No this isn't a friendly reminder that breakfast is at 8 a.m. There is self-serve though if your interested...
The cover of Time magazine has the picture of a totally fit mom(though she looks like a model) breastfeeding her 8 year old son. She is standing up and the kid in camouflage pants lips around her breast face to the camera. (Being honest here--I would hate to be that kid going to school--talk about a momma's boy!)
I first saw the photo on an I-Phone. I'm sure more people will Google the picture than buy the magazine. Skip the whole issue of whether a woman should breastfeed an eight year old. You also have to skip the other problem of would they really show a chubby or dowdy mom on the front cover? If breastfeeding a kid until he/she is 8 yrs old makes us that slim--I might consider it. (--come on kid, -other side--I just had a milkshake-- and I see some cellulite on the left side).
Wow if I can come up with this stuff, I wonder what late night television is doing.
If print is dying, please die gracefully. Time magazine, the name itself meant something. Yes it was edgy at times, but not such a flagrant attempt to save itself from becoming lost in the digital world.
Does the woman on the cover need help--probably...but I would say she is easier to fix/save than the magazines that use to be fanned out on someone's coffee table.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Monday, May 21, 2012
Road Rage Hits Dallas --Escalade vs. Prius can't you guess who won?
The front page of the local paper touted the information that an Escalade was on top of a Toyota Prius. I dropped my purse on the floor gleefully wanting to read the story. Was it a my SUV is bigger than your gas saving mini car that the government is trying to force down our necks? My next question was wow what kind of ground clearance must an Escalade have to successfully land on the hood of the Prius?
I thought of all kind of scenarios. The Escalade going the full 55 mile speed limit when the Prius coughed and jumped its tiny self out onto the road right in front of the SUV. Regardless of all the explanations I could concoct in my head none of them were true, then again I didn't quite read the headline right either.
While the officers called this incident "extreme", it wasn't as extreme as my first misread. Instead what had happened was that the owner of the Escalade was standing on the roof of the Prius kicking the windshield and side mirrors. Even as this 61 yr-old man was pulled off the Prius by the police, the Escalade driver was able to kick in the door of the Prius. According to "some witness who doesn't know much about the cost of fixing cars" the Prius could be a total loss. If that statement isn't confusing enough (even I could guess what it would take to have the car fixed--a mechanic and some money)--consider this closing fact, the Prius driver wasn't some young 20's Earth savvy saver, the Prius driver was 69.
I thought of all kind of scenarios. The Escalade going the full 55 mile speed limit when the Prius coughed and jumped its tiny self out onto the road right in front of the SUV. Regardless of all the explanations I could concoct in my head none of them were true, then again I didn't quite read the headline right either.
While the officers called this incident "extreme", it wasn't as extreme as my first misread. Instead what had happened was that the owner of the Escalade was standing on the roof of the Prius kicking the windshield and side mirrors. Even as this 61 yr-old man was pulled off the Prius by the police, the Escalade driver was able to kick in the door of the Prius. According to "some witness who doesn't know much about the cost of fixing cars" the Prius could be a total loss. If that statement isn't confusing enough (even I could guess what it would take to have the car fixed--a mechanic and some money)--consider this closing fact, the Prius driver wasn't some young 20's Earth savvy saver, the Prius driver was 69.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Orlando, Magic Kingdom, Road Rage, Golf Carts
Cars and golf carts kept swerving around each other as the place we were staying. This was the first year we went to Orlando during Spring Break and both my husband and myself were starting to regret the decision. We were staying in a condo/time share unit located less than five miles from the Magic Kingdom, and realtors were waving their magic wands as they enticed people into buying a time-share unit.
You could definitely tell who was an owner vs. the realtor's prey. Having established that I have road rage, I passed the driving over to my husband. The realtor on the golf cart, long lean and blonde, must have an incredible life insurance policy! She would continue non stop talking as her cart started going head to head with an SUV.
She would wave her arm with the heir of a beauty queen expecting that she had right of way. She must have felt invincible, because with one arm on the driver she would keep her spiel going(about the golf course, pools, weight room) as her possible tenets braced for the crash.
Since I wasn't the one driving, I thought I could ignore the battle going between real cars, and these white golf carts. Just look at a map of the complex, I told myself as I saw another golf car trying to get through, or maybe I should decide which park to visit. By the third day there I lost it and reached over and honked the horn. I held on to it as long as I could before my husband bumped my arm off the horn. Where I would have been just as happy to bump all these carts out of the complex.
By the fifth day of vacation my husband quit telling me to relax and starting to say things the children in the back shouldn't hear (not saying they haven't heard them before, or that they will be saved from obscenities in the future).
The day before we went home, the golf carts starting looking like golf balls to me--one hit-one in the hole -I win. Only 17 more carts to hit to win the game, because there are 18 holes in a round of putt-putt.
It was the last day before my husband succumbed to the power of my engine. The changing and swerving on invisible lanes had me yelling for more, while the kids were eerily quiet.
Their world was no longer the same, their Dad had turned to the dark side. He no longer cared if he scared the people on the cart, and he climbed up a berm in an effort to be free from this place. The funny thing was, about three cars followed in our wake.
