Suburban Scrawl

You Couldn't Make This Stuff Up, And Neither Could I!!

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 17:31:00 +0000

First of all, let me say that I had an absolutely fabulous birthday. Thank you to each and every one of you who made it special for me, in your own way!

As it turns out, the weirdest (and probably funniest) thing to ever happen to me on a birthday happened on this one. I will document it here and keep my fingers crossed that it will be as funny to you when you read it as it was for me while it was happening.

I started out the day with the Suburban WoW livestream (the rerun is playing through this coming Friday, when we'll broadcast our next show!). Weaselmomma took me to lunch afterwards (thanks again!), and then I headed home.

As I drove the car up the driveway and into the garage, I noticed something hanging on my front door. It was a delivery slip from a local florist. (Yay! Birthday flowers!) The slip said that a flower delivery was left for me at the house across the street.

*Pause!*

Here's an aside about this particular neighbor. You know how some people are "eccentric"? These people are eccentric to the hundredth power. Nice? Absolutely. VERY nice people. But totally bizarre. I am 100% certain that I won't be able to express to you how offbeat they are, but to give you an idea of it, here are a few of the unusual goings-on over there:

~ They have that back up beeper on all three of their cars. The dad works nights.
~ Over the years, we've seen each of their three kids mow the lawn, and the dad sits in a lawn chair sometimes, watching to make sure they don't miss a spot.
~ We used to see, when their youngest was in middle school, the parents follow her to the bus stop, about ten paces behind, either carrying her backpack for her or pulling it in a wagon before handing it to her at the bus stop. (She has absolutely no physical impairments that would prevent her from carrying it herself)
~ The dad works on their cars all the time, and mostly this takes place in the garage or on the driveway, but every now and then, he'll pull the car right up onto the front lawn, parallel to the house and directly in front of the porch for his maintenance session.

*Unpause!*

I walked across the street and, noticing that there was a car in the driveway with the hood up and the garage door was open, I peeked into the garage for signs of life and found nobody. I stepped up onto the porch and rang the bell. Nothing. Rang it again. Nothing.

When I left the porch and stepped back onto the driveway to head home, I peeked into the garage again and noticed that the man/dad of the house, R, had just re-entered the garage from the backyard. I said, "Oh, hi R! Did some flowers get delivered here when I was gone this morning?"

He said, "Oh yes, I think so! Let me go in and get them."

He went into the house from the garage and was gone only a minute when he came back with a vase in his hands. As he walked towards me, I noticed that the flowers were in browns and oranges, and they looked...fake.

My thought process over the course of three seconds or so as he walked over to me:
~ Wow, those look fake!
~ Browns and oranges. Odd choice for a birthday arrangement, but I do have an autumn birthday...
~ Wow, those ARE fake!
~ But it's the thought that counts.
~ I wonder who sent them? Had to be Jim or my parents...
~ Wait, these flowers are really ugly.
~ This is going to make a great blog post if I can do it sensitively.
~ This is weird!

He handed me the "arrangement", which was a cheap glass vase with silk flowers that you would get from the craft store, but they weren't even arranged. They were EXACTLY how you buy them at the craft store, a bushy bunch of flowers, still connected to each other by a really thick stem at the bottom, sort of like this (but way uglier):

I said, "Thanks R! I appreciate it!" and turned towards home, noticing that this ugly bunch of silk flowers was sitting in a vase that had WATER IN IT.

My thought process:
~ HUH?
~ WHO puts silk flowers in water??
~ Wait a minute, florists don't do this.
~ Hold on! No card!

I turned back around and said, "Hey, R? Was there a card? There's not one here and I have no idea who sent these."

He said, "Oh, I'll go check. Maybe it dropped on the floor." He went back into the house.

My thought process:
~ OMG, I bet he gave me the wrong flowers!
~ These are THEIR FLOWERS!!!
~ EEEEEK!!!!

He came back outside with a gorgeous, REAL arrangement in his hands. It was wrapped in cellophane and tied with pink ribbons. He sheepishly laughed and said, "Oops, I gave you the wrong flowers. Here are yours."

As I traded with him, I said, "That's okay. Thanks so much!"

Walking back across the street, I was nearly in hysterics. I couldn't wait to get into the house so that I could bust out laughing. Jim was still in a meeting, so as I put the flowers down on the counter and started unwrapping them to get to the card, I dialed Weaselmomma to tell her about it. As we were literally in tears from laughing so hard about the brown and orange silk flower bush sitting in water in the glass vase, I did a double-take on the card:

*Pause!*

You might remember that, when I attended the BlogHer conference waaaay back in July, I was really excited to meet Tim Gunn from Project Runway but forgot about his special appearance when Momo and Piper invited me to go with them, Secret Agent Mama, Angie from A Whole Lot of Nothing, and Colleen from Mommy Always Wins for a quasi-Cre8Buzz blogger reunion at the Sears Tower. Momo, Piper, Secret Agent Mama and I spent a couple of hours at a bar talking, laughing, and drinking $3 Patron Margaritas while Angie and Colleen went to the top of the Sears Tower to step onto the Ledge. When we returned, I discovered that Sue, my great friend and roomie, stood in line at Tim Gunn's appearance even though she had NO desire really, to meet him; it was all for me. And she brought a signed photo back for me.

If you're a huge Project Runway fan like I am, you'll notice right away that the tagline is wrong. Tim actually says "Make it work!" Though I'm a huge fan, the four margaritas delayed my noticing this, but I eventually learned that Sue just grabbed the photo and signed it herself. It's now framed and hanging in my work space.

*Unpause!*

The flowers were from Sue!

Weaselmomma said, "Oh man, it's too bad that Sue's lovely gift is overshadowed by this hilarious story!"

I said, "No, it's not, because each and every time I receive flowers in the future, I'm going to think of today and Sue!" (and Tim Gunn. And my weird neighbor.)

We got off the phone, and I called Sue to retell the story again, from start to finish.

Thanks again Sue! Love ya!

Good Thing I Can Count Really High.

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 12:35:00 +0000

You may have heard somewhere around the internet...today is my birthday.

Last year on this day, I turned the Big 4-0. I posted about counting my blessings, and I ended with:

So, Forty? Look out, because I'm going to totally kick your a$$.

I've gotta be honest. I think I did that. It was a really good year!

I'm still counting my blessings; I try to do that daily (some days are harder than others, but I think that's pretty normal!) In my reflections recently about this birthday, I've been doing a lot of thinking about the people who surround me. I've been asked several times this week, "Are you excited about your birthday?" "Are you ready for your birthday?" "Big plans for your birthday?"

