Time For Me To Fly

Hello! As you can see, I haven’t posted for quite a while!

Creating this blog has been a lot of fun, and has helped to nurture the writer in my soul.

At the same time, I have been a student of Numerology for several years. This year, I’ve had the opportunity to share my knowledge with others. It is a great joy to help people understand their life’s purpose through numbers.

As such, requests for Numerology reports are plentiful. (Thank you!) My time is spent on compiling reports; and little is left for my blog.

This will be my last post. I truly appreciate all of your kind words and visits. It has been a pleasure to share my humor, wisdom and insights with each of you.

Take care of yourself and make sure you take the time to laugh each day.

Lots of love to you,
Tina

This Spud's For You

In the week following The TiVo Incident, I’m pleased to announce we now have a new unit. Right now, it’s purring along, recording “Last Comic Standing” and “My Gym Partner is a Monkey.”

Now that we have a new TV, I had to figure out how to get rid of the old one. It’s not like you can just shove a 48-inch rear projection boob tube on wheels into a corner and throw clothes over it. That’s what a treadmill is for.

I found a local charity that will come and pick up our TV, along with the broken VCRs, CD players and Wang Chung audio cassettes that take up space in our garage.

I am not one of those people that hang on to “stuff.” At least three times a year, I bundle up donations of clothing, shoes and “The Idiot’s Guide to Decorating Your Home with Messy Kids and No Money” book series.

I may not stop there.

This evening, I was playing on the floor with my toddler, J., when he started extracting things from his over-crowded toy box. First came a parade of plastic toys. I felt a twinge of guilt when I counted the toys and compared it to the number of French fries and chicken nuggets he wolfed down to get them.

Next came tattered board books, a baby rattle and some plastic blocks.

“Look, Mommy!” J. said, clawing at the bottom of the box. “An animal cracker!” Before I could reach it, J. popped a half-eaten camel into his mouth. I was about to grab my “Idiot’s Guide on What to Do When Your Child Eats Cookies with Cooties” from the donation pile when he saw them.

The shoes. The moustache. The blue derby hat.

He had found Mr. Potato Head’s Parts.

Screaming with glee and clearly not wheeling from the cootie-coated cracker, J. took my hand and ran to the garage. “I want Mr. Potato Head, Mommy! Plllleeeeease, Mommy!”

Uh, oh. This is trouble.

There's a reason this Silly Spud is in the garage. The head had spooked J. when we presented it on his first birthday. On this specific toy model, you press a button and all the parts fly off his face. It’s not one of Hasbro’s brighter ideas, in my opinion.

Obviously, J. was too dizzy from the Trans fat in his French fries to remember. But he was excited, so I thought we could try again.

We placed Mr. Potato Head on the coffee table, and inserted his arms, red nose with mustache, and black-rimmed glasses.

J. pushed the button. WHAM! Mr. Potato Head came to life. With a sardonic chuckle, his private “parts” scattered in every direction. One piece grazed my ear. Another soared into the ceiling fan. The last piece hit our greyhound squarely between the eyes. She yelped, jumped up and ran for cover in our laundry room.

J. was horrified. His eyes welled with tears and he begged me to take Mr. Potato Head back to the garage.

So now, Mr. Potato Head is – once again – banished to the garage where he will live out his days among old yearbooks, suitcases and holiday decorations.

Or maybe…just maybe…I can swap him out with a Mr. Mister cassette single.

"Hats Off" to the Prize Patrol

“Mom, I really, really want this.” My nine year-old has just shoved a brochure under my nose.

“What is that thing?”

He rolled his eyes. (This is becoming his automatic response to everything I say or do.)

“It’s a Super Sipper Sombrero. See?” He points to the page. “You can attach two milk bottles to either side, and they have straws. It also has a fan on the top, in case I get too hot.”

“Too hot?”

Eye roll. “Yes…see? It serves salsa…mild, medium or hot. The chips are extra.”

Ahhh…yes. The PTO fundraising season is here. Twice each school year, we go through this. He brings home ten catalogs and begs for me to buy 25 items so he can show off the winning prize to his friends. Within two days, it’s on the floor in the family room, never to be touched again.

But this Super Sipper Sombrero was the MOST hideous I’d seen of all prizes. I preferred last year’s furry purple gorilla that bellowed “Feed me bananas!” as his long arms hung from the bedroom door knob.

The thing I can’t get over with these fundraisers is that the items are quite pricey, and the quantities are quite small. C’mon…should I really pay $15 for a 50-count tin of Gummi Berries? I did the math. That’s like $.30 per berry!

I can buy a bag at the store for 50 cents.

I know, I know…it’s for a good cause. But I think I’d rather spend 50 cents on the Gummi Berries package and take the other $14.50 and donate it to the PTO.

Or better yet, keep it and not buy the berries at all.

But unfortunately, the PTO doesn’t give out Super Sipper hats with each purchase.

I looked through the catalogs and found only two things that I thought we absolutely needed: a fur remover mitt for the greyhound and a 50th Anniversary Celebration of Table Tennis Coasters Set.

Much to my son’s chagrin, we didn’t make it to 25 items.

But that’s okay. He still gets a belching pink frog.

Farewell, Our Old TiVo Friend...

Zzzzzzfftt.

“Uhhhh, the TV died,” my husband said.

We had just returned from our monthly run to Costco, where I bought a 200 mg, 3000-capsule bottle of Milk Thistle. .. I didn’t even know what Milk Thistle is, but it sounded like a good deal at the time.

“I turned it on...and it just went…” Zzzzzzzffft.

It was six o’clock in the evening. We knew what we had to do. This was the third time this 48-inch, rear projection dinosaur had gone on the fritz. With two previous repair bills totaling $1250, we vowed the next time it broke would be the last.

“So…I’m okay with going to look for new TV if you are,” he said.

I looked at the clock. Then I looked at our toddler who hadn’t napped all day. This was playing with fire. Should we take a cranky toddler to an electronics store late at night when the only thing he ate for dinner was a handful of Rainbow Goldfish?

I decided to flirt with danger. “Let’s go!” as I ushered our kids into the garage.

That was the beginning of the end. The following, as anchorman Walter Cronkite used to say, is "the rest of the story.”

6:05p.m. – We leave the house and head for mass market electronics store #1. Our mission is to collect helpful information from Young And Hip Sales Dude so we can then go and buy the TV for half the price at mass market electronics store #2.

6:15pm – Husband screeches truck to a halt in front of Red Robin restaurant to pick up a penny on the sidewalk. He hopes this will give us a jump start on collecting for our first TV payment.

6:20pm – Arrive at store #1. We talk with Young and Hip Sales Dude about HDTV, and the difference between LCD and plasma displays. Our toddler claims he’s hungry and chews on a blister pack of AA batteries.

7:00pm – Travel to store #2. Purchase TV and stand. As we wait for the employee to deliver the items to the truck, our toddler demolishes a “Wild Hogs” DVD display.

7:25pm – Arrive home and unload new TV and stand. Husband starts to program TV. I look for things around the house in need of AA batteries.

7:30pm - Unwrap the TV stand and remove contents from the box. Realize my “guesstimate” on the width of the TV stand is way off. It is too long for our entertainment center.

7:31pm – Ignore husband’s comment, “I thought you had the measurements in your purse.”

7:35pm - Inspect entertainment center. Point out there may be a way to “expand it” to fit the TV stand.

7:45pm - Husband gets on chair to disassemble entertainment center. Loosened overhead shelf falls and bonks husband on head before knocking down TiVo box and DVD player. Zzzzzzzffft.

7:46pm - Husband sinks to his knees and prays for the broken TiVo box to heal itself. He starts to reprogram the box.

8:30pm - Husband still in denial about failed attempts to revive TiVo. Our nine year-old son has fallen asleep on the couch after reading the directions out loud 12 times. The TV screen blinks the message, “Programming. Please Wait.”

9:00pm – Still no TiVo.

10:00pm – We have managed to separate the entertainment center by an inch. The base of the TV stand now fits into the space.

10:15pm – Still no TiVo

10:16pm - Husband is angry and starts sifting through DVD collection to calm his nerves. Gets even madder when he finds his lost copy of “Meatballs” and can’t watch it because DVD player is also zzzzzzzfffft.

