Suburban Turmoil

PTOMG

2009-11-23T07:17:00.001-06:00

I have always dreamed of becoming a PTO mom.

I mean, technically I've been a PTO member at my stepdaughters' schools for years... but having two small children pretty much limited my participation to sending in food for bake sales and team dinners. As disappointing as it was to miss out on all that PTO-cialization, I waited patiently, knowing the day would come when my daughter would start kindergarten and I could mingle with the PTO parenting elite to my heart's content.

And I had my strategy all plotted out. I'd start slowly at first, attending the monthly PTO meetings dressed to kill in immaculate sweater sets with my makeup artfully applied and every hair in place. At first, the veteran PTO moms would be suspicious. In time, though, I'd win them all over with my clever fundraising ideas and motivational speeches, not to mention the bi-monthly PTO-tini nights I'd hold at my home. Within the year, I'd unanimously be elected president.

Soon after, of course, my popularity would soar to such dizzying heights that the school would commission a portrait of me to hang in its lobby. My adoring PTO mom friends would secretly arrange for me to appear on Oprah, where I'd inspire the other PTO moms of America with my passion and style. And I'd start a line of perfumes of course. Eau de 'O. Obviously, the PTO was all that stood between me and pure, unadulterated bliss.

And so, when the first day of school started, I joined the PTO with great excitement. For days, I sat by the phone, anxiously awaiting my welcome call and further instructions. I scoured my e-mails for information about the first meeting. I checked my mailbox five times a day for PTO mailers. I tore through Punky's folder each afternoon for PTO announcements.

Nothing!

A month passed, and then another. I was busy volunteering in my daughter's classroom, so my PTO dreams went on the backburner as I struggled to pwn the lamination and die-cut machines. Finally, though, I received a note in my daughter's school folder, asking for volunteers for the PTO's upcoming fundraiser. It was my time to shine at last, and I was more than ready to show those dames what they'd been missing. With trembling hands, I checked off the necessary boxes on the form and sent it back in. And then I waited for a response.

And waited.

And waited.

And heard...

Nothing!

Finally, weeks later, I received a mass e-mail from a PTO member, who desperately needed help with the upcoming fundraiser. At last! An in!

I e-mailed her back, offering my help.

And.

I got no response.

Again.

"I don't understand," I said to a mom friend I ran into at lunch a few days ago. "I joined the PTO. I tried to volunteer, more than once. But they won't respond to anything I send them. I can't even figure out when they're holding the meetings."

"Oh, you're not the only one," she said. "I've had kids here for three years and I've yet to hear about a single meeting. They just want your money."

I thought back to the times I had seen the PTO moms at school, shrieking and hugging and looking very busy. Did they really just want my money? But I had so much more to offer, starting with my amazing pumpkin bread! Surely there was a way I could change their minds about me, but how? I thought hard. Capri jeans and an ironed t-shirt? Trade my SUV in for a minivan? There had to be a way.

But try as I might, I simply could not to crack the PTO code.

Hubs and I attended the big school fundraiser a few weeks ago and I have to admit I was a little mopey, watching all the PTO moms bustle around in their matching t-shirts. That could have been me, I thought morosely. That should have been me.

At the end of the event, one of the moms got on the PA system. "We've bought lunch for all of the parents who volunteered today," she announced. "It's not for the parents who just came and watched, though," she said, looking around warily. "It's only for the volunteers."

"What about the parents who tried to volunteer?" I muttered. Hubs laughed.

Perhaps they're hoping that if they can stall long enough, I'll eventually give up and go quietly off into the car rider pick-up line. Well, I've got news for them. That ain't gonna happen. I joined the PTO, dammit, and I'm gonna get my five dollars worth if it kills me. Besides, I've got a secret weapon...

Box tops.

That's right. They want 'em. I've got 'em. Loads and loads of box tops.

You want my box tops, girls? You're going to have to give me one thing in return. I need a PTO meeting date and I. Need. It. Now.

Once that happens, I'll be more than happy to hand over the goods. Look for me in the cafetorium. I'll be the one in the sweater set.

Butt In or Butt Out?

2009-11-20T11:09:00.003-06:00

Teens and privacy.

It's one of those things we parents don't really like to talk about- Either we're judged as clueless and having our heads stuck in the sand for giving our teenagers their privacy... or we're nosy and shattering our teenagers' trust for poking through their texts, online activity and jeans pockets.

I share my thoughts on the matter in this week's newspaper edition of Suburban Turmoil and I'm betting a number of you will disagree with me. Katie Granju weighs in too with what I thought was a very interesting perspective, after looking back on raising her eldest, who is now 18. I'd love to hear how you plan to handle your children's privacy when they're teenagers- It's a great topic for discussion. Comment here if you'd like, but remember, if you comment over at the Nashville Scene and leave your URL, I'll stop by and visit your blog.

Pray for Anissa

2009-11-18T19:06:00.000-06:00

I'm guessing my friend Anissa Mayhew started her day on Tuesday like many of us. She probably got her three kids off to school, worked on some things, Twittered, packed for her upcoming cruise... and then had a massive stroke.

I'm still trying to wrap my brain around it. Anissa and her family have weighed heavily on my mind ever since I read the news from her husband Tuesday night.

"I can't even believe this," I told my husband. "Of all people. Anissa is just really, really wonderful. And I know people always say that about someone when something bad happens to them, but I really mean it."

"I know exactly what you mean," Hubs said.

Each time I've met Anissa, she's made me feel like I'm one of her best friends- like I'm the most special person in the room. You know how some people just have a knack for that? She's got it. And her upbeat nature is especially charming because she's already dealt with more physical and emotional trauma in her life that many people ever will. Through it all, she's maintained her hope and sense of humor, when many others would have curled into the fetal position and given up.

I've been praying for Anissa every time I think of her, and I hope you will too. The latest news on her condition is encouraging and I believe many prayers can make a huge difference.

Also, if this tells me anything, it is to love my family as well and as hard as I can. We have no idea what may be right around the corner. I think Anissa had already learned this lesson. I'm holding out hope that she'll recover and be back with her family as soon as possible.

Cold Turkey

2009-11-17T10:00:00.001-06:00

My husband and I were arguing yesterday in the car. (Why yes! We do argue! Although it's only about, you know, whether Ernie or Bert is cooler, or what the lyrics really are to Blondie's "Rapture." Never any REAL. ISSUES. This is blogland, after all!) Punky and Bruiser were sitting in the backseat behind us.

Like most parents, Hubs and I are in agreement that we shouldn't argue in front of the kids. The problem is that the kids are always with me. Always. Hubs and I literally have an hour and a half to ourselves each night, which is fine in general and we make the most of it, but when things get heated between us ("Burt!" "Ernie!"), I've found that my anger isn't always willing to make an appointment.

So this particular argument ended with Hubs saying some not-very-nice words to me and me saying some to him. I'll tell you what mine were:

"Shut up!"

Now, I know this kind of thing doesn't come anywhere near Jerry Springer/Cheaters/COPS territory. But that didn't matter. Because as we parked at the YMCA and I helped Punky out of the backseat, she said quietly, "Mommy, what you are doing makes me very sad. Because we're not supposed to say mean things to people or say 'shut up,' and you and Daddy both did that."

