Does God listen to reality show contestants?

She's a regular around here whether she likes it or not. Our friendship is actually surviving although I'm forcing her to write for me on this blog.  Karen is wrapping up this diverse week over at MWOB so check out her post and we'd love to hear what you think....is God listening?

Last weekend, my teenage daughter and I watched a backlog of recorded “American Idol” episodes then topped it off with recent “Amazing Race” episodes. In incredibly intense moments, some people will resort to anything to get a leg up on the competition….even prayer! Even if they seem like the most unlikely folks to pray in ANY situation, let alone in a thoroughly selfish, win at all costs, sort of way. But here they are – talking to God – hoping He’ll be on their side…

Choose me! Me! Me! Pick me! Here I am!

I’ve been known to pray for miniscule inconveniences a time or two in my life – like lost keys, lost wallet, lost savings bonds… typical for me. BUT, I mostly realize that God is a busy guy. As much as He loves me and I’m sure understands my organizational limitations, I’m pretty sure He has more noble and important problems to solve than help me get out of the holes I continue to dig for myself!

But it never fails to fascinate me to see the different ways we invoke our rights to whisper a prayer of help to the Almighty. Especially when it involves prayer for something seemingly frivolous LIKE… our favorite teams or players to WIN.

I have done my share of praying for the Los Angeles Dodgers. But, darn it all - they still do their own thing, regardless of what I pray!

I also admit to praying for that extra burst of speed that my daughter would need to finish 10th in her ski race and win a medal - instead of 11th and be off the podium and down in the dumps. If my daughter wins 10th, what am I wishing on the other girl who finishes 11th? Not my problem, right? I don’t have to drive down the mountain after the race with that poor unlucky, unblessed girl – the Lord finally came through for us – ha!

So I witnessed two praying situations on these “reality” shows this weekend. One was a group of three wanna-be “Idols” who spent their group audition rehearsal in a roller coaster of fighting and crying. They never got past their differences to work as a team for the greater good of ALL of them. Right before they went before the judges, they joined hands and had a quick prayer for God to “bring them together.”

Hmmmm… I wonder what God thought of that one!

On “Amazing Race” – contestants were getting reading to paraglide off of a mountain when the wind picked up, making it unsafe to jump. All of the contestants, save one, opted to run down the mountain to their clue an hour away - just in case the wind didn’t ever cooperate. The remaining contestant couldn’t run down the mountain with a recently pulled groin and had to watch the wind flags blow and hope he would have a chance to fly.

If he didn’t fly, his team would lose for sure.

He did not want to disappoint his partner, his son, but running down the mountain would be his undoing. He alluded to the fact that he’d like to pray to God for the wind to die down, but said he didn’t really believe in praying for God to give him an advantage over anyone else. So he didn’t pray, even though he felt completely helpless.

The results?

The trio of praying singers on “American Idol” had a sub-par performance at best with the instigator of the angst sent packing. And yet, our “Amazing Race” contestant was rewarded for his praying restraint with a lull in the wind and a window of opportunity to a beautiful flight over a quaint German countryside down to his proud son – beating the majority of the runners down the mountain!

So what is it?

Of course, I have no idea, but it is something I’m always wondering. Call it karma, call it faith in your fellow man, call it the power of prayer, call it destiny, or fate, but whatever you call it…

…I’m always wondering if maybe, just maybe God did have a hand in it.

Just Call Me Mary Kay Letourneau

Today these pages are being graced by one graceful writer, Em of Life, Liberty and the Pursuit.  Em was a chick I admired from afar but when we hooked up to work together on the Virtual Wagie Ride for Tuesday Project, I got to admire her even more from afar. Because that's the truth - we live afar from each other. Em's an intelligent, entertaining writer, a genuine person with a heart of gold, and she was kind enough to guest post while I'm off playing in the snow.  Read her, love her and then go follow her blog if you don't already.  She's nothing less than stellar.

Here's Em:

It might be a little twisted, but I find great pleasure in screwing with teenage drivers.

(Where did you think I was going with this?)

From driving school nervous nellies to newbies with Mama in the passenger seat - I'm an equal opportunity agitator, because really, these kiddos need to get used to aggressive drivers here in the Lone Star State - a place where TXDOT actually posts "Drive Friendly" signs on the interstates. And please don't get all uppity, I don't swap paint or anything, my insurance rates are high enough, thank you. Maybe it's a little slower in front of them, or somewhat faster behind them - just something to keep them on their toes.

The other day, Youngest pulled his usual Mussolini impersonation once we dropped Oldest at school - "Drive!!" So with his finger pointing the way, I willingly surrounded myself with high school students rushing to embrace learning.

This particular morning, I encountered my favorite type of teenage driver - the obnoxious texter. I know, they're not a rare breed; however, I seldom get the chance to actually make a point with one of these obliviots.

The prey: a raven-haired beauty driving a two-seater Mercedes (wait), with two friends in the passenger seat (yeah - you do the math). She's too busy letting mean girl #4 know they're running late to notice that she just blew through a flashing school zone sign. It's actually quite a miracle that I was able to witness this, since she was actually in perfect formation to load her sports car into the back of my transport SUV.

Fed up with me following the rules, she zips, one-handed mind you, to the other lane, only to be confronted by another law abiding citizen. I box her in for a minute, let her rev her frustration, then I hit the brakes and allow her to cut me off and zoom ahead, knowing full well that a cop ALWAYS sits at the top of the hill.

Feeling smug, I pass the end-school-zone sign and catch up to speed. I want to ensure a good view of just desserts. But what do I see as I crest...nothing!! No cop, and definitely no Mercedes.

ARGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!

My mind reels at what the cost of that deterrent ticket would have been - double ARG!

My true frustration? What's going to be the cost should that young thang have to learn her lesson the hard way?

Some ugly stats for you:

- The risk for a car accident increases by 50 percent for those who text while driving.

- The American Automobile Association found that out of 1,000 16 and 17-year-olds polled, 46 percent of them admitted to text messaging while driving.

