Heather Balog's Blog, page 26

My Fellow Writers…Step Away From the Review

Most writers I know are obsessed with reviews; getting reviewers, reading reviews, sobbing in our coffee (and sometimes something stronger….) over reviews. Reviews should serve many purposes. They tell a writer what people like about his or her work, what he or she might improve on, and what others might think of the book. Promo sites use reviews as a basis to whether or not they will feature certain books. Readers make their reading choices based on reviews. As helpful as reviews SHOULD be to readers and writers alike, I have found they tend to be utter crap and here’s why.

There are very few people who read and review to begin with. Most people, whether they like a book or hate it, tend to forget about it the moment they close the last page after reading THE END. Very few people feel compelled to read about what others thought of the book or share their own thoughts. The ones who do tend to fall in one of four categories.

Honest Reviewers: These are a rare gem. The honest reviewers weigh the pros and cons of a particular work. They give insight into why they have given a book a certain amount of stars and why they liked or disliked the book. The honest reviewer takes everything into account…plot,character development, editing, cover, ending, etc. These reviewers are helpful to everyone involved. Yes, writing is completely subjective, but these people are avid readers who seem to have their finger on the pulse of the novel reading world and want to do their part.

Smoke Blowers: These are your mothers, friends,and fan girls (or boys…) of the writer. The writer can do no wrong. They give out five stars like Smarties in a piñata. This helps no one. Most other reviewers and readers can smell a Smoke Blower a mile away and take their recommendations with a grain of salt. Everything can’t be five stars, people, otherwise five stars actually becomes an average three stars. In a way, the Smoke Blowers hurt writers because when you get a dozen five stars, you don’t try to improve. Amazon is trying to ferret out the Smoke Blowers and remove their reviews if they think they might “know” the writer. That is utterly ridiculous. How do the sleuths at Amazon determine this? From who you connect with on Facebook and Twitter? Most writers connect with hundreds of readers they’ve never met this way. And as much as I think Smoke Blowers should tone it down, their five stars are a necessary evil to balance out the next group.

The Trolls: Trolls are the worst. They seriously are worse than barnacles under a boat. Trolls either troll the “free Ebook” section and write half-assed reviews on books they didn’t read or only read half of, or they are pains in the necks who are absolutely NEVER happy with any book. I actually found a person on Amazon who rated over 350 books and 95% of those books she gave one star. And wrote practically the same thing about how she hated slutty female characters…stop reading erotica then!!! Some trolls have an alleagence to a particular writer and purposely trash other books. Some trolls just have nothing better to do than try to ruin someone’s career. They should get a cat instead and step away from the internet. These are the people Amazon should be cracking down on. Trolls can hurt in more ways than they realize. One star reviews can seriously damage someone’s rep as a writer. Writing a book is hard (and self publishing is harder). Unless someone filled an entire book with the letter G, don’t be a…troll.

Confused Reviewers: These are the folks I’d like to help. Maybe a class or a rubric to rate books. They frustrate me to no end when I’m trying to pick out a book. I’ve read reviews like this: “I loved this book, plot was great,characters were fun, but I didn’t like the cover…two stars.” Um, what??? Haven’t you ever heard, “Don’t judge a book by its cover?” Or, “I couldn’t finish this book. It was too boring…five stars.” Helloooooo???? Backward rating? And “Heart wrenching tale that left me in tears. Seriously one of the best books I’ve read this year…three stars.” Huh??? Do you understand how ratings work???

I think people need a checklist and Amazon can tally a rating based on answers to questions…that would take the pressure off some people who honestly would like to write a review but don’t want to hurt the writer or don’t know how they should rate a book.

Writers put way too much stock in reviews. We need to stop stalking our Amazon and Goodreads pages. While it is buoys your spirit to read that someone liked (and even loved) your hard work, it can be soul crushing to read harsh criticism that serves no purpose other than to make you feel like crap. Sometimes you want to shout back at the reviewer…how can you say that? But you can’t. You need to put on your big girl (or boy) panties and deal with it. Writing is subjective and we writers need to let it go. (I’m just full of cliches this morning…I need to get out more). Writers, put down that review and go write some more.

Filed under: novels Tagged: Amazon reviews, Book reviews, Review trolls, Writing reviews

Why My Son is Going to Starve Today

To all you parents out there holding a daily battle of wits with your 3 year old who is only eating blue food this week, liquids, or food that doesn’t touch other food, hold onto your hats. I am here to tell you, it doesn’t get any better.

“What? I was told it’s just a phase! My pediatrician assured me that little Timmy would grow out of it and be a healthy child with a voracious appetite for a variety of foods!”

