Lucy Adams's Blog, page 17

Cyber Monday Through Friday Sale

Today through Friday, November 30  - 25% discount


Cyber Monday is great day to get holiday shopping accomplished in the comfort of your own home. No going out in the cold or braving the crowds or hunting for parking at the mall. With the click of the mouse, gifts are shipped to your house.




 
























To receive the 25% discount, place your order following the PayPal directions below by midnight on Friday, November 30th for If Mama Don't Laugh, It Ain't Funny and Tuck Your Skirt in Your Panties and Run , or, even better, both. Each book arrives signed and dedicated to the recipient of your choice with a personal message to him or her. (Offer does not apply to books purchased from another online source or through a bookstore.)





If Mama Don't Laugh, It Ain't Funny discounted to $11.21 (regularly $14.95) and

Tuck Your Skirt in Your Panties and Run discounted to $11.96 (regularly $15.95). 



Shipping is $4.50 for one book, plus $1.00 for each additional book. (Shipping to U.S. addresses only. Payment in U.S. dollars only.)



Directions for making a secure payment through PayPal:

1. Click on the PayPal link or go to www.PayPal.com.

2. Hover your cursor over 'Buy' in the drop-down menu.

3. Click on 'Make a Payment'.

4. When the payment page opens

     a. In the 'From' box, enter your email address.

     b. In the 'To' box, enter my email address: lucybgoosey@aol.com.

     c. In the 'Amount' box, enter the total amount of your purchase (books+shipping)

          - If Mama Don't Laugh, It Ain't Funny $11.21 each

          - Tuck Your Skirt in Your Panties and Run $11.96 each

          - Shipping $4.50 for the first book, plus $1.00 for each additional book.

     d. Click 'Continue'.

5. If you do not have a PayPal account, you will be directed to a screen to set up an account. It is a very quick process. If you do have a PayPal account, you will be directed to a log-in screen.

6. After successful account set up or log-in, you will be taken to a page to 'Review your payment and send'.


Make sure you have entered the correct amount (books+shipping).
Make sure your shipping address is correct.
Scroll down to 'Email to recipient' In the subject box, type 'Book Order'.  In the message box, include the following information


Each book title ordered and the number of that title ordered.
The correct spelling of the name of the person to whom you would like each book dedicated.
If a book is a gift for some other occasion than Christmas, please specify, otherwise I will assume it's a Christmas gift.



Both books are also available from Amazon.com in print and digital formats. And for the aspiring writer on your gift list this holiday season, the ABC Book of Literary Devices makes a wonderful stocking stuffer.

Do I Talk Funny?

As I always do on Sundays, I asked my husband to read the draft of my newspaper column for  next weekend's paper. I caught him on the way out to do his other usual Sunday activity: Lurking in a tree stand in the forest hoping to snipe a white tail or at least come home with a good story. Nonetheless, he obliged my request though it slowed his haste. He's a good man in that respect.



But in other respects he's absolutely confounding. Today, for example, he had the audacity to turn to me after finishing his compulsory read through of my article and ask, "What do you mean by 'Will it play in Peoria?'"



"What do you mean what do I mean?" I retorted, deeply offended.



He claims to have never ever heard that phrase before and assures me that if he hasn't heard it no one else has either. "Readers won't know what you're talking about," he accused.



The article, by the way, recounts a school-spirit induced
traipse onto a rival high school's property to drop off a brief message
for the student body. I of course defended my phrasing to my husband by pointing out that the complete sentence, Will it play in Peoria or land me in Sing Sing, provides plenty of context clues by which to decipher it (or to at least get a rough idea that it means something better than going to jail).



"You talk funny," was all he said. Then he put on his hat, grabbed his gun and exited stage left, leaving me wondering if he's right.



Am I the only person who has ever heard or used the line, Will it play in Peoria? Do I talk funny?



Dang.

Guest, You are Welcome to Such as We've Got

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The leaks in the roof,

The soup in the pot.



With the holidays peeking around the corner at me, this old verse that adorned framed handwork in the guest bedroom of my third cousin's Athens, GA home rolls on an endless loop in my head. Through the coming weeks I'll take turns being a guest and hosting guests, and I honestly don't know which is more stressful, particularly when I'm heavy on leaks and low on soup.