- AAA found that a driver doubles their risk for a car accident when he/she takes their eyes of the road for more than two seconds, and that 80 percent of collisions involve some sort of inattention.

Sorry, I didn't Google the stats on SUV-driving Mama taking the law into her own hands. I know, I'm sure it ain't pretty either.

From the mouth of Sass

If you don't already know this chick over here with the mug, it's Sass.  I'm sure you know her.  And if you don't, you should.  I started reading her very very early in my blog life and I plan to read her for as long as I'm around town.  She's fresh, real, funny as hell, full of heart, and uh, sassy.  Sass agreed to guest post for me while I'm away doing what mamas do when they're away. Enjoy...

As a mother of three children, it takes a lot to ruffle my feathers. I don’t jump every time I hear one of them say “ouch.” When they come to me to speak of the injustices brought upon them by their siblings, I calmly say, “Are you bruised, bleeding, or broken? No? Then, please don’t tattle.” When they politely inform me of the all the ways Joseph’s mom, or Kylie’s dad, or Bella’s Uncle Ray are so much better than me, I smile and thank them for their input. 

So the other night, when I was asked to pick up a child to transport her to a meeting, I thought nothing of it. The child in question is, according to every adult who knows her, an insufferable pain in the behind, but I am a good person. I was willing to help her get to where she needed to go, and maybe get her away from her psychotic parents for a couple hours. Wait, did I just go there? Why yes, I do believe I did.

I picked up the little girl, and instantly we were engaged in conversation. The only way to tell you about this conversation is in a “transcript” format, so I’ll do that here. Keep in mind that sometimes eye-witness accounts are “colored” by the person’s own biases, so the words I used may not be 100% accurate. These words may not have actually escaped my lips, but trust me…oh, trust me my friend, they were the words in my head.

Bad Kid (BK): (immediately after getting in the car) Your car is a mess, Mrs. Sass.
Perfect Mom Sass (PMS): Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed that.
BK: You have wrappers and stuff all over the car. Maybe you should clean it up.
PMS: Well, yes, that is a good thought. But I’m sure a busy mommy, you know.
BK: Too busy to clean your car? That’s bad. You don’t even work! What are you so busy with?
PMS: Oh, you know. Volunteering, helping at the school, giving rides to snot-nosed little ingrates whose mothers are too high on crack to take them to a meeting 5 blocks down the road. Things like that.
BK: So I bet if you’re too busy to clean your car, I bet your house is a mess!
PMS: No, no, I keep the house much cleaner. That way when the police scrub for fingerprints, they’ll find nothing.
BK: Maybe you should decide to clean it tomorrow. Because it’s really disgusting.
PMS: No, I think maybe you should clean it for me. Only I wouldn’t ask you to do that, because you’d probably get snot and boogers all over it and then I’d be in quite a predicament. What with the DNA and all…
BK: You’re really funny, Mrs. Sass. Even though you’re dirty.

So here I stand today, feathers completely unruffled, feelings completely unhurt. Here I stand. In my garage. With a Shop-Vac and some leather cleaner.

Not because she was right, or anything….

The Mosh-Pit Conundrum

She's back!!  My dear friend, Karen, MWOB extraordinaire, beautiful mama, and incredible writer. Kicking off the week with a MWOB guest blogger makes my heart happy. Enjoy Karen's unique perspective and don't forget to show her some comment love.  

I’ve been in the midst of some real-life conundrums (yes, conundrums – a beloved word passed down from my beloved father). The kind of conundrums that keep the wheels turning in your head while you automatically go through the chores of the day and place your replies to your kids on autopilot so as not to fully interrupt your train of thought. See, right now, my daughter is trying to get me to read her a book, but I don’t have time for that sort of thing right now.

Anyway, what I’ve been trying to put my finger on for about, say 6 or 7 years, is…

If Utah is the equivalent of a concert stadium full of radical supermoms (and you have to live here to see this must be true), then does that make the ultimate supermom haven, the PTA, the mosh-pit of supermom-dom? Isn’t PTA the exact center of a school community where moms (and sometimes dads, God bless them) jostle for a place to fit in and stand strong on their own two feet?

I mean, we all know what happens in the mosh-pit, right? It is pretty much impossible to stay still, independent and confident here. This is not a place for peaceful enjoyment, it is a place of maniacal fear – fear of spilled drinks, fear of sweaty smelly pushy people, fear of going deaf, fear of going unnoticed and being trampled… the list of fears is infinite in the mosh-pit. Now that I mention it, I guess this is a lot like the reality of parenthood… a lot of the mosh-pit fears relate, don’t you think?

So I sit here in the middle of the ultimate supermom-land, Utah, in the center of the mosh-pit that is PTA – Hence my conundrum… Nothing strikes fear into the hearts of inadequate moms like me like a PTA meeting, right? So how on God’s snowy, freezing earth did I get here? I mean, truly, is this my life?

I must regress for a minute. I was one of those young, single, career-minded women who looked with disdain at stay-at-home-moms focusing all their energies on OTHERS and leaving NOTHING behind for THEMSELVES! Sound familiar? PTA to me sounded like a little slice of hell. Parents spending inordinate amounts of time focusing on cupcakes and award ribbons, perfecting the art of pats on the back, thumbs up and pom-pom shaking, driving their ungrateful urchins around the world to this and that in a, gasp… MINIVAN! I knew that this picture of domesticity and parent-involvement was not me and was never going to be me – thank the Lord!!!

Well… as a show of what could be divine retribution, or maybe a little of karma kicking me off my high horse… here I am now…

And here…

Yes, I have become my worst nightmare – a PTA mom. I am completely trying to reconcile this part of me with what I consider to be the REAL part of me – the part that is “too cool for school” – WAY too happy to let the supermoms to their own devices, while I kick back and marvel how great it is that I don’t have the patience or skills for PTA.

I bring all this up right now because after 3 years of PTA inactivity (due to the birth of my 3-yr-old who has her own story of survival of the fittest), I AM BACK!