Isn’t that what you’re thinking? Well your pediatrician lied. Sort of. By the time he’s a strapping teen, Little Timmy will definitely develop a voracious appetite, hungry nearly every waking second of the day, but the variety? Ha! My teen has to be even pickier than the most picky in the toddler set. And I know a toddler that will only eat pudding. Chocolate.

I should preface this by saying, this is not necessarily gospel. I have one child who pretty much tries everything and will at least take a few bites of her food before she flings unpalatable cuisine across the room. She loves veggies and fruits (and anything that even has a hint of sugar). She was never really picky as a toddler though; in fact, I don’t even think she went through any of those food jags.

The other one…not so much. When he was a toddler would only eat pasta for awhile, chicken nuggets for another few months, and even went through an “only crab and lobster please” phase. (Let me tell you how expensive that was.) The only acceptable veggie was broccoli and he would only eat the “tree” part. I attempted to grind up other veggies to cleverly disguise in his food and one night he held up a minuscule piece of green fleck that was hidden in meatloaf, demanding to know what it was. He wouldn’t eat pizza for nearly a decade because of the oregano, claiming it was “icky”. He will take a baked potato out of the skin and mash it up on his plate with butter to eat, but God forbid you give him actual mashed potatoes. And so on and so forth. And in ten years, not much has changed other than his preferences.

Right now, his dietary repertoire consists of cereal for breakfast (only Fruit Loops, Apple Jacks, and PLAIN Cheerios will do), a poppy seed bagel with cream cheese (don’t dare suggest he use butter when the cream cheese is CRUNCHY , what ever the hell that means) for lunch, and then an additional lunch of a poppy seed roll with roast beef, pepperoni, lettuce and ranch dressing. I really hope he never has to go through drug testing because his opium level would be off the charts with all the poppy seeds he consumes in a 24 hour period.

Then he’s sniffing around for dinner around 4; we have to hold him off by throwing some English muffins with peanut butter his way till the rest of us are hungry. Yeah, he is addicted to carbs. He has a bright future on some 600 pound show somewhere when middle age metabolism catches up with him and he suddenly doesn’t look like an emaciated child from some third world country anymore.

Since we usually end up going somewhere to eat for dinner (I can’t cook and hubby can be a tad lazy…don’t judge), he will inevitably complain about our restaurant choice 9 times out of 10. Within minutes of consuming dinner, he’s pouring cereal again; we go through a gallon of milk in two days. Or scooping ice cream. He’s under the impression that dessert is an entitlement.

Well, he’s gonna starve today.

“But why?” You ask. “Are you out of milk?”

Why? Well, I haven’t gotten to the grocery store in days. There’s milk from the convenience store, but the only cereals are Honey Nut Cheerios, Raisin Bran, Life, Kix, and Corn Flakes. You know, the semi healthy stuff. He has already announced “there’s no good cereals in the house” five times already and it’s not even noon.

There’s a bagel left but he won’t eat that. Wanna know why? It’s “misshapen” and “ugly”. Um, what??? Who cares what it looks like? I knew teens were superficial, but hell, this takes the cake.

I offer him the English muffins, but he claims they are “hard as a rock”. Translation: stale. Impossible since I bought them on Wednesday…unless of course, he left the bag open and that’s very possible. That’s the other thing…I throw out so much stale and uneaten food that Sally Struthers would have an angina attack.

What about the roast beef? Surely there is roast beef! Well yes, there is! But there’s either no rolls (and heaven forbid we use actual bread) or no pepperoni and we can’t have a sandwich like that! What kind of mother are you, expecting your kid to eat something outside his comfort zone? You should run to the store immediately and purchase all his favorite foods!

I’ll tell you what kind of mother I am…apparently bad because I’m staying here and watching him forage through the overstocked cabinets for food. Heck, maybe he will find a cracker with his name on it.

Filed under: parenting humor

Kindle Scout Winner!

Just wanted to fire off a quick post to let you all know that my YA novel, “The Dead of Summer” has been chosen by Kindle Scout to be published by Kindle Press! Thank you to everyone who nominated me and shared the link! Here’s the official link if you’d like to see:

https://kindlescout.amazon.com/p/1KQ2G815NU5DP

Filed under: novels Tagged: Heather Balog, kindle, Kindle scout, Kindle scout contest, Kindle scout winner

The Curse of the Summer Reading Project

I have come to the conclusion that there are two types of people in this world. Those who squeal in delight at the sight of a bookstore or library (having to go change their underwear because they have peed when they discover their favorite author has put out a new book), and those who would rather have their nipples gnawed off by rabid coyotes than read a book.