No, no, and no. But that's how I want it. As long I'm with the people I care about, I don't need big, explosive plans. I'm at the age now where, although I could totally throw down much better than I could (or wanted to) in my 20's, keeping it simple is the way to go for me. "Simple" means that all I need is love and good company. Corny? Maybe. But these days, people are the most important elements of my life.

I have always been very lucky in that I make friends very, very easily. Moving from the Chicago area to Ft. Worth when I was ten and then to Knoxville when I was twelve seemed difficult for me at the time, but looking back, I'm thankful for the friends I quickly made upon arriving in each new town.

It was awesome to be in the same high school (in Knoxville) for all four years. I knew so many people; it was wonderful. When I was a Junior, I was a part of a super, tight-knit group of Duran Duran-lovin', New Wave ridin', MTV watchin', British Invasion embracin', neon-colored clothing wearin' friends.

Here are most of us at my sixteenth birthday party, one of my favorite birthdays ever. And yes, we were posing that way on purpose for the camera. (The one who looks like he's sleeping? I believe that was an error in timing.)

Those people with those goofy expressions in that picture were, besides ~~stalking~~ meeting and dating Jim, the best darn thing about high school for me (and I LOVED high school, so that's saying a lot!). I loved being a part of that group, and it's a time I'll never forget; it was one of the happiest times in my life. I have group memories and individual memories with each and every one of those people. If you're a regular reader, you'll recognize Kate in the photo there, who is still my best girlfriend, and due to the technological development that is Facebook, I am back in touch with the other three girls plus my friend who actually took the picture!

After high school, and after getting married, I had a smattering of friends here and there wherever we lived. I met Dawn (love her long time) along the way, and I treasure her friendship so much. (Personal note to Dawn: New Year's Eve 2009! Can't wait! Woooo!)

I've lived in my current town here in the Chicago burbs since 1995, the longest I've ever had roots down in one place. I've got great friends in all different departments of my life: the temple, the health clubs, the neighborhood, the other parents at school, lacrosse club, and so many more.

And then, over the past couple of years, I've met so many fabulous people through this blog. I'm a part of this really cool community here, and I'm so blessed by that.

Back to my birthday (it IS all about me today, you know) and my friends. On Wednesday I got an early birthday wish on Facebook from one of the people in that photo up there. The Birthday Calendar application, for some reason, had my birthday on Wednesday. Whatever. (stupid app) So she was the first person to send me the wish. And that's how it started.

Then yesterday morning, I woke up to this on Facebook, from the Microblogologist:

And then, yesterday evening when I was at the mall, I got a tweet from my German twin sis Kat, on my cell phone:

Last night, a few on Twitter were, uh, all a-twitter about my birthday, and I woke up to an inbox full of well wishes too, from my online AND IRL friends and family. I already know that my mom will call me by 7:30, which would make any other person nuts but as she giggles and cackles about how early she's calling me like she does every year, I will remind her that I'm the one who is the morning person* and I don't mind the early call, like I do every year. I've got a nice Fab Five dinner planned, and it's going to be a great day.

I know how lucky I am to have so many friends on every one of the 365 days of the year, and I feel 100% more blessed on my birthday when everyone comes out to let me know I'm in their thoughts. All of this attention could spoil a girl, you know. But don't worry; I'll keep my head about me because I'll be busy counting all day long...

"Count your age by friends, not years,
Count your life by smiles, not tears."
— John Lennon

*My sister did a post about this that's hysterical. Click here for it, and click here for the youtube video: the one in her post currently isn't clickable!

I Found the ONE Use For Those Twitter Lists. (I Think.)

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 12:01:00 +0000

Twitter recently introduced a new feature, creatively called "Lists". You would think that, having a name like that, it would be self-explanatory. It's not, completely.

The idea behind it, I guess, is to compartmentalize groups of your followers so if you want to, say, only follow the people who wear glasses, you can now do that.

When the feature was made public, panic ensued. People (including me) remarked how this feature has great potential to be yet another instigator of online drama in some cases.

Whatever.

And then people started having a little bit of fun with it. Rather than naming their lists in inflammatory ways like:

~My very fave tweeters
~Best Friends
~Best bloggers ever

I'm seeing more creativity. Here is a sampling of some of the lists I find myself on:

~love list
~bloggers (always good to keep it general)
~my lovelies
~chicago
~parent bloggers
~blogger buddies
~nablopomo
~love them like sisters
~side effects may vary
~people I want to party with (thanks Amy!)
~hos before bros

I think you get the idea. These kinds of lists are general, not exclusive-sounding (in my opinion), and fun.

I looked up "Twitter lists" on Youtube and found this gem by this excitable woman. She explains all about lists, so it's a great tutorial if you haven't tried it yet. I had a great laugh at the beginning of the video when she happily exclaimed

"This is the best tool that's come out for Twitter in YEARS!!"

I thought, "Years??" and promptly did a search for Twitter's "birthdate". Twitter came out in 2006. Are you with me here? She's a little overexcited and it's making her spew ridiculous statements from her mouth. I would say that the best tool that's come out for Twitter in years is...TWITTER.

Anyway, watch.

Oh, and that one real use for Twitter Lists? We're using it for our Suburban WoW livestream show; we're able to make a list of our viewers so that, during our broadcasts, anyone on twitter can instantly follow the conversation, and that's a cool thing.

Speaking of Suburban WoW, we've got a special show going out TOMORROW. It's my birthday show! Click here for details. If you're not yet a viewer, this is a great show with which to start. We're having a couple of little giveaways. Oh yeah, and did I mention it's my birthday show?

A Nugget From Heaven

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 12:33:00 +0000

At the salon, we've been thinking about (and talking about) Margy a lot over the past week or two. Some of you will remember reading the post I wrote about Margy last November, right after her funeral. She was one of my favorite clients at the nail salon ever. EVER. (She was a favorite of just about everyone else who works there, too!)

That post happens to be one of my favorites in the more than 650 I've written here at the Scrawl, so I'm going to give you a chance to read it now (or re-read it) before going forward. Click here; it'll open in a new window. And by the way, I re-read the comments on that post and I'm going to go ahead and warn you to have Kleenex handy. There was no warning last year. You're welcome.

Take your time. I'll wait.

Are you back? Okay. Where was I? Oh yes, talking and thinking about Margy.

When I arrived at work today, my boss excitedly said, "Guess who's coming to the salon for a manicure?"

