Thomas Gone Wild

My three-year-old son is obsessed with Thomas, and the entire "Tank Engine" franchise. He knows every single train by name, and is constantly throwing out Thomas euphamisms: "He's a really useful engine!" "Emily is cross." "Bust those buffers."

On our family computer, Trey learned to type T-H-O-M-A-S in Google to get himself hooked up with a shot of Sprout Online. Straight to the Thomas games he went. He's a genius! I thought, until ...

One day I got distracted blogging or reading blogs or something, and eventually I wandered over to find that Trey had made his way onto YouTube, and was watching Thomas "videos" (some not-so-appropriate for your average 3-year-old as you might imagine). We had a talk about this - I know I had a stern talking to myself about being more "hands on" - and we moved on.

Fast forward, the other night Macy ran over to me with a, "Mommy! We won a contest!! Come look!"

OMG. At the computer were at least a dozen pop-up screens. Yes, one blinking screen notified us that we'd WON!!! THE BIG PRIZE!!! The other screens? Well ... How do I say this? One word. Porn.

Trey, in his ongoing quest for a fix of a newer, better Thomas video, had stumbled into a virus that unleashed a flurry of T & A (and various other body parts).

The moral of my story. Well, too much of anything, even Thomas, is a bad thing, I guess. Either that, or keep a close eye on your children as they "surf" the internet!

I Don't Want to Dance Anymore

"Mommy, I don't want to go to ballet," Macy told me recently.

"But you love ballet!" I said, a little too excitedly. (I'm thinking, I love you in that adorable ballet outfit.)

"Actually I don't," Macy informed me. "I need a break from ballet. I've got so much going on."

"Like what? I'm just curious," I asked, trying to act nonchalant. (I'm thinking, You're 6. You just wait.)

"Well, learning to read. You want me to read, right? And all that homework. Play dates. I'm just a little tired is all. It's just too much."

"But what about the big recital that's coming up?" I asked. (Thinking, and the recital costume I paid $50 for.)

"I don't really want to be in the recital," Macy stated, with firm resolve.

(I'm thinking, Is my daughter a quitter? First ballet, next what? High school?) I think quickly on my feet and decide to deliver a blow below the belt.

"Yep, you're right. You shouldn't do ballet if you don't want to," I agreed. "But what if Hannah Montana or Angelina Ballerina had quit their dance lessons the first time it got hard? Where would they be?"

"Angelina Ballerina is a mouse," Macy informed me. "And Hannah Montana's Dad is Billy Ray Cyrus. She didn't need dance lessons at six to be famous."

Darn.

I Am Organized to the Point of Dis-Organization

I am so organized. I have a labelled bin for everything. And a laminating machine to laminate my labels (lest they get damaged by a flood).

Sidebar: If you don't have a laminating machine, and I realize you probably don't if you aren't an elementary teacher or an Office Depot employee, you should get one. It is the best $25 you will spend and hours of fun.

So back to my dilemma. Despite my fervent organizational attempts, I still can never find anything I'm looking for.

Case in point, yesterday I needed printer toner. So I dashed to the bin labelled "Office Supplies" but of course it wasn't there. Twenty minutes later, after sifting through bin after bin, I found the elusive toner in the "Batteries" bin.

I need to find a copy of Trey's birth certificate for pre-school (actually, I've needed that damn certificate since August). It should be in the bin labelled, "Very Important Documents (in other words, this box should be a safe)", right? Nope. I've culled through 20+ bins and still, no birth certificate. I know he was born, I was there. And I'm certain they gave me some sort of paperwork to document the event. Now where is it?

Same with files. I've got dozens of labelled file folders organized alphabetically. But try to put my hands on my 2007 taxes, or a warranty, an important receipt or much less a phone number, and you can be bet your bottom dollar that said items will NOT be in their designated folder.

I've tried to instill my stellar organization skills on my family. But we are all chips off of one very dis-organized block.

B-E-D Spells Bed

I had an episode with my 3-year-old son Trey tonight.

First, after passing himself off as potty trained for the last few weeks, he stood in his room and - with reckless abandon - relieved himself (on the rug of course, not on the easier-to-clean-up wood floor). Then he came to tell me about it. As in, Oh I had an accident in my room, Mom. It's in the way, you need to change me and clean it up.

Then when I tried to get him into the shower, he had a huge fit. Totally lost it. Just like a 3-year-old.

