How To Make Friends and Have People Like You

If the title of this post made your heart race a little, then it's safe to say that you want to know how to get people to like you.

I can't help you with that.
I had to turn to the internet for friends.

But I have an idea.

If you do the opposite of what I do in my real life, then I think you stand a good chance of getting to know some real flesh and blood folks. The kind that maybe will like you back.

Just follow these pointers to a social life that consists of more than one person:

Begin your day with a solid breakfast. Heading out the door after four cups of coffee and nil in the stomach makes for a very shaky school drop off (pun intended.) You don't want to be the mom in the car line laying on the horn to the van full of preschoolers being dropped off in front of you, shouting, "you droppin' off gramma or what?!"

Dress in a manner that invites a good first impression. We all want to keep it real, but if your daily life involves yoga pants with holes in them, then it's time to change it up a little. Also? Use a real ponytail ponytail holder in your hair, and not the inked up red rubber band from that morning's newspaper. Trust me, the inked up rubber band's a deal breaker.

Shoes. Shoes are nice -- throw some on, no matter how late you are. Your teen son's size eleven Converses tossed on your size seven feet, sans socks, do not count as shoes. People hand out extra potential friend points when the ones you wear are your own.

Call attention to your mistakes indirectly. A soft "Oh, heavens, I can't believe Johny forgot his lunch" falls much better on the ears than "sonuvabeehive that kid of mine would forgot his head if it wasn't screwed on. I've half a mind to just let him go without and then we'll see how quickly he forgets his lunch again with the memory of gnawing hunger..."

Be cheerful, even when you don't feel like it. Do not walk around with the biggest, blackest, most face esconcing made in Italy sunglasses that money can buy just because you don't feel like eye contact that day. Just.don't. Especially when it's cloudy out.

Learn to make a great pot luck church supper. Deli pick up and dumps will never make it past the mummy crew radar. If  you don't take my word for it, and still decide to go and hit the deli anyway, be sure you don't show up with that day's advertised 99 cents a pound macaroni salad special that's splayed across every flyer in town.

Remember the two most offensive words in the English language. No offense. "Gee, I wish I could be more like you and just let my kids screw up on their own, no offense." Yeah.

Be alert for opportunities to show praise. Words of praise and flattery, like sap flowing out of a tree, go a lot further in hoped for friendships than becoming the green eyed monster seething in covetousness. Who doesn't love to hear, "Oh, girl, I am digging your chunky zebra bangle right now." Works wonders to melt even the coldest hearts. They'll like you, even if they don't want to.

Be open and accessible. Do not tally up transgressions, snubbings, blatant cold shoulders. Don't be hatin' back -- rise above, continue to be kind, kind, and kind.  We can't control how others treat us, nor whether they accept us, but we can be the nicest version of who we are.

So, let's raise a cup of coffee in hopes that you may get lucky one of these times, and the next person you meet could become a friend.

And keep your eye open for a morning newspaper rubber band in their hair. I've heard those peeps make the best BFF's.
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I Can No Longer Be Silent

I've seen it in broad daylight.

Too many crimes of this type being committed.

On really nice women.

Today, I spotted 5 within 3 minutes. That's one sighting every 36 seconds. 

Finally, this week, on someone who shops at our neighborhood grocery store.  

Lady Poncho at the grocery store Monday

Poncho Wearing Crimes.

I have never brought up a controversial topic on my site: but this. This is something I can no longer stand by and watch well intentioned women do to themselves.

Oh, they want this look to work; I see the hope in their eyes. It is their genuine puppy like eagerness to fashion please that has me using my blog today for the public good.

Poncho sins no mo'. Dear shrug wearing sister, take note: lest you become a victim of a carnivorous blanket. Or, worse yet: an unaware member of the dishrag wearing movement. Here is everything you need to know about the wearing of this garment that also graced the bodies of Andean beauties.


Poncho Wearing 101

 1.  Keep your look balanced. BIG poncho? You need slim bottoms: leggings, skinny jeans, straight lined skirts. Anything but the triple tiered Ma Ingalls.