I didn't even guess; I hate playing those kinds of games with my boss. I was a total buzzkill: "I give up. Who?"

"Margy's daughter!"

I was thrilled. Margy's daughter Julie is a super-nice woman. Julie got married shortly before Margy passed away (Margy was at the wedding, as the very proud mother of the bride); at the salon we agreed that Margy, whose health had been on a steep decline for a while, was "waiting" to get Julie married off before passing. I hope that makes sense because I don't know how else to explain it.

Shortly after the wedding, Margy ended up in the ICU, where she spent the last two weeks of her life.

During this time, we at the salon were planning our yearly Fall event. It's an Open House-style party during which we premiere all of our new retail items for the holidays. The event was scheduled on what ended up being two days after Margy's death and before the funeral.

At some point during the event, a familiar face appeared. It was Julie, fresh from the experience of losing her mother, showing up to our little event. We hugged her, and she said, "My mom would have been here." And boy, was she right. Margy loved to shop, and every week when she came in to get her nails done, she'd say "Show me what's new!" She was at all of our events and her deep southern drawl and hearty laugh and "Oh Honey!"s rang out through the salon all the while.

We had, at that event, a vendor who owns a gallery in town, and one of the items she sells is Troll Beads. Troll Beads are HUGE around here. They are the modern-day charm bracelets, in that you choose different beads to represent important things in your life.

Julie spent almost two hours sitting with the Troll Bead lady, making a bracelet. I couldn't believe she spent so much time in our salon that day, but I also think that she might have been able to "feel" her mother there, alive and laughing and "Oh Honey!"-ing.

Fast forward back to yesterday. I was excited to see Julie and catch up with her while she got her nails done. As it happened, one of the girls was giving my boss a pedicure and one of the girls was in the storage room when Julie arrived, so I was the only one to see her get out of her car. I noticed she was carrying something unexpected.

A baby carrier.

I started shrieking to the others: "You're not going to believe what Julie's bringing in!!!"

She walked in, and we met Julie's first child, Margy's granddaughter. One of the first things Julie said was, "I know my mom had something to do with this because I NEVER expected we'd get pregnant so soon after the wedding."

The baby has Margy's middle name. She is so sweet, and so loved.

We had a great visit, and when Julie and the baby left, I said, "Well, there's a nugget from heaven if I ever saw one!"

You could say that it was total coincidence that Julie and her husband got pregnant when they did, but I choose to believe that Margy did indeed have a hand in it, giving her daughter a piece of herself from beyond, when she needed it the most.

Overconfident=Bad.

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 11:53:00 +0000

I've always been a great speller. As a kid, being able to spell what I thought was a difficult word made me walk with my head held a little higher, and I loved when people told me how smart I was (who wouldn't?). But I was small potatoes, really, when it came to spelling. Growing up, I always admired the kids in my school who walked around with the study guides for the big spelling bees. I always thought it would have been so FUN to be crowned the National Spelling Champion.

Unfortunately, classroom spelling bees that led to the school-wide spelling bees, which led to the district-wide spelling bees, which led to the state-wide spelling bees, which led to the National Spelling Bee, only came once a year, and though I usually made it pretty far in the rounds, I was never the last girl standing.

In eighth grade, my teacher announced that the spelling bee was coming up, and handed out a list of words to study. I was excited. I studied, though honestly I thought the words on the classroom study guide were quite easy. None of my friends seemed as thrilled to prepare for the bee as I, so I worked alone.

Finally, the big day arrived. I was going to win that sucker. In my head, I saw myself win not only the classroom bee, but each bee after that, and I saw myself wearing the number on my shirt in the National bee. I saw myself winning the National bee, holding the trophy while my parents hugged me and cried tears of joy.

Our entire class of about 25 kids lined up around the room for the first round. "SO easy!" I thought, as the teacher called out words to each person down the line. By the time she got to me, only one or two students had been incorrect. (Round one tends to be a gimme, kind of like the first few questions on "Who Wants to be a Millionnaire?")

My turn.

My teacher gave me my word, and I nearly jumped for joy. The word? Cactus.

I barely even had to think about it. Could there BE an easier word to spell?

I thought not.

I stood up straight, looked out over my teacher's head into the bright stage lights I was imagining (you know, the lights that were right in front of the news cameras and such).

"Cactus," I said.

"C-A-T-U-S. Cactus."

And then I gave my teacher a dazzling smile, so proud of myself.

"I'm sorry," she said, "that is incorrect."

WHAT???

I started to sweat as I made my way back to my desk, head hanging low, heart pounding. I figured out what I had done by the time I sat down, and it was all I could do to keep from crying. As I sat there for what seemed like forever as the spelling bee went on...and on...and on...and on, I mentally kicked my own a$$.

That moment in time? Feels like yesterday. For a woman of 40 (almost, ahem, 41), I think about it pretty often. It's not that I'm still beating myself up over it, but it's one of those really annoying life moments. It taught me a lesson, though. Confidence is good, but you've got to keep it in check or the size of your head becomes too big for your brain to fit properly. Or something like that.

Although I remained a strong speller, I lost interest in the trophy after that. But as an adult, if I see that the National Spelling Bee is on tv, I watch. And sometimes I allow myself to picture in my mind's eye that eighth grade Melisa, number on her shirt, trophy in hand, my husband and kids hugging me while crying tears of joy.

Just for a second.

P.S. Here's something quite annoying: when I typed the word "cactus" the first time in this post, I spelled it "catus". Ugh.

Windy City Snapshot

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 11:47:00 +0000

The 17 year old and I met my sister at the riverwalk so she could take his senior portraits.

Unfortunately, the weather didn't cooperate--with its coldness and wind and all--so we cut the session short.

I Promise, This Post Contains No Photos of My Dog.

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 01:46:00 +0000

Well, it's November 1 and you know what that means...

Lots of things.

But one thing I'm thinking of in particular needs to be announced this evening: I'm doing NaBloPoMo (otherwise known around here as NaBloPoMoFo).

What is that? For me, it's nothing too different from what I normally do, to be honest. It means that I am committed to posting each and every day during the month of November. I post nearly every day anyway, but as Tara mentioned in her post about it today, it's one thing when you post nearly every day anyway, and quite another when you "have" to post.

But I'm in a good groove, especially lately, so why not commit to it and try to earn some of the prizes that are being given away at the end of the month? Why the heck not????

I've done NaBloPoMo before, in 2007. By the end of the month I was fried because I was actively posting in three places all month long. This time should be easier.

