I Love Yinz

Notes on being a badass rockstar

2009-07-06T17:10:00.000-07:00

Hello, Friends.

The space between my stories has been filled with summer fun, many headlines, new challenges, overdue victories and just enough defeat for the sake of balance.

Sanford & Sons

Really, Mark Sanford? You get on live TV, confess to adultery, claim that your Argentinian mistress is your soulmate, quote Bible passages to try and justify it all, then say you're going to try to reconnect with your wife?

If I was your wife, and you publicly (or even privately) humiliated me like that, the only thing that I'd be interested in connecting would be my foot with your ass. Lucky for you, I never would've married a republican from South Carolina.

Ed Mctheman, Queen of Posters and the King of Pop

That was a whole lot of death.

I was really sad when Ed McMahon died. It seemed like he was always on TV when I was a kid because of Star Search and Publisher's Clearing House commercials. I have so many great memories of watching what was the best talent show ever (before American Idol came along). My grandparents always watched with me too. It was a big family event.

Most people thought the entertainment news the day that Michael Jackson died was going to be that Farrah Fawcett died. Even Wolf Blitzer was prepared to give her 10 minutes of roundtable talk, remembering her famous feathered haircut, big smile and best-selling poster that made the Charlie's Angel star so popular.

Sadly, I could only seem to recall that I once saw her in a bad TV movie about a homicidal Texas mom. During the trial in that particular primetime gem, a cassette was entered as evidence and played for the jury. The song was Duran Duran's "Hungry Like a Wolf." That seemed to redeem the viewing experience for me.

So I was going to relay that story on Blitzer's message board (not really), but that all changed when reports broke that Michael Jackson had a heart attack.

The next couple of hours were a media mess. Some news organizations said it was just a heart attack, others said he was dead. His music played in a loop on several radio stations, and Blitzer showed many of his videos.

I was only half-shocked. It would be hard to imagine an 80-year-old King of Pop, and I know that has been pointed out many times since he died.

My first three thoughts were these:

1. What will the Duker do? The Duker, a.k.a. Hossain, was a kid I went to college with who danced, impressively, to MJ at every school function where music was played--whether it was an end-of-semester formal or a Rec Center event featuring free cheese cubes.

2. I wonder if those "I (heart) Michael Jackson" pencils are still at my mom's house. What person my age doesn't remember the Thriller album and the subsequent videos? Every year after its debut, I've always looked forward to that Thriller video being on during Halloween. I was in labor with Cienna (born at 1:41 a.m. on Nov. 1) and watching that video. Because I'm badass. Or crazy. Or the MILF of Pop. Let's go with badass.

3. How much MJ stuff did I have? I had the replica gloves. I thought I was cool when I moonwalked. Or tried to. "P.Y.T" and "Billie Jean" were among my favorites, according to an old sticker book.

I generally ignored all of his bizarre, as I do most celebrity sleaze. I've always been more interested in the music.

I'll be relieved after the memorial tomorrow. I'm hoping that signals a return to form for my cherished news programs. (Dear Anderson Cooper: THIS MEANS YOU! Love you!) I'd really like to know more about the captured American soldier in Afghanistan and our efforts there. The hot mess that is North Korea. And when the layoffs will stop. If ever.

No Shame for Steve

This was an actual conversation I had this weekend:

Me: Hey, I just got an alert that Steve McNair was shot. Turn on ESPN. Was he shot in the ass? It's always so much more interesting to me when athletes are shot in the ass.
Larry: Nope. He's dead.
Me: Ooooh.

Eat n' Rock

I've been playing a lot of air instruments lately. More than usual. This can all be blamed on Cienna's new, pink and black, guitar--yet another in a series of wonderful gifts from Nana. Thanks, Mom. I'm now doing the experimental band thing I never did in high school.

And Cienna loves this guitar in a serious way:

"Mom, I think I want to play my guitar every morning after breakfast because I like to rock out after I eat."

The ones that look like butterflies

From the summer of 2001 when I learned what it meant to press up for my forefathers with my best friends--while befriending yinzers on boats and buses, and realizing I'd always find a way to love everyone without giving up my independence-- to days ago while I watched fireworks with my arms wrapped about my daughter, I noticed that I've grown to love the Fourth of July as though it's summer's Christmas. (And we all know how I do Christmas: Properly!)

I tend to feel inspired every July by our country's history, by my own history, and this year I was both inspired and renewed. There's a good reason for that, but for now let's just chalk it up to the pleasure that comes from communicating with truly good people.

Fireworks help too. I think we're all a little inspired by bursts of magic in the darkness, a light show like no other that forces us all to look up for a while, shifting our lazier gazes from downward or what's in front of us to the sky and all that can be. And as I watched green and purple, and red, white and blue, fall over me like willow trees and reflect in my daughter's eyes, I declared silently to myself that I am still so hopeful. And I do have faith.

And, Cienna, she would've watched all night.

"Mom, you wanna know what my favorite one was? The one that sparkled real big and then fell down like butterflies."

Fifteen minutes of tame

2009-05-06T17:44:00.000-07:00

Before I had children, I could spend a lot of time doing absolutely nothing to better our world. It wasn't unusual to find me on a futon, watching numerous episodes of "Sex and the City." Or going to IKEA and Target to buy colorful things I didn't really need. Or in a bar with a martini that matched my outfit. Or at a game with beer and nachos. Or on an uninterrupted phone call that lasted longer than 10 minutes. Or in a bubble bath by candlelight. Or on a long walk in one of Pittsburgh's neighborhoods. Or on a date in a quaint, BYOB Italian restaurant.

Now? I'd just like to go to the bathroom in peace.

Something about me urinating inspires the people I love most to begin an inquisition. And it's never a series of simple questions. It's always something like, "If we race for the cure, does it mean we'll never get cancer?" Welcome to life with a precocious 5 year old.

It's so hard for us to find time for ourselves, ladies. Some days, we long for those quiet days and secretly wonder what it would be like to have them back for just a few hours. But I promise you we traded up. Once you go baby, you never go back.

We could all use a vacation. We could all use a spa. We could all use a maid. We could all use a FREE maid. We could all use a few more dollars. We all want a few less pounds. We all wish for a few more hours at the end of the day.

It might be a while before we get any of that, but until then I suggest you try my "15 minutes of tame." When things get really hectic, I enforce the Woodall family's 15 minutes of tame. Everyone brings it down a notch. We get quiet. We get books. We get naps. We get food. We get a DVRd show. We get whatever we need. And the best part is--sometimes it lasts longer than 15 minutes.

There are also Selfish Sundays. Other than the built-in family things like church and visiting grandmas, the Woodalls like to keep Sundays open for themselves. Larry usually plays hockey. The kids usually choose the park. And Mom usually opts for a good book, TV dramas and a glass of red. And it's wonderful. Regardless of how busy the rest of the week is, we know that we will have our Sunday--which occasionally involves a sundae.

We all have different schedules and lives, but we've all gotta find that "me" time so we always have something to give to those we love. It's a challenge, but we deserve those minutes and hours to ourselves. It leads to a happy mom, which leads to a happy family. And what's better than a happy family?

It's the laughter that keeps us moving.

2009-05-05T19:02:00.000-07:00

You folks didn't really think I'd have enough time this week to blog every day, did you? But in keeping up with this week's theme, I thought I'd include some things I heard or read today that made me laugh.

In motherhood, I've always thought it's the laughter that keeps me moving and the love that keeps me happy.

"Every crowd has a silver lining." --P.T. Barnum

"When skating on thin ice, our safety is in our speed." --Ralph Waldo Emerson

"This is my High School Musical," Cienna said, as she put on tens of pastel-colored bracelets. "And this is my Zelda Fitzgerald," she said, putting on a headband with a huge flower, pulled to the front.

Larry: "Did you know that Cienna can whip through first grade math?"
Me: "What? I work with her every day. She knows some stuff, but I wouldn't say she's whipping through it."
Larry: "Here. Look what she did in this workbook."
The workbook showed that she answered several pages of math equations correctly.
Me: "Cienna! Wow! How did you know all of those?"
Cienna: "I don't! I found the answers in the back! See!"
Me: "Ah! Yes! Well, Larry, we don't have a child prodigy on our hands, just a great cheat!"
Larry: "Thata girl, Cienna!"

Tyler: "Where Dada go?"
Me: "Dada's at work, Ty."
Tyler: "Dada fart."

Co-worker B-Ev: "...Oh just talking about some girl who..."
Me: "Is she a hoebag?"
B-Ev: "Oh yeah! ...yeah"
Me: "Is she stupid?"
B-Ev: "Oh yeah! She's got checks in both of those columns."

A line in a message from Lindsay: "All dogs might go to heaven, but all sinners do not."

Feel free to share some of the things from your day that made you laugh.

Myths of Motherhood

2009-05-04T09:29:00.000-07:00

Tools of the Trade

If you find yourself in Babies R Us as often as I seem to, then you've probably had the urge to overstep some boundaries.

There's always that couple there registering for the first time, for their first baby. And you try to ignore it all like a sane person would, maybe offering that mom-to-mom smile, which is a lot like the wave that bus drivers and Jeep enthusiasts reserve for each other. But you see them clicking the scanner on so many things you know they will never use. The inner logic begins: "Aw, you're both so cute. But you will never need that many diaper disposal systems." And of course you never say that to them because you're normal.

Plus, there's always something better to grab your attention--like the pregnant mom scanning BPA items in the store and lighting up a cigarette outside of the store. "BPA-free is the least of your worries, sweetheart."

By the way, I'm the mom with the 5-year-old shopper who tries to find anything and everything that her younger brothers don't need.

But, really, I wish someone would've told me what I wouldn't really need when I was a young(er) mom. I was so thankful when Dawn told me not to buy a certain bathtub when I was pregnant with Ty. Cienna's old tub was passed on, and I needed a new one. If Larry and I had bought the one we originally wanted, we would've been disappointed, based on what I've heard from some other friends who bought that model. We were very happy with our second choice.

Other times I walk around and see something new, and think, "I totally could've invented that."

So I'm curious, what products have you found most useful, which have been useless, and what is something you would like to see on the market?

---

MILFs

While I have learned to restrain my inner bitch, sometimes I just need to educate the ignorant. I consider it a public service.

For example, there's a myth that exists, and sometimes it's silent, that marriage and children ruin intimacy, keep you from being sexy, make your life miserable and keep you old.

None of that is true. Poor perceptions and bad excuses are responsible for those things.

Let's just acknowledge the technological reasons of why that isn't true very quickly and then put it aside. There are various doctors you can go to who will ask you, if you're there for a certain kind of appointment, "Would you like to be 18 again or 14 again? And I should add that you can get to 19 all on your own, without intervention."

First of all, I will never desire to be 14 again for any reason. 19? Pretty damn good year.

Look, we do not birth buses. And some of us have had c-sections. And what a baby looks like at 3 months is not at all like what we bring into the world.

Really. I'll say it. The Vag rebounds victoriously.

And I have it on good medical authority that multiple partners over a period of time actually does the same for elasticity than if you've ever given birth or not.

We do not become powerless, helpless, sexless creatures when we become mothers. We simply become the foundation of our families.