2.  Your poncho should be no shorter in length than the bottom of a properly supported breast. Otherwise you have a capelet. And that's a whole nuther story.

3.  Your poncho should be no longer in length than fingertips. Also, you must be 5 ft 7 or taller. If you're shorter than that, proceed with caution.  Not a bad idea to stay home and grow tonight -- you could be inches away from the cape wearing horror of impersonating a SuperHero.

4.  Please wear something underneath your poncho. I know the expression is "I love them! You just throw them on!" But not every day is Lazy Sunday.

5.  Life is too short to wear a beige poncho. 

6.  One Size Fits All does not really mean that. Learn to say no to the strangling poncho.

7.  Sweatpants are not allowed under a poncho. It's an actual law.

8.  When having your own poncho day, avoid gaggles/murmurs of other poncho wearing women. You don't want to look like you just stepped off a ladies' club tour bus.

9. The poncho is a fashion accessory. That being said, don't accessorize your accessory with another accessory, i.e., no big knotty pom-pommed scarves tied around your poncho wearing neck.

10. You must switch to a slim bag when you wear your poncho. Carrying an airline approved legal carry on Guess bag under your poncho will transform you into The Elephant Man.

Wearing a poncho is a decision that requires respect for the garment.

Still see it as just a cavalier fashion fad?

Tell that to this lady. 

The Prison Poncho aka "The Great S'Cape"

The poncho: wrestle it to the ground and stick a flag in it.

Next on SVU fashion crimes: The Jeggings Jihad 
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Yes. I'm Doing It. WANTED:CAT Book GIVEAWAY

What does this typical family do for fun on an autumn night?

The usual: have a dance party to Dead or Alive's Spin Me Round Round Like A Record Baby and fight over pass around our copy of Motherhood In NYC's hilarious family book, WANTED: CAT.

But why should this family be lucky enough to have all the fun?

We are giving away one of our copies of Marinka's new book, WANTED: CAT.

oLeave a comment here for one chance to win.

oTweet this for a 2nd chance to win: Yes, I want it-Gimme @marinkanyc new book WANTED: CAT from @GDRPempress

oPost the above tweet on my FB page for an additional entry.

This for-all-ages who want to laugh book has been read over 5 times at a sitting in our house. It gets read at the kitchen table, while laying on the front room floor, while snuck in between the pages of math homework, and while tucked in front of mama's cookbook stand.

Marinka's WANTED: CAT has achieved the highest award in Family Book Reading possible: enthusiastic two thumbs up from teenagers.

*The 16 year old says, "Give it back, dork...I had it first."

*The 14 year old sings, "Goodtastic!"

*The 9 year old bats his lashes and asks, "More, mama...read to me again about Snowflake!"

*Mama raves, "Look at how Marinka made her stiletto heeled self look on page 20. Like she was born in Spanx. Reason enough to write a book right there."

Seriously: this book made the littlest to the biggest laugh out loud. For me, it was like a long delicious Motherhood in NYC post, just what we always wanted.

The standards Marinka holds for herself are in every sentence of this child to teen book: if it's not thigh slapping funny, she won't let it leave her computer screen.

My entire family loved WANTED: CAT. This book has the high quality humor and comic set ups we've come to expect from this woman.

If you're into clever, smart, intelligent humor for your kids and a book that your kids will love sharing with you, order this book here.

You know, in case you don't win my giveaway.

She cracked me up, and all my kids, too.

You nailed it, Marinka. You really did. 

Let the family fun begin!

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Crazy Lady Will Fall For Hard Luck Story If You Keep Her Company

I hear tell thar's a woman in town who'll feed us if'n we sit with her a spell

At 5:15 every morning this week, the kids and I have been woken up by some crazy a** relentless tapping on our front glass door and windows.

After sitting up and freaking out the first few days I finally dragged my coma sleeper husband's body out of bed by his arms and pulled him down the stairs. You'd think he'd be more at the ready to protect his castle. He quickly summed up the rhythmic tapping:  it's birds. Red Cardinals.

Birds who are pecking on our windows, and the glass front door. And doing it without stopping. Tap. pause. TapTap. pause. Tap.