I didn't even think about participating until today, but that's how I roll. (I guess)

Several of my bloggie friends are participating and I'm happy to be among a happy crew, but the one I'm totally stoked about is MY SISTER, whose blog posts have been few and far between because, gee, she has a LIFE, you know. But I'm so excited she's going to be regular this month.

Wait, that didn't come out right.

If you haven't checked out my sister's blog, do it. You won't regret it. She is extremely funny and witty, and will handle this undue pressure I'm putting on her to be just as extremely funny and witty as usual by sending lots of folks over to her now that she's announced her NaBloPoMo participation with grace and ease. (Let's hope.)

Do you want to jump on the Crazy Train and participate with us? Go here to sign up, and be sure to friend me (Melisa with one S, duh!). Also, I'm starting one of those infernal Twitter lists for NaBloPoMo, so be sure to let me know if you sign up to do it!

Class dismissed.

This Post Works Better If You Squint.

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 12:32:00 +0000

After I took a bunch of photos of Roxie in her Lady Gaga Halloween costume, she* wanted to try to dress up like a couple of other celebrities**.

Marilyn Monroe:

Cher:

Any random female olympic figure skater (In my mind, I picture Ekaterina Gordeeva):

She needs an agent. Any takers?

*And by "she" wanted to try to dress up, I meant "I".

**Actually, the photo shoot came first. The google search for matching celebrity photos came much later.

Hey, That's No Lady!

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 11:45:00 +0000

Every year, I get a Halloween costume for Roxie.

Yes, she's a dog.

Yes, I know that this is bizarre behavior.

Do you know what else is bizarre? I get the costume ONLY for a photo shoot. She doesn't actually wear it for longer than about a ten-minute period. So maybe I'm bizarre, but not completely weird. (RIGHT?)

Anyway, in the past, Roxie has been a devil (that one lasted two years: the puppy years!), a hot dog, and a princess. This year? I had a stroke of genius. I put my dog in a costume that is not only unique, but timely. And way more hip than that stupid hot dog costume that all of the other bitches wear on Halloween. (Sorry, couldn't resist with that one)

First, let me get you warmed up.

Click "play":

You already know that I really like Lady Gaga very much. I think she's super talented, and although her fashion choices are, shall we say, uniquely her own, I really think she's got it going on. She is an artist in the true sense of the word. Just look away from the Kermit outfit, would you? That one was the worst.

The bubble outfit was pretty cool, and she even inspired Andy Samberg on SNL to dress in one.

She made a big--er--splash at the MTV Video Music Awards this year (these are only some of the looks she wore!)...

Unforgettable, right?

And now, without further ado, Roxie's Halloween costume 2009...

Lady Gaga!

She's either thinking, "Wow, what a great idea this was!" OR "Get me the hell out of this costume!"
I'm not sure which.

Demure

Aloof

Ready for her closeup...

So, yeah. Insane or not, I spent six bucks on the elements of this costume, for about fifteen minutes of fun while I took the photos. (The jury is still out on whether SHE had fun. I'm thinking not.)

And then, when the shoot was over, all she wanted to do was rip that sucker up, piece by piece.

Happy Halloween!

Here's a Trick That's Also a Treat.

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 05:20:00 +0000

Note: This post is part of Fatherhood Friday at Dad Blogs, where all the cool kids are hanging out. (Moms are welcome over there!) I *might* even have a column called "Teen Angst" there. Welcome to my visitors from DB; thanks for stopping in!

Remember, back in the day, when pulling innocent pranks in school (the ones that weren't meant to hurt anyone; just cause a bit of a distraction) meant putting a whoopie cushion under an unsuspecting victim, hiding their lunch, or slapping a "kick me" sign on their back?

Those days are over.

Today, one of the "big" pranks is called "nuggeting", which is basically just turning a backpack inside out and putting the stuff back in it. I asked my younger son to give a demo, so those of you who have no idea what this entails can now be informed (and possibly downright hip if you bring it up in a conversation with a high schooler).

Here's how to nugget a backpack (it's a little dark, sorry! He didn't want to give me a do-over.):

Everyone Knows I Like Lists...

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 23:44:00 +0000

It's been a busy day for me, and although I prepared and scheduled posts for tomorrow and Saturday (go me!), I did nothing for today.

Sort of.

I decided, since I didn't have time to *actually* write something of substance, I would refer you to others.

As in, I just finished my most recent update of my embarrassingly long blogroll. The amount of blogs I follow is staggering, even to me, as if I didn't know what I was doing when I added each one. The size of the list just tick-tick-ticked up there, like a rollercoaster on the first big climb before plummeting towards the ground at nearly the speed of light.

(but with my blogroll, there's no plummeting...or nausea.)

So do me a favor. Go check it out. I've got it set up so that a snippet of each blog shows up there so you can get an idea of who writes about what. Sort of. Follow some of the other people in the Scrawl community. Tell 'em Melisa with one S sent ya.

Can't find my cute little tiara-adorned blogroll button in the left column? Just click here.

And by the way, if you're not "following" me in the Google sense (see the cute little pictures of everybody up there in the top lefthand corner of THIS page?), why the heck not? Just asking.

Indy Flight

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 17:13:00 +0000

Let's say you've got a kid between the ages of 8 and 17. And let's say that the kid really wants to fly a plane.

Scratch that.

Let's say that you have a kid who may not know he wants to fly a plane, but if you were to offer him the chance to fly a plane, he would nearly jump out of his skin (from excitement) at the thought of doing it.

Let's say that you take him to the local airport where there happens to be a Young Eagles program, and let's go ahead and say that once he meets the volunteer pilot who is nice enough to spend his Saturday morning taking youngsters up in the air, he barely looks at you (let alone waves goodbye or even acknowledges that you are standing there) as he gets settled into the co-pilot's seat.

Let's say that when you see your youngest child taxi down the runway in a plane on which parts are shaking (and that's considered NORMAL), one that could practically fit into your garage at home, you might look like the epitome of calm on the outside, but the insides aren't feeling so mellow.

And then let's say that, after you spend 20 minutes wondering what part of the Chicago area your kid is looking at from a bird's point of view, he has a totally smooth landing and casually gets out of the plane like he's a daily commuter or something.

And finally, let's say that although all's well that ends well, your kid gets his certificate and suddenly, with his best buddy who came along for the experience, reenacts the scene from The Cosby Show (Season 3, Episode 7), in which Theo and Cockroach beg for flying lessons. Ugh.