And our generation has changed the definition of motherhood. It's not housecoats and separate beds and going to the supermarket when our husbands get home from work.

We work if we want to. We take care of ourselves and stay youthful. We have sex--all kids sleep eventually. Get a sitter, go out on dates, keep the intimacy alive. If you can't find a sitter, call me. I will watch your kids for you because I believe moms need to look out for each other and not get caught up in petty judgements or competition.

Remember who you were before your kids because you can still be those things AND be a good mother. In fact, you'll probably be a better one. And, yes, family has to come first. But that doesn't mean you get rid of your friends.

Some friendships will change, and some may drift apart if you no longer have anything in common. But some friendships will strengthen when you become a parent. And when you and someone you grew up with are both parents, it's truly magical. It's a beautiful relationship to share all that history and be able to take the parenting journey together. And remind each other that in additon to being beautiful, sexy, funny, smart, youthful, talented women, you also get to be moms. Which is really the greatest gift in the world.

It's our week!

2009-05-02T19:16:00.000-07:00

Several of my friends have birthweeks instead of birthdays, meaning that they celebrate the entire week of their birthday.

While I do adore these people, my self-importance has never reached a level that inspired me to make an entire week about my birthday. Weekend, maybe. But not the whole week.

In their defense, it's not so much a matter of ego as it is a will to party. They just like to have a good time, and when is a better time than your own personal anniversary? After all, it's a celebration of an important relationship--the one they share with themselves.

An important relationship to me is my one as a mom. Is there a greater bond than that of mother and child? And is there a more precious gift than the gift of life?

Mother's Day is a week away, Friends, and I've decided to celebrate my place in our family throughout the next seven days. I'm hoping you will join me when I ask for stories, opinions and advice. And even if you're not a mother, by choice or chance, that doesn't mean you can't celebrate. Aunts, Godmothers, Sisters, Teachers, Friends--all have gifts of mothering that deserve to be recognized and appreciated.

Even though two of my best friends don't have children of their own, I've been luckily to have their love and support throughout my own parenting journey--and what a journey it's been! MB and BG are aunts and Godmothers and sisters, and they know what it means to truly love a child.

MB's love for me and my children has always been unconditional. How could it not be. She's there to hear the funny stories. She's there when I feel overwhelmed. She's there to cheer on every success--even if that success is that we all made it out of the house, showered and clothed, in less than 3 hours. She's there to hear every failure--even when that failure is potty training gone horribly wrong. She has been building the most amazing library for my children, buying them collector's editions and classics since the day they were born. And even when I'm busy with my three children, and she's busy with her advanced education, job as an editor and wonderful husband, we still find time to talk. Even if it is at odd hours and about odd subjects. I love her so much, and she is one of the friends who makes me a better mom.

Somewhere Dr. David M. Jones is laughing as I write that BG has made me a better mom. But it's so true. This incredibly unique woman, who attracts a cast of characters worthy of their own Discovery Health reality series, is one of my personal heroes. Whether you need alcohol or advice, she comes through every time it matters. On days when I've been whined to and shat upon, I turn to BG. I know that regardless of what I'm about to tell her, she will respond with something so much worse. And it will be so rich, so foul and so inappropriate that all I can do is laugh. I'm so lucky to have her in my corner, and she's definitely in my corner. At the slightest sound of sadness in my words, she's ready to throw down with somebody. The Irish gypsy in her is immediately inspired, and I immediately begin to think that I should design an exit strategy for the impending wrath that she's about to release. You do not mess with a BG. And you do not mess with a BG's kinfolk. As a mom, you NEED a crazy, Irish gypsy in your corner. But with BG, it's always BOGO. And with her you also get one of the most hilarious and intuitive souls to ever walk the earth. Her intuition has served her well as an amazing writer and has helped her develop the best comedic timing. And let's face it, mom's need to laugh daily. I love her, and I'm so lucky to have her in my life the last 13 years. Hey and hey and hey!

Even though MB and BG aren't moms themselves, they've sure made a positive difference in the life of a child.

*And to those of you reading this on Facebook, I'd love to hear your similar story if you've got one!

Close to May

2009-04-20T06:51:00.000-07:00

Hello, Friends.

C-Woo got served

There are some things I've never done. I've never watched one second of The Hills, I've never been to the Carson City Saloon, I've never been parasailing, I've never cheated on my husband, I've never regularly played tennis, I've never purchased a designer handbag, and I can hear some of you saying I've "never used birth control."

Well...other than The Hills and the husband part, some things are about to change, and I owe it all to a local, high school tennis coach. The past few times he's called to report something at work, I've been the one to answer. I now know this is fate. He's encouraged me to play tennis. He's explained it's the fastest-growing sport in America. He's given hints that he may wear a red shoe. He's offered to teach me to play a sport that he's apparently mastered.

I've explained that I've taken lessons before, that I played with my mom when I was a child and that even last year I played in the Mt. Lebanon bubbles. Oh, and in those bubbles I got yelled at profusely by an elderly gentleman who took the game WAY TOO SERIOUSLY. I think shuffleboard was more his thing. I told my coach friend that despite my repeated exposure to "America's growing game," I just never developed a solid desire for it.

"Well if tennis ain't your thing, I can teach you volleyball," he said.

Oh.boy.

So I discussed this with another co-worker who is apparently an avid tennis player. I explained that if tennis were presented to me in event form, such as "Tennis & Tequilia" or "Tennis & Tea" (but let's be real, here), I could get behind it.

In the words of the great Ed Meena, "We'll see what happens."

Better weather

Tina and Missy would disagree with me, but I can stand the rain. Especially when it falls on my least-favorite days of the week. Much like last week, it's supposed to be nice Thursday through Sunday--and my Friends know how much I still love a Thursday.

In Pittsburgh, you just never know what you're going to see on a sunny day--anything from too many mandals to too few drag queens. While in college, it wasn't uncommon to see girls in bikinis at the Point--even when it was only 63 degrees. It was sunny, and that was apparently all that mattered. Last week while suffering a horrendous detour, I realized it was my fate to see a seemingly-homeless gentleman walking around in a cutoff-belly shirt with a huge screen print of Bob Marley on the front. He also had disheveled, gray hair, minimally tamed by a rainbow-striped headband. And he was carrying a Macy's bag and pulling a suitcase behind him. The thing is, I actually enjoyed seeing that. It was much less offensive to me than seeing a couple on the Norf Side, wearing matching visors. That moment definitely made me think more of "Highway to Hell" by ACDC and less of "Two of Us" by The Beatles.

TarantiNO

Is it just me, or did it seem like none of the Idols took Tarantino's advice last week? In nearly each clip, Mr. Tarantino gave specific advice, and then the Idol would perform live, clearly not doing whatever Tarantino asked. And, much like the last time Tarantino was on, Randy Jackson also seemed to disagree with whatever he said. Did I miss some battle over spandex a few decades ago or something? I hope not.

But I did get to see a lot of clips from Tarantino's movies--including Michael Madsen dancing around in "Reservoir Dogs." So that was successful alone.

inspIREd

Sometimes I wake up and find a toy dinosaur walking on me 10 minutes later. Ty calls it his "saur." It's just a small, little, plastic T-Rex, but he loves it. He doesn't want a bigger saur or a brighter saur or a more expensive saur. He's simply happy with what he has. It's just another reason Ty, and all children, inspire me.

Children don't have petty insecurities. They don't care to judge--though they WILL speak the truth (sometimes at unfortunate moments for their parents). They don't lie--at least not without being taught to. They don't care if another child is funnier than them--they just want to have fun.

They also have the best advice for when the Pens lose.

Yesterday when we got back from watching the Pens game with Friends, Cienna pointed out that I looked a little dejected.

"Oh, Mommy is just a mix of exhausted and bummed that the Penguins lost, but you smiling makes me feel better already," I said.

And I wasn't lying. The minute I saw her running down the stairs to give us a hug, smiling the whole time, I thanked God, again, that I was her mother.

"I think we should watch Madagascar. Those penguins don't lose," she said.

That they don't, Miss Faye. That they don't.

unFriendly Neighbors

When we lived on Beadling, we barely knew our immediate neighbors. Larry called the guy on the left "Old Man Withers." He was old, surely and only seemed to come outside to feed the birds once a day. The guy on the other side was younger and selling his house to live with his girlfriend. He was never around. Thankfully, there was a younger couple a few houses down who befriended us. They had dogs who they said were their children, and they liked to drink margaritas on summer nights in their backyard. Sometimes they invited us to join them. They were friendly people and Friend-ly neighbords.

Luckily, when we moved, we got even better neighbors. For the most part.

Connie and her husband live two houses down. She is a retired OB nurse, and he still teaches in a catholic school. They have a grown daughter who went to high school with Larry. One time Connie said, "My daughter thinks she and Larry may have had home ec together. She remembers him being sort of a clown in class a few times. Does that sound like him?" I said, "Definitely!"

Miss Connie, as the kids call her, likes to walk through the yards to see the kids when it's nice out. Because, when it's nice out, believe me--we're outside! She brings them bubbles and holds the baby, telling me how much she misses working around babies. She gardens and is probably exactly how you might imagine her. When I was pregnant, she offered a lot of help and support.

But yesterday, she told me something I hadn't known. According to Connie, "Two owners ago, there was a tall, thin woman who lived in your house. Tall, thin women can really push out babies for some reason. She had midwives. She barely made it to the hospital with her first baby, and the second baby was actually born at home in your bedroom."

Larry responded first. "Oh, I didn't need to know that. We really don't need any extra baby energy in the room."

I explained to Connie how superstitious Larry is and reminded her that I barely made it to the hospital with Dimitri. But I did kind of wonder if I should start sleeping on the couch or something.

When Connie comes by, she actually does most of the talking. And if you know me, you're probably surprised by that. She keeps me informed of our neighbors' whereabouts, even though I never ask. For example, I now know that Carol and Bill are in Florida and that if Bill (whom Larry loves and calls "Old Man Flanders") talks a lot it's because he has trouble hearing and doesn't always know when the conversation ends.

Carol and Bill have grandchildren, including a granddaughter Cienna's age. So it's nice when their grandkids visit. And Carol is famous for bringing over treats and goodies for the kids on holidays and etc.

Then there are the neighbors on the other side. Connie wonders what makes them tick. They're a young couple--maybe a few years older than Larry and me. They have a little girl, slightly younger than Ty and a black lab. They always say hello. The guy smiles a lot. But the mom looks down a lot and just occasionally apologizes when the dog barks too much. Even though we are not the type of family to care when a dog barks. Connie is like the mayor of our street, so of course she's tried to communicate with them. We've just never really tried. I guess we follow their lead. Some people are just socially awkward or not good at making friends, so it can take a long time. Maybe I'm holding out for a sunny day when we're all in our backyards, and I can initiate a conversation.

Connie just calls them the "unfriendly neighbors," but I can't give up so easily. Sometimes it's not a matter of being friendly or not. It's just that some folks are socially awkward.

Until then, though, I have absolutely no problem meeting at the fences with Carol and Connie and Larry and Old Man Flanders x 2 to discuss plants and people and kids and neighborly things. Even if Old Man Flanders is having an entirely different conversation.