I am, of course, of the former catagory while my husband is of the latter. This difference is not as significant as our Mets/Yankees rivalry, however, it has created a problem that we did not anticipate with procreating. We’ve created a child who falls in the catagory of what can only be plainly labeled as a “book hater”.  It’s not too much of a problem…until summer, that is. Oh yes, it’s that time of year again. The dreaded summer reading project.

Who came up with “Summer Reading”? It must have been some childless sadist in a dungeon somewhere, rubbing his (or her) hands together as he (she) hatches a plan to foil parents and their desire for two months of respite. “Yes, yes, school is out for the summer. Mothers and fathers everywhere are rejoicing that they don’t have to chase their little darlings around to get them to sit and do homework. But wait! Oh no, no, dear parents! Let’s give them a book (or two, or ten!) to read. And then, they have to write a snooze worthy essay about said book! And they will HATE the book! And you will spend two months getting them to read the book! And they will hate you in the process! Oh yes! The fun never ends!” Fade to maniacally laughter.

It has begun in my house. My son in going into high school in the fall so of course he has more than one book to read. And honors class, too, so the torture continues with books no kid would ever read unless they had a gun pointed at their head. Which is basically what is happening to him in the form of parental torment.

I have begged, pleaded, threatened, punished, taken away phones, and begged him again…just to start the book. He’s on chapter one and is now setting off “water bottle rockets” in his room to avoid any further reading. This is after pretending to take a nap and volunteering to weed the garden.

Why do we have to do this every single summer? I already know how this is going to go. He will wait until the week before school starts, go on Sparknotes to get the book synopsis, hastily compose an essay filled with utter crap, and be at the mercy of his teacher. Meanwhile, the assignment will have basically ruined MY summer because I am an anal retentive non procrastinating book lover who doesn’t understand why he just doesn’t read the book?

Why do we keep doing this, school administrators??? Kids who like to read will read fifty books this summer (me, me, me!) and kids who don’t will employ my son’s strategy. Why do we need to force them to learn? Why can’t they just do whatever their little heart desires over the summer? Whatever happened to carefree summer days? And don’t tell me we need to “engage their minds” during the summer because pretending to read the book and writing an essay the night before school starts isn’t accomplishing crap. The only thing it does is give parents more reason to fight with their kids. And more reasons for kids to hate reading. Wouldn’t YOU hate something you’ve been forced to do? In the summer no less?

And why only reading and writing? Is that the only academic subject worthy of constant education? What about science? History? Politics? Why not have kids chose what they’d like to delve into during the summer? They could visit museums or plant vegetables or build a robot. There’s more to life than reading dusty old books…and this is coming from a self proclaimed bibliophile.

Now I must go…the sound of a popping water bottle has frightened the cat and I have to peel her off of the ceiling…all in the name of academics, of course.

Happy Reading!

 

Filed under: parenting humor Tagged: Forcing kids to read, Kids hate to read, Summer reading

The Worst Mom Ever

Today I am “the worst mom ever“. Should that be capitalized? I feel it should because “The Worst Mom Ever” is quite a distinction. Apparently I’ve been working toward it for years, only to reach the culmination of my efforts today, approximately fourteen years in the making.

I know, I know. You’re wondering, “What ever did you do to accomplish such a high honor?” I bet you’re thinking I had to go as far as beating the kiddies with wire hangers or leaving them home alone all night with nothing to eat but rice cakes and a little bit of ant spray to cleanse their palates. Nope. Nor did I try to drown them in the tub or drive off a cliff with them strapped in the back seat.

You want to know what I did? I tried to make them have fun. Gasp! Yes, I know. The horrors that I subject my children to. I should be locked up.

Actually, I’m being unfair. Only ONE of my children has bestowed “TWME” title on me today. The other barely glances up from his phone long enough to notice I’m actually alive. The other one thinks I plot ways to “ruin her life” in my diary. Okay, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. Here’s a little background for you.

My husband and son went away for the weekend. A baseball tournament at the beach. My daughter and I couldn’t go because Santa had brought her tickets to a Taylor Swift concert that very same weekend. So, feeling bad that she was missing a beach weekend that would have been a lot of fun, I decided to plan her the best girls only weekend she could ever imagine. As if seeing her favorite singer in concert was not enough, I took her to see the Minions movie, out to eat at her favorite restaurants, swimming, bowling, to play with her cousins, let her sleep over her cousins’ house, to get her nails done, AND to a painting party.