In that moment, I felt like a cold claw had clutched my heart.

"I know, Punky," I said, holding both her hands in mine. "I made a mistake and I shouldn't have used those words. And I'm sorry." I got her out of the car and we walked quietly to the nursery. And then I got on the elliptical and thought about what I had done.

I have spent five long years carefully guarding the hearts and minds of my children. I have done everything I could to teach them the virtues of love, generosity, patience, and forgiveness. I have spent thousands of hours of time with them, reinforcing those virtues at every opportunity.

And here I was, undoing all that work with my own bad behavior.

My kids don't need to hear me argue with their father and they certainly don't need to hear me say things to him that I've taught them never to say. What was I doing to my daughter by showing her that side of me? Why would I spend so much time tending and protecting my children and then introduce fear and worry into their hearts because of my own actions? And I'll be honest- I've let my anger with Hubs get the best of me more than once when they've been around.

Coincidentally, I'm reading a book called Revolutionary Parenting right now that details the results of extensive research on parents who have raised "spiritual champions." Here's what it says about the parents of these now-grown children:

From my observation of and conversations with these parents, it appears that their core values- love, obedience, servanthood, compassion, grace, good citizenship, humility, respect and so forth- were consistently put into practice, enabling their budding spiritual champions to pick up those values, whether they were verbalized or not.

I think that as a parent, I really need to focus a little less on teaching and more on doing.

Because in that hour that I was exercising at the Y, the full realization of what I was doing to my children hit me, and I don't think I've ever been so ashamed of myself in my entire life. When it was time to go, I went to my husband and told him I was sorry. I told him I would never, ever argue with him like that in front of the kids again. Ever.

And that's why I'm writing this post now, I suppose. Because I really did mean what I said. I'm going cold turkey on this one. Too much is at stake. And if you're where I am as a parent, I hope you'll join me.

Earlobegate Continues!!

2009-11-12T16:20:00.006-06:00

Okay, okay, okay. OKAY.

By popular demand, I present to you...

MY EARLOBES.

Here's the good, normal, non-deformed earlobe. The one that's safe for public viewing. The red mark, by the way, is because of the clip-on earring I just took off.

And here is the bad, abnormal, amputated, monstrosity of an earlobe. It's a wonder I have the courage to show my face in public at all.

Here's what happens when I wear my hair up. OH, THE HORROR. People point and scream and run from me when I go out on the streets with an updo. As you can imagine.

There. Satisfied? I have a feeling this will forever after be known in my family as Earlobegate. My mom hasn't called since this post went up.

Hmmmmmmm.

That's enough of that. Let me just say before I go that if you read ANY of my Suburban Turmoil newspaper columns, I really, really hope you'll read this week's edition. Basically, I can't read it without crying. Is that enough of a tease for you? And if you comment over at the Scene, I'll visit your blog. Just be sure to leave your URL in the comment so that I can find you.

I lobe you, man.

In Which My Right Ear Goes Into Hiding

2009-11-10T10:29:00.004-06:00

When I arrived at my parents' home for a visit a few weeks ago, I put away my things, got the kids settled, and sat down with my mom for our traditional catching-up chat. We talked about various family friends- who was getting married, who was getting divorced, whose kids had gone into rehab, and who'd just gotten plastic surgery.

"I'm not against plastic surgery or anything," I said after taking a sip of tea, "but it's just so expensive!"

"Well, you might want to do something some day," Mom said breezily. "For instance, you might want to fix your ear."

I nearly spit out my drink. "What do you mean, fix my ear?"

"You know, Lindsay," my mom said, wrinkling her brow. "Fix it, where it was chopped off."

My hand moved protectively to my right earlobe. When I was a kid and had my ears pierced, they got infected and I had to let them close up. Scar tissue left a painful lump on the back of my right earlobe, which kept me from even wearing clip-on earrings. So when I had my tonsils out as a teenager, the doctor used the opportunity to cut off the scar tissue behind my earlobe, too. Once it healed, I noticed my right earlobe was a slightly different shape from my left earlobe. But it was nothing anyone would ever notice but me.

Or so I thought.

"I don't understand what there is to fix," I told my mom. "It was fixed sixteen years ago."

Mom snorted. "It was amputated!" she said. "It was very upsetting. Your earlobe is now deformed."

"Deformed?!" I cried. "No one even notices my earlobe! No one has ever said a word about it!"

"Well, that's because you wear your hair down!" my mom said. "But you can't wear it up. And you can never cut it short."

I stared at her, speechless. How was it possible that I had lived this long with a grotesque deformity and not even known it?! My mother might not realize it, but I wear my hair up all the time! Were people pointing and whispering about me all these years, without me even realizing what was going on? Was I known around town as That Brave Writer with the Earlobe Deformity, when all along I thought I was known simply as That Bitch who Pissed Off Martina McBride and The Green Hills MOMS Club?

It was almost too much to take.

"You've just rocked my world, Mom," I said, slumping in my chair.

"I don't know why you're acting so surprised," Mom said dryly. "You were very upset with the results at the time."

"I don't remember that at all," I said, frowning. "I must have put an emotional block on it."

I'm still reeling from this news. What is there to depend on in this world if I can't even trust my own earlobe?! I still don't quite know what to make of it. But I do know one thing.

YOU WILL NEVER SEE MY RIGHT EAR AGAIN.

Love and Marriage, Five-Year-Old Edition

2009-11-09T06:07:00.001-06:00

The other day, I was walking Punky into school when I heard her name being called. I turned to the row of cars idling in the drop off line and saw a little boy from her class, frantically waving as he got out of his mom's minivan.

"Punky!" he called excitedly. "Punky! Punky! Hi!"

"Punky, Davy is saying hello to you," I said, nudging her. She turned and looked back at him, gave him a half-hearted salute, and kept walking.

"Punky, what's the problem?" I asked her. "Davy seemed really happy to see you. Why couldn't you have been nicer?"

"He's not my friend," she said dismissively. "You know I don't really like boys, Mommy."

"But you like some boys in your class," I said.

"Not him," she said, sighing with the air of someone who'd been fending off boys for decades.

Yes, Punky is so over the majority of the little dudes in her class. She has absolutely no patience for their antics and I often catch her sternly informing them to behave, in much the same tones that her teacher would use.

Mention Andy, though, and things change.

"Andy is my friend, and he's a boy!" Punky reported gleefully by the second week of school. "We played a game where he was a puppy and I gave him treats. And I could tell he really liked the dance I did when it was my turn to clean the board."

"Why do you like Andy so much?" I asked her. "I mean, why do you like him, but not the other boys in the class?"

She smiled a smile that I had never seen before. "Andy is... well... Well, I think Andy is the handsomest boy in my class, but I really don't like to say that word!" With that, Punky dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"Oh," I said, trying to remain calm. The kid was five, for heaven's sake. Wasn't she supposed to have a few more boy crazy-free years? "Okay. I get it."

I tried not to fuel the Andy fire, but I couldn't help but mention him occasionally. The pleased-yet-embarrassed smile that would light up her face when Andy's name came up was just too much to resist. And then, when I was having lunch with Punky at school last week, the unthinkable happened.