Lil' Wayne's World

Friends, I think we're all in agreement that it should be Lady GoLa and not Lady GaGa, right? After all, among other things, I'm a popular music star. And my stage routine is about a bizarre as hers.

But there are some other songs out that we should discuss first.

1. Kiss Me Thru the Phone. First of all, I've been doing this for years, thanks. Second of all, the part that's "like da da dadadada da..." Ty thinks it's some form of barking, so he barks when he hears that part. And Cienna likes to sing the numbers "678 triple 9 8212." Why do I let my children hear this song in the car? Hey, we all have our failures in parenting.

Some lyrics from this artistic masterpiece:

She call my phone like / Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da /We on the phone like/ Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da/ We taking pics like/ Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da /She dial my number like/ Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da/ Six, seven, eight, triple, nine, eight, two, one, two

2. How Do You Sleep. How do you stop listening to Jesse McCartney? It's everything you've ever loved about a boy band in one person. And this song sounds just like LFO's "Summer Girls" but with a faster tempo. Plus, it includes Luda. How can you go wrong.

3. Turnin' Me On. Thank you Keri Hilson. I'm nervous though. The last time I liked chic rap this much, the girl got shot for giving someone AIDS. But, you know, I'm sure that won't happen again. But, really, I love it --especially Lil' Wayne's contribution. I love Lil' Wayne and am extremely intrigued by "Lil' Wayne's World."

May be

I just looked at my planner. Again. And I've accepted that my life is busy and there's a lot to look forward to on any given day. The errands and daily chores are dotted with wonderful family-and-friend events and new challenges.

I'm really looking forward to a girls' party this Saturday afternoon. I think Cienna is joining me. My friend is taking her daughter, and her friend is taking her daughter too. It's so cute to watch them play together and sort of drift back and forth between, "Oh, look at how young and innocent they are" and "Oh, how did they get so grown up."

I have high hopes for May, Friends. I'm working a few golf events, where I will also get to swing on a few holes. That should be interesting. And there is the Cinco de BG event, which should probably be called BG de Mayo instead. A bunch of birthdays, including Larry's! Barbecues! Another work-related DC trip. Mayhem! And a lot of ballet rehearsals.

While I'm a fan of all seasons, mostly fall, is there any time more magical than spring? Nature just takes over, and it feels like absolutely anything can happen!

Love yinz!

A wink and a smile

2009-04-14T17:33:00.000-07:00

If you're a mom, then you're probably somewhat familiar with the kind of day I'm about to describe. And if you're not familiar, then tell me you're secret NOW please.

It all started this morning when I was trying to exercise in peace. That was my first mistake, right? Because it doesn't matter if I'm working out at 5 a.m. (the usual) or 5 p.m., that's when everyone is going to need something. And if I send the kids to the gym daycare when I go there, well that's when everyone poops. The gym daycare workers don't change diapers or escort the older kids to the bathroom, so that means mom gets paged on the loudspeaker. I'm always reminded of Mr. Mom at those moments: "Herb, we weren't even in aisle four!"

After the morning drinks were poured, and I finished an angry workout--completely missing all the benefits of stress relief--it was time to cook breakfast for the kids. I made oatmeal pancakes for Cienna and Ty, but they only ate them after what felt like 10 minutes of choosing their favorite plates. And while my rational self was encouraging them with words of joy about Spiderman and Hannah Montana, my inner bitch was fantasizing about throwing every plate in the cupboard across the room and making the secret celebrity and secret superhero simply secrets. Forever.

Of course Ty was a syrup mess. It was as though he climbed into a bad George Michael video, and no amount of baby wipes could stand up to the challenge of cleaning my toddler. So it was time for a bath. Except that Dimitri wouldn't hear of tummy time or swing time or stare-at-something-colorful time. He simply wanted mommy time. So I wore Dimitri while I bathed Ty, and of course I ended up soaking wet in the process.

While I was trying to clean up myself and the bathroom, I knocked down one of the nets of bath toys and couldn't help but feel the universe was against me. At that point, my son was running between the bathroom and his bedroom, getting the hardwood in the hallway nice and slippery. Sure enough, Cienna came running out of her room and faceplanted right in front of me. Even though she was fine, she couldn't pass up the opportunity to try and snipe a Princess band-aid.

She was healed and Ty was clothed, but then Dimitri needed a diaper change. And in true Woodall fashion, nobody poops alone. Ty wasn't about to be outdone this morning. So he made his way to the potty after several minutes of me reminding him why the potty is better than pull-ups. He sat on the talking, singing potty, clapping and pooping. You can guess who taught him to celebrate a bowel movement with such gusto. And by the time I did the wiping and washing, I was already tired of poop by 9 a.m.

Dimitri was ready for his morning nap by that point, and Cienna was getting dressed. We were going to a meeting later that morning, and I informed her that she shouldn't wear her short-sleeved high school musical shirt. It was kind of dirty and not warm enough. I made other similar suggestions, and the result was a 5 year old stomping up the stairs informing me that I had ruined her life.

After I asked her to come back down and apologize for stomping and speaking to me that way, I called my mom and cried. "Cienna said I ruined her life because of a t-shirt," I said. "Just wait," Miss Linda said. "You have a lot more of that to come." "I didn't know my precious daughter could be full of so much attitude. What did I do wrong? It's like I'm raising Cher. Or at least her gay fanbase," I said.

I was en route to the shower when Larry called for the morning dish. Still couldn't tell you what he said. I was too busy being distracted by Ty who was driving his cars all over me and everything around me--but mostly me. "OK, honey, sounds awesome. I'm off to the shower. I'll call you later." "What's awesome?" "Um, I have no idea. I'll call you later."

While I may have had high hopes for 15 minutes of Aveeno stress relief in the shower, they were quickly dashed by "Tyler Joseph and Cienna Faye! Please STOP jumping on the bed! I swear you are never allowed to have Easter candy again!"

Then the guilt set in. Did I let them eat too much Easter candy? Am I a terrible mom? Did I let them have so much sugar that they will have Type 2 diabetes by lunch? Am I a terrible mom? And what about Dimitri? I haven't even really read to him today. I haven't even really talked to him today. And Cienna and Ty...did we do anything together besides eat and then get baths? Ugh. I'm the worst mom ever today. And I've yelled at them like eight times. And I have no idea what my husband said to me. I should've had a better conversation with him. It will have to wait until we see each other later. Maybe if I just squirt this Aveeno right into my nose I'll feel relieved? Bad idea. I would need a year's supply. At least. Did the bag of toys fall down again? It's staying down this time.

And as I steeped out of the shower, hoping for enough calm to dry my hair, Ty and Cienna began arguing over the same crayon. "Really? You're not going to share today? All manners and values are just ignorned today? Really?" So of course their arguing woke up Dimitri.

At that point, I just gave up and gave in. The most I could hope for was to get out of my robe before we had to leave the house.

I laid down on our bed--that was actually, surprisingly made--and picked up Dimitri from his Boppy. "What am I going to do today, Dimmers?" And he just started to coo and gave me the biggest smile ever. Just like that, I found my stress relief. I smiled back at him and played with him a little bit, and he kept cooing and smiling--with the dimples his momma gave him--and I realized I'd go through the whole morning all over again for the rest of my life as long as I could have perfect moments like that.

Naturally that was abbreviated by my Ty man who walked in and announced, "Poot. Poot. Potty? Potty? Poooooot!"

"Again, Ty? Really? You DEFINITELY have your father's digestive tract! OK. Let's go, buddy!"

And the toilet sang again. La Boheme it is not.

Somehow, SOMEHOW, we made it out of the house, clothed and appropriate. We were on our way to the meeting, Rupert Holmes' "The Escape Song (If you like Pina Colada)" came on the radio. I thought of my friend Joe, who is Cienna's Godfather. So we then talked about Uncle Joe and Aunt Helen from L.A., which was like Aveeno too. In case you're not aware, Joe is nature's prozac.

By the time we got to our meeting, Ty had taken both shoes and socks off, as per usual, Cienna's hair was a mess, and I again declared the double stroller cannot be opened with one hand as advertised.

The baby slept through the meeting, and Cienna and Ty were perfect angels. All quiet before the storm?

We got back to the car, and I realized Dimitri had pooped. So I took him out of his seat to change him on another seat, which of course did not make him happy. But I got him back in his car seat and calmed him down and thought all was well. However, I caught my jacket in the van door and lost my balance. I wanted to just lay down on the ground and take a nap--even if it was for 10 minutes.

As I drove us home--in perfect silence as the trifecta napped--I compared mothering to a full-time job. In a full-time job there are built in breaks and lunches most of the time. In mothering, there are no breaks. And sometimes my lunch is whatever the kids don't finish. And did I forget to put the clothes in the dryer? Yes I did.

Life 1, Mom 0.

When we got home it was time to cook lunch. The kids requested their favorite soup, and I was out of celery. "It's OK, Mom. We all make mistakes sometimes," Cienna said. "Thanks, Ci." But, thankfully, they ate it without complaint. Was the day rounding the good bend?

Yes.

And then it was almost time for Larry to be home. I was a combination of a loyal dog waiting by the door and a child waiting for Santa. That's how excited I was to see him. The calvary. The break.

"I'm home! What do you want to do?" he said.

"Sleep. I just want to sleep. I don't want to eat dinner. I just want to sleep before I have to work," I said.

And I got a beautiful hour of sleep before I had to go to work. On my way out of the door, I promised the kids that we would do something fun tomorrow! And on Thursday we will do something even more fun because it's going to be nice outside!

And I assured my husband that I would be looking forward to the hours we'd have alone once I got home. He gave me a wink (or maybe it was a twitch) and told me to call him later.

I'm going with wink.

Closing out a long week

2009-04-13T18:19:00.000-07:00

When our family woke up on April 4th, Nana's birthday, we looked forward to a sunny, spring day full of Easter eggs, the Pens, Final Four fun and family parties. And, in our family, the day went as planned.

But not all Pittsburgh families shared such peace that same Saturday morning. Some found their lives changed forever by senseless violence.

Of course I'm referring to the three Pittsburgh Police Officers who lost their lives in Stanton Heights.

While my kids searched a Mt. Lebanon lawn for plastic eggs, news updates and texts from colleagues filled my phone, telling of a much different, horrific, scene on the other side of the city. It was still early morning, and not all of the facts had been reported yet, but enough had been said and done to ensure the week ahead would be difficult.

I'm not going to get all morose and verbose on you about this, though. If you know me, then you already know what I think about it. And chances are you saw the same moving images I saw and read the same moving words.

But I don't know if I really felt it until I was in Breezewood extremely early Friday morning on my way to D.C. I was refueling at a gas station when I crossed paths with some New Jersey police who said they were on their way home from the memorial service the day before. One of the men had a full shift waiting for him when he got back.

It was the first thing I was asked about during my interview later that morning. How was Pittsburgh?

I think we discussed it for the first 10 minutes, and in my answer I realized how professionally programmed I've become to dealing with loss. I keep it at arms' length until the job is done before I can feel it. This has transferred to my personal life as well.

Which is pretty much how Wednesday happened.

Friends, I'd love to tell you about my life last Wednesday in full detail, but that's not going to happen. 1. I'm tired. 2. There's a chance that some of you may think I'm slightly awesome, and I don't want to change that. (OK. So you all know me too well to think I'm awesome, but still...)

