Celebrity dog!!

So I was just doing a little "research" for Santa so he can bring us (I mean, Emily) the perfect little orange kitty for Christmas. (See post below.) I clicked on the website of the shelter where we adopted Scooter, and the homepage had been updated to read, "The pets above have all found loving homes." Please see the pets here: http://www.petfinder.com/shelters/TX54.html
The smiling Jack Russell on the bottom row, second from the left is our pooch! We're so proud.

To answer one question

A kindly blog reader recently asked how our cats and dogs are doing. Well, I have sad news (which I don't think I've mentioned on this site yet): My vet -- whom I'd accused of being a "glass half-empty" type when she examined our cat Spot -- was actually just being an observant doctor. Turns out Spot did have cancer, as she'd suspected, and we had to put him to sleep.
Everyone who has ever endured that torture knows how bad it is, so I don't need to go into detail.
We're now down to two cats and a dog, who is barking like crazy right now because he wants in the house. I would let him in, but then I'd have to throw the golf ball for him 10,000 times in a row and would therefore have a tough time typing. He's just gonna have to wait his turn!
Three pets is probably enough for most families, but when Emily mentioned that she wants to ask Santa for "an orange kitten that can fit in my hands," my eyes lit up. What can I say, I'm a Leo.
Just imagine the thrill on Christmas morning when she finds a LIVE BEING waiting for her instead of boring old inanimate toys. (I'm assuming Jake will be fine with the aforementioned boring old inanimate toys.) I'm so excited. I hope Santa comes through for her! Mike, on the other hand, is crossing his fingers that Santa hits some sort of snafu when it comes to this gift. But he won't.
The only potential problem: As I talked up this plan to my hubby, I heard myself promising to take over the litter-box duties full-time if Santa delivers OK (orange kitten. Hey, wouldn't that be a cute name?). I've promised to start my new position on Dec. 20.
I sure hope OK -- and a certain red-haired girl -- appreciate this.

It's always the little things that get to us, isn't it? Below are two phone-calling-related features that I would like to see gone by the year 2008:
1. The paging option. Oftentimes, as you start to leave a voice mail, the lady on the other end says, "To page this person, press 5 now." Why? There is no need for this service in the 00's. The person will get the page (just some random phone number) and a voicemail/text (containing actual INFO!) at the same time. It's not like the page prompts someone to run through the streets and shout, "Paging Bob Anderson! Paging Bob Anderson!" No. All you get is this on your phone: "bling!" Just like a voice mail.
2. The Workplace Automated Phone Directory. First, a question: Has anyone ever, in the history of phone calling, had success with this system? Here's what happens when I try: I'm asked to type in the entire last name of the person I'm trying to reach. OK. Heavy sigh as I look up corresponding numbers for the name Gulbransonowitz. (It's never "Brown.") My task complete, I hit the pound sign. Whew! I do a happy dance.
The recording then says one of two things:
- "You typed 'Bob Smith.' If this is incorrect, press the star key and start over." OR:
- "This is not a recognizable name." (I got this one the other day as I tried to reach the CEO of a company. I'm sure his name is, in fact, recognizable to the staff.)
Perhaps I missed my calling as a phone-company executive.

Howdy, strangers!

OK, how sad is this: Once I FINALLY decided to post a new item, I couldn't remember my own blog address! Pathetic.

Let me first explain why I've been such a horrible blog owner: At one point or another, I decided to just let it die out. Not even sure WHY I decided that now. I guess I just assumed no one was reading it and that I had approximately 457 other things to do in a day, so something had to go.

But then I'd occasionally get an email from one of you lovely Seattleites (sp?), wondering if I was still alive and kicking. Someone cares! :) So thanks to the person who wrote to me yesterday (his or her name is "Anonymous") I shall begin blogging anew. With regularity, even!

So how have you been? (I'm assuming there's one person reading, so we'll keep it as the singular "you.") Life here is good, but frantically busy as always. My brother and his family are coming over for Thanksgiving, and for the first time ever I'm going to try to make my mom's stuffing. Suffice it to say that it's a two-day process with plenty of opportunities for disaster. But I'm up for the challenge! Got my game face on!

The kids are great, Mike's great, blah blah blah. (See, this is the problem with creating a blog and then ignoring it. Too much to go into with the first post back.) I still greatly miss the old EJ column; there's hardly a day that goes by that I don't think, "Wow, that thing that just happened/that witty comment from the kids/that general life observation would have made a good column." Of course, I could have just posted said thoughts on this here blog! Which is what I shall be doing in the future.

Attached is a picture of a very giddy Emily at the Hannah Montana concert last week, just because this post needs a photo. There's a story behind how we landed tickets, but I'll save that until next time.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO YOU AND YOURS!!!!

Sincerely,

Me and Mine :)

Know of any good love stories?

So, my mom had an idea.
(The picture attached actually has nothing to do with her idea; I just needed something wedding-ish to illustrate this post. And because I'm paranoid about copyright infringements, I had to use a picture from my personal collection.
(Plus, I wanted to provide proof of how much fashion times have changed since 1995. Look at my dress: It appears to have been made out of 1,000 swans. Or 1,000 small, fluffy bells. Take your pick. Not that I'm opposed to this look, even today. I remain staunchly in favor of frills.)
OK, back to my mom's idea, which can be summed up like this: Lots of newlyweds or anniversary-celebrating couples would love to have a sweet/funny/touching story written about their lives together. And as a professional writer and interviewer, I could do that for them.
I already write True Romances for The Dallas Morning News (a few recent articles are posted below), so this would be in a similar style, only not published in the paper. Instead, I'd package the story for the happy couple so that they could share it at their wedding/engagement party/anniversary bash, etc. I don't have a name for this little venture yet, but I'm thinking it should be something simple, like Our Story.
Many of the details are still being ironed out, but I wanted to just throw the idea out there to see what people think. Maybe you know a couple who's planning a wedding or party; perhaps this could be your gift to them. (And it wouldn't be too costly, as I'm ridiculously reasonable.)
Anyway, please feel free to post a message here, or better yet, email me at darlajatlas@yahoo.com with your thoughts.
Oh, and thanks to my mom for her continued brainstorming!

A few True Romances from The Dallas Morning News:

By DARLA ATLAS
Special Contributor

Diana Hall has always been sentimental about objects that conjure up memories of the past.
"I save everything," she says, laughing about a jaunty hat she wore decades ago, which is still tucked away at home. "I have my 34-year-old son's toys when he was little, all the kids' paperwork, stubs from restaurants when we were dating. I just have emotional ties to things."
Diana, now 60, also has fond memories of her 1966 amber-glow Mustang, which her father bought for her when it was brand new. She slowly paid him back, $50 a week.
A few years later, in January 1969, Diana met a man named Lloyd at a bowling alley. "He had the biggest blue eyes I ever saw," she recalls. "He was such a sincere person. I had complete trust in him from the very beginning."
"We hit it off right away, both of us," says Lloyd, now 63. "We started dating a week later."
Diana and Lloyd, a dad to two girls, were married later that year. The car was decorated by their friends with shaving cream and transported them to their honeymoon.
"We brought two of our kids home from the hospital in it," Lloyd adds. "It was just a big part of our lives for a long time."
The couple, who lived in Oak Cliff for 32 years before moving to Midlothian, added three children to Lloyd's two daughters. In 1980, their kids had turned teenagers and began to drive, and the Mustang suffered a wreck.
"We got it fixed, but we'd kind of outgrown it," Lloyd says. "We got rid of it."
But later, "she hated that we sold the car," Lloyd says of his wife. "But we weren't fortunate enough back then to have a whole lot of money."
In the late '90s, Lloyd endured a series of health issues, starting with a shoulder operation to remove bone spurs.
"I couldn't use my arm at all," he says, adding that it took about 25 weeks to heal. Diana "took care of me that whole time, and never one time ever did she complain about anything."
In 1999, Lloyd had back surgery again for bone spurs, and on Dec. 27 of that year, he had a heart attack, requiring an eventual bypass operation. Around the same time, they dealt with the death of their parents. Put everything together, "and it's something that could tear you apart," he says. "But it didn't; it only brought us closer."
Diana says Lloyd often showed his appreciation for her support. "One day at work, he sent me flowers after his surgery: 'Thank you for being a wonderful nurse,'" says Diana, who is a teacher's assistant for the Dallas Independent School District. She shrugs off her part in his recovery: "We love each other and care for each other, so you do what you need to do."
Still, Lloyd refused to forget. "I kind of made a promise to myself that if I had the chance to do something really nice for her, I was going to do it."
He'd often thought of trying to find her old Mustang and restoring it. A mechanic by trade – he owns an alignment shop in Oak Cliff – fixing up cars "has kind of been my passion." But there was one problem: He no longer had the car's VIN number to find it.
In January 2006, as the family planned for their youngest daughter's wedding, "we were going through a bunch of old pictures, and a piece of paper just fell out from behind one of them," Lloyd says. "Gee whiz, it was the receipt from when the car was wrecked, and it had the VIN number on it."
Lloyd had what he needed. He found that the last registration on the Mustang was in 2002, to an owner who lived just 10 minutes away.
He drove to the address, "and sure enough, the car was sitting in the back yard by the alley." He left a note inside the mailbox with his phone number, asking if the car was for sale.
The man wasn't interested in selling. Still, he called back out of curiosity, wondering why Lloyd wanted that particular car. Lloyd told him the story, and they eventually worked out a trade: Lloyd would hand over another 1966 Mustang he owned, which was already in mint condition, in exchange for Diana's car.
He then moved it to his shop and started working. "It was pretty rough," he says of the car, which didn't even run at the time. "It needed total restoration."
On Nov. 11 of last year, Lloyd planned what he said was a birthday party for himself at the couple's home. Diana "really thought it was my birthday party," he says, chuckling. "Although nobody brought any presents or anything."
As they sat down for dinner, Lloyd said the prayer, mentioning a project he'd been working on for six months. "I thought, 'What in the world is he praying about?'" Diana says.
Afterward, he started to make a speech, "and then I got a lump in my throat," Diana recalls. "He said, 'I'd been telling you I was going to write you a love song, but I found out real quick that I couldn't write you one. But I could build you a love song."
They then walked her outside, where the Mustang – looking good as new -- was parked.
"There was my car," she says. The memory makes her teary-eyed again, and not so much about the Mustang. "It's the time and work and the effort he'd put into it. It just meant so much to me."
They've since taken the car around town, but they keep their trips local because it's not as highway-friendly as their other vehicles. "And it's not as easy to get in and out of as it was back then," she says with a laugh.
Diana says keepsakes like her new/old Mustang are simply reminders of the things that matter. "I feel like I've had everything I've ever wanted: a loving husband, wonderful children, family and friends," she says. "That's all a person needs."

This one was done in a bullet-point style, which was what the paper did for awhile before going back to a straight story. Just wanted to provide options. :)

By DARLA ATLAS
Special Contributor

Single for 16 years, Nancy Miller of Grand Prairie was quite content with her life. In fact, she jokingly assumed that her next boyfriend "would be a Kirby vacuum cleaner man, because he'd have to come to my door."
Last year, she decided to get in shape with a friend by going on bike rides at Joe Pool Lake. One day last March, as she unloaded her bicycle, a man named Scott Sutton walked up with quite the proposition.

Pedal pushing: Scott, a driver for J.B. Hunt Transport, asked if Nancy and her friend would like to join him and his pals from the Texas Wheels Race Club on their jaunt, which would take them through Cedar Hill, Midlothian and Venus. "I was looking to ride my bike maybe six miles; he offered 70," says Nancy, an executive assistant at Celanese. "Somehow I held it together and said, 'No thank you, we have other plans!" Although their conversation lasted for only two minutes, Scott says he was intrigued. "She just looked like she was really alive; her eyes were bright and she was smiling. I knew she was one of the most special women I had ever seen. I just had to track her down."

Getting to know you: After getting Nancy's e-mail from "a friend who called up a friend who knew her" from the Lone Star Cyclists club, Scott got in touch and invited her to ride with him on his tandem bike. "I tried my best to explain that I was an unworthy choice, a novice rider," she says. But he persisted, asking her things like what kind of pedals she liked. "Blue?" she answered. What kind of seat did she prefer? "A tractor seat sounds nice." Nancy, who has three grown children, told her son – another avid rider -- about Scott's interest. "Everybody knows Scott," she says, "so he said, 'Mom, don't ride with him. He'll have you racing.'"

The first 'date': Finally, Nancy agreed to go on a tandem ride, on Easter Sunday last year. It was cold – snowing not far off, in Fort Worth -- and the wind was blowing hard. Still, they pushed off. "I leaned to the right, he leaned to the left, and somehow the bike stayed on the dam," she says. But after two miles in the cold, Nancy's eardrum burst: "Stuff started running down my neck." Rather than tell him about the pain she was in, Nancy just said she wanted to go back to the parking lot. "It was an unfortunate attempt at a date that didn't quite work," Scott says. Little did he know that she went straight from the park to the hospital.

Try, try again: Scott, in the dark about why Nancy had abruptly left, says he was confused but not discouraged. The two kept in touch via e-mail, and Nancy finally opened up. "During this period, my mother had a heart attack, so I couldn't see him for awhile," she says. "I e-mailed him and let him know what had happened, and what happened to me. He said, 'Let's ride again.' The next time, it was perfect, and we started riding every Sunday."

Biking off into the sunset: After several months of friendship, the two realized they had something more. "It wasn't an overnight thing at all," she says. "We just found that we were just made for each other. It evolved." The two were married on Valentine's Day of this year in Van, Texas. "I told him I wasn't going to marry him unless we left the church on the tandem bike in full wedding dress and tux," Nancy says. "I'd never seen anybody do that before." As they trekked four miles to the reception hall, "everybody laughed, we laughed, everybody honked. It was just the best part of the day."

The happy couple: So what are their plans for the future? "The short answer is we're going to live happily ever after," says Scott, who is proud that he was so persistent with her. "I knew she was special," he adds. "Normal obstacles weren't going to slow me down much." The two, who go bike-riding together four times a week, "have learned to be a very good team on the tandem," Nancy says. And she has advice for other singles on the market: Just get out there. "I was just a girl taking my bike out of the trunk to enjoy the day with my friend," she says, "and I met the love of my life."

