Monthly Archive

by Lis Garrett,

a mom who lets her children do the decorating

and who remembers to water the tree each day

Real or artificial?

Up until the year I got married, I never once considered decorating a real Christmas tree. Having grown up in the south, the thought of choosing a tree from the parking lot of a gas station seemed unappealing and devoid of holiday magic. Additionally, with my mother being the decorating guru in which all things had to be just so, the notion of finding the perfect live tree meant going home disappointed.

I once suggested an artificial tree in our early years of marriage, and the idea itself was the scandal of the century among my northerly, thick-skinned, newly extended family. I learned quickly not to mention the unmentionable again.

Each year, on the first Saturday of December, we bundle up in our warmest clothes and head for the hills, just north of Ithaca, to Moore’s Tree Farm, home to 35 acres of prickly Spruce varieties and feathery-soft Firs. Guess which kind of tree we prefer? To say that this holiday excursion is one of the highlights of our year would be a gross understatement. My kids live for this day, which, for us, symbolizes the official start of the Christmas season.

Despite the weather, which has ranged from sunny skies with not an inch of snow on the ground, to negative windchills and knee-deep drifts, we never fail to have an excellent time hunting for our tree. Our choices are hardly perfect, and we still laugh about the time, two years ago, when we mistakenly chose a tree that was much too large for our small space. Instead of removing excess tree from the bottom, my husband cut from the top, instead, leaving us with a tree in the shape of an isosceles trapezoid. Needless to say, we didn’t have company over that Christmas!

Moore’s Tree Farm not only mails us a coupon each year, they shake and bale the tree and give the kids free coloring books and candy canes. We even occasionally see Santa taking a much-needed break from his busy toy-making schedule. Should you require a hot cocoa to warm your hands and belly on those blustery December days, there’s a food hut to provide sweet and savory treats. In addition to trees, Moore’s offers a wide variety of holiday wreaths, kissing balls, and other green accessories in their barn.

Some may argue that cutting down a real tree is bad for the environment, but Moore’s and I couldn’t disagree more with that thought. While artificial trees are made of petroleum products and stay in our landfills for years, Christmas trees are considered recyclable materials, grown and harvested with sustainability in mind. Read this before you argue that cutting down a Christmas tree couldn’t possibly be an environmentally-friendly ritual.

Real trees just smell much nicer than artificial trees, anyway.

I’m getting excited! See you December 1st, Moore’s Tree Farm.

*This post was not endorsed by Moore’s Tree Farm. I just think they’re really great.*

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Don’t forget that you can contribute an article for each Friday’s Up For Debate, too!!

In the above photo, my husband is reading the comics in the reclining La-Z-Boy he’s coveted since we got married. He’s celebrating a birthday soon, so I relented and gave him the green light to go out and finally choose a chair for himself.

To my husband, this chair represents the end of a hard day’s work.

To me, this chair represents approximately 30 hours worth of my contract writing. Additionally, this chair is one of the few possessions in our house that I can touch and say, “I bought this, and I paid for it with my own money.”

I’ve been a stay-at-home mom for the majority of my married life and have contributed little of our overall income these past eight years. Despite the effort I put into raising our three children and making a home for our family, I can’t help but feel the guilt of not pitching more than a few pennies into the pot every now and again. Do other stay-at-home parents feel this, too?

Even though my husband and I pool our income into a joint checking account, we each maintain our own separate accounts, as well, in which we reserve a little mad money. To be honest, purchasing this chair was a bit over-the-top as far as birthday gifts go, but it’s been a long time in coming. I could say that there were other bills and necessities at the top of the priority list, but my husband ranks right up at the top, as well. The thing that feels really good to me is having purchased this as a gift for him and not having to use the money that he earned himself.

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There is an element of discontent with being a stay-at-home parent, at least for me. It’s the lack of financial security, not knowing what will happen in the instance of what if. To my husband, that chair represents comfort and security of one kind; to me, it represents another. Although I am far from being able to make it on my own and support three kids should the what if occur, I am satisfied to know that I am finally bridging the gap between being financially dependent on another person and being financially independent myself. Working from home and being in charge of my professional goals is giving me the peace of mind I need. I so desperately need to know that should the rug be yanked out from under me all of a sudden, I may stumble . . .

but I won’t fall.

**edited to add: This post, in no way, was meant to insinuate that at-home parents should share my feelings of guilt. I am one of those women torn between wanting to stay at home with my children and establish a career, and I have finally managed to find a bit of balance. This was meant to be a personal celebratory post in which the chair symbolizes my path to financial security. If you are an at-home parent and have no issues of guilt - more power to you! I wish I could feel the same way. I also recognize that at-home parents work just as hard as those who work outside the home. I am just happy that I was able to buy my husband a gift with the money I earned on my own. That’s all.**

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Head on over to my other site for Week 4 of Book It.

I have a friend who has a case of the yips. What are yips, you ask? Despite what you may be thinking, yips are not some newly discovered sexually transmitted disease. According to the Monday-night comedy, How I Met Your Mother, you might have a case of the yips if you tend to overanalyze something to the extent that it makes it impossible for you to act. 

Kristi, a lovely person I consider to be a friend even more than she probably knows, revealed to me that she’s feeling a bit overwhelmed with starting freelance work. The two of us are in the same boat, essentially, in regards to the contract work we provide to the same dot com while mothering curious toddlers underfoot. She also completes the occasional job for her past employer while I answer like a dutiful servant to Master and Mistress Elementary School Kid between the hours of 2:30 and 8:00 PM.

Kristi then went on to relay that the last time she resumed knitting, she read three or four books just to refresh her memory! I understand how she is feeling overwhelmed with freelance writing; she’s letting the yips get to her, and I might, too, if I were to stop and think about everything that is involved with starting a small business and establishing a platform and niche. The administrative work alone, aka, filing quarterly taxes, is enough to make my palms sweat. Start talking about business licenses and establishing yourself as an LLC, and you might find me prone with a migraine. Logos and business cards? Pshaw! That’s the fun stuff. So when did my hobby become a business? Oh yeah, the moment I declared that writing is the career that will define my professional existence.

I try not to think about all of this any more than I have to. All I want to do is write.

When I got to the part of Kristi’s email in which she stated, “I really value your opinion,” I had to laugh. I mean, I really laughed out loud, which is not something I often do when not in the presence of others. I don’t know why; I just don’t. Anyway, after I got over the initial shock of my opinions being worth something, I shared this little nugget of information with Kristi:

Once upon a time when I was, oh, 19 years old, I decided I hated my life as a Southern Belle and packed the contents of my room into the trunk of a beat-up ’89 Toyota Tercel and then drove halfway across the country to greener pastures. To be honest, there are very few green pastures in my birthplace of Wichita, Kansas, so I settled for wind-swept prairie plains, instead, where I soon found a full-time job and enrolled in school.

On August 6, 1998, my whole world changed when I met my husband-to-be in an online chatroom. I was on the brink of 21. He was nearing 33. If you were to look back at transcripts from our initial phone conversations and emails, you might be shocked to learn how little thought we gave our romance and just how quickly things progressed. My feeling of him being the one is so cliché, I know, but true.

On February 5, 1999, we were married (that’s nearly 6 months after our first conversation). The next day we purchased a house, and less than six months later, Hannah made her debut. My husband picked out our first house with little input from me, as I was suffering from Hyperemesis at the time. Even the decision to have a baby went something like, You wanna have a baby? Sure! You wanna have a baby? Sure! When we adopted our first cat from the SPCA, we joked that we were putting more thought into what pet we should choose than the sum of our decision to get married, buy a house, and have a baby!

Fortunately, things worked out for us. Nearly nine years of marriage, two houses, and three kids later . . . we’re one happy family. When something feels right in my heart and in my gut, I go for it with passion and gusto.

When my husband accused me a few weeks ago of being wishy-washy, his words stung because there was truth to them. Yes, I had wanted to be an elementary school teacher. Yes, I had studied to be a nurse. And I would have been a fine teacher or nurse had circumstances not changed the course of my life. I had reservations about teaching and healing, though, reservations I don’t feel when I think about being a writer. Perhaps it’s because writing is what I’ve wanted to do all along; it’s the one thing I can feel in my soul, aside from motherhood.

So I can’t succumb to the yips. I have to ride the wave and see where it takes me. I have to trust my instincts and gut feelings to lead me down the right path.

I have to do and not think about the hows and what ifs too much.

Much of becoming a writer is on-the-job training, anyway. I believe there are very few writers who are great from the get-go. Writing is a skill that takes time to cultivate; it’s something that must grow alongside the writer . . .