Wow! Sounds like a whole bunch of awesome wrapped up in just a few days, right? I should actually get ‘The Best Mom EVER’ award, right?

Wrong. According to my daughter, I “never do anything with her” and she “never gets to do anything fun”.

What, wait! How can that be? You’re the most fun mom ever! Isn’t that what you’re thinking?

Me too. But apparently, I’ve screwed up. I’ve screwed up because today, when my darling dear was exhausted from fun overload and decided to be a nasty beotch to her cousin by name calling, I told her she had to apologize or she wasn’t going roller skating tonight. She told me, and I QUOTE, “I don’t care.” Lo and behold, it’s time to skate. Guess where we are. Not at the skating rink. Cuz I am holding firm on this one. She’s kicking and screaming and being generally unreasonable, throwing all of the usual arguments in my face like the “you never do anything with me” card. This usually works and makes me cave because as a working mom with too many balls in the air to juggle, I think this about myself often enough. I always feel like I’m not doing enough. But this weekend, I know she’s wrong. And damn it, I’m NOT letting her guilt trip me into giving in. Besides, I kind of like “The Worst Mother Ever” title. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?

The Worst Mom Ever has been working hard for years to ruin her daughter’s life…this picture was taken in Disney in 2008.
Filed under: parenting humor Tagged: Bad moms, Kids don't appreciate anything, Moms who worry they're the worst mom in the world

How to Piss Off Your Parents…A Step By Step Guide For Teenagers

My teenage son has a new hobby. No it’s not just girls or more sneaker collecting or God forbid, showering ten times a day. His new goal is to see how many times a day he can make my blood pressure climb and my head explode. Lately, I feel a bit like a cartoon character around him, my body turning red and practically convulsing while a bubble with an arrow floats over my head, the words ‘Boiling Point‘ written on it. In case YOUR teen is wondering how he or she can get you one of your very own cartoon bubbles, here is a step by step manual devised by my son:

11. (Because TEN is simply not enough) Have your parents shuttle you all over God’s green earth. Assume they can always give your friends rides, too, especially when your friends live on the other side of the town and completely out of the way. Never say thank you for the rides. After all, it’s their job to be at your beck and call. Also, don’t ever answer their texts or calls when you are out. Why do they have to bug you all the time with stupid questions like “When do you need to be picked up?” or “where are you?”

10. Leave your dirty socks EVERYWHERE. This includes stuffed in couch cushions, on staircases, in the bathroom and shoved under the fridge.

9. Sleep all F’ing day long. When you are woken up to join the land of the living, act rather put out and complain the entire time. Also, never sleep in your own bed. Sleep on the couch so that nobody else can sit there and you make all the cushions lumpy.

8. Make a big deal when you are asked to do chores that aren’t your “Normal chores”.  Point out that your parents are being “unfair” and make sure you mention that you “want extra allowance”. If they do not meet your demands, throw a temper tantrum if possible. This will irritate your parents more than sand in a bathing suit bottom. They will then launch into a tirade of how easy you have it and when they were your age (blah, blah, freaking blah). Turn up your iPod and nod at them. They will eventually forget what they asked you to do and do it themselves. And then later when they realized you’ve screwed them over, you get to see their face turn red and explode all over again.

7. Forget to turn in assignments in school. Constantly. When questioned by your parents, accuse them of “stalking” you on the grading website and suggest they “Get a life”. In addition, procrastinate till the night before an assignment is due and fall apart because the glue has all been used up or there is no more poster paper.

6. Pick petty arguments with your younger siblings for no reason at all. Kick them under the table or pinch them when nobody is looking. Complain that “he/she did it first!” NEVER EVER take the high road. Hey, it’s not fair that you’re the only one that’s miserable, right? And your parents like him/her more than they like you anyway.

5. Do REALLY stupid $hit when your parents aren’t around, making them question your ability to function in society. Like wander around the neighborhood at 3 in the morning when you’re supposed be at a friend’s house sleeping over. Make sure you don’t tell your friend’s parents you are going out and wandering the neighborhood (because they won’t let you). When your unreasonable parents find out and take your phone away and ground you, claim you have no idea “what the big deal” is.

4. When your mother asks you to do anything (take the garbage out, take a shower, put your clothes away), make sure you tell her…”In a minute” or “Hold on“. Moms love that. Especially when they tell you fifty four thousand times and you forget each time.