I called our Nature Reserve Center and I was blessed with this bit of *isn't nature AWESOME!* explanation for the birds' predawn calling.

They are attacking their own reflection. These Cardinals see their glorious threatening reflection in our glass front door and are defending their territory from themselves. Can you imagine that bit of inner dialogue? ::Must.Attack.Self::


Holy Moley and I thought I had issues.

The conversation naturalist at the reserve center quickly became concerned: clearly, I did the right thing by calling. I could feel the joy she had at how indispensable her services were. She told me with intensity I could feel in her voice that what I needed to do was place masking tape in a big X over all the glass fronts to our house. Now.

My family is used to me doing things that appear to make no sense on the surface; but I had a live voice on a phone line with me this time, one that others could hear, too. Forest Ranger Mary was shouting directions: "Just X out all the reflective surfaces on the front of your house! The birds could get hurt!" I didn't want any birds hurt, I wanted to sleep, too, so I X'd away at our reflective surfaces. From space, our house must've looked like a pirate's treasure map.

We went outside to see how bad it looked.

Oh, it was bad.

Painful mortification for the two teens, for sure.

Tearful pleading from the 9 year old, "the school bus will be here any minute, mom, please take it down!"

My husband's lovely affirmation of love for me, "why the surprise, boys. It's your mom."

I stood on the sidewalk in my slippers, staring at the front of our house, shaking my head, oh...it looked like a crazy woman lived there.

"It looks like the hobos got us, mom, with those signs they leave for each other, like in the book you read to us."

Yup. It did. Exactly like train hoppers saying, "stop here."

Hobo signs were used by hobos to talk to each other, letting them know of what they could find in a home. They'd carve signs into a tree, or fence, or garage, or assemble a sign with sticks and stones, using coal or chalk.

Could be about hospitality found there:

A cross made with two sticks meant the hobo could talk Jesus and get a ham sandwich in return.

The letter "M" meant "a hard luck story gets them every time."

 
A diamond shape with an upraised stick "arm"  meant RUN! gun on premises.

 

Here's a hobo sign you'd never see outlined on our driveway....

Maybe something more like this:

With this one right below it:

The old boys would be putting this one up, if'n they came on a Saturday and my husband was home.

 This sign here I would save them the trouble and put up myself:

Before you start thinking I'm a bit out there worrying that hobos will find us, let me tell you, I googled it: The Knights of the Road today communicate via cellular phones, and e-mail.

And, you know, instagram.

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Suburbs Causing You Trouble?

We visit, once again, Becky the Blogger, our "How To Live With A Blogger" heroine.  Last month, Becky turned to us with her long suffering indecision as to whether or not to succumb to the suburbs. Here's what we told her, as she confided,    "When You're Having Problems in the Suburbs...." 
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Becky was having trouble falling asleep.

Strangely, she was also having trouble waking up.

She couldn't go to bed, yet she couldn't get out of it, either.

Becky was feeling depressed.

Things weren't going well in the playgroups she was attending.

She had missed so much of the "Mommy and Me" gym class that there was talk of suspending her punch card.

Becky felt out of control: she was talking too much at gatherings with the neighborhood women. She was beginning to argue with the other moms at the community pool, sometimes even with the post office workers at the small office in town.

There were problems at the morning cardiopump class, and she didn't know where the next unpleasant situation would occur.

She didn't know what to do to stop all this.

It was starting to affect her home life, her meal planning, her ability to read a book with full concentration, not to mention her sense of well being.

Maybe you feel like Becky.

You're having trouble living where you live, and you don't know how you got yourself in this bind.

It is a confusing time: will things get better? Or will they get worse?

My dear Becky: they can get BETTER.

Here are a few ideas that may help you figure out what is going on, and what to do about it:

1.  Figure out where things began to go awry:

Think back. When did the anger and frustration and acting out start? When did you begin to feel and realize that you weren't part of the clan? When did you begin to try too hard? When did you allow it to bother you? Try your best to recreate the early days, recapture who you were before you began to censor yourself. Take some time to think about your life and reflect on the things that have led you away from who you really are.