So I said slyly to John (my husband, Trey's Dad), I've had it. He's going to B-E-D early tonight.

Trey, just 3, is evidently a better speller than he is a social rule follower.

b-e-d? B ... E ... D? That spells bed. I don't want to go to bed!!!! He screamed.

That's it. Tomorrow, I'm learning sign language. Or French.

I Get Really Winded Whenever I Work Out

A friend of mine who is not that much older than me recently underwent emergency triple bi-pass surgery. He is recovering well, he looks great and has a radiant glow on his face I've never seen before.

You look fabulous! I told him recently. Better than ever!

Thanks, he told me. Everyone says that. I tell ya, it's the healthy living. Eating right and exercising regularly.

Oh, crap. Does that mean if I don't do these things I too could end up having to have triple bi-pass surgery in a few years? (Yes, I straight-out asked him that.)

I used to think the same thing, he admitted. That I didn't have to worry about it, that I had 20 or so years to get my act together. It's just not true. He delivered the hammer. You have to exercise regularly to keep your heart strong.

My heart sank. His words made me literally depressed. You see, I'm that girl who puts on her work-out clothes approximately 2 times per week, but gets busy doing other things and ends up changing into regular clothes sometime in mid-afternoon. I have a membership at the Y, but haven't graced the establishment for over a year.

I'm also a rationalizer by nature. I talk myself out of working out with thoughts like, What? I'm going to burn say, 300 calories. I'll just eat less food for lunch. It's a wash.

I've never been able to establish a "regular" work-out routine (or even an "irregular" one) because, face it, I hate to work out.

I pressed the issue.

How did you know you needed to see a doctor to have your heart checked out? I asked my newly-healthy friend.

Well, I just got really winded whenever I tried to exercise, he revealed. And I was making some pretty bad choices, eating a lot of fried food.

By now, I'm past depressed and moving into full panic mode. I GET REALLY WINDED WHENEVER I WORK OUT! That's why I don't do it! I make bad food choices. Yes, I drink a smoothie every morning, but in my world that affords me free points to eat chips, salsa, wine, fries, eggs, bacon, etc. etc.

So, I calculated quickly, I have two choices. Drag myself to the gym (at least once) to check in on this "really winded" thing OR go straight to the heart doctor to have an MRI. I decided to start at the gym. I haven't keeled over on the elliptical yet, but I'll keep you posted, no pun intended.

14 Things I Know For Sure

1. I will cry at some point while watching any episode of Brothers and Sisters.

2. I cannot resist eating chips and salsa with reckless abandon if they are placed in front of me.

3. Ann Curry will stumble on her lines at least once while reading the news on the Today Show.

4. The soundtrack to Spring Awakening will always put me in a better mood.

5. I will never be completely caught up with laundry or bills. There will always be a pile of both in my house to make me feel guilty.

6. My camera and video recorder will work perfectly and hold a charge, until I arrive at a recital or go to Disney World.

7. One margarita is never enough. Yet, depending on how big and how strong, two is sometimes too many.

8. In my social life, I will consistently and optimistically commit to at least one thing more than my bandwidth allows. Consequently, I will cancel at the last minute (or pull the occasional "no show"), therefore perpetuating my reputation as a somewhat unreliable social-slacker.

9. Although I am old enough to know better, I am certain to over-imbibe to the point of a hangover just often enough to remind me not to drink too much.

10. I will always be sad that I missed out on auditioning for the Real World (I was 23 when the first season aired, but I was too busy living a tv-free life so I didn't actually see the show until I was an ancient 28). So to make up for the lost opportunity, I will continue to religiously watch every single episode of Real World and the challenges, no matter how old I am.

11. Thank you notes, although I acknowledge they are socially correct and fun to receive, are the bane of my existence.

12. If given the opportunity, I will put off until tomorrow what can (and probably should) be done today.

13. There is almost nothing better than reading a can't-put-it-down-until-its-finished book.

14. I will always, always side with Jennifer Aniston. None of this was her fault. Wrong place, wrong time I'm thinking. What did Brad, John Mayer and the others NOT see in her that all of our husbands see?

I Have Obsessive-Compulsive Facebook Disorder

Isn't Facebook funny? As in funny-strange, not laugh-out-loud funny.

I can't stop, but I want to. But I can't. I tell myself I don't care to know so many details about people I haven't seen in years or barely know, but evidently I do.

