stuffs.

So I started the "stuff" clean-out.

This week, I dropped off some former possessions at the Goodwill. Maybe they’ll find adoptive parents who will be better than I have. I don’t even remember ever deciding to take them on as my dependents. They just happened. But somewhere along the line, all those things became stuff, and lost my respect.

Most of us live amidst stuff. We do have a few things too — well-used, well-enjoyed, and well-respected items that have an established place in my life. But most of it is stuff.

Stuff makes us feel bad. It fills the mind with fading hopes about what we might one day do with it, taunts us with our obvious inability to manage it, and gives us the ominous sense that we’re losing track of something crucial, either in the physical mess of stuff itself, or in the mental mess it creates in our heads.

I don’t want stuff anymore, only things.

My coffee table in the center of my living room is a thing.

My set of old plates, which sit on the shelf above the nice plates I actually use, are stuff.

My new double-wall drink cup, only two weeks old but already a close companion, is a thing.

My Pirates of the Caribbean Jigsaw puzzle, which I got as a gift and immediately loved the idea of — but never assembled — is stuff.

I donated about a hundred pounds of stuff this weekend. Sometimes it’s sad to get rid of some items, particularly if you had high hopes for them, if they were a gift, or if you associate them with someone you miss.  I won't even go into the sentimentality of baby stuff....

But how much sadder is it to hoard something in your home for years for some inane psychological reason, without actually putting it to use or giving it a proper place?

If I’m going to own an item, the least I could do is be a good parent to it. And the most fundamental responsibility of a parent is to give your children a decent home.

Stuff doesn’t usually have a home. Items of stuff are transients, surviving day-by-day in a temporary stack somewhere, leaning sadly against a garage wall, or sleeping in the darkness of a junk drawer, never sure of their fate or purpose. A particularly fortunate piece might get a chance to hibernate in a half-full cardboard box in the storage room, with some other hard-luck outcasts.

I will not be a cat-lady with my things anymore, taking on more and more tenants I can’t take care of. I don’t have them all because I love them, I accumulate them because I don’t love them.

We’ve all heard the adage, “A place for everything, and everything in its place.” I have yet to meet a person who actually lives this reality. But now I think it is the only sane way to live, and I’m determined to make it my reality. I will eliminate homelessness from my home. If there is anything in your home that does not have a home — a place where it can be properly, officially put away, then I dare say you are taking it for granted. If you can’t bother to even give it a home, either its value is lost on you, or it has none.

The truth is most of us don’t have enough space in our homes to give our possessions the self-respect of having a permanent address. We have too much, and this undermines our gratitude for each possession.

So... I urge you to join me, and eliminate homelessness from your home. I imagine your poor, unemployed stuff would too, if it had a voice. Which it probably does. Cause I KNOW you've all seen Toy Story.

cheer up!! Geesh!

Today is one of those days.

Ya know... the ones where the sound of someone eating something crunchy in the office next to yours makes you want to jump on top of them and poke their eyeballs out with a gel pen. Or the urge you get to just let your 5-year-old daughter go to school mismatched, without her hair brushed and looking like a homeless child when she decides to give you attitude at 8:07 am. Oh...and let's not forget that I can't find my freakin' sunglasses and the sun decides to suddenly shine like it's on fire today.  (Yeah... I know... it is!  Whatever... you get my point.)

Yeah... THOSE days.

Ok... let's snap out of this.

Low moods are a bizarre animal. They’re like a nasty drug that hijacks your thoughts and robs you of your intuition and perspective. They make bad things look bigger and good things look smaller. It’s as if they have their own demented gravity, drawing annoyances and inconveniences — not to mention the crappy moods of other people — out of the woodwork towards you. Foul moods don’t seem to emanate from any particular source, or line of thought, they just waft into your headspace when you’re disappointed and vulnerable. They cast a pervasive dullness on the people you meet and the places you visit, and the things you think about.

Have you ever had someone trap you in a long-winded conversation when you have to pee really bad? No matter how patient a listener you are normally, you probably aren’t going to be too receptive. Physical bodily distress overrides all of your other priorities. It’s just mother nature looking out for you. No time for the luxury of a good mood.

It is very tempting (and common) to treat bad moods by indulging one’s wants. The Häagen-Dazs approach is self-comforting. THAT'S BAD.  Beware of this phenomenon: bad moods make you wanty. I say wanty instead of needy because often wants masquerade as genuine needs.  I mean really.... who really NEEDS those $750 pair of shoes I just saw online?  Well... besides me?