2.  Ask for guidance from someone who looks like they've chosen the Road Less Traveled

You've seen them. The ones that have survived life in the burbs. Watch for the clues: tie dyed shirts, pants that are cut from a different cloth than the rest, earrings larger than a seed pearl.  Tune up the radar, you'll spot them.  Seek them out, and they'll take you under their wing. They've blazed the suburban trail before, and they've got the map.  Come up with a simple list of small changes to bring yourself back: perhaps reintroduce the red bandana around your head that you used to love to wear. Break out the big oyster shell earrings again.

3.  Find a new route

With your new off the beaten path friend in arms, you can take on the suburban army messin' with your mind. Create your own map, you don't have to be exactly alike once you decide that for yourself. Choose a new route, one that feels like the way home to you.  Not one that carries you further from yourself.

4.  Steady as she goes

Once you've chosen and committed to steer true to yourself, stay the course. Lock on to the way to live in the suburbs without giving in to the pressure of being like everyone else for fear you won't be included.  Figure out how you are going to make your way back to who you are. Do you still have that Psychedelic Furs CD you'd blare every morning once upon a time? Throw it back in the car. Play it.

5.  Keep your eyes on the prize

Look to your new future: brighter and clearer now. You know who you are, and don't be fooled into thinking you must change and fit in to find happiness. Better alone and with yourself, than in the company of many, and not with yourself.  (old Spanish proverb)  Even though you have chosen to make changes in your life, this doesn't mean that the world around you has made the same choice.

Keep this in mind, and stick to your map. 
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Update: It's been 28 days since we last chatted with Becky, and gave her our advice.

Here's what Becky has to say now, "Though I didn't let anybody know, I felt really bad about failing at living in the suburbs. After talking to you last month and finding my suburban drop out mentor at the coffee shop, I was able to make up the painful last few years I suffered through. Now I'm winning at life! and feel good about myself again!"

You're welcome, Becky, we are so happy to have been able to help. 

Rock on.

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In unrelated news: I have a post up  for consideration as BlogHer Voice Of The Year. I'd love to be able to read it at BlogHer, it's from my series, "When You Love A Blogger."  If you would, please, click here and vote for me. Voting closes in one week. THANK YOU!

I Was a #Senior Hottie

Liz, from A belle, a bean, and a chicago dog, has this fun thingy going on: link up with your #seniorhottie pix.

Who can resist, right?

Not me.

Were you the most smokin’ hot  senior year of high school?

In her post, Liz casually asked if anyone was interested in doing a photo link-up to show off their high school hotness.  She was completely overwhelmed by the confidence and awesomeness of her blog friends because more than 50 people said they’d love to do it.

And, so: the first official I Was a Senior Hottie photo link-up kicks off on Wednesday, May 25th!

What: Link up a post with one or more photos of yourself taken some time during your senior year. It could be from Homecoming, Prom, Graduation, a senior trip, your official senior portrait session or any other time during that year.


When: The Linky opens on Wednesday, May 25th and stays open through the end of Memorial Day (May 30th).

How: Liz will host a linky for the posts.  You can come here, link up and grab a super glamorous #SeniorHottie button for your post and blog.


Please note: It doesn’t matter what year you  graduated as long as you are impressing us with your senior style!  

Hear that? DOESN"T MATTER WHAT YEAR...that means my picture is a shoe-in as an entry:

The Empress Alexandra Goodday, Class of '18

Why I Don't Wear My SpiderMans Anymore....

It's Monday. He's up, he's got his notes from the week, and we're ready to go.

Baby E., on his world this week. His speaks, I type, since I'm the one with the mad keyboard skills. (srsly) You should see my fingers fly.
----------------------------------------------------------------
BABY E:

So, let's go, it's kind of a long list this week. It'll take kinda like 10 seconds to go through.

First, I have to tell you about this picture. I do not like my Spidermans anymore. I liked them a lot when this picture was taken, but not now. When I found out why they were so bad. Well, they're kinda...well, this picture is from when I liked them and they're babyish now. My mom is sad I won't wear them. But, so, now she took me to get new pajamas. I'll show you next week. And guess what? The new pajamas I have now make me feel like a teenager. You'll see.