"I'm going to marry Andy," Punky announced through a mouthful of peanut butter sandwich to her friend Jane. Jane giggled.

"I'm going to marry Stewart," Jane said. "We pinky promised."

"Really?" I said, surprised. "Well that makes things sort of official. Punky, does Andy know you're going to marry him?"

"No," she said. "But I'm going to tell him as soon as we get in line after lunch."

Thank God it was "Tacky Day" at school and I'd brought my camera with me!

At first, Punky had trouble telling Andy her intentions because she was too busy collapsing with laughter into her friend's lap. Andy seemed confused.

Finally, she composed herself. "I'm going to marry you, Andy," she told him. "I'm going to marry! You!"

Andy responded the way many a man has in the past- by making a monkey face at Punky.

I wasn't sure that was the answer she had hoped for, but Punky seemed pretty pleased with how things had gone. When she got home from school that day, she informed me that Andy told her when they got back to class that she was his girlfriend.

They grow up so fast, don't they? My little girl, engaged to be married. It seems like just yesterday, I was reading her a bedtime story and assuring her there were no monsters in her closet.

Wait a second. That was yesterday.

"So Andy is your boyfriend now, huh?" I asked Punky speculatively.

"Yes," she said, "And tomorrow, I'm going to ask Mark to be my boyfriend!"

"Mark?" I said, surprised. "But how do you think Andy's going to feel about that?"

She snickered. "Andy won't know," she said in a sly voice. Struck dumb, I stared at her.

I think we may have our hands full with this one.

P.S. Just in time for the holidays, I've got four, yes FOUR giveaways going on right now. That's free stuff, y'all. Check here for details.

Good Things

2009-11-08T15:04:00.005-06:00

Coming up tomorrow is a post you won't want to miss.

But in the meantime, be sure and check out a few giveaways I've got going on right now. The holidays are practically on top of us and now is a great time to get what you can for FREE!

Here's a cute little bag from the Thirty-One line.

And here's another great game giveaway from Gamewright!

Three of you will win iTunes gift cards!

And enter to win a full set of Aveeno baby products! They're awesome.

Good luck and see you here tomorrow!

There's a Reason It's Called Suburban Turmoil

2009-11-06T08:35:00.002-06:00

What can I say, guys? This blog has been sadly neglected over the last few weeks, with good reason. I've gone on a roadtrip, continued adjusting to life as a kindergarten mom, chased after my 2-year-old son, weathered a few family crises, and lost ten pounds. Tis the season, I guess, for Turmoil. Never anticipated, never appreciated, but it happens and I just have to get through it the best I can.

I ~~hope~~ ~~pray~~ think things may finally be getting straightened out and I've got lots of great posts coming up, starting on Monday. So thanks for sticking around- and stay tuned for the old Suburban Turmoil you knew and loved. Or hated. Whatever. You show up, so you must be getting something out of it.

In the meantime, I hope you'll check out this week's newspaper edition of Suburban Turmoil, in which I reveal an embarrassing secret from my past. Leave a comment over there if you'd like and I'll stop by your blog. Just be sure to include your URL so that I can find you.

And have a wonderful fall weekend.

From the Suburban Turmoil Mailbag

2009-11-04T07:48:00.000-06:00

Okay, so I get sort of a lot of weird e-mails (although hardly any trolls, which is great, given all the crazy things I've written about). If I can remember, I save them in an inbox folder for days like this, when I could use a good laugh. Here are a few good ones.

Just Call Me Teri Hatcher

To: Suburban Turmoil
From: Ratna
Subject: about suburban

Hello Lindsay…

firstly, Let me introduce myself, my name is ratna but just call me nana
I’m from Indonesia , and also I’m still as a student college in English department
well I’m so interest with you’re works… Your blogs…firstly, I like the picture site about suburban house with the cover of women. And I won’t to critics or give any comments about that, but here I need little help… Especially I need to know and want to get information about suburban. Such as the Identity of suburban women, the lifestyle in suburban area. Anything like community, society, environment or something like Model of the house in suburban area. Just like in desperate housewives drama series. Maybe you have some references that can help me, because I’ve few of data about suburban. I need that because I’m doing research thesis as prerequirement to pass my bachelor degree. I would be gratefully thank you if you give me the information or references about suburban. Nice to know you.

((Title))

To: Suburban Turmoil
From: Tessie Fowler
Subject: Connecting with Playwhee

Good Afternoon ((Name)),

I am writing to you on behalf of a play area manufacturer, Playwhee. Playwhee considers you a valuable resource for moms and families. They understand how important it is their children have a safe and healthy lifestyle.

Playwhee creates soft play equipment playgrounds and structures for companies across the globe! Their play areas give parents a safe and fun environment to take their kids anytime they need to burn off a little energy.

Let our Playwhee’s Expertise help readers of the ((blogname)).

((angle)). If you perceive that visitors to the ((blogname)) might benefit from our stories, tips and information, we would like to provide you with content specific to your website’s content needs.

To: Tessie Fowler
From: Suburban Turmoil
Subject: re: Connecting with Playwhee

Good afternoon, ((Tessie!))

Thanks for sending ((me)) an e-mail! It feels really good to know that you read ((blogname)). I would love to include your ((angle)) on ((blogname)). In fact, I can think of nothing I'd like more than telling ((blogname)) readers about your ((angle))!

Best,

((Name))

Opportunity Knocks

To: Suburban Turmoil
From: Sal Kola
Subject: Loopty Lee

Hi

My name is Sal and I am a Grandmother hoping to become a GG (great grandmother) in the not too distant future. I wrote and illustrated a book entitled Loopty Lee. You can see the first 16 pages of this charming children’s book when you visit my website . This is a very small publisher, only my friend and I. If you wish to purchase Loopty follow the directions in the site.

However, since so many Moms need to earn extra money today, I would be happy to help you sell Loopty from your home or for your kid’s school or wherever for a fund raiser. If you do wish to sell it, contact me and I will email you information about how to go about doing so and how much money you can earn per book. Even if you do not want to either buy or sell Loopty, I would appreciate if you would give this information to your friends.

Thanks,

Sal

NUTTS

To: Suburban Turmoil
From: Mrs. Louise Cotta
Subject: Cinderella

So i haven't been on in a while new job has got me NUTTS to say the least so i Need want to know did you ever say hi to keifer and his ugly wife Savannah omg i so have fun story as well one of my patients is about like severely old and well she has pictures and all kinds of stuff from the music industry in Nashville well anyway and she Andy griggs called here while i was giving here a vit b12 shot it was great and she invited me over for lunch so excited to go .. anyway glad to give you update when i go by the way she is a songwriter and has wrote songs for conway merle many others. ok iam out but still yet if you happen to get to go over to the infamous toms house so stare for about 24 hrs for me .. so how that he has gotten older just seems like Wine it gets better as it ages lol

You Only Need to See the Subject Line of This E-Mail

To: Suburban Turmoil
From: Nina Mariel
Subject: Does products like Baby Einstein make your child smarter?

What's the weirdest e-mail you've gotten lately?