And, guess what? I may not have the patience, but I do have the skills – I’m a television producer and production coordinator for PETE’s SAKE! I can put together a team of motivated parents to organize a literacy week, right? RIGHT! So I’ve realized something as I am back in the familiar school library, taking in the collection of faces all looking at me as I describe what goodies we’ve planned for the teachers and students to promote literacy (gasp! A real, bona-fide, educational goal). What no cupcakes? No pom-poms? My realization is not earth-shattering, it’s not even original...

…PTA is US – you, me – all of us. 

Parents of all colors, shapes, sizes, backgrounds, cultures, religions, financial groups, social groups, some have jobs outside the home, some don’t, some dress up, some dress down, some look happy, some look downright irritable, some have snotty nosed kids running around, some sit in the back, some in the front, some bring coffee (Lord knows we don’t serve coffee in a Utah PTA meeting), some partake of snacks, some are relaxed, some are rushed… I mean look at it – its EVERYONE!

We all come to the table because of one goal – to be involved in our kids’ lives – to have a voice in what happens in the place they spend the majority of their days in the majority of their formative years.

THIS is EXACTLY why I’m here:



Groups like PTA and other parent-involved groups are intimidating, scary and sometimes appear to be exclusive and cliquish. But I think that is the nature of a mosh-pit. It’s a love-fest for those brave enough to enter into the middle of it. And yes, I still constantly marvel how I ended up here, but I have to say, I’m happy to be here. I’m glad I made the choice (with MUCH trepidation) to jump in – it’s the only way to do it!

The conundrum of how I got here still buzzes around in my head now and again, but I’m starting to look at it more like, “look how far I’ve come” - with a little feeling of pride attached to it, actually!

I’m impressed with the folks that surround me at those PTA meetings. Everyone with their own stories and their own paths to being there. It is SO not my place to judge anyone there, supermom, superdad or supermom imposter (like me). 

So I apologize to PTA parents across the nation back when I was in my 20’s and completely ignorant of what it REALLY means to be a parent. You rock! And to all my friends out there in cyber-land who are still afraid of the PTA – just dip a toe in now and then to see how it feels and then…. You never know, you could be sucked in! Ha! 

Let’s all meet in the mosh-pit soon! I’ll bring the cupcakes and I won’t tell anyone if you need to spike your cup of fruit punch!

Bribes and Threats - MWOB Style

This pic over here is Kathy who is giving blogging a whirl today at MWOB. I met Kathy (not to be confused with my old friend Kath who has graced this site twice before), through my old college roomies, Ames and Steph, and they've known her since elementary school. Kathy is another true-blue mom without a blog and I'm beyond thrilled she's throwing her hat in the ring.

I love starting the week with a guest post. It grounds me to one of the main reasons I even started this venture - to encourage other non-writing moms (like me) to find their voice by writing and sharing their stories. I've been told by my previous guest bloggers that they found the experience to be a tad bit frightening but to also be exciting, cathartic and rewarding. And I say right on to that. 

Kathy is a So Cal chick who left the magical ocean breezes of North County San Diego for lots of open land and the soothing nature of rural New Hampshire. Her husband is an East Coast dude and a bunch of circumstances inspired their move. Kathy lives in a real life log cabin where she and her man are raising their two kids, Justin, 6, and Dallas, 4, seven horses, two dogs and four cats.   

Along with being a kick-ass, cool mom, Kathy works as a physical therapist part-time, organizes major fundraising walks for breast cancer, takes pictures of ice storms and dreams of her next warm-weather vacation with her best girlfriends.

Without further ado, here's Kathy. 

(And make sure to leave her some MWOBBY comment love.  You remember what the first time felt like, don't ya?)  

A FINE LINE

Resolutions. 

So, I notoriously do not keep resolutions. Exercising consistently, not biting my fingernails, eating more fruit. I can’t last a week. But this year I resolved to threaten and/or bribe my children less.

I lasted 30 minutes.

I am the mom of two children, 4 and 6, who really are sweet and genuinely good children. I came to the realization over the Holidays, which is another story in and of itself …(Think Ice Storm 2008 in New Hampshire. No power for 11 days, transplanting to a small apartment and not getting power back until Christmas Eve)…that my primary method of persuasion is through threats and bribes. And sure, we all do this, but I believe I might be somewhat pathologic in this arena of parenting. 

On a given morning, I will threaten our way through breakfast, bribe our way into day clothes and entice our way into the car. I used to ask my kids to do something, and let them have a chance, and then break out the old  "OK, cartoon off until…”

Now, I think I just go right into, “If you don’t…then you…”

But here is ultimately the problem.  Depending on the day, the same task can reap a reward or incur a penalty. In fact I am sure that I have said the following verbatim, and I think in the same week.

“Pick your toys up off the stairs and bring them to the play room or no Phineas and Ferb”.

“Pick your toys up off the stairs and bring them to the play room and you can get a toy at the Popcorn store." (which is what we call Target for obvious reasons)

I mean, really, what is a child to take away from that? 

So sure enough early January, I simply asked my kids “Please pick up your toys off the stairs and bring them to the play room."

And shockingly…nothing happened. 

Why would it?  They were waiting to see if they would get a toy out of it or I would issue some powerless threat that rarely comes to fruition. I can only imagine when they get older they will be waiting it out to see if homework comes with rewards.

So, I will continue to try and instill a work ethic in my children and teach them that there are just some responsibilities that come with life.. but until then I am seriously going to try to use the word “IF” less.

Wish me luck.

P.S.  And just in case, you're not sure if the 2008 New Hampshire Ice Storm really happened, here's visual proof taken right on our property.

Holidays + Grief = Lunatic Mom

It's Monday and I'm so psyched that MWOB is getting back to its roots by welcoming back my oldest and dearest friend, Kath, as a MWOB guest blogger.  Our friendship began in 4th grade and will last to the end of time.  I wish every woman a friend like Kath.

Kath is a mom to three kids, a wife, a pediatric cancer nurse (aka "a saint"), and a mom without a blog.  Really.  I begged her to write her first post when MWOB was just an itty-bitty newborn blog and I had to beg her again to write this story. Okay, maybe not beg. But insist.  

