michellany

Gasp!

It's been a month since I've had something to say here. 

Well, not exactly.

It's been a month since I've had something to say here and had the time to record it. 

Aye, there's the rub.

So a quick recap:

Since I last posted, I've completed another trip around the sun. My 44th, to be exact. The actual birthday celebration was lovely.  Hubby gave me a new bike.  It's pink, my favorite color.  The kids each gave me treasures they found in the dollar bin section at Target - which they purchased with their own savings from their piggy banks.  (Hugh gave me a pair of reading specs, and the irony is not lost on me!)

Unfortunately, as my birthday came to a close, I started feeling the symptoms of shingles coming on. (Too much partying, perhaps? Or merely old age?) I recognized the pain right away this time, having had an inaugural bout of shingles just two months prior, in August. The good news: I started the meds quickly, and short-circuited most of the illness (even avoiding the rash) this second time around.  The bad news: the meds to prevent/minimize nerve damage have side effects that summon my Inner Crazy.  Luckily, the whole episode is over now.  And on my To Do list:  shingles vaccination.

The rest of this past month? Pretty much the unremarkable blur experienced by all of us enlisted in the army of constantly moving minivan moms (and dads).  Shuttling kids to tennis, chess, ballet, Spanish, doctors, dentists, and playdates.  Preparing meals, running my small business, volunteering at school, brokering sibling peace accords on the homefront, and assigning consequences when those accords are violated.  Being a devoted - and occasionally, cranky - wife.  Shopping at Costco, Target, Whole Foods, Publix...and urgently shopping around at even more places when my business laptop died unexpectedly a couple of weeks ago. 

Dizzy yet?

Never fear - I also squeezed in a little fun.  I attended my First Book Club Ever, and it was great!  And my husband and I had an overnight getaway sans kids (to beautiful downtown Atlanta) courtesy of my in-laws.

As I write this, outside it is pitch black outside and pouring rain.  I glance at the clock and see that the kids will be awake in about an hour, ready to start their day.  I haven't slept yet, and I think I will just stay up...another all nighter.  Insomnia bites.  

But...

It allowed me to write this, right? 

Maybe next time I'll write about George.  Most folks call him Car Wash, but he prefers George.  Thinking of him makes me happy and sad at the same time.  I hope tonight he is somewhere safe, warm and dry...and sleeping well.

 

 

A Little Family Edutainment

Last night at the dinner table, my husband and I played a game with the kids to see who could think up words that sound the same but have different meanings.  (What can I say?  We're geeks. And those of you who are even geekier undoubtedly know that we were discussing homophones.)

When it came to my turn, I said "bow" (thinking of the bow of a ship, or the bough of a tree). 

Two of our kids immediately thought of the kind of 'bow' you take in front of an audience after you've given a performance...but that seemed to be all they could muster.

Until suddenly my 8-year-old piped up, with impeccable timing and requisite grooviness: 

'Bow-Chicka-Woww-Woww!'

It was a proud parenting moment.  Clearly, my work here is done.

It's the 'Homestretch'! (Please disregard that popping sound...)

 

It's here!  Day 8 of my husband's 8-day trip to Japan.  His flight lands in a few hours.  We're in the homestretch, bay-bee! 

My husband travels often for work, and while lately the trips are less frequent, they are longer in duration.  So every few weeks, or so, he's gone for about a week...or so.

The three kiddos and I, we always survive.  But inevitably, while my husband is gone, exciting things happen.  Not good things, mind you, but exciting things.  As in, things that need urgent attention.  Like main water line breaks that leave us without running water for a few days. (True story.) Electrical problems that require the expertise of three different electricians.  (Ugh - don't ask.) Injuries requiring emergency room visits. (CPS probably has started a file.)

This, of course, is in addition to the standard loads of dishes & laundry, trips to school for volunteer work & conferences with teachers, shuttling kids to lessons & playdates, shopping for and preparing meals, reviewing homework, and refereeing the 'knock-down drag-outs' of the ages.  I'm sure there's more, but I'm too tired to remember it just now.

Before I know it, Depeche Mode's techno-lament "I think that God's got a sick sense of humor" is running in a continuous loop in my head.  And I'm not proud of this, but more than once I've looked heavenward and literally hissed 'Uncle!' under my breath.

Single parents, let me just say, you have my utmost admiration and respect.

Eventually, I become bored with my pity party for one, and I remember how lucky I am.  I mean, my kids are awesome.  Not perfect.  Not easy.  But flippin' awesome. 

And in my husband's absence, my heart indeed grows fonder.  For one thing, when he's here, toilet unclogging is his exclusive domain.  And ladies, get ready to swoon:  the man does laundry.  Not just his own laundry, the whole family's!  Not just occasionally, but every week.  And while I may do all the shopping and cooking, he does the cleaning up afterward.  Well, most of it.

