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I’m sitting here at my desk being all uppity because my son has food allergies.

RIGHT?

Because I know everything. AND, I’m not being sarcastic… AT ALL. Not here – Not there… Not anywhere… Okay, a little too much Cat in the Hat, but you know what I mean. By the way, I am being totally sarcastic…Because some people just don’t get it.

It all started a few weeks ago when I came to the realization that if I want Will’s Kitchen to actually achieve anything in the world of food allergy awareness, that I was going to have to get off my tuckus and actually tell someone about the website. I know. Because apparently, if you don’t tell people about it, they simply WON’T KNOW. And yes. Apparently I just used the word tuckus.

So I did what any marketing trained mind would do. I turned to Mr. Sal and told him I needed an operating budget of no less than 20K to hit the ground running…. Bombarding him after a hard day’s work, with charts and graphs and media calendars combined with returns and percentages of success. He was suspect when I excused myself from the dinner table to change into business-wear and sexy heels — because that’s when you know you mean business…It may have worked better if had gone the extra mile and showered… but then again, I don’t think he enjoyed snarfing that first martini sip when he heard the bottom line, so no water wasted. Perhaps I should have waited until sip number six.What?

At any rate, my attempts to achieve my first major investor failed. Shocking, I know. So off I went a-packin out into the wild, wild wonders of the interweb with my anti-food allergy flag held high in an attempt to achieve a grass-roots, gorilla campaign. A few stops later, I found myself with a mini ad campaign on Mini Munchers, as well as a guest recipe post. Wandering around I also found gobs of other useful contacts — like-minded people that are just asking for food allergies to be acknowledged and taken seriously, which then led to engaging correspondence about awareness and the right way to reach the food weary audience. One such response came from the lovely ladies at The Mouthy Housewives — whom I join today in answering a very important question regarding peanut/nut-free policies at schools — a topic that I deal with on an almost daily basis with Will and his new preschool. It was a great opportunity to be able to voice my suggestions to the Mom that wrote in as well as the general public AND, interesting to see the debate so far…

One Mom suggests putting all allergy kids on their own island in their own classroom! BEAUTIFUL. Allergy kids and Lepers having so much in common****….

So, once you’ve gathered yourself after rolling on the floor laughing at the ‘OMG someone SAID THAT insanity’ over the above statement, click on over to read some of the more intelligent thoughts that are being thrown out — share and enjoy — in all seriousness, because YOU KNOW that I’m taking every word TO HEART while I muddle around in a pool of sarcasm.

****This is a joke. Despite it’s lack of grace….

It’s been 10 years.
TEN YEARS.
Think about it while I try to not make this post last until 2020.

Sidenote: Normally, I wouldn’t write an “end of the year” post over a week before the end of the year… but honestly, if I write about the holidays it might just equal talking about the holidays — of which I’m a little over. Don’t get me wrong, Christmas will be tons of fun, but I feel like its taking forever to get here on top of  not really being in a fa la la la mood this year… more like OKAY ALREADY. I know, so eloquent.

I actually thought to myself last night that it’s a good thing that I didn’t decorate too much because MY FOOT I don’t want to clean it all up once ALL THIS is over and done with. And please… Depressed? I have no reason to be… Hormonal? Like a train wreck…

So while I’m petitioning to skip over the next four days and wake up tomorrow with Santa squeaking right back up that chimney, AND perfecting the “It’s not you, it’s me” excuse… Please know that everything should be returning to normal in about 2 weeks…. just in time for 2011 to make her grand entrance…

swans remember everything...

In 1999, 2000 was kind of a big deal. I can remember… we were living in Portsmouth, NH — planning to fly down to Burke, VA to visit best friends for the New Year and Turn of the Century (echo echo echo). I was at the eye doctor getting diagnosed with chronic dry-eyes – aka: inability to produce tears without extreme pain when my Optometrist — a young little female Doogie Howser sat stunned when I told her that my boyfriend and I were planning to fly somewhere to celebrate…. ON A PLANE. But wasn’t I scared? Wasn’t I worried that some cosmic switch was going to flip causing our plane to enter into another dimension? To which I calmly replied – “Well, no…. I hear that 2000 is nothing compared to what 2012 is going to bring.” To which she replied by staring at me blankly — as if her mind had become like dilated pupils all fuzzy dark only to reemerge from the fog in Shangri-La, where I was no longer her patient and she could move on to lighter things… like Beenie Babies and the hideously addictive lure of the food court outside her office walls. Those crazy Druids.