10:45pm - Doors to entertainment center will not open because we’ve pushed it apart at a weird angle. One side is crooked. To calm my nerves, I open a bag of Baked Cheetos, mentally dismissing how many Weight Watchers POINTS I’ll have to record later.

11:30pm - Husband and I reinstall overhead shelf on lopsided entertainment center. We step back to admire our work and notice the edge of the shelf is splattered with paint. We’ve installed it backwards.

11:31pm - Still no TiVo.

11:40pm – I make it to the bottom of the Cheetos bag.

11:45pm - We decide the entertainment center can do without the overhead shelf. I ignore the gaping holes where we gently ripped it out.

12:29am – Tired and numb, I fall into bed. I make a mental note to skip next week’s Weight Watchers meeting. Next to me, my husband is softly snoring, the TiVo remote tucked under his arm.

It Was A Dark and Stormy Night

My toddler, J., has figured out how to catapult himself out of his crib.

I put him down at bedtime…he comes out faster than a hurdler at the Helsinki Olympic Stadium.

Added to that, J. is in a phase where any dog noise sends him into a frenzy of tears. Never mind that our own crazy greyhound barks at the television during the Purina Cat Chow commercials and howls when I sing along with Shakira on my iPod.

Those things don’t bother J.

On Monday night, J. was (finally) in his crib. That night, we had a HUGE rainstorm. The wind whipped through our neighborhood, toppling trashcans and scattering bottles, grass clippings and old issues of my “Home Shop Machinist” magazines.

Throughout the thunder, rain and wind, J. slept peacefully in his bed.

Sometime around midnight, my neighbor let his dog outside. I think this Chihuahua, “Moose,” had his barker removed. He flits around, opening and closing his mouth, but no sound ever comes out. However, on this night, the wind must have thwacked Moose with one of the many empty Otter Pop wrappers from our trash. Maybe he yelped. Maybe he squeaked.

Whatever happened, J. woke from his deep sleep. That’s right. He slept through tumultuous weather conditions, but heard the sound of a bark-less dog.

He jumped from his crib, and ran for cover - screaming and crying. All the way to our bedroom.

Two nights later, J. has now formed a new habit, which consists of escaping from his crib at the slightest noise.

At three this morning, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Mom,” my nine year-old son whispered. “J. is sleeping in the hallway. I almost tripped over him on my way to the bathroom.”

I stumbled from bed and found him sleeping quietly on the floor. As I gathered him into my arms, I felt a sticky substance on his arm. Then I stepped on something cold and mushy. His big brown eyes popped open as I placed him back in his crib.

“Why were you sleeping on the floor?” I asked quietly.

He yawned. “Wanted…Otter Pop.”

Needless to say, I threw out the remaining Otter Pops. For Moose’s sake – and my sleep schedule – I hope the wind isn’t blowing during the next Trash Day.

An Open Letter To My Nine-Year-Old Son

On the eve of your first day in fourth grade, I’m filled with emotions.

But here it is. The truth. You are getting older.

We no longer crawl on the floor, playing with a myriad of Buzz Lightyear toys. They’ve been replaced by computer games that reward you with magical capes and rainbow shoes.

Gone are the days when you cowered behind me, too shy to talk to the other children at the park. Now, you talk endlessly to your friends on the phone, and love spending time at their homes.

When you were a toddler, you would empty the contents of Popsicle and cereal boxes. Then, you displayed them in a precision-straight line. Now, your father and I have to remind you (several times a day) to take the recyclables out to the trash bin.

At the same time, your father and I are so proud of you. You do well in school and love to help your classmates that struggle with reading and spelling.

You have a wonderful sense of humor and infectious laugh. While I don’t think I’ll ever understand why you watch the same scenes of Drake and Josh’s “Really Big Shrimp” movie over and over again, you delight in things that are a tad offbeat. (You get that from your father.)

Most importantly, you are a great role model for your two year-old brother. You always look out for him by automatically grabbing his hand while crossing the parking lot or dusting him off when he falls on the grass.

As your mother, I committed myself to teaching you how to be caring, respectful and responsible. I want to show you that the most important things in life have less to do with having portable electronic devices and expensive tennis shoes…and more to do with being kind toward others and sharing your inner light with the world.

You’re at a tender age – no longer a little boy, but not yet a teenager.

You still sleep with “Slusher,” your tattered, stuffed Siberian Husky.
You still like hugs from your parents.
And you still ask me to cut the crusts off your PB&J sandwiches.

These moments remind me how important it is savor this time and appreciate the changes to come.

So…we wish you the best in the coming school year. We know it will be your best year yet.

And, while you’re at it, can you take the newspaper outside to the trash can?

Why does Shaun Cassidy look so old, but I feel so young?

Thanks to my friend, Shelly Hornback, for sending this over to me.

Take a moment to sit back, relax and savor the wonderful moments of your childhood. While you’re at it, remind yourself to do this more often.

You were a girl in the 1970s if you:

•Had that Fisher Price Doctor's Kit with a stethoscope that actually worked.

•Owned a bicycle with a banana seat and a plastic basket with flowers on it.

•Learned to skate with actual skates (not roller blades)that had metal wheels.

•Thought Gopher from Love Boat was cute. (It’s okay to admit it, you know…)

•Sported either a "bowl" or "pixie" cut, not to mention the "Dorothy Hamill.” (Did people sometimes think you were a boy?)

•Wore rubber boots for rainy days and Moon boots for snowy days.

•Played on a "Slip-n-Slide," on which you injured yourself on a sprinkler head more than once.

•Thought your Holly Hobbie sleeping bag was your most prized possession.

•Wore a poncho, gauchos, and knickers.

•Hoped Santa would bring you the electronic game, Simon.

•Played with the Donnie and Marie dolls with those pink and purple satin shredded outfits. Or possible you had the Sonny and Cher dolls?

•Spent hours in your backyard on your metal swing set with the trapeze. The swing set tipped over at least once.

•Wore homemade ribbon barrettes in every imaginable color.

•Wanted to be Laura Ingalls Wilder really, really bad. You wore that Little House on the Prairie-inspired plaid, ruffle shirt with the high neck in at least one school picture...and you despised Nellie Oleson!

•Dreamed your first kiss to be at a roller rink!

• Thought PONG! ("video tennis") was the most remarkable futuristic game you ever saw!

•Had a hairstyle with "wings" or "feathers" and you kept it "pretty" with the comb you kept in your back pocket. When you walked, the "wings" flapped up and down, like you were going to “take flight.”

•Know who Strawberry Shortcake is, as well as her friends, Blueberry Muffin and Huckleberry Pie.

•Carried a Muppets lunch box to school and it was metal - not plastic - with the thermos inside. Some were glass inside and broke the first time you dropped them.

•Fought with your girlfriends over which of the Dukes of Hazzard was your boyfriend.

•Had Star Wars action figures!

•Asked your Magic-8 ball the question: "Who will I marry… Shaun Cassidy, Leif Garrett,David Cassidy, or Andy Gibb?"

•Wore out your Grease, Saturday Night Fever, and FAME soundtrack record albums.

•Tried to do lots of arts and crafts, like yarn and Popsicle-stick God's eyes, decoupage, or those funky potholders made on a plastic loom.

•Cooked Shrinky-Dinks.

•Taped songs off the radio by holding your portable tape player up to the speaker.

•Had subscriptions to Dynamite and Tiger Beat.

•Learned everything you needed to know about girl issues from Judy Blume books.

•Thought Olivia Newton John's song "Physical" was actually about aerobics.

•Wore friendship pins on your Nike tennis shoes, or shoelaces with heart or rainbow designs.

•Drowned yourself in Love's Baby Soft - which was the first "real" perfume you ever owned.

…And most importantly, you wanted to be a Solid Gold dancer.

Take It To The Limit - Get Skinny Knee Caps

No surgery.
No downtime.
Guaranteed results.

The article said Lipodissolve could melt away the pounds. Simply put, the procedure dissolves fat pockets through injections of a “synthetically produced but biologically natural entity.”

Studies show that 80% of women are dissatisfied with their appearance.

For me, it’s the mid-section. No matter how much I exercise (walk to the refrigerator) and diet (eat three ice cream sandwiches instead of five), I can’t get rid of it.

That’s why I decided to schedule an appointment for a free “one-on-one body shaping consultation.”

