Moonlighting

I've been moonlighting.

Read here about what I think of being called Mommy.

And here's a blurb on the book that changed my life.

WRAL GoAskMom: I Get Around

While I might seem like a willy nilly blogger here at Dirt & Noise, I assure you I am no slacker. I've been writing at other places and have been too busy to even get the word out. It's ironic that I write about myself and am a marketer yet neglect to pimp myself effectively.

Don't hold it against me.

I'm contributing to WRAL's GoAskMom blog these days. Check out my post about eating out with kids here.

And if you want to read the weeks you missed, you can find them all here.

I Get Around.

Lest you think me a slacker, I figured I'd share some other tidbits I've been writing. While Dirt & Noise is my home in this web of a well, The Web, I do settle my boots to dry in other equally inviting spots. None, however, so out of OSHA filth and decibel level standards as this honky tonk.

From my Foodie Mama Outpost:
Check out one of my new favorite dishes that hails from my very own kitchen. Now beware, I don't really use precise measurements so don't curse me if you can't cook and muck this up with your own messed up teaspoons and metric conversions. If you just cook with your gut and trust your hunches, you'll serve up some splendid suppers.

Gnocchi. Butternut Squash. Mmmmmm.....


And those uber cool women at Silicon Valley Moms actually let lil ol' moi contribute to their regional blog, Deep South Moms. You'll see that I do an inordinate amount of bitching over there. It's all easier to swallow if I end each post with "Bless her heart."


Here's what I had to say about what I think is the worst part of parenting.

Blog Action Day: Climate Change

It's Blog Action Day. Almost 8000 bloggers are writing today about a cause that impacts all of us and quite literally, the world we live in.

I'm not going to get all scientific and political on you. I happen to think the environment isn't a political issue. I will, however, be brazen and tell you that I think you're a fool (which is nice speak for "idiot") if you think the planet is not in peril. And you are a parasite if you're doing nothing to protect it from the likes of well, you.

I know people who don't recycle. They claim they don't because the government can't make them do anything. So I'm guessing they don't wear seat belts or refrain from acting on delusional murderous thoughts too. Oh, and I bet they don't pay taxes since the government can't make them. Of course, Uncle Sam will track their asses down when money is concerned. So until there is a penalty, these people will not recycle simply as an act of defiance. I say it's doltish. A simple act of obtuse ignorance. Worse than that even, these people know that recycling is the right, responsible thing to do, yet they don't as their lame retaliation to "big government."

I also know people who think all this talk about global warming and climate change is a bunch of bunk. They believe it's all hooey and media hype. These folks figure the earth has been around for billions of years and isn't going anywhere. And apparently the earth is flat and mood rings really work. It must be easy to live in a shroud of callow fog.

What worries me is that these people are my peers, educated adults who have children and relish the many adventures to be had in the great outdoors. I always say "I hate nature." I say it under my breath and in jest, of course. What I mean is that I am terrified of snakes, creepy crawlies, critters and I detest dirt. I happen to love nature when experienced from a rocker on a porch with a Hendrick's & tonic in my hand. Yet I recycle and live as green a life as I can muster to do my part to save nature. These other folks of whom I speak actually sleep in nature and frolic on kayaks and skis and boats. Yet they don't value the earth and environment in which such frolicking ensues.

Ignorance can be rectified. But how to battle apathy?

I'm no scientist but I can tell you that based on everything I have read, seen, or otherwise consumed, climate change is real. This isn't a political issue; it's a human one.

Our parents and their parents before them, shared the desire to make their children's lives better than theirs. I think it's a common, if unwritten, theme of parenthood. Don't we want to make things better for the generation behind us? Is it not in fact our duty to leave the earth a better, cleaner, safer, saner place than we found it?

I know that I want my sons to know what amazing creatures roam our planet. Whether I actually want to see them up close and personal is another story. I want them to have access to the glorious riches of Mother Nature. I want them to frolic in the water and sands and mountains and meadows. Without a gas mask or chemical warfare suit. Think I'm freely tossing out hyperbole? Well, you're wrong. We have done irreparable harm to the planet, our Mother, our provider. Our folly and hubris will leave us eating crow. Except we'll find that that too is extinct.

On this day, October 14, 2009, Blog Action Day, I urge you to brush up on the real ways climate change affects us today and generations to come after us. I challenge you to find three ways you can live a greener, more sustainable life. I can certainly do more, but here's how I started:

• Join a CSA to eat organic, local produce (and let's not forget tasty!).
• Reuse grocery bags and be vigilant about bringing your own bags everywhere.
  
• Wash and reuse plastic food containers and zipper plastic bags.
• Pack lunches in reusable containers. Trust me, your kids will bring them home. Your husband might not.
  
• Switch to cloth napkins.
• Grow your own veggies (I, Queen of the Brown Thumbs - literally and figuratively, even had a bounty this year!)
• Be vigilant about recycling - no cardboard container should go in the trash.
• Don't use the garbage disposal.
• Keep pesticides off your lawn. Set a new paradigm for what a healthy lawn looks like.
  
• Use those funny shaped LED light bulbs.
• Keep the temp at 80 in the summer like I do (If nothing else, it discourages house guests.).
• Ditch the leaf blower and use a rake!
• Walk more, drive less.
• Carpool.
• Wash laundry only when you have a full load.
• Steer clear of any products that contain pesticides.
• Use chemical-free cleansers.
• Reuse wrapping, tissue paper, and gift bags.
  
• Buy local and seasonal; tomatoes in November taste like crap and aren't worth their carbon footprint!
• Use the library.
  