And it would be completely inappropriate to go on and on about the first 10 of the 2000s without making mention of 9-11. None of us will ever forget where we were, what we went through and of course — who and what we lost. Just thinking about that day — which quickly turned into night and then weeks of torture that followed… just thinking about it makes me want to take all the insignificance of the other 9 years and cram them into one of these hideously decorated gift boxes I have laying around — only to be peered into if you want to see extreme happiness and selfless adoration of life… But then I have to slap myself in reminder that life goes on — as we were all able to prove to the universe… Life goes on, and apparently, so does this blog…

Interestingly enough, because we’re back to the really important issue at hand… My current eye doctor is perhaps the 5th most attractive man on the planet, so I’ve never had the gumption to discuss the END OF THE WORLD or flash in the pan collectibles with him out of sheer humility. Our friends from Burke, however, are beyond outgoing– no longer live in VA and now have FOUR KIDS UNDER THE AGE OF TEN. Yes that’s right, and I’ve mentioned them before in unabashed wonder… Which pretty much brings us up to date on where TEN YEARS can lead you. But not really.

The past ten years have been pretty huge for me… as I’m sure they have been for you too. No — I didn’t do anything earth shattering… but each time something changed since 2000, it’s been pretty major… And I could go into a detailed time-line, highlighting each breath and thought process that occurred, but that would just make you feel trapped… in a 10×10′ red room… without a door or window. So, you know what, I’m not even going to get into any of it… ‘It’, of course being the ten years in which I’ve moved between states, gotten married, had a child, become a dog owner, homeowner, opened and closed a mildly successful business, hung out with the devil, learned how to cook, finally grasped the understanding of the term ‘patience’, made incredible new friends AND started the journey of bringing another life into the world. And if that isn’t enough, aside from me… (because I am aware of others when they talk loud enough) many friends and family members have fought and won against life threatening diseases and physical struggles that I can’t even begin to comprehend.

It could be that there are so many things that happened within things in the past ten years that its too hard to fully grasp the enormity of it all. I mean — I’m 35 — I’ve been through three and a half ten year periods and, honestly, the other 2.5 seemed so silly… all premature and childish… Like the word ‘Decade’ is just a fly on the wall of ‘Century’, so WHATEVER, who cares. Once you’ve witnessed the turn of a century, a decade is so 1800s. And with that thought of complete senselessness, I leave you with the thought of ten years (give or take a leap year). TEN YEARS. That’s 5259600 minutes of 3,650 days… Did anything happen?

I asked Kenny to be a guest this week because of a line that he wrote on his blog, in what I assume was his first post… “And I want it to be known that I’m super excited about being a
father…but kids kind of freak me out.”…

Which pretty much sums up the way I have always felt about kids… Because I know a lot of people that have decided to not have kids… and I can understand that too… while I also know some that have or want and shouldn’t…. but we aren’t changing the universe today, now are we? He also, unknowingly, took the following guest post to express a feeling of panic which I experienced two days ago when my 2.5 year old told us he was going to jump into the deep end… and then JUMPED INTO THE DEEP END with no floatation device present… he was and is fine… I, however, am still learning to walk with rubber legs… Now I’m all, “Hey you NO FEAR… Who the hell told you to THINK FOR YOURSELF!?!”

And with that juxtaposition… Thanks Kenny…

Amanda, or Mandy — as I like to call her, and I went to college together.
We went to a women’s college on the Main Line of Philadelphia where we sat on pedestals while hummingbirds bouffanted our hair and talented monkeys ironed our tops… Men were slaves and there was a constant rainbow overhead… And we basked in the never ending sunshine…

When Ry wrote me asking if I’d be interested in guest blogging on For the Birds this week I became totally and completely overzealous and did jumpy claps of excitement. Would I be interested in guest blogging?  Would I?  Would I EVER!  

