TOP BLOG OF THE WEEK: THE ONLY GIRL

This Top Blogger is a 40-something working mom of two boys, a wife to one husband, a sister to one brother, a daughter to one dad, and a caregiver of several male pets. So in her own words, she is, for all intents and purposes, living in a boy’s world . . . and is the only girl! Without further ado, please give a warm welcome to my Top Blog of the Week, Cher at The Only Girl.

THE ONLY GIRL

It's such an honor to be SFTC's Top Blog of the Week! Really, I'm thrilled. No really. I don't usually get out much, so it's very exciting to be posting over here today. My life is seriously estrogen deficient so I'll just soak up whatever you can throw at me today and stick it in the reserves for later - when the testosterone takes over my life again. Thanks for the opportunity!

As the title of my blog suggests, I'm the only girl in my house. And as such, I experience many dark, lonely moments as well as challenges. One of the big ones of course, is the never ever ending potty humor.

Honestly - at what age does potty humor cease to be hilariously funny?

At age 6? No. And frankly that's reasonable.

At age 9? Nope, and I guess that's reasonable too.

At age 38? Apparently not. The poo and fart jokes are just as funny to the man as they are to the child.

But why? Why are those jokes so hilarious to them? Talking about poo and farts results in uncontrollable fits of laughter. A certain camaraderie is made by sharing such jokes in my house. I, of course, am the horrified outsider. Because frankly, in spite of having a pretty good sense of humor, I really don't find anything funny about it. It's just kinda gross.

Oh, I've tried to break the cycle. Trust me. I've insisted how horrendous "The Fart Game" really is. I've feigned the look of shock for years every time someone dropped a stink bomb in my vicinity. But it all falls on deaf ears. Apparently the potty humor gene has been deeply embedded in the male DNA since the beginning of time. My looks of sheer and utter disgust are never going to change that.

So I've given up. I've waived the white flag. I've stepped down off my soapbox. I decided some time ago - if you can't beat them, join them.

And as I've discovered, it would seem that one of the few advantages of living in a house of boys, is that being an "open farter" is not only accepted, it's also admired. The more open the better. It's like their language of love.

When I'm at home, I just let those stink bombs drop! In the kitchen. While watching TV. In bed. Whenever and wherever. Always on a quest to impress them, to gain access to their "club".

At first my new found freedom was met with resistance. Even disgust. But slowly I've managed to win them over. I'm honored by the kudos they award me and continually do my best to make them proud.

I just have to remember when I'm NOT at home . . . because as I've discovered, my co-workers really don't find it so amusing. But that's a post for another day.

Drop by my blog anytime to see what else the boys and I get up to. It's ALWAYS something.

Thank you so much for sharing, Cher. As an open farter (it is a medical condition, people) and someone who got a dog SOLELY for the purpose of blaming her for my own farts, I am the president of the Stinky Butt Club in my house. And I appreciate reading about others who like to stink it up.

Now be a good SFTC follower, go visit Cher and leave her some comment love, and why not follow? I mean, her name is CHER! Stop it already.

Have a great weekend!

DO I MAKE YOU NERVOUS, BABY? DO I? I PUT THE GRRR IN BLOGGER, BABY. YEAH.

The title has essentially nothing to with any of this, but I digress. Long ago at the end of November 2009, Joanne at Joanne Moving Forward Half Speed and I were having an email discussion about blog intimidation and things that frightened us in the blog world.

It was such a great discussion that I told her she had inspired me to blog about it, but then the holidays swept us up, but the idea was kept in draft form and now it is making its way onto my monochromatic pages.

As a young blogling, I was afraid of many things. Following big blogs. People with lots of comments. People not following me. People not commenting. Or (gasp) people who stopped following me. People thinking my comments were completely deranged. People criticizing my writing. People criticizing me. Running out of things to write.

A few hundred or so posts later, and all of those fears seem silly now.

It doesn't matter to me if you have 2,000 or 2,000,000 followers. I will follow you. In the hopes that maybe you follow me back. And if you have a lot of followers, and I catch your eye, and you feature me, then it was worth taking the chance to follow you, the blog with too many followers to begin with.

It doesn't matter to me if you have 300 comments. If I leave a comment, a really funny one, then maybe that comment makes someone laugh, and they come check me out, and end up following me. Then it was worth it to be just another comment on some blog with too many comments.

It doesn't matter to me if I've never read you before, I comment as if I've read your blog for years. I am me. And if you don't get me, that's okay. I will never be everyone's cup of tea. Actually, I should use the term, can of Coke, because I don't even drink tea.

No matter how many followers or comments I get, know these things sayeth the Crib:

I will always read every comment. They are sent directly to my email. If you ask me a question, I will respond via email (if you have enabled it via your profile and many of you haven't. ScoMan and Sarah RDH to name two.)

Here's how to get email responses to the comments you leave on blogs: Customize, Dashboard, Edit Profile, and click Show My Email Address, Scroll down and click Save Profile. If you don't want to use your regular email address, get one for your blog. I did.

I will visit your blog every time you visit my blog. This might take a bit of time because I am visiting the blogs who visited me back in early December. I have given up on the concept of being 'caught up'. But I am doing the best I can do with only 2 hours to blog each day (that's how long my daughter naps).

I will always know exactly how many followers I have. I will never have enough or too many. So never be intimidated to follow anyone. They need you as much as you need them.

If I have 100 comments, it's because I have most likely visited and commented on 100 blogs. This is a reciprocal relationship. If you don't comment or visit other blogs they are not going to return the favor. No matter how good you think you are.

Most people in the blogosphere are very kind and supportive. Along the way you'll most likely find your group of loyal fans and vice versa and they'll become to feel like really good friends. Hence, my blog roll!

I will always hate walking my dog.

So, what used to -or does- intimidate you in the blog world?

HOW MY NEW COACH PURSE SAVED MY LIFE AND BECAME MY NEW BEST FRIEND. SORRY DEBBIE.

Lately, I have been a little down. Post Christmas and post vacation blues and post my freaking baby won't sleep through the night ever months of sleep deprivation blues.

I haven't had the energy or the desire to do even the basics: clean the house, pick up the toys, do the laundry, unload the dishwasher, clean the dishes, walk the dog. Take down the Christmas tree and decorations that have been up since November 1st, 2009.

Oh, and cook. I don't cook even when I am feeling on top of the world. Forget about it when I am in the weeds.

The children have given to foraging for food amongst the spilled cereal on the living room floor, the day old pizza boxes on the stove, and the fruit bowl on the kitchen table, full of fruit that I was supposed to be eating because THE ME I WANNA BE loves to eat fruit. Eventually, the me I wanna be realized she was fighting a losing battle, and got the hell outta Dodge.

The only effort I was making was for the children because they do need to eat and bathe and be looked after. But it felt like a monumental effort to even get out of bed.

After one particularly crap day, I flopped into my un-made smelly bed, rolled onto my side, and looked down at what was once a swatch of creamy vacuumed carpeting, but was now covered in empty snack boxes, gossip rags, 47 inches of brown dog hair (it's her bi-annual shedding cycle), used tissues, half-eaten crayons, empty two liters of Coke and pizza crusts.