Halloweeeeeen!

2009-11-02T15:28:00.008-06:00

Halloween came and went and a good time was had by all.

I congratulated myself on surviving yet another Halloween using items from our dress-up box in the playroom, although we had a near-crisis Wednesday, when we went to see the stage show of Little House on the Prairie" and Punky informed me afterward that she absolutely had to be Laura Ingalls for Halloween and nothing else would do.

Fortunately, my kind friend Amanda had given her a prairie bonnet at the show, which went a long way toward making her last-minute costume happen. I paired it with a brown-patterned dress, added a fancy long apron and brown leather boots, and we were good to go. The freckles were not my idea- Punky insisted I draw stubble on her face after I drew it on Bruiser and freckles were our compromise. All in all, though, I have to admit that it was gratifying seeing my Laura Ingalls out there alongside all the Hannah Montanas and Jasmines and Ariels.

The best part was when she was outside playing with friends before trick-or-treating began. I went out to check on her and spied her walking blindly about with her bonnet pulled over her face.

"Punky, what on earth?" I asked.

"I'm Mary now, Mommy!" Punky said excitedly. "I'm Mary in the part where she's blind!"

A double-duty costume! That's my girl.

The challenge with Bruiser was convincing him to wear a costume at all. I figured a cowboy costume was about as good as it was going to get for him. The hat lasted all of two minutes and soon after that, he began trying to pull off his vest and bandana.

"You can't get candy without a costume, Bruiser," I warned him sternly. "They just won't give you anything unless you wear your costume."

The costume stayed on.

This was the first year Bruiser did more than sit in the stroller and Punky took admirable care of him, dragging him along with her to each door and instructing him on what to do.

"Trick or treat!" she'd say at each house. "Say trick or treat, Bruiser!"

"Trig oh treed!"

"Thank you!" she'd say sweetly once the candy had been distributed. "Say thank you, Bruiser!"

"Thag you!"

They made quite a pair.

Nightmare at the Shopping Mall. Er, Part II

2009-10-30T07:10:00.005-05:00

Think of it as Mall Week over here at Suburban Turmoil.

My parents live about ten minutes from an Atlanta mall, and what with its carousel and play area and Build-a-Bear and department stores and boutiques, I was over there nearly every day last week for one thing or another, so much that it was getting kind of embarrassing. I mean, I was on a first-name basis with half the mall employees by the time it was all over.

And wouldn't you know, it sort of became a new theme in my writing. The shopping mall is not my addiction, people! It's my muse! (And yes, you are welcome to use that line on your husband. It's a good one, isn't it?)

It inspired this week's newspaper edition of Suburban Turmoil, in which I experience something with which all of you are no doubt all too familiar.

It's the one thing that I HATE about the mall. And I'm betting you do, too.

Feel free to leave a comment over at the Nashville Scene if you like, and I'll visit your blog. Don't forget to leave your URL so that I can find you.

Whatever You Do, Don't Look at This Picture Upside Down. I'm Begging You.

2009-10-28T10:14:00.005-05:00

All in the name of beauty, my friends. Beauty, Uncensored, that is. You can find out what the hell is going on (and see some insane photos) in the latest installment of my beauty column, over at Her Nashville Magazine.

Also, for those of you in Nashville, Punky and I got to see opening night of "Little House on the Prairie" last night at TPAC, starring Melissa Gilbert as Ma, and Punky absolutely LOVED it. Guess who wants to be Laura Ingalls now for Halloween? The show runs through November 1st.

And this Saturday at TPAC, "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" will be performed IN BLACKLIGHT, with trick-or-treating afterward in the lobby. My kids can't wait. You can get more information here.

Okay, announcement time is over. I've had a lot of readers come up to me lately, asking for ideas on fun things to do in Nashville with the kids, so I'll throw a few in here every now and then.

The Reluctant Shopper

2009-10-27T06:10:00.001-05:00

As I head for a dressing room with The Dress of My Dreams hanging over one arm, a saleswoman stops me.

"You're going to need a bigger size than that," she says.

I freeze.

"This is the biggest size you have left," I said. "And it's my size."

She half chuckles. "Let me know if you need help trying to zip it up," she says nastily, backing away. I continue on toward the dressing rooms, my head spinning.

You're going to need a bigger size than that?! I ask myself. Let me know if you need help zipping it up?! What the hell was that supposed to mean? I shut the dressing room door and examine myself critically in the full-length mirror. Shockingly, I seem to have gained a good 25 pounds in the last half-hour. Back at Macys, where I started this shopping trip, I'd been feeling good about how I looked. In fact, as I'd twirled in front of the mirror, I'd fancied that after two weeks of dieting, I was almost approaching... svelte.

But here, things are different. I'm going to need a bigger size than that. I stare at The Dress of My Dreams dismally. The woman is probably right. I mean, what does she do all day except watch women try on things that didn't fit? Realizing this, I don't even want to bother with the rag. I can save a good five to ten minutes if I just leave, without putting myself through the humilation of trying on a dress that everyone in the front of the store must now be surely whispering is way too small.

But I have my pride. If I leave without trying the dress on, it will be admitting defeat. And I can't do that. Oh, no. I can't do that. Reluctantly, I take off my shirt and jeans, step into the dress, and pull it up over my legs. Immediately, I can tell it's going to be, um, snug.

After a mighty struggle, I manage to get it up over my shoulders. To hell with the zipper. It already fits me like it was painted on, and somehow, I don't think that's the look Ann Taylor was going for.

Red faced, I peel it off my body and carefully hang it up. Quickly, I get dressed and then exit the dressing room on tiptoe. I peep around the corner. The saleswoman has her back to me. The last thing I need to hear right now is a smirky, "Oh! It didn't work out for you? I'm so sorry!"

And so I make a break for the entrance. From the dressing room, I can almost hear The Dress of My Dreams, mocking me. "You're going to need a bigger size than this, nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah!" I cross the store's threshold at a trot and break into a run once I hit the mall, panicked, sweat trickling down my back.

And people wonder why I don't go shopping more often.

The Slow Parent

2009-10-23T09:51:00.004-05:00

There are Alpha Moms and helicopter parents, Sanctimommies and soccer moms. No matter what you do as a parent, someone out there has coined a term for you, and likely profited off of it in the process.

Even if you do nothing at all.

Yes, those moms of the Mad Men era, the ones who watched soap operas while their children tore up the house, dropped off mouthy children on the side of the road and made them walk home, and had, you know, a life that didn't always involve their offspring, now are enjoying newfound popularity.

And there's even a name for them. Three names, actually, which tells you this lazy parenting thing really might have some staying power.

I write about the lazy parent renaissance in this week's newspaper edition of Suburban Turmoil, and even try it out for myself. Find out how it went over at the Nashville Scene.

And I'd love to know what you think about these "revolutionary" parenting styles. Is it backlash for all the over-parenting we've seen lately? Is it dangerous to practice the "give them lots and lots of freedom" approach in this day and age? Or is this what we as parents should have been doing all along?

Comment over at the Scene if you'd like and I'll come visit your blog. And for those of you who've been commenting on my last Scene column- I haven't forgotten you! I'm just on vacation this week with extremely limited Internet access. (I'm at Starbucks now, getting ready to write next week's column!) I'll visit your blogs as soon as I get back home.