One more bullet-esque story:

By DARLA ATLAS
Special Contributor

When Mary Glasco first fell in love with Mike Mason, he was oblivious to her googly-eyed adoration. But that’s probably because he was 8.
The two, who grew up in Greenville, Texas, were best buddies for years. They rode their bikes to school together, studied at her house together (or, they say, she studied and he played with her Etch-A-Sketch), and passed notes during church. Now both 55, Mary and Mike recall the winding, bumpy road that eventually reunited the couple as constant companions.

The evidence: Mary’s mom, who was the church secretary, cleaned up the pews and kept the notes she found between Mary and Mike. She also kept their valentines and cards, a fact that Mary didn’t find out until 1996, when her mother passed away. “In seventh grade, I wrote up this thing about him that talked about ‘this guy I’m so crazy about,’” Mary says. “I wrote it in about four-inch letters and colored it. I had no idea she’d kept those things.”

Parting ways: After high school, the two went to college in separate towns and lost touch. Mary eventually wed an Army man and moved to Germany. Mike, meanwhile, also got married, going to work at Texas Instruments. Although she had her new life, Mary kept in touch with Mike’s parents: “I was crazy about his mom and dad. If my mom could have picked anybody to be my in-laws, it would have been Mike’s parents.”

Catching up: About 18 years ago, the two met for dinner when Mary stopped by Greenville on business. “We were both divorced, in between marriages,” Mike says. “We had a real nice evening, but I was dating someone for almost three years, so nothing came of that.” Still, Mary remained impressed with her childhood crush. “He turned out to be someone so full of integrity, with such a sense of humor. I knew he was still the guy I thought he was.”

Support system: A few years ago, Mike’s father passed away after a terminal illness. Mary attended the funeral, and the two bonded once again. “He made a beeline for me when he saw me,” she recalls, adding that by that time, they’d both been divorced twice. “It was a real hard time for both of us.”

Stirring memories: About a year after his dad’s funeral, Mary decided to attend her high-school reunion. Mike hadn’t planned on going, but did decide to stop by for a breakfast gathering with old friends. “Something just kept telling me that I should go,” he says.
Mary had put together a scrapbook of her and Mike’s old notes, “but I was very hesitant to let him see it. I expected him to be really embarrassed,” she says. “But he wasn’t.” The two talked at breakfast, then went to his mom’s house and caught up through lunch. “We kept talking until I realized, ‘Wow, it’s suppertime!” Mary says.
“It was like we just picked up where we had left off,” Mike says. “We had this bond our whole lives.”

Decision time: Mike then found himself in a quandary. “I had already decided after my second marriage ended that I was never going to have another relationship again,” he says. “I was going to be an old bachelor.” But after seeing Mary again, “I could not get her out of my mind.” Ten days passed before he decided to take the leap again. He emailed Mary with the subject line reading, “It was so good to see you.” “I couldn’t get that thing open fast enough,” Mary says with a laugh.

Soulmates: Mike proposed to Mary just three months after their reunion, under an Austin moon tower. “Instead of a ring, he gave me his Cub Scout ID bracelet,” she says. “He got that the year we’d met.” The two, who wed on Oct. 2, 2004, now live in Garland with Mike’s teenage son. Mary works for the state controller, while Mike is with Raytheon.
“Mary’s smile has not changed a bit since she was 8 years old, and that twinkle in her eye is exactly the same as it was back then,” Mike says. As for Mary, “I still see that mischievous 8-year-old.” Mike laughs and adds, “The problem is, that 8-year-old has lost a lot of his hair.”

Fate’s role: Mary believes that “it was part of God’s plan” that her mom would keep their notes all of those years. “I don’t have valentines from all the other boys in elementary school, but she kept Mike’s,” she says. “I don’t even have the notes I wrote to my best friend.”

Happily ever after: “After some of the things we’ve been through over the last however many years, I don’t think I expected to find anyone to love me like she does,” Mike says. Trust plays a huge role in their relationship, Mary adds: “We really needed that, and we found it with each other.”


The couple below was so sweet (and stunningly beautiful). This story revealed a bit more about them -- meaning their decision to remain "pure" before marriage -- but that was something they felt was important. I do not go around asking such things. :)

By DARLA ATLAS
Special Contributor

At first, David Biedma was excited about spending the summer of 2002 in the United States, working at a church day camp for kids. But then he had second thoughts.
"I got really scared," says David, now 25, who is from Malaga, Spain. "I didn't speak English and realized I would not be able to communicate."
But when he tried to back out to his church leaders, "they said they'd already paid for the ticket." So off he went, showing up for duty at First Baptist Church of McKinney. It didn't take him long to notice fellow volunteer Sarah New, who was a member there.
The first time I saw her, she gave me an impression of an innocent, pure girl, so she caught my attention right away," he says.
The two worked together with the same group of kids, sometimes leading songs onstage. Although there was a serious language barrier – he spoke a few words of English, she knew only basic Spanish phrases – they somehow clicked. Sarah was struck not only by David's looks and personality, "but he also smelled really good," she says. "I know that sounds crazy."
Eventually, she decided to act on her feelings.
"My mom always taught me not to pursue the guy, that the guy pursues the girl," says Sarah, 23. "But he would not come up to me, so I walked up to him and basically said, 'Do you like me?'"
His reply: "I love you."
"She looked at me like, 'What are you talking about?'" he recalls with a laugh. "In Spain, we use the same verb for both, so it was really funny."
David's English rapidly improved as they got to know each other. By the time the two-month camp was over, a serious romance had bloomed.
"When I left her, my heart literally had a physical ailment. It hurt," he says. To keep her memory alive, "I got the same French perfume she wore and put it on my pillow, so I could go to bed and remember her smell."
"It was very hard," Sarah says of the separation. "But we talked on the phone and did the Internet; pretty much every single day, we talked."
What made her fall for him? "He's very romantic, and he's also really a serving type of guy," she says. "He's always wanting to do things for me. But probably the most important thing that directed me to him was his Godly character and spirituality. That was what I was looking for."
The two are open about the fact that "we've stayed pure," Sarah says. "I know it's kind of a rare thing. But I think it's good testimony for other people that you can, too."
In Spain, "a lot of people live together and they have sex; they don't care," David adds. "When I'd tell them, 'My girlfriend and I are pure,' they used to joke about it and make fun of me. But I think, 'You're jealous of me. It's something you're not going to be able to do.'"
The two reunited the following summer, and again the next. In 2005, Sarah spent a semester in Spain and got to know his family.
"It wasn't as big of a culture shock as I thought it would be," she says. "I loved his family from the very start."
Around the same time, David began the process of applying for a visa to attend college in America. It wasn't easy: "He had to work for a year to save money, because he pays triple the tuition a normal student pays," Sarah says.
Finally, he was accepted at Central Texas College, 20 minutes away from Sarah's school, The University of Mary-Hardin Baylor in Belton. He's studying international commerce, while she plans to be a teacher.
Last Memorial Day, David proposed as the couple sat on the quad of her campus. The wedding is set for May 12 at Sarah's McKinney church.
"I don't like to say I'm necessarily lucky, but I'm so blessed," Sarah says of the way things worked out. "God paved the way for us to be together."
As for the kids they plan to have in the future, "we want them to for sure learn both languages," David says. "We want to teach them diversity, and I think the United States has a lot of it."
David, who hasn't been back to see his family for a couple of years, is still dealing with the immense changes in his life.
"There are times -- after you leave your country, your people, your culture, your language and your food -- when it's hard," he says. "I gave up all of that, but I also got something else that is really important to me."He admits that there are some things he likes about America, and others he could do without. "But I'm happy, because I'm in love."