You could definitely tell who was an owner vs. the realtor's prey. Having established that I have road rage, I passed the driving over to my husband. The realtor on the golf cart, long lean and blonde, must have an incredible life insurance policy! She would continue non stop talking as her cart started going head to head with an SUV.
She would wave her arm with the heir of a beauty queen expecting that she had right of way. She must have felt invincible, because with one arm on the driver she would keep her spiel going(about the golf course, pools, weight room) as her possible tenets braced for the crash.
Since I wasn't the one driving, I thought I could ignore the battle going between real cars, and these white golf carts. Just look at a map of the complex, I told myself as I saw another golf car trying to get through, or maybe I should decide which park to visit. By the third day there I lost it and reached over and honked the horn. I held on to it as long as I could before my husband bumped my arm off the horn. Where I would have been just as happy to bump all these carts out of the complex.
By the fifth day of vacation my husband quit telling me to relax and starting to say things the children in the back shouldn't hear (not saying they haven't heard them before, or that they will be saved from obscenities in the future).
The day before we went home, the golf carts starting looking like golf balls to me--one hit-one in the hole -I win. Only 17 more carts to hit to win the game, because there are 18 holes in a round of putt-putt.
It was the last day before my husband succumbed to the power of my engine. The changing and swerving on invisible lanes had me yelling for more, while the kids were eerily quiet.
Their world was no longer the same, their Dad had turned to the dark side. He no longer cared if he scared the people on the cart, and he climbed up a berm in an effort to be free from this place. The funny thing was, about three cars followed in our wake.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
I'm Your Favorite!
Today is voting day and we have some big issues on the ballot. Now before you go off to sleep I could mention one is about making marriage as only between a man and a woman, toll roads, and a ton of guys who have called me and said hey pick me! The reason I even bring this up is that these political calls are telling me the exact same thing my children. Who I like/love the best.
It came down to a shouting match as I took a short, and I do mean short walk with two of my kids. At 17 and 11, I thought we were past this point, but as I and several of my neighbors heard, my 11 year old daughter put up her fists and was willing to attack her brother who now towers us at close to 6 feet. All this over who I loved the most, vs. who their father loved the most! I thought we had been fair but not in their eyes. Anyway, back to David vs Goliath in order to stop my daughter from advancing while my son just tipped his sun glasses down a bit I stuck my bright pink cane between the two of them.
I then boomed one, two, three....and when I said "Fight" and to my surprise they took off at a fast clip racing each other to a basketball goal. It took them a minute or two to turn around and realize what I said.
"You really want me to fight with my sister? Kinda unfair don't you think?" my son said.
"Mom he could really hurt me!"
"I guess the matter is settled then, your Dad and I love each of you," I said sounding like a parenting book.
Bored with the answer we resumed our walk. In my head I calculated out of all three children who probably has the most legitimate complaint. If any child should fill left out it would be my youngest. He recently came up to me before school and complained that his stomach hurt. After I told him he still had to go, he vomited near my feet.
Luckily it wasn't too disgusting, but it was still too much for me. I handed my son a roll of paper towels, a can of Clorox wipes and a garbage bag. I explained that if I helped him it would be a lot more to cleanup. My 10 year old son looked at me through wet lashes and started cleaning up. He then took a shower, brushed his teeth, and changed his clothes. When I heard him coming down the stairs, I poked my head out of the room and asked him if it was all cleaned up. He nodded his head and I came out of my room sniffing as I went.
I spent the rest of the day letting him cuddle and watch television. Unlike politics, I don't think parents have permeant favorite children, instead it is who is behaving the best that day.
It came down to a shouting match as I took a short, and I do mean short walk with two of my kids. At 17 and 11, I thought we were past this point, but as I and several of my neighbors heard, my 11 year old daughter put up her fists and was willing to attack her brother who now towers us at close to 6 feet. All this over who I loved the most, vs. who their father loved the most! I thought we had been fair but not in their eyes. Anyway, back to David vs Goliath in order to stop my daughter from advancing while my son just tipped his sun glasses down a bit I stuck my bright pink cane between the two of them.
I then boomed one, two, three....and when I said "Fight" and to my surprise they took off at a fast clip racing each other to a basketball goal. It took them a minute or two to turn around and realize what I said.
"You really want me to fight with my sister? Kinda unfair don't you think?" my son said.
"Mom he could really hurt me!"
"I guess the matter is settled then, your Dad and I love each of you," I said sounding like a parenting book.
Bored with the answer we resumed our walk. In my head I calculated out of all three children who probably has the most legitimate complaint. If any child should fill left out it would be my youngest. He recently came up to me before school and complained that his stomach hurt. After I told him he still had to go, he vomited near my feet.
Luckily it wasn't too disgusting, but it was still too much for me. I handed my son a roll of paper towels, a can of Clorox wipes and a garbage bag. I explained that if I helped him it would be a lot more to cleanup. My 10 year old son looked at me through wet lashes and started cleaning up. He then took a shower, brushed his teeth, and changed his clothes. When I heard him coming down the stairs, I poked my head out of the room and asked him if it was all cleaned up. He nodded his head and I came out of my room sniffing as I went.
I spent the rest of the day letting him cuddle and watch television. Unlike politics, I don't think parents have permeant favorite children, instead it is who is behaving the best that day.
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