Have a wonderful fall weekend.

*And goodness, I keep forgetting to tell you all about two excellent giveaways I have going right now over at my reviews blog. First, there's a GREAT game for kids that I highly recommend, created and signed by the creator of the I Spy books. And second, there's a giveaway to promote The Vampire's Assistant (which opens today and looks REALLY good) with an AWESOME grand prize that includes a $50 Fandango gift certificate! Go enter! You have a great chance of winning!

Close Call

2009-10-21T07:52:00.004-05:00

The thought of Monteagle had been haunting me for days.

It’s the most daunting part of a trip from Nashville to Atlanta, involving a steep drive up one side of a mountain and a harrowing ride down the other. But to keep things in perspective, I’d put its fear factor at about three.

Monteagle, you see, has neither the seat-clutching thrill of the highway up to Highlands, North Carolina nor the Lord's Prayer-inducing switchbacks on the mountainous road leading to Ouray, Colorado, a road so dangerous that they close it during the winter months, leaving the entire town completely cut off from civilization.

I’ve been on both those roads and survived. And I’ve driven back and forth over Monteagle at least a hundred times. Despite that, all last week, each time I thought of my impending road trip, I got nervous.

Still, I had decided not to let my fears rule my life. Beyond that, I’d promised Punky and Bruiser a trip over fall break to see their grandparents. Resolutely, I put Monteagle out of my mind, loaded up the car and the kids, and headed out onto the open road. We drove on Sunday, when the sun was shining, the air was crisp and the traffic was minimal. Bruiser fell asleep almost instantly, Punky quickly became engrossed in a DVD, and life was good. We made it to Monteagle with no problem and climbed to the top without incident.

As I drove across the top of the mountain, I passed off my fears to watching too much television news. But then I saw road signs warning of our impending descent, and my stomach roiled. I began breathing faster and felt the cold grip of panic around my heart.

This is crazy, I told myself. You can’t give into this... this... paranoia. I took a few deep breaths and formulated a quick plan. I would drive down the mountain in the right hand lane and go very, very slow. I would keep lots of distance between my car and the cars around me. I would be extra cautious. I would be fine.

I said a quick prayer, moved into the right lane, rested my foot lightly on the brake, and began coasting down the mountain. Cars sped past me on my left. I looked straight ahead, focusing on getting down the mountain safely and leaving my ridiculous worries behind.

As I neared the bottom of the mountain, I breathed a sigh of relief. We were going to make it. My fears had been completely unfounded. And then, all of a sudden, the wheel turned outward on a bicycle strapped to the back of the SUV in front of me. The bike lurched away from its rack.

“No!” I gasped, and at that moment, the bicycle flew off the back of the car, right into my path.

“Oh God!” I shouted as the bike bounced on the interstate. I swerved and managed to edge my car right around the bike. Had I been a normal “safe” distance behind that car, and not a panic attack-induced ridiculously cautious one, the bike would likely have hit my windshield or gotten caught up in the undercarriage of my car.

I looked into my rearview mirror and saw cars swerving right and left around the final curve of the mountain, trying to avoid the bike as it bounced across the interstate. The bike’s owner pulled off into the emergency lane. How they planned to recover their bicycle, I have no idea.

For a moment, I was speechless as the adrenaline continued to course through my body. Finally, I spoke, tears in my eyes.

“Thank you God. Thank you God. Thank you God,” I whispered over and over again. It was a sappy Guideposts kind of moment and I didn't even care. I looked back at my kids in the rearview mirror. They were jabbering happily to each other, completely unaware of how close we had all come to disaster.

My family called my strange fear of Monteagle a premonition. Whatever it was, it just might have saved three lives. And so I think I'll be listening more often to the worrisome little voice of caution that whispers in my ear from time to time. Maybe it'll be wrong.

But what if it's right?

Balance

2009-10-20T07:41:00.002-05:00

Maybe you've wondered what's been with me the last month or two. I've still been posting here, but not quite as often as I used to.

Well, things have changed a bit in my life. First, Backtalk went on permanent hiatus and then my contract with Parents.com expired. When those contracts ended, Hubs and I took it in stride. I've been freelancing long enough to understand the ebb and flow of work. I realized that I'd likely have only a few months of this extra freedom with my children before other opportunities came along.

And I've been trying to squeeze every drop of goodness out of this time that I can.

We've gone to the zoo and fall festivals and the park and indoor playcenters.

We've scheduled playdates and I've trailed behind the kids with my camera as they ran on legs that seemed to never grow tired.

I've volunteered in Punky's classroom and chaperoned field trips.

And I've been giving Bruiser the one-on-one mommy time he's been craving. He's learning that life can be fun even when Punky's not around to do everything for him.

You understand, don't you? These opportunities won't be around forever.

But I'll be honest- even as I spend hours helping Punky learn to read and playing cars with Bruiser on the rug and transporting children to ballet class and taking hours out of my precious writing time each week to help in the classroom or have lunch with my daughter, I worry.

I worry that in the act of not shortchanging my children, I am shortchanging myself.

Because while I may feel like mother of the year right now, I also have ideas for essays and columns that are lost because I never took a moment to scribble them down. Hilarious posts that never get written. Business contacts that aren't maintained. Career opportunities that are missed.

My children aren't getting the short end of the stick right now, but I am. I'm feeling the urge to do work that doesn't involve children getting stronger and more insistent. Plus, our finances are suffering and I feel that familiar guilt seeping into my mind, because I know that if I worked a little harder at it, I could almost certainly find something to fix them.

It has occurred to me that as a mom, trying to maintain a balance between our children and our selves, whether that involves a career or simple human potential, is difficult. In fact, it's downright excruciating.

And I know we all run across women who claim that they've struck that balance and that their lives are just perfect with their jobs and their children or their decisions to work from home or stay at home entirely. Oh, things just couldn't be better!

But you know what? I think they're lying.

Maintaining this balance between realizing my potential as a mom and as a woman is one of the most difficult things I've ever done.

And I can't mess this up. Too much depends on it.

So please pardon the mess. I've spent the last year swinging wildly first in one direction, heady with career success. Now, I've swung back the other way and I swear I'm giving Donna Reed a run for her money. Let's hope I can spend these last few months of 2009 finding a place somewhere in the middle.

Here's to learning the fine art of balance, both in my life and yours.

Week(end) Links

2009-10-17T10:33:00.002-05:00

Another week is coming to a close and that means it's time for another post with random links and thoughts from me. I think of you all as an extended circle of friends and there are always a bunch of interesting (to me, anyway) tidbits that I want to share with you. So this is the time when I do that.

I've gotten a few e-mails and comments from people who aren't happy with this practice, which makes me a laugh a little, but if you're one of them, all I can say is um, come during the week for "real posts." And come here on the weekend if you'd like some light entertainment and ideas that I can't really write an entire post about. Make sense?

Anyway.

I made a couple of dishes this week that I would totally recommend to anyone.

