STOP! COLLABORATE AND LISTEN!

Posted on Sunday, January 4, 2008

Yes. I have Ice Ice, Baby stuck in my head. No idea why. It can be really annoying to have this song in your head, so I've been trying to use it to my advantage. Like when I want to get all impatient and frustrated with all the fussing and fighting between the boys, I say to myself "Stop!" Then I collaborate with the patient husband by saying, "LISTEN, you need to take over for awhile or I'm gonna hurt somebody." This way, I don't make a fool of myself by yelling and waving my arms around or bursting into tears. I just stop, collaborate and then I say listen. You should totally try it.

Stop. Collaborate and listen. Ice is back with a brand new invention. Somethin' grabs a hold of me tightly...."

Speaking of songs in your head. Miles and Asher and I were grocery shopping the other day and I told them I had a silly song stuck in my head. Miles replied with an exasperated "Well...let it out your mouth, Mommy!" Smart guy, don't know why I hadn't thought of that.

Since I'm guest posting over at Mozi Esme today, I just realized I might be scaring those of you who are here for the first time. So instead of talking about Vanilla Ice, I'll collaborate with Mozi Esme readers by saying, isn't her blog great? If you haven't been there, you should take a peek, friends. Most of the posts are written from the perspective of a one-year-old American girl living in Mozambique. For being so young, little Mozi is an excellent writer. How cool is that?

See you there!

Don't STOP. Don't COLLABORATE. Just LISTEN. Go on over to Mozi Esme. It'll be fun.

Hairdresser Infidelity

Click on Suburb Sanity below people! You've got to see what she put up today. :)

How can one person be this funny? That's what I ask you.

When I came across Suburb Sanity;laughing...and still going insane, I knew I'd found a blog to love. Debbie is one of the smartest bloggers on the web, in my opinion. And my opinion counts! And I don't mean smart like, tricks you into reading her blog no matter what she writes. I mean smart like, she's that good. Just the right humor with just the right well-written words. Her posts leave me hiding the giggles from my husband every day. (Because it's kind of weird to laugh hysterically at your computer all by yourself, right?) Go over there and check her out (if you're WAY behind and haven't already). She's just simply excellent! Thank you for being here today, Debbie!
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I've decided one of the hardest sins for a woman to commit and then live with is hairdresser infidelity. Have you done it? Did you ever forgive yourself? Oh, the pain.

Here's the scenario. You love your hairdresser. You've stuck by her for years and years. Your hair always looks good. You aren't unhappy in your relationship. It isn't like you are out there looking for someone new, someone younger, someone better looking.

But one day you wake up and your hair just must be cut/colored/straightened/tended to in some way this very day. So many things can be put off - filing your taxes, shopping for food, picking the kids up from school - but this hair must be done today.

So, you make the call.

And your hairdresser isn't in. You pause on the phone. And the helpful receptionist says, "Someone else could do you today." Oh that evil temptress. Eve could have taken lessons from her.

You hesitate. But then you remember your desperation. Well, maybe just once won't matter.

So, in you go. You think of wearing large dark sunglasses but they all know you there. That wouldn't help. Just quick in - quick out. Leave no incriminating evidence.

But the hair. Why does it always look better after a transgression like that? You want to be nice but not too nice. You don't want to let this one-time hairdresser get the wrong impression that you are going to be calling back for another appointment.

So, you quickly pay and tip with a slight, "Thanks for fitting me in. It looks great." And out the door you run. Hoping no one else spots you leaving.

And you can't help but check that mirror in the car. Man, you look good. But, you can't go back to her. No. Never. It is back to your regular hairdresser next time - no excuses.

Well... unless she's out of town.

Can we escape going ape?

Today's post is brought to you by my real-life friend, Kelly. She blogs over at Waiting for a Little Vlachster.

Kelly's blog has a growing following for good reason. She thinks of the most hilarious things to write about, which means her posts are always loads of fun. She and husband Kyle are waiting for their daughter, coming (hopefully soonish) from China, and Kelly blogs about their life "in the meantime," while keeping us all up to date on their adoption process.

It is because of the way she looks at life that Kelly can turn everyday adventures into great stories. She has a positive perspective and an inspiring attitude. She is one of the most accepting and genuine people I know. I'm so happy she's posting here on the EO today. Thank you, Kelly!
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I am really excited to develop our own Christmas traditions when our daughter from China arrives, in hopefully a couple years or sooner. I want to partake in stress-free, meaningful ways to celebrate this special season. I don’t want to be a psycho mess of a mom, complaining about all there is to do, make, and buy. I dream about an amazing meal that will be chosen with careful selection to enjoy every Christmas Eve, or Christmas morning. Perhaps a favorite movie we cuddle up and watch every year. Or a gingerbread house that is carefully constructed Christmas Eve morning to set out with cookies and milk for Santa that night. A trip to the 8th floor of the downtown Dayton’s, I mean Macy’s, for their Christmas display will be a must-do as well.