Fortunately, author Kathy Bertone is coming to the rescue of people like me. Having dubbed herself the Visit Wizard, she's doing her best to help me, despite the words 'Lost Cause' stamped on my forehead. Recently, she shared her expert advice with me for an article about holding your tongue during the holidays in the November 2012 issue of Augusta Family Magazine. In her book, The Art of the Visit , released in the St. Nick of time for my annual Thanksgiving meltdown, she gives sage advice on becoming the perfect guest and becoming the perfect host. And the cover is so beautiful, it can be strategically stacked on the bedside table in the guest room.



Here I am publicly admitting that I found the first half of the book, which dealt with hostessing, overwhelming and exhausting. In fact, I initially decided that I must be lazier than a two-toed sloth. Unwilling, however, to sit forever in a cesspool of my own making, I scanned back through the pages to check off what I already do well: I'm welcoming, I plan activities, I plan meals and purchase supplies ahead of time, I clean my house (it's cursory, it's mainly restricted to areas my guests will see, but it is done), and I'm extremely flexible. So, I'm getting there.



After reading the second half of the book, I realized that I was born to be a guest. I stop a hair short of being a guest in my own home, because, being southern, I simply can't stoop that low. What would my third cousin think of me?



Joking aside, Bertone has duly composed a comprehensive compendium of everything a person ever needs to know about visitors and visiting, and she has done it with wisdom, wit and sensitivity. She outlines specifics on how to prepare for and survive the visit from the moment the invitation is extended to the second the car pulls out of the driveway on the last day. And I don't just mean survive; I mean truly enjoy the time spent.



The Art of the Visit covers:


Creating a welcoming home.
Essential qualities of a great host.
Hosting children and young adults.
Hosting older guests.
Essential qualities of a great guest.
Hospitality in regard to pets.
And so much more.

The only thing it doesn't have is this:




Guest, you are welcome here,
Be at your ease.
Get up when you're ready,
Go to bed when you please.

We're happy to share with you
Such as we've got,
The leaks in the roof
And the soup in the pot.

You don't have to thank us
Or laugh at our jokes,
Sit deep and come often...
You're one of the folks!

Mommy's Time Out Whine

This is how I feel the day after Halloween:



After handing out about 2500 pieces of candy one at a time, I'm exhausted. And, no, I do not exaggerate that number. If anything, I've underestimated. By 5 o'clock in the afternoon, itty-bitties beging arriving dressed like bumble bees and lady bugs holding out darling bags and buckets. By 6 o'clock, people are lined up on my walkway three abreast from my stoop to the street. Entire families - Mom, Dad, sister, brother and baby - extend candy collection containers toward me. At 9 o'clock we flee the madness, retreating to the security behind our locked front door. And still, the goblins ring the bell and thrash the door knocker.



To say the least, it's exhausting. Today, I think I deserve:



A few sips of Mommy's Time Out pinot grigio and I'll be good to go again. It's the perfect beverage - not too sweet, not too dry - for whetting my whistle and rejuvenating my spirit. After collecting all of the candy wrappers discarded on the lawn and tidying the Halloween sprawl of ghastly scenes across my front yard, enjoying a little restorative Mommy's Time Out will be well-deserved.



It will wash the sugar sweaters from my teeth, the cobwebs from my head and embolden me to face the onslaught of Thanksgiving. Plus, the raising of the glass will help loosen the sore muscles of my candy-handing arm.



Has Halloween left you feeling like this:



Then maybe you need a Mommy's Time Out wine, too:

13 Rules of Halloween

Mooooo-ha-ha-haaaaaaaa! Halloween is upon us and the ghouls are creeping. Surely you'll be out among them trick-or-treating tonight, too. Well, be warned. If the clouds part and the moon shines upon your unfortunate features revealing them to be of someone too old, too greedy or too spooked to participate in the festivities, many curses will fall upon you and your treat bag. Break one of the 13 cardinal rules of trick-or-treating and NO CANDY FOR YOU! Woooooh-hee-hee-hee-heeeeeee!