I thought to myself, I am three days away from appearing on an episode of Hoarders. And I'm not even a single gay male living alone with mother issues or a Southern woman clothed only in Snuggies and saturated adult diapers with 72 cats (68 of which are dead and rotting within the bowels of the home) and too-many-to-count unfinished knitting and crochet projects. What is happening to me?

And then from amidst the ruin, I see a glimmer of silver. And it whispers to me,

Pick me up and hold me.

It was my Coach purse.

The one I got for Christmas.

The one of my dreams.

She had come to save me.

That night I snuggled with her warm soft leather in my arms and I woke more refreshed and full of energy than I had in months.


Wouldn't you know it, she'd gotten up with the baby that night.

Soon she was hustling me into the shower before the kids even woke up. She said,

If you look good, you do good! And if you do good, you feel good! And if you feel good, you CAN be the you you wanna be!

By God, I think she's on to something.

Next thing I knew...

she was helping me take down the Christmas tree.

And we were scrubbing Oreo cookie stains off the couch.

Reading the same books.

And suddenly I realized, she wasn't just a beautiful Coach purse.

She was a beautiful friend (slash delusional distraction).

Thank you my Coach purse, for not only saving my life but for showing me how great life with a Coach purse as your best friend can be.

Pretty darn great.

Post Script: Although she is my best friend, she is also a constant theft hazard. I can no longer just leave my purse in the cart as I wander through the produce at Wal-mart. She must always be hanging from my forearm. Which, of course, makes her exactly like a best friend, but also sort of an annoyance.

Who else has the winter blahs or post Christmas slash holiday blues? What are your remedies? And no, you can't borrow my Coach purse to cure yourself. That only works in blogs.

IF YOU ARE MISSING RALPH MACCHIO, YOU MAY JUST WANT TO READ THIS. I MEAN IT.

I was lying in bed, watching TV the other night, when Dave Chapelle popped on the screen. Ahhhh, I thought to myself, I loved his show. Why did he have to go and get all crazy? With his, I'm Rick James, b*tch and Cocaine is a helluva drug and Does Wayne Brady gotta choke a b*tch? Pure comedy gold. I've got every season on DVD.

Then the commercial comes on, and I started channel flipping, as I do, and I see The Karate Kid. You know, the first one. With Ralph Macchio. I had such a crush on that skinny little weasel. Whatever happened to him? He was so good in that movie. I miss him. And those silly little crushes I had on movie stars (which included Elliot from E.T. and Corey Haim).

Flip some more, and there's a show on the Travel Channel about castles and BAM they show Princess Diana. Oh, man. How I loved her. I taped her wedding. And her funeral. I sobbed when she died. Sobbed. Oh, how I miss her. What a treasure. And that Andrew Morton book? To. die. for. So good.

Then the next channel, E! which is showing an old Tom Hanks movie. I miss Tom Hanks being in funny movies. The 'Burbs is like one of my top ten all time favorite movies. Why does he think he has to win an Oscar every time? So boring.

And then my mind begins to wander, and I start thinking of things that I miss and I whip out my journal, and stream of consciousness, write them all down.

And here they are:

Dave Attell

John Candy

Chris Farley

L.A. Law

Pitchers of Kamikazes at dive bars in college

College (note: not the school part, but the sorority, going to the bar, living with girlfriends, sleeping all day, smoking like a chimney part)

Ice cold pop in glass bottles

Tanning with baby oil on the roof of our parent's house blaring Nu Shooz from my boom box

P. Diddy's, Making the Band and b*tchassness

Danity Kane (Aubrey is the new Yoko)

Howard Stern on regular radio. Can't do the swears with the kids around.

A-HA

Nirvana

Christmas

The Jersey Shore

Growing Up Gotti

And then I grew tired of writing and started flipping again, and happened upon John Krasinski and Amy Poehler dressed as Ducky and Andie (I'm not even going to tell you what movie they are from because if you don't know I am disgusted with you) and they are intro'ing a tribute to John Hughes.

And I get the sense that most JH movies are now too painful for me to watch. Reminding me of a happier, simpler, more carefree time. A time when my youth stretched out before me for miles and life was more full of possibilities than responsibilities.

And I realized how much I missed my youth.

And how it truly is wasted on the young.

Now that you are amply depressed, what do you miss?

CAN I BE THE ME I WANNA BE OR AM I GONNA BE STUCK WITH THE ME THAT I AM FOREVER?

As I have stated previously, I am not a New Year's resolution type person. But as I will soon be entering into my final year of thirties, I have thought a lot about the person I wanna be or the person I wish I was by the time I turn forty.

There are plenty of things about me that I am satisfied with: my outrageously successful blog, my writing, my friends, my family, and my stay at home mom status. But there are definitely some areas that could use some fine tuning.

For your convenience, I have carefully divided THE ME I WANNA BE into three distinct categories: mind, body, and soul.

MIND

The Me I Wanna Be:

Writes as much as possible (check)

Becomes a published author (not even a clue, help me David Sedaris)

Reads more often and finds new authors (help me followers)

Conquers the world of the podcast with confidence (help me Jill, Jesus, and Oprah)

Cares less about the unimportant stuff (help me Richard Carlson)

Finds peace (help me God)

BODY

The Me I Wanna Be:

Is an athlete (help me Debbie, Jesus, Oprah, and maybe even Gayle)

Is a healthy eater who loves fruits and vegetables (help me Doug, Debbie, Jesus, well, just see athlete)

Is repulsed by fast food (help me Subway Jared)

Is less concerned with a number on a scale, and more concerned about being a healthy role model for my children (let's face it --- that's gonna take Jesus, Oprah, Tom Cruise, AND Jenny Craig)

Is someone who makes her own health a priority (help me, The Elfin King himself, Dr. Oz)

Is someone who does not procrastinate making appointments to the ob/gyn, dentist, and dermatologist (see above)

Let's the baby cry so she can get some freaking sleep (help me ear plugs and Benadryl)

SOUL

The Me I Wanna Be:

Stops trying to be the driver of her busted up car and let's Jesus take the wheel. (help me Carrie Underpants)

Unless it's snowing, because he's from the Middle East and I'm not sure if he would know to pump-pump-pump the brakes. (help me AAA)

Feels less guilty about not being perfect all the time and more happy (help me Xanax)

Spreads happiness, love, and cheer wherever she goes (see above)

Yells less, breathes more, and slows down (see above)

Is always kind and loving and giving to her children, even when she thinks it's impossible (see above)

Takes more time out of her day to Be still and know that He is God (help me Psalm 46:10)

Surrenders her troubles to Him and feels His gift of peace (Seriously. Help me, God)

It's a pretty tall order for The Me I Wanna Be. But I figure if I make a conscience effort to do the things on this list, then instead of it being a list of things I wanna be, it will someday be exactly who I am.

Off the top of your head, name three things you wanna be or improve or change or whatever it is. And if you've come to total fulfillment in your life, than you can suck it. Dammit, I just screwed up the spreading cheer wherever I go one. Okay. Starting over, if you are totally happy then I feel so happy for you and wish you the very best life has to offer. I feel a litle pukey after saying that. It'll probably get it easier with time.