The next thing I wrote in my journal for ideas ( My mom says,"go get your diary" and I whisper back, "It's not a diary, it's a journal"). :

The next big story is about beetles. Asian beetles.

The invasion of the asian beetles.:

These asian beetles were all over, we had to call my mom's friend, Jerry, the bug guy. They were incredibly bad, all over in my big brother's room. I have this big brother, and he couldn't even read in his room because they'd land on his lips and hair and he was starting to get really mad. But my dad didn't want to pay a bug guy to come to the house so my mom taped up my brother's windows with mailing tape to catch them cuz she read to do that.

It didn't work, and when the bug guy came and saw what she did, we were standing under the tape trap my mom made by the big windows and the bug guy pulled the tape off and holy cow! it was like rain. Really gross rain. And like 50,000 crunchy dried up old bugs landed on the carpet and I couldn't even walk around in there because it was like an asian beetle landmine.

I have like 4 more big stories: but my mom will only let me do one more. Which is too bad because the stories I have are really good. I'll do them next week, though.

My mom says I can't say ANY NAMES about this next story. So, I'll call it:

"When my mom made me go to this one kid's house.":

My mom always feels sorry for people, and just cuz she feels sorry for them, we're the ones that have to do the good stuff for them. Like, go over to their house. Which I did.

This one kid, he had no friends (you'll see why later) and my mom said, "Honey, you need to go over and be nice to him because he has no friends." So, I said, "No" because I know what that usually means. It usually means I find out why the kid has no friends.

So, she makes me go. I get there, the kid comes to the door with his mom and his mom is all smiley and "hi there" but the kid just runs and hides. So, I stay, and the mom makes the kid come out to play with me and the kid says, (and this was so weird ) "do you want to go to SeaWorld?" And, me, I feel mixed up and don't know what to say, so I say"uhhh....suuuuure (gulp)."

So, then, the kid runs to the bathroom and grabs a bucket from the bathtub, and I think "uh oh" and I follow him, and then he goes to his room AND THROWS THE BUCKET THAT'S FULL OF PLASTIC DOLPHINS AND WHALES on the floor! And then the kid's like "It's SeaWorld!" and I'm just like......... I wanted to ask the mom when I would go home but, then, I knew that wouldn't be very nice.

Then, he wanted to play "Aliens" and that's not the worst part. So, he grabbed like all these 20 dollar tubes (at Shopko they're 20 dollars, I don't know about Target) of MartianMatter and then the kid said, "grab a bottle!" but I didn't want to because I know how much that stuff costs, so I just let him do it , and he ran outside and squirted all the bottles at once on a big rock outside of his house and said "It's an Alien now!" and started to hit it with a stick. I really wanted to go home right away then.

The mom asked me to stay for a snack first. And then the kid wanted to make us soup! He filled a bucket full of water, and then began squirting in some Purell from this big Purell thing from Costco or something it was so big and then sticks and leaves and raspberries and grapes that he got from inside the house. And he even threw in some Cheerios. And then he spilled it down his slide on purpose.

Then I saw my mom come and I ran to the van. She started to laugh really hard when she saw me keep pulling on the van door and the door was still locked.

Bye.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Baby E Button

The following occurred last week, while Baby E had an age appropriate friend over for a visit. It is while overhearing the following conversation exchange between Baby E and his friend, that I realized that perhaps Baby E spends a bit too much time with his mother.


GUEST: Let's have a snack or sumpin'...


BABY E: Absolutely! It is mid-morning, and if we have a snack now, our blood sugar will have enough time to even out before lunch.


GUEST: Ummm....ok....then...


BABY E: Let's have something light and refreshing, like apple juice and graham crackers. Sweet and tart is a wonderful combination!


GUEST: ........


BABY E: Here you go, here's your plate and cu......


GUEST: ooops....sorry...I spilled the juice...

BABY E: You're just lucky, young man, that this is dark carpeting.



Yeah, I think I'd better step up the play date schedule...

The Honeymoon is Over

Way back, at the end of February, on Day Two of this baby blog, I had written "Hey! I blogged! And no one commented that I was an idiot and self-loving! I think I'm going to be OK! Gee, I'm glad I finally worked up the guts to start a blog. This.is.awesome.!"