Put DOWN the chocolate.  And the credit card.

Ugly moods pass more quickly when you acknowledge them, let them visit you for a bit, and avoid chasing them away with indulgence. So here I am. Acknowledging. Without indulging in twelve pieces of Dove chocolate or booking a trip somewhere. (That last part is KILLING me. Disney has a great special with free dining going on right now....)  Shush.  It IS the happiest place on earth ya know.

Bad moods will come and go for the rest of my life. I'm a girl... it happens.  However, nothing lasts forever and this bad mood will pass with the right attitude. Sometimes we can learn a lot about ourselves when we are in a bad mood. We can recognize our hidden fears and thoughts…it can be a great teacher. Plus... it gave me the opportunity to write and entertain you for a bit. It kind of helps me to laugh at myself and not take it all so seriously.

And now I feel fine again. Look at that.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Sclemeel, schlemazel, hasenfeffer incorporated!

Now, if there's one thing I love doing, it's taking a stroll down the ol' memory lane of my '70's/early 80's childhood which was hands down the best time to grow up. Period. You can take your Boy Meets World and Fresh Prince and Pogs all you 1990's Gen Y-ers, but I'll happily 'take the good and take the bad' (Facts of Life - adored) of all the ground breaking, wholesome good fun we lucky late Gen X-ers got to grow up experiencing.

**Note to readers - if you recognize this

continue reading.

If you don't, you can still continue reading, but be warned that you may feel like my 11 year old daughter who just told me, "I don't really get it."


Remember the days when Joanie loved Chachi (fun fact - I still know all the words to the theme song from "Joanie loves Chachi" and am a little not at all embarrassed by it), you considered Bonnie Bell lip smacker a food group (admit it), Gee! Your Hair Smelled Terrific!, and when you walked into your classroom in your ESPRIT shirt and Member's Only jacket after playing on the metal & lead painted playground equipment at recess and saw a giant film projector or even a filmstrip projector on a cart and the screen pulled down it was the best day ever?

I adored playing with my wooden Fisher Price Little People and their yellow house/town/castle/school house/garage (We had them all. Still do!), loved Weeble Wobbles when I was a tot (unbelievable choking hazard. It's a wonder I'm even alive), Stretch Armstrong (the coveted gift from Santa - and no, I wasn't a tomboy. Confuses me, too), my Holly Hobbie oven, Spirograph or Lite-Brite, and board games like Mystery Date, Cootie, Mastermind or Operation (although that buzzer scared the shit out of me so I usually had to dare myself to play it).

We children of the 70s/80s must've been so fit because we played outside for hours - unattended! - roller skating, skipping over the Lemon Twist, riding our bikes (usually with another person perched precariously on the handle bars or riding 2 to a banana seat), building innovative cities in the dirt for our Hot Wheels cars, and playing Kick the Can or Ghost in the Graveyard until after dark. On multiple and consecutive nights. Because we wanted to, not because our parents said, "Step away from your screens and take a breath of fresh air for God's sake. Jump a rope! Hop a scotch! It won't kill you" (something I may or may not have ever said to one or both of my children on one or multiple occasions).


Oh, and the list of favorite movies, shows, books and activities is endless to remember:

Benji - (adorably scruffy dog, adorably scruffy kids, but terrifying kidnapping scene. I loved/loathed this movie)



Ice Castles-

(I adored this heartbreaking saga of a small town figure skater with big time dreams which she gets to realize but only after losing her small town boyfriend, her small town values, her small town coach and unfortunately, her eyesight. Karma's a bitch. Still makes me want to scream, "LEXI!!! THE ROSE!! WATCH OUT FOR THE ROSE!!! NOOOOO!!" when I think of it. And the memory of the sight of Robby Benson in his tighty-whities makes me uncomfortable to this day.

Hold on, now I have to go purchase "Through the Eyes of Love" on iTunes)



Grease-

(my God I loved everything about this movie. Recently I realized it was released in 1978. 1978??

I WAS 8 YEARS OLD.

Can't recall being particularly confused by Sandy's "I'm-a-good-girl-but-that's-not-good-enough-for-your-popular-yet-criminal-and-sex-starved-friends-so-I'll-slut-myself-up-so-you'll-like-me" transformation or being shocked by Rizzo's teen pregnancy or THE LYRICS TO "GREASED LIGHTNING". How educated was I at the tender age of 9 and what in God's name contributed to my acceptance that these situations were A-OK??)