Josefina was the prize present on Christmas Morning 2006. She’s a native of New Mexico, born in 1824. I’d like to know what sort of facial creme she uses, because she hardly looks a day older than 10! Although Josefina dreams of using herbs to heal people, she certainly couldn’t help my daughter, Hannah, when she succumbed to a vicious stomach bug shortly after Christmas last year. Poor Josefina; she never even saw it coming . . . .

As a mother, there are certain sounds heard in the middle of the night that can only mean one thing: trouble. In Hannah’s case, it was a gurgling cough and gagging sound that had me leaping from the couch and flying down the hallway, all while my husband sat in his chair contentedly, wondering what on earth was my problem. Upon hearing my cries for help, however, he knew something was amiss.

Hannah had thrown up in her sleep, the third and final child to fall victim to the crud. Josefina, who had been sleeping near my daughter’s side, would have missed the mess completely had her head not been in the way. Rest assured that my main concern was Hannah, but I couldn’t help but feel the sting of, ahem, $102 plus shipping and handling having just been puked on. Stifling my own gags, I took Josefina into the bathroom where I tried to gingerly wash the whatever-we-had-eaten-for-dinner out of her hair.

And I ruined her.

There is just no way you can wash the hair of an American Girl doll and expect it to retain its glossy plastic sheen.

For months, out of obligation perhaps, Hannah dragged Josefina around like some hopeless castaway, until she finally ended up in the bottom of the doll bucket.

Both my husband and I were outraged over Hannah’s lack of respect for a doll that we (er, Santa) had pinched pennies to deliver. But Hannah showed no remorse. Josefina had lost her luster and was nothing but 18 inches of ugly, in my daughter’s eyes. I fear for my future grandchildren should they be on the wrong side of pretty.

In addition to Josefina’s hair gone awry, she lost her eyelashes on one side. 

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Leave it to American Girl to anticipate travesties such as missing eyelashes and vomit-covered hair. They have a doll hospital to which you can send your girl, and she comes back as good as new wearing a hospital gown complete with get-well balloon and discharge papers.

Originally I had planned on sending Josefina away in secret to surprise Hannah on Christmas morning, but she approached me in tears a few weeks ago and lamented her broken heart. To see an eight-year-old girl in such a grievous state would have broken your heart, too. All I had to do was think back to my doll-playing days to remember how those babies were so much more to me than just a molded piece of plastic. My husband was shocked to learn that I played with dolls up until age twelve, but it was the precursor to life as a mom; I took it very seriously. It was around age twelve that I discovered our electric typewriter and began to compose stories more seriously. I guess you could say that what I played as a little girl has come to fruition as an adult. Funny how things work out.

Josefina arrived this morning. Hannah is still at school, and I am counting down the minutes until she comes home to discover her newly improved friend perched upon her bed. The reunion will be magical, for sure!

The icing on the cake will be Josefina’s new Christmas dress and, ahem, doll-appropriate hair brush. Of course, those are surprises . . .

On account of how much money I’ve put in the pockets of American Girl over the span of a year, hopefully the editors of American Girl Magazine won’t be so quick to reject my query next time.

I guess that’s not how articles get published, though, which is a good thing. I’m back to pinching pennies and am too broke to buy my way into the market.

I’ve been having the most wonderful conversations with friends and family, both in person and online, about holiday traditions. Some eat gravy with their turkey, some don’t (gasp). Others are suspicious of pumpkin pie while for some, it’s a holiday staple. There are families who decorate the Christmas tree directly following Thanksgiving, and there are families who wait until Christmas Eve to deck the halls. I got to thinking about holiday traditions in my own family, both those I have carried from my own childhood and those new traditions I’ve made with my husband and children.

Growing up, tradition dictated that my sister and I would each receive a new Hallmark ornament and nightgown to be opened on Christmas Eve. In 1978, when I was celebrating my second Christmas, my aunt began a series of ornaments called Here Comes Santa. Clicking on the link, you can see the appreciation of the oldest of the ornaments, given that when purchased new, they cost about $14.95. My ornaments are not MIB, and I certainly have no intention of selling them; I think the maternal force that is my mother, aunt, and grandmother, would send me to an early grave if I ever did such a thing! The tradition has carried over to my own children, though. Suffice it to say, when they are ready to leave the house and begin their own Christmas traditions, there will be no shortage of decorations.

I have also carried on the tradition of each child receiving a new set of pajamas, in addition to many more annual festivities. The first Saturday of December, we make our trek to the tree farm. This year promises to be 29 degrees with snow flurries. In the past, it’s been as cold as 10 degrees with a negative windchill. We then gather here, usually with Granny and Papa, to decorate the tree and celebrate my husband’s birthday. After Christmas Eve service, we nestle together on the couch and watch Christmas movies until the kids are good and tired. Then my husband and I tuck the kids in bed and enjoy the quiet with a glass of wine and a few snacks. Only when we are positive the children are fast asleep do we arrange the presents under the tree. *My own mother would display the presents as they were wrapped, a most cruel enticement for a young girl to have to look at the brightly colored packages for weeks before being able to open them. I must admit to unwrapping a few corners to see the contents of some of my gifts, an act which my mother won’t let me forget even more than twenty years later.*

My husband and I try to keep the holidays as stress-free as possible. We spend Christmas Day as a family and get together with extended relatives the next day. Children, and adults, can often be overwhelmed by new sites and sounds, not to mention the general excitement, which usually results in meltdowns and tantrums. Opening gifts tends to be an all-day affair, as we take breaks for breakfast, phonecalls, and playing with new goodies. The one thing I don’t do is take pictures of every single gift being open, something my mother did and that aggravated me a a child. A few pictures are nice to remember the occasion, but one must live in the moment, as well.

What sort of holiday traditions do you have?

If you consider yourself a friend, please contact me with your mailing address so that I can send a holiday greeting in the post. Email me at igarrett@twcny.rr.com and write “Holiday Wishes” in the subject field. 

I am climbing a mountain.

I arrived home this morning from an extended Thanksgiving holiday and rushed to my computer. What I was hoping to find in my inbox wasn’t there, but nestled amongst the bills and junk from the post was another rejection letter.

Letter would not be the proper term to describe what was scribbled atop my original query, sent back to me in my SASE. It was a two-word fragment, the meaning so poignant that I sputtered my own two-worded expletive out of sheer disappointment.

Just covered, it read.

Just covered. Hmph.  

I had checked the back issues of this particular magazine before sending a query to see if this topic had been covered already. As far as I could tell, it hadn’t. Perhaps the article had been in the works for months already, written by a seasoned staff member. Maybe another freelance writer beat me to the punch. The fact that the editors did cover a story such as my proposed idea means the interest is there, however. Now I just have to shop it around a bit more. And wait.

I queried another idea to one of our small, local papers the other day. I can’t say much more now. You will find out in February, regardless if my article is published or not.

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I certainly hope everyone had a lovely holiday with friends and family. I was in charge of the turkey, which is always a pleasure. My mother-in-law suggested I baste the turkey with apple cider instead of chicken broth this year, something I had never done. The turkey came out tender and juicy, but the apple cider, which had reduced to a, well, a mess made the most awful gravy.

Psst, called my mother-in-law surreptitiously from the kitchen. Taste this.

Now you know that whenever a person says taste this, in a conspiratorially sort of way, chances are it’s not going to be good. All along, my husband had been offering to purchase bottled gravy from the market; however, Thanksgiving, at least in my family, has always been a meal in which our hearts and souls and labors of love have been poured into every delectable morsel of food.

Bottled gravy is sacrilegious.

What my mother-in-law offered me on her spoon could only be described as sludge. Do you have any broth left? I inquired. The broth itself was rendered from a chicken months earlier and stored in the freezer for just such an occasion.

No, it’s all gone!

My palms began to sweat as I imagined my husband lamenting the absence of gravy. You simply cannot have Thanksgiving without gravy! If there is anything in which we all agree, it’s that gravy is the savory equivalent to icing on the cake.

Thankfully, my mother-in-law did have a package of bouillon cubes that, in the end, made a most palatable turkey gravy.

I even let her add the giblets! *Giblets, in case you don’t know, are the heart, liver, and neck.*

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Despite the happy festivities, little Bridget came down with an awful fever, runny nose, and croup, and she slept through the entire Thanksgiving meal. Even as I type this, she is sleeping fitfully in the crook of my arm. She woke in the night feeling like fire and demanding a cup of water, which she guzzled down greedily. Thank you to the makers of Children’s Tylenol for marketing melt-away tabs. I have two children who wouldn’t take liquid medication, even if they were on the brink of expiration. Bridget had no qualms taking a bubble-gum flavored chewable tablet, however, which allowed her (and me) to sleep easier. Her one request today has been popsicles. How could any mother of a sick babe deny her child that one treat?

All I can say is, it’s good to be home.

Although, my house is considerably messier than how I thought we left it.

I blame the cat.