• Swap clothes and household items with friends.
  

In aggregate, every single little thing we do makes an enormous impact. It's not just a lousy cliche. Perspective, people. Just like your one vote, it matters. Look, it's not hard. It's not a crippling change for your family. It's easy to get the kids on board.

After all, this is for them.

Love Your Mother.

Type A Mom, Yup, That's Me

I've never really considered myself Type A. Sure, I'm anal, organized, ambitious, and driven. I thrive on structure and often fumble in the face of flexibility. However, I also lack motivation at times, hitting a writer's block plateau more often than not these days. I am not aggressive and I shy away from competition (unless it involves board games, don't mess with me when it comes to Taboo and Scattergories.). I do share the traits of impatience and need for control with the Type A folks out there but I don't characterize myself as excessively aggressive or obsessive.

Perhaps Mac Daddy would beg to differ.

When it comes to parenting, I surely don't consider myself Type A. In fact, most of the time I feel like Type F, as in Failure. We moms are hard on ourselves, feeling like we could always do more, better, faster, tastier, tidier. We rarely look upon our accomplishments and savor the little miracles of everyday. "Relish" in our book is nothing more than a condiment.

That stops today.

I'd like to pay homage to some of the amazing women I met at the Type A Mom Conference. Women who were my imaginary friends, as Mac Daddy says. Women who are real friends now. Women who I admire. Women who make me laugh, think, cringe, question, applaud, act, discover, cheer, revel, celebrate. If being a Type A Mom means being counted among the likes of the following utterly amazing women, then count me in (in no particular order):

Morningsidemom - My blog love affair and sister, separated at birth. Seriously, how have we gone 40 years (give, in my case, take, in hers) without knowing each other IRL?
Down to Earth Mama - A gloriously funny, self proclaimed geek. I am amazed at her writing and photography that captures spirit beautifully.
Pundit Mom - Really, need I say more? I was on her like beans on a stalk. Smart. Smart. Smart. I beam just to be able to say that she's my friend.
Deb on the Rocks - I stalked her from afar at BlogHer and was all over her awesomeness at Type A Mom. She's gonna have her own sitcom one day. I might be duking it out with MorningsideMom to see who's her biggest fan.
Modern Mami - Beat It is our theme song, and she's a rock star.
Egg Marketing - Susan thought I was a rap star. I hope I didn't disappoint. She sure didn't.
Cecilyk - A woman who proclaims she is more liberal than drag queens is alright by me.
Canape - Founder of Triangle Mamas and most impressive Wii Rock Band drummer. Real life musician who is every bit as cool as you'd imagine.
Abbyjess - Fellow Triangle Mama, Wii Rock Band vocalist extraordinaire. Her snark is hidden by her adorable awesomeness.
Upsideup - Always a joy to run into my friend. Kirtsy founder, designer, all around smart chick. Counting down to seeing her again next month at the Social Media Business Forum.
Sugar Jones & Angela England - I'm lumping these two brilliant women together because their graciousness taught me an invaluable lesson: Heart matters. Regardless of our political views and religious affiliations and histories, we can all get along in earnest. We share mutual respect for our outlooks, experiences, crafts, and talents.
TypeAMom - Oh, words escape me. My fellow foodie, francophile friend. I aspire to be half as awesome as she is. Kudos for planning and pulling off one helluva conference! I bow to her.
Mamikaze - Seriously, her name alone is worthy of our love, right? Kudos for making it a fantastic conference. A good time and a helping hand who can rock the hell out of an organic T-shirt made from recycled plastic bottles.
High Impact Mom - Always a joy. A kind soul who's always game for a good laugh and would never make a girl drink alone.
Vdog - I almost climbed into her lap at BlogHer because I was so excited to meet her. Now I am left speechless or ramble about nothingness when in her presence.
Writing Roads - I dream about being an ounce of the writer she is. Funny and liberal to boot. I think I love her.
Shash - She wins for coolest shoes. And you know how I am moved by a pair of awesome peep toes.
Mommy Niri - My fellow Indian blogger who doesn't write about techie stuff and isn't a geek! Words of wisdom flow from her ever-so-candid conversations.

I hung out with many other awesome bloggers at the Type A Mom Conference. We rocked out. We toasted one too many local brews. We indulged. We squealed. We cried. We snortled. We embraced. We cavorted.

We all found each other online, whether on Twitter or other such vehicle, have read each other's writing, commented on touching posts, offered condolences and congratulations, formed a friendship. What is astounding and refreshing is that the people I imagined to be cool turned out to be even more so. We shared a connection through our writing. A certain intimacy becomes apparent after you realize that peering into someone's soul through her words can truly move you. Such is the power and beauty and mystery of writing.

Our words connected us online and have brought us together in person.

Cheers to the Type A Moms out there. Mwah!

Wordless Wednesday: Breakfast Made By My Biggest Fan

Dirt & Noise Featured on My NC!

Click over to about 2:52 to see what Ginny (of 30 Threads and Ginny from the Blog fame) says about Dirt & Noise on this morning's My NC.

Now visualize me reaching behind the stretched out bra straps and folds of back fat to give myself a big ol' pat on the back.

Grin.

BlogHer 09 Requisite Recap

I am always amazed that people who didn't give birth to me or otherwise contribute to my mere existence, people who share my last name, people I pay, and people who know me up close and personally read my little blog. My readers are better than a live audience (mostly because I'm not affected by any rotten eggs or tomatoes aimed at my head and no one counts how many glasses of wine I polish off). I count my readers as friends and fans, affectionately known as frans.