Eight is Enough -

(loved Elizabeth and David, even though he was the oldest brother and probably about 12 years older than I was. Whatever. I was obviously mature enough for him what with all my newfound knowledge from GREASE)




Land of the Lost - (seriously, what the hell?)




Family Ties - (Justine Bateman. I wanted to be her.)



Choose your own Adventure books -
(I loved these but can't say I recall reading this one. I'm kind of glad I didn't)



V.C. Andrews -

(Flowers in the Attic completely freaked me out. I'm getting a definite queasy feeling just typing that title and the following photo will give me nightmares tonight no question. Except now I kinda want to re-read it)

In this era of iTunes, internet, texting, and all things Kardashian, it's funny to reflect on, and of course, moan to our own kids about how terribly rough we had it (hey, we had to roll down our car windows by hand) which of course makes you (and by you I mean me) feel like the crypt keeper.

When we wanted to hear our favorite song we had to laboriously fast forward or rewind our cassettes, hoping we'd be lucky enough to stop it in the exact spot between songs, or try to get that damn needle in just the right groove on the record.

When we needed to tell our friends something during the school day we wrote notes - on paper - carefully hidden behind our PeeChee folders, and folded them in intricate puzzling ways and passed them on between classes.



And forget about it if we wanted to call a friend and someone in their house was on the phone. WE COULDN'T GET THROUGH!!We'd have to wait like 10 min. and try again...and maybe even again!! When my kids hear a busy signal they think the phone is broken.

After MTV debuted in 1981 (raise your hand if you, too, remember that vividly. Great! You are also old...) we had to sit through hours of videos by Blondie and Joan Jett to finally, finally get to see the coveted Duran Duran and Go-Go's ones we were anxiously waiting for (since it's my blog my favorites become your favorites). Now when my kids I want to see a video, be it recent or retro, I can find it and be watching it in 30 seconds. Suck it, patience!

Need to write a research paper? Great! We could either lose our minds trying to find and read articles from 25 years earlier on a microfiche machine (we didn't need drugs to hallucinate - just trying to find and focus a microfiche article got us there pretty damn quick) or we could flip through hundreds of cards in a card catalog (and no, my young readers, that is not a catalog that you can order cards from).






Can you just imagine if we could go back and whisper into our little 11 year old ears, "in 30 years your children will be able to write the same paper in 1 hour that it took you over 10 hours, 3 hallucinations and 2 bottles of Wite-Out to write. Oh, and they'll do it all without using a single book on a magical typewriter."

We had only a handful of television shows geared toward kids to choose from. My kids are able to record their 10+ favorite shows 5+ times a day and watch them whenever they want. Over and over and over and over (I will hear the theme song from "Suite Life" in my head until my dying day. Must think of appropriate punishment. Maybe I'll make them play outside.)

Whatever advances our kids (and of course, us) enjoy now, though, I will forever believe that what we had was not better, perhaps, but certainly more authentic. Of course every generation has a soft spot for the objects and pop-culture of their childhood, but they can't and won't ever be able to convince me that theirs was better than the late 70's/early 80's.

This little gem proves it. Enjoy.

(and I'll be singing along)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=SZqOSdo7nRY

mommy's day

Mother's Day is almost upon us, and this year, I've made a wish list.

The end.


Nah, there's more.


Listen, I love my kids fiercely; I love their hugs and homemade cards and spending some good QT with them, that should go without saying, but I've never understood the concept or purpose of Mother's Day. I mean, if the day is really supposed to be about pampering moi, then why can't I just be left alone for a few hours of peace and quiet while everyone else maybe does what I ask them to do the other 364 days a year? Is it really too much to ask? Forget the lotion from Bath & Body Works or the new bird feeder or even the breakfast in bed. What I really want is...


1. To go a whole day without someone telling me they need something bought/washed/made by tomorrow.
2. For everyone to pick up their crap without me caterwauling at them.
3. A mimosa for breakfast.
4. Followed by a nap.
5. For someone else to decide what to make for dinner, get the groceries and make it.
6. An hour long back rub with no strings attached.
7. For the laundry baskets to all be empty, and not because all the dirty laundry is in foot high piles on bedroom floors.
8. For these words to come out of someone's mouth, "Oh, I see the toilet needs scrubbing and the bathroom trashcan is full. Let me take care of that."
9. Or these, "I've planned a whole day of fun! You, on the other hand, are going to the spa, ma'lady."
10. For everyone to pick up their crap without me caterwauling at them.
11. A trip to Target where the only thing on the list is "something unnecessary for yourself".
12. Dry towels.
13. For everyone else to clean up the messes they made.
14. For someone to offer cleaning up something other than the messes they made. For once.
15. Pie.
16. A day where I don't find one sock in 13 different places (and I do mean one) or 47 hair bands littering the floor.
17. To be the recipient of the nightly back-scratches and hair-stroking.
18. For everyone to pick up their crap without me caterwauling at them.


