Month: December 2014

A few months back I was sitting in Barnes and Noble when this guy, probably in his mid to late twenties, sat down in the armchair next to me. A very normal occurrence if you spend enough time sitting in the Starbucks at B&N writing. Then I noticed the twitch…

Earbuds in, music flowing, fingers typing, I was working away when the constant fidgeting took complete control of my ADD. I couldn’t focus on anything but the steady rubbing at of the back of his neck, scratching at his arms, and tugging at his jeans. Honest, I don’t know if they guy was nervous or completely eaten up with chiggers – if it’s a medical condition, I will feel bad – but the movements were making me more and more aware of only the small round coffee table separating us. Then he got up…

Now, I know you shouldn’t judge people – and I am very guilty of it as you are about to see – but I’m a bit of the overly cautious type. Or crazy as the hubby likes to call it; “to-may-toes” “to-mah-toes”. And along with being overly cautious, I am uber-observant, aka nosy. It’s all in the name of research, I swear.

Anyhow, I’m sitting in my chair when John Doe twitchingly goes to the counter to order and I can’t help but notice the silver plated pocket knife tucked neatly in his front right pocket, the shitkicker boots he’s wearing, and least of all the Military sniper magazines he’s reading that are now lying on the small round coffee table. Maybe it’s just me, but between the twitching provoking my ADD, the attire that screamed “I want to be badass” and the choice of reading materials, I decided my productivity had hit its peak. So I left. But not without a whole new plot forming in my head.

Since the day I ran into my twitchy John Doe, I’ve been bouncing around the idea of my next novel. From the time it took to walk from Starbucks to my car, the first chapter was playing in my head. The back story was quickly filling in the blanks and a new set of characters were born, but they needed names. And just like naming a child, naming characters is a process, but today Julia Hawthorne was finally crowned with a name. Now, I just need a name for the sexy, pain in her ass police sergeant who seems hell bent on making her life anything but easy in the small town of Carefree, SC.

Ready, set, go…what’s your favorite male name?

As a bonus, check out some of these actual wacky town names I found!

With only 16 days left in the year, now’s the time for that final push to win Mother of the Year. If you haven’t upped your game, it’s now or never. And this doesn’t just apply to mothers; it’s the final countdown to all categories…Father of the Year, Employee of the Year, Driver of the Year. The possibilities are endless.

Along with all the terrifyingly terrific moments this year, there are also the…well, tad bit dishonest moments that get your name entered into the “reaping”. For instance, this morning. It’s Monday, nobody likes Monday’s, but we have to deal. And to deal, I needed a small dose of 23 flavors with a kick of caffeine. Dr. Pepper for those who just thought I had the weirdest coffee order ever. Don’t worry; my doctor is completely cool with my 6-8 ounce consumption of caffeine a day. The only small problem with this scenario…I didn’t have any change/cash for the vending machine.

Being the best, honest mother that I am, I waited for my husband to leave with the Diva Princess before swiping the $1.25 in quarters from her piggy bank. “Swiper, no swiping.” Yeah, yeah, I know. But honestly, it was mine to start with and she doesn’t get to actually spend it anyway since dearest dad of the year takes it and puts it into her college savings account. So she might have to be short a meal on her meal plan, I hear ramen noodles are still dirt cheap.

I get settled into work, 15 minutes late – hey, It’s Monday and I’m knocked up – before heading up to the break room, where the devil of junk presides. One by one, I listen to the metal clank its way to the endless pit that promises empty calories and short-lived energy boosts. As the last coin lands, my finger reaches out, caressing the smooth surface of the tiny button; the bottle almost in my grasp. And then it happened…

“SOLD OUT”

Well played Karma, well played.

So I’m pregnant. Yep. Knocked Up. Bun In The Oven. Eating For Two.

And I miss wine!

Merry Christmas from my family to yours!

I have a few blogs going at the moment, drafts I can’t seem to find time to finish, so I thought I would start a new one…logical, right? But today’s topic, I think, is an important one.

‘Tis the season to be unnecessarily stressed, fa la la la la la la la la.

Okay, so the words don’t exactly flow with the song, but isn’t it the truth? I’m sure there is a medical journal out there stating the overall increase of hypertension in the month of December. But tell me, is it really worth it? As a parent, I am just as guilty as the next person, for wanting my child to have the best Christmas memories. This year I let the Diva Princess help decorate the tree – albeit driving my inner Martha Stewart insane – we decorated a “gingerman” house – she insist it’s not gingerbread – she even helped wrap the presents for her teachers and placed them under the tree. At three-years-old, it’s the first year that she really gets it, and I wanted it to be magical.

But there is a reality that we can’t ignore. Stress.

We stress about money, about getting everything done. We stress about whether the family can manage to get through a meal together without Uncle Bob pissing off dad again. We stress about what to buy and will the receiver like it. We stress about the exact placement of ornaments – wait, I may be alone there. We stress. And stress some more.

But is it worth it?

Here’s the thing folks…we’re missing the point. The point of life. Love.

I remember the year my parents asked us what was the “one” thing we wanted for Christmas, because there would only be one thing that year. My dad’s health was failing, and the medical bills were climbing; it was going to be tight. And, I can only imagine how painful that was as a parent; how stressful it must have been. But the truth is that Christmas was just as special to me as any other. I don’t look back now and think how my life was ruined because I only got one RC car – I really loved that car too. No, I look back at my childhood and feel blessed. Beyond anything I could ever ask for, I was loved and my parents made sure we knew it.

I’m not saying don’t buy your kids presents, but let the stress go. If you can’t afford it, don’t buy it. I don’t have a clue what my parents bought me when I was three-years-old, but I knew they loved me. I don’t remember if we baked cookies together or decorated gingerbread houses, but I knew they loved me. I don’t remember much outside of pictures, but I knew they loved me. And that’s all that matters. Because I guarantee, if you spend every holiday stressed, your kids will see it, will feel it, and the magic will be lost. So check the stress at the door and enjoy your blessing.

Merry Stressless Christmas to all!