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I’ll be putting together my holiday cards before long and would love to send one to you. If you consider yourself a friend, please contact me with your mailing address at igarrett@twcny.rr.com . Make sure to write “Holiday Wishes” in the subject field.

I came home to 160 messages in my inbox. If you’ve sent me an email, I will reply ASAP. I haven’t even checked my Google Reader yet. :-O

This Up For Debate post was formerly published in May 2007. If you have an Up For Debate post you would like to submit, please click here.

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It was a presage of future events, this late-morning jaunt with my oldest daughter, who turns eight in July. My children’s sweat-soaked heads and scrunched-up toes have been imploring me silently to spare a few bucks on clothes that actually fit and are seasonally appropriate.

Shorts, shirts, sundresses, swimsuits, shoes. My eyes quickly scan the clearance racks while my mouth utters the fine points of penny-pinching to my oldest. You can find new clothes for just a few dollars, see? Here’s an Osh-Kosh Genuine Kids dress for your sister. Three dollars! And a lovely one for you, too. All you have to do is look. We scour the stores for deals, and talk money management. She learns that buy-two-get-one-free is not always the best choice (especially when it’s her money), and the temptation of getting extra often lures you into buying more than what you need or spending money you don’t really have.

Our morning was spent in the constant grip of give and take and lessons in functionality vs. style. The chunky, high-heeled sandals that appear to be the in thing for young girls is neither practical nor appropriate, in my opinion. Stores dress our girls as whores, selling them clothes with BRAT and PRINCESS printed across the butt in white, fuzzy letters and tops that invite a second glance.

My daughter is attracted to glitz and glamor, a far cry from the denim capris and 100% cotton tees to which I am accustomed. She dons her Sunday Best to bake mud pies and frilly skirts to climb trees. Most of my clothes are stained by a hard day’s work of cooking and gardening and tending to children, and I know she is ashamed of my comfortable wardrobe.

I think ahead to what these bi-annual excursions will be like once she gets older, and I realize it will never be as easy as it was this day. My opinion holds sway yet; I am able still to convince my daughter that ’tis better to be concerned with how one thinks than how one looks. I am able to argue the merits of a flexible sneaker over the appeal of a beaded clog or emphasize proper hygiene over make-up that simply covers one’s natural beauty.

I catch myself looking longingly at the freckles that bespeck her upturned nose and rosy cheeks, her dark hair devoid of gray strands, her hazel eyes showing no signs of unrest or weary. My daughter, as an infant, could attract perfect strangers, she could draw in passers-by from outside a store, just to dote on the lovely baby. Oh, how beautiful she was! Oh, how beautiful she is!

But I want to protect my children, my girls especially, from what society has labeled as beautiful and all the things it says beauty can buy. My Hannah is an impressionable girl, easily influenced by her friends and advertisers. How will I ever be strong enough or smart enough to convince her that she is absolutely perfect the way she is?

Happy Thanksgiving Day to everyone celebrating in the United States! In case you wanted to know, the average American consumes 5000 calories of food on this day. I know I won’t be feeling the slightest bit of guilt as I eat until both my heart and belly are full.

 In addition to everything for which I feel grateful, I would like to extend a hand in friendship to you, dear reader. If you consider yourself a friend, please allow me to send to you a holiday greeting. Please contact me at igarrett@twcny.rr.com with your mailing address. In the subject field, please write “Holiday Wishes.”  

There’s not much in my life to regret. Every person has her moments of shoulda, woulda, coulda’s, but for the most part, the major decisions of my life have been made with much deliberation. So it surprised me the other day when, in a moment of rare silence, I was caught unawares by one nagging bit of past regret.

Once upon a time, I lived in Wichita, Kansas, where I attended Newman University with the intention of graduating with a degree in elementary education. I wanted to be a second-grade teacher. I went to school four nights a week plus four hours each Saturday morning. This was in addition to my full-time job as a teller for Fidelity Bank. I was twenty years old and the only one living in the dorm who attended evening classes while working forty hours a week. My prescence was of a matronly sort, and my friends, particularly the boys across the hall, turned to me whenever they needed someone to loan them a can opener or iron. Occasionally they would slip me little love notes underneath my door, but that was mostly when they were drunk.  

One of my core classes was focused on students learning and applying basic computer applications. For one particular assignment, we were required to write a mock-up news article like what you might find in a daily newspaper. Mine was a light-hearted take on college kids and stress, and it was written from first-hand experience. I still have that article in a red folder, and I flip through it from time to time. I like to peruse the papers and measure my growth as a writer.

Although I wasn’t aware of it at first, the teacher who taught that computer class also happened to be the managing editor of the university newspaper. After presenting my mock article to the class, the teacher pulled me aside and offered me a position on the paper as a staff writer. In short, he was impressed with my writing skills. I was torn, to say the least, and ultimately I turned down the job.

Unfortunately, I had bills to pay. Aside from living expenses, I had an unreliable car to maintain. I had food to buy. My job at the bank barely left any discretionary income in my pocket, so I knew there was no way I would be able to quit my real job and live off what was being offered. I also knew I wouldn’t be able to juggle a full-time job, full-time class load, and a full-time writing job. I couldn’t do it all.

I wanted that writing position. I really wanted it. But I was rich on common sense, back then, even at twenty years of age.

I haven’t thought about that incident in years. Had I taken that job with the paper, I don’t think the course of my life would have been altered in any sort of dramatic way. I feel certain I would still be sitting on this couch and writing a blog post, perhaps about some other past regret.

It’s just, what are the chances that the managing editor of a newspaper is going to, once again, toss a job into my lap?

As a writer, I can only expect to get what I am willing to give.

And I am ready to give . . .

I don’t care what the calendar says; it’s winter here in central New York! I’m embarrassed to admit to the readers of this blog what our monthly electric and gas bill is, and that’s while on a budget plan, so I will keep that specific dollar amount to myself. Suffice it to say, our house is over fifty years old and so is its original furnace. The only thing that could make heating this house more inefficient is if we opened up a few windows. Some people can feed a small family for what we spend! So why don’t we get a new furnace? It’s on the list, truly. And so is the leaky pipe downstairs, and the new bedroom windows that my children could actually open in the event of a fire, and a new electrical system so we don’t blow a fuse while running the sweeper, and my daughter’s mouth-widening procedure (as if she needs a bigger mouth), and our summer trip to the motherland (which is Wichita, Kansas).

Let’s get back on track here.

Like a lot of people, we turn down the thermostat at night and sleep at a comfortable 62 degrees. As this can sometimes be a bit chilly, especially on those nights when the wind is howling and the snow is flying, my children had grown accustomed to duking it our for the one and only heat pack. That’s enough! I hollered this past weekend, and commenced to make each child his and her own source of warmth.

Each pillow is made with 100% wool felt and stuffed with organic millet hulls. I added a few drops of essential oils ~ lavender for Jacob and ylang ylang for both girls. The packs provide just enough heat to warm their toes or to cuddle close to their body without being too hot. Hannah’s pillow is the biggest ~ groovy colors, eh? She chose those herself. Jacob’s pillow is the small four-square, and Bridget’s is the one that resembles a rather large, talking dinosaur. I had chosen the colors for Bridget’s pillow and, not too sure, asked my husband if they looked okay together.

Those are Barney colors, he said.

Well, of course they are! I’ve got Barney on the brain, even if it’s subconsciously.

edited ~ I purchased my millet hulls here in a 20 lb quantity. When the box arrived, I felt a bit sheepish over my error in judgement. Twenty pounds of millet hulls is A LOT!! I have made many items with my millet hulls and still have too much left. If you are curious about them, let me know and I will add a few listings to my eCrater shop.

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From now on, since I won’t be doing any crafting or sewing of my own, Craftacular Tuesdayposts will consist of links pointing to all the wonderful crafty things going on in my Google Reader. Would you like me to add a link to one of your crafty posts? Just contact me!!

PS - Congratulations to Bill from Ithaca for winning Gary Rith’s miniature piggy bank!! Bill, now you have a piece of Gary’s work to keep for yourself! 

An exchange between my mother-in-law and me whilst drinking tea:

I hope to make it to the craft fair over the weekend, says my MIL. I’ve decided to buy as many things as possible for the holidays that are NOT made in China.

much agreement, much sipping of tea . . .

You know, Melissa, I have a friend who sews all winter long. At the end of fall, when the craft show is held, she sells what she makes and earns something like $1500.

much quiet, much sipping of tea . . .

Maybe you could do something like that. (sideways glance at me)

much laughter on my part, quite a bit of knee-slapping too . . .

You mean in all my spare time?

You mean you can’t do it all?

laughing, laughing, and more laughing . . .

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And so it is that no, I cannot do it all. Crafts and sewing have taken up a most unfortunate residence on the back burner to what is more important to me at this moment: writing.