Really, I'll take two or three things from this list and be happy (as long as one of them is #15.)


What would be on your dream list?

NOT acceptable... ever.

If you know me, you know how I love celebrity gossip and that I usually start my day not with a check of the national news (I get to that eventually...) but of People.com and Eonline.com - among others.

If you're new, you now know the depth of my intelligence.  ;)

Here's the thing. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not perfect. (That was a joke...I totally am. Nah, still a joke. Nevermind.)

I preach to my kids about how it's okay to make mistakes and how the real value is in the lesson, not in the mistake. We tell them making mistakes is okay, just don't make them life changing ones. 

It's no secret I have celebrities I detest and I adore.. but I've gotta tell you, this news about Reese Witherspoon has brought me down.

Is it because America's darling comedic actress and seemingly perfect girl-next-door made a mistake? 

Nope. Not at all. 

It's the mistake she made. 

Listen, everyone makes bad judgment calls and I'm not saying I haven't made a few of my own, but drinking and driving is the one mistake I cannot - and will not - ever have compassion or understanding for. 

Period.

Maybe it is because I often see groups of people boozing it up at restaurants and know that they'll have to make their way home on the same roads as my 17 year old niece and thousands of other people's 17 year old daughters (and sons); Maybe it is because I've seen many friends over the years leave parties and dinners and other functions after one (or three) too many cocktails. Whatever one of the many reasons, driving while intoxicated is something I have zero tolerance for. 

Do I like to have a cocktail or two when I'm out? Absolutely.
Do I have a cocktail or two if I have to drive home? Only one. I know my .08 limit (sadly, one glass of wine) and when I'm out and am the driver, I stick to it. 

Before some of you chastise me for overreacting, I realize she wasn't driving. But c'mon. Her husband blew a .139. That's enough over the limit to know better. For both of them. 

I'm not trying to sound like Little Miss Goody Two Shoes here (although if history is telling, I guess I am), but I'm just disappointed that Reese and Mr. Reese were so idiotic.  I guess leaving the Ford Fusion at the bar and getting a taxi or a limo would've just simply cost too much. 

Sorry, Reese. I could've forgiven (and probably laughed at) a bar fight, petty theft, destruction of property, or for sure your disrespectful (and pretty hilarious) rant to the cop, but you crossed the line when you chose to do something that could so easily and stupidly harm others.  There's many many options out there to take when intoxicated.  Driving isn't one of them.

My two cents.  Take it or leave it.

lessons.

I've been a parent for 10 and a half years.
Wait. 
I've been a parent for 10 and a half years??!

No wonder I'm almost insane.  (Shush.)

Anyway, along the way I’ve learned a lot of important lessons that I think some of you younger, newer parents might appreciate and find useful, and I thought I'd share a few of the most valuable here with you.  Take note, ye parents of preschoolers - what you learn here might just save you time, money, and at the very least, your vacuum cleaner.

• Birthday party goody bags were invented by the devil. So were juice box straws.

• No matter how hard you try, you will never, ever be able to get Polly Pocket’s clothes on her without ripping them or snapping her head or legs off.

• Super Glue does not hold Polly Pocket's head onto her impossibly tiny neck. But it does a fine job of 

sticking it to your fingers for about three hours.

• Contrary to what Mattel tries to tell you, the real purpose of Barbie shoes is to jam your vacuum and choke your cat. Same goes for Legos.

• Playing Candyland with a pre-schooler for 30 minutes is worse than spending an entire day at Six Flags with a tequila hangover.

• Contrary to popular belief, feeding your child noodles and butter and grilled cheese sandwiches pretty much every night for 15 years does not stunt their growth. Same goes for Cap'n Crunch.

• Taking a four year old little girl into a public restroom and trying to keep her tiny, wiggly fanny from touching the toilet seat is about as sanitary of an experience as rubbing her legs with the wrappers that stick out of the "special" trashcan (which I guarantee you she will grab - every time).

• No matter how much money you spend at Gymboree or GapKids, your child will choose the crappy shirt from Target with the peeling Little Mermaid decal on the front or the red glitter flats every time you leave the house.

• By the time your child is three, you will seriously question Margaret Wise Brown’s sobriety.