However, I would like to share some quotes that came out of an evening my some of my best college friends when we just needed to laugh. And we did.

A Friend: "As long as I have a clitoris, I can do anything."

....

A Friend: "I don't prefer anal, but I'm certainly not opposed to it."

....

A Friend: "Maybe next time you should stop being nice to girls on dates and just tell them you have a big penis."

....

A Friend: "Erotic Toy Disposal. You know how people need a place to take freon and old computers? It would work the same way, providing a service."

....

A Friend: "Some weird guy just told me not to worry because he took his meds."
A Friend: "I think that same weird guy told me he made 400K working in the grocery business."
A Friend: "I think he may have confused 400K with 401K."

....

A Friend: "I overheard a conversation earlier where a guy told his friend that he was dating a girl who was completely insane but great in bed."

A Friend: "You just described the majority of men's relationships with women."

....

And by the time the Woodalls came home from Washington, in time for sleep and Easter morning, we welcomed more inspired laughter from family and friends.

Me: "Just so you all know, I'm keeping my eggs hidden this year."
....

A trio of family members via text DURING CHURCH! (so wrong): "first row. completely inappropriate. but I'd bang it."

Response: "she dresses like that every time. those pants are so tight you can see her thong."

Response: "no. those pants are so tight you can see she's not wearing a thong. or anything."

Response: "look at that guy across the aisle. the skinny jack black. you can see his nipps through his sweater. ew."

Response: "seriously not trying to be mean here, but is that other guy mentally handicapped or just a midget. i can't tell."

Response: "too far. you're an idiot. i'm embarrassed to be related to you."
....

while discussing my stepdad's bean dish I was successfully avoiding:
D-Baby: "Did he marinate his beans in Stroh's first?"

.....

during Easter dinner from BG: "Imagine it. Steve, my mom, Ashy, Nick and Nicholas. Send me to North Korea. I got negotiating skillz."
....

with Aubrianni

Me: "4 dark chocolate Hershey minis down. 3 Sarris balls down. I'm counting on you today. Don't let me down, Chief."

Aubrianni: "I had a Kit Kat for breakfast and getting ready to have a sarris cashew egg for lunch. I won't let you down. I'll have hot tea with lunch."

....

Cienna: "Mommy, I know how the Easter bunny gets to all those houses! He has GPS! But he doesn't drive. He hops."

Blame it on the Foxx

2009-04-13T17:10:00.000-07:00

Hello, Friends.

It's been somewhat of a talent of mine to make something out of nothing. This has come in the form of an overreaction or a moment of creative genius. In journalism, a Friend of mine would call this "turning chicken shit into chicken salad." In more desperate times, a different Friend has called it "Magolver."

And, Friends, I was forced to channel my Magolver at a recent bridal shower. The lovely evening was coming to a close. Gifts were being carried to the trunk, leftovers were being Ziplocked and people were in pursuit of "more alcohol." The remaining bottles of wine were not an option. They stood, corked, like brave soldiers, destined for pre-game activities at the next evening's bachelorette party. But a second batch of delicious punch--think mimosa--remained. And when there's a man down, we don't leave him behind.

It was an exit that would require some creativity.

While the venue was gorgeous and glowing with rows of candlelight, it lacked an empty container and an important device for siphoning leftover booze--a funnel. A brave, classy Friend found a bottle of wine that was about a quarter full and took it to the face. All we needed was the funnel. I decided to make a funnel out of a Ziploc bag, using scissors from my infant first aid kid (CLASSY!), much the same way you'd make a pastry bag. One Friend held the empty bottle, another held the makeshift funnel, and I poured the punch.

We filled it too full to re-cork it, so again my services were called upon. With, yet another, Ziploc bag and some tulle, I created white-trash magic.

My brother-in-law's girlfriend, Alyson, held the aforementioned magic in her lap while we drove home, eager to share the tulle-tied, adult beverage with Lar and Justin. I confessed to her that even when I don't drink and drive, I'm a hazard on the highway. Because of Jamie Foxx. Shut up. Everyone likes that Jamie Foxx song, and you know it.

But not everyone likes other songs on WAMO.

Me: "Um, so I have no idea what this song is, but I have a feeling that you do."

Ahri Son: "Why's that?"

Me: "Because I'm pretty sure you have Lil' Wayne on your speed dial. And someone who has Lil' Wayne on their speed dial would know this song."

Ahri Son promised that for every one of my future birthdays she would present me with two bottles of wine that had their contents switched and secured with tulle. And, Friends, I intend to collect.

We enjoyed the Magolver Mimosas with Lar and Justin, though Lar refused to drink his from a wine glass. He partook in the festivities from his "man cup." (This would be a plastic Pens cup from a home game we attended.)

Because Ahri Son and I have children, we were falling asleep between laughs and sips, as were Lar and Justin. We knew morning, and an Easter Egg hunt, would come early, so we settled into warm cuddles and comfy sheets.

And as the week ahead unfolded, it turned out that I needed every second of that sleep.

Keeping it classy in the class of 2022

2009-03-30T10:04:00.000-07:00

Hello, Friends.

You should know that I've cried over a pin twice in my life.

The first time was during college when my BFFMB (Best Friend Forever Mary Beth) created custom-made pins for our circle of friends. I can't reveal here what it said on the pins because it involved inappropriate, graphic language, but it was a timeless quote stated by one of the dumbest men God ever created.

I still have this pin. And I'm still unsure why it inspired tears. Maybe because MB took the time (not that her student activities post was all that demanding That Summer) to make it for all of us and preserve our memories in such an interesting fashion. Maybe it was due to the several liters of vodka. Who could be sure.

The second time I cried over a pin was for much more logical reasoning. It said, "Chartiers Valley Class of 2022," and it was given to my daughter at Kindergarten registration. She was so proud to fasten it on her shirt, and she couldn't wait to show everyone in the family her primary school bling.

I've known about registration for months now, and I've had the packet of 15 papers filled out for weeks. All of the necessary proof was successfully rounded up as well, including a baptismal record signed by a wonderful man--the same reverend who married Larry and me.

I easily remembered conversations I shared with him about Cienna, and I just wanted to pick up the phone or mail him a note to tell him what it felt like to walk her through the main lobby for the first time. And I wanted to tell Munch and Pap and Gran. But I couldn't. Yet somehow I could feel their pride, their joy and their love.

Larry was amazing. So supportive. So devoted. So loving. He knew I would be all sorts of emotional, and he knew I would keep it inside. We all did. Both he and Gram Arlene accompanied us to the registration area, and I told them to take a little tour while I handled the paperwork. Maybe I've become too used to handling the big things in her life.

While I talked immunizations and family demographics, Cienna colored and waxed poetic about iCarly and Hannah Montana. In just a few minutes, Larry walked up to the table and said to the office aide, "Hey, how's it goin'? I'm Cienna's dad." Cienna confirmed. "Yeah, that's my dad. I have two brothers and two uncles and a bunch of grandparents too." I believe she then explained what she calls all of her grandparents--Nana, Pappy, Gramma, Pap, GG and Grandma Arlene. I think she may have inherited my outspoken and verbose nature. God help her.

Following the paperwork, we were invited to a workshop that focused on Kindergarten readiness. It was led by the school counselor and school psychologist. Larry said, "I have a feeling I'll be seeing a lot of them."

Before we left, we took Cienna for a walk around her new school. Several mismatched art projects were hanging in the hallways, each one cuter than the last. And I remembered being a reporter and covering education. A special project found me in several elementary schools one spring, when Cienna wasn't even 2 yet. I walked similar halls, wondering what it would be like when my daughter went to Kindergarten. It seemed so far away. Then she was in preschool. And now this, which feels so much different than preschool. I just know the years will pass by even faster now. I'm not sure what to do with that. I'm excited for her and scared all at once. People tell me that's normal, but I still can't believe she's old enough for this already. My little girl.

We had a celebratory dinner that evening, and I expected Cienna would go on and on about the prospect of new friends, new lessons and new adventures. But she was more interested in athletic prospects that were being discussed on ESPN's "PTI." She gets it naturally. Clearly, Kindergarten is no match for the athletic commentary she enjoys with Larry--especially "Around the Horn." Is it the beginning of her superior athleticism?

It's really amazing to see how love from various people--parents, grandparents, siblings, uncles, aunts, cousins -- can blend into one child. What they cling to and take away from those relationships is just so interesting to me.

Among other things, I think Cienna identifies me as the true communicator in the house. Or at least I'm assuming that's why every time I try to take a shower, she walks in, sits down Indian-style on the toilet and says, "Mom, can I talk to you a little bit?" And the conversation ranges from traveling to the beach to why she thinks dress shoes for Easter should be called "bunny shoes."

And when Larry is not making her clean her room, he's definitely a source of recreation for her. They watch shows and sports together, including the NCAA college hockey tournament. Seriously, I think she may know more than some writers. It's disturbing. I was amazed when she spoke of the frozen four and it didn't involve orange, cherry, grape and banana popcicles.

Ty is her best friend. For sure. They're practically inseparable. She constantly watches out for him, and when we're not with him, she wants to call and see how he's doing. It's precious. And I'm so glad they have that kind of relationship.

She's absolutely amazed by Dimitri. She and Ty make him pictures every day--we've even framed some for his walls. And the first time she saw Dimitri smile at her, she said, "It's like magic, Mom. He really loves me."

It's moments like that which I never take for granted. And I try to make them last as long as possible. Because you just can't get these years back.

Get sprung

2009-03-23T16:29:00.000-07:00

Hello, Friends.

A festival of gay and a lot of vodka

I may or may not have attended a 50th birthday party for Barbie. And it may or may not have been inspiring, disturbing and a festival of gay. While I'm OK with all three, I am, however, pleading to Mattel to start designing some more realistic dolls. Don't get it twisted: I'm fine with Barbie's perfect body. I just now want to see some more age-appropriate models.

For example, can we please get Cougar Barbie? Complete with the following accessories, of course: A pink phone with entirely too much bling on it. Her daughter's Aeropostale hoodie, over an American Eagle cami. Blonde extensions--and the entire do is heavily straightened. Several bottles of vodka--and no mixers because Cougar Barbie watches carbs. At least one silver tank with a copious number of sequins. And the phone numbers of several of my youngest brother-in-law's friends.

I'm also requesting Botox Barbie, Divorcee Barbie, Mother of the Bride Barbie and Mother-in-Law Barbie. They would all also share the vodka accessory.

Call me, Mattel. We'll make it happen.

S-wood Mac

Can we please discuss this season's American Idol?

I'll say now that my favorites are Kris Allen, Matt Giraud, Danny Gokey and Megan Joy (even though there are much better people out there in her genre). I have favorites every year.

There's a lot I do every year: question how drunk Paula Abdul is, gauge the gay between Ryan and Simon, wonder how some people made it to the top whatever, roll my eyes during country week and make fun of how trite Idol Cares is.

This year, I'm also annoyed with the frontrunner, Adam Lambert. He's just ridiculous. I wish I could explain to him that he's not Robert Smith. I wish I could explain to him that the reason most people are so impressed my his range and black nails is because never has anyone stood on the stage and screamed like that before. Really, it's like the crescendo of every Whitesnake song ever recorded.