TOP BLOG OF THE WEEK: CONFESSIONS FROM A WORKING MOM

This Top Blogger is employed full-time as a TV news producer, married to a sheriff's deputy, and is the mother of a beautiful 17 month old daughter (just like me)! Her blog is (in her words) a brutally honest account of her mission to have it all... and her realization that sometimes, that's all but impossible. So, without further ado, please give a warm round of applause to my Top Blog of the Week, Elizabeth, at

CONFESSIONS FROM
A WORKING MOM

MOTHER'S NIGHT OUT

Sing it with me...
Oh yes it's ladies night,
And the feeling's right.
Oh yes it's ladies night,
Oh what a night (Ooh, what a night)!
I'd like to thank KC and the Sunshine Band for making a guest appearance ...

Seriously, think about Ladies Night Out, and what comes to mind? Scantily-clad college co-eds pressed up tight against sweaty bodies in the club... overflowing martini glasses... loud, pounding dance music.

But mention Mother's Night Out ... a yawner, right?

Up until a few days ago, that's what I'd thought.

I was wrong.

One of my good friend's had been inviting me to her church's Mom's Night Out for months. I'd always said no. I'd always come up with a good excuse. There was no one to watch the baby. I'd had a tough day at work. I needed to spend some quality time with DH. But the truth was, a night out with a bunch of moms sounded, well, boring.

I couldn't have been more wrong.
First, although I'd feared most of our conversations would revolve around our children (what is the purpose of a night out without the baby if that's all I'm going to talk about?), we spent a lot of time talking about our pre-baby lives.

Remember?

Those days when we could have a few drinks, stay out a little too late, and not have to worry about a 6:45am wake up call on a Saturday morning. Sigh. Even though none of us had known each other as rowdy college students, we reminisced about the days when we could cut loose and let our hair down. When our only responsibilities were getting in that term paper before the professor noticed it was missing from his stack of papers.

And, although I'm a fervent church-goer, I was hesitant to go to a Christian Mom's Night Out gathering that wasn't affiliated with my religion. I was afraid I'd be an outcast because I was-- GASP!-- a Catholic girl in the South. But we didn't talk one iota about church, or religion, or anything remotely sacred. In fact, we openly debated the merits of plastic surgery, the newest "Twilight" movie (I think I'm the only person in the world who hasn't seen it), and maybe not-so-coincidentally, our celebrity crush(es).

But after 3 hours of great, girly conversation, the evening ended. It was time for this mother to go back in... back to the world of sippy cups, white noise machines, and dolls with knotted hair. And despite the fact that I adored my time away, I was more than ready to get back to my girl!

What do you and your friends do when you get together to get away from it all?

Thank you Elizabeth for sharing and posting a follow up question to my followers. I do so love that! Now be a good SFTC follower and head on over to Elizabeth's place, give her some comment love, and why not follow?

NEW, IMPROVED, AND FINAL TIMELY AWARDS POST, JANUARY 22, 2010

It is with a heavy heart that I announce my final awards post. While I greatly appreciate the generosity of my followers, it is becoming increasingly difficult to stay on top of it.

Part of what I loved about the awards was the ability to recognize great blogs, which I will continue to do by filling you in on my favs and spotlighting up and coming and new-to-me blogs via my Top Blog of the Week, which is posted each Friday.

Again thanks to everyone who has thought of me. It was truly an honor to feel so loved and appreciated.

The Lemonade Stand Award was given to me by Existential Waitress. Thanks girl. I give this award to MaryRC at Shaking the Tree. She is a gorgeous gal and a great writer.

I got the Made of Awesome Award from The Savage at Something Savage This Way Comes. Dude.This dude has crap sticking out of every which place and I don't understand half the stuff he writes, but I heart him. It takes all kinds.

I give this Award to Insanity Kim over on my blog roll, because she'll really appreciate it. And I heart her something ridiculous. If you don't follow her already, you're making a huge life error.


I got the Happy 101 Award from Lissaloo at Krafting with Kids and Holly Ann at My Bubbled Mess. Thanks girls.

I give this award to quandlequeen at Parenting Woes, Whoas, and Wahs She is a great giver of advice and has a pretty neat little blog. Check her out.

DEPRESSION, HERE I COME, AS SEASON ONE OF THE JERSEY SHORE COMES TO A CLOSE. SELF-DEFEATED SIGH.

If you know not of who I speak, my heart withers for you and your sheltered television viewing life. There has not been anything as fist-pumpingly-captivating since The Jersey Shore arrived on my television DVR a few short weeks ago.

If you aren't familiar with this gaggle of tanned, muscled, tattooed, gelled, and pre-twelve-step-lifestyle cast of characters, allow me to familiarize you. Go here to see my favorite peeps, as they appeared on my late night news show, Chelsea Lately.

In addition, here's my own personal assessment:

Mike "The Situation"
Great abs, but total butter face. A hoser douche bag who will end up with some sort of STD before he's 40.

Snookie, Snooks, Snickers, Snick
Giant hair-bump, clothes worn too short and too tight. Possibly snaggle tooth slash fang. The girl who was infamously punched in the face by the guy at the bar. Very funny, total train-wreck, a joy to watch.

Ronnie
Possible juice head. Bad under bite. Annoying nervous Joker laugh. Is so into his girl Sammie, may have sprouted ovaries. Half the time on show is spent fighting with her. He has morphed into a total chick. I'm over him.

Sammie
Ronnie's girl. Big thick legs who wears shorts far too short for a girl with big thick legs. Whines and fights constantly with Ronnie. Has given Ronnie the ovaries. Half the time on show is spent fighting with him. I'm over her.

Vinnie
True Italian (his mother is from Siciliy) but no tan, no muscles, and no game. So far from being a guido, not sure how he got on the show. Perhaps he is related to the creator slash producer and weaseled his way on. Not embarrassed that his mother cuts his food for him still. Borefest.

JWoww
Fakest boobs I have ever seen --- there is a twelve foot space between them on her chest, but the girl can throw a punch. Total bad a** train wreck with busted extensions, hooker with a heart of gold and I totally heart her.

Pauly D
No one shall speak against my Pauly D. No one. He is the King of the Guidos. His uncanny resemblance to the Gotti brothers (who I also heart with all my heart) is enough to keep him in my good books forever. His rigidly gelled hair and freakishly large tattoos will live in my heart long after his fifteen minutes of fame have faded.

Not to mention that he shares his last name with a certain sad-faced drive-in owner and cook from the 1970s. Get that reference and you get 28 crib points.

It is with a heavy heart that I say farewell to my Jersey Shore. How will I ever get through the rest of the winter without you?

What is your favorite TV show that would crush you if it were cancelled?

ONE TIME MY DAD MADE ME EAT A BUTT. AND IT'S NOT WHAT IT SOUNDS LIKE. OR. GET OFF THE POT.

The year was 1988 or 89. My younger sister and I had just come off a long grounding spell. You should note, that I spent much of my adolescence grounded. Habitual liar and ne'er do well that I was.

In his generosity, my father opted to take us to a high school basketball game. We walked into the school with my Dad and sat in the student bleachers. Ten minutes later we walked out of the gymnasium, through the lobby, past the concession stand, straight out the door, and up to the bowling alley five minutes away.