Alas, as my heart grows fonder, unfortunately my lower end also grows bigger.  Much to my chagrin, by the time daddio comes home after a week away, there's always a little bit more of me to love.  Dealing with the emotional ups and downs of a 5, 6, and 8 year old leaves my own nerves jangled and raw.  Sadly, my salve is 'comfort food'.  Obviously it would be better if it was 'comfort exercise'.  But before I beat myself up too much (and need another cookie), I try to keep things in perspective:  it's still better than 'comfort vodka'.  Or 'comfort vicodin'.  Right?

So, I've got my limitations.  Among them:  I lose my patience.  I get cranky.  I eat ice cream every night. 

But at the end of the day - or this case, week - I am my own she-ro.  And my anthem?

I am woman.  I am invincible.  I am popping the button on my jeans.

Yep, it's the home 'stretch', alright...

 

'Please Stand By for a Demonstration of Relevancy'

As calls to arms go, this one was BRILLIANT.

If you are a blogger, particularly of the 'mommy' variety, you may be acquainted with The Bloggess, aka Jenny.  If you are not already familiar with her, you may seriously want to check her out.

 
Last night Jenny posted about a PR pitch she received from Brandlink Communications that was wrong on oh-so-many levels. Not only was it an Epic Fail from the initial pitch sent to her, the PR company's subsequent mishandling of the entire episode is a casebook cautionary tale of what NOT to do if you want people to ever consider you, *ahem*, a public relations company.

You can read about the PR Pitch from Hell here.  It's actually quite entertaining.  Up to the point where your blood might start boiling.

A few humble suggestions for Brandlink in moving forward:

• Have a least a passing familiarity with the bloggers to whom you send your pitches.
• Have a least a passing familiarity with the exponential power of the interwebs, particularly if you're pitching to, oh, bloggers.
• Try Spellcheck - you'll like it.
• When you screw up royally, own it and offer a genuine apology instead of a self-stroking justification of your appalling behavior.
• Better yet, don't be a contemptuous bully in the first place - especially to us "Mommy's" [sic].
• Show us you do not tolerate misogynistic miscreants among your ranks.
• Never, never, never underestimate the power of a woman who possesses a giant metal chicken named Beyonce, a pinata full of prozac, and a legion of followers ready and willing to go 'all angry-villager' on you when you deserve it.

For each of you who Brandlink identifies as its clients, here's a quick question:  Is this the kind of 'public relations' that is representative of your brand and values?  I (and trust me, many others) are watching with great interest to see your response...

I discovered The Bloggess years ago.  Hers is one of the few blogs listed in my blogroll, because she alternately makes me laugh until I cry and helps me find laughter through my tears. (No small feat, that.) 

While The Bloggess is irreverent, she is hardly irrelevant. Last night she made one blog post and sent one tweet, and within a few hours, literally millions of us expressed our outrage and support.  (Twitter crashed, and I suspect we caused it.) 

Why? 

Because Jenny supported us.  She took a stand not only for herself, but for other bloggers, like me, the 'Mommy' ones.  The 'little' ones, who Brandlink thought it was acceptable to openly taunt and bully by saying '(you) should be flattered (to be) viewed relevant enough to be pitched at all'.

Ironically, the only thing that has become truly 'irrelevant' in all this?  The product these jokers tried to get Jenny to peddle for them in the first place.  And the only thing Brandlink got right?  When they initially pitched that "this is on [sic] Mommy’s [sic] are all going to want to follow.” 

Oh, yes.  Just not for the reasons they wanted.

Word(limited) Wednesday: 10.05.11

It is purely coincidental this follows on the heels of my last post.  That being said, I sure wish I'd been there for the book signing...

 
 

Happy Fall, Y'All!

Fall is off to a brilliant, beautiful beginning (and awesome alliteration!) on this fine Friday, the first official day of Autumn.  (And yes, this really IS the view here in Milton, Georgia!)

 

 

 

An Unpleasant 'Discovery'

At the beginning of the school year, I volunteered to help with a Third Grade 'Discovery Zone' at my kids' school.  The specifics for my assignment were not determined until recently, and I've just received the details: 

I've got the first time-slot of the day (7:45-8:45 a.m.) tomorrow morning.  We'll be studying how owls digest their prey and then dissecting their 'owl pellets'.  I kid you not.

I'm seriously considering crying 'fowl!'

Or just crying.

 

UPDATE:  Just got back...and for a vegetarian, I think I did a passable job of appearing *fascinated* and not *disgusted* in front of the kids.  At his request, I even carried home my son's little baggie of partially digested rodent remains.  A mother's love knows no bounds...