Also...Scott MacIntyre. Look, it's hard not to be impressed with what S-wood Mac has accomplished, but he really doesn't belong in the Top 10. Let's be honest: he's there because he's blind. Wild Angels? Come on. That said, he could leave the competition now and sell a bunch of records. The same people--and by "people," I mean women who watch Lifetime--who bought Clay Aiken's Christmas Album will buy S-wood Mac's album(s).

And I don't know if I can handle Motown on Wednesday. I just know Simon is going to make some Stevie Wonder reference after S-wood's performance (while Paula whispers ever-so drunkenly in his ear).

The Dow n'@

Dear Yinzers,

You can stop talking about the stock market during happy hour. Most of you have never played the stock market. Most of you can't read the listings.

And I'm pretty sure you think Dow Jones must be someone who used to play for the Steelers.

Dirty 30

I'm in the middle of planning a 30th anniversary party. It's a surprise. It's a group effort, and by group effort I mean that A-son and I are telling the men involved what is expected of them. The organizing is going amazingly well, though I'm still debating a yummy alcoholic punch recipe.

What shocks me most is how inspiring it's been. They've been married longer than I've been alive. This June, I will only have even KNOWN my husband for four years.

But I want to get to 30 years with him. And 50 years. And however many more years I have until I die. I believe in us and our family, and I love what all that feels like.

And, the thing is, I think we can really do it. I honestly believe, despite the 50 percent divorce rate, that we will still be in love whenever forever is. Because we weren't high school sweethearts. Because we had lives before each other. Because we didn't do things according to plan.

I feel even more certain of this after recent conversations with Mary Beth and Joe. Both conversations were very different and the kinds of conversations that I can only have with those friends. They are both so wise and steady. They both love me unconditionally, which, if you're going to love me, is pretty much how you have to love me. And they will listen to me go on and on every year about how spring is love.

Another two friends, let's call them RC, will tell you that we are Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz in "What Happens in Vegas." Except that A) We, sadly, do not look like them. and B) The things they do in that movie to repel each other, we do to endear each other.

BringingsexyBackstage Mom

Thankfully, for everyone else, my backstage pass did not say that.

But it was obvious that I was so proud to see my little girl perform in "Coppelia." She was a bumblebee, and so she called it "The Bee Show." She refused to call it "Coppelia." When she invited her grandparents, she said, "Please come see me in The Bee Show. It's going to be so great."

And it was so great for her. And us.

At one point, I was doing some emergency sewing, and Larry was feeding Dimitri in the hallway. I said, "Who would've thought Larry Woodall would one day be feeding his son in a theater lobby in the middle of a ballet that he electively chose to go to."

Then a group of us went to Eat n' Park to celebrate. Because that's where you go in Pittsburgh to celebrate youth ballets.

Some time before the smiley cookies arrived, I realized how much I was smiling. My little girl loves something, and I get to provide opportunities for her to see her dreams come true. And this weekend that dream was dancing like a bumblebee. And she was just.so.happy. Not a care in the world. And that's just beautiful if you ask me.

Love yinz.

Candy go bragh!

2009-03-09T08:28:00.000-07:00

There are many things we need to discuss, Friends.

But first, let us address the upcoming weekend's festivities. I'd agree with you that my performance during the last few years on St. Patrick's Day has been poor. Maybe it's because each year I seem to have another child or am pregnant. Maybe it's because I'd rather make more green things with the kids than drink green beer among Yinzers (I love you all!) looking for free beads. Maybe it's because I have jack and shit to do.

This year won't be much different, I'm afraid. I'll be spending the better part of the day at a "Coppelia" run through, sewing ballet costumes and chatting it up with the moms. Don't fret, though. I'll keep it festive with my shamrock antennae and a green, Pitt shirt.

I promise you that whatever I may be lacking in recent St. Patty's Days, I grossly overindulged in during college and beyond. I'm confident I drank enough Irish car bombs to level a continent.

Love it or beat it

Dear Rhianna:

I'm so disappointed that you and Chris Brown are allegedly back together. Not only did I have to scrap new lyrics to "Forever" (I've been waiting my whole life/for this one knife/gonna be me, you and Ike Turner...), but I was hoping for much more celebrity drama. I mean, it sets such a great example for the children who adore you to handle alleged domestic violence by allegedly running away to Hawaii. I know, I know. Life is tragically difficult when you are forced to heal along the Pacific Ocean.

Here's how you can redeem yourself, though: Beat him back. It's classy.

Octo-over it!

Does the Octomom have more important things to do than make rounds in the news? And how was she able to dial 911? The only phones that ever seem to work in our house are Cienna's Disney Princess phones which dial Belle, Cinderella and Jasmine. Very useful when you're in a jam!

I still maintain that most of the people judging her have nothing better to do, but enough is enough. Take care of your kids, and get off the media circuit!

And she's not Angelina Jolie because Angelina Jolie can afford her children.

Also, while we're on the subject, I will not be having as many children as Angelina Jolie or Octomaniac. The hormone hotel is officially closed.

Jon minus nine

Despite my numerous opinions about celebrity gossip today, I really don't follow it that much. In fact, the only way I ever really notice any of it is while standing in a checkout line or scanning the Yahoo! home page.

So imagine my horror when I read that Jon Gosselin, of Jon & Kate Plus 8 fame, was allegedly spotted in a bar, kissing women's volleyball players from Juniata. Juniata? Really? Now I have two questions about this: 1. If this was made up, would it really involve Juniata? 2. If it's true, can there please be an episode where Kate walks into the bar, puts the entire volleyball team on a schedule and throws down?

And then the message boards about this! Why are there message boards about this? And why do so many of the posts forgive his alleged transgressions because Kate is, as they claim, "too stressed and overbearing." She has EIGHT children!!! Of course she's stressed! Does that give the father a right to cheat on her? NO. And if he was doing his best as a father and husband, he wouldn't have time to cheat.

I actually have my doubts about the whole thing. I saw the photo that is supposed to be proof, and it looks severely edited.

More than you know, I hope this isn't true.

Sew into it!

I'm so into sewing these days. Well, I should clarify: I'm so into sewing ballet costumes.

Trust me, this is never something I thought I could do. I'm pretty sure we were asked to make a square pillow in home economics once, and I believed my finished product would best be described as a "neck roll."

I still have no desire to do pillows. Or curtains. Or "slacks."

But I love doing the ballet costumes. It benefits my daughter. It benefits her friends. It benefits the dance company that she loves. And I also enjoy the comraderie of a sewing circle and the parenting stories that are shared.

BG's Guide to Pressing

So BG and I are finally writing our masterpiece. Excuse me, our first masterpiece. And I know this is happening because I'm doing it. When it needs editing and perfect wit, I'll send it her way.

It's time that we share our genius with the world. Plus there's no time like a recession to press.

The first line? "It all started with an Italian hoagie."

You can only imagine what follows.

I'm also collecting ideas for our second masterpiece, "BG's Into It or Over It." This could be blockbuster, Friends.

As That BG put it, "Fortunes have been made on lesser things."

Get sprung

It needs to be spring. In the words of the Terminator, "Do it now!"

Seriously, though. I'm not one of the Yinzers who complains about the weather en mass. For example, the first time it reaches 80 degrees, they start begging for fall. OK, maybe I am that Yinzer, but only because fall is closer to the holidays.

I want the sun. And windows rolled down. And baseball I don't care about. And barbecues. And weekenders. And playgrounds. And inspiring breezes. And Memorial Day done properly. And Larry's birthday. And Easter dresses. And long walks. And popscicles. And watermelon. And no snow in April. And gardening. And turning the back yard into an outdoor family room. And swingsets. And all that love that seems to be everywhere when you give people a little sunshine and a long weekend.

Kryptonice

Most of you know my reputation as a superior athlete. I can only assume that it started with a double-shot of vodka and a stats book, much like Superman and Kryptonite.

Well, my superior athleticism is being called on once again. The Panthers need me. The Pens need me. Mayhem needs me.

I want to point out that I told Larry, before the NFL season started, that the Steelers would win the Super Bowl. And before the college basketball season started, I told him that it was Pitt's year. Sadly, before the NHL season started, I told him Pens would go one round and then be out of the playoffs. I'd love to be wrong about the latter.

Keep your eye on Pitt, though. Such a great team. So easy to watch. So unlike past years when Pitt had great teams, but they were difficult to watch. Enjoy the conference tournaments. Enjoy March Madness, Friends.

Enjoy March.

Love yinz,
Candy

Why I'm loving November

2008-11-17T15:31:00.000-08:00

I remember being much younger, sitting in a full theater, watching moms cry while their teen daughters danced on stage. I chalked it up to them simply being proud parents.

But, now, as my own daughter dances in her first Nutcracker, I realize it's a little more than that. These days, I struggle to believe that she's 5, let alone that she stands in five ballet positions. She's wearing stage makeup for the first time. She's performing in her first costumes. She's a little girl now.

And I probably don't have to tell you that I cried the first time I dusted pink blush on her cheeks and when I sewed her first costume. We've just come so far together, and we've withstood so many struggles in her 5 years. There were days during her infancy when I felt like I couldn't get anything right. But rocking her and singing Beatles' songs seemed to work, so I'd do it for hours. Then she was 2, and it seemed like we couldn't go to the store without some personal crisis involving Dora the Explorer. Then she was 4 and became the sweetest, little preschooler. Now she's 5, and I feel days away from the mom crying in the theater.

Because I know it's not just about that moment on stage. It's about these ones too. It's about remembering how amazed I was watching her first ballet classes, driving her to rehearsals as we had true mother-daughter time, somehow learning to sew everything I've needed to sew, putting makeup on her for the first time, and hearing that precious, "Look at me mom! I'm a ballerina!"

For all of my screwups, there are just some promises I won't break. One is that I would get this right (which is always a work in progress). Another (to Carrie's Mom) is that I would never these moments for granted. And I don't. I'm always so aware of their value.

So please afford me some hormonal leverage here when I just have to take pause in the lobby of a dance studio, watching my 5-year-old daughter kick off her Mary Janes for ballet shoes and my 21-month-old son explore the room in curiosity. I'm constantly amazed that I'm blessed with them and constantly thankful for every second we share together.

And I'm loving November for this kind of clarity.
---------

I had a full heart on election night. It's the third time I was of age to vote in a presidential election, and this time, my guy won. I felt like I did my part--I voted, was active in my community and spent a fair amount of time among Anderson Cooper and David Gergen (thank you, DVR).

Once the result was called and President-elect Obama spoke from Grant Park, I couldn't help but think of Mike Royko. Mr. Royko was the best columnist I've ever read. He lived through and covered so much of Chicago's history, from the struggles of the Cubs to the violence that once filled Grant Park. How amazing it would've been to read his words about Chicago's son leading the free world.

And I felt hopeful and proud and optimistic and like I could finally relax. Not just because someone who can pronounce "nuclear" will be in the Oval Office, but because there's just a new vision for this country.

Things are getting better, and that's why I'm loving November.
------------------------------

November means a lot of birthdays for our family, and, so far, they've been happy ones.

As some of you know, Cienna celebrated a milestone birthday by leading a fundraiser for Children's Hospital. Last week, we donated 250 books to Child Life, and it felt really good. She learned so much from doing it, and I can only hope this kind of good will stays in her heart.