As I walked in the door, I was greeted with a 20-foot waterfall, and several metal sculptures of slender, naked bodies. (All women, of course…the only male in the room was on the cover of a “Muscular Fitness” magazine.) Behind the receptionist desk, I could see The Eagles Reunion Tour playing on a plasma screen.

Once I completed the necessary form, (“Place an X here if you have a big gut”), I was ushered into a room to speak with a nurse.

She explained the procedure, adding that I would experience soreness, swelling, headaches, nausea, burning sensations and an overwhelming desire to listen to Lyle Lovett. This could last up to 72 hours after each treatment. Pain and discomfort, she said, would indicate the injections were working their magic.

She inspected my thighs. “You should consider the banana procedure,” she said.

“Why? Is my fat split up too much?” She ignored my comment. Beyond the door, The Eagles continued to perform in front of a sold out crowd.

“It’s the space between your buttocks and outer thighs. Injections in this area will provide extra definition.” You can’t hide your lying thighs…

Maybe my backside could use a little definition. Then, I remembered when I was pregnant and had to get hormone shots in the rear.

Sensing my hesitation, she eyed my chin. “We also do the neck. Maybe you should consider…?” And your smile’s been disguised…

Then the office manager breezes in. She placed a payment plan brochure under my nose.

“How much does this cost?” I thought by now, you’d realize…

She paused. “Well, it depends on how many areas you want to target. It appears that you have a few…areas of opportunity. We suggest you start out with four treatments, at $2000 per area.”

“So it will cost $8000?”

“Yes,” but it is soooo worth it. I even had my knee caps done.” There ain’t no way I’ll pay this much for banana thighs…

Needless to say, Lipodissolve will have to wait. While I savor the thought of a flat stomach and the absence of love handles, my threshold for pain – including paying $8000 – is too high.

I can think of a lot of things $8000 will buy. A few mortgage and car payments. Control top panties. The Very Best of The Eagles CD.

Your Guide To Surviving A Seminar

Hello from Seattle! Right now, I’m attending a healthcare conference. If you plan on taking a seminar in the future, I’ve outlined some things you should know. Take it from someone who has…ahhh…been there.

1. Snag one of the hotel’s skimpy pads of paper to doodle and keep score. For each time a speaker says, “Uhhh” or “Ummm,” add 25 points. If the speaker utters “paradigm shift,” “soup-to-nuts” or “quick and dirty data analysis” add 50 points. Subtract 75 points when the speaker tells a good story. The person with the highest score must join the local Toastmasters chapter.

2. Sit in the back of the room. That way you can slip out when you hear, “I’m sorry, Ladies and Gentleman, but today’s scheduled speaker is ill. In his place, Mr. Dwane-Doctorate-in Statistics will present his research on the difference between using paper towels and hand dryers in hospital restrooms. Please make yourself comfortable as he loads his 165-slide Power Point presentation, using 20 different graphs to say the same thing.”

3. Get to the room early. So you don’t get stuck in the front. When the pinch-hitter speaker presents his discoveries about hospital restrooms.

4. As a precautionary measure, empty the vendor’s treat bowl into your handy dandy conference tote bag. Even if it’s only individually wrapped Tic Tacs. It’s better than elbowing your way to the dessert table only to find remnants of stale, crustless peanut and jelly sandwiches. (What is this, a PBS convention?)

5. Bring a wad of dollar bills. In hotels where the conferences are held, it’s expected that you tip everyone who comes within 15 feet of you.

6. Make new friends and network. Trade business cards. Have them stand in line for you at the dessert table.

7. Learn how to look down at your notes while dozing at the same time. Just make sure you don’t “jerk” awake, bump into the person sitting next to you, and cause her to spill coffee.

8. Always bring an extra pair of pants.

Want My T-Shirt?

His voicemail was between a message from a co-worker and a hang-up.

“Hi, Tina!” he chirped. “My name is Rick Alabaster, and I would very much like to talk to YOU. Please call me back.”

Under normal circumstances, I don’t return a voice message if the caller doesn’t state why he called in the first place. But, this wasn’t a normal circumstance. I had just returned to the office from vacation, and wasn’t quite in “work mode” yet.

So I called him.

"Oh, it’s YOU!," he said, upon picking up the phone. “I’ve heard so much about YOU. It’s a pleasure to talk to YOU.” His saccharine-laced voice was starting to irritate me.

“I’m sorry, but do I know YOU?”

“Oh, well now,” he chuckled. “I knew YOU would ask that question. I’m a headhunter, uhhh…of sorts…and YOU...come highly recommended.”

“Who recommended me? I didn’t know I was so popular.”

He erupted into peels of laughter.

Now, I know I can solicit a laugh or two during a conversation, but I’m not THAT funny.

“Oh, you’re a hoot, Tina! That’s what the person who recommended you said, too.”

Again, the mysterious recommendation. “OK, so who is it?”

Pause.

“Um,…her name is Brenda Merrrtennferrrf…”

“Hmm…” I said thoughtfully. “I don’t know any Brenda Merrrtennferrrf.”

“Oh, sure you do! She's an old friend, and says YOU would be a great edition to our team. I work for AmeriNationSnerklePlan. We’re a subsidiary of the AmeriSnerkleWerppleFund Company. Maybe you’ve heard of us. We’re in the process of opening 45 branches in the Phoenix area.”

Rick went on for five minutes, waxing about Snerkle’s greatness. But I had already figured out what he was looking for…a salesperson disguised as a financial planner. “Why don’t we set up a time for an interview? I’d love to meet YOU and talk about this opportunity.”

“Thank you for the call,” I said flatly. “But I’m not interested in working for the AmeriNationSnerklePlan.”

Rick stopped laughing.

You see, I’ve been down this road before.

Last year, I joined a Multi-Level Marketing (MLM) company that sells skin care products. Being new to MLMs, I was seduced by the idea of earning millions of dollars while sitting on the beach, sipping fruity adult beverages.

The words from my “up-line” -- also known as Vice Presidents -- still ring in my ears.

Tell them your WHY story!
DON’T mention selling or multi-level marketing.
Tell them they can make $100,000 in one year!
DON’T mention that they have to invest at least $750 of their own money.
Always remember SW x 4! (That’s short for Some Will…Some Won’t…So What?...Someone is Waiting.)

Unfortunately, no one was waiting FOR ME.

Armed with glossy catalogs, hand cream samples and blazing optimism, I met with people from my “Top 100” list. I attended training workshops sporting my oversized "SW x 4" T-shirt. I even dropped a glass bead into an old mayonnaise jar each time I got a “No, thanks.” (Some of the head honchos claimed that by the time my jar was full, I would be a Vice President.)

The weeks wore on. I had collected enough beads to string three dozen necklaces.

Now, I believe growth comes from stretching outside the comfort zone. And while I also believed in the products, (except for three garish lipstick colors and one cream blusher)it just…wasn’t…working.

I didn’t feel comfortable pursuing people and convincing them this was THE GREATEST OPPORTUNITY OF A LIFETIME…but they had to take advantage of it before the end of the month.

That’s not to say that network marketing doesn’t work. There are many people who are quite successful at it. They have loads of Tiffany bracelets, Coach purses and fancy cars. And large families.

So, I threw out the beads and filled the jar with my toddler’s crayons.

And that’s what I thought of when Rick Alabaster started laughing at my jokes. I’ve been there. Done that.

So What…

It's Only Temporary...

No...time...to...post. Reading Harry Potter.

Haven't seen husband, kids or daylight since I started reading the book on Saturday. Be back soon!

Is The Minnow Lost?

Earlier this week, I traveled across country for a conference. As I was waiting for my departing flight back home, I browsed the airport bookstore. I saw one of my favorite books. It reminded me of an experience days earlier.

With regrets to author Mitch Albom, here are the Five People I Didn’t Want to Meet On My Airplane:

1)Mr. I’m-VERY-Important. He just made summer vacation plans in the Cayman Islands. He boasted that he got to the airport earlier than anyone else. And, to top it off, he was in a hurry to get to his destination because he had a Very Important Meeting. He didn’t TELL me any of this. We all HEARD it because he was talking so loudly on his cell phone. I wondered if anyone really was on the other end, or if he was just checking Time and Temperature.