So I have all of these dreams and ideas, and I’m realistic that it may take years before my kids appreciate it, but to establish traditions early on is important to me. One thing I have been thinking about is the whole gift business. What a business it is. Yowsa. Scary. While I know I cannot change how extended families do their thing, I love the thought of implementing one of the following ideas with my own family someday.

I recently stumbled upon a blog called Dandee. This artistic woman bleeds creativity. It was her post titled Want. Need. Wear. Read. that had me clicking to a previous post of hers to learn more about her Christmas giving idea, and how to make sure the “more” factor was replaced with a lovely tradition. Essentially her kids get four gifts, one for each category, plus a gift from St. Nick. I really love this idea. It simplifies. It creates tradition and meaning. It means the gifts have not gone APE and taken over the entire day/week/month or meaning of it.

I’ve also heard about families doing a Craigslist Christmas, where each gift is bought on Craigslist. I like that idea too, because that would mean all gifts are being bought locally. Then there is the Only Handmade Gifts Christmas. I would stink at that one, but throw in the caveat that the gifts could be made by anyone’s hand and hello Etsy or Ten Thousand Villages, here I come.

Taking it to a HNL (‘ho ‘nutha levo) is Buy Nothing Christmas. Buy Nothing Christmas is a national initiative started by Canadian Mennonites but open to everyone with a thirst for change and a desire for action.” While there website still says 2007, their idea is timeless. One of their posters you can download has a picture of Jesus that says, “Where does it say that you should buy so much stuff to celebrate my birthday?” Now I am not much for people making up Jesus talk…but this one got me thinking…the words “so much” in particular. Maybe on a “Buy Nothing Christmas” year, a family could substitute a “Do Something for Christmas.” I read about this on the Sojourners website last year. A father wrote about how his family all takes part in planning a vacation for Christmas each year. Yes, it does involve money. But making a significant memory, seeing the world, and spending time together also.

At Dianna’s terrific dinner party last Sunday, she told me about a tradition her father started, which she now continues with her family. He didn’t want anyone working in the kitchen over Christmas so a delicious soup would be made the day before. I love this idea. Slaving away on a special meal is nice and all, but simplicity can be quite tasty and stress free in my book, leaving more time to relax and enjoy family. A hot soup/stew, a homemade loaf of bread, and a pie and you’re set.

One little thing we started last year that made the shopping easier was to buy ourselves a Visa gift card with our Christmas gift budget on it. Our purchases aren't messing up our checking account or on a credit card and once the money is gone, we are done. Easy and a free convenience you can get at your bank.

I like all of these ideas but I know there are more out there, because Heather has a wicked smart following. So I would like to know what you do, if you consider yourself someone who has simplified Christmas. If you haven’t yet, do you dream about it? I encourage you to stop dreaming, stop pulling your hair out and wanting to suddenly play bumper cars in the Target parking lot. Be bold, and make it happen. But first share you plan of attack!

(I know, I know, Thanksgiving isn’t even here yet! That is why later, after you comment with all of your amazing ideas, you can visit my blog for a Turkey Tale today. It will make you gobble, I mean chuckle.)

Hot, Pink Mess

Do you read Write Stuff? The woman behind that blog and this guest post, Melanie J, is so much fun to read! Get over there and "follow this blog." Melanie is an excellent writer. (I suppose that's why she writes books.) Every post is more than interesting and always either funny and/or thought-provoking.
(Do I put a hyphen between thought and provoking? I'll have to ask Melanie.)

In all seriousness, I love this lady. There's just something about a girl who has an intimidating talent for writing and keeps it real and hilarious at the same time. Thank you for being here today, Melanie!
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I'm not socially awkward. I just act like I am 90% of the time. Take the last two days, for example. I have been wandering among the ranks of dozens of New York Times bestselling authors and hundreds of wannabes---like me. Much like lipstick on a pig, I packed my cutest clothes, hottest shoes, coolest accessories, and MAC lip gloss. Lots of lip gloss. These things don't necessarily help but they make me feel better because I get to pretend like they do.

So I'm tottering around on red and white three inch stilettos (a gift from my husband on my birthday but I'm thinking they might have been a gift for him), and feeling pretty sassy. Then I got an itch. An itch located in an inconvenient spot under my classy white cotton sheen jacket, just above my shoulder blade and below my shoulder. My designated itch scratchers, Kenny my Super Hot Boyfriend (actually, he's my husband but this whole post feels like a single career girl chick lit set up) and my eight year old son (okay, maybe not chick lit) are three subway stops away from being helpful with this minor irritation.