You see, I am a newbie to all this blogging business.  Before I began my blog in May I used to skulk silently around the interwebs reading other blogs, For the Birds was and is one of my favorites due to Ryan’s ability to tell it like it is and make a seemingly everyday observation interesting, thought provoking, and often hilarious.  I would check in via facebook whenever I saw she had a new post up.  I’d read For the Birds and blogs written by other friends and acquaintances of mine and think to myself, “How do they do it?  How do they find inspiration?  Day after day they come up with something engaging to write about.  I could never do that.  Could I?”.  I still ask myself that question on an almost daily basis.  Does anyone really care what I have to say or am I just shouting my ideas, musings, and thoughts into the echoy cavernous abyss of cyberspace?  For instance how can Ryan make a recap of a Southampton town meeting such a good read?   For me the fact that she had been writing a blog for so many years, and was still managing to keep me, and numerous others,  coming back for more was awe inspiring.  I mean MARTHA reads her blog for crying out loud!  So Ry is sorta my blog hero, she’s kind of a big deal.  So yes, I accepted the invite whole heartedly!

Then  I panicked.  For two reasons, the first being that people actually READ her blog.  My blog is mostly frequented by my Mom and my sisters.  If they don’t comment I harangue and verbally abuse them at family functions.  And I have 5 sisters so that helps hike up my traffic quite a bit.  Sidnote, sister number one, why are you STILL not following me? I am not buying the whole “Your blog won’t let me follow you” bit.  Save it. Just DO IT!  But I digress…Oh, yes, so I was a little unnerved to realize people would actually be reading what I wrote and even more unsettled when I pictured them mumbling to themselves, “Who the hell is this hack and what has she done with Ry?”  And secondly, in the the last week I have hit the proverbial wall.  After 2 mere months of blogging I felt like I had nothing to say.  So I did what anyone would do, I made excuses.  ”I have no time….this week has been insanely busy…I am working non-stop…I’ll get back to it Monday”.  In my defense, my sister was in London on business so I was taking care of my little Terr-bear round the clock.  (Big ups to all the Mothers out there who manage to both parent and blog, I don’t know how you do it).  Add in a freelance wedding makeup gig on Saturday and a birthday party on Sunday and stick a fork in me I was DONE.  As the weekend wore on I started to look towards Monday with apprehension and anxiety.  I HAD to come up with something to write after a weeks silence!  It’s only been two freakin’ months!  Pull it together woman!  Must…find…inspiration.  Write something! Anything!  There were no more excuses, and as Monday loomed closer my angst grew worse.  What will I write?!!  

Then Sunday night I logged onto the computer and there was this little beacon of light, a message from Ry asking me to be a guest bird.  But whatever shall I write I thought?  This week, of all the weeks, when I seem to have lost my mojo, NOW she wants me to guest blog?  So, screw it I thought to myself, I’ll write about the fact that I am freaking out over not having, uhm, anything to actually write about.

Well, will you look at that!  I actually just wrote something. It may not be amazing, but hell at least after six days of nothing I got SOMETHING.  Thanks Ry for the opportunity, for being a pioneer, and for nudging me out of my dry spell.

If you’d like to check out my blog about spending my days with an amazing little man while I figure out what to do with my life please stop by here: http://thebutterflyandthebear.typepad.com

I’m procrastinating…

Which is completely unacceptable.

And with that, thanks to Elly for her gracing…

When I think of Ry, I think of pretty things.  And HGTV.  And They Might be Giants.  And Carnegie Deli, but that kinda rye is spelled totally different so I’m not sure it counts.

You know what else doesn’t count?  Snakes.  ‘Cause they don’t have any fingers or toes to count on.

I suppose fish don’t either.  Or butterflies.  But they could count on their little tiny feet or antennas.  Antenna is a weird word. 

I probably shouldn’t try and whip out a quick guest post after consuming several…lets say glasses…of wine.

I just paused to uncork another…glass…and decided I should feed my cats.  I made the mistake of looking at the can before opening it.  I just dished up heaping spoonfuls of “Friskies Flaked with tuna and egg in sauce.”  They don’t explain what type of sauce, mind you.  It’s just listed as sauce.  Am I to assume it’s tuna sauce?  Egg sauce?  Have you ever heard of either?    

Based on it’s appearance, Friskies makes a very special gelatinous-brown-weird-stuff-that-loosely-resembles-that-jello-like-stuff-that-sticks-to-the-bottom-of-a-refrigerated-ham sauce.  Yummers.

Cat’s count.  They have toes.  And whiskers.  Which are EXACTLY like antenna but have a far less creepy name.