But Wow! Cool! (Seriously)

What a great program! It's called "Young Eagles". It was launched in 1992 by the EAA (Experimental Aircraft Association) and its purpose is to get young folks up in a plane, simply put. (Go to their website to find out where the program is offered, closest to you.)

EAA members volunteer their time and their planes, and they educate their young charges about the parts of the plane and the flying process. (My son's friend was looking around, enjoying the scenery, when his pilot said, "You know you're flying the plane, right? EEK!) This program is totally FREE. Yep, you read that right.

The current chairperson of Young Eagles is none other than Harrison Ford. He has been flying for years (come on, that can't be surprising), and he took over the position from Gen. Chuck Yeager. Ford is also--get this--one of the volunteer pilots.

Imagine that for a moment. You're standing there in line, waiting with your kid to meet his volunteer pilot for the day, and then suddenly, music fills the air.

(Click here to open this wav file in another window. You know, to put you in the mood.)

"Hmm. He looks familiar. Dashing, handsome, rugged...and that awesome hat! Hey, wait a minute! It's Indiana Jones!"

I don't know about you, but I'd be fine with that scenario.

Say It Again, Stan!

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 05:09:00 +0000

Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting, and autumn a mosaic of them all. ~Stanley Horowitz

Would That Be By Telegram, or Pony Express?

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 12:59:00 +0000

I love my Redbook magazine subscription. The magazine is informative, fun to read, and extremely interesting. Every now and then, I find something blogworthy, like this, or this.

I got the new issue in the mail last week, and just had a chance to read it yesterday when I restricted myself to the couch because of this nasty chest cold I'm dealing with. Once again, the magazine didn't disappoint. The issue was great from cover to cover, but one particular article stood out.

The article, "The secrets behind great marriages" (by Nicole Torio) caught my eye because I do indeed have a great marriage and I'm always interested in reading what others think are the secrets to attaining what I've got. Lucky for you, there was something included in the paragraph about one of the secrets that made me laugh so hard, I'm about to share it with you, for free.

Secret number one? "Understand each other's needs". So true. If you don't understand what your partner needs at any given moment, it can cause resentment, frustration, irritation, unhappiness, and all kinds of other bad feelings. Communicating your needs (and listening to your spouse when he/she is communicating his/hers) is so important.

The author of the article consulted with Terri Orbuch, Ph.D. (a "relationship researcher"), and Orbuch made the giggle-inducing recommendation. In regards to communicating your needs to each other, "Be sure to check in with your partner once a year, as added pressures or life changes can create new expectations."

Wait a second.

Once a year???

Am I LIVING with my partner, or is he at the North Pole?

This "once a year" conversation: do I need to mark out a six-day time slot in my schedule, so we can get everything covered?

Is someone going to bring in our meals while we're having this conversation?

Since it's only once a year, should we dress up?

I'd like to propose an amendment to the article: why not check in with your partner more often, like daily? Flexibility is one of the most important elements in any kind of relationship. I'm thinking that if Jim had something he wanted to share with me regarding expectations, it'd be rude of me to say, "Um, sorry...ten months to go til I check in with you!"

Right?

Feeling It. And Not Feeling It.

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 21:02:00 +0000

In case you hadn't yet noticed, I can be a little bit quirky.

Though I am a card-carrying, Type A Control Freak when I want to be*, I have a few issues that are slightly more off-the-beaten-path, like my weird way of anthropomorphizing** cars. I'm not even talking about naming our cars. I don't do that.

Remember when that was all the rage though, in the 1970s? I think everyone's station wagon was named Bessie or Stella or Delores. Or something like that.

No, I don't name our vehicles. My weird issue comes into play when we're car shopping. I will not drive a "mean-looking" or "unhappy-looking" car. I like happy cars.

Please don't click outta here.

I get vibes from cars. Hey, it's not like I'm claiming to be a psychic or anything; I just don't want to drive a car which I perceive to have bad juju. I like a car that "says", when I look at it, "Hiya! Let's go!"

Of course I cannot find totally excellent examples online because I'm actively looking for them, but let me try to give you an idea.

"Mad" or "Unhappy" looking cars:

"Happy"-looking (or downright Smiling) cars:

I could totally go off on another tangent right now about how I describe some cars as having "too big a butt" and that the big joke in our family when I got my Pontiac G6 was that it's such a cute car AND it has a "cute butt that rises up to meet you" (and NO, I'm not the one who said it, but I totally agree with her), but really, you don't need to know that. Oops. Did I just write that out loud?

Anyway, after all of the ribbing I've gotten around here for years about my car issues, I've had the last laugh recently, thanks to American Express. (Full disclosure: NO, they didn't contact me to write about and promote them. They have no idea that I am totally using them to make myself seem more normal.)

Knowing what you now know about me and my happy/sad issues with non-humans, you can imagine how completely overjoyed I was when I saw this commercial.

Seems I'm not the only one giving inanimate objects some human characteristics!

Who's the weird one NOW?

Okay, still me.

*haha, get it? Of course that last part was a joke.

**Definition: "giving human traits to"

Do It For the Kids

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 19:28:00 +0000

Large groups of people are always interesting to me; I'm a people-watcher. Observing others and how they react with loved ones can be really fun. It can also be a little sad, and sometimes a little confusing. I had an experience today that was all of those things.

Each year, our classroom at religious school has a family program. The kids bring one or both parents (or in some cases, a grandparent) for a special craft project. The idea is to create something together, and to spend quality time together. I've been doing this project for years (and years) (and years), and I am not sure I've ever really taken the time to really pay much attention to the interactions within each family unit, until today.

Because large groups can be seen as microcosms of society sometimes, I would never expect for everyone to be the same, but while some families put a huge smile on my face, some of them left me wondering what was going on in some of the parents' heads.

Here are some scenes from today, good and not-so-good:

~I saw a mom and son who, after being asked to write the child's name on the craft project, wrote his name AND "Mom" on it. They actively worked on the craft together, discussing which colors should go where, and generally made it a true cooperative project. I loved watching them paint and talk, paint and talk, paint and talk. So cute.

~I saw that one of the kids was not interested in writing his name on his project (this control issue manifests in the classroom on other days too), and his exasperated mom didn't seem to be dealing with it very well. When I approached his table, his mom looked at me, shrugged, and said, "Tell him he HAS to write his name!" I explained to him in a matter-of-fact tone why he had to write his name (and, truthfully, if he hadn't written it, it wouldn't have been the end of the world, but part of the classroom experience is following directions, so...), all the while wondering why this mom couldn't make her son do something so simple.