First off, we're trying to watch our budget right now and boneless pork chops were deeply discounted at Kroger (and they're always inexpensive), so I made this family favorite from Allrecipes.com: Tonkatsu, which is an Asian-style Pork Chop. It sounds a lot more exotic than it is and just ignore the picture used in the recipe, because mine look NOTHING like that when I'm done. It is a really easy, fairly quick way to make pork chops that are absolutely delicious and it useds panko, an extra crispy breading that Progresso is now making- which means you can actually find it in your regular old grocery store! Try panko if you haven't already, and I bet you'll be as addicted to it as I am. It makes for a MUCH crispier coating, without adding extra calories. I'm totally going to use panko the next time I do fish and chips.

Um. Okay. I got a little too excited about panko there and now I'm feeling like a loser.

Last night, I made this Couscous chicken salad and WOW. It's delicious and incredibly healthy, with fresh basil, tomatoes, chickpeas, and green onions. Make it the day before you plan to eat it and let it sit overnight for a real treat. A few notes- Sherry vinegar is hard to find, but you can pour a 1/4 cup of cooking sherry, remove a tablespoonful, and add a tablespoon of red wine vinegar to recreate the flavor. I might use a little more of the "sherry vinegar" I made in this recipe the next time I make it, as well as a little more olive oil. Just be prepared to add it to taste when you're putting the salad together.

Are you still with me?

Tonight, I'm making Old Bay Shrimp Salad, and wrapping it in tortillas with lettuce. I love this shrimp salad and you can do a lot of different things with it, like eat it with crackers or inside a pita. We're trying to diet a bit around here, hence the light dishes this week.

I found this AMAZING craft this morning and now I'm a little upset that the kids and I are visiting my parents next week during fall break and won't have time to make this for Halloween. So will one or two of you make it please? I am seriously going to make this an annual tradition, starting next year. What a FABULOUS idea to get your kids involved in the annual raking-of-the-leaves day! And it's so easy!

And this isn't a link, but remember how I wrote that post about Punky reading? It continues to be one of the highlights of my life, because we are reading seven or eight books a day when she gets home (at her request) and now that she's figured out the "code," the kid is learning between 5 and 10 new words a day- and retaining them! If you have a child at this age, a few things are really working well for me. I read her a picture book or two each day (and I try to check out books at the library in advance that coincide with her weekly kindergarten theme), we read at least one easy reader book a day that she can read mostly to me, and at night, I read a more advanced book to her. We just finished Ramona the Pest and started on Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, at her request. The more advanced books are really advancing her vocabulary, since we stop and talk about what the bigger words mean when we encounter them.

We're going to start a weekly reading night at Starbucks, in which her older sister and I take her for "coffee" and read for an hour, while Hubs watches Bruiser at home. We used to do this with the older girls and they loved it, so my 16-year-old now is very excited about continuing the tradition with her little sister.

Another thing that's been a big hit with her are her "snack stories." I put her snack in a lunch bag each morning so that she doesn't confuse it with her lunch, and I've started writing a sentence-long story on the outside and drawing a picture, using words that she knows. It's a highlight of her day. Each morning, she requests a friend to be in the story with her, and then at snacktime, she and her friends have their snack and read the snack story together. I try to put in an easy new word for her to sound out whenever I can, and after school we talk about the story and whether she was able to figure out all the words. I've been dying to share this idea with you all since it's working so well for us.

For those of you in Nashville, TPAC's AMAZING Family Field Trip series continues on Halloween afternoon with a staging of "The Very Hungry Caterpillar." Here's a blurb about it.

Innovative black light staging is the backdrop for the live puppet adaptation of Eric Carle's delightful children's books - Little Cloud, The Mixed-up Chameleon and the beloved title story, celebrating its 40th anniversary this year. "[This] performance is stunningly beautiful! I was mesmerized by the tempo, colors, voice, movements, music." -Eric Carle (author)

I can't say enough good things about this series. We went to see "Jason and the Argonauts" last weekend, put on by two Scottish actors and it was out of this world innovative and spectacular. Punky absolutely loved it. The tickets for this series are way more affordable than regular TPAC performances, so that families can go and enjoy them. Also, they're asking that kids come to "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" in costume, because there will be trick-or-treating afterward.

And that's it. If you made it to the end of this post, just WOW. Feel free to add in the comments your own tips and ideas that you've been wanting to share with someone. That'll make this conversation a little less one-sided! Ha.

And have a great weekend. Hope the weather's a little better where you are than it is here!

X-TREME Coupon Clipping!

2009-10-15T12:42:00.002-05:00

It's a dirty little secret of thousands and thousands of moms...

Coupon clipping.

I'm not ashamed to say my Sundays aren't complete without clipping the weekly coupons in the newspaper. I even bought a wallet-sized coupon organizer for easy referencing at the grocery. When I first got it and brought it with me to the supermarket, I'd glance through it while keeping it safely hidden in my purse, lest anyone see my stash and think we were, you know, poor.

After a few years, though, I lost my shame. I was saving mad dollars, yo. And now, with the recession, coupon clipping is practically an Olympic sport.

At a moms group meeting I went to last week, a friend asked me about coupons and before I knew it, most of the women in the room were chiming in about their coupon clipping techniques, many of which were far more elaborate than mine. And occasionally, I look at websites like Faithful Provisions and the glut of CVS tutorial videos on YouTube and marvel at all the effort women are making in order to make the most out of coupons. It's exhausting to read, let alone consider doing myself on a regular basis.

I'll write about some of the most hardcore coupon clippers I've ever seen in this week's newspaper edition of Suburban Turmoil. Be sure and check it out- You won't believe the extremes some women are going to!

While you're there, I'd love to know whether your clip coupons (and if not, WHY?! IT'S FREE MONEY!) and your best coupon tip, because I'm all about the bargains... as long as they don't take me hours to accomplish. I share one of my tips over in this week's column, but I'll give you another one here. Did you know that Kroger takes competitor's coupons? Yep. They do. They've never turned a competitor's coupons down in the eight years I've shopped there.

Feel free to comment here or at the Scene, but if you'd like to comment at the Scene and leave your URL, I'll visit your blog.

To Vaccinate or Not to Vaccinate

2009-10-14T10:17:00.004-05:00

We have yet to be infected by the Swine Flu- and I want to keep it that way.

That's why I signed a consent form allowing Punky to get the H1N1 vaccination at school as soon as it becomes available. I've heard horror stories from friends who've gotten H1N1 and since respiratory illnesses tend to hit Bruiser hard in particular, I'm going to do all I can to get everyone in the family vaccinated. I feel good about the decision... or at least I did.

Then I talked to a mom friend of mine over lunch yesterday.

"Are you going to let Punky get vaccinated?" she asked.

"Yes," I told her. "Absolutely. Aren't you?"

She shook her head. "No," she said. "I think we just don't know enough about it." I gaped at her in shock. This particular friend is one of the most germaphobic moms I know- and she wasn't getting her kids vaccinated for Swine Flu?

As many of you know, I staggered my children's vaccinations when they were babies, just to be on the safe side. I've read quite a bit about the potential dangers of vaccinations, as well as the dangers of not getting them at all.