I finally got to go to BlogHer in Chicago last weekend. I met many bloggers whom I have been stalking and adoring for ages now. We are not all just a bunch of words and mouse clicks in the blogosphere; we are people. We all have a story. In many cases, we have been reading each other's stories for a while. We exchanged knowing glances and shared personal jokes, even upon having just met. There were hugs and squeals and "Oh my Gods!" and high fives and fist bumps and ass taps. Or maybe that was just me feeling up the rocking Silicon Valley Moms in the photo booth.

I laughed with my new friends. With some I cried. We broke bread. We toasted. We got snap happy. We ate cake. We wore McDonald's paper bags on our heads. We tickled our funny bones with feather boas. We cut a rug.

In a word, meeting my blog crushes was...

exhilarating.

And I am cursing for not having a freaking camera. Note to self: buy a pocket doohickey to tote around.

I should have packed Depends because I about peed in my britches when I met Ree, Redneck Mommy, Vodka Mom, Backpacking Dad, Black Hockey Jesus, Jessica Knows, NYCity Mama, Maggie Dammit, Bossy, Stephanie, Neil, and so many more whose business cards are squirreled away in a box on my desk. I would have asked for autographs but I was too chicken just like the time I saw Melissa Gilbert in an antique dress shop in Sausalito when I was 12.

I don't give a rip about the swag, but the BlogHer parties were cool. I especially enjoyed the endless supply of cheesecubes, coffee, and sweet tooth aphrodesiacs. Oh, and the champagne cocktails at the Nikon soiree. I hear there were some swag hags ruining it for the rest of us, but seriously people, BlogHer was about the people, not the free shampoo, socks, and laundry detergent. All the sqeeing and peeing was worth it. My favorite bloggy friends live in different time zones than I do. I hate that I'll have to wait a year to see them again (Yes, Mac Daddy, I'll be going again next year.). I met amazing people, and that's not even including Carson Kressley (sarcasm people, saracasm).

Most people thought I'd be taller in person and even seemed a tish disappointed to see all 60 inches of me. Perhaps I need a disclaimer in my header stating "Beware, blogger's voice appears larger than her person." Someone I met at a Triangle Tweetup once told me he was disappointed to meet me in person because he thought I was more fascinating online. Um yeah. I was floored by that too. I didn't ask him to expound; I just ran to a corner and wept. In any case, I was delighted to meet everyone in person, live in Memorex. Blogher was a bloggy honeymoon for me.

And now Mac Daddy can stop calling all these twitterific folks my imaginary friends.

5:00 Fridays

Today's drink is one in spirit of the heart instead of top shelf spirits. I am at the Blogher conference toasting motherhood, food, writing, friendship, connections, laughter, and storytelling with new friends. I am meeting some blogosphere friends in real life for the first time (that's IRL for those in the Twitter and texting know), and it is truly exhilarating. We are a gaggle of quacks tripping over each other's words and laughing and poking fun and spewing sarcasm and jokes. Hugs all around.

Today I raise a toast to my new found drinking buddies. Grab your drink of choice and think about the friends and supporters and fans you'd like to catch up with.

Cheers!

Order and Chaos and a Little Girl Named Maddie

First, forgive me for my inarticulate yammer today. I am struggling with words, for they are all so inadequate to express the roaring going on in my heart. Read on and try to get past the rambling. This is clearly not my best work, but I had to get it out. I warn you that I say nothing profound or comforting or meaningful. But please, read on. Coaxing out words and coherent thoughts when your mind is empty and exploding at once is not an easy task. But here goes...

To go against nature and disrupt order results in chaos, no? To shirk the natural order of things is to play chicken with the universe, tempting the Fates. Order is fundamental to our existence, Chaos its unwelcome disruptive cousin. And so it is a mystery, a painful, heartless mystery, when a parent must bury a child. The natural order of things turned upside down.

And so it is for Heather and Mike Spohr, who lost 17-month old Maddie last week. Their baby girl.

I don't know the Spohrs but I know their story, and that is enough. More than enough. Our paths cross in the blogosphere and on Twitter. The funny thing about this sorority of so-called "mommy bloggers" is that we do indeed feel like we are friends. We share more intimate thoughts and tales online that we do in passing coversation with our friends in real life (IRL, as we say). We laugh at the zany antics of our children, boost each other up when we admit our shortcomings, applaud our families' milestones, and mobilize when someone is hurting. If you simply google "Maddie" or "Maddie Spohr" you'll see the amazing words and prayers and love that the blogging community has poured out. You'll see how these virtual friends from all across America rallied to walk for the March of Dimes in Maddie's name. You'll see how Heather's March of Dimes donations on her blog went from $3000 to $20,000 in a blink. We are kindred spirits.

And so I look at my sons with an even greater love. I hug them a little longer. I smother them with wet kisses. I find myself reaching out to simply touch their hand or whisk away a tendril of overgrown hair from their eyes. I get to do that. I get to touch them and hear their boisterous guffaws and giggles. I get to smell their warmth. I get feel their hands slide into mine, their eyelashes brush my cheek. I get to nuzzle them and kiss them good night. I won't take it for granted. This I promise myself.


Note:
Maddie's memorial service is at 2:30pm on Tuesday, April 14th, 2009. It will be held at the Old North Chapel at Forest Lawn Memorial Park, Hollywood Hills, CA. Everyone is asked to wear purple in honor of Maddie. Even if you can't make it to LA, wear purple in a show of support for the Spohrs and as a reminder of how precious our children are.