~I saw a mom and daughter (who also wrote both names on the craft) working together and when I circled around later, I discovered that the daughter wrote "I love you" before the word "Mom". I exclaimed, "Oh, that's great! You're making memories right now, at Sunday School!"

~I saw a mom saying to her son, "I wouldn't paint it that way if I were you; why not do THIS?" and then she went over what he had done with her own brush. Whaaa?? Don't get me started.

~I saw a dad who was checking his Blackberry nearly the entire time his kid was working on the craft, alone. Disconnected to the nth degree.

~I saw two moms who chatted each other up more than they helped their kids with what they were supposed to be doing. Why bother being there?

After everyone completed their project, my co-teacher called parents and kids over to an empty area in the room, where he read a story while I cleaned up after everybody. Here are a few observations from that part of the day:

~I saw a mom cuddling her son on her lap during the story.

~I saw a mom sitting patiently while her daughter (who was indeed listening to the story at the same time) braided her hair for her. The little girl was running her hands through her mom's hair as she braided, and it was just so cute to watch.

~I saw parents who stayed back from the story area, still seated at the tables, while their kids were over on the floor listening to the story.

While I was overjoyed about the families who made the most of the day, I was sad about the others. I found myself wondering what it was like at home; if some of these parents couldn't sit and try to bond with their child over a one hour craft and storytime session, did they at least attempt to be together over other activities at home? Or was it the same no matter where they were? Do these kids wish their parents would have relaxed enough to enjoy the morning, or are they even aware of what they are missing?

Of course, on my behalf, this can all sound very judgmental. It was, after all, only one hour. It was just a snapshot, really. In the end, it doesn't matter what I think. I wouldn't want a parent to change how they do things for my sake.

The real judge in the end is going to be the child.

She Bop(ped It)

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 19:52:00 +0000

Jim and I took a couple of hours today to clean up the basement and our crawl space area a little bit. Though we had a mighty mess going on, it didn't take us as long as one would think to get it done, and I'm not saying AT ALL that it's probably because we didn't ask the boys to "help" us. At all. Not saying that. At all.

We have a small, finished basement and what ends up happening is this:

~The work area, which looks FABULOUS when it's clean, gradually gets piled up with papers, packing supplies, photographs, CDs, and all kinds of other crap, to the point of not being able to see any flat surface.

~The long, wooden filing cabinet? Ditto. Mountains of junk on top.

~The air hockey table? Ditto. See where I'm going here?

~The Bowflex? NO, NO, NO. Although we rarely use it, it is always clear. I know; the reasons why are a mystery to me as well.

~The crawlspace? Ugh. That's the catch-all for the stuff that isn't caught in the rest of the basement. All of the stuff in the back crawl space (you know, the stuff that hasn't been thrown in since our last cleanup) is neatly stored in plastic tubs.

Jim and I have been "wanting" to clean up for ages. Well, we've been wanting to do that as much as anybody really wants to clean up a basement. But today was the day. As we were pushing some containers around in the crawl space, something caught my eye in the bottom of one: our "Bop It" game.

Well, it's a good thing that we were almost done cleaning up the area, because when I found that thing, it was all over. For me, the "Bop It" is like a cardboard box is to a toddler: hours of fun.

"Mooooom!!! Aren't we gonna eat soon?"

"NO! I'm busy boppin' it!"

(No Cyndi Lauper's "She Bop" references necessary; that's not what I mean, though it's funny that we're all thinking about that right now.)

Anyway, I played for about 25 minutes, much to Roxie's enjoyment, and I remembered recently seeing two grown women just like me, Boppin It on the Ellen DeGeneres show. Fast forward to about 1:45 for the start of the game.

I'm happy: I have a clean basement and plenty of daylight left in which to Bop It.

Happy Saturday!

Luckily, I Didn't Have To Die Trying.

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 11:03:00 +0000

Last December, I bought my own domain. (That's such a geeky thing, isn't it?) I wanted a website that sort of rolled the information about my book, my various blogs, and all of my other "online presences" under one umbrella. I wanted something that looked professional, simple, clean.

I wanted to do it myself.

That's right: I wanted to create my own website. From scratch.

I'm pretty adept at working with html coding within my Blogger account right here, so why couldn't I learn more of it?

No reason.

Jim bought me one of those "HTML for Dummies" books, and I bought one with CSS stuff in it (hang on, non-geeks! hang on: don't leave!), and I proceeded to...

...read the books but only manage to get a background and one line of text ("Future Home of Melisa with one S!") up. That took me--well--ten months, give or take. And not literally. The actual act of putting the background and text up took a total of about 90 minutes. The rest of the ten months was spent on, er, life.

I just don't have the time, people. Sure, I DO want to learn it! I want to be an html DIVA. It fascinates me, how with just one misplaced ">", you can mess up what you're trying to accomplish. I know, I'm weird.

When I got my MacBook last month, I learned (I think, from Weather Kim) that I could make my own website in a couple of hours with the iWeb program that was already installed on the computer. Last night I opened that sucker up, and in two hours, I had a website.

I HAVE a website. And I love it!

Here's the front page:

Would you like to visit and check out the rest? It's at www.melisawithones.com. Click here.

Yay me!

Happily, Some Things Never Change.

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 00:11:00 +0000

It's been nearly a year since we had it in the house, and it was practically World War III. Well, sort of.

Jim stopped at the store on the way home tonight and picked some up, just for giggles...

...and we found out that some things never change. But it was funny.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about, get the full story here.

I Don't Think This Is What Casper Had In Mind...

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 15:00:00 +0000

My buddy Liz over at This Full House "ghosted" me yesterday, all on account of the fact that ~~she's horrified that I Skyped her the other day~~ we are totally BFFs. I had not heard of this "ghosting". Well, consider me educated, and now I'm passing on the knowledge.

Basically, it's a little meme in which you get to spread some bloggie love while simultaneously posting a disgusting picture on your blog until Halloween, so everyone knows that you already have one disgusting picture, and that you do NOT need another. Need more information?

The rules are easy:

(1) It's your turn to "ghost" three other bloggers -- perhaps, somewhere you haven't commented, in a while, or a blog you've NEVER commented on before and is new to our blogging community.

(2) Stop by their blogs and leave a comment on their latest post saying:

"You've Just Been Ghosted -- Come Over and Grab A Puking Pumpkin!"

(3) Copy and paste the puking pumpkin somewhere on your blog (either in a post or on your sidebar, perhaps) so that everyone can see that you have been "ghosted" and will NOT "ghost" you again. This will also let you know who you can "ghost."