Toy companies = evil geniuses

The other day, the kids got a couple of letters in the mail. They were from a certain company that has built a vast empire out of birthing stuffed bears and then selling lots of expensive clothes and accessories to go home with said bear.
I have no problem with this company in general. I do, however, have a problem with the message on their sales flyer.
"You deserve more stuff," Jake said as he read over his mail in the back seat.
"What?!" I asked.
"That's what this says.'"
I looked for myself, and sure enough, there it was in big red letters (in a jolly-bear-type font): "You Deserve More Stuff!"
Wow. Everything that is wrong with society is summed up in those four words. Way to set kids up for always wanting more, more, more -- and even worse, making them think they deserve it. Why do they deserve more stuff? That's what I'm going to ask the customer-service rep when I call later today. "I see that you sent a letter to my kids telling them they deserve more stuff. How do you know this? Have you been monitoring their behavior on a daily basis? And how much more stuff do they deserve? Oh, and one more thing: WHO ARE YOU TO BE SENDING NOT-SO-SUBLIMINAL MATERIALISTIC MESSAGES TO MY INNOCENT GRADESCHOOLERS?"
OK, so maybe I won't say all of that. But I should. They "deserve" it.

Happy Memorial Day!

Well, I'd assumed everybody had stopped checking my little ol' blog eons ago, seeing how I never update it. But then I got a nice email from "Anonymous," who told me she still checks in. Which means she's continually disappointed!! So I apologize to her. Or him. :) I vow to do better!

Lots has been going on in my life lately; some good, some bad. For now, I'll tell you guys about the newest addition to the Atlas abode. Yes, it's one of the two doggies you see above. But not both.

Here's the story on the dog on the left, which resembled a piglet in the face: He showed up at our house last weekend, all full of energy and love. He had tags on, so I immediately called the number. Turns out it was to an animal hospital about 15 miles from our house.

Jake, Emily and I (and the dog) then drove to that neighborhood to look for lost-dog signs. Finding none, we checked the streets around our house. No go. The animal hospital wasn't open over the weekend, so we figured we might as well bathe the dog and buy him some toys. Oh, and give him a name (Scooter). What the heck.

Yes, I know all of this was a bad idea, but I tried to remind the kids that we were still looking for the owners. Apparently, they figured we'd never find said owners.

But we did; on Monday morning, I called the vet's office again and was given a number for the owner, named Ida. Ida wasn't home, so I left a message. A few hours later, Ida's son called. "Thank God!" he said. See, he was in charge of dogsitting his mom's little pooch (whose name was Chiquita -- and is a girl, not a boy as I had surmised! Don't ask).

The son lives down the street from us, so we returned Chiquita to him that afternoon. The picture above was taken right before we walked him home, which explains why the kids' mouths are smiling but their eyes are not. Right before I snapped that photo, Jake had the saddest expression I've ever seen on his face. Poor guy.

But the Chiquita drama did inspire us to get our own little doggie, one that we don't even have to return! After looking online at area animal shelters, Mike found a picture of the Jack Russell terrier pictured above. The ad noted that he's a great fetcher and can even catch things in mid-air. A superstar in the making!

We liked his face and online profile, so we drove to the shelter on Friday for a blind date with him. He was everything he'd appeared to be in the photo, but there was one glitch: "He hates cats," the shelter worker said. "He tries to hurt them." Rut-roh.

But we decided it could still work out; Scooter will be a backyard-only dog, and our three cats are indoors-only. Their worlds don't ever have to collide. But in case they do, we're trying to re-teach Scooter that cats can be his friends.

This afternoon, we gave him a bath and walked him around the house on a leash. He did lunge at our cat Circles once, but he got a bop on the nose with a newspaper along with a stern "No!" The next time the cat got in his path, he turned around and went the other way.

Could it be that he change his ways with just one lesson?? You're looking at a genius dog!

So we were very happy with our selection, but the choosing process wasn't easy. The shelter was full of adorable puppies, precious kittens and other home-needing animals, all of whom are living in tiny pens that stink to high heaven. I wanted to take more than one home that day.

I think Jake was feeling the same way when we left; rather than being overjoyed by the happy dog in the back of the car, he was melancholy. I think we were all just hoping we'd done the right thing.

That night, we went out to dinner at a Chinese restaurant. My fortune cookie contained the following message: "You will find your solution where you least expect it." OK then.

As we left the table, I realized the cookie had two fortunes in it. The second one said, "Life is a series of choices. Today, yours are good ones."

I ran to catch up with Mike and the kids, eager to tell them the good news: We'd done the right thing! The fortune cookie said so!

And while I als0 feel I did the right thing today in blogging, I know this here post is miles long. That's what happens when I fail to keep on top of these things! I have lots of other news to share, but that can wait for another day. Another day when I make good choices.

:)

Easter finery

I realize the holiday is long gone, but here's a pic of the kids all dressed up and smiling cutely. :)

Two short anecdotes to go along with their photo: The other day, I bought Emily a Disney princess purse because she desperately wanted something to carry around with her. She'd soon filled it with the following items: my old, inoperable cellphone ; some loose change; and an old container of eye shadow.
"Now I just need some receipts!" she said with determination.
Why? "So they I can crinkle them around like you do in your purse," she replied. But of course! If you don't have random trash in your purse, the effect is just not complete.

Now for a Jake quote: This weekend I went to a wedding in Austin, so the kids stayed home with Mike. When I called the house, Jake got on the phone and said, "Hi, Mommy. Say hello to your little friend."

"Um.... hello!" I said, not sure if I should laugh or cry about the fact that my son was quoting from Scarface. No, he's never seen the movie, nor has he even heard of it. But somehow, he knows that famous line. Kids today!

To those who haven't abandoned this blog forever...

Wow. It's been almost a month since I've posted anything! That's bad, I know. Really bad. Horrifyingly awful. (OK, enough.)

I guess my only excuse is that I've been in a bit of a career-related funk for a couple of weeks. (The weeks I didn't blog before that? Pure laziness.)

These are odd times in which to be a journalist: Newspapers are suffering, magazines are changing, freelance needs are in limbo.

For the past few years, I've been lucking out out in Freelanceville. I got on as a regular contributor to a national magazine; I had local newspaper assignments coming out my ears; and, of course, there was my beloved weekly column gig.

This year is different.

On the same day I wrote my final column for the King County Journal, I found out that the bureau I worked out of for the national magazine was closing. While I'm still busy enough, I'm starting to see the writing on the wall: It's time -- again -- to change focus.

Before I started my freelancing career, I worked full-time as a copy editor at a newspaper. After begging and pleading for years to get switched over to a writing position, it dawned on me one day: It's never going to happen. Never. They needed copy editors, and they didn't need writers. (Plus, I was already writing for them, so they already had everything they needed from me.) It was so obvious, but I hadn't been able to realize it until that moment.

Seconds later, I started to change my focus -- to put another plan in place and see what would happen. For the past three years, that plan has worked out well. Now, perhaps it's time to tweak it.