The Birth of a Writer: On Why I Blog

I've been blogging at Dirt & Noise a little over a year now. I started just to have an outlet to write and get thoughts out of my head and onto paper. Well, proverbial paper. I missed my gig at the local newspaper and figured a blog was the next best thing. Soon I learned that blogging was even better. My readers are my editors. And my fans, my cheerleaders, my challengers.

Then blogging became a part of me. An addiction if you will. It also transformed me.

I think it's safe to say that all the crazies having a dance party in my head were causing a fair bit of anxiety in my overall being. I often felt overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time; a strange paradox of an existence. I was full of energy and ideas. And admittedly full of piss and vinegar. I was a veritable rolodex of zany ideas and blasphemous thoughts. I was all dressed up for the dance, but there was no high school gym decorated for the big event. And so there I sat alone with my thoughts, billowing tulle falling at my ankles, patent leather slingbacks slung through my manicured fingers.

And so I created my own dance party.

I blog for the obvious reasons. It's fun. It's an exercise in writing. It's a storytelling wonderland. It's a walk down Memory Lane. It's a way to share out of the ordinary anecdotes with friends and family. But it's so much more.

Blogging is therapy, but a whole lot cheaper. And thankfully for Mac Daddy, it's also way cheaper than retail therapy. Blogging forces me to dig deeper than I would otherwise let myself go. I come face to face with some buried emotions and experiences. I reflect on my own brand DNA, my shortcomings of motherhood, my worries, my celebrations, my fears. Some things I've seen crop up in my head are still too painful or controversial to manifest into words. But thanks to blogging, they're there, off the so called back burner and poised for capture and introspection.

Blogging also makes me think. I see life's events great and small through a different lens now. Rather I see them through various lenses. I can leverage my words to share ideas, heartaches, causes, or simply reflections. I can even use my words for good. Through my writing I vent, rant, judge, wail, and whine. I also use my cyberspace real estate to inspire, promote, tease, and tickle.

I have always aspired to be a writer. When my hopes were dashed to get into medical school, I turned my dreams to writing. Then the real world whacked me upside the head and forced me to get a job. A paying job. After years of building a retirement nest egg from the tender age of 22, funding an obscenely expensive graduate school run, and starting a family, I have decided that now is the time. The time is now to put my writing goals in overdrive. So my blog provides me with fodder for that book deal I covet. I won't see my name embroidered on a lab coat but I just might see my name on a book jacket. A girl can dream, right?

And so, my blog gives me a voice.

Delurking Day: Lurk No More

Today in the place I call my second home, the Blogosphere, it is Delurking Day. What? Heavens no, you haven't heard of it?! Truth be told, I hadn't either til Goon Squad Sarah turned me on to it. She did not turn me on, mind you. Not in that way. Although she probably could. That Sarah is something else, I hear. Word gets around this lil Blogosphere. I'm not starting rumors but I'm just sayin'.

Back to today's point.

If you read this blog but never comment, go on. Do it. Get dirty. Make some noise. All the cool kids are doing it. If you've never left a comment on a blog before, free yourself today. Now's your chance. Embrace this global holiday in the spirit of blog peace. Cross the ole "leave comment on Ilina's blog" off your checklist of 2009 goals. Try it. You'll like it. I swear. One lousy little comment won't hurt you. Just this once, I promise. If it doesn't feel good you don't have to do it again. But I bet you're gonna like it. Do it. Just do it. If Nike can just do it, you sure as hell can!

You get the picture. All you lurkers out there, say your piece! Let your voice be heard! Even if it's just a wee whisper I'll really appreciate it. Really, I will.

Hugs and smooches to all who read, lurkers and otherwise!

Now go ahead and post a comment.

A Very Special Toast for 5:00 Fridays

This is what I had to say one year ago today. Go ahead and click. I'll give you a minute. Know why it's significant?

Because today is my first birthday. Insert fanfare here. No need for party hats and gifts. I take that back, gifts are welcome. I wear a size 6 shoe and am allergic to anything less than 22 karat gold and sterling silver. Don't send dark chocolate or anything with cherries and raisins. While we're having a little soiree, let's have cake too. My favorite is the coconut cake from the Hayes Barton Cafe. No need to splurge on a candle. I think the tradition of blowing spittle and cooties all over a perfectly good cake is disgusting and overrated anyway.

I started Dirt & Noise on a lark. My dear old witty friend Crouton Boy inspired me to start blogging. He's actually funny and writes exactly like he converses in person so when I read his blog I feel like he's right here. I figured if he can do it, so can I. Granted, he's more technically savvy than I am. All I want to do is write. I need a coding/html/techie mumbo jumbo assistant. Let me know if you're interested in the job. It's unpaid, but the bragging rights are cachet are fantastic.

So you see, a while ago I had a short term gig writing beauty product reviews for our local newspaper. I got tons of great feedback on my writing and storytelling (pat on back here, hold the applause). When my gig ended I found I still had a voracious appetite for writing. My fingers dance on the keyboard effortlessly, and writing is a wonderful escape (great therapy at times too). What I wrote in my business world wasn't cutting it. Snarky emails to friends, replete with celebrity gossip and baby stories, and x-rated text messages to Mac Daddy weren't cutting the mustard. I totally don't get that expression, but mustard is my second most favorite condiment. Little known fact so consider yourself in the know. Back to this pet project of mine...

Today marks my 263rd post and my first birthday. I am proud of this little online tome of mine and thankful to Mac Daddy for enduring many a night of my laptop being the third wheel.

So today, let's raise a glass to Dirt & Noise. No need to hold the applause any longer. Make some noise, friends!

On to our cocktail...

Now get yourself a crystal champagne glass. I'll be using the Tiffany glasses my big brother gave me for Christmas one year.