We were bowling alley flies. We liked it because we could play pool, flirt with the dirty boys, and most importantly, smoke. We stayed the allotted time of the basketball game and returned to the school gymnasium, smelling of stale cigarettes and most likely wearing faces of guilt and possible impending doom.

In the car ride home, the questions began. Where had we been? Why Father, we were in the lobby hanging out with friends. You went out there 18 times and never once saw us? That must have been when we were in the bathroom. Well, we were hanging out in the bathroom a lot too. You sent someone in looking for us and we weren't there? That is really weird.

Dad wasn't buying it. And he was getting madder and madder. I knew by the time we got home, it was going to be Armageddon. In preparation, I hid my cigarettes down the front of my pants with my lighter because he would probably search my purse and my person for contraband.

We get home and Dad is going ballistic. He instructs us to empty our coat pockets. I think to myself, Shew! Good thing I put my cigarettes in my pants or I would be up sh*t creek right now! And that's when I felt it. One cigarette butt in my right coat pocket.

Dammit.

I pretend to empty my coat pockets.

But Dad decides to check my coat pockets too.

Dammit.

And he finds and seizes the half-smoked cigarette butt.

Dammit.

And he ripped off the filter.

And he said ...

EAT IT.

Dammit.

And I did.

And I felt nauseous for like two days straight. Which probably led to some weight loss.

Always a silver lining.

Post Script

The last thing he yelled at me was after this tirade was, Get off the pot! At the top of his lungs, and then he stormed off. And my hand to God, I had never smoked pot in my life. Even though I acted retarded and slow most of the time, and binged on Pringles and RC pop in glass bottles, I seriously was not on the pot in high school, Dad. I wasn't.

So what has someone (could be a parent or otherwise) accused you of doing that you were innocent of or what was a creative punishment your parents gave you or what was a creative punishment you gave your kids? Whatever you have for me post it in the comments.

I DON'T SMOKE NEARLY 100% OF THE TIME.

The English and Australians call cigarettes, fags. I have called them fags since I married my Australian husband nearly 10 years ago. As a former (and the very rare but now and then occasional stressed-out) smoker, I mainly use the term, so my son will not know the word cigarette and blab to the world about his mother smoking them.

For example, if he said, I saw my mom smoke a cigarette, that would be believable. However, if he said, My mom had a fag, no one will believe a word that comes out of his mouth. Always think ahead, people.

And why do I go through this elaborate ruse? Because although I am nearly 40 years old, the thought of my mother knowing I ever smoke terrifies me.

I can go years without a cigarette and one huge fight with my husband and I am standing at the 24 hour convenient store, buying a pack, with a look of disgust on my face, because they now cost $1,000 a pack.

Thank God I quit.

And it is also a filthy, dirty, smelly, disgusting, money-wasting habit. And I am so glad I don't smoke.

Nearly 100% of the time.

What is something you do or have done that you would hate for your mother to know about?

KATHY GRIFFIN, THIS ONE'S FOR YOU. NOT THAT YOU NEED IT, BUT, HERE IT IS ANYWAY.

I have just finished reading a phenomenal book. Official Book Club Selection: A Memoir According to Kathy Griffin.

I could not put this book down. I stayed up until 2 am finishing it! From her childhood in Chicago with a ne-er-do-well jail bird pedophile (allegedly) older brother, to her stand up days with Andy Dick and Janeane Garofalo, to her divorce, to her reality show, it was chocked full of humor, candor, Hollywood insider dish, and surprisingly, very few swear words.

I have been a fan of Kathy's for-ev-er. I love how she isn't afraid to tell the truth, always says exactly how she feels, and to top it off, her comedy shows (which I have been to a few here in Cleveland) feel like you are just hanging out and gabbing with your best girl friend. She is a true entertainment talent and deserves much more recognition for her comedic abilities than she has thus far received. IMO.

I was not compensated or asked to do a review. I just love her and her book and wanted to share it with my loyal following. Now go buy a copy for yourself and someone you love!

What's been the best book you've recently read?

TOP BLOG OF THE WEEK: FAT MOM BLOG

This Top Blogger is a Midwestern wife and full time and first time mommy to, and I quote, "a perfect baby named Jude." Her blog reflects her personal weight loss journey, which is so down-to-earth and translatable, because it is a struggle many people (not just moms and women) face. It is something I myself have issues with. So, without further ado, please give a warm round of applause to my Top Blog of the Week, Ashlee, at

FAT MOM BLOG

If you're gonna be fat, you gotta be tough!

I am a Fat mom. I have always been kind of Hefty. My Husband, bless his heart, tries to make me feel better about my weight as best he can. I am an emotional eater. I can be crying about how fat I am and he will bring me another box of Ding Dongs and a 2-Liter of Dr. Pepper all while telling me how beautiful I am, and (Insert the girl version of a deep manly voice) "Who Cares how much you weigh. It's on the inside that counts."

I keep trying to explain to him I want people to see "me" when they look at me, not pretend I don't exist because I am displeasing to the eye. "Me" is a skinny lady with great legs and a great pair of boobs, pushing a stroller in my bikini and high heals and a big sun hat, Tan of course.

Instead, they see a short, chubby lady with flip flops on, Maternity jeans, and a XL Tshirt that hangs off her body like a bag.

Even my childhood memories are filled with fat jokes and snickers from other kids. When I was 7 I was a husky girl. My mom still let me wear bikinis because she thought if I had the confidence to wear it, I should be able to. She didn't know how bad I was teased until one hot, sticky summer afternoon I came running inside sobbing. Mom wrapped her arms around me and I cried into her soft belly.

"What's wrong?" she said gently, in her "Mommy can fix all" tone. "Mommy," I started, "What are knockers?" she giggled and looked at me and asked why I was asking her this question. "Because, (Insert name of some mean girl from your past because honestly can't remember her name) said I have Knockers and I am only 7." She explained to me that "knockers" meant Boobs and mine weren't really boobs.

I never understood until I was older that she meant I was fat. This continued most of my life before I got Mono when I was 14. I was so sick I couldn't eat for about 3 weeks and I got down to about 130lbs.

Over the course of 9 years, and a pregnancy, I had become even bigger. Gaining almost 60lbs and getting to 234 at my Heaviest. I had become comfortable in the fact that I would always be fat and there was nothing I could do about it but eat another Large Big Mac Meal and drink my sorrows away one Dr.Pepper at a time.

One Fateful night I was watching "The Secret Lives of Women" and there was a lady on there who was Video Blogging her way to weight loss. Then it hit me. I CAN BE THIN! If she can do it, so can I. Oh. My. Gosh. I had never really thought about exercising, eating right, and certainly not about blogging. Hello, Ding dong!

That is how "Fat Mom Blog" was created. I put down the Dr.Pepper and the McDonald's and got off my fanny. Imagine my surprise when I started to feel better about myself and start getting into shape.

I never knew you could hurt so good, and that I could feel better about myself, too!
I am far from the Skinny Biotch in a bikini that I want to be. She's in here though, she's just hiding.

I have lost 10 pounds and plan on keeping with it, even through the holidays.

If you're a Fat Mom like me, and hate looking in the mirror because the Hot lady you want to see actually has a Double chin, and fat rolls that pours over her jeans like over proofed bread dough at Subway, Get off your Bum and Move!