For months I have tickled the idea of closing my etsy shop and now, I feel, is the time to do it. There are fifteen items currently in stock. I am offering a Buy One Get One Free sale (of equal or lesser value).

There are fabric-covered buttons, fabric-covered hair ponies, fabric-covered earrings, and fabric-covered rings.

If you make a purchase, please indicate in the message field which item you would like for FREE. Do not pay until I have sent a revised invoice. *You will still be responsible for paying shipping on the FREE item.*

If you are wondering what the heck I will be doing with my fabric remants, 100% Holland wool felt, notions, and such, please bookmark this site. I will s-l-o-w-l-y be listing my items for sale (this is NOT eBay). If you would like to be informed of when I list sewing-related items, send me an email at igarrett@twcny.rr.com.

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edited to add:

The 100% Holland wool felt is gone and is destined for GREAT things, thanks to this mama. She tells me she’s been inundated with tail orders, and she needs more felt! It’s on its way, Stacy!!

I have just listed a bunch of buttons and some more fabric. You wouldn’t believe what I have down in my craft room. I look at all this stuff I didn’t use and won’t ever use, and all I hear is cha-ching, cha-ching.

Lord, grant me the strength to invest my money wisely, say, in pens and notepads . . .

Keep watching the shop, as I hope to add a few new things each day. My clutter is your treasure. Yes, it is.

This week’s Up For Debate article is more of a reflective post, but it echos sentiments I know we’ve all felt from time to time. Thanks to Colorado Mama for providing this week’s submission. If you would like to submit and Up For Debate article as well, click here for details.

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Why I Love Being a Mom

My daughter is 2 ½ and I have to say that motherhood is one the best things in the world. I love everything about it, well almost everything.
 
I love the way my daughter learns new things and how quickly she learns them. I love her running around the house naked after her bath; I love it when she is crazy; I love it when she allows me to smother her with kisses and hugs; I love how she notices new things ~ ”new panties mommy,” “new shoes mommy.” I love how she is getting old enough to play by herself - good thing, because with the second baby coming in February, there will be less time for her. That is something I worry about, not being able to spend as much time with Mikayla, and Mikayla hating the new baby for all of the time the he/she is taking. I love to watch Mikayla sit and play by herself. Too bad it does not last for hours. I love to watch her put her hand to her ear and talk to mommy on the phone.  I absolutly love having a toddler running around the house; she sees the world in a completely different light than I do.
 
There are also the times when I do not like being a mommy. Me time is almost non-existent unless it is short and planned for in advance. Going for a walk does not happen anymore, at least not if Mikayla is coming along and I want to get a work out. Forget it!  She has to get out of the stroller and walk herself, even though she demanded the stroller come along and she demanded to ride in it the first block of the walk. I hate the no no no and the screaming - but I know that it is typical for a 2 year old when she does not get her way.
 
Even though there are times that I do not enjoy being a mommy, I would never, ever trade it for anything in the world.  Mikayla is my world, and we are super excited about what life will bring when we have 2 kids in the house.  What do you love and hate about being a Mom?

Just to clarify why I am starting another site in addition to this one, lest you think I’m in the habit of making important decisions with no apparent rhyme or reason, only to confuse you; there’s a distinct divide between my readers that, even though it may not be noticeable to you, it is obvious to me.

While some readers visit this site for information about ADD medication, to read about my struggles with my son, learn about craft projects, or try new recipes, there are many of you who have, either publicly by comments or privately by email, expressed interest in my aspirations as a writer.

You all know what a niche is, right? Ever since I started blogging in January 2006, I’ve struggled with the idea of writing in a niche. To specialize, or not to specialize? So many things interest me, afterall, and it’s only been until recently that I’ve discovered I do, indeed, have a niche.

It’s been my feeling that I have your (the collective readership) attention only half the time. My “mommy blogger” readers probably don’t want to read about writing queries or contract work or finding jobs or getting published. Likewise, those interested in writing might not give a hoot about my job as a mother that involves cooking, advocating for my son, making fabric-covered buttons, gardening, etc.

Forgive me for not realizing this sooner. I thought I could mesh it all on one blog, but I don’t think it will work.

Seriously, I don’t make these changes to confuse you. And I am NOT abandoning this blog. Most of you will not even notice a change to this site, other than the fact that I may, at times, direct your attention to the other one.

 There are some posts that will be duplicated on both sites, such as reviews and promotions. We all like reviews and promotions, right?

Now, if you would like me to hold your hand through this process, I will. I’m nice like that.

I promise, it won’t be scary.

Change can be a good thing. 

As a preface to this post, I’d like to announce that I have purchased and registered the domain LisGarrett.com. The domain, however, will not be active for another 60 days, but you can see the new digs by clicking here. Currently, I am getting the lay of the land, and I am working on sprucing up the place a bit. Please be patient. The site won’t be updated on a regular basis until the new year, although future Book It! posts will be posted there.

What will LisGarrett.com offer? Well, you’ll find everything related to writing. Personal stories will be limited to this site, while I use the other as a means to promote my services as a writer, as well as offer tips and exercises for the new writer. It’ll be a you-learn-as-I-learn, type site as I navigate the world of writing for print publications. If you are interested in writing as a hobby or career, I hope you will join me there.

More news about what to expect later on . . .

Also, congratulations to Kristi for providing the correct answer to my question on this post. Kristi, contact me with your mailing address, and your book will be on its way shortly. See, it pays to pay attention!

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I was very happy to have learned that Christina Katz, author of Writer Mama, discovered this site and linked to me on her blog. She even suggested something I had planned to do already, and that’s performing the book exercises on a public forum.

If you are a new and aspiring writer and have yet to purchase this book, please do; it is one you will want to keep on your desk at all times. Writer Mama is peppered with exercises to get a writer, well, writing. After completing Section III, I knew that this book was not meant to be just read; it was mean to be studied. Friends, this is a guidebook to writing more effectively and getting published. If all you do is read the book and then put it back on your shelf without practicing the exercises, you haven’t taken too many steps to get ahead. I imagine my copy of Writer Mama will look fairly dog-eared by the time I am done with it!

Section III is entitled Professionalism and talks about pre-writing features, drafting queries, finding support groups, interviewing, negotiation techniques, and writing tips. As I was reading this section, I felt the nerves begin to surface as I found myself reading about things that aren’t intuitive to me. I’ve sent just a few queries, although, as of yet, it is still too soon to know the outcome of those. I realize that it could be another year before I grasp what I’m doing well enough to land an article in a publication. That I recognize and accept this truth, however, is what makes me forge ahead. Publication is not an if for me, it is a when. **edited - I just received my first rejection letter in the post today**

Christina Katz goes on to break down the different forms of Rights, and she offers tips on how to negotiate those rights and article earnings. In terms of productivity, Katz suggests establishing goals.

**Did you come up with your professional mission statement? Mine is, as of yet, quite simple: treat each client like he is the only one.*

Next Thursday is Thanksgiving Day, so please join me on November 29th as I discuss Section IV of Writer Mama.

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“I keep making prayers that are really vows, presenting my state of harmony to God and saying, ‘This is what I would like to hold on to. Please help me memorize this feeling of contentment and help me always support it.’” (page 260)

When I told my mother-in-law I had just begun the last section of Eat, Pray, Love, the book that she had given me for my 30th birthday, she blushed and began telling me, in almost hushed tones, of the embarrassingly gratuitous sex scenes. Ooh la la! I thought

I can’t imagine being her mother and actually reading that, she said.

Wow! Is it really outrageous? I hoped.

When I finished the book the other day, I sat on the couch a little disappointed. Definitely, my mother-in-law’s perception of gratuitious sex is much different than mine. Whereas it bothers her to read a skimpy paragraph of the author having acknowledged the fact that she masturbates, it moved me not in the least. The differences between her generation and mine couldn’t be more apparant!

Liz found love.

Liz learned to let go of control and give herself to another man.

She spread herself amongst friends and touched many people while living in Indonesia.

A happy ending, indeed.

My only regret is that the book leaves the reader hanging. While Elizabeth Gilbert is writing about her life and I recognize that the ending is her reality, I am one who loves the proverbial Fairytale Ending. I wanted to know if Liz and Felipe ever got married. What of the prophecy (page 27) that announced her marriages? And the daughter she is supposed to have late in life? Does she and Felipe adopt? (Felipe has had a vasectomy). Do they part ways without getting married? Does Liz marry someone else altogether?

Despite these unanswered questions, I couldn’t put this book down. I am sorry to see it end, as there was a sort of familiar comfort in reading Gilbert’s words. I learned many valuable lessons from this book, ones about spirituality, self-acutalization, self-respect, love, acceptance, and I hope to explore them on a deeper level. I imagine this book won’t end up on the shelf right away; instead, I may find myself flipping through it on occasion, searching for meaning . . .