Like a voyeur, I pore through peoples' photo albums. The best is when a friend gets "tagged" in a stranger's photo and I end up leafing through an album of 75 random pictures from "Alan's Surprise Party" (and I don't know Alan, or anyone else at the party). That's when I have to push myself away from my computer and start a load of laundry.

Or how about that friend you broke up with a few years back so no WAY are you going to friend him. But you have mutual friends, so you can kind of stalk him indirectly.

Oh, and I also read people's status updates religiously. Even people I don't really know.

The people who brag ("Off to the beach house for a week for fun in the sun! Will post pics when we return!") Of course you will.

And those who take a stand ("Maine, I am so mad at you!"). I like the people who use their status field to communicate with just one person ("Kathy, thanks for your note!! Yes, come by on Wednesday, can't wait!").

And new friends keep showing up. From the strangest places, out of the woodwork.

The girl on the treadmill next to me at the gym learned my name and "friended" me! Now I know all about her! Cool!

My brother's ex-wife whom I've not seen in 20+ years ... yep, she's my new friend and I enjoyed all the pictures she posted of her recent wedding.

My neighbor down the street with whom I've never actually spoken in person. A friend from high school's Mom. My daughter's pre-school teacher, from 3 years ago.

I've heard many people say things like, "I wasn't their friend in high school, why would I want to be now?" when describing those random friend requests we all receive from the faces from our past. But, I disagree.

It's like a big anthropological experiment to me, a real-life reality television show, to see how all of us have morphed over 20 years. We'll all probably eventually get bored of Facebook (or they'll start charging us to use it) and we'll collectively move onto something else, but for now I'm having fun. And I admit it.

I Was Not Picturing Julia Roberts When I Read Eat, Pray, Love

Admit it, you weren't either.

Call me stuck in the 80s, but I saw her more as one of the Elizabeths. Elizabeth McGovern (from her She's Having a Baby days) or Elizabeth Perkins (somewhere between About Last Night and He Said, She Said). Possibly Elisabeth Shue, post Cocktail but pre-Leaving Las Vegas. (Facebook friends suggested more modern picks Anne Heche or Naomi Watts.)

But Columbia Pictures decided to make the movie starring Julia. For ratings perhaps? The book wasn't exactly a riveting plot twister, as much as I enjoyed it.

I just can't imagine Julia Roberts lying on her bathroom floor bemoaning her unhappy marriage. Or gaining 25 lbs. in Italy. Or meditating for days on end in India.

I can't, in fact, stop picturing her blissfully happy in her marriage to camera man Daniel Moder, living in Taos with her three conspicuously-Hollywood named kids - Phinnaeus, Hazel and Henry.

Either that, or I'm trying to shake the image of her as a female escort, accepting that beautiful necklace from Richard Gere with her genuine Julia-only laugh, or listening to her Walkman in the bubble bath, singing a bad Prince song.

I bet author Elizabeth Gilbert, while she maintains in interviews she is honored, agrees that Julia is just a little bit too perfect to play this role perfectly. Nonetheless, I can't wait to see the movie.

Our Daughters Think We're Old

At dinner recently with my college girlfriends (sorority sisters if you must know), we discovered a commonality, at least among this sampling of four 40-year-old Moms.

Our daughters think we're old.

Our little Mini-Mes, who thought we were beautiful and perfect when they were 4, are noticing our fine lines and wrinkles.

When a commercial for an "age-fighting" night cream came on, friend #1's daughter tactfully suggested that she try it, "You know," she said, "to take care of those," pointing to her crow's feet.

Friend #2 told us how her 6-year-old said, "Mommy, I don't like those things up there," referring to the worry lines on her forehead.

Friend #3's first grade son recently came home from a play-date and told her incredulously, "Mom! Guess what? Avery's Mom is only 30."

We laughed over our wine as we pictured Avery telling her Mom, "Ewwwwww, Wyatt's Mom is so old. She's 40."

Crazy Sock Day

I am a bad Mom. I forgot crazy sock day at school.

Yes, there was a note sent home with a, "Don't forget it's crazy mis-matched sock day on Friday!" stuck in between all sorts of other reminders about the science fair and running club.

I only put two and two together when I picked my first-grade daughter up from school and bumped into a sea of children, ALL OF THEM WEARING the craziest (and yes, mis-matched) socks. Macy doesn't even own one pair of "crazy" socks, much less two.

"You forgot crazy sock day, Mommy!" Macy said indignantly.