I've always made sure my family was vaccinated for the flu each year, simply because I caught it several years ago and ended up in the hospital, dehydrated and with a temperature of 105. It took me weeks to fully recover. I never want anyone I love to go through what I went through; it was horrible.

And from the sound of it, H1N1 can be just as bad, if not worse.

I've been reading about the H1N1 vaccine and opinions are mixed. This expert says get it, that expert says don't. I'm still planning to have my family vaccinated, and I'm getting the vaccination too, so if something goes wrong and my kids grow an extra three fingers on one hand ten years down the road because of the vaccine, at least their mama will grow an extra three fingers, too.

But I'd love to know what decision you've made about the vaccine. Are you letting your kids get it? Are you staying away? What led to your decision?

P.S. On the topic of controversial decisions, I also wrote a financial post today for Mint.com on the issue of joint checking accounts vs. separate accounts for married couples. I would love to know how you feel about the issue. I recently opened my own account, just to have some "mad money" that I could use however I want- AND I LOVE IT. Leave a comment over there if you like and tell me how you feel about this issue!

The Very Important Phone Call

2009-10-12T17:12:00.005-05:00

"Hi Lindsay, is this a good time?"

It was a Very Important Phone Call I'd been waiting days to receive. I put down the mop I was getting ready to use in the kitchen and quickly assessed the situation. Bruiser was playing with his cars in the den. Punky was working on her homework in the dining room. All was relatively quiet.

"Of course," I said in the most professional tone I could muster. "Now is a great time!"

The voice on the other end of the phone started talking. And for a couple of minutes, all was well.

But then, of course, Bruiser appeared in the kitchen, eyes wide, drawn by my phone voice like a zombie to human flesh.

"Who talking to, Mommy?"

I fluttered my hand at him and made a face, without feeling the least bit guilty. Important phone calls were rare around here, and I'd been playing with him all day long. Unfortunately, Bruiser couldn't seem to grasp that concept. His expression became obstinate. "Who talking to?" he growled. "Who talking to? Who talking to? Who talking to?!"

"Yes," I said into the phone, "I think that's a great idea." I paused. "Uh. What was that idea again?"

As I listened, I hunted down a packet of Toy Story fruit snacks and tossed them to him, much like a zookeeper would toss a slab of meat to a lion. He took them and backed away, but it was already too late. The exchange had drawn Punky in from the dining room.

"What was Bruiser yelling about?" she demanded stoutly. I shook my head at her and pointed at the phone, a pantomime that never seems to work on my kids. Punky came closer and stood right beneath me.

"Mommy?" she asked, looking up at me with her saucer eyes.

"I think we can definitely move forward on that," I said into the phone.

"Mommy?" her voice grew louder.

"You've got a point there,"I told my caller, eying Punky furiously and pointing at the door to the den.

"MOMMY?" she said loudly.

"OUT" I whispered sternly. Punky glowered at me and stalked out of the room.

"What?" I said into the phone. "Oh no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean you. I was talking to my daughter." I rolled my eyes heavenward.

"All DONE!" Bruiser shouted, bringing his empty wrapper to me. "All DONE! All DONE!" I took the wrapper and gently prodded him toward the doorway his sister had just disappeared through. "PUNKY!" he shouted, running for it. I sighed with relief.

Meanwhile, the voice on the other end of the phone was still talking.

"Yes, of course," I said, trying to sound knowledgeable. "I know exactly what you mean. Uh oh." Punky marched into the kitchen, singing, "Old McDonald" at the top of her lungs while banging on a toy drum. Bruiser was right behind her, blowing odd notes on a broken recorder as he stomped.

"Oh, nothing," I said into the phone, running into the den. "It was nothing."

"EE-I-EE-I-OOOOH!" they shouted, following me. As they marched in messy circles around me, I put my finger in my free ear. My murderous stares were having no impact on them whatsoever. What is with them?! I thought to myself. They never act this way...

...unless I'm on the phone.

I was losing this battle, big time. As they continued chanting, I broke out from their circle and headed for the playroom, where I shut the door and sat against it on the other side.

"We could definitely proceed with that," I said into the phone. "And I like that there's a contingency plan, too, just in case."

BANG! BANG! BANG!

It was the kids on the other side of the door. "MOMMY!" "MOMMY!" Bruiser yelled. "What are you DOING in there?!" Punky added frantically.

"Could you hold on one second?" I said calmly into the phone. I hit the mute button and opened the door.

"What is WRONG with you?!" I asked the kids. They gazed up at me, quiet at last. "Can't you see this is an important phone call?! Go play in the den! Now!" They scurried away, giggling and whooping in mock fear.

"I'm so sorry," I said into the phone, after taking it off of mute. "Kids. Now, where were we?"

As the talk continued, I was gratified to hear that the kids had finally settled down and were playing a game with their stuffed animals in the den. Absentmindedly, I picked up my mop while I listened, swished it around in the bucket of soapy water I'd poured right before the phone rang, and took a few swipes at the kitchen floor.

At that moment, Bruiser came running into the room from around the corner, where he slipped on the floor in classic banana peel fashion. His feet went up in the air and he landed on his back. Now he's two, so the fall was not far and the fall was not hard. But I knew what was coming next.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

It was over. It was alllllll over.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

"Um," I said into the phone, gingerly stepping across the wet floor and bending down to pick up my son from off the floor. "You know, I'd better let you go." As I stood up, Bruiser's mouth was directly in line with the phone.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" he wailed into it.

"It was nice talking to you, too."

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

"Yes, well, I hope to hear back from you soon. Bye."

I hung up and shook my head, laughing a little as I soothed my son's wounded pride.

They say that our kids grow up all too fast.

But let's be honest. There are also moments when they can't grow up fast enough.

Week(end) Links

2009-10-11T15:00:00.002-05:00

If you read anything this weekend, read this. It is simple and awesome.

If you make anything this week, make this. I made it this past week and I think it's the best apple dessert I've ever eaten.

Hubs was on Dateline Friday night, talking about a case he'd reported on over the last decade and a half. I thought he'd have a soundbite or two in there, but no. It was like Dateline: Dennis Ferrier. Seriously, he was on over and over again throughout the entire hour. So that was entertaining. We went to the grocery this afternoon and five different people stopped him to mention it. You can see the show here if you're interested.

I'll be back tomorrow with a real post- In the meantime, here are a few giveaways I'm hosting this week. This one and this one could make great Christmas presents for your little ones, and this one is for any of you who would like some new workout gear.

What's So Bad About Barbie?

2009-10-09T09:56:00.007-05:00

One topic that seems to come up over and over again among moms is whether the more physically, ahem, developed dolls out there are appropriate playthings for our daughters.

Dora recently stirred debate as her developers created a more mature version of the character for those of her fans who can no longer be satisfied with short, squat Dora and her irritatingly chipper pet monkey, Boots. Here's a picture of the new doll that created all the fuss. She hooks up to a computer for online adventures. I have absolutely no problem with her, other than the fact that she is not Mac compatible, so my daughter will probably have a hissy fit when she doesn't get this doll for Christmas.

Woe.

Then, this morning, the Today show posted this story, about the controversy surrounding Mattel's new line of black Barbie dolls. Some ask: Why do they all have long hair? the headline reads.