Well, that lasted, what? 30 odd posts total.

I deleted a post I had up for a few hours yesterday. I had poked fun at living with a teenage son. I adore him, he is my first born, my life began with this boy, but life with someone this age can be funny. I had written some dialogue tidbits, of what it's like, all tongue-in-cheek, about mornings with a surly 14 year old. For me, my life coping skill is humor. If I can find a way to make it funny, I'll be alright.

The first few commenters realized the jest of it all, and smirked along with me, wishing me luck. But, then, the comments turned, and they criticized my son. Another commenter told me few bloggers can write, and I was among those that can't. Yet another felt it pressing and urgent to let me know that she had read the past posts, and they were a waste of time and about nothing. Now, when I visit a blog, and see something that I can't relate to, I just "X" out. Nice and quiet.

My gut reaction was alarm. I didn't want that post up anymore. My son is fantastic, the best there is...what were they saying? So, I deleted it. Then I went to bed, developed a migraine, and spent an hour laying in bed this morning. Do I just take a break? Do I just stop, say I tried it, not for me? And then I thought of all the fantastic people I've met because of beginning this blog. I had to think of that. I also began this blog for me. I really do like to blog.

And my take on life is different, in the same way that the commenters way of providing feedback is different.

Perhaps these commenters think that I actually think I'm an Empress. I don't. Or think that I'm bragging that I have an empire. I don't have an empire. I am a woman, who stays home with my children during the day. I work evenings for a caterer, so I can be home during the day with them. I have a house, with a small backyard; no empire.

Do they think that I imagine myself a fantastic writer? I don't. I am not an English major, I graduated in Special Education. I take care that my posts are literate, and I prepare them, I don't type off the cuff. What I have learned, in my life, is that humor saves me. And kindness unto others, saves me.

Without an excessive amount of detail, I will just say a few things. I feel rushed bringing up these issues, but the commenters have made me think that perhaps I've been misread, with my "Empress" title. I am anything but.

I grew up in the proverbial unhappy household with a verbally abusive, sarcastic mother (let me tell you, those commenters put her voice right back in my head) and the parental suicide. All of my siblings and I have developed a sense of humor to cope with this. People tell us that we are funny, we make them laugh. It's as if we are survivors of something, which, in fact, we are. I work hard to bring humor into our home, and make our children laugh, because I grew up with a mother that did not laugh, or smile, or talk to us, or make eye contact. I'm trying to make up for a lot.

With my traumatic childhood aside, I am now an adult who also has lived through alarming situations that each have shortened my lifespan with every occurrence. Each of my pregnancies were high risk, and I was hospitalized and on bedrest with each one. Despite all these efforts, we have children who were all born early, and each were in NICU, unable to breathe on their own. Once we survived the bedrest, and the preterm labors, our children then developed serious food allergies and asthma. We've come too close to some very serious turn of events in Emergency Rooms that I don't even like to remember. I treasure every day that they're here because of how hard we worked to get them here, and keep them here.

This is all part of my life, but I've forgotten about all these life happenings, until now. This is what I'm from, I don't think I'm an Empress. I'm just joking along, because if you don't laugh, then you'll just stay under the covers.

So, all this to say: I won't close up the blog. The mean lady did come knocking at the door. But so did all the really great friends I've made. So, I'm sticking around. So what if I can't write. Big Deal. It's not awful stuff, it's literate. And from now, I will place a disclaimer at the beginning of my post stating that I love this particular child I'm writing about to the moon and back, but I'm still going to tell you what he did today.

Now, please excuse me, while I go bury my face in their hair. Because I love them, they are everything to me, and I want to be sure they know that.

But, We Would've Been So Good Together!

The following memory was triggered by a post from the oh so talented Naomi over at her blog, Organic Motherhood with Cool Whip. Her post, from Jan. 8, 2010, is entitled "Pick Up Lines for Playdates." She asks the question, when do you go from being friendly, to being scarey? I answer that for her, below.