Now, I have to say that although I was honored to be ghosted by Liz, I think that puking pumpkin picture is U-G-L-Y up there at the top left of my blog page. However, I am a good sport and in favor of spreading some goodness around the blogosphere by promoting a couple of bloggers and showing my support for a fun Halloween meme like this, so there you go. Team player, that's me.

The three bloggers I'm ghosting (and why)?

1. Nukedad at Nuclear Family Warhead: I just want to turn the screws on my good buddy a little more, to get him back into regularly blogging. We miss him and I'm hoping that if a bunch of you click through to his blog, he'll look at his site stats and think, "Well I'll be darned...they like me! They really like me!" Or something like that. Remember when Momo, Michael's Daddy, Weaselmomma, and I blunked Nukedad? No? Click here. Good times.

2. Gypsy Mama Manna: She's new to the blogging community, but I have a personal connection with her as well: she and I went to high school together (she graduated one year ahead of me, in Jim's class!). She's a total sweetheart, by the way. She and her family now live in an RV (by choice!) and her blog is a mish-mash of recipes, poetry, deep thoughts, and random stuff. Please go visit her, and if you like what you see, click "follow"!

3. Colleen at Wine Please: I met Colleen at BlogHer and she is so much fun. Colleen is originally from Chicago but now lives in the D.C. area with her husband and two boys. She is currently 9 weeks pregnant and so you KNOW that she needs some comment love. Go give it to her!

Click on the UGLY pumpkin picture at the top left in order to go to Liz's original post and grab the code to put it on your blog; must be a Blogger problem because it won't let me put the code here without it turning into the picture in the final post, and, well, that defeats the purpose, doesn't it? So go see Liz for the code!!!

And there you go! Come back tonight (or tomorrow morning) for more excitement, after I've had a chance to unwind from all of this ghosting. Happy early Halloween!

Clean AND Ancient. Big AND Rich. Mortified AND Humiliated.

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 11:17:00 +0000

My sister Julesie is a first-class photographer. Though her ability shines through with any format and any subject, my favorite pictures are the ones she's taken of children (and not just mine!). I think it's safe to say that my kids and the kids of her friends (to whom she is an honorary aunt!) are some of her favorite subjects.

Years ago, there was a period during which she did children's portraits as an actual business. One day, she had to drop off some proofs at the home of someone I knew through the health club (I worked in the nursery at the time), and the boys (who were about 3 and 6, I think, and knew her and her daughter as well) and I accompanied her on the visit.

This woman lived in what we in this area call a McMansion. It was gorgeous, outside and inside; whoever designed the interior--whether it was this woman or a professional--did a magazine-worthy job. Living in a very modest home in comparison (not to mention one that always looked well-lived-in and never had sparkly surfaces like hers), I felt slightly overwhelmed being there, and kept my kids close by because I was worried they would touch something that they weren't supposed to. Little did I know that the boys' hands wouldn't be the problem; the problem would turn out to be a mouth.

We all sat at the kitchen table as Julesie showed the woman the proofs from her daughter's photo session. As Julesie and I chatted with the woman, the older boy got up and wandered around the kitchen. After a few minutes, he walked up to the woman and said to her,

"Wow! Your house is clean AND ancient!*"

I wanted to shrink into the floor. I imagined that she was wondering just how dirty our house was, because this adorable little boy was apparently extremely excited over the cleanliness of her home.

I laughed nervously (and tried to send a mental message to my son to tell him to keep his mouth shut) and we all kept talking.

After getting up from the kitchen table, she gave us a tour of the house (her offer, not our request!). When we returned to the kitchen--which was apparently some sort of truth-telling chamber--the older boy walked up to her and said, "I know why your house is so big!"

"You do?" she asked, smiling as she gave him her full attention.

"Yes! It's because YOU'RE RICH!"

She kept the smile on her face (wouldn't YOU, if you were rich and had a clean, ancient, and big house?) and laughed a little bit, and then got back on topic with Julesie and I. We were figuring at that point it was time to get out before he asked her if she was in the market for adopting an adorably observant and honest six-year-old, so we said our goodbyes and headed to the car.

The happy ending to this story? I think I might've pulled out the dust cloths and vacuum when we got home.

*Let me explain the ancient part. The older boy has a history of using words in ways that are just off kilter from their actual meaning. The big joke in our house is on Jim, because I have always understood this kid perfectly and Jim is always left with his mouth hanging open and a big question mark on his forehead. What the kid meant by "ancient" that day was "impeccably decorated". But you wouldn't expect a six-year-old to say THAT, would you?

Starting Today, I'm Packin' a Mallet and a Gong.

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 10:53:00 +0000

First of all, let me say that I do realize that I'm totally dating myself (and many of you, thank goodness) in this post. But hang on, even you younguns, because the end is worth it.

When I was a kid, I watched a lot of tv. (Okay, to be fair, not much has changed.) In my house, we loved "The Gong Show", hosted by Chuck Barris. If you don't remember it, ~~you're a baby!~~ it was a quasi-game show on which people of questionable talent (Including the Popsicle Twins, who you can check out here in this NSFW clip) performed an act and tried to be good enough so that one of the three celebrity judges didn't hit a huge gong that hung behind them, putting an end to the act and destroying their chances of winning the $516.32 prize.

Hey, wait a minute. Does Chuck Barris realize that the creators of "America's Got Talent" and "Britain's Got Talent" totally stole his original idea from the 1970's?

Many people became household names back then, as a result of their association with the show. There was Chuck Barris, of course. There was Jaye P. Morgan, one of the judges, and there was Gene Gene the Dancin' Machine. I dare you to watch this without smiling. He was one of my favorites.

Another "character" who got lots of air time on the show was a guy known as The Unknown Comic. He was extremely cheesy, even back in the day.

He was on the show more than 150 times, according to his Wiki (which we all know is accurate!), and later appeared as a judge. I haven't seen him or heard of his whereabouts in years.

So you can imagine my surprise, when as I was setting up the Skype application on my laptop yesterday and decided to ring up Liz from This Full House. When we connected, I discovered that the Unknown Comic apparently lives in Joizey, with Liz and five others in a seven-room house*! Who'da thunk it?

*I hope he at least takes care of his own laundry.

Gone Gaga

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 11:25:00 +0000

I am a huge fan of Lady Gaga's music. As an artist, I think she's really something, and no matter how people criticize her sense of "style" or her "art", there's no denying her impact on the current pop music landscape. I have enjoyed each and every song that has appeared in heavy rotation (though "LoveGame" and its Disco Stick had to grow on me for a while before I finally loved it!).