Do we really even need to ask that question? I can tell you exactly why- because little girls like to play with long hair. Yes, it really is that simple. I think Lauryn Hill's signature afro is fantastic, but I wouldn't have wanted a doll with an afro (or a short, fashionable bob, for that matter) when I was a kid, simply because I wouldn't be able to do anything with it, and that was half the fun.

Still, it's easy to get caught up in the debate. I've been there myself. Barbie dolls are genetically unrealistic. Not only do they still have the proportions of an anorexic with a boob job, but their heads and torsos both swivel 360 degrees. Come on, Mattel. You're going to make little girls think they can do that, too. Shame on you.

But then I imagine a world where all dolls have been deemed "appropriately realistic." And it scares me. Our daughter's dolls would have unruly hair with tangles and split ends. Their teeth would be a little crooked. They'd have crusts in their eyes and plastic boogers in their nostrils. Instead of Barbie Beach Party and Barbie Fashion Fever, we'd have Bedhead Barbie and McDonalds Manager Midge. Because we want our daughters to play with representations of real life, not believe in some crazy made-up world where every little girl grows up to be a ballerina or a neurosurgeon or President of the United States! Let's keep it real, toymakers! Or the moms will be after you!

Considering that blissful alternative, I've decided to let my daughter keep her Barbies and her fantasy life, which is filled with impossibly blonde fairy princesses and sword-wielding Musketeerettes with perfectly curled and styled hair. We've even got a basket of Bratz dolls somewhere around here that belonged to my stepdaughters, but Punky hasn't taken much of an interest in them- something about the way their feet come off creeps her out. If she does want to play with them, though, I'll let her. And I might just use them to teach her the meaning of the word, hoochie.

I asked Punky not long ago if she wanted to look like her Barbie dolls when she grew up. She wrinkled her nose.

"No, Mommy!" She laughed.

"Why not?" I asked her.

"Because no one looks like that when they grow up!" she said dismissively.

Yep. Our kids are smarter than we think.

*Pssst! Hubs is going to be on NBC Dateline tonight at 8pm CST! Be sure and watch!

**Also, you still have a few more hours to enter the Snow White DVD/Dolls giveaway. And there are more giveaways at my review blog, too- two great kids DVDs and two very popular Hasbro games. Think Christmas, people!!

What's the Occasion?

2009-10-08T11:50:00.003-05:00

When it comes to people watching (and public eavesdropping, for that matter), Nashville has got to be one of the best cities in America.

I can't count the number of times I've been sitting in Starbucks and learned that the person sitting one table down from mine is a producer for Faith Hill or a member of the Grand Ole Opry. This city is crawling with celebrities, music executives and wannabes, and you never know whom you'll run into next.

Inspired by all this, my husband created a people watching game we've played together now for nearly a decade. You can read about it in this week's newspaper edition of Suburban Turmoil. This column also includes a hilarious brush with celebrity that happened to Hubs and me just last week. My stepdaughters would have died of shame if they could have seen what happened when Hubs and I were faced what has to be the hippest group in town right now.

Check it out and as always, if you leave a comment with your URL over at the Scene's website, I'll come visit your blog!

*Also, be sure and enter the giveaways going on this week at my review blog- One is for a 2-DVD set of a popular educational kids show. The other could make a marvelous holiday gift for your little princess!

The Reader

2009-10-07T08:02:00.002-05:00

My entire childhood can be broken down in books.

My earliest memories are of reading The Monster at the End of This Book over and over again, laughing uproariously each time Grover begged me not to turn the page. I also adored the Frances series, the Babar books, Curious George and Gus the Friendly Ghost. I loved my small collection of picture books so much that I had my mother read me each one until I had it memorized; that's how I learned to read.

I grew older and decided to read every book in my public library's children's section. I'd spend entire Saturdays there, making sure I'd gotten through every single one. The Beverly Cleary books, the Encyclopedia Browns, The Mrs. Piggle Wiggles, the Pippi Longstockings- My appetite was insatiable. Nearly all of my spare time was devoted to reading or thinking about reading or re-enacting a scene from something I had read, and because of that, my world stretched far beyond the confines of my small southern town. I was Sara Crewe, trying to survive the cruelties of Miss Minchin. I was Harriet the Spy, hiding in a dumbwaiter. I was Becky Thatcher, reveling in Tom Sawyer's childish advances.

From the day I sounded out the words on a page for the first time, my life has been shaped by the books I've read.

And I'll be honest- one of the very first things that crossed my mind upon learning I was pregnant six years ago was that I was going to be able to give my own child the gift of reading. Immediately, I began collecting books for my daughter- ordering them by the boxload off Ebay, snatching them up at consignment sales, haunting library castoff events, and ordering a precious few in hardback off Amazon. For years, I've read to her and it's paid off in the sense that she loves sitting in my lap and listening to stories.

But waiting for her to actually read on her own has been agonizing.

Last year, I began teaching her the basics of reading, using a kindergarten curriculum. She could complete the exercises without a problem. She could identify letter sounds and blends. She could even put those sounds together and read actual words, as long as she didn't trip herself up by thinking too much about what she was doing.

But she wasn't ready to read. She just wasn't. I knew better than to push her. Still, it was frustrating. She was right on the verge- right on the verge. And she couldn't quite cross over.

Then she started kindergarten. And her teacher began using her own curriculum, with sight words and pictures that corroborated with letter sounds. And somehow, within a couple of weeks of school starting, Punky managed to put what we'd learned together with what she was learning at school. She came home one day with a list of words for me to cut out and quiz her on. She made it through them so easily that I got out a little bag of letters and "blends" I'd made for her over the summer, like -at and -it and -ad, and I began forming them into simple words.

"Cat," Punky read without hesitation. I shuffled the letters around. "Bat." "Had." "Bit." "Hit." "Sad." Outwardly, I remained calm, but inside, fireworks were going off.

"You know what, Punky?" I said. "I think you're ready for the BOB books."

I got out a set of readers that I'd been saving for this very occasion. Holding my breath, I handed her the first one. She read it easily. "Mat sat. Sam sat. Sam sat on Mat."

I handed her the second book. She read it just as easily. The third was a little harder, but she made it through. The fourth had several words she'd never seen before. It took her a few minutes, but she sounded out the words and...

She read the book. By herself.

SHE READ THE BOOK BY HERSELF.

PUNKY CAN READ!!

And of course I realize that for you, this fact is not that big of a deal. But let me just say that watching my daughter read for the first time was one of the greatest moments of my life, right up there with singing in Westminster Abbey in high school, and listening to Yo-Yo Ma play the cello at Wolf Trap, and standing hand in hand with hundreds of thousands of people, singing, "We Shall Overcome" while the confederate flag was removed from the South Carolina Statehouse, and marrying my husband beside a river in Scotland, and giving birth to a girl and then a boy.

Watching my five-year-old read for the first time was one of the most glorious, most anticipated moments of my entire life. And it was worth all of the endless waiting, the carefully hidden frustration, and every last picture book.

It was so totally worth it.

Oh, and after reading for me, Punky wanted to make a commercial on why kids should learn to read. For you diehards, here it is.