She might as well as have just come out and said,  "not if you were the LAST person.on.earth would I hook up with you."  But she didn't have to, the alarmed look in her eyes did it for her.

Things had been going well between us, I thought so anyway. I hadn't seen her at this park before, and it was a wonderful early Spring day--the kind where everyone is eager to be outside. We each had 3 children-- roughly the same age, they were all getting along fine on the playset, she had brought organic snacks, Hey! me, too! I heard her tell her children how important it was to clean up your area after eating, to keep mother earth green. It was all good.

We had chatted, exchanged adorable toddler anecdotes, laughed at each other's stories about staying home with the little ones. I had pushed her daughter on the swing, she had helped my son down from the slide. We were dressed similarly enough, so our values were evident to each other. As the afternoon wore on, and the children began to tire, we rounded them all up--time to head to home sweet home. We both believed in naps, even at this age! Does it get any better than this? I smiled. Could she be the one?

I thought I had the green light, I tell you that's how I read it, otherwise I never would've ventured and put myself out there as I was about to do. I cleared my throat, "Say, it was so nice meeting you today, and our kids seem to get along so well...would you like to meet up next week, same time? same place?"

Her eyes locked with mine, frozen, in terror. I was so very happy I could not read minds. Because I know I would've picked up the echoey inner voice that would've sounded something like "not if you were the last person on earth would I meet up with you."

She blinked once, maybe three or four more times, then began to stammer out an excuse about already having a full calendar--haha----she threw in a few tight lipped smile, no teeth showing, some more rapid eye blinks...well, you get the picture.

"Ummm...," I, for some reason, decide to take the heat off her. "O..o..o..okay, I totally understand, really. Well, nice to meet you anyway!" I said in the fakest bright voice I could spit out, then I quickly headed to the van."Go, kids, go!", I ordered in a hushed tone. "Why, mommy, is it going to ran bad?" Uh. No...I just am embarrassed all to heck and want to get the heck out of here as fast as I can before she sees my red face. "No..just...go. That's all, go."

I wondered what the heck it was about me. It would be nice to see how others see us sometimes. But, then I kept thinking on the drive home--and I decided to decide that I would mentally deal with it as perhaps the truth? Maybe she did have enough friends and could not stand to take on another one, maybe her clique frowned upon outsiders, maybe her calendar was booked solid. If I found her appealing, I'm sure others had, too.

I go home and look at Hillel's quote that I kept taped to the inside of my kitchen cabinet, "I get up. I walk. I fall down. Meanwhile, I keep dancing." I had plenty to dance about in my life, and I would keep trying and find others who liked dancing with me, too.

If you haven't yet paid a visit to Organic Motherhood with Cool Whip, I'd like to encourage you. Her post on "Pickup Lines for Playdates" is a gem.

I Need A Hero

While at the park a few summers back, the following actually happened to me. No kidding. I couldn't make this up, as a matter of fact, I'm thinking of starting the "I Couldn't Make This S**t Up Club," seems like I'd get a lot of members. Just the other day my friends and I were saying that very same thing, but that'll make another post. For now, the story:

I'll try to stay on subject, but my ADD tendencies are in high gear today..easily distractible. (oops...I'll be right back, I see some dust on the piano that's driving me nuts...) So, the story: I'm at our small town park, and it's a beyoooteeful day, and I mean all the way around beautiful: blue sky, birds chirping, a balmy breeze, baby emperor is with me, and I'm pushing him as high as can be on the swing, into the summer sky. He's trying to touch the tree branches ahead with his little, royal toes...I'm singing a sweet, little song (the song is sweet, not my voice..but he doesn't know this )to him that my grandmother used to sing to me, it goes like this: "arooroo, mi nino, que tengo que hacer, laver los panales, y hacer de comer..." On and on, and we're happy, and smiling, and of one heartbeat blah blah blah......

*cue needle scratching across record* riiiiiiiiiiiip

Nasty Lady in Park: "...Ooooh, you're singing so nicely to that child, I'm wondering, are you ever free to babysit? I mean, are you able to babysit for others?"

The Empress: "Whaaaa.....?" (cuz I'm mentally quick like that...)