3. Be sure to leave your dirty plates, cups, bowls and forks exactly where you finished eating or drinking. Half drunk water bottles are supposed to remain in the back seat of your mom’s car.  Leave empty food containers, boxes, bags, etc. on the counter. Never throw it in the garbage. After all, that’s what the maid is for, right? If you are forced to throw it away because the maid is off, make sure you don’t push the trash down in the pail so that what you just threw in there falls right out and is easily accessible to the dogs. Ignore dogs when they have knocked the entire garbage over and are eating raw meat in front of you. If possible, don’t empty the container at all. Make sure you leave thimbleful of milk or five Cheerios at the bottom of the package so that you can’t be accused of not throwing out your trash.

2. Roll your eyes or sigh audibly whenever your parents speak to you unless they are giving you money or the keys to the car. They are clearly morons and nothing they say has any bearing on you whatsoever. They have no clue what it’s like to be a teenager. Ignore them whenever possible. Keeping your headphones on at all times is a surefire way to not hear anything they say to you.

1. And finally, the number one way to piss off your parents is to ask for something at the very last possible second. Like when you need to be at school at 8:00 and you need $50 for a field trip, make sure you ask your father (aka ATM) for the money at 7:55am. Or when your mother is shoveling her breakfast in her mouth while blow drying her hair and feeding the dogs and pulling your socks out of the couch cushions, that is definitely the right moment to ask for a permission slip for aforementioned field trip to be signed.

It is my son’s hope that this list has enhanced your teenager’s skills in parenting alienation and you and your teen can be at odds from ages 13-18 without any further tutoring necessary. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go remove my son’s athletic cup from the dining room table since “In a minute” was four days ago.

Filed under: parenting humor Tagged: hormonal teens, life with teens, teenager attitude, Teenagers

Kindle Scout

I’m so excited! My newest novel, a YA/suspense, is an entrant in the Kindle Scout program! Readers can check out the first chapter of the book and vote for the books they think should be published. If my book is chosen I get an exclusive publishing contract with Kindle AND everyone who votes for it gets a free copy from Kindle. So you have nothing to lose! Follow this link to nominate “The Dead of Summer”. https://kindlescout.amazon.com/p/1KQ2G815NU5DP?ref_=pe_886810_126055510

Filed under: novels Tagged: Book contests, Kindle contest, Kindle scout, publishing contract, YA/suspense novels

Pick a Dress, Any Dress…

I’m pouring myself an extra large glass of Mommy Juice tonight. I just got a glimpse of what my life is going to be like for the next…um, twenty years or so, and I now have pounding in my brain. It starts at the eyeball (which is twitching) and radiates up my forehead and down my cheek at the same time. It might be a stroke. I’m pretty sure it’s just stress, but a stroke might actually get me out of the task that I am faced with tonight. At least I’d have an excuse to go to the hospital and be hooked up with an IV (do they have wine flavored IVs? I’d really like to look into that). At any rate, I’m hoping the alcohol numbs it.

Why so stressed? Taxes due? Nope. Moving? Nope. Going to court? Nope. Having surgery? No, no and more NO. I’m stressed simply because my husband and I took our daughter to the store for a simple item. A dress for her National Junior (Mini Midget) Honor Society. Apparently now you can get into the Honor Society at age nine when the hardest thing you have to do is make sure you don’t eat the paste. Not to negate her accomplishment. She’s very good at not eating the paste. (And getting straight As quite a few marking periods, too).

But it’s not a nice honor for me and her father because she has INSISTED she needs a new dress for the occasion. Still, I was certain she had SOMETHING to wear, so I headed up to her overflowing closet where several of the items still had their TAGS on them. I pointed to said items and asked, “What’s wrong with these?” I should have poured the Mommy Juice then. Or at least got comfortable.

“This one,” she remarks (in preteen exaggerated enunciation), while shoving the adorable Minion dress that she wanted for Easter at me, “Is for BABIES.” Well, duh. I told you that three months ago but you “had to have it.” Still I keep my mouth shut. I may be stupid but I’m not new.

“How about this?” I point to the pink dress she wore just a few weeks ago for another school function.

“I don’t have shoes to go with that anymore?” She remarks haughtily.

Did her foot grow two sizes in two weeks? I point to the black flats. “These go perfectly.”

She sighs and slaps her hand against her forehead. “Those are flats. Flats are for babies. I need a heel.”

What? You’re NINE, kid! And likely to fall flat on your face during the ceremony because you have no clue how to operate in heels. Hell, I know grown women who walk like there’s a cantaloupe wedged between their thighs when they wear heels.

Still, I keep my mouth shut.

“And this is a skirt.” She points to the other item that I have pulled out of the closet.

Now stupid me opens my mouth. “Yeah, so?”