So in the spirit of what MWOB is all about (that even without a blog, we all have a story to tell), I give you a story from Kath:   

My mom passed away a little over a year ago. The one thing I’ve learned about grief is that it’s a real bastard. It does NOT get better with time. The pain does NOT fade gradually. It’s not linear; it’s more like a process, a sea of waves alternating with calm waters. I can be cruising along, doing well when something (fairly “routine”) happens, and I’m racked with the grief all over. It’s like being sucker-punched right in the gut. The wind is knocked out of you, the scab ripped off and you’re vulnerable and hurting all over again. 

My mom is buried at a large Catholic cemetery here in Phoenix. Four times a year, they have a “clean up week” where all decorations are removed from the gravesites to keep things tidy. These dates are clearly posted at every entrance. You must remove all flowers, etc. for the week and then you’re free to place them back on when the week is over. I understand the need for such a clean up every few months. It keeps the cemetery from looking trashy, and really, who wants to be buried in a trashy cemetery?

Last Christmas (the first Christmas without my mom) my family bought a nice large wreath on a metal stand for my mom’s grave. It’s strange, but it’s really important to me that she has something on her site. I know she’s not really THERE, I believe she’s in a much better place, but I want her final resting place to look nice. We bought an artificial wreath so we could use it for several years. Before the cemetery clean up last year, I brought the wreath home, wrapped it up, and put it in my attic. This past Thanksgiving, I cleaned it up and placed it back on her grave for the holidays.

Which leads me to last Monday. My boys, ages 10 and 7, were off from school and we had to take my dad to his chemotherapy appointment. (My dad was diagnosed with lung cancer 6 months ago. Pretty sucky). While at his appointment, it dawned on me that it was clean up week at the cemetery and I had to get that wreath. After settling my dad in for his treatment, my boys and I headed down to what I thought would be a quick trip to the cemetery. 

On the way there, it dawned on me that the clean up may have already begun. But I knew the property was enormous, and the chances of my mom’s grave being cleaned (she’s buried on a far end of the cemetery) were slim. I was reassured as we drove up, because there was a blanket of red/green/silver decorations on graves as far as the eye could see. 

As we pull in the gate, my 10-year-old, B, speaks:

B:  “Mom, it’s gone.”

Me:  “What???? What do you mean?” 

Although, I know exactly what he means because his 10-year-old eyes are way better than my 41-year-old ones.

B: “Meema’s wreath is gone. They took it off.”

I tried to process what I was actually seeing. The 2-acre area where my mom is buried was picked clean. Not a flower. Not a wreath. Not a bow. Absolutely deserted. It was the only area of the entire cemetery that was clean. 

Then…the sucker-punch right in my gut. I vividly pictured in my brain the worker standing on my mom’s grave, grabbing her wreath, stuffing it in the trash. HER wreath. MY MOM. Tears welled in my eyes for yet another loss. How could I have let this happen? 

I scanned the property and saw several men cleaning up the adjacent area. I floored my car towards them and slammed on the breaks.

“Stay in the car!” I barked to my boys.

The cemetery worker heard me before he actually saw me.

“WHERE. IS. MY. MOM’S. WREATH???” Then the sobs came as I blubbered. “I had to take my dad for chemo today. I couldn’t get here in time. How could you have thrown it out……?” I’m really not sure exactly what I said, only that I was hysterical and crying. 

The older Hispanic man looked at me with the kindest eyes you can imagine. “I’m sorry,” he said. Then he said it again. And again. And again. He pointed to another area of the property and told me the decorations had all been taken there for disposal. I was welcome to go and look through the items to try and find it. He hoped I did. I apologized, too. After all, this guy was just doing his job.

So my boys and I headed over to the area behind the Mausoleum and started dumpster diving for my mom’s wreath. We found three large piles of sad, discarded Christmas items. The whole area smelled like rotten flowers and old Christmas trees. The center pile had some sort of music box or toy playing music from way down at the bottom. It was playing the melody of the “Happy Birthday” song, but the batteries were clearly drained so it sounded off-key and sickly and creepy - "Waaa waaaa waaaa waaa waa waaa...."

After five minutes or so, it became apparent that we were looking for a needle in a haystack. And in all likelihood, my mom’s wreath was at the bottom of the heap, crushed and soiled. Would I really want it if I found it? 

And that’s when it caught my eye. I spotted one fine looking wreath towards the back of the pile. It had pristine, green leaves. It had gorgeous pinecones. It had a perfect stand. It had a crisp, velvet bow. Oh yeah, and it had someone else's name on it. Yep, it was addressed to a person at a lot number/grave number at the cemetery’s address. My 10-year-old caught my eye at just that moment.

B: “Is that one Meema’s?”

Me: (lengthy pause….) "Um, no. This one has someone’s name on it. Keep looking.”

Man, what was I thinking? I couldn’t take someone else’s wreath. But, dammit, I came for a wreath and I wasn’t leaving without one. I mean, it was just going to be thrown away anyway, right? RIGHT? 

So, I subtly removed the tag and after a couple more minutes nonchalantly said, “I think I found it.”

B: “Isn’t that the one we just saw with someone else’s name on it?”

Me: “I don’t think so. I don’t see a name.”  What the hell was I doing??

My sweet boy just looked at me with the most sincere eyes. He knew which wreath it was. This lie was going nowhere.

Me: “Look, honey. In the next two hours, this beautiful wreath is going to be smashed and discarded with all this other stuff. It was just like the one Meema had, so it’s okay if we save it from being thrown out.”  Yeah, we’re SAVING the wreath….we’re regular saints!

But you know what? That was enough for both my boys. They didn’t need any more explanation. If I said it was okay, they were cool with that. Then my 7-year-old picked up a poinsettia and says, “What about this pretty plant?’ And his brother grabs a small decorated Christmas tree and says, “This is cute.” Suddenly our wreath rescue mission has turned into bargain hunting at the after-Christmas sales. At a CEMETERY.

But, trying not to shirk my parenting duties completely, I became all indignant.