 

Mommy Needs a Time Out

Actually, I need some time OFF.

It's been a banner day at Chez Michellany.  My three year old told me she hates me.

Nothing shocking there, I suppose.  Since time immemorial kids have been scoring direct, catastrophic  hits by tossing this verbal grenade at their parents' un-kevlared hearts.  Did Shakespeare have kids?  Because he sure nailed it when he penned that "sharper than a serpent's tooth" bit.

And what have I done today to deserve my preschooler's unfettered contempt?  I requested that she ask for, rather than demand, a banana. 

I 'get' that I am my kids' "safe space."  With me, they can let it all hang out - the proverbial good, bad and the ugly - because I love them unconditionally, and they are secure in the knowledge that I always will.  They feel safe and confident that I will always be here for them.  (Goodness knows that I am always here with them!)

And I recognize that's a measure of my success as a mom. I want my kids to feel loved and secure.  And now that I've had a while this afternoon to 'process' my feelings, I also realize that it's probable my three year old has not one iota of an inkling of the significance I import to her words.

But here's the thing:  I'm just tired - oh, SO tired - of being the receptacle for my kids' emotional upchucks on a daily basis.  Yes, graphic and ugly.  Do you have the sudden urge for a long, hot shower to wash away the unpleasant juju that conjures up? 

Yeah.  Me too...

Do You See What I See?

So in my, ahem, spare time, I like to make trinkets and baubles with fine, delicate pieces of silver, wire, and beads.  This requires good eyesight.  Which I used to have, up until a couple of years ago, when - purely coincidentally, I'm sure - I started making the aforementioned finely detailed trinkets and baubles.

I'm fairly confident that my flagging eyesight has more to do with the fact that I turned 40 a couple of years ago...because I heard or read somewhere (which means it must be true) that women tend to experience eyesight changes around age 40. 

Now a smart, prudent person would make an appointment for an eye exam and get fitted for prescription glasses.  And when you find this person, please leave a comment for me here with the link to her blog, so I can learn by her example.

Me?  I've just been doing a lot of squinting, blinking and forehead rubbing for the past couple of years.  Until today.  (Cue music: "I can see clearly now..."...and if you don't get that admittedly trite reference, YOU ARE TOO YOUNG TO BE READING MY BLOG, GET THEE BACK TO MYSPACE.)  Today I ran out to my local Ace Hardware for a few industrial-strength jewelry-making tools and came across these beauties:

Verily, I tell you, this picture does not do them justice.  I LOVE THEM!  I especially love that they are magenta and embellished on both sides with rhinestone daisies.  I wear them when I do my sterling wire wrapping, fine silver stamping, and teeny-tiny seed bead stringing...and I feel like a cool, hip, artsy chick. 

Nevermind that in *reality* I probably more closely resemble Dame Edna, albeit with slightly less makeup...I like *my reality* better!  And at minimum, I definitely deserve points for creative visualization!

Hello, Again

Hmmm...I haven't posted much these past two weeks.  Partly because there just aren't enough hours in any given day.  I've got three kids, ages 5 and under, to chauffer and chase around.  I've got grocery shopping to do, errands to run, meals to cook, a house to keep in order.  I've also got a small, but growing, business to run.  And volunteer commitments to fulfill.  Other online communities to participate in...and a husband, and friends in real life, that I cherish.  I am only half-joking when I say that I wish I could squeeze 72 hours into the usual 24, because that's about how many I think I'd need to get it all done.

Recently I've been learning more about the community of blogging women out there, many, but not all of whom are moms like me, and some of whom are also 'mompreneurs', too.  So many of you are impressively consistent in your posting - both in terms of quantity and quality.  Really, gals, where DO you find the time?

I can't lay all the blame at the feet of Father Time, though.  Methinks there is also a slight crisis of confidence involved.  Recently I learned that my husband does not read my blog.  And not in a "I-just-don't-have-time-honey-because-there's-not-enough-hours-in-the-day" kind of way, but more in a "I-really-couldn't-care-less" kind of way.

Um, OUCH.

(Hubs has been lukewarm - at best - about  me blogging.  He accepts there are only 24 hours in a day, and unlike me, views sleep as a necessity and not a nuisance, so that 7-8 of his 24 are devoted to rest.  I, on the other hand, am an extreme devotee of the philosophy proffered by Caribou Coffee:  life is short, stay awake for it.) 

So the past couple of weeks, after learning that my life partner and best friend isn't the least bit enthused about or amused  by my little bloggity-blog, I've been questioning why I do it.  Self-expression?  Rebellion? Confession?  Validation?  All of that, and more, I suspect.  I'm trying to figure it out.

My husband, if he read this, would probably say I should sleep on it.