Wear a costume.
Shave your beard.
If you're taller than 6-feet, hunch down.
Shave your beard.
Tote a traditional orange jack-o-lantern bucket for collecting candy. When you walk from house to house with a large, black garbage sack, you look like you're robbing people.
Shave your beard.
Open your mouth and say, "Trick or treat." Don't grunt. Don't shove your bag toward the candy bowl. Don't smile menacingly. Don't just stand there looking at me looking at you.
Shave your beard.
Do not carry two buckets and claim to be collecting candy for yourself and a mystery family member who sadly could not go trick-or-treating for being struck by a terrible undiagnosed illness. This is trick- or -treating NOT trick- and -treating. You can't have your candy and his candy and eat it, too.
Shave your beard! (I am not joking. Shave it. Do not come to my doorstep asking for candy with even one dangling chin hair wagging at me. It's a dead give-away that you are too old to be out on a night like this.)
Do not claim to be trick-or-treating for your child who is "asleep in the car." Satan will set your pants on fire just as sure as I will turn you away. He and I both have the prerogative to do that on Halloween.
Don't be so chicken-hearted that when something jumps out and startles you you turn around and run over your own offspring. If you can't go bravely, send your husband. If he plans to carry a bucket for himself, tell him to shave his beard.
At 9 o'clock, Halloween, the treating part at least, is officially OVER. Do not knock on my door or ring my doorbell, unless you want to see something really scary. 






Bwaaaah-haaaa-heeeee-heeeeeee-haaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!

Jack of the Lantern

Hundreds of years ago, there lived upon the Emerald Isle, a
right dodgy fellow known as Stingy Jack.  Stingy Jack stole turnips and
potatoes from his neighbors’ gardens.  He played terrible tricks on his
family.  He made ghastly faces at children. Whenever someone asked,
“Why do ye act the maggot, Stingy Jack?” he shrugged his shoulders and wickedly
replied, “The devil made me do it.”




Bad to drink, Stingy Jack spent many an evening in the local
pub, drowning himself in whiskey and slapping the supple hindquarters of weary
barmaids.  There, he finally met up with the devil himself, who enjoyed
keeping company with drunkards.  The two nasty fellows sipped crappers
together well into the wee hours.




When it came time to close shop, Stingy Jack refused to pay
the tab.  To settle the bill, he connived and conned the devil into
transforming into a silver piece; but as soon as the Prince of Darkness did,
Jack slipped the coin into his pocket, alongside a cross, trapping the
villainous old gobshite. 




Eventually, Stingy Jack grew weary of hearing the devil
complain and threaten; so, in exchange for release, Jack negotiated with the
fiend a 10-year reprieve for rebuttal. Mephistopheles promised to wait a dime
before collecting Jack’s soul. 




Time passed. Jack got meaner and more irritable with every
change of season.  He grew old, shriveled and lonely.  At the turn of
the decade, as Stingy Jack traveled a desolate bogway, Lucifer appeared from
the shadows.




 “Ahh,” said Jack, who’d been expecting this meeting,
“céad míle fáilte, a hundred thousand welcomes. I see ye have returned for me
soul.  Before ye take it, could ye climb that tree yonder and shake down
an apple for a poor old man.”




Well, the devil, always happy to serve dark hearts, never
minded thieving anything for anybody.  He climbed the tree.




Jack, set straight to hammering crosses in the ground. 
“It seems I’ve trapped you again there Satan,” he laughed, hacking a sick, wet
gurgle. Believing he had the goat by the horns now, he bargained, “I tell
you what Beelzebub, promise to never take my soul and I will let you down.”




The devil briefly considered his options and smiled a
yellow, worm infested grin.  Again, he agreed to Stingy Jack’s terms.




A few days later, Stingy Jack, without anyone who cared
whether mean, jarred Jack staggered on through the world or disappeared in a
peat bog, passed away with one last, thick cough. Still in a stupor, he
made his way toward the pearly gates.  But, alas, St. Peter took one look
at him and commanded, “Gerrup da yard!” 




Dejected and surprised, but half-pleased to go visit his old
conspirator in evil, Jack crossed the River Styx. Jovially, he rang out,
“How's she cuttin',” as he approached the pits of Hell.




Remembering Stingy Jack’s trickery, however, and true to his
word, the devil would have none of Jack, either.  “Do ye take me for a
blasted eejit, man?”