Here's the thing: When I was in my funk, I forgot about happy little ideas called self-reliance and optimism. I was stuck in worried-and-fearful mode: What if this particular gig goes away? I don't want it to!! Sob!

Well, today it hit me (just like it did the last time): Instead of waiting around for something to happen -- and begging the powers-that-be to help me -- I need to devise another route. As my mom has said many times, you have to make things happen for yourself.

Which is just about the best advice I've ever received.

Random column :)

Years ago, my mom told a stranger at a dinner party that her daughter lived in a condom.
She meant to say "condo," but she didn't, nor did she correct herself. This must have given the party guest a few giggles later on.
Even better, it's given our family yet another wacky memory to cherish. We're big on laughing at ourselves, which makes me think we were just born with that particular gene. (Well, the women were, at least; I can't think of a time my brothers or dad has ever walked into a room and said, "You will not believe what I just did.")
I'm not saying that I never get humiliated by my own actions, but that usually happens when the foible is minor. Those, I keep to myself. But the spectacular mistakes – the kind that I first hope nobody finds out about – those I can see the humor in. As they say, go big or go home.
One morning when we were kids, my mom took us to school in a truck that had a camper on the back. Driving toward the school's entrance, she failed to grasp that the camper was too tall to fit under the awning. Plop! The whole thing fell off the back.
My mom – who was wearing her pajamas – drove away in embarrassment, leaving the camper where she dropped it. And where it blocked all other cars from the driveway.
A few hours later, she got a call from her friend, whose daughter went to the same school.
"You won't believe what some STUPID PERSON did," she said.
My mom, in classic Lucy fashion, let out a wail and said, "It was me!"
Of course, she probably didn't immediately see the humor in this story; it probably had to gel for a day or two. Other times, it's instant. Several years ago, my mom and sister came out to visit me in Seattle. Finding ourselves in a posh neighborhood with an open house, we decided to go check it out.
At the door was a basket full of elastic booties. The realtor had put a sign up, asking everyone to please use them when they toured the home.
"I can't believe we have to wear these," said my mom as she began to put the bootie on her head.
It took everything I had not to pee in my pants. Imagine the look on the realtor's face if she'd come around the corner to see us in hairnets.
Of course, I've come to realize that the Lucy apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Last month, I went to a bridal shower at a friend's house in Austin. As I stood around chatting with a few people I barely know, one of them looked at the homeowner, Tom, and said, "So, I hear you're now commuting."
Me (thinking he said, "So, I hear you're now a comedian"): "Wow! That's so interesting!!!"
(Puzzled glances from the other partygoers)
Tom: "Yeah, so far it's going fine. I've been flying out to California twice a month." (Or something like that -- I was too caught up in the excitement of his comedy career to pay attention.)
Me: "That is so cool!"
Tom: "Uh, yeah. Last week I took a drive down the Pacific Coast Highway, which was really nice."
Me: "Tell us some jokes!!!"
Tom (looking at me with fear in his eyes): "Well, the cost of living out there is incredible. We wouldn't be able to afford a shack in that area." (Again, I was barely listening. Too busy waiting for the punch line.)
Me (finally realizing that perhaps he's not on the standup circuit): "Did you say you're a comedian?"
Other guest: "No, I asked if he was COMMUTING!"
We all laughed, but I detected an expression of pity from a couple of the partygoers. Not that this bothered me; I come from a long line of crazy women who can easily tolerate such looks.
On the way home from the shower, I picked up the phone, called my mom and said, "You're not going to believe what I just did." Because sharing my silliness with her is always the best part.

My new hobby

What you see here is my first attempt at scrapbooking. Looking at it now, I realize it needs lots and lots and lots of work. Frankly, it's terrible. But that doesn't quell my enthusiasm for this sport! Or cult, whatever you want to call it!
My sister-in-law Margaret got me into it; she and her friends are expert scrappers and are teaching me the ropes. But there's so much to learn! (They have their own lingo, even. For example, did you know that the practice of stealing ideas for pages from other people is called "scraplifting"?) :)
Anyway, I'm greatly enjoying my Wednesday-morning scrapping sessions, mainly because we get to sit around and talk and laugh. And yes, occasionally get a page done.
I honestly feel like a whole new world has been opened up to me. And yes, I realize that sounds like the words of a cult member. :)

The new lingo

Last Saturday, I picked up Jake after he'd been at his friend Dylan's birthday party.
"Did he like the presents we got him?" I asked.
"Treppelduuun," Jake replied. Or at least that's what it sounded like to me.
"Um, what?" I asked.
""Treppelduuun."
"Jake, what are you saying?!"
"Triple Duh!" he exclaimed.
I'd never heard of this phrase before. Sure, "duh" has been around since the ancient '80s, but "tripple duh"? That's so hip and new!
Another new one (or at least new to me): Do you know the correct term for ringing someone's doorbell and running away? Ding dong dash. Very clever.
And finally, if you're ever in the presence of a first-grader and she or he says, "Lemonade, crunchy ice," be warned. It's a competition.
Emily taught it to me the other day. The rhyme contains hand movements and goes like this: "Lemonade (clap clap clap), crunchy ice (clap clap clap). Sip it once (clap clap clap), sip it twice (clap clap clap). Turn around (clap clap clap), touch the ground (clap clap clap). FREEZE."
I was thrown by the "freeze" until she whispered, "staring competition" and gazed at me with fierce intent.
I laughed and blinked, so I lost. But will I be more prepared next time? Triple duh.

Reasons I haven't blogged in ages

I've been writing my fingers to the bone! Below are links to stories from The Dallas Morning News that ran in the past week. Please click on any and all that interest you. :)

A breakdown of this season's Dancing With the Stars:
http://www.guidelive.com/sharedcontent/dws/ent/stories/DN-dancing_0319glGLWKND.2ca738c.html

A story about Taylor Hicks that previewed his concert, followed by a review of said concert:
http://www.guidelive.com/sharedcontent/dws/ent/music/stories/DN-hicks_0316gl.ART.State.Edition1.4469ee3.html

http://www.guidelive.com/sharedcontent/dws/ent/overnight/stories/DN-hicks_0319gl.State.Edition1.40d77e5.html

A profile of the extras on the show Friday Night Lights (if you've never seen the show, you're missing out on greatness!!!), which filmed its finale in Dallas:
http://www.guidelive.com/sharedcontent/dws/ent/television/stories/DN-fridaynight_0313gl.State.Edition1.28a3107.html

Quick recaps of last week's American Idol:
http://www.guidelive.com/sharedcontent/dws/ent/television/stories/DN-idol_0315gl.ART.State.Edition1.445b5b0.html

And for something completely different, a story about the devastation of anorexia, as shown in a traveling exhibit that is now in Dallas:
http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/fea/healthyliving2/stories/DN-nh_thin_0313liv.ART.State.Edition1.22dbba9.html

I promise to blog again soon! I have two funny stories I've been wanting to share with you guys. :)
Happy Monday!
Darla

Yep, that's Bill Gates

I just found this photo, which was taken in the '90s, while gathering stuff for my new hobby of scrapbooking. When this was taken, I was a reporter for a weekly newspaper (The Enterprise, in Snohomish County) and was given the most-excellent assignment of covering the star-studded opening of Planet Hollywood in Seattle.