Now pop the cork on a sultry bottle of Veuve Clicquot. It's a lovely champagne that is special occasion-worthy without breaking the bank that is already crippled. Those French sure know a thing or two about the bubbly.

Cheers! Mwah!

Joe and Jill Went to the Hill

I shunned Girl Scouts, cheerleading, my all girls boarding school, the field hockey and lacrosse teams, and the Delta-somethings to whom I wrote a fat check every semester. I was more than a foot dragger when it came to all that stuff. I was never a girl who wanted to hang with the other girls. At least not in an organized fashion. I couldn't deal with the pettiness, popularity contests, and primping. The insecurity (mine and theirs) was too much to bear. Add hormones to the mix, and it's a veritable beaker of hydrocloric acid about to erupt. It seemed that there was a lot of gabbing and not much doing. I was just not one of those girls.

It was not until well into my adulthood that I saw my fellow X-chromosomes in a different light. I have found that without us, nothing gets done. And we can gab and do at the same time. That old tired adage about behind every man is a great woman is a gross understatement. Behind every man is an even greater, more organized, more disciplined, more aware, multitasker of a woman.

Here's food for thought: By electing Barack Obama to the White House, our country gets a 4-fer. Way better than a bogo ("buy one get one," as we marketing folks say). Along with Barack, we get Joe, Michelle, and Jill.

Jill, you say?

Jill, say I.

Dr. Jill Biden.

I had the priviledge of talking with Dr. Biden on a conference call with some other bloggers last week. She was articulate, candid, impassioned, and earnest. This is a learned woman with 2 masters degrees (English and Education) and a doctorate in Educational Leadership. She has devoted her life to children and learning. She raised three kids and somehow managed to earn all those degrees. But she's not a bookish dorky type. Oh no. She's confident, clever, and laughs easily without being folksy. She made no disparaging remarks about the McCain ticket; Jill Biden does not need to resort to snarky banter.

Dr. Biden has taught emotionally troubled kids and currently teaches at Delaware Community and Technical College. She is passionate about literacy, instilling confidence in our youth through their studies, helping students find their voice, and bringing books to low income children and families through the Book Buddies program. She is also dedicated to breast cancer awareness, serving as the president of the Biden Breast Health Initiative, a non-profit that provides free educational breast health programs free of charge to schools in Delaware.

Aside from her impressive resume, she responded to our questions (that we asked off the cuff, not prepared and presented ahead of time) with straight answers and candor. It is clear that this amazing woman is fired up. She is no shrinking violet cowering behind her powerful husband. While Joe is on the campaign trail, Jill continues to teach four days a week. That demonstrates an unwielding commitment to her students.

I could wax on but I think you get my drift. Obama will be backed by some pretty damn smart minds. Sure, Michelle and Jill won't be sitting in on cabinet meetings or hanging out on the Hill while bills are being written and argued. But they also won't be strolling the boutiques of Georgetown whiling away the hours while their menfolk do the real work. Nuh uh. Not these women who are forces to be reckoned with on their own. And they shop at Target and off the rack anyway!

I don't spend much time at Mac Daddy's office but I do listen to him vent and offer solutions sometimes. I do some proofreading and editing (of nothing confidential, mind you). And he does the same for me. I did have to quickly squash his help on brainstorming for a client once when he came up with some cockamamie idea for a lawyer retreat: an underwear and lingerie show called Legal Briefs. Yeah, other that than Mac Daddy is actually a second set of eyes and brain power that I lean on. You get my drift.

I tell you, I would cast my vote for any combination of Obamas and Bidens. Impressive credentials and a passion for justice abounds in this foursome.

Dr. Jill Biden is not the distant, wallflower the handlers keep out of the limelight. She simply has more important things to tend to. Her family and students.

PS
Note that I did not mention Sarah Palin one time in this post.

PPS
Note that I also did not compare Michelle Obama to the First Dude, Todd Palin.

PROMPTuesday

San Diego Momma has a new prompt today. I finally have a free 10 minutes to participate. To recap her ever so stringent rules: Each writer has 10 minutes and no more than 250 words to plot something with her prompt. Today's prompt is the following scene set up:

“You are in a corn field, with your dog, when all of a sudden, a plastic…”

So there I was, in the corn field that looked more like a maze of dead maize than the luscious farmers' fields off highway 29 I remembered from back home. I was enjoying a bit of peace after study hall and inhaling some fresh country air that didn't reek of the foul stench of horse manure for a change. Living in a 100 year old house converted to a dorm with 35 other girls was a drag. Too much squealing, giggling, cat fighting. Whose idea was it to send me to that all girls boarding school anyway?

The headmaster's dog, Archie, had jumped the fence again and was at my side for a bit of company until Mr. Maddox started howling for him. I reached down to nuzzle Archie's floppy ears when out of nowhere, a plastic pipe tip flicked Archie square on the nose. He yelped, and I leapt.

Then came the tell-tale giggles. Swisher Sweets to end the day, apparently. The senior girls had been frolicking with their favorite friend "Mary Jane" and had indulged in some dime store cigars from their day pass into town earlier. As I was inhaling the shit-free air, they were inhaling too.

My Life in 6 Words

Mommy Pie has tagged me. That might explain the four pieces of pie consumed by my family last night (strawberry, lemon meringue, coconut cream, and coconut custard in case you were wondering). And yeah, I had a taste or two or five of each.