2)Mr. I-Partied-All-Night-Like-A-Rockstar. I knew this guy was bad news when he stumbled onto the plane and fell over his own boarding pass. I eyed the empty seat next to me. “Pleasedonotsitbyme…pleasedonotsitbyme…” I said to myself as he approached my row. Bleary-eyed, he kept walking, but not before my nostrils were assaulted with a mixture of stale beer, cigarettes and Brut.

3)Gilligan. The first thing I noticed about this guy was that he wore a hat like Bob Denver from the hit TV show. Then, the SECOND our plane took off, the back of his seat took flight. Into my lap. If I would’ve been a dentist I could’ve extracted his molar. I attempted to lean sideways in my chair, groping blindly for my purse underneath the seat in front of me. At the same time, I pushed up on the back of the seat, hoping he would get the hint. He didn’t. That’s because he was 6’4 and 250 pounds. I also assumed that when you’re that big, no one is going to comment on your choice of headwear.

4)Ms. I’m-Not-Happy-Unless-I’m-Unhappy. As soon as she sat in her seat, she found an assortment of “issues.” Her tray table wouldn’t snap into its upright position. She was sure her baggage was going to get lost or drop out of the airplane somewhere over Olathe, Kansas. And she was REALLY ticked off when she found out the $10 “Fun Pack” consisted of five miniature pretzel sticks, three peanut M&Ms and a plastic fork.

5)Ms. Looky Loo. This woman, who was sitting in first class, proceeded to stare at Every. Single. Person. who boarded the plane. She sat in her over-sized seat, with a smug look on her face as The Rest of Us passed by her. Every once in a while, she would scoot away from the aisle, irritated by the thought of coming into contact with a duffle bag or USA Today. However, I had a perverse sense of satisfaction when I spotted a young mother and her baby in the seat behind Ms. Looky Loo. Did I mention this was a four-hour flight?

As soon as we landed, I got my luggage and headed toward the shuttle. As the driver took my bags, he said, “We’re a little crowded in there. I hope you don’t mind sitting in the last row.” I peered into the van, and saw someone wearing that ubiquitous white canvas hat.

I had to ask. “Does this shuttle have bench seats?”

Do I Get a Thank You for the Water?

Is it just me, or have kids lost all sense of respect?

This afternoon, my nine year-old son had his friend, Kevin, over to our house. Somehow, Kevin’s little sister Mackenzie, (two years younger) tagged along with him.

My son, rather sympathetically, said, “Mackenzie was bored at home, so she wanted to come over here and watch us play computer games.”

During the next 20 minutes, this is what transpired at my house.

MACKENZIE: “Do I have to sit ON THE FLOOR to watch them play while I'm here? Sure would be NICE to have a chair...”

ME: Uh, okay. Here you go. (I bring in my toddler’s Naughty Seat and set it down.)

MY TODDLER: Nnnnnooooo! MY NAUGHTY SEAT!

I retreat to my bedroom to tackle a basket of laundry. Then, a knock at the door.

MACKENZIE: Your dog is jumping on me. I’ve been running around trying to get away from her. Can't you do something about it?

ME: Well, you see, Mackenzie, she is a greyhound. That means she is trained to chase things that run from her. If you sit still and be REAL QUIET (pause for effect), she’ll leave you alone.

MY TODDLER: Nnnnnnooooo! MY DOGGY RUNNING!

Mackenzie eyes me suspiciously but goes back to join the boys. A few minutes later, she’s back.

MACKENZIE: I’m hungry. Is there anything I can eat around here?

ME: Why, sure! Let me get something for you. (I go to the kitchen and open the freezer, reaching behind the bag of fish sticks and carton of Slim-A-Bear bars. This is my opportunity to get rid of a box of Popsicles that have been taking up space since the Y2K scare.)

MY TODDLER: Nnnnnooooo! MY FREEZER BURNT POPSICLES!

MACKENZIE: (Turns up her nose.) No…I was wondering if you had anything else.

ME: Nope. That’s it. (I step sideways to guard my newly purchased family-size bag of Twizzlers.) But, if you’re that hungry, you can go home and have your mom make you something to eat.

MACKENZIE: Can I just have some water instead?

It's About Me, But Vote For THEM

Thanks to Heather, who’s busy running after the “Little People.” She hid from them long enough to tag me!

So, here’s a list of things no one knew about me. Until now.

•I bring home a big ol’ bar of dark chocolate and put it in the refrigerator. When it’s cold enough, I break the bar into bits and tell myself there aren’t as many calories in the small pieces. This way, I don’t feel so bad when the whole bar is gone. (Usually within 20 minutes…)
•I love baby feet. So cute!
•When I go to the check out lane, I pick the longest line so I can read the National Enquirer. My favorite issues are the ones when superstars are caught on the beach without make-up and air-brushed bodies. Ahhh…Bliss.
•I can drink 48 ounces of Diet Coke in one sitting.
•I floss twice a day…but only during the week leading up to my routine dental check-up.
•My greatest fear is that I will never get peace and quiet in the afternoons until my youngest turns 18…he just figured out how to bounce himself out of his crib and now refuses to take a nap.
•I would like to live the simple country life.
•On second thought, I would rather be on the beach.
•My dream is to be a humorist and write books that don’t end up in the bargain bin.
•I believe in New Age mumbo jumbo, and have the crystals, meditation Cd's, and dream boards to prove it.
•On that subject, I really want to practice yoga, but the closest I've come to it is stretching when I reach for the box of cookies on the top shelf in my kitchen pantry.
•Syndicated columnist Dave Barry wrote a story about me and his experience driving the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile.
•I believe there’s a “special place in heaven” for people who say, “I’ll get back to you on that.” And never do.
•I was terrified when my youngest son was born premature. Today, he is a happy, healthy toddler, but the experience changed my life.

Instead of tagging another blogger, I'm suggesting a way for you to help people still dealing with the devastating effects of Hurricane Katrina. Phoenix of New Orleans is a great cause! Please vote for them (each day!) so they can receive funding to continue rebuilding the homes and lives of the people in New Orleans. (Please note you will have to create a log in the first time you visit.)

Thanks for your support!

Is The Answer My Friend...Blowin' in the Wind?

I’m taking a break from my usual witty/inspirational/”What is she talking about?” routine. I have a critical situation going on here.

I have stumbled upon one of life’s greatest mysteries.

I’m hoping one of you dear readers can answer this question for me. Are you ready?

… … …

WHY DO PEOPLE THROW SHOES ONTO A POWER LINE?

I live in the desert. There are a lot of power lines that dot the landscape. Within the past two weeks, I’ve been in three different parts of town. I look up, and there’s a pair of shoes, tied together at the laces, dangling in the breeze.

This perplexes me. I’m a believer in signs, but I just can’t seem to figure this one out.

Is it just me?

Have YOU ever looked up to see a pair of shoes swaying to and fro? And, from my keen observation, it’s never a pair of golf shoes, cowboy boots or those ubiquitous black pumps.

It’s always a pair of tennis shoes.

I wonder what motivates someone to do such a thing.

Maybe that’s what teenagers are doing for kicks these days. I picture a bunch of young rebel rousers, sitting around in a circle, slamming Red Bull and watching “Pimp My Ride” on television.

One of them suddenly gets a bright idea. “Hey! Why don’t we take a pair of perfectly good shoes and toss them onto a powerful cable that transmits enough electricity to fry us like eggs on a sidewalk in Phoenix?” (Yes, you can cook your entire breakfast on the street right now…but that’s beside the point.)

The other dudes nod together in a stony silence, grunting something like “Yo yo yo! That’s PHAT!” before they head out the door, barefoot but full of ambition.

Or…maybe the shoes were put there by my power company. It’s an experiment to see if the rubber soles can transmit energy faster, better, and cheaper for its customers.

Yeah, right. I didn’t think so, either.

I admit, it takes talent to hoist those shoes up there and have one land perfectly on each side of the line. But, why shoes? Doesn’t it seem like there are other staples that would make more sense? I never see any clothes, books, cell phones or George Foreman grills up there.

So, what’s going on here? Have we become a nation that would rather have our old shoes cohabitate with birds, rather than giving them to a friend or donating to a thrift shop?

If you have any thoughts on this phenomenon, PLEASE let me know.

In the meantime, I have to make dinner for my kids. I wonder how high a Kiddie Cuisine box can fly in the air…

Today is the future I created yesterday

I found this quote in one of my day-by-day desk calendars. I liked it so much, I ripped it out and stuck it on the bulletin board in my home office.