Family and friends attended her "royal ball," and the majority of us dressed up. Even though we asked for books in lieu of gifts, she still got a lot. I'm still not sure that she's put down the camera from Malik and Michelle, and her roster of dolls now rivals that of the Steelers (including their practice squad!)

She and two of her friends from ballet class dressed like Disney Princesses, and leave it to my graceful angel to somehow rip her dress so severely that her butt was showing by the time we got home that evening! But she had fun, and that was all that mattered.

My 28th birthday was much less of a milestone, but it was still pretty great. I think I ended up with three small parties somehow--one with family the Sunday before my birthday, one with Larry and the kids on my birthday, and some friends surprised us with cake and a present at a housewarming dinner party on Saturday.

Oh, and part of that Saturday included the Pens game and watching "Christmas Vacation" afterward! Who could ask for more?!

I love my family and have the best friends, and that's why I'm loving November.
-----------------------------------------------

I will not confirm or deny whether or not the inside of our house is decorated for Christmas. And I will not confirm or deny whether or not I've been listening to Christmas music.

But I will categorically admit to the fact that my Christmas movie basket is in the proper place and a lineup has been decided upon. Sometimes I get so excited about my Christmas movies that I hug the DVD boxes.

I encourage everyone to a sort of Christmas playlist for both music and movies. And it's OK (in fact, it's recommended) to include movies and songs on the list that simply remind you of the season or just have that Christmastime feel. For example, "Miracle" and "When Harry Met Sally" are not Christmas movies, but they've been on my list for a long time. Both include Christmas scenes and include healthy doses of winter. Plus, they have feel-good endings.

This month kicks off the holiday season, and that's why I'm loving November.
-------------------------------

Holidays inspire a lot of camaraderie, and it can make for much-loved memories.

This past weekend, during a Nutcracker rehearsal, I was in the sewing circle with some ballet moms. One of them is an OB/GYN, and despite her professional history, she's new to sewing costumes. She said, "This is challenging, really. I mean, I could take your uterus out, but I struggle with this lace."

Loved it. And that's why I'm loving November!

Stay the course

2008-09-16T18:19:00.000-07:00

--Friends, please don't read this if you're not registered to vote. Use this time now to go through the simple process of registering to vote online instead of reading my blog. I'm only going to tell you how important it is to vote this year anyway.

SERIOUSLY! Every day, there's a new dismal report about our economy and how thousands of Americans are losing their jobs and pensions, while millions lose their homes. It saddens me to see how unstable this country has become.

I don't believe that either presidential candidate will be able to get into office and change things right away. So don't expect to find a savior in a public servant. The economy will get worse before it gets better. Our housing market will hit rock bottom, and maybe during, say, Obama's second term we will start to see some true improvement.

A girl, who is a few years my junior, was asking me if I thought there would be another Great Depression. I said, "For some Americans, it already is. For others, it soon will be. For the precious few, it never will be. And for the rest of us, it will just be shitty for a while." We shared what we knew of the Great Depression, stories passed down, generation to generation. Then she said, "You think I'd have to sell my purse?" Referring to her choice of designer handbags, cell phone skins, sunglasses and footwear, I said, "You do realize you're a complete douchebag? If it got to the point where you had to sell that thing, it would have no value."

But I do love that girl because she's very kind, just simply and genuinely kind. She's all labeled out because she feels like she has to be. It's a matter of competition and attraction. And I can appreciate our differences.

Our differences, by the way, are vast. I've been known to leave authentic Gucci bags on a garage floor, while Target and TJ Maxx couture were nestled safely in my closet. And those Gucci bags? All gifts. Gifts from someone who gave that kind of stuff away at Christmastime like they were candy canes. I'd never buy something like that for myself. I'm not sure I would want it.

And that was before I had kids.

--The eternal optimist in me has high hopes for my children--and yours. Take a look at history, and you'll see why. Each generation has its tragedy, its turning point, its pivotal moment. One day, I believe we'll look back to see that 9/11 really did change everything for us--most of us were just upperclassmen in college. Innocence and naivity were lost.

But a lot of beauty was gained:

I remember sitting in my PR class, next to Incorvati, watching the second plane crash, after hearing the first one on my walkman during my short trip to Academic Hall. We were casual friends, class friends. That day we held hands.

Later, in my dorm room, among my best friends, I watched CNN and network news stations repeat horrible truths and replay horrifying images. That evening we walked the Boulevard of the Allies, as allies, and made it to The Point, looking back at our city, reflecting on the day, praying for our countrymen, silently thankful that it wasn't our skyline.

We all grew up a little that day--and so much more since then. We've suffered irreplacable losses in our families, we've become husbands and wives, moms and dads, full-time employees and homeowners. We've done it all during "trying times."

And I really do believe that if we stay the course, refuse to lose hope, work hard and treat each other well, we will live to see our children and loved ones live out their dreams without the challenge of doing it during "trying times."

--I've enjoyed that my life has been such a way that I can have an incredible phone conversation with my best friend while picking up a pizza, and 10 minutes later I can be meeting two incredible people for the first time.

--Color matching is so much fun. I've found some very interesting shades that are unbelievably beautiful with teal. Teal! It's also true that if you mismatch a color with teal, it's a huge disaster.

--Cienna is doing so well with school. I'm so incredibly proud of her and constantly wonder where her life's journey will lead.

--You already know how beyond thrilled I am for fall, so I won't go into that.

--Planning Cienna's 5th birthday is a lot of fun.

--Talking about Cienna in The Nutcracker is also fun.

--I'm looking forward to a certain new beginning. More to come...

In the Park

2008-09-08T19:25:00.000-07:00

Quick to judge

2008-09-05T18:06:00.000-07:00

If I could offer any advice to the experts, pundits and folks with nothing better to do than gossip, it would be this: Be careful whom you judge and how you judge them.

I'm not entirely sure why John McCain picked Sarah Palin as his running mate, but I am intrigued that he chose her among a more-qualified pool of Republican candidates. That's not to say that Palin isn't qualified at all, but I wouldn't be comfortable having her as president of the United States. She just doesn't share my political values.

I don't care that she has five children and a demanding career. To me, that doesn't make her a less qualified politician. Many successful politicians have balanced personal lives with political lives. And the only time anyone raises a question of priorities is when it's a mother making the tough choices. Let me tell you something, folks--mothers have been making tough choices for a long time.

Palin's daughter has started making those tough choices. And my heart truly goes out to her. I know how challenging it was to be pregnant at 22 and a single mom at 23. From my best understanding--through research and friendships--it's all the more difficult as a teenager.

And because it is so hard, it really breaks my heart to see some of the coverage of a personal family issue. Morning talk shows have been hosting teen forums, discussing sex and unplanned pregnancies. As though it's something new. As though their network news will have a positive impact.

Evening talk shows have been featuring hurtful jokes, such as, "It's a good thing Governor Palin is a member of the NRA because it's going to be a shotgun wedding."

Hilarious.

As someone familiar with shotgun weddings, let me tell you that they happen all the time--even when there's not a baby involved. Is constantly nagging a guy to marry you because all of your friends are getting married any less pressure? Is threatening a breakup if there's not a ring by a certain date really fair? It's certainly not romantic.

It's usually a little more romantic when a baby is involved because sometimes there's more of a choice. In fact, I know of at least one man who had many options presented to him by a pregnant girl who didn't believe marriage yielded good parenting. She gave him choices. The man chose to be married. He wanted to be married.

Palin's daughter, Bristol, says that she's going to be married to the baby's father--a young man who previously listed he did not want kids on his MySpace page. According to a marriage professor at Duquesne University, 95 percent of marriages that begin before the couple is 21 years old do not last. Well, half of all marriages after 21 don't last either. And can we really find it so hard to believe that an opinion someone writes on a MySpace page might change?

I'm not stunned by any of the week's past news--something I attribute to growing up in journalism and also just growing as a person. I'm not surprised that a 17-year-old girl had unprotected sex and got pregnant. I'm not surprised that the daughter of a conservative, pro-life governor is having a baby.

What does surprise me is that so many people can pass judgement on the situation. What does surprise me is that we still debate sex education vs. abstinence, yet fail to set up resources and effective programs to help young mothers.

Pro-life politicians damn those who don't keep their babies, yet vote against bills proposed by pro-choice advocates to help those mothers succeed without regretting their decisions. It would be too much work to actually care. Sitting back, reading tabloids, gossiping about it--that's much more convenient. Coming up with an opinion is easy. Coming up with a solution takes some effort.

I'm an opinionated person, but I'm not nearly as judgemental as I used to be. And I work for what I believe in and for what I believe will help others.

So when someone emailed me, "Does it bother you that Governor Palin's 17-year-old daughter is pregnant?" I didn't hesitate to answer.

"Yes it does. But not because a republican vice presidental candidate's daughter is about to have a baby. I care because another teenager is becoming a young mother. I care because I was a week shy of 23 when Cienna was born. And I care because I have children. And they will undoubtedly face decisions as they grow up--some of which may be challenging."

I've faced a great deal of judgement with each pregnancy, and with each pregnancy, others' opinions have mattered less and less. If the commentary doesn't come from my family, friends or physicians, it doesn't affect me. And I can only hope Bristol Palin feels the same.

But these wishes extend beyond Bristol Palin. They also affect other young women in our communities, facing tough decisions. The decisions are just as important--sometimes moreso--even though they're not psuedo-celebrities.

A young, unmarried mom I talked to this week said, "It just hurts so bad. I hear what they say about her, and I know what they say about me. But they don't even know me. They don't know what's in my heart."

I've heard this kind of thing often during my research and outreach. And I'm quick to remind women that unplanned doesn't mean unwanted. Women shouldn't be damned or shunned for loving their child enough to give them life. They shouldn't feel badly for believing that love will guide them. Nor should they be denied the right to make a different decision.

There has only ever been one decision for me. I believe children are a blessing and gift from God.

But not every woman has chosen what I have, and I respect that.

What I cannot respect are groups of women who have never been parents, passing judgement on those of us who are mothers. Or people who have never done an unselfish thing in their lives looking down on a woman who chooses to do what's best for her baby.

People aren't perfect; they're just people. And people have different experiences. We can choose to be open to those experiences. We can choose to be supportive. We can choose to be friends. Or we can choose the alternatives to those.

In nearly every situation, I've chosen to follow my heart. And, sometimes, it's led me to some interesting places. But mostly it's led to me to beautiful places.

Despite that, I've made poor choices in my lifetime. I've hurt people when I didn't mean to. I've taken when I couldn't give back. I've judged others prematurely. And it inspired some regret.

But I have never wished I never had a child, or waited until a different time. I have never wished I had time back that I spent helping another woman.

My life is blessed, and I haven't taken a day of it for granted. Cienna, Ty and our baby are gifts. There are challenging days, but there are incredibly beautiful years. I'm so thankful for every moment I spend with them. I'm so happy that Larry is taking this journey with me. I wouldn't trade anything. And I'm not intimidated by a full house.

It doesn't seem like the Palins are intimidated by a full house either.

Maybe they know that a full house grows full hearts.