So in this little meme I'm supposed to define my life in six words. I'm a chatty one so keeping this to six words is a doozie of a challenge. Here goes:

1) MILF (surely acronyms count)
2) anal
3) tired
4) Obamaholic
5) writer
6) chef

Now here's my tag:
Cubicle Monkey
High Heels and Highchairs
A Crafty Mom
Apathy Lounge
Slacker Moms

A Specific Task

OK, so I'm a day late with my Prompt Tuesday from San Diego Momma. I'm in a bit of a tizzy this week. This week's task is to get specific. To make the details scream. Here's my stab at it. Forgive my tardiness and enjoy.

Perched in a specially cut out oval nook within the toffee and milk hued tile, was a perfect memento from Paris. An oversize version of the intoxicating hotel soap. The one that took hours to scavenge and uncover from a tucked away parfumerie in the Latin Quarter that a local led me to. Alas, I gleefully unwrapped the luxurious paper with the romantic French prose and watermarked lilies. Even the text on a simple bar of soap is somehow more decadent when written en Francais. The sagey olive color and the simple scent of lily of the valley were pure and poetic. A subtle fragrance brought with it a tidal wave of memories.

The bar too big to grasp in my petite hands. The memories too big to recount while the six body jets were massaging my worn muscles. I inhaled deeply, closed my eyes ever so slightly, preparing to sense the slow motion movie playback of our brief but sweltering love affair in Paris. All those years ago. The details fading yet I could still make out the three lines in his forehead and the one dimple on his left cheek. I reached out to trace my fingertips along the lines as if he were in front of me at this very moment. The steamy shower made it difficult to breathe. Or perhaps the memory alone left me gasping.

Head thrown back, waterproof mascara bearing false advertising, the scent of lilies filling my lungs. Then I opened my eyes and the moment shattered like a compact crushed under the weight of an over stuffed day planner. That one lousy pubic hair on the lovely soap killed the moment. Done. Lights out. Paris over in a flash. The soap, my last memento, tarnished.

I feel just like Sally Field.

Can you tell I am blushing? How about my beaming? Is it contagious?

You see, I just got my first bloggy award thingee! Look up there. See that glimmering gem of an award? It's for me! Little ol' me. There I go blushing again.

Caroline at Morningside Mom awarded me with the coveted virtual trophy. Take that, Mac Daddy! Now I have a trophy for something other than band. Supposedly there's a way to display the award on my blog, but I don't know how to do that. Anyone, anyone? Hey, all I do is write, man.

The share the love thing stemmed from a great post by Kristen at Motherhood Uncensored. In essence, she's encouraging us all to take the time to check out other bloggers who pour themselves into their posts and enlighten, entertain, educate, and entrance us. Every little bit helps as folks like me try to take their blogs to higher havens.

So back to Caroline. I don't recall how we found each other, but we're bosom buddies now. Honestly, I would embrace her and stay gabbing over oodles and oodles of wine until the restaurant closed if I ever meet her. She is the mom of 2 boys and has lived most of her life in Africa. Caroline is a wonderful story teller and has such a lively voice to her writing. We're gonna raise some bloggy love ruckus at BlogHer next year because we are saving up our AdSense pennies to go!

So in turn I'd like to nominate seven blogs for the same prestigious award. The rules:

Put the logo on your blog (Then tell me how you did it.).
Add a link to the person who awarded you.
Nominate at least seven other blogs (see below).
Add links to those blogs on your blog (done in the nominations).
Leave a message for your nominee on his or her blog.

The Art of Over Thinking. Damn, she's a funny one. She can fire out a great story about prostitutes or plumber butt. You'll enjoy her sense of humor and wit. Trust me here. Not one to me missed. She even offered me a $100 airline voucher to help fund my way to BlogHer this year. Can you believe it?! We've never even met. Now that's what you call Minnesota Nice in the truest sense.

Chris. You gotta check him out at Wat da Wat? He's a father of five, teacher, and amazing soul. Chris is raising money and pouring his blood, sweat, and tears into building a school in his native Philippines. His posts are often poignant and sometimes simply wacky. Plus, he's a good Wisconsin grad who agrees that the best place on the planet to have a beer is at the Union.

Emancipation of a Drama Queen. The movie quote on her homepage sums it up: "You're the worst kind. You're high maintenance but think you're low maintenance." She is sarcastic in a funny, self deprecating way and has a way to make the mundane fun.

San Diego Momma is another one of those women who will close down the restaurant with me. She is an inventive writer, hot momma, midwestern girl at heart, and a totally fun read. With a gajillion blogs out there with some serious crap disguised as real writing, I assure you, this chica knows how to write.

My Life as a Hotfessional first caught my eye for the title alone. Ree's posts are random, quirky, fun. Even before the Blog the Recession, Ree's been handing out blog love in her monthly posts dedicated to her new commenters.

Mommy Pie is no stranger to blog awards, but I just couldn't resist. Despite her life in the tundra, we share a lot of randomness in common. Plus, she's saving up for a fat dowry for her daughter to marry Deal. Mommy Pie is Hi-Larious. She has a way with words and um, pictures.

Cheeky's Hideaway gets the distinction of being the first blog I ever read. Mainly because my dear friend Tony writes it. He is a dad, music fiend, movie buff, gamer geek, and overall funny dude. Tony and I go way back, and so far he's refrained from blogging about anything that would be keep me from running for office. Every time I read his posts I can hear him talking. His writing voice is well, his voice. You'll dig it.

Whew! There you go folks. Now go waste some more time on The Man's dollar.

Bra Makers Take Note

My new bloggy friend San Diego Momma inspires me every Tuesday. 10 minutes. 250 words or fewer. One letter of complaint.