It reminds me that we have the power in the present moment to create what we want in our lives.

Do you know someone who is just “waiting” to be happy? Maybe she will be happy when
...her co-workers change for the better.
…her kids get older.
…she loses those extra 15 pounds.

The truth is, you can choose to live a happy and fulfilled life – RIGHT NOW.

Regardless of how your kids behave in public, how much you want your spouse/significant other to pick up his socks, or how you will make that big purchase WHEN you win the lottery.

Yes, external factors can frustrate you. However, by staying in the present moment, you can choose happiness by directing your thoughts to be more productive.

Consider this. If every one of your thoughts was a seed you were planting for the future (say, tomorrow), what will you harvest? Will your garden bear delicious, ripe fruit…or will you be left with a fistful of weeds?

Here are some ways you can stay in the present moment, and sow the seeds of success:

• Choose a theme for the day. I keep a cup full of angel cards on my nightstand. Each card has one word, such as “Purpose,” “Humor,” or “Adventure.” Each morning, I randomly select a card which is my lesson for the day. Without fail, the message is played out sometime during the day. For instance, one morning I picked “Education.” That same morning, I met Sheri, who told me how she started a blog, and gave me tips on starting one of my own. There are a variety of cards on the market today, so you can choose a deck that appeals to you.

• Use your listening skills. By this, I mean REALLY listen to what the other person is saying. Admit it…we are usually our favorite topic of conversation. But, for one day, listen to the other person without wanting to interrupt with your own stories or thoughts. After the conversation, bring to mind at least three things the other person said. Hint: If you can’t remember at least three things, you probably talked too much.

• At the end of the day, take a few minutes release any regrets or resentments. Think about those who are frustrating you. Then, ask yourself what they are teaching you. Say to yourself, “I no longer allow myself to feel ______ (upset, sad, angry, etc.) about this situation with _____ (person). I bless you and release you in peace.” This is a great nighttime ritual, as it cleans the slate so you can start the next day on a positive note.

Last week, I went to my local library.

My two young sons in tow, I gathered our books (one about how to make monster snot, the other about the Berenstain Bears) and was heading toward the check out counter when I noticed two aisles of music CDs.

Always eager to download albums into my iPod, I began searching through the titles. My nine year-old son held up a CD and said “Mom? Can we get this one?”

I glanced at the title. “The Complex by the Blue Man Group? Oh, I don’t think so! Not those clowns with the blue faces.” I had seen a glimpse of their performance on television, and I just didn’t get them.

Yet my son, who is at the age where every sentence sounds like a question, was persistent. “This girl? Who’s in my class? She says her parents went to Las Vegas and saw them. She’s also going to Orlando this summer? And she’s going to see them there, too. She says they’re really, really good”

Since the library had a 10-CD limit, I decided one bad CD out of ten wouldn’t be a big deal.

I was soooo wrong.

From the moment we played the first song, I was hooked.

If you aren’t familiar with Blue Man Group (or BMG, as they are called), the music has great electronic beats. I’m now a bona fide BMG fan, just like the rest of those crazy people I see hopping around at their concerts.

I listen to BMG in my car. On my iPod. In my head. (The last one was a little difficult this morning when I was trying to sing the Lord’s Prayer in church, but I found a way.)

The second song on the CD is called “Time To Start.” It’s a fast-paced song that gives four tips for “rock concert movements.”

The first rock concert movement is “Basic Head Bob.” My son and I blasted this song over and over, rapidly jerking our heads back and forth. We had a great time!

Until the next morning, when I woke up with a stiff neck. And sore shoulders. And limited peripheral vision.

I was reminded of a valuable lesson…and I don’t mean refraining from taking more than six painkillers with a 24-hour period.

As parents, my husband and I make every attempt to provide those AHA! moments for our children. We take them to sporting events, attend arts performances and encourage them to read a variety of books. By doing so, we hope they will do or see something that plants the seeds for future learning and personal interests.

While I think that WE must provide the lessons, I was reminded that children are OUR greatest teachers, as they can quickly move us out of our comfort zones.

Sore muscles aside, I’m grateful my son picked out that BMG CD. Who would’ve thought that three men with blue faces could bring us together to imitate rock concert movements like One-Arm Fist Pump (#2) and Jump Up and Down Motion (#3)?

What’s more, I now have a favorite new music group that I can listen to when I’m on the treadmill. (So I know I’ll listen to them at least twice a month.)

And the next time my son suggests a CD I haven’t heard before, I won’t be so fast to dismiss it. After all, we need to know what music our children are listening to and the messages they’re receiving. And, if we can like some of the same tunes, that’s pretty cool.

Sadly, I know the time will come when we’ll be on opposite sides of the spectrum in music selections.

But for now, I have a much bigger problem. I’m working on rock concert movement number #4…Behind The Head Leg Stretch.

Were you LUCKY enough to live in the 80s?

I just saw a TV commercial encouraging me to go to the casino tomorrow, as the date will be 7/7/07. That's a lot of lucky 7s in a row.

While I don't plan on breaking out the nickel rolls, I did find the Madonna impersonator singing "Lucky Star" to be quite humorous.

I got to thinking about where I was when I last danced to that song...(late 80s...high school gym...possible "Flashdance"-like shirt with neck and sleeves cut off.)

If you were also a part of the 80s, you probably:

·Sported a white T-shirt with big neon green letters that shouted, “Frankie Says RELAX.”

·Brought your bright red Trapper Keeper to school with you. (It was handy to save all of those “Just Say No” fliers the teachers distributed in class.)

·Rushed home (sometimes to an empty house) after school to watch MTV, and videos like “Video Killed The Radio Star” by The Buggles, “Photograph” by Def Leppard, and and “Always Something There To Remind Me” by Naked Eyes.

·Remember where you were when Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” video debuted on MTV.

·And, if you didn’t have MTV, you probably watched the ABC Afterschool Specials.

·Saw at least one episode of “American Bandstand” (loved those dance competitions!) “ALF,” “Punky Brewster,” “Silver Spoons” and (yeeeeeehaww!) “Dukes of Hazzard.”

·Laughed at the thought of anyone watching Sesame Street, although you could still remember when Aloysius Snuffleupagus wasn’t known as just “Snuffy.” (And thank goodness Elmo came later!)

·Loved movies like “ET,” “Back to the Future” and “Top Gun.”

·Played with Care Bears, Strawberry Shortcake, Rainbow Brite and Cabbage Patch Dolls; and probably had a Lite-Brite, Big Wheel, Easy-Bake oven and a Snoopy snow cone machine.

·Passed the time by playing Candy Land, UNO, Clue, Mouse Trap, Operation or Hungry Hungry Hippos with your friends.

·Were lucky if you had an Atari that allowed you to play Pacman. If not, you sauntered down to the local arcade to play Centipede, Q-Bert, Donkey Kong and Mrs. Pacman.

What Would Wonder Woman Say?

Over the weekend, I saw clips from the movie, “The Incredibles." I’m not necessarily a big fan of the movie, but the plot is kind of cute. I also like the baby, Jack-Jack, as it reminds me of my own live-in dynamo, a two-going-on-22-year-old with the same name.

After seeing the movie, I got to thinking about what it would be like to have superhuman abilities.

Who wouldn’t want to have SUPER powers like squeezing into last year’s swimsuit, enjoying raw vegetables without Ranch dressing and finding the time to finish the July issue of your favorite magazine? (That would be the July 2006 issue, by the way.)

So now, I have a question for you to think about…

IF YOU COULD CHOOSE ONE SUPERHUMAN POWER IN THE WORLD, WHAT WOULD IT BE?

For me, I would have the ability to ZAP! the most painful memory a person has and give him/her the opportunity to rewrite it or remove it completely. I know that a painful experience can give us an opportunity to grow. It can also be the most appropriate teacher for a lesson we must learn about life. And then sometimes, it is not. That’s when giving a person the choice about how he/she wants to confront a situation can empower them to move ahead without pain, resentment and regret holding them back.

Now, if THAT superhuman power was already taken, then my SECOND choice would be the ability to permanently remove back fat caused from ill-fitting bras -- including my own -- and banish it forever to the Land of Supermodels.

What about you?

So This Girl Walks Into A Labyrinth...

Amazing. Unbelievable. Was that a typo?