Even if you're walking, and reaching for unsweetened Drinks, and rice cakes instead of chips..it's a start. And starting is the toughest part, believe me. I have been there..for years I was there. Together, we can make it happen.

Thank you so much Ashlee! What an inspiration! And what a great time of year to get us going! Many people are trying to get into a healthier lifestyle this time of year. Now be a good SFTC follower and visit Ashlee over at her spot in the blogosphere! Give her some comment love and follow her too! What better way to support her efforts!

Have a great weekend and see you Monday! And before you leave, please scroll down and check out this week's awards. Thanks!

NEW AND IMPROVED TIMELY AWARDS POST, JANUARY 15, 2010

I got the Chic Award and the Stunning Award from Boops Does Tulsa Thanks girl! I give the Chic Award to Burned Out Waitress (she spells it way cooler than me but I am lazy) at Confessions of ME who writes from her gut and is no holds barred -love her- and the Stunning Award to Jen Chandler at Lessons in the Art of Slow who has an amazingly beautiful blog. It is visually stunning. Please take a second to check these bloggers out and follow.



I got the Zombie Chicken Award from Kearsie at Sounds Like Tomatoes Thanks to her and her Edward Doll! As I was reading her award post, it was so funny, and I was like - I gotta give this girl an award. She's such a good writer. And then I scroll down and see my name on her list and so now what to do? Do I give the award right back to her? I do. Follow her too please.


I got the Remarkable Reader Award from Holly and Charisse at Life Laugh Latte Thanks ladies! I forward this award to my blog roll. Because I am very very lazy. And they know it.

TALES FROM THE MAGIC KINGDOM. PART IV. MAGICAL OR HELLISH. YOU DECIDE.

As some of you know, I was on vacation in Orlando, Florida, last week. These are some of the tales from my journey.

Despite some less than stellar times, there were still many great moments to remember.

My beautiful lady charming the entire airplane with her air kisses and buck-toothed smiles.

My brave son holding my hand at the last minute during take off. Just in case.

Palm trees everywhere.

More ornaments for the Christmas tree! One to commemorate my lady's first trip to Disney and one to remind us that we were here at Christmas.

Being given a hearty, Welcome Home! when we arrived at our favorite Disney resort.

The picture of me and my son as Padme and Anakin. If you don't know who Padme and Anakin are, consider yourself one of the lucky ones.

Bubbles two feet deep in the whirlpool tub and my kids going crazy in them.

My baby girl hugging cast members (not characters, the cast members, or people, working at Disney) out of the blue.

My son pretending on the sly that he was flying the ship on the Star Wars ride.

My daughter dancing down the streets of Hollywood Studios to High School Musical 3.

All the Christmas lights and decorations.

The Polar Express Experience and Holiday Ice Show at Sea World that was so beautiful it made me cry (deep down I am a total sap, especially when I am sleep deprived and my children are driving me to drink).

Getting away from every day life and my dirty house.

Pretending I don't have a dog that barks constantly, gives me depression and guilt stares 98% of the time, and sheds all over my house.

Flying first/business class back home and having the good luck to secure two fabulous and sass-filled male flight attendants for the return trip. Their customer service was first rate. As always.

I know as I look back at my pictures and remember the good moments, the bad times will fade from memory, and it will appear just as magical as it has always seemed.

For me, it will always be the most magical place on earth.

No matter how hard my kids try to make it the most hellish.

What are some of your favorite vacation moments or vacation spots? Whatever you have for me, post it in the comments!

TALES FROM THE MAGIC KINGDOM. PART III. THE BLANKET PEOPLE.

As some of you know, I was on vacation in Orlando, Florida, last week. These are some of the tales from my journey.

Amazingly enough, when I was in Florida last week, it was cold as hell. Not as cold as Cleveland and its 10 inches of snow. But still. I had to wear a coat, a hat, mittens, and a scarf. In Florida. For that, I'm sorry, but it's a necessary evil. PUH. I spit on you Florida. With your fake warm weather.

We were at downtown Disney around dusk, standing outside the T-Rex Cafe to place our name on the waiting list. The sun is all but gone and it is beginning to get freezing cold.

I see a couple come towards me pushing a double stroller. An infant car seat is in the back with a big fluffy blanket over it and in the front is a little girl around 3 years of age. She has on a thin knit outfit and socks. That was it. No coat, no hat, no gloves, no shoes, no blanket. Nothing. She was holding her arms and legs curled in towards her body and she was shivering. She was cold.

My heart broke. I ran into the restaurant to ask if they sold blankets. No. I take my own daughter's extra blanket that I brought and offered it to them to use or for them to even have it. I had just washed it. I could always get another one. She needed it.

I mean, who knows, maybe they didn't realize it would get this cold and they needed the blanket for the infant, so the toddler just had to make do. I could have easily made the same mistake and I would have been so thankful if someone had offered me anything for my child to use. I wouldn't have been offended.

WRONG

The wife was like, Duh. Huh. What. Kids? I got kids?

The husband was like, She's fine. She's fine.

I said to him, Really, it's okay. She's shivering. You can just have it.

He insisted she was fine.

I wasn't trying to insult him or be a jerk. I was trying to be nice. I was totally having a reaching-out-to-those-in-need Oprah moment, and that stupid dad took a big stinky sh*t all over it.

My husband said, No one wants someone's dirty blanket. If he can afford to stay at a Disney Resort, he's not a dirt bag. You're basically calling him a dirt bag.

First of all, the blanket wasn't dirty, dammit. I had just washed it that morning. Stupid.

Second of all, beggars can't be choosers. I.E. if your kid is going into stage three hypothermia, you might wanna take what's being offered to you by a member of the public who actually cares about your plight.

Third of all, Downtown Disney is NOT a Disney Resort. Any dirt bag can go there. Any. Dirt. Bag. Being at Downtown Disney doesn't mean you are staying at a Disney Resort. So stupid.

Fourth of all, that little girl's face had obvious traces of aging dirt, her clothing was way too small for her, her fingernails were jagged and dirty, and she was wearing NO OUTER WEAR WHATSOEVER IN FREEZING COLD WEATHER. How much more evidence do you need of DB (dirt bag)?

I felt so sad for that little girl and I got a little teary about it, but then I re-focused on my kids and the cool place we were getting to enjoy and tried not to think about it anymore.

It was super crowded and I noticed on the wall a sign that said capacity was nearly 1,000 people. I thought that was so many people and the restaurant was totally full, so food was being cooked for 1,000 people and how crazy that kitchen must be and how Gordon Ramsey would handle it and who would he be calling a donkey and who would he be flirting with and then they called our name.

And then ten minutes later, out of the 1,000 other people dining there, who did they sit right behind us, facing me ... the Blanket People. And their death stares. Well, actually, just the husband gave me death stares. The wife was counting the number of blue pebbles in the table. Or I imagine she was doing something like that.

It was a semi-uncomfortable dinner.

But the pasta was mmm-mmm good.

I'm anxious to hear your take on this. Be brutal. Should I just mind my own business? Would you have been insulted? How would you have handled it? Whatever you have for me, post it in the comments!

TALES FROM THE MAGIC KINGDOM. PART II. DEDICATED TO THE RUDE LINE JUMPERS SPEAKING BLAH, BLAH, BLAH

As some of you know, I was on vacation in Orlando, Florida, last week. These are some of the tales from my journey.