Next Thursday is Thanksgiving Day, so please join me on November 29th as I discuss pages 1-133 of A Girl Named Zippy, by Haven Kimmel.

I hope you have a beverage and snack for this long-winded post. You’re gonna need it! There’s also a chance to win something!!

Despite how you spell it, today is a day for tying up a few loose ends around here; it’s a good day for playing catch-up.

1.) My Two Boys is giving away one fabulous stocking stuffer from Hazelnut Kids. At My Two Boys, you will find comprehensive posts on autism-spectrum disorders and ways in which to enhance the lives of children suffering from the disease. Even though Jacob has never been diagnosed as clinically autistic, the mere fact that he has twice tested on the edge of the spectrum has left me feeling quite appreciative of the struggles other parents and caregivers face on a daily basis. There are days when I feel entrenched in disorderly conduct, but I know Jacob’s “problems” are nothing compared to what other children must endure. *On an aside about Jacob, my neighbor, Dave, graciously gifted us a certificate to a mutual neighbor who performs cranio-sacral massage. Dave’s friend has a son suffering from Asperger’s. Apparantly, this child receives frequent massages, and it helps to “center” the child. When I spoke on the phone with the therapist yesterday, her perception of Jacob, having met him over the summer, was that he “has a difficult time being comfortable in his own body.” Uh, don’t I know it? This is an interesting article which depicts Jacob fairly accurately, as it describes those children on the autism spectrum. Jacob’s appointment is December 14th, so I will be sure to document how his session goes.*

2.) The holidays are soon upon us, Friends! Have you begun shopping yet? We’re tightening our purse strings this year, for sure, and I am thankful that we budgeted for gifts, food, and holiday-related expenses beforehand. Consider giving handmade items this year from etsy and other sites. You’ll be surprised at just how budget-friendly they are. Want to know what I’ve purchased so far? This piggy bank. This crown and this crown and this crown. This tutu and this tutu. These puzzles. This hat. These puppets. To-be-purchased, something from here.

These gifts are for the little ones in both my immediate family and my extended family. When you have two sisters who’ve procreated and a SIL who’s procreated, in addition to the three children you, yourself, have produced as a result of procreation, all of a sudden there are TEN children, aged 10 months - 8 years for whom to buy goodies. A few of these gifts are also birthday presents for those few children who must share their birthday milestone with the holiday season.

I have purchased six bags from byKimLane. (and one for me) SIX!!! Well, I took advantage of her 50% off sale and scored SIX bags for less than $20 each!! By the way, you MUST buy this bag in the corduroy spots. I am a HUGE sucker for corduroy and nearly peed my pants when I saw and felt the bag. Before Kim sent my purchase out, she emailed me and said I would especially like the corduroy print. BOY, WAS SHE RIGHT!! I have come to the conclusion that I *love* handbags the way that some women love shoes. Not just any handbags, though. byKimLane, handbags!!

Don’t forget to take advantage of my 10% off coupon code for eBeanstalk. I used mine when I purchased this and this and this. Make sure you use the code WOOLGATHERINGS at checkout.

Remember what the ONE thing is I want this year?? I mentioned it in a post not too long ago. The first one to identify the correct item will receive a FREE, BRAND NEW copy of The Gift of the Magi, purchased especially for one of you, dear readers. (it’s also a reward for having read this far down, too)

3.) Now, the moment for which you’ve all been waiting. Or maybe not. The name! The name! I appreciate the many comments I received on this post in regards to choosing a moniker. With much careful consideration, I do believe I have to go with Lis Garrett. Oh, how I thought about this. In the morning. In the afternoon. Late in the evening. In the middle of the night. Many of you made compelling arguments and even emailed me personally with suggestions. With my most sincere gratitude, I appreciate your thoughts and opinions. It’s unfortunate that, as a child born in 1977, I ended up with the name, Melissa Renee. In case you didn’t know, Melissa was one of the most popular, if not THE most popular, names of that year. It may have been second only to the name, Jennifer, which happens to be the name of my older sister. Gawd, mom! For someone who has creative juices pouring from her fingertips, the well was surely dry when came time to fill in our birth certificates. I *hated* my name as a child. It could have been the result of having no less than two other girls named Melissa in my class at any given time. I even went to highschool with another Melissa Renee who, thankfully, went by Lisa. My best friend’s name is Melissa, for crying out loud!

So it is unfortunate that I have a common name. Pair that with my maiden name, Luznicky, and there is a whole new mess of problems. It’s been almost nine years since I’ve written that last name, and I miss it not one ounce. Nevermind the fact that I had teachers who told me I wasn’t pronouncing it correctly (luz nes key - long u sound). When I assumed the last name of Garrett, I was ecstatic to leave my old self behind. Sorry, dad.

I mentioned to a few friends in private emails that Melissa Garrett is a horribly common name for someone who does not wish to be a horribly common writer. That’s it. Plain and simple.

So Lis Garrett it is. I like it. I can work with it. It’s short, simple, and sweet. Just like I am.

(inhale. one two three. exhale. one two three.)

Are you still with me?

Let me preface my next question with a few statements. In addition to my contract work writing online content and the two possible writing gigs I have coming up in the new year (keeping fingers crossed), I would like to focus on writing reviews/promotions. Most of you can tell by now how much I love gushing about other bloggers and products. And if you happen to be a blogger who sells products ~ whoa!! I’m a genuinely nice person, and I like to spread nice feelings around. I like to establish a sense of connection for my readers, whether it be to another person or a something I feel might make your life easier or better.

While I would like to keep this personal blog for talking about non-writing related activities, such as recipes and crafts and memes (yes, I *will* complete the memes for which I’ve been tagged), I would also like to have a spot to write reviews, how-to articles, maybe host advertisers. One of the disadvantages of WordPress is that you cannot advertise on your site. While I don’t often care for blog heavily laden with advertisements (the writing HAS to be compelling for me to stay), I wouldn’t mind being associated with Blogher. I am seriously considering starting another site for Lis Garrett, either on Blogger or TypePad which would be STRICTLY a writing site. There would be tips on writing and publishing, how-to articles, reviews, etc. Another blog?! I know. I hear you moaning at the thought. If you have NO interest in writing, don’t fret. I don’t plan on giving up this site. As for reviews, I would post them both there and here. So if you ever want to purchase a review, you would get twice the exposure. Got it?(inhale. one two three. exhale. one two three.)

Almost done. I promise.

I have to tell you that the only reason I have been able to write this much is because Bridget is taking an early morning nap. GASP! That never happens.

So my question is, how do you feel about Blogger vs TypePad? Additionally, who could I hire to help me design a logo that would reflect a sense of creative professionalism? I’m not stuffy, yet I’m not juvenile. I need something in between. I’m not Ann Taylor. I’m not American Eagle. I’m GAP. (although I shop at Target - LOL!)

Help me out, Friends. What are your opinions about the whole thing?

My head is about to explode, either as a result of all these ideas bouncing around . . . or the near 30 ounces of coffee I have consumed this morning.

I recently had the pleasure of meeting local blogger and potter, Gary Rith. How did I come to meet him, you ask? Allow me to connect the dots and illustrate the fact that (a) I really do live in a small community, and (b) blogging brings us all together . . . eventually.

I often read Simon’s blog. Coincidentally, even though I do not know Simon personally, he was chummy with my sister-in-law back in the day. Because I am considered a “Dryden” blogger, Simon has graciously linked to this blog. On an aside, my in-laws are friends with Simon’s parents. Why we’ve never met, I don’t know. Quite awhile ago, I did have a dream that I was stuck at Simon’s house. I mean, I was literally stuck at his house, as it was on a tiny island and the last ferry to depart had already left without me. The fact that I don’t actually know Simon accounts for why the faces of both he and his wife were nothing but a blur in my dream. Strange, but true. All I remember is feeling like some horrible intruder in their house. FYI ~ Simon does not really live on an island.

Anyway, I thought I might visit a few local blogs to which Simon had linked. Be a little neighborly, you know? That’s how I found Gary. Instantly I recognized him because my neighbor, Dave wrote this post.

After reading a few posts from Gary’s blog, I decided to visit his etsy shop where I instantly fell in love and purchased this as a Christmas gift for Bridget. She’s the only one of the kids to not have a proper piggy bank.

About an hour after I made my purchase, I received a phonecall from Gary wondering if he might be able to deliver the piggy bank personally. He was going to be heading up our way in a bit and was hoping he could stop by shortly after noon.

You live two houses down from my friend, Dave, he said.

Yes, Dave is MY friend, too!

laugh, laugh, laugh . . .

Well, we are getting ready to leave soon for the football game at the university, I said.