“Where shall I go,” slurred Jack.




“Back the way ye came,” decreed the devil, tossing an ember
from Hell’s fire to light the way for a lost soul.




In death, as in life, Jack, grumbling that the devil made
him do it, stole a turnip and carved it into a lantern to hold the ember. 
To this day, Jack of the Lantern restlessly wanders the countryside, seeking a
place to settle.  (Insert evil cackle.)




Be careful that he doesn’t settle on your doorstep this All
Hallows Eve. Carve a pumpkin. Light the candle. Above all, extend generous
hospitality and treats to all of your spooky visitors.

Time Out

Every mommy needs a time out. The great thing about being a mommy (actually, I'm a mama, but close enough) and a freelance writer is that sometimes I get time-outs sent to me in the mail. A little earlier this morning, a rectangular package arrived on my doorstep. Guess what was inside:



a) A baby with a note saying, "Please give me a loving home."

b) Kittens with a note saying, "Please help us find loving homes."

c) An encyclopedia salesman saying, "I heard this is a loving home."

d) A bottle of wine with a note saying, "A mommy's time out is a well-deserved break."



If you guessed a, I would like to inform you that this isn't the 1950s anymore. No one has left a baby on a doorstep in decades. If you picked b, I suspect you thrive off of chaos. If you selected c, perhaps you've read too many romance novels. Encyclopedia salesmen went the way of the baby in the basket on the stoop.



Ding, ding, ding, ding! The correct answer is (d), a time out!









The label even provides directions for use:



See the chair in the corner? That's where mommy sits to gather her thoughts. Her "snack" is on the table next to her time-out chair. Just like Junior, sometimes mommy needs a few minutes to regroup and regain her self-control.




How about you? Do you need a Mommy's Time Out?

O Babysitter, Thou Art Divine: 5 Steps to Finding a Good Babysitter

O’ babysitter, thou
art divine. You drive your own car. You don’t drink our wine.                               




But then there were other babysitters who left much to be desired. Of course, my gaggle of children wasn't always the easiest on the fragile ones. (One girl nervously dropped her cell phone in the toilet and accidentally flushed it while hiding in the bathroom.) And my husband and I left a few standing startled in the doorway as we hit the gas in our get-away car, leaving tire streaks on the drive. 




It always seemed that when we needed a babysitter the most, they were scarcer than jackelopes. I had to harden myself to rejection as the years went by and my family's reputation grew. My pockets got deeper. I actually had a teenage girl, who sat for us occasionally - probably only when she was desperate for money - tell me she couldn't babysit because she had to clean her room. I called her on a Tuesday. We didn't need her to come over until Friday. I tried to tell myself that her room was really, really messy, but the real truth hid right behind that thin consolation.




Nonetheless, I learned a lot during those years about how to select a sitter. The best ones weren't just warm bodies. They wanted to play with my children, talk to my children, and make memories with them. My oldest child is 17 now and I haven't retained a sitter's services in years. We still see many of our blasts from the past, however. And I love the way their faces and my children's faces light up in each other's presence. Then I know I took good care of my children even when I wasn't physically there.




Five Simple Steps to Finding a Good Babysitter:




STEP 1: Identify
potential candidates for the job. Lots of parents who have found the
perfect match for their family are reluctant to give out their best sitter’s
name. Still, it’s never a bad idea to start by asking friends with children who
they recommend. Another good source is church. Get the word out to the youth
group and to the seniors group. Teachers, too, often supplement their incomes
with babysitting. Don’t forget to check with neighbors. Also try an on-line
service, such as SitterCity.com, that connects parents with a list of local
sitters who fit the family’s identified needs.




STEP 2: Screen the
potential candidates. Which ones have the experience you’re looking for?
Which ones are available at the times you most often need a sitter? Who on the
list is trained in CPR and first aid? Who has his own transportation?  Parents who are clear about the requirements
they have can very quickly cull their top 2-3 choices over the phone. Of
course, ask for references and call those, as well. If using an on-line
service, like SitterCity.com, read the posted reviews.