Just in case the rude people speaking the blah, blah, blah, blah, blah language (honestly, I could not identify it for the life of me) at the Goofy Barnstormer Roller Coaster ride read my blog.

Chances are good ... they do.

I'm kind of a big deal.

If two of your eleven kids plow me and my son over to get in front of us in line, you, your nine other kids, seven sisters-in-law, twelve brothers, and your aging wheel chair bound mother should not then cut the line in front of us to join your two brats.

Your two brats should move behind us in line to join you.

You should also not be puzzled by my reaction to your behavior. My exaggerated arm movements waving you and your entire posse through to the next five rows in front of me should not come as a shock. You should not then go blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah about me for the rest of our wait in line.

I may not understand blah, blah, blah but I know you are talking about me.

And yes, I do write the internationally-recognized blog, Speaking from the Crib. And no, you may not have my autograph.

But that's beside the point.

You are completely not magical (NM).

And Walt Disney texted me and he said if he knew you were even thinking about coming to his Magic Kingdom, he would've dug himself up out of his grave and thrown his rotting body parts off of Cinderella's castle during the Wishes fireworks display to the horrified screams of onlookers.

Over the top?

Maybe.

But a wish is a dream your heart makes.

So what was a bad moment for you during a vacation? Whatever you have for me, leave it in the comments.

TALES FROM THE MAGIC KINGDOM. PART I. EXTRA BAGGAGE.

As some of you know, I was on vacation in Orlando, Florida, last week. These are some of the tales from my journey.

I thought I had only brought my husband and two children with me on my recent visit to Disney World. Unbeknown st to me, I brought so much more. Allow me to introduce you to my extra baggage: Sicky, Whiney, Pissy, and Moany (PaM, for short).

Sicky: My daughter was just coming off a week's illness during Christmas. You'll recall our visit to the ER Christmas night here and the resulting diaper rash from hell, a side effect of her meds.

And as a sidenote: thank you to the follower who told me about yogurt. That was helpful.

A few days into the trip I noticed her standing in the squat position, tearing at her diaper, and screaming. Oh yes. A nice healthy yeast infection. Nothing says Disney like your daughter humping your leg as you wait in line to meet Goofy.

Whiney: My daughter refused most foods offered and napped very little. Nothing more needs to be said. I wish I had her will power with food. I'd have lost this baby weight months ago.

Pissy and Moany (PaM): This is my seven year old son. I am not exactly sure what happened. Disney used to be such a place of wonder and excitement for him. According to him now, Disney just doesn't have their sh*t together, and he's not sure if they ever will.

A few examples:

Tears were shed when the Goofy roller coaster only went around once. He was convinced he had seen everyone go around at least twice. Some people even went around three times. He could not be persuaded otherwise.

Tears were shed when I (God forbid) ordered him a child's meal instead of an adult meal. Which resulted in me giving him my meal just to shut him up. He ate the fries. Took two bites, maybe three, of the sandwich. Then he was done. Wasting the meal. Which indicates that he most likely would have been satisfied by the child's meal.

A wonderful example of exactly why I do not carry a loaded hand gun because I definitely would have shot myself right in the face after that one.

He insisted on sitting in the splash zone at Sea World. At night. And it was really cold. And we had a really long walk back to the car. Yes, I realize I am the parent, and I could have forced him to sit with us. But it's times like these that I like to prove to him that the mother is always right and the son is always wrong.

It's all fun and games when you're in the front row and Shamu is splashing the sh*t out of you. But then Shamu swims back to his pen. And you're left with soggy shorts and chaffed inner thighs. He actually accused me of purposely running to the car (it had nothing to do with the fact that we were freezing to death) so that his legs would hurt. Again, tears were shed.

As the week went on, I was sensing a pattern. I threatened him within an inch of his life to not ruin my day at the Magic Kingdom. I wanted a Magical Day.

I did not have a magical day. He was only happy if we were doing exactly what he wanted to do and if what he wanted to do was going exactly the way he wanted it to go.

By the end of the day, his constant complaining had me wondering if I hadn't accidentally brought my mother with me. What if my mother and son had experienced a Freaky Friday moment on her visit the day after Christmas and she could no longer maintain the ruse?

I honestly wanted to just smack the ever-loving sh*t out of him slash my mother, if it really is her. I think I told him at one point if he didn't shut his mouth I was going to whip his a** in front of God, Mickey, and every other Tinkerbell-loving-moron at Disney.

No threat, no punishment, literally nothing could stop him or his mouth. He was a holy terror. And I honestly don't want to bring him back any time soon. He and my husband would go off and I would feel relief that I had a break from the bitching. And that makes me sad.

When your kids ruin Disney for you, is it time to stop going with the kids? I am at a loss. Someone please commiserate with me! What do you do about unruly kids on vacation? Or give me your unruly kid on vacation stories. Whatever you have for me, post it in the comments.

For those 'concerned citizens' I never beat or even spank my children. But I often really really want to.

SFTC PRESENTS: TOP BLOG OF THE WEEK, THE MOTHERLOAD

This Top Blogger is a Jewish wife and mother of twin girls. You may recognize her as the contributing author in my recent ground-breaking blog post SCHLEPPING TO THE SYNAGOGUE. She is a member of my elite blog roll and a kind, caring, and wonderful woman, and I am so glad to know her! You know her as Erin. I know her as the Jew-meister General of Kindness. Please give a warm round of applause to my Top Blog of the Week

THE MOTHER LOAD

Why He Who Is My Husband Shall Thenceforth
Remain Nameless,Or, Look Out For Creeps Surfing the Internetz

A little background about me: I'm a Jewish SAHM mom of twin girls who are 3 going on 12. I am a green girl who loves to read, write, and blog, but I'm completely clueless about most things. I don't shower regularly. I am not very fashionable, much to my MIL's chagrin. Oh, and I have big, ugly feet. That about covers it.

My husband, who shall thenceforth be referred to as "DH," (Dear Husband), plain old "husband," or "hubs," has never read my amazing and always entertaining blog. I am only slightly resentful of this fact because I occasionally use my blog as a vehicle with which to express my frustration with or anger at him. Those of you who have been with me for a while may recall recent events which landed him in the ER in a sling after breaking his clavicle while playing football. Read about that here and here.

I highly recommend that you read them because I am only hilarious in extreme circumstances. This is clearly indicated by my small number of followers. Sigh. I know you guys all love reading stuff that makes you pee your pants, but I'm just me. And if I try too hard to make you laugh, it will backfire and be all the more boring.

Anywhoo, I digress. Because I am neither intelligent nor internetz-savvy, I failed to consider the ramifications of venting this way until I received this lovely email last week (quick background = DH is a surgeon)

Erin,

I was referred to your husband for a minor surgical procedure today. In researching his name and credentials online prior to the appointment I quite accidentally stumbled upon your blog. I just glanced over it for a few moments.

I admit I like to be a little "ornery" once in a while. After introductions were made all around, including another surgeon and a med student, I looked him directly in the eye as if I had known him all my life and asked," so how are Erin and the girls?" Taken quite by surprise and a little embarrassed he had to ask if we had met before. I replied "No, but after reading your wife's wonderful blog I feel like you are all old family friends" or words to that effect. He was red as a beet and everyone had a good laugh, including him, I think. He recovered and said to everyone he would "certainly be reading it from now on". Just a heads up for you, and good luck.