Yes, star-studded -- for the opening of a chain restaurant!! They even had a parade! This makes me laugh with glee. How silly we were back in the '90s.

Anyway, the stars in attendance included Billy Baldwin, some Sonics players, Josie Bissett of Melrose Place fame, Brooke Shields -- and BILL GATES.

BILL GATES DROPPED EVERYTHING TO ATTEND THE OPENING OF A PLANET HOLLYWOOD. Cracks me up.

So let's hear it for Bill Gates 2.0, who's more concerned with improving our technological lives and curing the world of poverty. But I sort of like the old version, too. Look how excited he is to be there!

My little trip to the ER

I have much more to say on this topic later, but just wanted to pass along the basics: Last Friday afternoon, I ended up in the hospital after I felt like I was going to pass out, my heart started beating out of my chest, and my hands and tongue went numb. They ran many tests, but the doc came up with nothing conclusive. My heart looked good, they said.
So I came to my own conclusion (after "tests" of my own on Google): I had a panic attack. Otherwise known as an anxiety attack.
I'd never had one before, and I hope and pray I don't have one again. They're truly no fun. Anyone who has ever had one will say the same thing: You feel like you're not long for this earth.
But since that scary experience, I've felt a lot better -- in part, I think, to not dwelling on it. Panic attacks are a product of stress, so my course of action against another one is to not become as stressed out. (Easier said than done, I know!)
I'm going in for a follow-up test with a cardiologist tomorrow, but I'm confident that my diagnosis is correct. Anxiety -- which had built up slowly over time, aided by such life changes as the end of the weekly column that I loved -- eventually attacked me.

It's an epidemic

Do they just not make kids' jeans like they used to, or are my offspring just especially adept at destroying them?

Pictured are several pairs of new pants. By "new," I mean they were worn approximately five times. The hole process always starts with a small rip, which, by the very next wearing, turns into the gaping mess of fabric you see here.

I'm officially having trouble keeping up with the ripping schedule my kids are on. They're ruining them faster than I can buy replacements.

We've tried patches, but I don't care for the Lil' Abner look myself. I've also tried scolding, yelling and pleading for the kids to keep their knees away from concrete or hard ground. As a last resort, I've even sent them to school in these pants.

Hey, their teachers are also moms; I'm sure they can sympathize.

"Look like you've just stepped out of the salon."

People always say that like it's a good thing.

For me, it is not. In fact, my "just stepped out of the salon" look is about the worst look I have in my roster. With a few exceptions, I've never been able to show my face in public immediately after getting a haircut. It's frizzy, the bangs are dorky, the curls are all dry-looking -- you get the point. Not cute.

This morning, I went back to the stylist who cut my hair once before. I like the actual haircut; it's just that she doesn't quite know what to do with curly, thick hair as it dries. She -- and many others of her ilk -- tend to squeeze out a miniscule drop of gel into their palms and work it into my hair. I'm always amazed as I watch them do that. It's like trying to tame King Kong with a BB gun. Not even a fair fight.

So once again, I left a salon looking 20 times worse than I did when I walked in. I know people don't believe me; you all think I'm exaggerating the badness. So the next time I make a hair appointment -- approximately six to eight weeks from now -- I promise to take before-and-after shots as proof.

Prepare to be shocked.

Quote of the Day

Last night, Jake decided to read Huckleberry Finn as part of his 20-minutes-a-night homework requirement. He normally enjoys such tomes as Captain Underpants and the Attack of the Talking Toilets, so Huck Finn was quite a departure.

I tried to talk up the book, describing in detail how Huck was sort of a bad boy. Jake was intrigued and asked many questions.

But the quote of the day came from Emily.

"Mark Twain," she said. "Is he married to Shania Twain?"

Ah, kids. They make life worth living. :)

American Idol, anyone?

Hello, strangers!
It is I who has been the stranger, I know. I guess I'm still trying to figure out a good routine for this blogging business. It was much easier writing a column every week when I had a deadline and an editor demanding to know where said column was.
Nowadays, I have these fleeting observations about life and I'll think, 'I should blog on this.' Then I'll forget all about it. Vicious cycle! Man, I miss the KCJ. But please know that I'm working on getting back into the groove. I'm figuring out a plan.
In the meantime, attached is a link to the American Idol review I wrote last night for The Dallas Morning News. I write regularly (as in three nights a week) about the show, and I'll also be blogging on the DMN website, overthetop.beloblog.com. If you have any Idol insights to share, feel free to comment on that blog! An open exchange of ideas is encouraged. :)
Last night's story can be found here: http://www.guidelive.com/sharedcontent/dws/ent/television/stories/DN-idol_0228gl.ART.State.Edition2.4424a79.html
(I'm sending a link because otherwise, you'd never be able to find it on the paper's less-than-user-friendly website. Trust me. It's like playing Where's Waldo.)

Newest fashion accessory: flourescent casts!

Yesterday, Emily and I went to the doctor to replace her temporary semi-cast with the real thing. The good news: She has to wear it for three weeks, not four or six as was predicted. The better news: She likes the pink one much better than that drab old white version. I think it's because, well, she's a girl. She likes girly stuff, and a hot pink thing on an arm can't be bad.

Coming up: a column on the many things I've learned about my daughter since her elbow bone was chipped. (One: If a doctor messes with her hurt appendage, she'll scream like they do in horror movies, only much louder and more repetitively. I can only imagine the looks of alarm that were being passed around in the waiting room that morning.

Who knew she had that in her?! Not me!

Well, it started out as a good day

Every so often, the kids and I go out for a whole day of fun. Sometimes the day involves the mall and Build a Bear. I myself derive little fun out of paying $70 for a stuffed animal (that includes the must-have clothing and accessories, of course), so today, we decided to go ice skating, out to lunch and then to the park.
I picked a park that we don't normally go to; it's a cool one with lots of contraptions. We were there for about five minutes when Emily fell off one of the monkey-bar-like poles.
I saw it happen; she swung outward and then right off, landing on her stomach from about five feet up. Because she didn't fall that far down, I was relieved. But then she said her left arm hurt, and she couldn't straighten it all the way without screaming in pain.
Next stop: the after-hours pediatric clinic, which was at standing-room-only capacity. Three hours later, we had the verdict. She'd broken her arm just above the elbow. It's a tiny fracture, but as the doctor said, a break is a break. She'll have to wear a cast for about four weeks. (We won't know exactly how long until she gets the permanent one tomorrow.)
"This is the worst day I've ever had," my sweet little girl said through her tears. Once we got home, she looked at me and sobbed, "I wish this was all a dream."
Me too. What started out as a good day ended with her arm broken, my heart not far behind. But tomorrow, as they say, is another day.

I have a crush on an older man

Saturday afternoon I'm flipping channels, and I end up stopping on the ever-so-classic "Who Shot J.R.?" episode of Dallas. In one scene, Sue Ellen asks her scoundrel husband which slut he's going to be seeing that night. He says something to the effect of, "Any of them would be more interesting than the slut I'm looking at now."

What a scoundrel, I thought, shaking my head. But who can resist him?!

That night, I had to cover a star-studded benefit in Dallas, which included performances by Willie Nelson and Jessica Simpson. Both were great. And whaddaya know, one of the night's special guests was J.R. Ewing himself, who stole the show with his humor and spark.