Me: “We can’t take those things! They don’t belong to us. That would be wrong. We are taking the wreath and that’s IT!”  We loaded up the wreath and took off. 

As I reflected on the roller-coaster of emotions that I experienced and inflicted upon my poor kids, two thoughts occurred to me:

First, I am making a deposit into both boys’ savings accounts. They’ll need it for therapy one day. 

And second, I’m pretty sure my dear old Irish mother just rolled over in her grave.

A little laugh from a MWOB hardcore

Some of you may remember MWOB'S very first guest blogger - my old college roomie, Amy, who struggles with holiday decorations. Ames sent me this YouTube link and I just had to post it.  Day 2 of '09 and I've laughed both days. I'm on a roll...

Enjoy!

Blogger Intervention

She's back.  Karen, a lifelonger for me, and mama to miracle child Penni, could not help but jot these thoughts down yesterday after checking in at MWOB and seeing Mission Monday up and running.   Welcome back Karen and I'm thanking God for this guest post because my hand is still recovering from typing that epic TBT post.

   

Is there such thing as a blogger intervention? There seems to be blogger everything else. I know I’ve written a couple ditties for my friend Lee’s brainchild that is MWOB, but I still believe myself to be a complete novice in the blogger world. Missions? Awards? Humorous, slightly off “friends” that live across the country?

Is everyone really who they say they are? Is Vodka Mom for real? I hope so… but I’m not quite sure…

Are these real missions? Like the old adobe buildings scattered up and down California? Or the ones where Tom Cruise wears skin tight black outfits and falls almost to his demise on a tiny incredibly strong wire?

And what about these cyber AWARDS? Do we get to attend a nice award ceremony, eat from a chicken and pasta casserole buffet and partake in strained small talk with people we’ll never see again? At a REAL awards ceremony, at least I know that even if I don’t win, I get to take home some kind of cute little consolation prize like mints wrapped in a bag tied with a bow…wait, or is that from a wedding table…?

I’m confused. Remember, I’m a Mom Without A Blog! I come to Lee’s community for HELP. For the support of other like-brained, non-supermoms. Basically to feel better about my hopelessness. You people are speaking a language I just don’t understand and I think my dear, dear friend has been sucked into this new world where I can’t reach her and am having trouble relating to. Does Lee need help? Is anyone else out there concerned? Or can some of you professional bloggers calm my fears?

What’s a technologically-challenged, anti-hip mom to do? Another thing about blogland that I just can’t wrap my brain around are words like:

Phyle… and calatedi…and tescre… 

Do you know what I’m talking about here? I've been jotting down these security words for an afternoon chuckle.

How about shoil… or extersu… or oheado… OHEADO? What do these mean? Who comes up with these words??

Uljolimm, confal and salligma… HUH?

Please do me a favor, tell me if Lee needs a blogger intervention or if it is ME that needs the intervention, oh yes, and while you’re at it - try to use one of the above log-in security words in a sentence… I’d REALLY love to hear it.

Hell, I'll be the first to give it a try. 

"Have you ever had your epingsts erupt? I did yesterday and it was the most embarrassing, disgusting experience of my life!"

A series of FIRSTS for "Moms Without Blogs"

Hey, hey readers!  We got some exciting "firsts" to discuss as we kick-off the week of that festive gorging and thanking holiday known as Thanksgiving.

Our first FIRST:

This week MWOB will host its first-ever guest blogger mini-series.  Starting tomorrow, my hard-core friend and mommy writer, Karen, will begin to share a personal story from the depths of her mama soul.   And the story is a big one so it's worthy of more than one post.  It will be a three-parter complete with a beginning, middle and an end.  I feel honored to have her go so public with her journey so thank you Karen for being such a hero.  Anyone who takes the time to read it will find their soul inspired...I have no doubt.

Our second FIRST:

In honor of the first-ever mini-series on MWOB, I was inspired to do MWOB'S First-Ever Giveaway.  I'm learning in blogtown that giveaways, alcohol and coffee are essentials for survival.

The giveaway for this week is a collection of essays called The Manual for Motherhood.  This smart, varied, touching lil' jewel of a book is featured in our sidebar and it comes from an intelligent, funny, writer, blogger, film director, documentary filmmaker and mama extraordinaire named Christine Fugate of Mothering Heights.  I met Christine on a Discovery Health series we worked on together about five years ago and although our physical paths do not cross often, she is a kindred spirit and I am simply inspired by her creative passion and commitment.  You simply must check her out.

So how to win this beautiful mama prize?  You simply MUST comment.  I will take ALL comments from this week (Monday 11/24 thru Friday 11/28), mix them all together in my Kitchen Aid mixer, and pull out a random winner!  You will receive this heartwarming masterpiece just in time to read it and decide that you want to buy it for all of your closest mommy friends for the holidays.

Our third First:

Despite my complete and utter confusion about the world of blog awards, "Moms Without Blogs" has received its FIRST blog awards!  This is mind-blowing news and I will do my best to follow all blog award protocol.  (But of course I will screw it up because I am inadequate after all.)

Mommy in Pink (whom I praised in Friday's post) has bestowed on us this award:

And the blog award protocol dictates I list five things I am addicted to.  Well, if you're a devoted MWOB fan, you KNOW I am not an addictive type personality so I don't feel like I can follow through with this order of business.  (But I will say I am addicted to being inadequate.)

And I'm supposed to pass it on to five other crazy good blogs.  Well, rulebreaker that I am today I will pass it along to only ONE fabulous blog and that is Soggy-Doggy-Bloggy.  This is a new scene I just got turned on to and I think every time I have visited, I have laughed.  Check it out.

MWOB's other first award comes from a new follower of MWOB, Dore's Diaries.

Here's what this award is all about... "This blog invests and believes in PROXIMITY - the nearness in space, time and relationships! These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award."

Sorry, I can not fulfill the requirement to deliver to eight other bloggers but I will deliver it to one cool chick I have met in blogworld and her scene is Kim and Co.  I love her because she admits to loving prescription painkillers just. like. moi.  

Thank you from the bottom of our collective MWOBBY hearts for this bloggy bling. 

