that “everything is copy” has become my mantra. Much to others’ chagrin.

 5.    What is your most prized possession?

This was by far the most difficult question. But after running through a mental inventory of all that I physically own, and coming up short, I turned inward and decided that what has been critical throughout my life and has helped me out on numerous occasions is my undying sense of optimism. Without it, I might still be lying on floor somewhere in despair. But for some reason, I can pull it out of my back pocket and know that everything will work out. With it, I believe in my heart that life will always improve. And I hope I can leave a big dose of that optimism to all my children along with my extensive collection of wooden cats and beige sweaters when I check out some day.

6.    Cat or Dog?

Dogs because at least they (for the most part) poop outdoors. But don’t let me fool you: I’m kind of obsessed with our cat and am always commenting on the way she tucks her paws under her chin just-so or how cute and fat she is when she rolls around the TV room floor. It’s like having some weird raccoon living in our house, minus the rabies.

 7.    What is the most delicious food you have ever eaten?

Even when it’s bad, pizza is so damn good. I could eat it for every meal, every day. And while I’ve grilled pizza here at home and had fancy pies at restaurants sprinkled with arugula and shaved prosciutto, and eaten slices served at Hoboken pizzerias that are the size of a newborn baby (literally, Benny Tudino’s has a picture taped on the wall of a sleeping infant next to a slice and they were comparable in length), I’d be happy with the so-so pizza served right around the corner from me. Sprinkled with some parmesan and hot pepper flakes and folded in half … heaven. I would marry it if I could.

8. What is your favorite quote and by whom? 

“Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim.”
Nora Ephron

Here’s one thing I’ve learned over the last 47 years: You need to be the captain of your own ship. Because once you give away control of the wheel, man, you don’t know where you might end up. But when you take charge of your destiny, you have only yourself to credit or blame for the outcome and can course correct and change direction at will. You can practically feel the wind in your hair.

9. If you could meet anyone dead or alive, who would it be?

Straight up, Oprah.

Or, maybe Tina Fey. Hmmm … I love Amy Poehler, too.

And that new Pope is kind of cool.

I just asked my 16-year-old daughter what she thought I should say and she thought for a second and said, “I don’t know. Like, Beyonce?”

Really? Do I really seem like the kind of person who would most want to meet Beyonce?

I think I might need to start acting more serious around here.

10. What is your favorite post that you’ve written? (Please provide link!)

I had a really bad break up earlier this year. We’d been together for a while and had grown pretty close but in the end, I realized I wasn’t doing myself any favors clinging to such a one-sided relationship and had to say good-bye. But you know, I’m gonna miss that salty good-for-nothing. You can read all about it HERE.

I had lots of fun answering all the great questions posed by I Suck as a Parent and love that she recognized my blog and asked me to play along.

And in accordance to the Liebster law, I’d like to nominate the following bloggers:

And here are your questions:

  1. How did you pick your blog’s name?
  2. Knowing what you know now, what advice would you give your 13-year-old self?
  3. What’s your favorite TV show?
  4. What are three things you cannot live without?
  5. Who is your favorite fictional character?
  6. What is your most prized possession?
  7. Describe yourself in three words.
  8. What is your guiltiest pleasure?
  9. What single quality do you most appreciate in people?
  10. What’s your favorite post that you’ve written? (Link, please!)

You can find more details on the Liebster Awards here and make sure you link out to everyone and share the blogger love.

 

 

 

Silly Saturday: I Quit

Before going back to work full time three years ago, I was home taking care of the kids for 18 years. And while a lot has changed in our family over the last few years, working from home has allowed me to still be around for them when they get home from school each day or to grab them when the school nurse calls or drive them to practice or work.

In fact, because I spend most of my days sitting around in yoga pants in front of my laptop, my youngest son describes me as a “stay-at-home-computer-mom.” I may be busy trying to hit my monthly goals for work but as far as he’s concerned, I am buying another pair of shoes on Zappos.

Anyway, I saw this video while trolling Facebook this week. It’s a takeoff of another really popular one in which a young woman who has had enough of her job as a video content churner quits via an awesome video she created of herself dancing through her office and announcing she was done. (As if that didn’t make her clever enough, I also found out she had a “Modern Love” essay published last April. Bitch.)

Only in the video below, the woman works from home, surrounded by all her family’s piles of stuff and I could totally relate. Sometimes you just want to say, “Adios,” even if it’s just to go out and get milk.

Enjoy.

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