I later weaseled my way up to his table to ask a few questions about the upcoming Dallas movie, which will star John Travolta. He was as gracious and friendly as everybody had told me he'd be. As I walked away, I told him I'd seen "Who Shot J.R." that day, so this was quite the surreal moment for me. He laughed and said to be sure to give him a good write-up. "I will!" I said. To that, he turned to the person at the next table and joked, "That's what they all say!"

A few minutes went by, and during a lull in the performances, people kept going over to pose for a picture with Larry. (I feel that we're on a first-name basis now. OK, not really.) I happened to mention to the professional photographer standing next to me that I wish I'd gotten a picture with him.

"Let's go ask him now!" he said, offering to email it to me.

So we walk back to his table, I ask for a photo, and he says, "Come on, sit on my lap!" I did as instructed, of course, laughing with delight.

I'm here to report that the guy who played TV's greatest villain is everything you'd hope him to be: charming, funny, smart, and not the least bit evil.

Where's that photo, you ask? Well, the guy hasn't emailed it to me yet. I'll post it as soon as he does! Unless I look too hideous, of course!

Life: not always sunshine and rainbows

The other day, Emily came home from school with some news.

"My friend Mary told me that if you go into the bathroom, turn off the lights and look in the mirror and say 'Bloody Mary' three times, Bloody Mary comes and chops your head off," she said. Wow. Not exactly the "I played tag at recess" comment I was expecting.

"And then Arden told me about the Titanic," she added -- before I'd even had a chance to address Bloody Mary.

"First of all, the Bloody Mary thing is not true," I told her. She asked if this person/ghost/whatever ever existed. No, I said.

"But Skyla said she is real! And Skyla is the smartest kid in our class! She even goes to second grade sometimes!"

I reiterated that as smart as Skyla is, there is not a ghost who can come in and chop heads off. As for the Titanic, she said she was told "it was a ship and it sank, and all the people turned to stone."

"It was a ship," I replied, "and it did sink. But it was a long time ago, and nobody turned to stone."

We chatted some more, but I could tell she was still antsy. So antsy, in fact, that she refused to go to the bathroom alone, and she didn't want the light off in her room that night. "Can you tell Ms. Ogle that they scared me?" she asked. I said I'd think about it, but later I decided that it wouldn't help. Unfortunately, she's at an age when she'll learn disturbing things from other kids.

It happens pretty regularly these days: My kids are told something at school about the world, and I have to confirm or deny the rumor. Sure, it's just part of growing up, but it's sad to see their picture-perfect view of life slowly becoming more realistic.

But luckily -- despite head-chopping ghosts and epic ship disasters -- Emily is still drawing pictures of rainbows and sunshine. Neither of us is ready to give that up.

Dallas Morning News use can use!

Attached is a link to a story I wrote for The Dallas Morning News; it's about women, heart disease and that evil thing called stress:

http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/fea/healthyliving2/stories/013007DNLIVcover_0130liv.ART.State.Edition1.1209464.html

p.s. to the vet comment

If anyone has great tips for giving pills to cats, please send them my way! Spot, oddly enough, does not like it when we hold him down, force open his mouth and drop a pill at the back of his throat. We know he doesn't like this because of all of the scratching, biting and escaping.

Our "glass-half empty" veterinarian

Let's say you go to the doctor with an ache or a pain, and the doctor thinks it may be one of two things: fatal disease, or common cold. Would you prefer that they treat the common cold first, or jump right to prepping you for your last goodbyes?
Our vet obviously thinks it's best to prepare people for the worst. I took our 10-year-old cat Spot in for a visit this week, as he has had a few disgusting "accidents" around the house. This will not do. She asked me his history, and I mentioned that he had a sister who died years ago from a tumor.
After she did her exam on Spot, she said she felt a mass in his stomach that could be a simple infection. or it could be lymphoma. She then explained every detail about cat cancer, the pros and cons of chemotherapy, the chance of remission, how long remission would last (maybe a few months, so that's not good), etc. She then brought me pages of photocopied info on the disease and what we could expect.
Next up was a blood test, which would give us more details. Fifteen minutes later, as I sat fighting back tears, she came back into the room. Good news: The blood work did not reveal anything that looks like cancer. Bad news: It might just be too early to show up. Iffy news: She'd give us medicine that would treat a possible infection; if he continues to be sick by next week, he probably has cancer.
So I've decided this: I'm going to assume he has an infection. I've also decided that I wish the doctor would have assumed this as well. I mean, she could have said something along the lines of, "This is probably an infection, but there's a chance it could also be cancer." Instead, she chose the opposite approach.
If, God forbid, the news is bad next week, then we'll deal with it next week. But I choose to hold out hope.

Column!

If I had a time machine, I know exactly where I'd go first.
I'd set it for the summer 2005, at a wedding for our good pal in Colorado. Exact moment: an hour after the reception, when several of us were hanging out in a side room.
Something was said there – or I should say, it was almost said – that has invaded my brain ever since.
Many of the people in the room hadn't seen each other in about a decade; we were all friends in Seattle at one time. After the wedding, we sat around laughing about the good old days. The groom's older brother then looked at me and said something to the effect of, "You haven't aged."
Of course, that's the best thing anyone could ever say. It's like the jackpot of all compliments. So I beamed and thanked him, suddenly very giddy by this turn of events. He continued.
"Do you know why I think that is?" he asked.
"No, why?" I replied. Rapt with curiosity.
"It's because –"
At that second, someone came up behind him. The subject was changed. Part of me considered changing the subject back a few minutes later, but I figured this would make me look, well, shallow. ("Yeah, yeah, the groom plays a mean guitar, it was a lovely wedding, blah blah blah. Now WHAT WERE YOU GOING TO SAY ABOUT ME?")
My husband was there, so I later asked him what he thought he was about to say. "I don't know," Mike said. Followed by the thought, "And I don't really care." (Yes, I can read his mind.)
So I let it go. No big deal. Except that it sort of haunts me now.
This makes it seem like I'm obsessed with looking young. I'm actually not; I barely remember to take off my makeup at night. I have no anti-aging routine.
Actually, having no routine is my routine. I'm banking on the theory that something I'm doing at random will turn out to be good for me. "Study: Eating popcorn keeps wrinkles away." Or "Scientists say makeup that's left on at night guards against fine lines." I basically hope to defy age by lucking out.
Which is why I'm so curious about what that guy was going to say. Maybe he had some brilliantly wacky theory to impart! Or maybe not; back then I was more trim than I am now, so that could be it. This is what I always think as I struggle to zip my pants.
Other days, I'll look at my teeth in the mirror and think, "I need to get them whitened." Pause. "Maybe that's what he was going to say." Or I'll get out the blow dryer and think, "Maybe he was going to say it's the red hair."
The other morning, as I grabbed the scissors to cut off stray hairs from my chin, the thought appeared again: "Maybe that was it. No chin hairs."
Yes, my life is now an Unsolved Mysteries episode.
I'm hoping that dwelling on this one question, opining about the elusive answer, will keep me spry. Then again, perhaps all of this dwelling will cause me to age. Curses!
After I told my friend about my mystery, she asked why I can't just call him and ask what he was going to say. Um, no; he probably doesn’t even remember saying it. It’s not like we were even sober at the time.
My friend's theory is that he was going to say it's because I laugh a lot. Which I do; guilty as charged.
But I don't know; I still think it was the weight, which I have more of now. Or maybe it was the lack of gray hairs, which I also have more of. So if we happen to get together now, those same pals might see me and say, "Hmm, she sure has aged."
At that, I would turn to the one guy, grab him by shoulders and ask, "Why Do You Think That Is?"
But this time, I wouldn't leave without an answer.