Okay girlies, hope you check back tomorrow for Part One of Karen's ultimate love story, our Thanksgiving gift to you, and don't forget to comment!  This week comments matter so you can get in on the giveaway action!!

THE Original Mom Without A Blog

One year ago today, my grandma left this world for the next. She walked almost 92 years on this planet and she was one exceptional lady. She was a classic example of the greatest generation. The eldest of ten children to Polish immigrant parents living on the South Side of Chicago surviving the Great Depression not graduating from high school or college but learning all of life's most important lessons the only way you learn them...by living.

My grandmother was a storyteller. And a great one. Not the sit around the campfire kind of storyteller, just a lover of life and the stories of her life. Her storytelling existed in the details where even the smallest of incidents was worthy of being told.

No reason to ramble on about how much I miss her or how in the stillness of the night while rocking my youngest, I can feel her up there somewhere. But on the one-year anniversary of her death, I find it fitting to bring to you her words.

You see my grandma was, as I like to think, the OMOWB - the Original Mom Without A Blog. She was never quite able to grasp the whole computer/internet/email phenomenon but a typewriter? Oh yeah, she was all over it. In 1992, my grandma started typing her autobiography. A stack of loose leaf paper sat beside her typewriter and a plain 3-ring binder waited to snap in another finished page from her storied life. What follows is her introduction crowned by a beautiful title. A message so simple and clear, it shoots through my brain when I get off track. Which is often.

A guest blogger if you will....my grandma Anne.

"Where Duty Leads Follow"

"We all come from the past, children should know, what it was that went into their making."

"I want to leave a legacy for my children, grand-children, great-grand-children, great-great-grand children."

"All this and more happened during my lifetime, such as I was born during World War One, influenza epidemic, flight of Col. Charles Lindburg, Crash of 1929, Great Depression, social security benefits, Medicare, prohibition, Al Capone, radio, television, Catholic president, assassinations, wars World War Two, Vietnam, Korean, and others much conflict in the world, astronauts, moon walk, computers, heart transplants also various organs, penicillin, polio vaccine, cars planes, Polish pope, Arizona Diamondbacks World Series 2001."

"I lived through these changes, raised my family, my values and beliefs are very important to me. I survived them all thru the tough times in my life."

"How can I not preserve my life story? It is like saying I never existed. As of April 20th, 1992, I, Anne Helene Stefaniak Paluch, started to write my auto-biography."

"It was to be an autobiography, it turned out to be a diary as I began to remember and look through all my saved momentos, places, special occasions, sad instances, family, friends, and all the people that touched my life were and are very important to me. Thru them dreams were realized, challenges accomplished. I could not stop, not to remember, not to record it."

"My motto was and is" "Where duty leads follow."

Palin Prodigy

One week ago tonight we were a country on edge waiting to cast our votes in the "most important election of our time."   Karen, my dear friend and inadequate mom extraordinaire, can dish some serious political chitter chat.  We at MWOB are simply thrilled to have her back so soon for another guest blog. 

Here's Karen:

I know what you’re thinking… is she seriously going to bring politics into the sacred pages that is Moms Without Blogs? Isn’t this site supposed to be a haven from the divisiveness that discussions of politics and Palin can bring? Aren’t we at MWOB unified in our sometimes warped view of the mommy world? And even worse, from the title, is she going to be so bold as to promote one of her daughters as the next Sarah Palin? Is our MWOB world going awry? Get me off of this blog stat!

Don’t worry ladies, I’m not writing this to blather about the election, political parties, my personal beliefs or the ultimate supermom, Sarah Palin – I just want you to know that the Palin prodigy in question is… ME!

Before I proceed, I should probably clarify one teensy-weensy thing, realizing that it may appear that I am a fan and avid follower of SP. To the contrary, I didn’t vote for her, I didn’t agree with many of her policy ideas or her methods of campaigning.  That said, I do have to admit from my tiny blue speck lost in the reddest state in the country (Utah) that she won TONS of supporters across the nation all while juggling five kids (one with special needs), potential grandkids, a seemingly supportive (& handsome!) husband, and grumpy sometimes emotional naysayers on both sides of the “aisle.” 

Personally I can't hate her or her “supermom” persona. I'll have her over for a cup of joe, glass of wine or to share a six-pack and we'll put armor aside and have an honest throw down on life – then I’ll let you know what I REALLY think.

So then, where DID I get this preposterous idea of ME being the next Palin, you ask? None other than my own mother.  

From what little you have read of me from Lee or heard from me directly, you know that I am NOTHING like the woman who came close to being Vice President of the United States of America. My current ambitions are limited to making it through my 2-year-old’s nap time without wasting the precious “get stuff done” time by taking a nap myself, and to brushing my hair and teeth before I leave the house so as to not be too embarrassing to my 13-yr-old daughter. As for the organization necessary to be the ultimate leader – let Lee’s description of my frustration with the stacks of paper that sit around my house waiting to be sorted be the telling answer there.

Here’s a bit of back story, my mother has lovingly passed on her disdain for household chores and general organization of life to me. The stacks of paper to be sorted in my home is only rivaled by the stacks of paper to be sorted in my mother’s house. We’re more of the live in the moment, why do today what can be put off until tomorrow when we’re not so tired sort of ilk. It’s not so bad that we can’t function, we get by just enough to wow our family with our abilities to find something crucial in the nick of time. You need the title to our Jeep Grand Cherokee? I think I saw that in one of those spider webby boxes under the stairs last year when I was looking for the girl’s missing savings bonds!

Back to me being a heart-beat away from being the leader of the free world… Well just yesterday my mother and I were discussing the election. The moment went by before I could even register it.  The shock set in later - long after we hung up the phone.  My mother actually told me when she was watching and reading about Sarah Palin – she thought, this could be Karen! 

Huh? 

YES,  she said that she could picture me being her! 

Although the mere thought of it can throw me into fits of laughter,  at the heart of it I am deeply honored that my mom could honestly picture her imperfect, hopelessly overwhelmed daughter challenging for one of the highest offices in our country!  And as crazy as it may seem that a true blue Democrat could even consider being compared to Sarah Palin a compliment - I do. 