I always thought Madge was a creepy name.  Madonna didn’t really do anything to rectify that, either.  Though it’s still not quite as bad as Lester.  Actually, I kind of want a friend named Lester so I can call him Moe in public.

Speaking of public, my probation officer repeatedly tells me I’m not supposed to go out with an open container.  So I’ll slink off and finish this bad boy before I ruin Ry’s otherwise unsullied reputation.

I bet Captain Sully hates the term “unsullied.”  I’d be totally cool with changing it to “unELLYed” for I am nothing if not sullied. 

While we’re changing words, I’d like to add “unRYvaled” to the dictionary.  Def:  Ry cannot possibly compete.  As in, Elly’s ability to consume wine is unRYvaled. 

If she spends too much more time with the likes of me, we’ll have to coin the term “RYbald.”

Not unlike this bottle of wine, I’m pretty sure this post has turned.  Too bad you can’t use this bad boy as a salad dressing.

I was at the library the other day multitasking.
Because that’s what libraries are for, right?

Writing recipes, looking for design inspiration while simultaneously reading TITANIC TRUCKS to the boy running through the stacked aisles. I was beginning to think that a vacation might be something to consider when all of the sudden books started screaming and jumping off the shelves — dangerously missing my head… I grabbed Will and dove under the nearest table. The piles of books surrounded us as one manuscript fell open at my knees… it was Poe, “I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity.” It was then that I realized that something needed to be done immediately… Because I have reached the final point, and this is it. I am dangerously approaching the end of my blogging quota.

Visualize this to be like filling a water balloon to capacity or eating copious amounts of McDonald’s like this guy did a few years ago… only to result in weight gain, heart disease, ulcers and bad skin…. because what did he think was going to happen? I wonder if he wishes that he could go back and undo — kind of like going back and picking through – deleting the bad blog posts while copying and saving the good ones for republishing possibilities… revitalizing the QUOTA. But oh the HUMANITY.

I started For the Birds on August 22, 2008. It was a slow start… and, although I never intended for this blog to turn into what it is now… it has been a journey like no other… similar to swimming across the Atlantic or leaving the space shuttle mid-universe to test out that gravity theory… floating aimlessly into DEEP SPACE. And if you know what this blog is about, then you’re a hair-slight more genius than I, because I lost track a LOOOONG time ago. But I am missing the point.

What I am trying to inch out there is that I am now starting the tedious task of going back, judging myself and then deciding who gets to stay and who gets to go hang out at the pearly gates of archival heaven. But what do you think? If you are here, reading this right now — If you wouldn’t mind turning time off for a few minutes and letting me know if there are any posts that must stay live… Because beyond self-inflicted torture, I am my own souvenir. And I’m sure that isn’t the first time I’ve said that.   

Yay! February!
January was a doozie, right? Well – time to move on. This month we are trying out a few new things at FTB – including calling it FTB, not to be confused with the notorious OTB but in commonplace with OCD as well as CO’D–Isn’t he just dreamy. At any rate. A few new things are happening here at FTB – more reader interviews, more products and more design… yes. more more more. So without hesitation to kick things off, I reached out to my product guru Mari… she’s Ma-aaarrrr-va-lous…. sorry, I couldn’t help it. Here we go – LET THEM LOOSE!

When Ry asked me to do some regular posts on products it was perfect timing. (She begged, you know, it was pretty sad to see her so desperate for my brilliant expertise and witty posts How could I say no?) I’m a mom and a shopper with no disposable income. So any money I spend tends to go towards my baby birdie. For myself, I’ve found one of the best ways to get it out of my system is to gather my favorite picks together in an online shopping cart and walk away. All the thrill with none of the regret! Now, I can do that right here. You can look forward to products that are high on individuality, but almost always low on price. Because though I LOVE fine things, and definitely have champagne tastes, I think I’d have a heart attack if I spent $100 on just one thing. This week’s binge is courtesy of Etsy.

The Random Five:

1. Forest Wooden Bird Necklace, $10
2. Cherry Kimono Kanzashi Flower Hair Clip, $23
3. Orange Blossom Small Corsage Brooch, $25
4. Lost Lucy Formica Painting, $35
5. Beige Felt Hat with curls, $69

Side note… Ry bought the Orange Blossom Small Corsage Brooch and plans to wear it among her layers of black. But what is one hint of color? Let’s watch – she just might implode.