Me too! he exclaimed.

Small world, indeed.

Please support designers of handmade products this holiday season and consider purchasing a piece of pottery from Gary’s shop 

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All funny stuff aside, Gary’s pottery is the perfect blend of functionality and whimsy. What’s my favorite piece, you ask? Why the rude gnome sugar bowl, of course! Oh, how I would love to see the look on my mother-in-law’s face as she opens that up on Christmas morning. Okay, so I don’t think I would be gutsy enough to give one to her. But I would be gutsy enough to display it proudly on my kitchen counter from which to serve a bit of sugar to even my most proper of houseguests.

Who am I kidding? Nobody proper comes over here anyway. If they are proper folk, they don’t stay long. Something always scares them away . . . .

PS - Head on over to Dave’s blog and leave a congratulatory message for his new wife, Arjan, and him on the event of their wedding. It looks to have been a great event!

And if you have made it to the very bottom of this post, I am giving away the tiny piglet bank that accompanied Bridget’s larger bank. It’s a sweet little thing, I assure you. If you love pigs, you’ll want to add this one to your collection!

Just leave a comment, and I will announce the winner next Tuesday.

The  national toll-free number for Poison Control is 1-800-222-1222, just in case you wanted to know.

Not like I had to call it this morning or anything.

Not like I had a curious two-year-old push a chair to the counter under the pretenses of helping me clean out the junk drawer.

Not like she opened a child-proof bottle of fluoride and popped a few 1 mg tablets in addition to her .25 mg dose.

Not like I was standing five feet away when it happened and was so engrossed with my clutter that I didn’t see her open the bottle.

Not like it could’ve been worse. The bottle of fluoride was right next to the bottle of 10 mg metadate.

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If you ever suspect your child has been poisoned, do not delay for syptoms. Call immediately!! Be prepared to state what happened, when it happened, and how much “poison” was ingested. You will also need the person’s age and weight.

Print this post and tack it next to your phone. At the very least, copy the phone number and keep it in a place where you will find it easily. And please pass this along to other parents. Once again, my child has proved that accidents can occur even when you are standing within arm’s reach.

PS - The curious two-year-old is fine. I was told to give her a glass of milk. 

PS - Want to know what I was reading when she popped the pills? The Poison & Drug brochure.

Go figure.

With Thanksgiving Day just around the corner, now is the time to begin thinking about how to cook the turkey. If you have never cooked a Thanksgiving turkey, the task can seem a little daunting, especially if you’re cooking for a large number of people. After many years of hovering at my mother’s side as she prepared our Thanksgiving meal, I cooked my own turkey dinner at the age of twenty-two, during my first holiday as a married woman. Eight years and eight turkeys later, I think I’m ready to share just how simple cooking the bird really is.

Things you’ll need:

Turkey

Meat thermometer

Roasting pan

Chicken broth, 32 ounces

Olive Oil

Salt

Pepper

Poultry seasoning

Foil wrap

Select your turkey. In my opinion, anything that is good has to have a good foundation. The turkey not excluded, even in dire straights, I pinched pennies and purchased a turkey that was free of hormones and antibiotics, free-range, and fed a diet of grass and grains. Expect to pay upwards of $3.00 per pound for a quality turkey. They are moist, tender, and tend to have more white than dark meat.

Calculate what size turkey you’ll need by multiplying the number of adults by 1.5. This amount ensures that you will have plenty of leftovers for sandwiches, casseroles, soups, and dumplings. We all know that you can’t have Thanksgiving without leftovers! Moreover, this justifies paying more for a quality turkey.

Thaw your frozen turkey in the refrigerator and allow at least one day for every 4-5 pounds. If your turkey is still frozen when you need to prepare it, place it in a sink of cold water, still in the wrapper. Change the water every 30 minutes until it is thawed. *Do not thaw meat on the countertop, as it is more susceptible to harmful bacterial growth.*

Remove the wrapper and discard the neck and giblets from the inside cavity. The first time I cleaned a turkey, I nearly missed the neck cavity, which was where the bag of giblets is often located. Be thorough in your search! Some people (my mother) reserve the neck and giblets to add to the stuffing and gravy. There is no delicate way to say this, so I will be Plain Jane about it ~ that’s disgusting, even though you can’t really taste it. (silly quirk, I guess) For years I was none-the-wiser to what went in my mother’s gravy and stuffing, but I never ate it again once I found out. *Some people refer to stuffing as dressing, by the way.*

Rinse the turkey and pat it dry with a clean, lint-free towel. See that little turkey timer? Discard it, for it’s basically worthless.

Place your turkey in the roasting pan and pour the chicken broth over the turkey. Brush it with olive oil and season it generously with salt, pepper, and poultry seasoning.

Roast your turkey in a 325-degree oven  until the meat thermometer inserted at the thickest part of the turkey reads 170 degrees. For an unstuffed turkey (which I recommend for safety reasons), follow these guidelines:

8-12 pounds: about 3 hours

12-14 pounds: 3-4 hours

14-18 pounds: about 4 hours

18-20 pounds: about 4.5 hours

Tent your turkey with foil about 45 minutes prior to the end of roast time. Once the turkey is cooked thoroughly, allow it to rest on the counter, under the foil tent, for at least 20 minutes before you carve it.    

Wasn’t that simple?

*This is strictly my opinion on how to cook a Thanksgiving Day turkey. I have always achieved fantastic results, although I imagine other people may do it differently with the same wonderful outcome.*

  If you have found this post from a search engine, please visit the homepage at http://www.MelissaGarrett.wordpress.com

One of my goals, in the next year, is to begin branding myself. When somebody says my name, I want you to think automatically, “I know her! She’s one fabulous writer!”

Okay, maybe you won’t think that, and I hardly believe I will be so popular in a year’s time that everyone will know who I am. Stranger things have happened, though, like my youngest sleeping through the night. Or peeing in the potty. Or Hannah cleaning her room voluntarily. Or perhaps the strangest of all, Jacob eating a slice of banana and not gagging from the experience.

You get the drift.

Anyway, 2008 is going to be THE year when I start working my fingers to the bone with my writing, both in my contract work and as a freelance writer. Up until now, I’ve been putzing along at a comfortable pace, completing a few articles a day, sending out the occasional query. La ti da . . .

Time to get real.

Time to order business cards.

Time to get a new email address for clients.

Time to register a domain name.

The problem is, www.MelissaGarrett.com is taken. Go ahead. Click on her. Just make sure you come back to finish reading this post. I’ll wait.

Hi again. So, obviously I can’t claim it as my own.

MelissaRGarrett dot com sounds a little too formal, not to mention it’s visually unappealing. The “R” gets a little lost in there. And I don’t really want to be knows as Melissa R Garrett.

A Writers Woolgatherings dot com is too long. 

“Woolgatherings” is actually the name of a newsletter.

My husband suggested using my initials ~ MRGarrett. Um, Mr. Garrett. Confusing?? MRG.com ~ would you pronounce that “merg?”

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So, this is where YOUR opinion comes in. 

My mother called me “Lis” growing up. On occasion she called me “Missy,” but that name makes me cringe and practically sends me running for the toilet. How about LisGarrett.com ? Could that be the pen name of a potentially popular freelance writer? Is it unique enough that it lends itself to branding?

Or am I just grasping at straws?

*edited to add ~ If I use LisGarrett dot com as a domain name, I would also write under that name and change the name on this blog to Lis Garrett. I wouldn’t write under “Melissa Garrett” but have a domain with Lis Garrett. That would be confusing.*

The following article was posted on an older blog, although it is still relevant today. 

Would you like to contribute an Up For Debate article?

**after numerous attempts to format my paragraphs, WordPress is still having problems**

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There have been a few incidents in my life that have shaken the unstable ground on which I stand. I often have nightmares about the time when Hannah and Jacob, then 4 and almost 2, climbed into the front seat of our old Ford Explorer and, without keys in the ignition or the car even on, were able to pop the vehicle into neutral and go rolling down the drive. We live off a very busy highway with a constant flow of cars and large trucks whizzing by at every minute of the day. I stood there, frozen and screaming, No! No! as my husband, who just happened to be home from work and outside with us, calmly ran after the truck, opened the door, and pulled the emergency brake. It all happened in a matter of five seconds, but I swear it seemed in slow motion at the time. I can still recall the look of confusion on Hannah’s face as they rolled toward uncertainty and potential disaster. I cried. I cried hard. From that moment on, I learned to lock vehicle doors. Accidents do happen, even when you are less than twenty feet away from your kids.