Am I someone who can inspire millions and millions of Americans to vote for me and put their trust in me even with all of my faults and baggage??  Well, my mom believes so and that’s good enough for me.

Thanks mom for uplifting my heart and self-esteem yesterday the way only a proud (and maybe slightly delusional) mother can.

It's A Zip Fizz Kinda Friday

As we bring this historic week to a close,  I am once again honored to introduce another true blue friend and actual mom without a blog.  I met Steph along with Ames my freshmen year at USC and it's shocking to believe that I got TWO lifelong friends out of the pure gluttonous indulgence that defines the newfound freedom of a first-year student at a big university.

Steph is the rock in her family juggling all kinds of mommy stresses but you'd barely know it 'cause she's got a real knack for being able to keep a smile on her face.  She's one of those rare individuals that really gets that life is not about the end result...it's all about the journey.   

Steph had to muster up some courage to be a guest blogger but after reading her post, I definitely want her back for more.   If you agree, let her know via that beloved comment section.  I need my guest bloggers if this bloggy space is gonna fly!  

Enjoy!

All I’ve ever wanted to do, as long as I can remember, is be a mom. Truly. And as much as I love it, I’ve never been what I would qualify as a “supermom”. However, I used to be what I would call Supermom Sidekick status. That is I did some of the things that supermoms do and tried to copy and learn from the pros like any loyal sidekick would. I mean, I subscribed to Family Fun magazine, made themed lunches for my daughter at every holiday, spent lots of “quality time” with her and actually was known to host a non-birthday “kiddie party” or two. 

But this was in another time, a time when my first born (now 14) was an only child for 8 years. And then along came my son (now 6) and I really thought I could stay the course. How mistaken I was.  Now I’m plagued with a whole new kind of mommy guilt: the thought that I was a better mom to my daughter than I am to my son. And let me tell you ladies, this kind of guilt stays in your heart like a swallowed wad of grape Bubble Yum sticks in your gut. And now I find myself trying to step up to the good mommy plate purely driven by this guilt. But, what can I say? As a 41-year-old mom of teenager and a kindergartener I just don’t have the energy or patience that I had as a 20-something mother of one. 

That is, until a seemingly ordinary trip to Costco where, as usual, I was making a meal out of samples of bean burritos and spinach dip.  And that’s when I found it.  My mommy magic potion.  A colorful little tube of superpower you pour into an ordinary bottle of water. And like any addictive substance they were giving it away, and not just a small little taste, an entire bottle, knowing full well I’d be back, begging for more. It’s called Zip Fizz and although I’m philosophically opposed to energy drinks, I was sucked into the sales pitch of it being “full of vitamins, including 40,000 % the daily dose of B-12, with no crash” blah, blah, blah. And so I tried it with absolutely no expectations. And I kid you not I had the single best mommy day I’d had in months, years maybe. I was happy, patient and lively – in a word SUPERMOM! 

Picture this: a day at the beach with my son endlessly frolicking in the surf, running from the tide and jumping waves and in two hours never once secretly longing for just five minutes alone in my beach chair with my magazine (that 2006 Family Fun I’ve been meaning to get around to).  It’s that good. 

Of course, when you discover a new mommy secret, you can’t wait to share it. So I started handing this stuff out like I was some kind of drug pusher or the first in on the latest MLM scheme. And the mommies were calling me in droves wanting their next fix. I’ve even gone so far as sending my son to school each week with a baggy full of Zip Fizz for his teacher (after all, who needs a little mommy crack more than the super-humans in that profession?). 

Now I must admit that I share Lee’s “everything in moderation” philosophy so because of that, or more out of fear of becoming immune to it’s effects, I ration my Zip Fizz to 1-2 a week. And those days leave me feeling like the Supermommy Sidekick days that I longed for and my son never even realized he was missing.

From Lee:

I think I'm gonna shake me up a Zip Fizz bottle and clean me some floors ladies!

When Your Mom Used to Be A Soccer Star

Oh yeah, it's another happy manic Monday!  I introduce to you another guest blogger and hopefully a mainstay here at MWOB, my oldest friend Kath - a friend who knows my soul just like a friend of over 30 years should.  Kath and I met when we were 8 years old after my family just made the move of a lifetime from Chicago to Phoenix.   Our friendship has simply spanned most everything significant in a girl's life and I sincerely wish my daughters will have a friend in their life like Kath.  As a mom, Kath is as normal as it gets.  She is my rock in a sea of self-doubt reminding me I'm not the only one who yells.  

Kath did not title this post, I took the liberty since I was one of those childhood friends who knew what kind of athlete she was.  My dad still speaks of the countless goals Kath scored when we played together on the same field.   I love this post from her because since my firstborn is currently involved in her first year of soccer, I can totally relate.  I mean TOTALLY.  Enjoy!

From Kath:

Ask any of my childhood friends, and they’ll tell you I was a pretty decent athlete growing up. Better than decent, pretty doggone good, if I do say so myself. I was your basic tomboy, shunning anything pink, frilly or dainty for dirty and physical. I played lots of sports; softball, soccer, basketball, even volleyball. Man, there was nothing like going all out in a sport you loved. Thinking back to those good ‘ol days, I can smell the dirt of the infield or feel the dampness of a grassy soccer field on a Saturday morning. My heart pounds thinking of the thrill of full-on body sliding into second base for the steal. I get giddy remembering sprinting down the soccer field, elbowing and slamming into other girls to get my foot on the ball for a laser pass, or perhaps even a shot into the net. Yep, I LOVED playing sports.

Without a doubt, soccer was my favorite. As you can imagine, I couldn’t wait to get my kids into the game I cherished as a youngster. Unbelievably, my oldest child, Brendan, wanted absolutely nothing to do with soccer. How could this be? Was he really mine?? But Brendan prefers sports and activities where he doesn’t actually have to TOUCH other kids (we’ll save that for another post). So, respecting his uniqueness, I didn’t push the issue.