NLinP: "Oh, I'm sorry...I thought I heard you speaking in Spanish to the little guy. I thought you could babysit sometime for me.."

The Empress: "I was speaking in Spanish, but I am his mother and..... Wait a minute.....did you think I was his nanny because I was speaking in Spanish?"

NLinP: "Come on, Courtney and Aeden, you never who is in the park these days."

I need a hero, to swoop down on those days, and right what's wrong, and give all those that need it a "what for" and to never forget it.

Commisery Loves Company

Commiseration. Yes, sometimes commiseration can be the best solution.

I have been thinking about the blogs I frequent often, the ones I jump up to check on each day. What keeps me returning there? Why do I like them, and look forward to their posting? It's what I find there:  moods that match my own on some days, other days it's a place where "they get it." I don't want answers to my problems, I just want to be somewhere where it's OK to be who I am. With no feelings of needing to impress, or pretend to be something I'm really not.

I've read that "water seeks it's own level" and "water seeks the path of least resistance." And that is what a "blogfriend" does. They're easy, they get you, they know what you live. When we find ourselves complaining, or feeling short ended on this life gig sometimes (we're only human, right?) it's strangely and curiously uplifting to find someone muddling through, too. There is something about the "safety" you feel at a favorite blog. You can be comfortable in your reaction and your response, and what you say in the little square box, because you know that there can be a difference in opinion, and you're still good.

Sometimes, we just want to be understood. Sometimes, we don't want a solution. We just want to nod "yes, yes, yes" and let that be all there is to it. And laughing along in recognition of it all, lightens the load. So does tearing up at a post they may write that cuts right to your heart. 

You can't really describe chemistry, or put a formula to why you feel drawn to a specific blogger and their site. If we could, we could all buy the book and begin blogs and sell them later for mega grande dollars, or at least a few thousand.

You can't really figure out how you find your "tribe," your group of women that make up your daily life as much as your family and co workers, and physical friends do.

You begin blogging one day, and then little by little, and one by one, you meet people that bring joy to your life, people who make you smile excitedly when you see it's them on comments, or in an email, or a tweet, or the sweetest of all: " a direct message to you from..."  on twitter.

I think we all just want to belong to a part of something larger than what we have just physically around us, we want to be accepted, and be the larger collective of what we are like, what is important to us. Finding our values and sharing what is dear to us, tethers and binds us to others. We no longer feel alone, and misunderstood, a stranger in a strange land.


There are times, yes, when we truly want a fix, a solution, resources, help, ideas...but there are, more often than not, just times when we only want to hear, "me, too!" Times when we want to know that someone misses our presence in their life that day. We want to know that we matter, and that someone likes us being part of their world. It's nice to know that someone is thinking of us when they wrote a post. It's nice to know that we, also, have somewhere to go with feelings we have inside, or news we want to share, or when we need someone to listen at 1:00 a.m.

Commiseration, sometimes just the sweet balm we need, and no more.

It's In The Genes

My short husband and I were on a homeschooler field trip yesterday (short husband aka my 7 yr old son, as in, with me 24/7 and always up in my bidness). Throughout the field trip, a certain "concerned" mom kept asking us, "how are you enjoying the field trip?" "Fine, " I would keep responding, although I'm sure my eyebrows became more and more knitted together into a unibrow, as I tried to determine why such interest in our enjoyment of this field trip??? At the end of the field trip, she again asked, "how did you enjoy it?" I wanted to just shout, "What the F already...enough about the field trip, ask what you want to ask..." What magic answer was she waiting for? What information was I supposed to be reading into her question? Why her obsession with the enjoyability factor of this fieldtrip??? But, instead, I took a deep breath, smiled tightly and answered, "fine."

On the quiet ride returning home, my young son abruptly thinks out loud from his car seat behind me, "I wonder why people don't just say what they mean, like, instead of keeping on asking us how we liked the field trip, why didn't that lady just say whatever it is she really wanted to say.."

Exactly, Padawan, exactly.

And The Final Rose Goes To....

Tell me Vienna Sausage on The Bachelor doesn't look.just.like.this. Throw in a nose like an anteater, and...Voila!