"I did not," I replied, thinking quickly on my feet. "You are wearing crazy socks today. As in, you're the only kid in the entire school who wore matching, normal socks. That's pretty crazy, huh?!" She didn't buy it.

I guess I didn't get the memo to have not one, but two pairs of insanely colorful socks on hand, just in case there is another crazy sock day at school. I'm on it. It will not happen again.

An Internet Love Story

A recently divorced friend of mine has fallen in love.

The interesting thing about the story is that she and her new love have never met. In fact, they've only spoken on the phone 4 times. They correspond entirely via email and text, but they do it incessantly. More nights than not, they fall asleep (in their respective beds), laptops beside them, emailing back and forth into the wee hours of the night.

Theirs is a very cerebral, heady love. Said friend tells me that they aren't caught up in appearances (obviously), nor do they get tripped up by the nuances of verbal conversation (cadence, tone, etc.). Theirs is a love affair of words, the written word that is.

According to her, by stripping away all of the external stuff (oh you know, that physical piece, the talking part), they have really, really, really gotten to know each other. I am intrigued.

Of course, there is a dark side. They do plan to meet in person, soon. They've shared photos, as you might have guessed. But my beautiful friend is afraid that in person she won't measure up. I told her that there is no magic camera that takes a picture of a person who really doesn't exist.

So, I'm pulling for them. I truly hope their long anticipated face-to-face meeting will play out like the internet version of Cinderella. After all, she barely knew Prince Charming when she dropped that shoe.

The Perils of Working from Home

Working from home is an acquired taste, like dirty Kettle One martinis. As in, once you get used to it, it's all you want.

Who wants to get up earlier than necessary, put on uncomfortable clothes for no good reason, drive in traffic across town and trek into a germ-ridden office (or worse, a cubicle) to get your work done? Is it the riveting water cooler talk? Or the dreaded office politics and gossip? See, by working from home, you can keep up with your laundry and avoid most of that. Plus, you get to watch Mad Men during your lunch hour.

But then again, working from home has a down-side.

I own WAY too many pairs of comfy jeans. I wear out slippers like nobody's business. Going into any sort of office for a day or more wears me out. My suits are very outdated. I can no longer walk with a confident swagger in a pair of heels (I'm so out of practice). I don't hear about great new TV shows until half-way through season 2. And, because I work from home, most people think I don't work. Thus, because I am largely unavailable for many volunteer and social activities, my Mom friends cop to wondering what it is I do all day.

Nonetheless, in my opinion, it's a great gig if you can get it.

I Discovered Hot Tea and It Makes Me Happy

If you are a tea lover (and I was not until last week), you probably knew this already. If you are drinking hot tea made from a tea bag, then it is stale.

I stumbled into the retail franchise store www.Teavana.com (in the Galleria Mall in Fort Lauderdale) last weekend and $xxx dollars later, I left the store with a cast-iron teapot (adorned with fireflies, representing "new beginnings" ... who doesn't respond to that kind of promise?), fresh green and white teas in air-tight decorative tins (packed with anti-oxidants, of course), a glass stove-top tea kettle (to heat the water before you pour it into the other tea pot ... who knew?), a tea cup w/ a saucer (to complete the look) ... oh, and a Buddha statue (how could I not?).

Store manager Katrina carefully explained to me all the tea-making mistakes I'd been making all these years ... ie, watch water temp carefully when working with green tea to avoid bitterness, only cast-iron (and correspondingly expensive) teapots preserve the benefits of tea ... the list goes on.

Anyway, I rushed home to unpack and display my wares (see photo) and make a pot of tea. Totally worth it. The ritual of making a pot of fresh herbal tea for one in a beautiful Asian-inspired cast-iron teapot is, so far, everything it's cracked up to be. 10+ pots later, I'm in love.

The Birth of a Blog (Without a Point of View)

I need to learn more about how blogs work for my job (I own a marketing consulting firm). So, what better way than to start my own. Thing is, I am not at all sure what to blog about. Isn't there someone already blogging about everything interesting?

But ever the optimist, let me get this thing set up, think about it for a bit, and I'll try to drum up some interesting topics to blog about. I'm a Mom and wife (2 amazing kids, 1 amazing husband) first, and a girl with a job second. A loyal friend to a solid few, a lover of many things. Books, fashion, reality television, travel, good food and wine. But, what to blog about? Any ideas would be appreciated.