Dear Bra Manufacturers,

Must these contraptions be so f-ing uncomfortable? Seriously, wires that dig into my belly shelf, bands that squash my squishy parts, straps that slip off when the wind blows, and cups that crinkle in the wash do not a decent bra make. And don't get me started on the sizing. I worked at Victoria's Secret one summer after college. I know what shenanigans you people are up to.

A bra's intent is to support and shape breasts. Breasts of all women, regardless of age, size, or state of motherhood. Why is it that the only bras that seem to fit are the cute little microfiber ones made for the AAs out there? I'm a solid B, and nothing fits. Nothing. I've been to the German matriarch of the lingerie department to be professionaly felt up (er, fitted) at Nordstrom. I half expected her to whip me with the seamstress tape hanging around her neck. She steered me to the Wacoal section. You know, the $60 bras. Was that Boob Frau on commission?

I'm just asking for a bra that is actually as comfortable as my microfiber Calvin Klein seamless undies. Must looks, comfort, and functionality be mutually exclusive? Let's consider technology today for a moment. We can collect dirt samples from Mars and help a man give birth to a baby girl.

Why are we so rotten to our breasts? Surely we owe them more than you offer.

Uncomfortably yours,

Momma Dirt & Noise






If you want to read a real letter of complaint I wrote a while ago, take a look here. Warning: it's long.

September 29, 2006

Gerard J. Arpey
American Airlines
333 Amon Carter Boulevard
Fort Worth, TX 76155

Re: Customer Feedback

Dear Mr. Arpey,

Is American Airlines so successful that the company is ready to bid farewell to an entire segment of customers? Does the customer matter at all? If you’re trying to discourage families with children from flying on American Airlines, you’ve accomplished your goal. Just note that you might want to rethink your “Customer Service Plan.”

Customer Service Plan
American Airlines and American Eagle are in business to provide safe, dependable, and friendly air transportation to our customers, along with numerous related services. We are dedicated to making every flight you take with us something special. Your safety, comfort, and convenience are our most important concerns.

I was flying with my two sons, ages 3 and 15 months, from Chicago’s O’Hare to Raleigh/Durham on Tuesday, September 19 at 12:35 PM. Since my husband had to stay on in Chicago for business, we chose a direct flight for the sake of everyone’s sanity and comfort. It was our first time flying as a threesome, though we have traveled across the country extensively as a family. My boys are already seasoned travelers and like many children, they are fascinated with planes and pilots. They were excited, not wary, of the trip. I, on the other hand, was wary. I prayed for timeliness, good behavior, cooperation, and the kindness of strangers.

As an über-prepared mom, I packed all the essentials and tricks to keep the boys safe, fed, clean, and occupied. Now imagine this, I am a five foot tall, 100 pound woman carting a lot of gear for the flight – stroller, backpack that was stretched to the max, and a child’s backpack full of toys and books, not to mention two small kids in tow. The boys were both well dressed and well behaved – model citizens to make a mom proud.

We normally fly on Delta, where the service and help have been impeccable. Someone is there to help us get situated, fold the stroller, chat with the kids, and even hold the baby if necessary. Even from my days as a frequent business traveler, Delta was my carrier of choice. Call me spoiled, but I had grown accustomed to such stellar customer care. And yes, I choose my words wisely; I mean care.

My experience on American Airlines was quite the opposite. There was no chitchat with the kids or offers of help. Sure, not everyone likes children, I didn’t either until I had my own, but I expected some grain of care and assistance when a mother is traveling alone with two small boys who are helpless on their own. And keep in mind that my children were cooperative and well behaved.

Here’s how my American Airlines experience played out:

1) I managed to get through security with two children in tow who, like I, had to take off their shoes and be cajoled through the metal detector. As you can imagine, it was chaotic trying to get everyone’s shoes back on, setting up the stroller, repacking the laptop and bag that were opened up for screening, and reloading everything. The security personnel was incredibly patient, helpful, and friendly. They helped me set up the stroller and engaged the boys in laughter while I got things settled. Since security was my first stop on this journey, it was encouraging to get through with so much help. I commend O’Hare’s security team for being both thorough and friendly.

2) When the flight was boarding, my three year old said he had to go to the bathroom. Zone 3 was boarding, but we were in Zone 5. I asked the gate agent if we could board early so I could take my son to the bathroom on board the plane. Her curt answer was “You have 15 minutes before the gate closes.” Not quite understanding her point, I asked again if we could board. Keep in mind, time is of the essence when a recently potty trained three-year-old says he has to pee! The gate agent again, more curtly this time, said, “I told you. You have 15 minutes.” I was dumbfounded! This lady was not going to let me board early with two small children, one of whom had to use the bathroom! Luckily we rushed to the bathroom and made the flight in time. Even strangers were gasping at the gate agent’s reaction.

3) Once on board, I was offered no assistance getting my kids situated and buckled in. Note that the flight was not full, and I was the only one traveling with children. And by the way, I purchased three seats for our family to allow the most comfort for fellow passengers and us. For the wellbeing of my children and all passengers on board, I planned to travel during my baby’s nap time. He was sleeping soundly over my shoulder just before take off. I was holding him securely with both arms wrapped tightly around his back and waist. Note that a rear-facing infant is the safest position for car travel so I figured the same must hold true on a flight.

The flight attendant woke up my child and made me turn him around for take off. Needless to say, he was cranky (who wouldn’t be if you were suddenly jarred from a much need slumber?!) and could not get back to sleep. This left me with a cranky baby on my hands, and the plane got an earful of whimpering for two hours. Of course I want to honor safety first. I take no issue with doing whatever the rules dictate to follow safety guidelines. If indeed facing forward is the safest, I should have been the one to awake my son and try to reposition him. Instead, he was startled awake by a complete stranger in his face.

