You've Sent Me a Friend Request

Ah, you've sent me a friend request.
You want to be friends.

I don't think the word friend means what you think it means. Because the word *friend* implies that you like someone, you know, you enjoy their company and like being around them. Which is why I'm wondering -- the reason you're asking to be friends with me. Last I heard, there was a lot a lot a lot a LOT about me that you didn't want to be around. And absolutely not that I'm holding grudges, or am in any way still sore about the reasons you gave for having to be free of my presence. But your request for friendship makes it clear that you need a few reminders.

Are you sure you want to be my friend? I feel it my duty to refresh your memory, remind you of the reasons why I would suggest you think harder about what you're asking.  Let me help you revisit your feelings on this one.

Like, how are you now, and how would you be, about the way I can slam down a hamburger faster than you? That dismayed you a bit. How I remember, you just couldn't stop telling that little bit of trivia to anyone that would listen. Tsk Tsk, food shaming.

And I'm sure you'll want to know, your concern about my *book problem.* Yup, still addicted. You can't even see the wood of my coffee table.

I also still walk everywhere, and I know how you feel about that. Your jokes about driving the car to the bathroom if you could. I didn't think you were ever joking.

My feelings would still get hurt, just as they did a century ago, when you'd ask, "Wanna see what our kids would look like?" Then you'd show me a picture of lemurs, something that would send you into conniptions over and over. Yes, humor is subjective, but some stuff is just never funny.

Let me check with you on something else, too, do you still think everything is because of hormones? And do you still ask, "Is this because of hormones?" You do? Okay. Thanks.

I've got some questions, too. Do fur bikinis with fur Russian hats still top your to die for fantasy requests? Know what? Never mind. Forget it.

Let's be honest, *friend* I think it's pretty clear. You don't really want to be my friend, do you?

You just want to see how things turned out for me. Well, let me tell you so you don't have to friend me to find out. I'm writing this to you while cheeseburger juice is dripping of my chin and onto my fur bikini. I put aside my stack of books to answer your request honestly, though I'm in the middle of a PHENOMENAL  memoir. 450 pages. No pictures. It's about, ah... there I go again. Can you say Book Problem!

I'm sorry I can't write longer but I've got the cutest pack of lemurs jumping around me right now. So, gotta go.

Take care! I wish you luck, with your other friend requests I mean. I hope you found a place with hallways wide enough for you to drive yourself to the bathroom! So glad we had this chat so we could avoid any possible future messy business. Just think of how you'd have to maneuver your little indoor car around my stacks of books.



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Listen To Your Mother Milwaukee 2014 Videos Are Here!

It's just like the holidays. When the Listen To Your Mother Show videos go live, my internet goes wild. Everyone, cast and producers, are sharing. This year, LTYM had 32 shows in 32 cities. Our videos are ready for viewing on our channel, Listen To Your MotherYoutube Channel.

I had the joy of sharing a story again this year in our Milwaukee show. Giving you a feel of life, when your grandmother considers modern medicine, a far cry from anything to be taken seriously.

My piece, "The Medical College of Abuela."

How To Talk To Your Mom About Her Summer Shorts

What? These look awesome.

Summer is here. We've had a string of thunderstorms to prove it. The sun comes out and teases occasionally, but last week, I promised myself to be more of an optimist than usual, and I took the winter coats to the basement.

Then I went to my upstairs closet and looked for some shorts. Some that would fit. It was a long long winter filled with comfort food. I needed shorts, and had none... when temperatures get higher, shirt sleeves and pant legs get shorter and I had NO SHORTS.

I did, however, have a pair of high-waisted (or long-assed who are we kidding) Chico capris that my mother willed me, but my kids, being the awesome kids that they are, won't let me out of the house with them.

I trust my kids. When I write about them on FB, people comment to me that they're mean and don't know how to love their mother. While I won't unfriend based on those comments (I like the *hide further notifications from* button), I can tell you, my kids want what's best for me. So, I stand in front of them, and ask them, for their honest opinion: “How do I look?”

Any second of pause, is an automatic negative.