STEP 3: Conduct a
face-to-face interview. Prepare a list of questions ahead of time. Present problematic situations, both emergency
and non-emergency, and ask potential sitters how they would handle them.
Possible scenarios might include discipline, a stranger at the door, phone
calls, and so forth. SitterCity.com provides a comprehensive set of interview
questions that parents can modify to their family and their situation. Aside
from simply asking questions, the interview should also include opportunities
for the candidate to interact with the child or children. A person’s body
language and verbal exchanges, combined with a child’s response to the
individual, add valuable information to the overall picture.




STEP 4: Plan a trial
run. After selecting one or two candidates, run a background check on each. This may not be necessary for sitters under the age of 18, but it
does apply to adult caregivers. Furthermore, Also,
insist on a couple of short, trial sessions, about an hour at a time, to put
everyone at ease.




STEP 5: Trust your
gut. By this, I mean your parental 6th sense. If you get a bad feeling or your child displays opposition to a
sitter, don’t brush it off. Investigate or move on to another candidate.




Do you have a funny or compelling babysitter story?





Useful Links:

The rate calculator: www.sittercity.com/rates

Hiring a babysitter step-by-step:  http://www.sittercity.com/article/babysitting-routines.html

Babysitter interview checklist: http://www.sittercity.com/article/parent-interview-checklist.html

The sitter cheat sheet (all the information you should leave
for your sitter): http://www.sittercity.com/sitter-cheat-sheet.html
The Four Step Screening Process: http://www.sittercity.com/sitter-cheat-sheet.html

Loathing The Lorax

Last night, my husband and I and our four children settled down in the den after dinner to watch a family movie. It started off as a great way to pull back together after a weekend that had us stretched like taffy. But then this segment of the movie came on:













My husband and I turned to each other, astounded. He said, "Well, this suddenly took a political turn, didn't it?" And it did! It maligned everybody from corporate CEOs to lawyers to charities accepting donations. The movie went from being a fantastical exploration of what a world without trees might be like to lashing out with a jagged edge.



From that point on, I couldn't enjoy The Lorax. I sat regretting I'd ever wished away wicked stepmothers, pining princesses and handsome Prince Charmings. What was I thinking?



(It also didn't help my opinion of the movie that some snotty-nosed, adolescent, weak-on-words script writer fit in two of the worst current English phrases to date: (1) "I'm just saying," and (2) "I know, right.")

I Didn't Ask for a Poodle

I confessed one of my deepest desires to the one person in the world I thought would understand: My husband. Instead, he reacted as if I had just suggested we replace one of our children with a poodle. Imagine my disappointment at being so gravely misunderstood. If he doesn't get me then who will?



You, perhaps?



Could you accept someone like me who has the audacity to admit that she would like to get rid of her dishwasher and install an ice maker in its place? That's not so crazy is it? Not crazy at all once you know my reasoning.



First, consider the dishwasher: Is it really a time-saving appliance or is it storage for dishes we don't want in the sink or haven't yet gotten around to putting back in the cabinet? Who among us isn't guilty of hiding dirty dishes in it when guests come over? Which of us has not ever retrieved dishes out of it to set the table because none were in the cabinets and drawers?



With the dishwasher, the process of washing, drying and putting away is never ending. We are almost always rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher, running the dishwasher, emptying the dishwasher so we can reload it, or asking everyone in the house if he knows whether or not the dishes in the dishwasher are clean or dirty. There is seldom a time when the sink is empty and the dishwasher is empty and there is peace in the china.



It is a burden. If I hand-wash the dishes, however, the whole job is completed in one go: Wash, dry, put-away, done with nothing left hanging over my head.



Second, consider the miracle of ice. Man has accomplished the feat of taking what was once a nasty by-product of Mother Nature and turning it into something I simply cannot live without. Before the 1800s when ice was finally taken from frozen ponds and sold as a commodity, beverages languished at luke-warm temperatures, watermelons wallowed in tepid troughs, beer felt naked without the words "ice cold" preceding it. The world was a pretty grim place, particularly in the south during summer.



Ice is one of God's gifts to mankind, to cool our spirits and comfort our souls. I'd like to bring a bit of that holiness into my home.



You understand, right? You relate to my logic, yes?



You would never listen to my story and then turn up with a poodle to console me, would you? I didn't ask for a poodle.