4) When the flight attendants brought out refreshments, I asked for a small bottle of water for the three of us to share. She gesticulated pointing to the whole plane and rudely said, “I only have a large bottle of water for the whole plane.” Every other flight I have taken provides small individual bottles of water so I didn’t think I was asking for anything special. Then I asked for one small cup with no ice. Then the flight attendant accusingly asked, “So you didn’t bring your own cups?” What ?! I did bring cups of milk for my children but was unable to load up on anything but essentials for this trip. Like I said, I’ve always had small bottles of water on every other flight. So, in the end we got one cup of water with ice.

The cart was gone before I could ask for a cup with no ice as I originally requested. Now imagine balancing this ice and water filled cup with a squirmy baby on my lap. I was trying to give my children a drink without spilling. Most importantly, I was trying to keep my laptop dry, which is the one thing that kept my three-year-old entertained, quiet, and well behaved for the duration of the flight.

5) After we deplaned, I was waiting for our stroller. And by the way, my three-year-old thanked the flight attendants and pilots without being prompted by me – another model citizen moment to make a mom proud. We were still waiting when the last people left the plane. The flight attendant asked me why I was just standing on the jet way so I explained we were waiting for the stroller. She shrugged and did nothing. The guy who brought out the jet way ended up going downstairs to get my stroller. He opened it up for me and apologized profusely.

Not one flight attendant or crew member was helpful from the gate at O’Hare to the jet way at RDU. In fact, I sensed hostility towards us from the beginning. My children were well behaved except for some fussiness from the baby. There were no meltdowns, screaming fits, whining, or uncontrollable crying. There was admittedly non-stop chatter from my three-year-old until we could turn on a DVD, but that is to be understood by anyone who has experienced the curiosity and wonder of a child. Fellow passengers were courteous, understanding, and even helpful. The kindness of strangers was underscored, while the rudeness of paid professionals was disappointing.

Is this the brand experience your big marketing dollars support? Are utterly poor service and rude behavior the hallmarks of American’s brand promise? Do you see no equity in your brand after all these years? Is it really just about dollars and cents; are people (customers!) out of the equation? So much for lifetime customer value (remember, my children are already frequent flyers, and their mom is a marketer).

I won’t choose or recommend American Airlines again, even if that means I forego a cheaper fare. The bulk of customer compromises just aren’t worth it. I’m going to stick with Delta, who never fails to deliver at every customer touch point. And believe me, everyone I know will hear an earful about this travel experience. Hopefully you can make amends to welcome other families traveling. “Something special in the air” takes on a whole new meaning now.


Regards,
Ilina
Mother, Seasoned Traveler, Influencer, Marketer


PS
I’ve sent this letter to Delta too so they know they’re doing something right.



cc:
Isabella D. Goren
Daniel P. Garton
Ralph L. Richardi


Jerry Grinstein
Lee Mackenczak

The Outcome:
American Airlines sent a form letter (postcard, actually). Several months later I got a $100 voucher with no letter or instructions for use. Turns out I had to redeem the damn certificate at the airport. A customer compromise even when it's an apology (lame as it was)!

Delta's president Fed Exed a handwritten note and two remote control airplanes and T-shirts to Bird and Deal. I love that the shirts were printed in retro airplane graphics instead of Delta branded merchandise. Still have those planes in the toy box. Still love Delta.

A Time Saving Tip

We are all busier than a hive of predatory queen bees bucking for, well, Queen Bee, these days. With all the Facebooking, Twittering, Stumbling Upon, Kirtsying, and blogging we do, there are simply no seconds to spare or waste time on the inane. That is precisely why I don't watch Regis & Kelly or bother to shave when it's not date night. In light of our buzzing lives and all that beckons, I'd like to share a time saving tip.

Do not read this book.
Put it back on the shelf. Dig up the receipt and return it for The Other Boleyn Girl. Hell, read Elle Decor instead. Reading a whole box of fortune cookies would be more interesting (especially if you add "in bed" to the end of each fortune).

I have read some crappy stuff in my day, but this one takes the reine de saba cake.

I was so excited to get my hands on this book and finally have a free spot between book club books to read it. I didn't get past page 51. And let me tell you, I never ever leave a book dangling in mid air before I've finished it. Life is too short to read shitty literature.

I love to cook. I love to read. I love to write. All the necessary ingredients to make Julie & Julia a time honored favorite of mine, right? I envisioned reaching for its tattered pages over and over again through the years. Nah. Not gonna happen. The writing is unimpressive, and I am surprised some editor or agent didn't get fired over its publishing. The author's voice is unauthentic, and the attempt at comedic banter is uncomfortable and unnatural. But mostly what irked me is that I've been duped.

Here I thought I was going to dig into a verbal feast a la Like Water for Chocolate. Not even close to being Like Water for Chick Lit. Food played a tertiary role in the book, not capturing the lime light as I had anticipated (and naturally expected based on the title and premise). The author spent more time complaining or waxing about random adolescent memories that were not salient to the premise. I feel like she secured a book deal, spent the advance, and went to town writing a free flow piece all in one sitting, deadline ticking feverishly away. I bet she even turned it in bleary-eyed with cramped fingers and carpal tunnel about to blast through her wrists. This book is not an example of stellar writing, folks.

If Julie Powell can land a book deal and have a mastermind PR team behind her, surely Dirt & Noise can. In the mean time, I'll devote my time to not wasting yours.