These are some of the e-mails and comments I received after my last post about attending a silent retreat.

Allow me to set the record straight.

Yes. I went TWO WHOLE DAYS without talking. Except for the brief time I spent hiking in the surrounding desert. I tripped on a rock and got walloped in the face by a Velvet Mesquite branch. At that point, I started swearing out loud.

However, the silent retreat was a wonderful experience. I highly recommend it. It was relaxing and peaceful.

But I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you that I had a spiritual experience when I was there. This event was so unique and SACRED, but I feel I must share it with you. After all, what happened to me should be noted in all New Age books.

And that note would be, “Tina Miller-Steinke is the first woman ever to be kicked out of a labyrinth.”

But let’s start at the beginning…

“Find inner peace! Joy! Enlightenment! Resolve the questions in your life!” The crinkled brochure beckoned me from the stack of reading material atop the desk in my guest room.

I studied a picture of the labyrinth on the front cover. It showed a dirt circle, separated into corridors by rocks of various sizes. In the middle was a boulder, big enough to sit on.

Unlike a maze, a labyrinth has only one way in and one way out. The center of the labyrinth can be likened to going within the interior of your soul. By moving through the circular path, you can face fear, doubt and frustration…replacing it with contentment, love and happiness. Once you’re in the center, enlightenment is sure to follow.

At least, that’s what the brochure said.

Eager to find out what I could do with the rest of my life, I decided to try it.

On the way to the labyrinth, my mind was jumbled. What should I ask about? What did I want to know? What does the future hold for me and my family? Why was my last supervisor such a psycho? Would Frankie Goes to Hollywood ever schedule a reunion tour?

Squinting my eyes against the late morning sun, I read the fine print on the tattered brochure.

Prior to entering, open your mind and allow thoughts to drift in and out as you make your way through the labyrinth. Perhaps you want to pose a question as you enter. Listen for the answer.

I wanted to make it simple, so I decided to ask, “What is the meaning of my life?”

I stepped into the labyrinth. I took a deep breath and began to follow the rocks that lined my way. And listened…for the first thing that popped into my mind.

Cotton candy.

I quickened my pace and rounded another corridor.

Cotton…candy? You mean to tell me that I ask for the meaning of my life and I get…cotton candy? Does that mean my life is full of fluff?

I proceeded along the circular path, but by now, I couldn’t concentrate. I’m thinking that the meaning of my life is about a sticky substance most people try to pass off as food.

Out of frustration, I felt like kicking the rocks out of their pristine order. Then, I remember I’m supposed to remain calm and wait for inner guidance along my way to the middle.

My mind drifts back to the cotton candy. Do they still make it in a blue and pink swirl? I start thinking of the last time I even ate cotton candy.

It was 1976.

My mom took me to a carnival in the small Missouri town where we lived. Always the gourmet carnival food connoisseur, I dined on a greasy fish sandwich and lukewarm grape soda that night. No meal at the local yokel fair is complete without cotton candy, and I made mine a double.

A few minutes later, I thought it would be a good idea to go on the Ferris wheel. A few seconds after that, the ride operator found out it was a bad idea to be standing underneath my lucky bucket.

Sickness. I rounded a corner in the labyrinth. Maybe my life needs more vitality?

I ruminate on the symbolic meaning of my life as it relates to junk food and angry carnies.

Then, I look down and notice I’ve changed directions.

And just like that, I find myself at the entrance of the labyrinth. This big dirt circle just KICKED ME OUT! How could that be…I didn’t even get to the middle!

I scour the brochure. Unfortunately, it doesn’t offer any advice about what to do when you’re bounced out of the labyrinth before making it to enlightenment.

I sat on a nearby bench, knowing what happened. My life’s purpose wasn’t about the cotton candy or the carnival ride. My hasty exit was the Universe’s way of showing me that I need to quiet the chatter in my head before I can listen to the guidance from my heart.

Because I wasn’t paying close attention, the labyrinth found a way to escort me out until I was ready to go in with an open mind.

I weighed my options. I could go back to my room and count mini-soaps. Or, I could enter the labyrinth again, focus my intention, and release the thoughts that didn’t serve me on the way to the center.

I decided to enter again. And this time, I made it to the middle! There wasn’t a great "AHA!" moment, but I sat on the boulder for at least 30 minutes. I expressed appreciation for the blessings in my life, and asked for continued support with recent changes.

That was in January. Six months later, my life is much different. I believe it was the act of releasing that helped me gain clarity in my life. For example, within weeks of sitting on that rock, I found a new job in a healthcare/non-profit, two fields that always interested me.

But some things never change.

Yesterday, I was grocery shopping and came upon a woman who was giving away samples of “fun foods” for the Fourth of July.

“Would you like to try some?” she asked, holding out a paper cup of cotton candy.

Of course, I took it. After all, I’ll do anything to get to the bottom of a pink and blue swirl.

Silence Is Golden Toasted Bagels

“We keep the doors unlocked here,” she said in a hushed voice. “It shows we have trust among the residents. Will this be a problem for you, dear?” Her mouth breaks into a soft smile, searching my face for an answer.

“Uh, no,” I sputter. “No problem here.” I tighten the grip on my suitcase handle.

She nods in agreement. I scan the room, searching for a makeshift weapon I can use in case one of the residents decides to take a midnight detour into my room.

My eyes settle on a plastic trash can and a bar of soap the size of a pack of gum. Great.

Welcome to my experience at a silent retreat in the foothills of Tucson, Arizona. Some of you had questions about this from a previous post.

A silent retreat is exactly what you think it is. No. Talking. They are designed this way to enhance your contemplation and inner guidance.

Let me say right now that a silent retreat may not be right for you. Maybe you’d rather go somewhere exotic where you can lounge around a pool and drink adult beverages. Some place like Hawaii or El Paso.

But for me, the idea of spending two days ON MY OWN with no cell phone to charge, tiny tushies to wipe or crust-less peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to make sounded like my kind of vacation.

If you’re in the market for a silent retreat, you’ve came to the right place. Allow me to share some of my nuggets of wisdom with you.

NUGGET NUMBER ONE: I was okay with the silence and not talking.

When I was by myself, that is. Otherwise, when a fellow resident crossed my path on the way to the dining hall or the library, my natural reaction was to twitch my mouth into a pitiful half-smile (no teeth).

But not here.

Talking is only allowed at dinner…and apparently Chapel, where the minister conducts a holy service and attendees sing hymns. I was a little disappointed about that. This being a silent retreat, I thought I could get away with just humming the tunes in my head.

NUGGET NUMBER TWO: I chew too much. (Say that fast ten times.)

Each morning, we filed into the dining hall. The smell of bacon, eggs and pancakes wafted through the air. The only thing I remember hearing is the gentle scrape of a fork over a plate, and wood crackling in the fireplace.

And my chewing.

To the casual observer, it probably looked like I was simply taking a bite of my toasted bagel and contemplating my life’s purpose…listening to my inner guidance.

But this is what’s really going on in my head.

Wow. Chomp.
This bagel sure is crunchy. Chomp chomp. I wonder what brand it is.
Maybe. Chomp. I should’ve slopped some more of that cactus jelly on it. Chomp, chomp.
How do they make cactus jelly, anyway? Chomp.
Oh, look. Chomp. A spare hymnal from Chapel. Chompy chomp chomp.

Good Lord, I should’ve had the oatmeal instead.

NUGGET NUMBER THREE: It’s next to impossible to get any sleep when your door is unlocked.

I know it’s a trust issue, but the fact that an unlocked sliding glass door is the only thing standing between me and another resident is a bit unnerving.

Then, I got to thinking, “If I scream at a silent retreat and no one is supposed to hear me, will I really make a sound?”

I sat up in bed all night, staring at the door. Finally, at three in the morning, I convinced myself I was overreacting and decided to go to sleep.

That’s when I heard it.

Footsteps crunching across the gravel. Stopping just outside my sliding glass door.

In the darkness, I clutched my mini soap and trash receptacle for protection. My heart pounding, I waited. And waited. I finally couldn’t take it anymore. I mustered up the courage to peek through the curtain of the sliding glass door.

The moonlight reflected a silhouette no more than five feet from my window. It wasn’t a person. But I saw something moving. I flipped the light switch, and there it was.

A wild javelina. Just standing there.

Chomping.

