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