Guest Bird #11 – Melissa

Melissa Siig is a freelance writer and mother of 2.5 kids living the dream in a small mountain town in California. She blogs about life’s crazy adventures at MountainMommaMusings.com.

It was the drink’s name that got us into trouble. “Dew Drop.” Vodka, splash of sparkling wine, fresh grape juice, and something called St. Germain. The latter ingredient was what really got our attention. What was it?  We were intrigued. While our table pondered the possibilities, the restaurant owner overheard us and came running over, very excited. He was dressed like a movie star, with a purple velvet sports jacket, a white shirt with not many buttons buttoned, and a few silver chains. I couldn’t place his accent – Australian, South African?

“St. Germain? You really must try it. Made from ElderFlower. It’s fabulous,” he said excitedly, adding that the drink was imported from France but created by an American right here in Colorado. All the bar shelves in Aspen restaurants were stocked with it. I guess it was the drink of the moment.

He offered us a taste. Of course, we couldn’t refuse anything free in this overly-priced town.

The bar manager brought over a small glass with a clear liquor in it. It smelled like spring-time, like apples and melon. Delicious. Yes, of course, we would have a round. Mine arrived in a martini glass, with two green grapes floating on the bottom where olives normally rest. But Siig’s was different. His came in a big tumbler and was more bubbly. Our new BFF Lauren the bar-manager came over and looked at the drinks, her pierced tongue clucking unapprovingly. Turns out none of them was actually the real Dew Drop. They were “alternatives.” Apparently, the bartender had already had one too many drinks of his own, even forgetting a key ingredient in my cousin’s mojito, which tasted like bland soda water mixed with mint.

But we were quite enjoying our “mistakes.” It had the desired effects. Soon, our table was rolling with laughter. I swear I saw a 70-year old proper woman at the table next to us sucking on the fingers of the man next to her; my cousin Jordan stole my mom’s cell phone and started texting her boyfriend. “What are you wearing?” he wrote covertly. The answer came back: “White shirt and jeans. What are you wearing?” When he responded: “leopard-print thong” the gig was up. I guess that particular item is not in my mom’s panties’ drawer.

Then we started doing the ChaCha. No, not the dance. It’s a number you text to find the answer to any question. We started writing: “Who is Melissa Siig?” Answer: “Sorry, no one of importance. We have no answer for you.”

Ouch. And here I thought I was a world famous blogger. Nothing like technology to put you in your place.

As we left the Wild Fig giggling, our heads swimming with the sweet scent of white grapes and ElderFlower, the acid jazz and electronic music of the French band St. Germain played above our heads on the loud speakers.  I guess we hadn’t so much gotten into trouble (unless you count my middle-of-the-night headache) as stumbled into synchronicity.

Let me preface this entry by making a huge excuse for the spoilage of my son, Will. Aside from his inherent awesomeness and beyond this planet cuteness, he is also currently the only Grandson with one set of Grandparents, and a 3rd Grandchild to the other set. He is also a Nephew to my two sisters and my husband’s siblings – two sisters and a brother… not to mention the endless sea of extended family that we all love and adore. Then there are the friends… Wow, we sound like the most popular kids in school, right? Not.

In Will’s vast lifetime of 2 years… I think that Mr. Sal and I have purchased–at the most–10% of his belongings… toys and clothing… All the rest have been bestowed upon us by our loving collection of friends and family… The toys that have truly turned our home into a playhouse… and the clothing… MY GOD THE CLOTHING. Honestly, we love it… so if you are reading this… please DO NOT STOP… But during the holidays… it does beg the question as parents… What to buy?… I turned to Mari @ Small for Big, a friend that I am stalking whose website I am slightly obsessed with… I love Mari’s picks because the items are all dollar friendly, somewhat green and are usually created with an AWESOME design sense… I might just buy a few things for myself to display as our Holiday centerpiece.. Regardless, I’m sure by the end of this list I will have spent it all–sorry to the rest, it’s all for Will this year… Take it away Mari!…

When I sent out my request to help shop for the kids dear to you this holiday season, little did I realize Ry’s response would be: “what do I get for the boy who has everything?” Hmm. That’s one of those tough ones isn’t it. And with the grandparents’ tendencies to spoil kids rotten (we love it though, right?) I think the phenomenon is pretty common.