However, I am a good problem solver (I have job evaluations that say so, but I worked retail for a long time and most personnel issues were easily resolved with chocolate) so I came up with a fix. I reached into my big black patent leather bag, groped around the bottom, and came up with a fistful of pens. (I can't really model a chick lit heroine on myself anyway because they wouldn't hog free pens like I do: construction companies, bbq joints, banks...I'm not a snob). So there's the first tip off that I'm a dork. This is a three day conference. Even I can't lose twelve pens in three days. But I sorted through my fistful of Bic treasure and found the right tool for the itch. It was a broad, flat pen about an inch in width, tipped with a pink highlighter at one end. Good. More surface area to scratch with.

As I stood in line waiting to be admitted into the giant ballroom for lunch, I wiggled the pen under the collar of my blazer and scratched as contentedly as a dog going for the sweet spot right behind its ear. Success. After some vigorous itch therapy, I went to return the pen to my purse and discovered that the cap had come off. The cap on the side I was scratching with. In fact, my fingers were covered in pink highlighter now. There's dork tip off #2.

I said a swear word. Not a bad one, but I said it.

Then the line started moving and I scurried into a ballroom full of two thousand people I didn't know to find a seat. Food will always trump a pen crisis. I settled at a table full of women my age who struck up conversation with me. They were cool, all published except for one, in a bunch of different genres. I tried (screw up #3) to demonstrate my literary savvy by nodding like I had the faintest idea of what they were talking about, but I'm sure they all suspected I was Not One of Them when I reached for the butter and dragged my suit cuff through the salad dressing. (That's #4). I was saved from myself when the keynote speaker started in on her hilarious (no irony, she was totally funny) remarks. I excused myself about halfway through for a bathroom run and even navigated the perimeter of the ballroom so as not to draw undo attention to myself by wading through dozens of tables in a direct route to the door.

I was feeling pretty smart about that little stroke of mannerly genius when I arrived in the restroom and discovered that not only did I have pink highlighter all over my fingers, but I had it all over my white suit collar, my neck and my shirt. Number 5.

I wish I could shrug and say, "That's how I roll."

I wish I could say it rolled right off my back.

Instead, I slunk back to my table, hunched so as to hide the unsightly Glo-Brite tattoo on my neck and shoulder, and then proceeded to eat a roll that I had to tug on so hard to actually get a piece off, I overcompensated and my hand jerked and knocked over my water. Number 6.

And that was just yesterday. I still have four more chances to figure out what's going to come out in the top spot of my top ten list of stupid stuff I did in public, and a whole day to do it in. Although, a betting woman would place odds on the highlighter fiasco. I really don't want to top that.

The Un-Multi-Tasking Mama

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am humbled and honored to present The Happy Geek! I don't remember how I found her, but it was love at first post. The Happy Geek has one of those blogs that you just have to keep reading. It's insightful and hilarious. HG is honest, smart, and really attractive in a rarely worn black dress.

I love a blog that can make me smile and burst out laughing while teaching me something, all at the same time. The Happy Geek is the perfect place for that.

So enjoy today's post from the hilarious and humble, Happy Geek. And don't forget to visit her. Every Canadian needs some American visitors every now and again, don'tcha know? ___________________________
I get to be on Extraordinary Ordinary.

How very cool.

I have been reading EO since the summer. I love Heather's thoughtful reflections on motherhood, personhood and finding balance. She has talked a lot about really being present and in the moment with your kids.

This has hit home with me.

When my kids were really little (as opposed to the half-grown 2 and 4 year old that they are now) I was uber-mommy. I could multi-task out the wazoo. It was nothing for me to feed the baby, be making babyfood and talking on the phone with someone in our caregroup about a serious need in their life.

Even when I had two I could feed them breakfast, make a casserole for dinner and prepare for Bible study all at once.

Then in a blink of an eye it all changed.

They got verbal.

Turns out I am a mommy of very little brain. When my kids talk I must focus all of my attention onto what they are saying or the results are disastrous. If I try to multi-task while they are talking I have been known to hand my two year old scissors and tell him to go for it. Fortunately my sis was on the phone with me and called me back to my senses seconds before blond tufts started flying.

I have okayed them drawing on themselves, punching me in the stomach and a very unfortunate incident involving a sharpie. Yee haw.

That's when I finally got smart. Yes, it did take a while. It's Happy Geek, not Happy Intellectual. Now when my kids talk I stop what I am doing and focus completely on them. It's just safer. It does mean that absolutely nothing gets done in a day as they talk ALL THE BLESSED TIME, but at least my house is still standing.

It's worked quite well. With one noticeable exception. I've found it difficult to give my undivided attention to my kids while piloting a vehicle. Apparently, you can't make eye contact with your kids while bombing down the highway at 110. At least that's what my husband keeps telling me. (For those of you about to call the police, I'm Canadian. That's 110 Kilometers an hour.) It's a very good thing they are strapped in because who knows what mischief they might get into with my full permission. As it is, apparently I said it was fine to throw your shoes at the front seat.