Kindest Regards,

D

As I read the message, I grew clammy, sweaty and my heart began to race. Next, I ran to the bathroom, where I endured waves of neverending diarrhea. After I regained my composure, I Googled myself and Hubs. I forwarded D's email to a select group of close bloggy friends to get their expertise. They confirmed that upon Googling my hubs, my blog appeared in the list of search results---I know, right? WTF?! With the help of my awesome friends I immediately began taking steps to remedy that, but apparently it may take some time to totally fix it. In the interim, I've had to un-link my Facebook profile/badge from my blog and I've started removing Hubs' real first name from all posts. I am doing this for him---because I recognize it's not in his best interest to be associated with my diatribes on behaving badly, ass surgeries, and the first time I smoked a cigarette.

I want to be able to fix this. But I don't want to have to change the core of who I am and what I am doing with my blog (never mind that I don't really know what it is I'm doing with my blog yet). What I enjoy about blogging is letting my true self out of her cage to stretch her legs and prowl around a bit. I also love recognizing snippets of myself in what others write on their blogs. It's like looking in a mirror and finding an old friend. I think what I yearn for most is to discover that I am not alone; that other people have similar thoughts and feelings and are willing to share them with the world. Or whomever might be willing to listen.

If this can't be fixed, I don't know what I'll do. I have found a whole new community of cyber-friends here in Blogland. I haven't met many of you face-to-face, but when your comments pop up or I get an email from you, I feel happy. Every time someone new chooses to follow me, comment on my posts, or link to me, I feel validated. I feel GOOD. I feel like I have friends. Which is not how I grew up. This is new to me. And if I can't dissolve the Google connection between my Hubs and my blog, I may have to give this all up. Or blog anonymously---which I am not even sure I know how to do. And I don't want to do.

I love this Blogland, this little life I've been creating for myself here. I hope it's a map to my future as a writer. I had to begin somewhere. And maybe someday my husband will really start to read it and realize that there are a precious few people out there who actually care about what I have to say. That this blogging "thing" that we do isn't a pipe dream, it's not stupid, and it's REAL, creepy stalkers aside.

I am so grateful to Kelly for asking me to be Top Blog of the Week here at SFTC. She makes me feel all warm & fuzzy inside! I love her in those big goofy glasses, too. One day her book will be on my coffee table or my nightstand (NOT on top of my toilet). Thank you, Kelly! And thank you to everyone who has read my ridiculous ramble this far. I appreciate you more than you'll ever know.

See what I mean? She's a gem! Now be a good SFTC follower, go to her blog, and follow her ASAP! And leave her some comment love too! She's a good gal.

Now for the nitty gritty ... if placed in this predicament, what would you do? Whatever you have for me, post it in the comments!

SCHLEPPING FROM THE SYNAGOGUE or WHERE MY JEWS AT?

In honor of tomorrow's Top Blog of the Week, Erin at The Mother Load, I am re-posting our collaboration, Schlepping from the Pew. Enjoy!

In honor of Hanukkah, we are going to be Schlepping from the Synagogue (instead of Speaking from the Pew) today. Shalom.

As a card-carrying member of the Coo-Coo for Christ club, I know little of the Jewish faith, but have always been fascinated by the Jews. How could you not? They've given us Seinfeld, marble rye bread, Linda Richmond, bagels, Barry Manilow, plastic surgery, Barbara Streisand, Yiddish, hand gestures, Neil Diamond, and guilt.

This past week, I decided to do an investigative report on the Jewish side of the holidays, in conjunction with my great (and patient) Jewish friend, Erin from The Mother Load. She agreed to pull out her Menorah and teach me a dreidel or two. Read and learn.

What is the meaning behind Hanukkah?

My rabbi writes that in a nutshell:

It's an 8-day holiday that commemorates the re-dedication of the Temple of Jerusalem after a struggle for religious freedom around the year 164 B.C.E. Hanukkah symbolizes the struggles of the "few against the many, the weak against the strong," the eternal battle of the Jewish people for their faith and existence. In short, it symbolizes the fundamental right to be. The Jews were not fighting to be like the rest, but for their right to be different."

That's some awesome crap right there.

When does Hanukkah start?

This year it begins at sundown on Friday, December 11. The date varies from year to year on the Gregorian calendar, but always begins on the 25th day of Kislev, which is a month on the Hebrew calendar. The Hebrew calendar has its own set of months and doesn't always correspond directly to ours...which just means that Hanukkah starts on different dates every year, but is still almost always in December, with the occasional early start in late November.

What are the traditions associated with Hanukkah?

Lighting the candles on the menorah on each of the 8 nights, exchanging gifts, cooking latkes (potato pancakes), spinning dreidels, just spending time together as a family, and sometimes with other Jewish friends.

What is a day-by-day breakdown of what you do? Is each day different or is it 8 days of the same?

It is 8 days of the same, although for us, I'd say the first and last nights are the most significant and most celebrated. But each family does it differently! There is no right or wrong. But we always light the candles each night. There may not be presents each night, but we always light the menorah. The girls have their own menorah -- it's a kiddie one with ladybugs! What's got two thumbs and didn't know Jewish kidlets got play menorahs? This goy.

and then we have our own normal/grown-up menorahs. On the first night, you light the first candle plus the shamash, which is the tallest candle which you use to light all the other candles. then on the second night, you'll light two candles plus the shamash (again using the shamash to light them). On the third night you'll have 3 candles plus the shamash...until finally on the last night you will have all the candles in the menorah lit.

How many presents does the average Jewish child get each day? I have already wrapped 32 presents for my son and those were just the ones from Santa.

It varies. There are no set rules/requirements. At our house, the girls generally get one big gift on one night and then the rest of the nights they get something little or nothing at all. We do not have presents every night!

What's got two thumbs and didn't know Jewish kids didn't get presents every night? This goy.

Is it typical for the adults to exchange gifts?

Yes, but I tend to think mostly in terms of the children. It's really all about the kids for us.

What foods are served during Hanukkah, like we have the cranberry sauce and the ham or turkey, what do you have?

We like to fry latkes in oil. We dip them in applesauce or sour cream. I make a mean cheese blintz casserole that we also serve with fruit and/or sour cream. I often roast a chicken or sometimes make a brisket to go with it. We do not keep kosher at our house, but many Orthodox Jews do. See example of a recipe below or click here.

Erin's Kick-Ass Cheese Blintz Casserole

You will need:

16 oz. cottage cheese

16 oz. cream cheese

4 beaten eggs

1 1/2 cups sugar

1 cup flour

2 sticks butter, melted

1/4 cup milk

1 tsp vanilla extract

3 tsp. baking powder

pinch salt

juice of 1 lemon

1.) Preheat oven to 350. Grease a 9 x 13 Pyrex.

2.) Mix the filling in 1 bowl: cream the cream cheese & cottage cheese. Add 2 eggs, 1 cup of the sugar, salt, and lemon juice.

3.) In ANOTHER bowl, mix the batter: butter, 1/2 cup of the sugar, 2 eggs, flour, baking powder, milk, & vanilla.