So, I thought I’d help her out with some of my favorites for a 2 year old boy who happens to like trucks, trains, blocks puzzles, and balls. There’s something in every price range here – and some great things for girls too.

Magic Gertie Ball – Many parents already know the wonders of the easy to grasp, easy to inflate Gertie Ball.  But the Magic Gertie is special – remember Hypercolor clothes in the 80′s? It’s baaaaaack.  (This is much better than my HS choir teacher and his hypercolor shorts. Not Kidding.)

Stacking Cone – An Act Two twist on the classic stacker – it’s definitely harder than your standard version – for the puzzler side of Mr. Will.

Billibo – A toy beyond explanations. Because it’s creative potential is best unlocked by a kid (hat? Rocker? Pail? Sled? Something never seen before?) This one made Small for Big’s theWANTlists this year.

Dexterity Stellina Color Sorting Puzzle – Mr. Will can find hours of puzzling choices with this crazy star-shaped shape/size/color sorter.

Douglas, from Monster Factory – Because every single monster at the Monster Factory is worthy of Mr. Will’s love, but I could only pick one.

Switchback Racetrack -  A vertical way to get your fix of racing, crashing, and little boys’ squealing.

Dalmation’s Choice Fire Engine – The Cadillac (sorry, fire truck) of ride-ons. It’s a retro classic to keep for the grandchildren. It has to be for that price.

Thanks Mari!–To follow up, en-route to our house via Santa’s sled (PS did you know that if Santa actually went as fast as he would have to go to reach all the children of the world in one night, his sled would burst into flames? sorry.)…

• Billibo – I’m just so curious to see how Will approaches this thing…
• Dexterity Stellina Color Sorting Puzzle – He loves puzzles!…
• Switchback Racetrack – Hours of predictable fun…
• Douglas, from Monster Factory – Honestly… ALL FOR ME, ALL ME – do you think Douglas drinks? Kinda looks like a Patrón man… shots anyone?

Guest Bird #10 – Mari

Remember my post on the Master Schedule? I neglected to mention that my biggest hurdle to actually following through with anything is my acute case of anti-willpower. It’s been plaguing me for years. I think a lot of those years the lazy bug stemmed from doing too much – I was working full-time, making art in my studio part-time, and an adjunct faculty teaching college courses part-time. And I lived 40 minutes away from all of it. I was overloaded, and it meant that I was never interested in doing any of the things I’d committed myself to do – because there was no commitment left in me.

The cheesy way to put it? I was losing any passion for what I was doing.

Luckily, it appears that working for myself is restoring my gumption. The Master Schedule – picking one main project to focus on each day of the week – works. Mostly. When I have an idea on Blog Monday that belongs with Art Wednesday, all I have to do is write it down for Wednesday (a tabbed notebook is KEY). There’s less paralysis over what priority is next. Plus, at the end of the week, I can actually see what I’ve accomplished on a daily basis. It does require flexibility. The week I devoted to Small for Big’s theWANTlists 2009? Well, it took all 5 days and the weekend. But I also knew I had dedicated time for each neglected project coming the following week – when I returned to the Master Schedule. Regrettably, some things don’t change. I still have to answer Freelance Tuesday’s emails even if it’s Etsy Thursday. And no matter what, when Baby Cries it’s Baby Day. She definitely forces me to be more realistic with my to-do lists. But the best part? I find myself willingly going back to get something done because I know it’s my only chance that week. I thought that part of me was long gone.

However, I am finding that if I push myself too hard, the burnout returns. I’ve been feeling it the last couple of days. Suddenly, all I want to do is be mom (nothing wrong with that, is there!) and knit someone else’s designs – mindlessly. The long and the short of it is this. Even when I’m doing what I love, I need to find a way to reward myself and rest. So the cliches about finding your passion have to be balanced with the other clichés about everything in moderation. So, apparently, I have to listen to all those kitschy signs and sayings? Ugh.

Mari (rhyme that with Atari, not Gary) is a full time Mom that owns and operates a huge for small blog called Small for Big, crafts like nobody’s business and stalks Martha in her spare time. She is also an accomplished artist and freelance designer. Heck, is there anything that Mari can’t do?