The child, erm…preteen, rolls her eyes. “I don’t want a skirt. I want a dress.”

“Let me guess, skirts are for babies?” I remark with a smirk. (I can’t IMAGINE where SHE gets her Smart Ass comments from)

She squeals as if I have asked her to lick the toilet bowl or something. “No, they’re not for babies! They’re not pretty. Skirts are like, so ugly.”

OOOOOKKKKAAAAYYYY. Note to self, skirts are like, so ugly.

Ignoring her eyerolls and stomps, I shuffle her (and poor unsuspecting hubby) into the car for a trip to the store.

Ah, the store …the place I used to love to go to. Now after this evening’s trip, I never want to shop again. At least not with Preteen Drama Queen, aka. expert on all that is fashion. After a disastrous visit to the old standby (Target), where everything was declared “babyish”, “ugly”, or “OMG Mom , SERIOUSLY???”, we headed to the mall. My husband’s eyes were already glazing over and he had no idea he was still in for a treat. Actually, I need to interject here to mention that he rationalized that she could just wear her white sandals with the pink and black WOOL  dress that we bought in February. Men. So dumb, yet so hopeful at the thought of saving a buck. SMH. He will definitely not be joining us on future trips for graduation dresses, Prom dresses, or wedding dresses. Which is probably why he made such a stupid comment to begin with.

So she finds a dress she LOVES and MUST HAVE. It is also, (and I QUOTE), “totes adorbs”. The problem is, there’s silver piping throughout and neither the white, nor the brown sandals she currently owns, work with this particular ensemble. So…off to the shoe department we trudge. My husband stops to rest on the Sealy and Serta mattresses that are nearby. We leave him. We don’t need him anyway. He thinks green and blue match. Maybe he’s color blind. Who knows?  I’ll make him an eye doctor appointment soon.

In the shoe department I actually find a pair of silver sandals that have a bow that matches the one on the dress PERFECTLY. It’s like fashion kismet or something. I excitedly turn to my daughter, waving the perfect shoes like a madwoman. However, Prima Donna is not having any of it.

“They’re FLATS. I told you I am NOT wearing FLATS. I’ll look like a short baby.” Of course. How silly of me. Being 54 inches tall is not nearly enough when your classmates are 55 inches tall.

“Just try them on,” I beg. Have I mentioned that they’re PERFECT???

She “attempts” to try them on; pretending she can’t fit her foot in the sandals for God’s sake. Let me tell you…I’ve seen this kid squeeze herself into a pair of shoes three sizes too small when she wants to.

She is now wailing.

“Forget it,” I said. “Let’s try to find a different dress.”

Into another store we go. This time, I start pulling things off the rack. I pick out ten dresses and show her all of them. She squeals with delight. She also thinks she getting ALL of them. Oh no child…you must decide.

Well, of course, she can’t decide. After about ten minutes, she’s eliminated one dress.

So we opt to try on some of the dresses. I’m hoping at least half will look stupid or not fit or something. I was not banking on one nearly ripping while she stood naked in the dressing room flapping her arms when the dress got stuck over her head.

Three hours later, we are armed with one new dress and one new pair of wedges (a compromise between the heels and the flats). My husband is nearly catatonic from the experience while I am experiencing the stroke like symptoms I described earlier.

“What the hell was that?” he asks when we get home.

Keep in mind, when my son needed a suit for his honor society induction, this is how the conversation went.

Me: Do you like this shirt?

Him: Yes.

Me: Are your pants clean?

Him: I think so.

Me: Do you need a new tie?

Him: I’m just borrow one of Daddy’s.

End of conversation. (I don’t want to get into how he accidentally wore his ten year old cousin’s dress pants to the actual ceremony instead of his own, or how my husband actually had to CUT one of his ties to accommodate the boy’s height or lack thereof).

I shook my head. “It’s our future, honey.” I raise my glass. “Cheers to having a girl.”

Filed under: parenting humor Tagged: dress shopping with daughter, dress shopping with girls, mom and daughter shopping, shopping, shopping nightmares

A Letter to My Daughter

Hi daughter. I see you there, shoveling those crumb top donuts in your mouth when you think I’m not looking. Oh yes, I’ve got eyes in the back of my head, didn’t you know? Oh no, I’m not saying anything because…well, I’m afraid to say something. I know you’re going through a growth spurt right now and that’s why your pants don’t fit anymore and you’re hungry all the time. In my head I’m sure this is a normal thing, a normal almost ten year old girl phenomenon. But my heart is screaming at me to slap that donut out of your hand. Because if you keep eating junk food and stuffing your face, your pants won’t ever fit. And THEN, it’ll be my fault as a mother for not steering you to the celery spears and carrot sticks and tell you to stop eating donuts.