I've been able to decipher my kids' reactions over the 19 years that I've been a mother:

*stuttering and stammering, eyes cast downward: This trumps everything: TAKE IT OFF. But there is more subtle dialogue, like this:

1. “Oh, it’s not you. NO ONE looks good in tangerine. Really. I read it in your Cosmo. Not even Giselle. That’s why you never see her in it.” Translation: Take It Off.
2. “You know what’s really cool about your body? How it was MADE for black. Most people look sad in black, but not you. You rock the black. Hang on… let me run out and get you some black.” Translation: Take It Off.
3. “You look A-mazing. Too good. Dad/Mom won’t be able to stand how good you look. Better not wear them, last thing you need is a jealous fight.” Translation: Take It Off.
4. “Oh, man. It’s just too hard. Let’s go see what else you have in the closet. Bet you’ll look good in anything today!” Translation: Take It Off.
5. “Gosh. You’ve always been so brave. Wearing orange on your butt like that. Wow. You’ve never been afraid of anything.” Translation: Take It Off.

The greatest gift you can give your mother when she's desperate for summer-wear close to losing her mind, I mean anyone thinking coral capris are a go? is to imagine her, standing there, the woman you love, with coral orange culottes splayed across her ample amplitude.

My advice to your dear children is to have them pull you away from the Summer of '94 shorts collection. Have them tell you they'd rather spend this time together over a caramel macchiato, while you're in a waistless sundress. Have them remind you that you already have clothes that you look boss in. Just stay home and you'll be looking good.

Have a heart to heart, now's the time for honest dialogue, give them key phrases that you'll understand like: Step Away From The Coral. Put Down The Jorts.

Look, I know the pants fit and they're comfy, but instruct your children to tell you the truth: That coral waistbands that sit under your breasts is the same thing as giving up. And they love you too much to have anything to do with that.

Not that I would know just how good it feels, to give up.

So good.

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What a Woman Is Worth

"The question of our worth lies at the root of so many things that hold us back in shame, fear, or doubt. This book is a brave inspiring work for all who read it."


Tamara Lunardo has gathered 30 stories of real life and real faith; shared accounts of women and the way that life and its experiences, have reassured them of their worth in our world. With challenging honesty and bold vulnerability, women come forth to create a community that affirms the inestimable worth of being who they are.

What a Woman Is Worth is a valuable collection that promises to inspire and re-ignite our role in this world. This anthology is a celebration of womanhood and a testament to our bravery.

It was over three years ago when I heard of an open call for submissions for an upcoming anthology of women's stories on how they had come to feel the gift of being a woman. With hope, I had sent in a true story, that of being a woman as seen through my grandmother's eyes.

It has been a long three year wait, but I am proud to share the news that What a Woman Is Worth has been published by Civitas Press, and my story on my grandmother, "Blessed To Be a Woman," is included in this collection. This book is a riveting, uplifting, sometimes heartbreaking, but always triumphant, anthology of thirty life stories.

I found it beautiful and redemptive.

I'm giving away a copy. If you'd like it for yourself, or for someone you know who is struggling to feel for themselves why we matter, please leave your name here in comments. To order additional copies, please visit amazon here.

Thank you so much. And thank you, for being here, to share in my joy. I am thrilled to have an essay included in this collection..

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How To Take a Good Picture

I used to think that you needed to take a photography class at your local community college before you could learn to take a good picture. Skills? For what? Things have pretty much whittled down to nothing more than selfies anyway. A photo of you, a decent one, is all you really need to know how to do.

 

Tired of pictures showing me with three chins and a forehead looking like it was lined with ten earthworms, I googled a youtube tutorial. After just 58 seconds of How To Take That Selfie I was ready to hit the ground running.

What I learned was pretty basic, and yet, it had escaped me. I feel confident enough to say that I can now take pictures of my family and my face without filling up my iPad with 1,349 photos -- which is how it's been going.

All you really need to do is to capture who you are. PERSONALITY. Personality is what blinds the camera. When you're no longer young, the camera doesn't let you forget that. So, be you with a capital Y and tell a story with your face. That's the key to watching your photogenicity... ty... ty go straight through the roof.

I know, I know, you've been told by photography sites that you need to get Up Close! But, not in a selfie case. Distance is your friend. And more than ten feet away, is your lover. Well, really, you can do it two ways, now that I remember. Get SOOPER close, where just like an 1/8 inch patch of your face shows, or get far far away, like across the street and a block away. That works great, too.

And finally, go against all photo sites, yet again. No need to “hold it, hold it, steady now...” You want a shaky cam because a shaky cam is a blurred image. And a blurred image works like that $80 dollar bottle of lotion for your face that promises ten years off in 79.4 days. You can call them “caught in the action” shots, a beautiful hurried moment in your busy busy important life. I know them as Thermalift in camera form.

Having doubts about my advice? It's tried and true, see for yourself. I post selfies on FB all day long:

 

 

Sorry, I've got no advice about any messes in the background. Except clean it up. Or keep it real. Either way.

 

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