Stuck? Light a fire under your dream.

Now that we’re half-way through 2007, it’s time to take a look at that New Year’s resolutions you made.

You do remember it, don’t you? (Or are you one of those people who say her New Year’s resolution is to NOT make any resolutions?)

Whether you have goals or not, there comes a time when you want to create something fantastic in your life, but you feel…stuck. Maybe you haven’t made much progress. Or, maybe you had a strong start, but your commitment and desire are fading faster than the chocolate crème Oreos in your kitchen cabinet.

The good news is…you’re probably moving ahead faster than you think. After all, any cause or action set in motion has a eaqul and opposite reaction. Sometimes, your desires just take a while to sync up with the Universe.

In the meantime, there is a “sure-fire” way to speed up the process. I’ve tried it, and it works. To see your goals come to fruition, you must release all negativity, resentment and regret.

Oh, and you have to set something on fire. Preferably in your own backyard. (Or maybe your fireplace, but we don’t use those much in Phoenix.)

I first read about building a “green fire” from one of my favorite authors, Sonia Choquette. She explains the fire works because it signals to the Universe that you are liberating yourself from mental, emotional and spiritual obstacles. Once this happens, you can make a fresh start.

Here is the process for developing a green fire.

What You Need: paper, pen, pot, tin foil, Epsom salt, rubbing alcohol, matches.

1) On a piece of paper, write down all of the things you want to release at this moment. Maybe you want a new job, or you’ve been arguing a lot with your significant other. No matter what the situations, conditions or people are, write it all down.

2) Get a deep pot and line it with tin foil.

3) Pour two cups of Epsom salt into the bottom of the pot, and then pour enough rubbing alcohol over the salt to cover it.

4) Place the pot in a safe place and away from anything flammable.

5) Take a match (sometimes you need more than one), light it, and throw it in the pot.

6) Once the fire starts burning, take your paper and acknowledge you are placing it in the fire to release your fears, anxieties and doubts. You can do this with a short prayer, or a simple affirmation like “I bless all that is here and I release it with peace.”

7) As the fire burns, think of how nice it is to be free of that old, negative energy. Set your intention to move ahead in your life.

8) Stay with the fire until it burns out. Once the mixture of salt, alcohol and ashes cool, you can throw it away.

The green fire has become a ritual for my husband and me on New Year’s Eve. At the stroke of midnight, we light our fire and huddle together under the stars. As the fire burns away our old frustrations, we talk about our hopes and dreams for the upcoming year.

Green fires don’t have to be a one-year thing, either. About two months ago, I was upset about some things in my life. I wanted to find a way to earn extra income for our family, and it just wasn’t happening fast enough.

I decided to build my green fire and release my anxiety and tension. Within two weeks, I was contacted about a freelance public relations job.

Try the green fire sometime and see what happens. What have you got to lose, besides worry and aggravation?

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

As I hung up the phone, sadness washed over me. My eyes welled with tears. Heaviness clenched my heart.

I had just told my son’s friend, Joshua, that he was no longer free to call our home. Maybe it’s part of the relationship factor between little boys, but it doesn’t seem like MY friends call me at home and curse at me after a tiff on a computer game. And hang up. And then call back later and start all over. (Then again, I don’t know what kind of people you like to hang with…)

This went on all day, until finally I had had enough. When Josh’s name came up on caller ID, I snatched up the phone and told him to stop.

He muttered a half-hearted apology…and then, he was gone.

And then, my tears came.

Oh, no. I wasn’t crying because of what I said to Josh. Frankly, that brat had it coming.

It was the fact that I now wouldn’t be able to talk to Katie, Joshua’s MOTHER.

You see, I really, really liked Katie. When our kids were getting along, we would gab on the phone for hours about how silly they were. She laughed at my jokes and sense of humor. I admired her calm demeanor and carefree attitude.

I kept thinking that I had FINALLY found a mom that would make my friendship dreams come true. The last mom I had felt this way about was Donna. Our sons played basketball together and went to the same school. We bonded like peas and carrots. But once the season ended, it seemed as if our friendship took to the bench as well.

Katie and Donna were likable, smart and Good Moms. And they thought I was witty. These were all prerequisites for being “my kinda Peeps.” After all, my son had a string of friends with mothers who were so dysfunctional, they made Peg Bundy look like June Cleaver.

Isn’t it interesting that you can meet another mom, and she can APPEAR to be NORMAL? (At least, she fits your description of NORMAL.)

Then, she says or does something, and you think, “OH…MY…GOD. THIS WOMAN IS NUTS. I HAVE TO GET AWAY FROM HER AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. And my son can…never…talk…to…her…kid….ever…again.”

There was Noreen. She was nice enough. She was a gymnast from Russia and seemed to have a worldly view on things. Until she decided to tell me that anyone who wasn’t White shouldn’t live in America.

Next was Tiffany. She had a way of warning and scolding simultaneously. Each time her son misbehaved - which was about every four minutes – she would screech, “That’s it! I’m giving you to the count of three to STOP, Mister!...One! Two! Three!” After three sets of this, I was ready to put myself in timeout.

And let’s not forget Veronica. When I saw her on the playground, she would hassle me about hosting a Pampered Chef party. Or buying candles. Or sampling a new hand cream. I almost reconsidered when she told me about the Passion Parties with the “adult” toys, but by then she was on my last nerve.

Then along came Katie. My search for a NORMAL mom was over.

Until our kids started fighting. And along came the cursing phone calls. Unfortunately, I was forced to learn something about NORMAL moms.

They don’t always have NORMAL children.

So, now, I’m back to Square One. My son decided he didn’t want to be friends with Josh, and moved on.

For me, I’m learning that maybe it’s not such a good idea to force relationships with the mothers of my son’s friends. I guess I expect moms to be just like me. After all, I try to do the best I can, manage my hectic schedule on less sleep than I would like, pray my child will turn out okay, and hope he calls me on Sundays when he grows up.

I grab my iPod and consider playing "She's Gone" by Hall and Oates. My phone rings.

It’s Donna, the mom from the basketball team. “I haven’t talked to you in a while,” she says. “Can we get the boys together today for a ...”

I don’t hear the rest of her sentence. I’m already in the car, backing out of the driveway.

Nothing Doing This Weekend

Whew! I'm tired. I just finished cleaning my house while my two year-old son followed behind me. Which means I clean, he makes a mess of what I just wiped down, and then the cycle starts again. Think sliding glass door.

So, because it's Friday, and I'm smelling like Mr.Clean and vinegar (it's great on mirrors -- no streaks), I am going to post a quote from Thomas Merton (1915-68). Merton was an acclaimed spiritual writer, poet, author and social activist. I became familiar with his work during a silent retreat I took earlier this year. (But that's a post for another day...)

Anyway, here it is. Enjoy your weekend. And take some time to rest. You deserve it.

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Some of us need to discover that we will not begin to live more fully until we have the courage to do and see and taste and experience much less than usual.

There are times, then, when in order to keep ourselves in existence at all we simply have to sit back for a while and do nothing.

And for a man who has let himself be drawn completely out of himself by his activity, nothing is more difficult than to sit still and rest, doing nothing at all.

The very act of resting is the hardest and most courageous act he can perform.

Cold Cereal – It’s What’s For Dinner

“Which kind is it tonight?”

My nine-year-old son is sitting at our kitchen table, holding up his empty bowl.

“Sugar-Frosted Toasty-Ohs!” I read from the oversized plastic bag. I heap them into the bowl and pour the milk.

A stray Toasty-Oh! leaps out of the bowl and onto the placemat. He pops it in his mouth and chews thoughtfully.

“Mom, I want to talk to you about dinner.”

Uh, oh. Here it comes.

“Well,” he exhales. “I was talking to Trevor today. Do you know his mom makes him grilled steak, potatoes and whole wheat rolls she bakes from scratch? He eats like that every night.”

“That’s nice,” I murmur. “But we’re still having cereal.”

He stares at me. I stare back.

“Okay,” he says. (Pause.) “But can I at least have some orange juice with this?”

It's at that moment that I realize my son has been exposed to something so sinister, so outrageous…that my own maternal instincts and abilities cannot shield him.

It’s…(queue sound of woman shrieking here, please)…PERFECT MOM.