Before I had kids I used to think that momvicles were the safest. Now I know nothing could be farther from the truth. Stoned teens texting on a cellphone while driving are safer than I am.

But at least I am truly present.

A Conversation Exercise

Today's guest post comes to you from the brilliant Tonggu Momma of Our Little Tongginator. Her blog is always a joy to read as she chronicles daily life with her Little Tongginator, sharing their stories with wit and wisdom. Tonggu Momma often has me in stitches. (She gets herself in lots of trouble-accidentally flashing the babysitter for example. Or almost scaring off trick or treaters with a dead bird.)

This lady knows how to tell a story. She keeps it real, expressing the difficulties of grief after the recent loss of a dear friend, and sharing the trials of the bumpy road to adoption. All the while, she sprinkles her words with humor and expresses a great love for her family. She's an inspiration!

So go over and experience the talent of this lovely friend of mine. You won't be disappointed!
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Hey there, y'all. This is Tonggu Momma here, filling in for Heather during her much needed break from the blogosphere. I fell in love with Heather's blog when I left a comment on the first post I ever read authored by little Miss EO. I loved the post, but I about fell off my chair laughing when I read her "Talk to me Goose." You see... my daddy WAS a Goose, also known as a RIO in a two-seater fighter jet. In that moment, I became a Heather stalker. Surprisingly, Heather sometimes stalks me. And I can't imagine why. She's Deep and Thoughtful and Spiritually Mature. And me? Well... basically I'm like this...

(previously published at Our Little Tongginator on September 12, 2008)

TM'S BRAIN: I so need to lose some weight. I can do this. I just need to get off my duff and do this. I am GOING to do this.

And so began Tonggu Momma's First Ever Attempt to Lose Those Extra Ten Pounds. While the Tongginator attended preschool yesterday morning, Tonggu Momma stepped away from the laptop, donned an embarrassingly ugly exercise outfit and headed out the door. She was a Woman On A Mission: She was going for a Walk.

TM'S LEGS: Okay, we can totally do this. This isn't so bad. It's not like this is running or anything. We ARE doing it. We are In The Zone. Oh, yeah.

TM'S BRAIN: I told y'all we could do this. We can SO do this.

TM'S GLUTES: Zzzzzzz....

TM'S LUNGS: Whoa... wait a minute. gasp What is up with THIS? gasp Did you remember the inhaler? wheeze

TM'S BRAIN: Shoot! I knew I forgot something. Sorry about that. But we can still do this, y'all. Just breathe slowly. And keep moving.

TM'S LUNGS: What?!?!? Oh. gasp My. gasp Gosh. wheeze

TM'S LEGS: Umm... this isn't that much fun anymore. Umm... no, definitely not fun. Can someone help us out please?

TM'S GLUTES: Zzzzzzz....

TM'S SIDE: Hey guys? I don't know about y'all, but I'm totally hurting over here.

TM'S BRAIN: We can DO this y'all. Come ON!!!

TM'S LUNGS: Wheezing... Wheezing here...

TM'S LEGS: You know, if SOME OF Y'ALL would help, this wouldn't feel so difficult.

TM'S GLUTES: Zzzzzzz....

TM'S SIDE: Legs, you know they aren't ever going to help. Where do you think all of that extra fat goes? They are the laziest ones here. I mean, I don't want to be rude, but they act like total butts.

TM'S LUNGS: Umm... Side? wheeze They ARE the butt.

TM'S BRAIN: (sigh) You know, if y'all cooperated this wouldn't feel so difficult. And no name calling!

TM'S LEGS: Well maybe if YOU'D actually made more of an effort, Brain, we wouldn't be in this fix anyway. How did you let things get so bad?

TM'S LUNGS: Y'all, can't we all just get along for once? gasp I don't want to die during an argument.

TM'S GLUTES: Wha...? (waking up rapidly) GREAT GOODNESS!!!! What IS this? Where am I? Why the heck am I... is that tingling? WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY IS GOING ON!!!!

TM'S LEGS: Bout time you woke up.

TM'S LUNGS: Hey there, Glutes. gasp We're exercising. wheeze

TM'S GLUTES: (long pause) But WHY?!?

TM'S SIDE: Well, I don't want to be the one to say it, but... Glutes, you've gotten fat. We have to lose ten pounds.

TM'S GLUTES: I. Want. To. Die.

TM'S LEGS: Me, too.

TM'S LUNGS: I gasp think gasp I already wheeze did.

Y'all, I totally survived, even though I didn't want to. It was the longest mile-and-a-half okay, 1.3 miles of my life. It didn't help that my neighbor Apple jogged past during the last block, smiling, waving, looking all athletic and gorgeous. When I got home, I stood on the scale.

Like I actually thought I would see a difference.