I have failed.

Well, in my first blog post, I vowed to have a new column up in this space every Sunday so that KCJ readers would not have to change their routines. You might be looking for it right now: maybe it's hiding in the corner? Underneath a photo, perhaps? No, it doesn't exist just yet. I was called away this weekend to work on a story, so my plans went awry. Alas.
But please check back on Tuesday, when there WILL be a column here -- 600 words, same as the KCJ. If there isn't, you can call the police and have me arrested.
Seriously, I just wanted to thank everybody who's bothered to stop by my blog so far. It's been so great and heartwarming to hear from you! I'd always told myself I'd never have a blog -- I mean, what's the point? -- but you've shown me what a cool, interactive thing it can be. So thank you again.
Now it's off to bed -- I have to get up at 4:30 a.m. to catch a plane back to Texas. I really dislike the numbers 4 and 30 right now.

The reason all women feel guilty today

Finish this sentence: "I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, _______________.

Everybody sing: "...and never ever let you forget you're a man, 'cause I'm a woooman, Enjoli!"

Oprah mentioned this classic '80s commercial on her show this week, and the entire audience belted it out. So how did this ad become so ingrained in our very beings? Why can I barely remember my kids' first words, but can report back every nuance of this dorky, demeaning commercial?

I blame subliminal messages. Perhaps the Enjoli corporation was part of an evil conspiracy to make all women feel bad about themselves. It's working; every time I find myself not juggling my womanly jobs as well as I should, I think of the perfumed vixen who has it all.

I much prefer the "Calgon, Take Me Away!" lady myself.

Where are the Oompa Loompas when you need them?

So you've heard about the 3-year-old who got her family kicked off a recent airplane trip. They're mad at the airline, which they vow to never use again. I myself might become one of its frequent fliers.
Being a child-friendly person, I'm not opposed to screaming kids on planes. The more, the -- well, not merrier, but definitely tolerable and understandable. In this case, however, the plane could not take off until little Veruca Salt was seated, and she refused to be seated. For a good 15 minutes. According to an AirTran spokeswoman quoted by the Associated Press, "She was climbing under the seat and hitting the parents and wouldn't get in her seat."
Meanwhile, the parents were apparently just watching this whole thing unfold with interest. Apparently, they felt they could not step in and, well, parent their 3-year-old.
When my son Jake was about 5, he performed the world's worst temper tantrum in the middle of Target. (It was over a Halloween costume; he'd already gotten one at Walgreen's and was quite displeased to hear he couldn't get another one.) He started grabbing stuff off shelves and throwing it on the ground, he yelled, he bawled, he laid out on the floor.
Somehow, I managed to drag him to the checkout counter, where approximately 200 eyeballs were directed squarely in our direction. Like laser beams. I paid, he screamed, we walked out, he kept screaming, we got in the car, then it was my turn to scream.
OK, so let's change one detail in this horrid tale: Let's say that after we got to the cash register, I refused to pay until Jake calmed down. Perhaps I just stood there as the line behind me got longer, the cashier got more sullen. Meanwhile, Jake keeps up the wailing. For 15 minutes.
Somehow, I think the good folks at Target would have had a word with me.
I think most parents, if we were the unlucky souls on a plane with a 3-year-old crier, would have handled the situation by putting the kid in her seat, buckling it up, holding said buckle on if need be, and apologizing to the flight attendants for being a disruption.
In other words, they'd control their child.

Dallas Morning News stories, for those who care :)

Below are links to two stories with my byline in today's Dallas Morning News. The first one is a column about American Idol and whether it's become too mean (the editors picked that topic); the second is a newsy type of story about fad diets. Today is Rid the World of Fad Diets and Gimmicks Day, btw. Plan your holiday celebrations accordingly!

http://www.guidelive.com/sharedcontent/dws/ent/television/stories/DN-darlacolumn_0123gl.ART.State.Edition1.2938dd4.html

Second story:
http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/fea/healthyliving2/stories/DN-NH_faddiet_0123liv.ART.State.Edition1.1989372.html

Please let me know if you happen to try one of these links and they don't work. And don't feel obligated to click on either one! Only if you are interested in those topics. Wow, I am so not a salesperson.

Family foto

I guess I should also post a picture of the whole family once in awhile. This was supposed to be our Christmas-card photo, had the card-mailing ever come to fruition. Alas.

Tip of the Day: Get trick candles!!

As some of you know, Emily's birthday is Dec. 28, while Jake's is Dec. 31. Thus, it is logistically impossible (for me, anyway) to host their big parties on their designated days. This year, we happened to be at my mom and dad's house on New Year's Eve, so my mom baked him a cake. And of course, being the mom who has EVERYTHING, she pulled out the trick candles.

There were four kids at this party -- cousin Cameron, 8 (shown at left), Jake, Emily and cousin Sarah, 8. Shockingly, not one of them had ever seen nor heard of the trick-candle phenomenon. I, along with other new-generation parents, have been seriously remiss in our party-celebrating skills. If you don't think that's true, just look at the boys' faces. They're awed by these wild and crazy candles!

So I urge this generation of parents: Run, don't walk, to the nearest store with trick candles and stock up. Your children and your children's children will thank you someday. :)

And thanks to my sister Ilinda for sharing the photo!

I can't very well post a shot of Jake on my brand-new blog without also sharing one of little Em! Here she is with a fellow Texan.

Jake, in happier times.

No, he's still happy; it takes more than a slap on the arm to bring down the next Michael Jordan!

(See below for explanation. Silly me figured this post would go below my first post. Then I remembered how this whole blog thing works.)

Welcome to my World!! (Wide Web!)

Hello, friends!
Thank you for stopping by my newfangled blog. I'll be posting links to all of my columns here, along with random thoughts and pictures of the family. Hopefully (crossing fingers), it will be updated every few days, but it will definitely have new content on Sundays. This way, my dear pals/readers from the KCJ will not have to change their reading routines. :)
OK, enough with the formalities; I feel like I'm a professor on the first day of class.
Random thought from my day: Jake had a basketball game this morning, and the other team "did not have sportsmanship," and Jake put it. At the end of every game, they walk in a line past the other team and sort of slap hands while saying, "Good game, good game, good game." You know the drill.
As Jake got halfway down the line, he said, "Ow!" and held onto his arm. He showed it to me later: One of the kids had slapped his forearm (not his hand as is customary) so hard that it left a definite print. Our coach's wife saw it and marched over to the other coach to complain. But Jake didn't know which player did it, so there wasn't much to be done. The culprit escaped unscathed.
The good news is that Jake scored two of our whopping 4 points today. The other team's score was somewhere in the triple digits, so slapping our teammates around afterward seems like overkill.
I really have no point to this story. Just thought I'd share. Aren't you glad my columns are a bit more thought-out? (For the most part?) :)
Keep in touch! Post some comments! Enjoy the pastel dots!
Cheers,
Darla