Everyone knows at least one. With glossy hair and skinny jeans, she tends to her charming, well-behaved children, serving them nutritious meals in her sparkling clean home. She is also deliriously happy to launder her children’s clothes.

My guess is that PERFECT MOM’S smile would quickly fade if she came to my house.

I have crumbs strewn across my floor that even my dog won’t eat. A basket of laundry is piled to the ceiling. And, the healthiest item in my cabinet is JELL-O. (I’ve heard it has fruit juice or something in it that tastes like strawberries.)

Yet, I have learned a lot in my nine years of motherhood. During the first few years, I constantly questioned my choices as a mother. I compared myself to others and always seemed to come up short.

I finally made the decision to stop judging myself, and concentrate on the person I was becoming as a mom…not on the mom I wanted to become.

You may question some of your actions and decisions when it comes to your children. I know I have. But I also believe that in that moment, you were being the best parent you knew how to be.

This includes serving dinner with less than two major food groups.

So, forget about June Cleaver, Carol Brady or PERFECT MOM down the street. Be a first rate version of the mom you know how to be, rather than a second rate version of someone else.

And, if that doesn’t work, you’re invited to come over to my house for a helping of Sugar-Frosted Toasty-Ohs!

Just Checking In With You

Somewhere between the fourth bottle of ketchup and Tampa, Florida, I had a revelation.

It was May 1994. I was about to complete my one-year internship of driving the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile around the country. (Yes, you read that right…but I’m trying to pose a serious anecdote here, so stifle your laughter, please…)

My driving partner and I had the day off. We decided to go to beach and unwind from a year of attending grocery store openings, eating under-, half- and over-cooked meat by-products, and enduring dirty jokes about two females driving a giant hot dog on wheels.

I sat on the edge of the beach, watching the waves flirt with the shore. As the water encircled my knees, I began to think about what was happening in my life.

I had a new job waiting for me in my chosen career field. I was engaged (and now married) to a wonderful man. My student loans were almost paid off. And, as far as I could tell, my conversations with others would now extend beyond, “Can you please pass the relish?”

By all accounts, my life at that moment in time was pretty darn good.

Since then, I have made it a routine practice to “check in” with myself. After all, it’s important to stop and evaluate what is happening in your life at any given moment.

By “checking in” with yourself, you can calibrate the aspects of your life that need to change for the better, while continuing to appreciate the people, places and experiences that bring you joy and fulfillment.

Here’s how you can do it. Find a quiet spot and get comfortable. Be prepared to be totally honest with yourself. Consider the following questions:

• At this very moment, what is really working in my life?
• What are some of the things I’m afraid to admit?
• What resentments or judgments am I holding about people that I need to let go?
• Am I learning something new each day? Is there something I would like to learn more about?
• Who haven’t I connected with in a while?
• Is this where I want to be at this point in my life? Do I need to release some unrealistic expectations?
• Have I been particularly harsh with someone lately? Have I been holding back on telling someone how they have hurt me?
• What am I truly grateful for in my life?
• Should I ask for deli or spicy mustard? (Ooops, I guess some things NEVER change…)
  

Don't Worry...He'll Pick It Up

Because it’s summer vacation time, I wanted to share what it's like to go out in public with the Steinke Family.

But before I get started, I have a confession to make. Actually, I have a confession to make for my husband, Mark. He has an addiction, and I’m in denial.

It’s not what you think.

His compulsion teaches our children the value of money and allows our family to earn extra cash. It also promises to embarrass me in the process.

My husband is obsessed with picking up spare change.

There. I said it.

This behavior might seem normal. But it drives…me…crazy.

Last summer, we took our two sons to an amusement park. As we entered through its brightly colored gates, Mark furrowed his brow in concern. “It’s too clean here,” he grumbled. “I bet they sweep up change and throw it away.” However, the spotless environment posed no threat to a man who can find a penny lying incognito among decaying tree bark and dirty rocks.

That afternoon, Mark went to get a drink of water while I waited with the kids. Forty five minutes later, he had not returned. I recalled there was a snack area close to the water fountain, and suspected I could find him there. Sure enough, I spotted my six-foot-tall husband, hunkered down on his elbows. His cheek pressed to the ground, he peered under a soda machine, sweeping one arm out to feel for stray change.

This behavior invited puzzled looks from passers-by who instinctively scanned the area, thinking they could help Mark locate whatever he had lost. I quickly pushed the stroller over to the gift shop, suddenly interested in tiny overpriced pink ballet dresses neither of my boys would ever wear.

“Look!” he exclaimed, holding out his palm as he approached me. He brandished his prized booty, something black and chipped which faintly resembled a dime. “You did all of that for a dime?” I asked.

He grew indignant, and I felt a lecture coming on. “Money is money. Every little bit helps.” He marched off, ready for his next kill…possibly a wayward nickel under the order window of the apple fries stand.

I know there’s no way around it.

Every where we go, Mark’s eyes rove the landscape, his hawk-like vision searching for a glimmer of copper, a twinkle of silver. He never stops. He screeches to a halt at a traffic light to retrieve a penny in the crosswalk. He searches the grocery store, certain that a patron dropped a nickel in the dog food aisle.

Our nine year-old son has inherited his father’s passion for finding “free money” and implementing creative ways to capture lost coins.

During our family vacation in Oceanside, California, we decided to take a stroll on the pier. I was engaged in a lively conversation about dinner plans when I noticed they had been quiet for some time. That’s when I realized that I was walking by myself. I whirled around to spot them 20 yards behind me. Heads bent together over a plank, they were attempting to free a tattered quarter from its wooden confine.

Dissatisfied with their progress, my son scanned the area for an accomplice. I watched in horror as he picked up a stained, splintered Popsicle stick, and lodged it in a crack. Moments later, he and Mark gathered the quarter, as well as amused looks from people who probably wondered if they were just another sideshow on the pier.

While I never know what to expect when we go out in public, I admit Mark's coin fetish helps our finances. When I was pregnant, we set a goal to pay off my student loans before he was born. My last monthly loan payment - $80 - was paid from saving the change Mark found while scouring every parking lot, patch of grass and filthy public restroom.

Today, Mark drops his collected coins into the Money Bucket, a chipped ceramic mug residing on top of his desk. Every few weeks, he separates and wraps them into neat little rolls. Even if he only has one roll, he takes it to the bank. The bank teller may smirk as he plunks down one wrap of 50 pennies, but Mark doesn’t care.

He’s just excited about the increase in our bank account.

Of course, some people think the only way to receive more money is through a pay raise or a winning lottery ticket. However, you can’t expect a windfall when you fling a loose penny in your pocket. In reality, you are throwing away the very thing you want most.

Through my husband, I have learned that money will come to me when I appreciate what I already have. Whether I have a dime or a dollar, my attitude toward money influences how much I receive. This means that financial abundance may happen one coin at a time. It’s still money, so I welcome it into my life.

During our last vacation, Mark found a grand total of $23.68 in change. Add that to another 51 weeks and you can see how our bank account expands each year.

I still cringe at the sight of Mark crouching behind a vending machine. At the same time, I marvel at his diligence to find the pennies needed for our next big purchase.

No More Whining! Answer These...

Each week, I tune into HayHouseRadio.com to hear my favorite authors take calls from listeners. Most callers have the same issues - they are miserable in their jobs and dislike their careers.

The caller usually rants, “I'm just not doing what I KNOW I should be doing...I’m not living my PASSION!” The host, by this time, is probably chewing on the end of her pencil and checking e-mail for the latest on Paris Hilton.

Your passion doesn’t have to be what you do for a living, although blending the two is ideal.

Maybe you already know what makes your heart sing. Congratulations.

But judging from what I hear, most people don’t have a clue.

The following is a list of questions to ask yourself about discovering your passion. Take some time to read these questions and contemplate your answers. Notice any patterns in your responses.


1) What section of the bookstore do you visit first?
2) What are your three favorite movies of all time?
3) What are your three favorite songs of all time?
4) Whose life would you like to have for 30 days?
5) What subjects come to mind when you daydream?
6) If you volunteer, what types of volunteer activities do you prefer? Why is this important to you?
7) If you could have any job in the world, what would it be? Why?
8) What tasks, job duties, etc. have brought you the most success?
9) If you could make only one positive change in the world today, what would it be?
10) During the past week, what was something you felt strongly about?
11) What subject do you love to talk about with others? (Not including yourself – haha)