Sounds complicated, right? Conflicting? I don’t want to say the wrong thing and screw this all up. Hence why I’m pretending I don’t see you taking those donuts and I’m going to hide them or throw them out the second you turn YOUR back and replace them with the aforementioned good foods. Because I’m afraid. I don’t want you to end up like me. No, not fat. I know in my head that I’m not truly “fat”. But when I look in the mirror, that’s not what my heart sees (or rather, what my eyes see). When I look in the mirror, I see a nine year old girl who was the butt of fat jokes even though she was just chubby. I see a preteen girl who ran home and cried on more than one occasion when we all got weighed in gym class and the teacher would whisper her weight to be recorded. I see a teen who stared longingly at the teen girl magazines wondering what she would have to do to look like the girls on the cover. I see a college student who starved herself, worked out too much, and went on one too many fad diets. I see a woman in her twenties who feels guilty after enjoying an ice cream cone with rainbow sprinkles and beats herself up for indulging.  I see a mom who sucks in her gut all the time, who stares at the numbers on the scale and constantly tells herself, ‘just five more pounds and I’ll be perfect’. And then I see that same mom who loses those five pounds and promptly puts them back on because she just likes to eat and enjoy food, no matter how much guilt it causes her. I see a wife whose husband tells her he loves her just the way she is and she just can’t hear him. I see an imperfect woman who despite working out four or five days a week, jiggles in places she never jiggled before. I see a person who hides this constant battle because she doesn’t want to seem weak or superficial. I see a roller coaster that this girl just can’t seem to get off of, no matter how hard she tries.

My daughter, I don’t want you to have that problem, that self loathing complex. I want you to love yourself whether you end up a size 2 or size 12. I want you to take care of your body and be healthy and say screw you to anyone who puts you down. I want you to eat because you’re hungry, or there’s good food. I don’t want you to eat because you’re lonely, you’re bored, or you’re heart broken. But even if you do, I don’t want you to hate yourself for it. I’ve been a size 2. It hurts pushing away all the food I enjoy. And I’ve been a size 12, too. And that hurts not fitting into my clothes and hating the way I feel. You know what doesn’t hurt, though? Loving my body and accepting it. Loving myself and realizing self worth isn’t a pants size. Happiness is not a weight.

So daughter, I want you to enjoy that donut. (ONE DONUT, not the six I know you’ve eaten). And I want you to eat those celery and carrot sticks, too. You’re going to have to learn to take care of yourself and balance it out. It’s a fine line you and I will always have to walk. But I have faith that you will be okay. Because today, I’m going to start setting a good example for you, my daughter. Today is the day I change. I’m not looking in the mirror and seeing that person I used to see anymore. I refuse to. And I won’t call her fat and I won’t beat her up for her imperfections. I will see the person I want YOU to see when YOU look in the mirror…someone beautiful, inside and out, despite her weight or her crooked boobs or her one nostril that’s bigger than the other. Someone who enjoys her life and it shows. Someone who loves her daughter more than she was ever able to love herself.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: body image, body image for teenage girls, dear daughter, don't want daughters to make the same mistakes, feeling fat, loving your body, moms who feel fat, preteens and body image, setting a good example for your daughter, weight issues, women thinking they're fat

How to do a Colonoscopy…Bad Mommy style

Okay, so earlier this week I had to do one of those things that come along with age…and bad family genes. I had to get a dreaded colonoscopy. Now I realize that such a procedure tends to be, how do we say, TABOO, but really it shouldn’t be. Beside the fact that it can save your life and find out why your farts smell like onions when you never eat onions, it’s actually quite comical. Allow me to demonstrate the humorous nature, starting with the day before…when you can’t eat solid food and can only have clear liquids.

For those of you that know me well, you can attest that I am a girl with a healthy appetite. That is not code for fat, all you body shamers out there. I just eat heartily (every 3 hours) and I can polish off a plate that can make a grown man weep. So as you can imagine,the idea of a “clear liquid diet” for 24 hours, was not my cup of tea. (Coincidentally, tea was one of the things on the list). Along with coffee (praise The Lord) without creamer or milk. And jello. And broth. And pretty much nothing else. Here’s how my day went.

7:00 Woke up. Remembered I couldn’t anything. Wept. Went back to sleep.

8:00 Got up for real. Showered while trying to process the fact that the shampoo smelled like mango and pineapple heaven. Wept.

9:00 Had coffee. This was okay because I drink my coffee black anyway but let me tell you, my hubby would DIE without creamer.