There is another incident that I recall from time to time, however, and it has to do with blogging. It happened a few years ago, and at the center of the incident was a pair of pink Hello Kitty boots and my son. For those of us living in Central NY, there are two reasonable options when it comes to footwear: boots and sandals. For half the year, we wear snow boots, rain boots, and muck boots, whatever kind of boots you have. During the other half of the year, after the mud has dried to a cake-like dust, we wear sandals. Hannah had outgrown her Hello Kitty boots but being the frugal mother that I am, I held onto them for Jacob to wear while playing in the yard. He grew fond of them, so fond, in fact, that he began insisting on wearing them out in public. While my husband would protest, saying that boys his age shouldn’t be allowed to wear pink boots, I shrugged it off saying, Who cares? Apparently, a lot of people care that a four-year-old boy would choose to wear girly boots, as was evident by all the pointing and staring we attracted. As we passed a group of teenagers in a parking lot one afternoon, I could hear them snigger and say, Look at that boy wearing pink boots! I lost it. Me, Miss Non-Confrontational, turned on them, even demanding to know, what the hell was their problem. They were shocked, needless to say, and so was I.

I was so irate at what had occurred that, naturally, I came home and blogged about the “parking-lot” incident. I even posted a picture of Hannah and Jacob decked out in princess dresses and painted faces (that’s what happens to little boys when they have big sisters) to illustrate the stupidity of the so-called “gender rules,” and why I think it is perfectly okay for little boys to wear pink boots. It was quality content, for sure! The next morning I was pleased to wake up and discover that my fledgling blog had attracted over fifty visitors in one hour. One hour! Curious, I clicked on my site meter and discovered the visits were originating from one particular site. Even more curious now, I followed the link and was horrified to discover that the content of the site was borderline pornographic in nature. It was a forum for cross-dressing men. While I have no personal problem with cross-dressers, there was a BIG problem with them linking to MY post, which pictured MY son in a very innocent game of dress-up with his sister. I was shocked! I was furious! I felt sick! I perused the site and discovered numerous photos of young boys in dress-up, photos of children, whose unsuspecting mother or father had uploaded for the benefit of capturing a cute moment.

At that instant, I sprung into action. There was one heavily linked-to site in particular that featured pictures of children modeling dance uniforms for sale. I e-mailed the owner, letting her know what I had discovered. She promptly e-mailed me back and said that she had been having problems with those perverted men stealing her photographs and that she was trying to get the site shut down. I also learned that these men were stealing photos from PhotoBucket - all from unsuspecting parents who had opted to share their photos with the public instead of private use only. I e-mailed PhotoBucket, letting them know what was going on.

Then I took it one step further. I sent an e-mail to The Center for Missing and Exploited Children because, hey! these children were being exploited. I also e-mailed that group you often see profiled on Dateline busting pedophiles, Perverted Justice, because, hey! what if? I received numerous and very prompt e-mails back from each group, taking my accusations against the site very seriously. Then I e-mailed the site itself, explaining that I am the mother of the boy in the photo they used without my permission and the steps I had taken to ensure that the site would be shut down. It came as no surprise when I was banned from accessing their site furthermore.
Needless to say, I was scared. I immediately deleted that post and picture and shut down my blog. I would post the picture again here, but I know what will happen if I do.As you know, however, that didn’t deter me from starting a new blog. I don’t often post pictures of my children now, however. Why? Because I don’t want something like that to happen again. Occasionally, something occurs that sets off my “mommy radar.” When I still had a YouTube account, I posted a short video of my kids dancing to “I’ve Been Working On The Railroad.” Of course, all three of them were wearing princess costumes. So when I received notice that another YouTube member had *favorited* that video, of course I was curious as to why. Who was this person? Perhaps it was nothing, but the fact that this member had *favorited* hundreds of videos of small children dancing and playing dress-up, most of them cute, young girls, left a really bad taste in my mouth. I quickly deleted all my videos and contacted YouTube with a direct URL to this person’s video stash and the insistence that more investigation be done.

Simply stated, you don’t mess with this mama. No way. I’ve got claws, and they do come out. Never underestimate me, scum of the earth, and don’t let the shy persona fool you into thinking I am weak.
How do YOU feel about posting photos and videos?

Welcome to Week Two of Book It!, a weekly feature in which we talk about the two books we have been reading together for the past week. If you missed Week One, click here. This week finds us talking about Section II of Writer Mama and Eat, Pray, Love. Please leave your comments.

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Section II of Writer Mama focuses on practicing your writing. Instead of submitting feature-length articles to magazines, Christina Katz recommends getting your foot in the door with smaller clips that include tips, list articles, fillers, how-to’s, and personal anecdotes. *This was the part of the story that filled me with great satisfaction, as my contract work revolves entirely around writing how-to articles ~ great practice for being published in a glossy. I have close to 200 articles already written, any of which could be refined and submitted for publication.*

Katz also wrote about generalizing versus writing in a specific niche. Whereas my blog and contract work revolve around general ideas, I am hoping to acquire two writing jobs that would have me writing about one specific topic. I enjoy writing about many topics. When I think about submitting an article or pitching an idea, however, I fall back on my niche: pregnancy and parenting.

As a writer, do you have a Professional Mission Statement? I don’t, but I should. Before we discuss Section III next week, let’s each of us come up with a Professional Mission Statement and tack it up, either publicly on your site, or privately at your workstation.

If you would like to participate in reading and discussing Writer Mama, please read pages 132-215 before next Thursday. Then come back here and leave your thoughts in the comments section.

This is what Kristi said about Section I of Writer Mama:

First, I have to say I love that quote from Writer Mama. I wrote it in my notebook when I read it, because I need to follow those words of advice. I just haven’t figured out exactly how to do that yet. I liked her outlining the important sections for a query letter, because I have yet to write one. And she demystified that entire query-writing process for me, because I realized it’s a lot less scary (but a lot more important) than I thought it was. I also appreciated the tips about finding time during the day to do small snippets of writing or research. I’ve started getting up about an hour before Isabella does in the morning, so I can get a jumpstart on my work.

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“Letting go, of course, is a scary enterprise for those of us who believe that the world revolves only because it has a handle on the top of it which we personally turn, and that if we were to drop this handle for even a moment, well – that would be the end of the universe. But try dropping it, Groceries. This is the message I’m getting. Sit quietly for now and cease your relentless participation. Watch what happens. The birds do not crash dead out of the sky mid-flight, after all. The trees do not wither and die, the rivers do not run red with blood. Life continues to go on . . . with all my hyped-up fervor and with this stupidly hungry nature of mine – what should I do with my energy, instead?

That answer arrives, too:

Look for God, suggests my Guru. Look for God like a man with his head on fire looks for water.” (page 155-156)

Section II of Eat, Pray, Love touched me in such a profound way, mainly because I have been searching for my own spirituality for the past thirty year. Yes, I realize I am only thirty years old as I write this, which just goes to show how lacking I am in faith, God, and all things higher, holier, and mightier than I am. Oh, how desperately I want to believe. Please don’t pity me for being of little faith, because I will find my way; I want to. However, I am unsure the path.

Elizabeth Gilbert’s description of her time spent at an Ashram in India was tedious, which is to say she did a wonderfully adequate job in relaying her experiences. I understood her. In the beginning of Section II, I felt the angst and frustration in relation to her inabilities to meditate and pray how she believed one must meditate and pray. I felt the isolation of silence, the weariness and reward of manual labor, the need to understand, the joy of finding faith and letting it envelope your entire being.

We learned that Liz finally found her word, antevasin. “The antevasin was an in-betweener. He was a border-dweller. He lived in sight of both worlds, but he looked toward the unknown. And he was a scholar.” (page 204)

Have you found your word? I have.

What will happen to Liz in Indonesia? If you would like to participate in Book It!, please read pages 215-331 before next Thursday.

Have your gotten your next-on-the-list books?

We’ve been seeing a family counselor, my husband and me.

We’re fine; I assure you.

We’ve been seeing a family counselor to help us get a grip on, well, our family.

From the outside, things look pretty honky-dory around here. Step inside and take off your shoes for a bit, though. Sit yourself down, get comfortable, and prepare for one wild ride. Somewhere along the way, things are going to get out of control.

Although I could write this post with the intention of relating what having a high-maintenance child is like and how it can affect an entire family, I won’t. Those of you who parent a child like mine, you know the daily struggles we face with our son. For those of you who don’t have child-related issues, and I mean real child-related issues, you will never know how we feel. As much as you try to understand, you just can’t.

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During the last years of highschool and in the early days of my college career, I worked as a teacher’s aid in a daycare. I worked in every room as a floater, although more often than not, I found myself with the kindergarten-aged children. I loved them dearly. I love them dearly still and think of them often. That they are now teenagers astonishes me.