4.) Pour 1/4 of the batter in, then all of the filling. Top with remaining batter.

5.) Bake for 45-60 minutes. Top should be slightly browned.

I serve mine with blueberry or cherry pie filling. A lot of people also like them with applesauce or sour cream.

Were you ever jealous of Christmas or not getting a tree? It would kill me to not have the tree. I love the tree. But if you never had the tree, would you miss it?

I actually had a tree when I was growing up. I am Jewish by birth (Jews = Jewish if mother is Jewish), but we never really had any "religion," per se. We had a Christmas tree most years and opened presents on Christmas morning. We never went to church, we never went to synagogue. I sought out more Judaism as I got older. I wanted to know about my own heritage, and I knew I wanted to have Judaism be a big part of my life since it was always missing when I was younger. It always kind of bugged me that we were Jewish but didn't DO anything Jewish and weren't taught anything about it. But my parents were just not religious people, and still aren't.

I started going to synagogue and having Shabbat (that is the Jewish Sabbath which is every Friday night at sundown)with some neighbors who were close friends of mine. That officially began my "Jewish education," as it were. I was about 17. Then in college I became close with several professors who were Jewish. I attended synagogue with them. After college I met the love of my life, who is also Jewish. We are raising our girls that way, too.

Do you know any Jews who do have a tree just for the fun of it. I mean trees are so fun. So fun.

I guess you could say me, only because I did when I was young. There are also plenty of couples where one partner is Jewish and the other is not, and they have a mixture of holidays in their homes. I imagine intermarried couples struggle a great deal with this sort of thing. but my husband is Jewish, so for us there was never any question. I admire other people's trees, but I don't want one at my house. I don't mean that to sound bad, but I am proud of my religion and my heritage, and we have our own traditions which are separate and different.

She's a strong Jew who is happy with her Menorah. I admire that, don't you?

Do you decorate for Hanukkah?

Yes. Nothing over the top.



Do your kids go nuts about Hanukkah like gentile kids live for Santa and Christmas?

My kids are just now getting to the age where they "get it." The girls turn 4 next week. As a matter of fact, they've been asking a lot about Santa and I'm trying to find some books to help me do a better job of explaining why the fat man in the red suit doesn't stop at our house with his reindeer.

Intriguing, no? There are many Christians who do not institute Santa into their holidays either. How do these families deal with keeping Santa out of Christmas? We'll examine that more in next week's post: SANTA: THE LIE.

Thank you Erin for helping us to better understand your Jewish traditions. What did I learn from this? That my favorite new Yiddish word is goy. That I have no idea how to spell the H-word, Hanukkah. That I am obsessed with the beauty and splendor that is the Christmas tree, feel the deep-seated need to shove it down everyone's throats, and can't imagine everyone not wanting to have one in their own living room. What can I say, I heart Christmas trees. And yes, if I could, I would marry one.

L'CHAIM!

Side note: I will not thank the Jews for Adam Sandler because I think he is the most over-rated actor/comedian on the planet. All he ever did on SNL was make that STUPID BABY VOICE that any retard can do. And Opera Man was never funny. Never. I spit on you Adam Sandler. PUH.

I know this post was longer than my usual long posts, but after all of the Christmas I have been spewing, the Jews deserved it! I would love to hear something you learned OR something you think is really cool about the Hanukkah tradition or one thing you are grateful to the Jews for. Or if you also hate Adam Sandler and his stupid baby voice. Whatever you have for me, post it in the comments.

HAPPY HANUKKAH!

MAKE AND TAKE: SHARE WITH US YOUR FAVORITE CHRISTMAS MOVIE QUOTES

Welcome! I know, I know. You are thinking ... what? A Christmas post in January? Well, I just love Christmas so much, that I wrote a Christmas-related post every single day of December (I think) and I just plumb ran out of days.

So here for you (in case you weren't totally sick of Christmas even now) is a Christmas post that didn't make it in before Christmas!

It is also a scheduled post because I am on vacation in Orlando, Florida this week, so I won't be visiting blogs, but I will be back at the laptop early next week! Enjoy!

I have so many favorite Christmas movies, but I will only share my top ones: Christmas Vacation, Elf, and The Ref. No Christmas is complete without watching each of these at least a few times. They are so hilarious, complete with their memorable quotes. Through out the holiday season we will be quoting these movies for all to enjoy. To share just a few of our favorites:

That there's an R-V.

Audrey's frozen from the waist down. That's all part of the experience.

It's not going in our yard. It's going in our living room.

He's got a lip fungus they ain't identified yet.

Squirrelllllll!!!!!

I'm a cotton-headed ninny muggins.

You sit on a throne of lies!

There's no singing in the North Pole. Yes there is.

SANTA!!!!!!

I'm in this restaurant, and the waiter brings me my entree. It was a salad. It was Lloyd's head on a plate of spinach with his penis sticking out of his ear. And I said, "I didn't order this." And the waiter said, "Oh you must try it, it's a delicacy. But don't eat the penis, it's just garnish."

Caroline, the day you see anything through to the end, I'll stick my own dick in my ear.

You know what I'm going to get you next Christmas, Mom? A big wooden cross, so that every time you feel unappreciated for your sacrifices, you can climb on up and nail yourself to it.

What is the matter with you? I thought Mothers were sweet and nice a-a-and Patient. I know loan sharks who are more forgiving than you. Your husband ain't dead, lady. He's hiding.

If you don't mind, the "corpse" STILL has the floor!

So what are your favorite Christmas movies or quotes? Whatever you have for me, post it in the comments!

DO YOU SUFFER FROM WHAT I LIKE TO CALL, 'MALL TREE DISEASE'? DO YOU? WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU? REALLY? WHAT?

Welcome! I know, I know. You are thinking ... what? A Christmas post in January? Well, I just love Christmas so much, that I wrote a Christmas-related post every single day of December (I think) and I just plumb ran out of days.

So here for you (in case you weren't totally sick of Christmas) is a Christmas post that didn't make it in before Christmas!

It is also a scheduled post because I am on vacation in Orlando, Florida this week, so I won't be visiting blogs, but I will be back at the laptop early next week! Enjoy!

My tree is a mish mash of ornaments and humdingery from the tippy top of it's retro pointy bulbish thing to the myriad of homemade ornaments nestled all over its synthetic branches. I love it to its very core, as I testify to right here.

But there are some of you out there that insist that your decorations color-coordinate. Or that all of the ornaments contain glitter. Or that silver only go with silver and gold only go with gold. You suffer from what I like to call Mall Tree Disease (MTD). Your tree looks as if it was meant to be displayed at Rockefeller Center.

Or at the very least, your local GAP store.

MTD sufferer, I do not understand you. And I certainly can't compete with you. Your tree is Claire, from The Breakfast Club. My tree is Ducky, from Pretty in Pink.

Ducky dressed in drag.

Rest in peace, John Hughes. Rest in peace. There is your long awaited Christmas tribute from SFTC.

So what is your tree? Claire or Ducky in Drag? Whatever you have for me, post it in the comments. If you don't 'get' my references, walk into your bathroom, take a long, hard look in the mirror, and slap your self across the face 3-4 times. Or what was your fav John Hughes movie?