Her latest song, "Paparazzi" is my all-time favorite. I saw her perform it at the MTV VMA's and, though her performance was pounded by some because it was so avant garde, I was transfixed. When I told Jim that this song is my favorite of hers so far, he said, "You're kidding, REALLY??"

I had a little chuckle yesterday when it came on the radio and I finally, after weeks of singing along, made the personal connection which provided the likely reason for it being my favorite. As you may know if you've been a long-time reader or if you watched last Friday's episode of "Suburban WoW" (now in reruns, HERE!), I "got" Jim by utilizing some rather untraditional methods*. Seems like Lady Gaga and I are of similar minds.

I'm your biggest fan I'll follow you until you love me,
Papa-paparazzi,
Baby there's no other superstar you know that i'll be your
Papa-paparazzi
Promise i'll be kind, but i won't stop until that boy is mine,
Baby you'll be famous chase you down until you love me,
Papa-paparazzi
(Song lyrics by Lady Gaga)

*Yes, I was a Stalker.

Sometimes the First Bite Is Also the Last.

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 20:46:00 +0000

Most parents have a strategy for getting their young children to eat foods that they don't want any part of. If we never pushed our kids to try new foods, they'd grow up on Gerber applesauce and pureed carrots, after all. Some parents make their kids eat one bite of the new food for every year of their age. Some parents make their kids try just one bite. Some parents make their kids clear their plates, and some parents avoid the issue entirely by making an alternate meal for their finicky kids.

I am fairly certain that, growing up, I just had to have a taste of the foreign foods on my plate. That in itself was a huge struggle, because I was always a picky eater. (I still am to an extent, but the variety of foods that I eat as an adult is HUGE compared to when I was a child.) I grew up with strong aversions to the smell of the following things cooking: liver, eggplant, and stuffed peppers.

I still do not eat the following things: liver, eggplant, and stuffed peppers.

When our older son was a younger guy, we were really doing our best to get him to try new things. This kid practically lived on things like Mac and Cheese and grilled cheese sandwiches. Wait, let me correct that. I am not saying that we made him those things at every meal; Jim and I were both on the same page (as usual) when it came to this issue. Starting when the kid was around three-ish, we did not cater to what he wanted his diet to consist of. Other parents were shocked: how could you not feed him something special...something he'll eat??? HE HAS TO EAT!!!

Well, it was easy. Our rule was, if you didn't eat what we prepared, you didn't eat. We knew that he certainly wasn't going to starve to death. If he was hungry, he'd eventually eat.

The problem? We had a stubborn and not-often hungry child.

Once, when he was three, I made burgers for dinner. Now, keep in mind that this is a kid who avoided meat AT ALL COSTS unless it was a McDonald's hamburger. In fact, he famously (in our family, anyway) told his grandpa--my dad--that his teeth were allergic to meat. And believe me, my parents loved that their picky daughter gave birth to a picky son.

So, the night on which I made burgers was destined for major fail, I can't lie. At the time we lived in Kenosha, Wisconsin, in a house whose dining room was open to the living room. This boy just did not want to eat the meat, period. Jim and I finished our dinner as the boy just sat there, staring at the meat. He wanted to get down from the table, but he had not even tried the burger. Finally exhausted from trying to get him to eat, Jim and I told him that if he ate one bite--just ONE bite--of the burger, he could be finished. Jim and I left the table and walked over to the couch and sat down to watch tv (keeping an eye on the boy as well).

After an eternity, he said, "Okay, I eat it." He put one bite in his mouth, and let it sit there.

And sit there.

And sit there.

And sit there.

FOR MORE THAN AN HOUR.

Oh sure, he gave a chew or two every now and then, but for the most part, he sat there with it in his cheek.

After more than an hour, the sight of him calmly sitting there at the table with a mouth-temperature piece of congealed hamburger between his teeth finally got to us.

"Fine," we told him. "Spit it out; you're done."

Boy: 1
Parents: 0

Two years later, we were sitting at the dinner table here in Illinois and trying to get him to finally try a piece of broccoli. He had finished everything else on his plate except that blasted broccoli. No logic or attempts to rationalize with him about why he should eat some of it had worked to this point, so we decided to play hardball.

"You HAVE to try it."

"But I don't wanna."

"You have to. EAT IT. Just one piece!"

"I don't wanna."

"Come on, just TRY IT. Just one! And we won't ask again!"

He gingerly picked up his fork, stabbed the piece of broccoli, and put it in his mouth.

And then, he gagged.

And then, he burped.

And then, everything he had eaten up to that point ended up back on his plate.

Boy: 2
Parents: -2500

We never forced him to try another food. (Begged? Yes. But never again forced.)

We got our first "consolation prize" about two years ago when his teenaged appetite started causing him to eat us out of house and home. He Doesn't. Stop. Eating. (and he's skinny as all get-out.) The way I see it, he's eating all of the food he never ate as a youngster. And then some. He's still a little picky on a couple of things (he doesn't eat broccoli, for example), but for the most part he has a huge variety in his diet and he's not afraid to try new things, like sushi.

Our other consolation prize will come, no doubt, in the distant future when he has a child of his own someday, a kid who chews hamburger meat for more than an hour and barfs up his dinner after trying one teeny tiny bite of broccoli.

I'm not in a hurry for that to happen, but boy-oh-boy, I hope I'm in the room to see it!

Dough-y Day

grapevine86@sbcglobal.net (Melisa with one S) — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 22:30:00 +0000

The word of the day is Dough.

You see, Chicagoland had a very special visitor this weekend: Heather from Singing With My Heart! I have come to know Heather pretty well over the past six months and she is a super-sweet and lovely person. We've tweeted, texted, e-mailed, and chatted many times; I was really excited back in the summer when she told me she'd be in my area this weekend. Of course we made plans to get together.

We've been counting the days on Twitter for many, err, days, and today finally arrived (as it tends to do!). As it turned out, Weaselmomma was free too, and so we made it a Three's Company kind of lunch.

First? Lou Malnati's, for some great Chicago deep dish pizza. (There's Dough #1!) Seriously, so good.

Then we walked that off for a while on the Riverwalk, and once we felt able to handle dessert, we went to one of my favorite places in the whole wide world, Cookie Dough Creations. There you can get egg-free (100% safe to eat) cookie dough. (There's Dough #2!)

And now I feel very dough-y. (Aaaand, there's Dough #3.) Blech.

But of course, it was totally worth it.