• When your kids (and God forbid, their little friends) want to “put on a show” for you, make sure a grab a bottle of wine before it starts. And a Xanax.

• Don’t let the makers of Pull-Ups fool you - because they won’t fool your toddler.

• It is possible to get in a decent nap while "watching" The Backyardigans, just make sure the volume is low enough so that damn Uniqua doesn't appear in your dreams.

• When traveling with a baby, a little Benadryl in the bottle will make the trip much more enjoyable.

• If you want to continue to be able to shop at your closest Target, keep the popcorn/icee combos to a minimum. There's only so many times the employees will smile at you while cleaning that shit up. 

• Playing hide-n-seek is a terrific indoor family activity when you want to finish that book you started or take a nap. Until they’re around nine, your kids will wait for you to find them for hours.

• Don’t be fooled by stuffed animals. As the years progress they’ll multiply faster than the Duggars and before you know it you’re hoarding them in tubs in your basement where they cry every night because their "person" outgrew them, but because you and your kids have seen Toy Story 200 times you can never ever give them away.

• Do not ever let your kids watch Toy Story.

• No matter how old your kids get, there will still be little plastic shit embedded in the carpet in the direct path to their room that the soft insole of your foot invariably will find when you stumble there to soothe a 4 a.m. nightmare scream.

• McDonalds Happy Meal toys are a piece of crap.

• Keep your child in diapers as long as you possibly can. Otherwise you will never, ever eat a hot meal at a restaurant again (or see a zoo animal...or ride a ride at Disneyworld...or get to watch an entire movie...).

• You will never, ever organize all those pictures. Stop trying.

• Knowing when to pick your battles is key, and changes with age:

3 years old - Let her wear the ratty Sleeping Beauty nightgown with her black patent mary janes to pre-school. Tell her teachers that her father dressed her. Again.

10 years old - Make her wing it on the 5th grade math test after she defiantly tells you you're doing it all wrong when you attempt to help her with her long division.  The bad grade she'll get won't keep her out of a good college, and will give you the always fun moment of being right.

16 years old - Do not touch the laundry that has been gathering on her floor for the past month (and that is the cause of the dead rodent smell coming from her room). When she runs out of socks or underwear and her jeans stand up on their own, hand her the jug of TIDE and walk away. And make sure to hide your own clothes.

• Bedtime backscratches know no age and never get old.

Believe me when I tell you the time will pass as quickly as everyone (like me) tells you. Enjoy the journey and remember.... don't sweat the small stuff.

happy holidays! whatevs...

Someone needs to pull my mother card.

My daughter... with all the sarcasm I've taught her, said to me "Well...that was a pret-ty exciting St. Patrick's Day."

I know. Whatever, I'm not a big St. Patrick's Day kind of a person. Number one.. it’s my mom’s birthday… so we never really celebrated the holiday.  We had cake.  Number two… I’m not Irish.  Yeah... everyone is Irish on St. Patty's day... blah blah blah.

Some of my friends posted pictures on Instagram of green streamers all over their kitchen and tables covered in shamrocks. Yeah… That's downright adorable.

I saw a picture on Facebook of a friend who dyed her white dog green. Yep… It's gonna take forever for that to grow out.

You guys, I've totally gotten lame. But.. It happens to the best of us.

From the time my kids were toddlers, I've turned every freakin' holiday into Christmas morning. I hang hearts from the ceiling and scatter glittery heart confetti on the tables in February, dye more eggs than we'll ever use (even the raw ones) in April, paint American flags on cheeks and tie red, white & blue ribbons in ponytails in July, cut out construction paper pumpkins and witches and cover everything I can with cottony spider webbing in October and make "Thankful Trees" &/or color "Thankful Turkeys" in November.

But I'm gonna be honest.

I've gotten kind of sick of it, and as the years go on I find that I do less and less. But, my daughter’s somewhat dejected comment left me thinking. I'm kind of exhausted of holidays. Doesn't it seem like they're getting closer together?

Maybe it's because my kids are a little older and I've got so many under my belt by now, but I'm kind of craving a holiday where I don't have to decorate and buy candy and make a giant freakin' deal out of it. As I'm sure you know (and if you are a man will admit), the pressure to make every little holiday magical and memorable lies squarely on the mama's shoulders, and this mama is getting a little burned out. Social media only fuels it. I blame Pinterest.

And Easter is next weekend, you say?

Crap. Better go dig out the tubs and set out the bunnies and plastic eggs and baskets with pink cellophane grass. I'm just glad I don't have green chalk footprints all over my wood floors to clean up before then.