However, when my second child, Patrick, expressed an interest in soccer at age 4, I leapt at the request. We ran right out to Big 5 and purchased just the right pair of shin guards (cool shiny silver, long enough to protect the entire shin, light enough not to weigh him down and impede his speed). He needed cleats, nylon shorts, and, of course a new water bottle. As I checked out with our purchases, I daydreamed of my little Pele tearing up the field, dazzling everyone with his footwork. I’m actually thinking, “Maybe the coach will have to limit his playing time to give the other kids a chance to score.”

The Saturday of his first game is, without a doubt, a day I will never forget for as long as I live. If you’ve been to a 4 year-old’s soccer game before, bear with me here. For those of you who haven’t, it’s quite similar to watching a group of gnats flying around a room. You rarely get to see the actual soccer ball during the game. Four players play at a time for each team, so you spend the game watching 8 sets of legs kicking and scrambling for the ball. Dirt and dust flies everywhere. And occasionally (most often by pure accident) the ball ends up in the net.

I watched as my Patrick was put in the game. He started off just chasing the kids around the field. “Okay, he’s just warming up,” I thought.  I waited for my little scoring machine to attack. Low and behold, he just continued to run after the group of kids, seemingly oblivious to the soccer ball on the field. 

At one point, the ball broke away from the group and started rolling right to my boy. Here we go!! But Patrick actually BACKED AWAY from the ball and let a little girl from the other team have it. What could I do? Only what any other ex-soccer playing mom would do…I started yelling. “GET THE BALL, PATRICK! GO AFTER IT! KICK IT TOWARDS THE GOAL!! NO, THE OTHER WAY!! Well, you get the idea.

All of a sudden, my son completely stopped running. He slowly and deliberately walked across the field until he stood right in front of me. Then, my sweet little guy gazed up at me with his huge, saucer, ocean-blue eyes and calmly asks, “Mom, why are you yelling at me?” 

I stood there shocked and silent, jaw at my feet, coffee cup in hand. “I’m not yelling, I’m cheering for you!” I say in my most confident mommy voice. 

But my wise little man just continued to stare at me, his face so innocent, his heart so pure. I couldn’t fool this kid; we both knew what was happening. So, I crouched down to face him eye to eye and promised him that I wouldn’t yell or cheer or say anything else for the rest of the game. He smiled and resumed his pursuit of the other kids.

I’d like to say it’s never happened again, but with three kids now in different sports, I admit that I slip sometimes. I try to catch myself and remember that day on the soccer field with Patrick. It’s amazing how sometimes the littlest people in our lives have the greatest insight into our behavior as adults. It’s yet another bonus to this wonderful journey of motherhood.

Halloween Inadequacy - AGAIN!

Attention all MWOBS - this is one happy week because today I present our second guest "blogger", one of my hard-core friends, Karen.   I met Karen in the early days of reality television when "reality" was not a dirty word.  She is an Emmy award-winning (true!) producer who left the glitz of a Los Angeles life in television to pursue a career where she receives absolutely NO accolades for the brilliant job she does.  Yes, she is a SAHM.  Beseiged by feelings of inadequacy, Karen spends her days mothering her three gorgeous girls and staring at piles of paper to organize.  We hope to hear more stories from her world... 

From Karen:

I decided to jump into the fray that is Moms Without Blogs.  And the multitude of parent-provided Halloween pleasures my kids are experiencing drove me to it! I would not be writing this if I was the parent providing this pleasure, of course. I consider MWOB a place that parents like me can say it like it is with no judgement, right? A sort of online support group for those of us who can't possibly measure up to what is out there in mom-land.

Okay here is the fall-out I'm dealing with today: My 8 yr old daughter came home from her 2nd halloween party last night with the 3 crafts she made and a treat bag. She narrowly missed winning the most creative costume prize, something sketchy about miscounted votes and hanging chads...hmmm - bummer cause she clearly needs more loot! I decided to take a picture of the crafts and treats that I didn't think of, didn't shop for, and didn't help create. Bottom line I didn't have anything to do with the pride and happiness Abby exuded when she showed them to me. The only thing I did was drive three blocks at 4:55 to drop her off and then again at 6:55 to pick her up. Oh wait, I dribbled some fake blood out of her lip at 4:45.

This experience led me to contemplate how continually lame I am when it comes to Halloween. I'll just share a few disappointments my kids have experienced in my household just THIS Halloween - not counting all the other equally disappointing ones (I've lost count of how many times my girls have asked us to host Halloween parties to no avail):

1) My 13-year-old is disappointed that last year she missed Halloween parties with her friends because we were in San Diego, that is dredged up AGAIN because she is missing THIS year's Halloween parties with her friends because we'll be in Lake Arrowhead at a wedding. She is also disappointed that the horror film that she and 2 friends made for a school film festival has fallen culprit to our unpredictable, ancient, falling-apart Hi-8 video camera - and after the FOURTH re-shoot and several cups of wasted Ketchup, they made the video with her "Vidster" camera she was given when she was 9 from her grandparents - the quality is suspect at best especially with the lovely hum that covers the majority of the climactic scene.

2) My 8-year-old complains AGAIN that we have no Halloween decorations, we haven't carved a pumpkin, we won't be here for trick-or-treating and she's missing the sacred school Halloween parade and class parties (with more candy and cute crafts I had nothing to do with).

3) My 2-year-old is disappointed because it just wears off on her from her older sisters. Oh yeah, and she wanted to be a bumble bee for halloween and I'm talking up being a princess so I don't have to buy anything!

This picture represents all I am not and that my kids, sadly, realize that I probably won't ever be.  Below are three clever crafts from last night - feel free to steal the ideas - they are cool, even I admit it!  

There's a candy bag; cups from last week's party (again that I did not host); a dream catcher craft (isn't it incredible!?!?); and a spider craft I included that Penni, my 2 1/2 year old, DID NOT make at her play-n-learn class (the teacher did everything - don't get me started on that issue).  Take a look... and this is just the tip of the iceberg in my house.  Now you can see how I feel inadequate this time of year.  How can I compete?

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