There were a few children who, I could swear, weren’t what I considered to be normal. It was a gut feeling I had as I watched these children play, nothing I could ever verbalize or put my finger on. All I know is, I knew I didn’t want a kid like that, a child in a constant state of motion with a crazed look in his eye, a child who seemed unreachable behind an invisible curtain. I would literally pray not to have a kid who was above and beyond the normal range of weird. *Weird is how, as a teenager, I defined those children.*

But guess what?

I got one.

On our worst of days, I retreat to the bathroom and cry. It’s the body-racking, hiccup-inducing cry of a mom so exhausted and angry she explodes in private. When I am not scorning God for delivering me such a monstrous child (remember, I’m experiencing these feelings in moments of rage and self-pity), I am laying a pretty heavy guilt trip on myself. I actually said to my mother the other day, “perhaps it’s all that canned tuna I ate during my first trimester . . .” I let horrid thoughts enter my mind, thoughts that are so painfully awful such as, “If I had to choose between them . . .”

Don’t judge me. Please. This is the truth I occasionally feel.

What I know for sure, however, is that I love him. My love for him is immeasurable. 

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She came to our house and twice observed. She sat on the couch as we walked on eggshells, unsure how to handle ourselves. After awhile, she blended into the atmosphere, and we hardly noticed her at all.

When we met again for our first real consultation, we were a little nervous about what she might say. We know our parenting is flawed. If we didn’t have questions, if there was no need for help, we wouldn’t be there in the first place. 

It’s clear who is in control, she said. That statement nearly took my breath away, because I knew she wasn’t referring to either my husband or me.

And then I began making excuses for him. One right after another, they came.

She held up her hand and said, It is not my job to be concerned about whatever real medical issues he may have. Let’s not talk about whether or not he may have Asperger’s or SID; that’s between you and your pediatrician. I am here to help you modify and manage his behavior and yours. He is not beyond help, and he cannot be excused.

We’ve only just begun to scratch the surface of the problems we have around here, but we settled on finding a solution to the one that continually causes the most grief: dinnertime.

From day one of Jacob’s existence, I have had to cater to his finicky appetite. Although Jacob’s eating habits may have been a concern when he was an infant, the truth is that he is a healthy and active boy. Let go of the control. He will be okay, she said.

We discussed the two issues regarding dinner: the need to get Jacob to eat and my desire to eat together as a family.

Separate the two issues, she said.

The talking was theraputic for me, and the more we talked, the clearer everything became. She offered suggestions and solutions which seemed so easy, there was one point I slapped myself upside the head and exclaimed, I have to be one of the most idiotic people ever not to have thought of this myself. When you are in the thick of an emotionally-heated battle, however, sometimes the only way to get help is to ask it of someone else.

Every Sunday afternoon, we are to hold a family meeting in which we discuss the rules of dinnertime (or whatever behavior we are trying to modify). The rules include: Everyone must go to the bathroom and wash his or her hands before sitting down. Everyone is to stay seated until the end of dinner. There are no loud voices and no rude sounds at the table. Try everything before getting seconds. Be responsible for putting your dishes in the kitchen at the end of dinner.

The table is now set prettily, as opposed to our previous “buffet style” in which I would serve everyone’s plate from the kitchen. The kids each have their own themed plate, bowl, and cup. For example, Jacob has Cars, Hannah has Hello Kitty, and Bridget has Dora. They sit in the same place each night to eliminate fighting over seats. Everyone is given five tokens at the beginning of dinner and if one of the rules is broken, a token is taken away. At the conclusion of dinner, each child who is left with a token gets to choose a fun, family-friendly activity. If a child is left with no tokens, he or she is excluded from the family activity. If a child is left with all five tokens, he or she will be rewarded with 50 cents, which can be saved or redeemed for a small trinket (my husband and I are now the proprietors of a small store run from a box in our closet). 

When I inquired about Jacob’s senstitivty to food, the counselor suggested that I present him with a rolodex that includes pictures of his ”safe” foods. He may choose one food each evening with the understanding that he will also be served a small portion of everything I prepare. Although I have always offered Jacob each food, I have never forced it on his plate for fear of him, well, vomiting because potatoes accidentally touched his chicken nuggets. She suggested serving very small portion to Jacob, even smaller than what a toddler would eat. Although he doesn’t have to take a bite of each food, Jacob must put it on his fork or spoon and touch it to his lips or on his tongue. Originally I thought that this would be an easy “out” for Jacob until I served a Waldorf salad the other night, the texture, of which, left him gagging with a simple tongue-touch. We have a long ways to go.

But I’ll tell you this, it’s working. We’re slowly gaining control of Jacob at dinner instead of Jacob controlling dinner.

 I may even have to invest in a fancy table cloth now!           

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I just read over this post, and the answer seems insanely easy. I am sure there are many of you reading this who are saying, yeah, and you’re just now figuring out how to do this?  

The truth is, yes, we are just now figuring this out. I’m embarrassed to admit that we have been so focused on Jacob eating that we’ve paid very little attention to the kids’ manners. I am stunned at how gung-ho they are about the tokens, family activities, and 50-cent rewards.

It’s all so simple . . .                           

Halloween is not usually a big “thing” in our house. It’s not that I oppose the festivities; in fact, I would love to throw a big bash one of these days. The fact that Halloween and trick-or-treating usually falls on a school night really throws my schedule out of whack (and you all know how I feel about schedules). I try to go with the flow . . . as best I can!

Before I describe the pictures, click on the button below that says “View All Images.”

Cute, eh? Yes, I made those costumes (minus the purple tutu from Mama’s Doodles - *LOVE* her!). Before you start leaving me comments about how wonderful the costumes are, even though, in reality, I knowthey are nothing spectacular, remember what I said above in that “Halloween is not usually a big ‘thing’ in our house.” I’ve got three kids and not a whole lotta time; therefore, costumes are not grandiose productions.

Hannah went as a Snow Fairy, and the handmade portion of her outfit constituted of a white tee embellished with jewels to resemble a snowflake (uh, yeah, a snowflake, I promise that’s what it is). Her skirt was nothing more than a bit of tulle and satin that I literally cut and sewed ~ no measuring involved. Had I taken the time to properly measure and cut the fabric, I wouldn’t have had to use clever photographic tricks to hide the imperfections. By the end of the evening, the outfit was dirty and snagged anyway. I knew it would be. It’s not in my oldest daughter’s personality to preserve the integrity of her clothes, so I tackled this project only half-heartedly (although with a heart full of love).

Jacob was a vampire. All he really wanted was the fake plastic teeth, so I knew I didn’t want to spend too long sewing a costume. I purchased a pair of black sweat pants and a long-sleeved shirt with bats on the front. His cape was nothing more than a black and red satin rectangle sewed together, a most awful sewing experience, I assure you, as the fabric slipped and slid everywhere. But the boy loved it, so all was well! Although makeup was purchased in order to paint his face a deathly shade of white, we had to abandon the idea as soon as he began itching his skin in a most furious way. Like I said, however, all he really wanted was the teeth.

Bridget was a witch, and again, her outfit consisted of nothing more than an apron made from various shades of tulle and a black pointy hat. Up until the very last moment, Bridget refused to wear any part of her costume opting, instead, for her birthday tutu from Mama’s Doodles. However, I pretended to have a broken heart and “cried,” an act which Bridget finds highly amusing. She then allowed me to tie the apron around her. And just to appease me, she voluntarily wore the hat the entire evening.

Trick-or-treating itself was an adventure. Not living in a neighborhood, we are forced to encroach upon the generosity of others. The university decided to get the fraternities and sororities involved in handing out the candy this year. Although it seemed like a great idea on the surface, the reality is that the houses are spread so far and wide that we did more walking than begging for candy. I’m not sure how many miles we logged, but we definitely got our exercise. Too bad my dinner consisted of a late-night cheese pizza and bag of M&M’s. I feel I have to say that the college kids were very nice and very generous to my brood. A mini-crisis was averted when the nice girls at one of the sorority houses allowed Jacob to use the bathroom. Thank goodness, because I had been scouting out a decent bush for him to use otherwise.

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I wish that more people had participated in my Craftacular Tuesday ~ Homemade Halloween Costumes event. Sigh. I’ll try not to take it personally  A woman named Sandyleft a comment on my original post letting me know she would be making a dress for her niece that Sharpey wore in High School Musical. *Incidentally, I now understand why that post received so many hits from Google for “Sharpey” related searches.* Click on Sandy’s site and scroll down. She made the dress and wig. She also made a black fleece “Elvis” hat for her nephew. *I’m assuming he’s Sandy’s nephew.* Just for participating, Sandy, feel free to head on over to my shop and choose one item for free.

I can’t close this post without mentioning my latest blog *crush.* Check out this Halloween costume. Her daughter is one of THE cutest little girls ever.  The photography and clothes are absolutely stunning!!

If that doesn’t make you weak in the knees, you’re just plain weird.