Healing, In no particular order

2008-08-20T17:43:00.000-07:00

BFF, BBF, BFBG, BFOTA

Whether we were rocked to death or scared to death, our circle of Friends was recently tested. First, our hearts paused while we prayed and hoped through a worrisome medical situation involving a Friend, and entire family, really, that we love dearly. Then, we somehow pulled together enough courage to withstand the musical explosion that was REO Speedwagon and Skyblast. And if you doubt the latter, let me tell you, never doubt a man who has false teeth, platinum hair and can still play the gong.

All joking aside, I've been so proud of my friends. Even though we don't live close to each other or have the ability to hang out all the time, we're there when it counts. Our history of pressing up has clearly become legacy, and we all belong on The List of People Who Don't Eff Around. The social networking age has only worked to our advantage, as we are not the kind of friends who are out of sight, out of mind.

I know with every ounce of faith in my heart (though it just might be heartburn these days), that the sickness will heal, and we will all be sharing photos of our healthy families at the annual PPC (as in Christmas) Potluck.

Deals

You know it's going to be a tough meeting when you walk in a room and someone says, "It took a lot of courage for you to be here today."

I had two such meetings so far this week. And in each of those meetings, I had to make decisions--some of which have already been negatively criticized. But the criticisms say more about those doing the criticizing than it says about me. The results of my decisions--and whether or not they were the best ones--won't be revealed for years to come. Even if they're not the best ones, they already feel like the right ones. I only made these decisions after a lot of prayer, a lot of thinking and a lot of planning. So it wasn't on a whim.

Of course it involved money--which is really the main thing that inspires people to care about someone else's decisions. And I pretty much gave up a lot of it in order to help a larger group of people who otherwise wouldn't likely be able to afford a resource that could help raise healthy, happy children and families. At the same time, I'll have enough, when it's said and done, to pay my debts and help those who have helped me.

I was going to describe how another meeting involved me fighting for social justice in education, but really, both meetings involved me fighting for social justice in education.

It kind of feels like walking the walk, a bit. Look, I'm never going to be a politician--I've had too much of a past for that. But there's still a lot I can do for what I believe in.

Women & Men

I received some sad phone calls this week from a girl struggling with a broken heart. And broken hearts are always harder to put back together when the person suffering doesn't have a strong support system--especially family. The parent-child relationship in her life has always been reversed, and her ex-boyfriend was her life.

But when people build their lives around one person, they tend to hold onto that one person too tightly. It can bring out the worst in a relationship. And even when the relationship goes bad, it can be hard to let go of.

I pray for her every day, hoping her pain will be replaced with joy.

My advice in such a situation is always the same: You have to find a way to move on.

I know it's easier said than done. But the longer you hang onto the wrong person is less time you have with the right one.

And never, NEVER, be someone else's doormat or fool. It's like that buying of the cow when you can get the milk for free thing. If a guy still sleeps with you after he dumps you, it does not mean he loves you. It just means you keep giving him sex. If the sex stops, so will the majority of your communication.

My mother is quick to remind women that we don't need to "buy the cow" either: "Why buy the whole pig when all you want is some sausage."

She probably saw it on a bumper sticker or something. But sometimes bumper stickers give the best advice.

Prayer

I've had so much to pray about in the last week that I actually went to the sanctuary to do it. I'm usually quite content to do it at home or in the car, but I think I just wanted the perfect calm of an empty church.

I cried.

I stared at swaying candlelight.

I prayed.

I foolishly negotiated.

I felt peaceful.

And churches are just so beautiful. Some of the architecture is just majestic. Stained-glass windows and pillars. Pews and velvet carpeting. Light that always seems to fall in the right place.

Even though I didn't feel any closer to God there during prayer than I do at home during prayer, or any differently on a Tuesday night than a Sunday morning, it just felt nice to be there.

I think that's what we should always aim for, you know, that we feel nice to be somewhere. That a place, and the people, feel nice. And if it doesn't feel like that, then maybe we're in the wrong place.

Empty Nesting While My Nest is Growing

Is it possible to have empty nest syndrome when your child is only going to preschool? And for the second time?

Seriously. Cienna is only turning 5 this fall, but I know in like two days she will be 15. Time always goes faster once kids go to school, and this preschool year more closely resembles Kindegarten.

I'm not really freaking out. I'm merely a melodramatic sap who has to turn everything into a scrapbook page.

But can you believe she's going to be 5?

When I look back on the last 5 years with her, it all feels like 5 fast years but a lot of long days. Make any sense?

I'm making a special book for her 5th birthday, including photos and stories of her life to that point.

I'll probably cry the whole time.

Of course I will.

A Swift Kick

When I was pregnant with Cienna, I had my miracle moment--the moment when I realized I was really growing an incredible little life inside me that I already loved and would be a mom to--while I was falling asleep on BG's couch. It was the evening after my first prenatal appointment that confirmed I was pregnant, and BG picked me up so I could stay at her house. The nurses had given me a small box of reading material that covered an infant's life from birth through age one. BG had gone to bed, and I read it all, cover to cover. When I finally closed my eyes, overwhelmed by the challenge of becoming a single mother, I placed my hands on my still-unchanged belly and knew that I wasn't going to sleep alone. And in that beautiful, lifechanging moment I knew I was somebody's mom.

With Ty Guy, I had the moment during my first sonogram with him. He was moving his little hands all around, covering his eyes, as if to play peek-a-boo. I looked at the monitor and thought, "That's my little boy." My eyes filled with tears, and Larry's just might have too, and I couldn't wait to hold those little hands.

This time, it was when I felt the first, tiny kick. I was in Giant Eagle, stopped in the middle of the aisle, and started crying next to the polenta. I put my hand on my clearly-changed belly and said, "Hello, little angel." Now, luckily, our Giant Eagle is very suburban, and the customers there were quite sympathetic as opposed to thinking I was crazy. It's a moment I won't forget, and I can't wait to share it with my baby.

What amazes me most, though, is that even though this is my third baby, it doesn't feel any less miraculous. It's so incredible how love grows and multiplies.

On the way...

2008-08-18T17:42:00.000-07:00

There's a blog on the way. I've just been too busy to write it. Maybe Wednesday...

Keep a good thought.

The thing about assholes and confidence

2008-08-11T16:20:00.000-07:00

J. Cummins was right.

He once told me, after several glasses of whiskey and water--which, let's face it, make any man a sage, "I've found it's either too much confidence or too little confidence that give people their problems."

And while he slowly whirled that happy hour in his hand, as though he was welcoming the aroma of a fine wine, I realized that some of the best advice was probably handed down that way, with Tom Petty singing songs about winners and losers in the background.

As Bruce Springsteen cautioned, when it comes to winners and losers, "don't get caught on the wrong side of that line."

But confidence is tricky, isn't it? And we can be too confident in some situations and not enough in others; we're not bound to one or the other as a character trait. Sometimes overconfidence expresses itself as obnoxiousness. Sometimes a lack of confidence expresses itself as insecurity.

I thought about that as I briefly read some comments from Meg Ryan recently in Parade in which she said, and I'm paraphrasing, that her eyes were opened when she went through a divorce and people turned on her. She said she had no idea people could wish for her to fail.

And I thought, "Really, Meg?"

See, you can't give people too much credit because most of them are assholes. This is something I learned a long time ago and have never forgotten. And if you're an asshole, and I'm still nice to you, it simply means I've given up on you.

This may not immediately fit the profile for those of you who have labeled me an optimist. But the very reason I'm an optimist is because I know not everyone is an asshole. There are some normal, kind human beings out there. There are friends who really do want you to succeed. There are people who truly do love you unconditionally. There are incredible blessings from God. I believe these things because I've experienced them. But I also believe in a number of other things simply because I have faith.

But you can only have so much faith in assholes.

And if the Meg Ryan thing proves anything it's that your mom was right: When confronted with a bully--in this case an emotional one--just keep your head held high. Bullies never last, and they get theirs.

I just talked to Larry's great-grandma today about two bullies who used to live on her street. They treated her brother horribly. "And you know they grew up to both have failed marriages and very sick years before they died."

Like me, she's not the type of woman to wish anything horrible on anyone, but it's just one example of "what goes around, comes around."

Trust me, you don't want to be standing next to an asshole when it comes around.

Very brief

2008-07-24T15:05:00.001-07:00

I'm loving this weather! It feels like early fall, and that's always a good thing. I noticed this most yesterday evening when I was leaving work while it was still daylight--which is rare--and the city was just so beautiful. All that was missing was a football game.

Soon enough, I guess. :-)

Hard work...and pressing up, basically

2008-07-21T17:35:00.000-07:00

1. Hello, friends (and cyber-stalkers). You probably know (if we're friends or if you've stalked me thoroughly) that I'm someone who believes everything happens for a reason. And, well, I've come to believe the reason for this recession (even if certain republicans in a failed administration refuse to call it that) is to force people to get back to some hard work. This country was founded on it. That's why I believe this country became a superpower. The fact that we've moved away from this as a culture is why I think we're growing weaker and poorer.

A recent report amidst the whole Fannie Mae/Freddie Mac coverage claimed that some investors admitted to a lower level of productivity and higher tech usage. Is this a surprise? Look around you! Many of your co-workers use company time to shop online, blog, look up their fantasy stats, email with friends, IM, and the list goes on. I've done it. So have you.

But there's a limit to how much of it should be done. And when.

Sometimes people just don't like their jobs--it's merely the source of a paycheck. There's not much pride in their work or even a mild appreciation for being employed during our dismal economic forecast. "If I had the job I wanted, I'd do a good job." That kind of attitude.

Are we really that spoiled? Do you think our grandfathers had a passion for mining? Do you think our grandfathers enjoyed sweating all day in the mills? Do you think they yearned to wash dishes in a restaurant? No. They did it to take care of their families. And too many water breaks would get them fired, let alone the thought of chatting on the job.

Hey, I'm the first to admit that I love to communicate, but I get my shite done first. I don't do the IM thing. It's just not conducive to my lifestyle as a busy mom. I blog--usually at night, after work, once the kids are asleep. If I do shop online, it's usually window shopping and, again, at night. The same pretty much goes for email at this point. I text occasionally, but these days I mostly just call the person. Was I always this way? No.

But I used to have this friend who simply could not visit anyone without her laptop. She claimed it was because she was just SO busy at work, but everyone knew she spent the majority of her day IMing and flirting online with her fantasy boyfriend of the week. It always seemed kind of...sad. Not to mention rude to the person she was visiting. And while I wasn't cyberaddicted, I knew I couldn't judge her, even if silently, until I reigned in some of my own bad habits.

When I read those Fannie Mae/Freddie Mac stories, I just wonder: Would things have been any different if we all just put in an honest day's work? And for more than one day...

I sort of think the same thing when I read all these stories about the rising cost of education. On behalf of parents, I'd like to say, "We get it! It's going to be expensive--way more expensive than when we went."

But does that mean our children are doomed? NO!

Here's an idea: Maybe instead of trying to scare an 8-year-old into figuring out how many loans he/she will need, we instead encourage our children to do it the ol' fashioned way! Work hard, earn scholarships!

Get it together, America.

"Do not confuse motion and progress. A rocking horse keeps moving but does not make any progress." -- Alfred A. Montapert

"Do not wait; the time will never be "just right'. Start where you stand, and work with whatever tools you may have at your command, and better tools will be found as you go along."
--Napoleon Hill

2. Now let me tell you about something really unproductive that I did. On Saturday and Sunday, I was ill. Considerably ill. And I made a mess in the process. We'll leave it at that. But what was nice about feeling like a scene from "Alien" was that I got to re-watch most of season 3 of "The Office." And with Larry and my youngest brother-in-law there, I was in good company. I really really love "The Office." Even if I clearly remember an episode, it still makes me laugh out loud. Also, I'm pretty sure that my stepdad is a combination of Michael Scott and Dwight Schrute.

3. But before I was unproductive and sick, I was really really happy. On Friday, we got to spend time with friends for Dinner and Dark Knight, and not only was I not disappointed, but all of my expectations were exceeded. And our friends brought us a gift for the baby, which was totally unexpected and incredibly sweet. Also, I had the best grilled zucchini ever. Ever!

Notes on a Wednesday

2008-07-16T13:26:00.000-07:00

A. So I thought things weren't going to be this busy in mid-July, but I was totally wrong. Awesome. Thanks. But I've accepted that life won't slow down until my kids are 25. Maybe. We all know that I love it anyway, though, so... Oh my goodness! It's just so incredible! I mean, not only are filled with an amount of love you never thought possible, you are ultimately responsible for the development of lives. Their minds are like sponges that you can fill with incredible truths and beautiful stories and images. And you realize that all of these things you started doing while they were still in utero--like reading to them and singing songs--has only fostered their undeniable enjoyment of reading and dancing. It's just this amazing journey, and I make sure that I force myself to slow things down so we can appreciate the moments we're in when we're in them. I still can't fall asleep at night unless I check on my children first. And it still melts my heart to see them cuddled up with their favorite blankie (and in Ty's case, a Boppy too!) It's a feeling that's hard to describe sometimes, but if I can try... You know what it's like when you're dating someone, and you get those butterflies when you're about to see them, or even when you're thinking about them while in rush hour traffic? You know how awesome it feels to fall asleep with that person and daydream--or even nightdream--about all of things you'll do with them and where you'll go together? It's just a simple joy that comes from being with someone you love. And if you put the right amount of care into it during the course of a lifetime, that feeling doesn't have to fade away. It's just an excitement and a love so beautiful. And children don't have to change that, even as your relationship may change. I think children can make you fall in love in a different way because they show you another dimension to your lover. Unconditional love--which is the kind a parent should have for their child(ren)--is attractive. And unconditionally loving your child(ren) together bonds you in a whole new way. Mainly though, together, you realize that children redefine happiness.

B. I daydream about the baby a lot. Being a mother, being pregnant, is just absolutely magical.

C. I'm not sure if this is just in my head or what, but I swear that Larry's hormones change right along with mine. When I'm sick and stressed and tired during the beginning of a pregnancy, he's a grumpy bear. When I hit the second trimester high--where everything is beautiful and wonderful--he's totally sweet and adoring. And when I hit the third trimester of waddling and back pain, he's like a live-in superhero, always there to give massages (while sometimes unsuccessfully attempting to play video games with one hand).

D. I always cry at weddings, and we have two coming up! We're really excited for them! It's a great opportunity to not only wish the best for your married friends and celebrate their love, but you generally get to have fun with a lot of your other friends too! There's something so perfect about simply being a guest.

E. I've tried to contain my excitement for this weekend's premiers, but I just can't any longer! I can't wait for Batman! I think I've taped every interview with Christian Bale, Michael Caine and Morgan Freeman. By the way, I got a text from a friend this week that said, "Y do i feel like m.freeman is some1 who should b in your fam?" To which I replied, "I LOVE YOU!" The answer, of course, is because he made the BGBG list of "People Who Don't F Around."

And, also, I'm entirely too excited for "Mamma Mia!" I know that Batman will be the first to get my time and money, but I really need to see MM as well. Maybe I can convince my mom to go with me. "Dancing Queen" is sort of our song together anyway. Also, whenever I talk to Larry about it, he sort of reluctantly agrees and says, "Maybe you should see if any girls want to go." Hmm....anyone want to go see "Mamma Mia!" with me? I mean, it's hard to avoid any movie with Colin Firth, Meryl Streep and Pierce Brosnan. And, by the way, I love Colin Firth in interviews.

F. I love farmers' markets for summer produce.

G. Have a great day, loves! I'm off to make dinner for the fam!

"Wildflowers Don't Care Where They Grow"

2008-07-08T16:44:00.000-07:00

Wildflowers

by Dolly Parton

The hills were alive with wildflowers

And I was as wild, even wilder than they

For at least I could run, they just died in the sun

And I refused to just wither in place

Just a wild mountain rose, needing freedom to grow

So I ran fearing not where I'd go

When a flower grows wild, it can always survive

Wildflowers don't care where they grow

And the flowers I knew in the fields where I grew

Were content to be lost in the crowd

They were common and close

I had no room for growth

I wanted so much to branch out

I uprooted myself from home ground and left

Took my dreams and I took to the road

When a flower grows wild, it can always survive

Wildflowers don't care where they grow.

I grew up fast and wild and I never felt right

In a garden so different from me

I just never belonged, I just longed to be gone

So the garden, one day, set me free

Hitched a ride with the wind and since he was my friend

I just let him decide where we'd go

When a flower grows wild, it can always survive

Wildflowers don't care where they grow.

When a flower grows wild, it can always survive

Wildflowers don't care where they grow.

Joy is best when it's simple and genuine.

2008-07-07T17:16:00.000-07:00

It really doesn't even matter that my camera batteries died halfway through 4th of July Festivities. What I'll remember most is an image I could never forget--an image I'll hold close to my heart forever: The look of complete, genuine joy and wonder in the eyes of my children.

By the time our community had set off it's first firework, we were covered in free glowsticks, glow bracelets, glow necklaces and glow swords. (Duquesne Light loves it some chemoluminescence!) And my family had been fully "regaled" with my stories about twirling glow batons. Hey, at the very least, it helped tune out the band in the background which destroyed the musical stylings of Amy Winehouse and Stevie Ray Vaughn.

We were sitting beneath the show, so the first blast was loud enough to inspire a pouty lip from Ty. Once I held him, though, he was fine and even began pointing and clapping at all the pretty lights. Cienna, a child clearly after my heart which she already has, said, "It's like a bunch of your Christmas trees, Mommy." She doesn't know it yet, but that bought her a car when she's 16. Maybe not, but you get the idea of how happy I was.

I pretty much used Larry as back support while I held Ty and Cienna sat on the opposite side of me. At one point, it felt like time had stopped and I was in some movie moment. Everything seemed to get quiet, despite the noises above, and all I could see was everyone else looking up.

My children had the most magical looks on their faces. Their eyes were reflecting the lights of the fireworks and were as big as planets. Only, instead of being covered in continents and waterways, they were covered in wonder and joy. They were so incredibly happy and perfect--the way the simplicity of youth delivers such happiness and perfection.

And just as quickly as it brought tears to my eyes, I couldn't help but feel as excited as they were. Because the beauty of childhood--which is simplicity--can be enjoyed at any age.

I carried that mantra throughout the rest of my weekend, taking pause to enjoy my garden a little more and all the wildflowers that so-appropriately surround our house. I returned correspondence to some friends. I daydreamed about tiny baby hands and tiny baby feet. And first smiles. I listened to the "Garden State" soundtrack on the way to work. I grilled. I went to a picnic. I planned this weekend's Batman Bacchanal. I appreciated having the best brothers-in-law a girl could ever ask for. We visited grandmas. I fingerpainted with Ty, who giggled the whole time, assuming he was making a big mess for Mommy that wasn't going to be easily washed away. I colored three Scooby-Doo pictures with Cienna, which have now been added to the fridge. I read the Sunday paper.

And it was joyful.

Even though my camera batteries died during 4th of July Festivities, I did manage to get this photo of Cienna and her best friend, Tayla. They are 2 months and 2 days apart, with Cienna being the older one.

Also included are some photos of flowers from our gardens. I'll be adding a few to each blog. The one that includes a row of pansies, bottom right, is actually Cienna's garden. She planted it and waters it daily--even if it rains.

You knew I wouldn't get away from lists for too long

2008-06-30T13:45:00.000-07:00

Perfect Opportunities
Every now and then, the perfect job opportunity comes along. And sometimes that happens twice in the same season. It feels as though everything loves you and as though you've hit a career stride. So you silently compliment yourself on not stagnating, on reaching your potential, on constantly moving upward, even if the movement has been slow. You can be proud that you left your old job for something better and not because you were forced to resign. (You'd be amazed at how many people experience the latter--even if they never admit it.) And while even failure can yield some level of success, it's nice when it's just success that yields success.

What's in a name?
Well, a lot is in a name. Especially when you're choosing the name of your child. And when you have a writing background, that choice can be even more difficult because everything reminds you of something else. I've changed my mind at least one hundred times now.

Decision '08
Another big decision parents make is choosing Godparents for their child. If the parents believe in that sort of thing. We do. To me, it's asking two special people to be positive influences in a child's life, further leading them to goodness. You hope they will share a part of themselves that's truly important, shaping that young life toward brilliance. It's the parents' job to raise that child, and so they do all of those same things, but Godparents are usually happy and honored to simply add to it. For example, Cienna's Godmother, Mary Beth, is known for her literature collection and extensive reading list. So for every holiday, birthday, party of any kind, visit, etc., she always brings Cienna a book, with a beautiful, little note inside. And the books are always awesome books, too. Cienna has quite the collection going. Joe, Cienna's Godfather, is an eternal optimist. He always sends her these great toys when he can't make it back from L.A., or he brings them in hand. They're always fun toys, yet educational. For example, the big Fisher Price Zoo set that includes talking animals, music and ABC games. The cash register that lets her play store and also teaches her about money. The awesome puzzles. And of course a collector's edition Barbie toy that teaches her about ...um, preservation. Both Mary Beth and Joe have been amazing Godparents and amazing friends.

Ty has been lucky, also, to have such doting uncles who will undoubtedly teach him unbelievable things as he gets older. And with Justin as his Godfather, I can only imagine what those things will be! :-) As for his Godmother, it was just beautiful to see Jocelyn hold him for the first time and watch as her face changed from unsure to magical. Unsure-t0-magical is pretty much the story of that girl's life.

Ryan will be Godfather to this baby, and I know he will be awesome. So our choice lies in which amazing woman we will ask to be the Godmother. It really is an important choice. And we're making it carefully.

It would suck to have to change church records and wills, you know?!

Dresses
Who went shopping with her mother-in-law Saturday and found two dresses, both normally retailing at $119 each and marked down to $4.99? Me. My MIL bought them for me because they're not only beautiful, but they also expand with a growing belly--even though they are not maternity dresses. What a find! I'm still happy about the shopping adventure--during which she also bought something for the new baby!

4th of July
I really do love this week every year. "Pressing up in honor of our forefathers" and MB's love of it has made me love it even more. But I love seeing old friends and family, grilling food, making a dish and taking it to picnics or "pic-a-nics" if you're from Pittsburgh, and, of course, fireworks--especially when watched with children and from someone's arms.