10:00 My stomach begins to growl. “Perhaps you have forgotten about me?” it asks. I tell it to shut up and have a spoonful of jello.

10:05 The jello is not cutting it. A friend told me if you have hot liquid after consuming the jello, it’ll fool your stomach into thinking its full. I make more coffee.

10:10 My stomach is not an idiot. More jello.

10:20 I have now consumed an entire box of jello. I stare longingly at the boxes of cereal lining the cabinet.

10:30 I put on a batch of laundry to take my mind off my hunger.

10:40 I sit down to work on my newest novel to take my mind off of hunger.

10:50 I eat more jello. I eat ALL the jello.

11:00 Followed by broth. Still doesn’t fool my stomach.

11:10 Hubby catches me licking a banana. It’s embarrassing.

11:20 after putting the clothes in the dryer, I take a nap to distract myself.

11:30 My stomach is growling so loudly I can’t fall asleep.

11:40 I have more broth.

11:50 Iced tea, I forgot! I can have iced tea! I love iced tea. That’ll take my mind off of it for sure.

12:00 I throw up my iced tea. My stomach is revolting on me for abandoning it.

12:10 I stare in the fridge. Just window shopping…

12:30 I fold the clothes while watching TV. Damn those chicken fries from Burger King look good. And the quesadilla from Taco Bell. And the succulent lobster from…TV goes off.

12:45 More broth. Try writing again. Broth is a joke.

1:00 Dog dashes out of the room when my growling stomach scares him.

1:05 Feed dogs. Their food doesn’t look half bad. I must be delirious.

1:10 Smell of dog food too close to my mouth makes me throw up.

2:00 Chug water like I am water loading on The Biggest Loser.

2:05 Get a cramp. Have to lie down.

3:00 Go pick up kids. Have more iced tea.

4:00 Get kids McDonalds because I don’t like McDonalds and I won’t feel bad.

4:05 Am slightly tempted to eat a French fry before child slaps it out of my hand.

4:15 Kids catch me inhaling the inside of the McDonalds bag. Son posts picture on Instagram.

4:20 I yell and delete picture. I’m having a bad hair day. It’s from lack of nutrients.

4:30 Wonder if wine is a “clear liquid”.

5:00 Complain to friend, husband, sister, and mother about how hungry I am via text. Sympathies all around.

6:00 The fun part begins. I take the bowel prep. It tastes so nasty I throw up. I can’t even think about food at this point.

6:10 Complain to sister, husband, friend, and mother how nasty bowel prep tastes. Sympathies all around.

6:30 Bowel prep works. It is actually the easiest part of my day. Absolutely no effort was needed. Oh wait, here comes more.

6:35 Was that a piece of corn?

6:36 Was that a pencil shaving???

6:37 Oh, no. It looks like an almond.

6:38 Wait a minute…when was the last time I had almonds?

6:40 Describe bowle prep results to sister, friend, husband and mother. Only mother answers. She regales me with tales of her bowel prep. I turn off my phone.

7:30 Hunger returns with a vengeance. I beg hubby to get me Italian ice (which I HATE…I know, I’m not normal).

8:00 Hubby returns with giant ice. I wolf it down as I pick out tiny bits of fruit. For the most part. Hey, don’t judge me.

8:02 Ice cream headache. Damn, how I wish this was ice cream.

8:30 Read to distract myself.

9:00 Book is written by a sadist who keeps talking about her meals and describing them in detail. Fling book across the room.

9:15 Pace.

9:20 Make a list of all the food I want to eat tomorrow.

9:30 Wish I could go to bed so I don’t have to think about not eating any more.

10:00 Willpower is breaking. I smell popcorn.

10:05 I consider the fact that I have to do one more bowel prep and that anything I eat will just come out, right?

10:10 I spy honey in the cabinet. I can have honey! It’s on the list!

10:15 Five tablespoons of honey later, I am nauseous.

11:00 I start the second bowel prep an hour early. Yeah, yeah, yeah I know. I should follow directions. But I just want to go to sleep.

11:05 Remember the hideous taste from earlier. Get straw and hold nose.

11:10 Straw and nose holding cannot thwart the disgusting taste in my mouth. I gulp back vomit. Tastes like chicken broth. And jello.

11:30 Finish prep. Sit on toilet and wait.

11:40 And wait.

11:50 Still waiting.

12:00 Realize there is nothing left in my body to crap out because I haven’t had any $&%# food in nearly 30 hours.

12:10 Go to sleep.

12:20 Trust a fart. Change clothes.

12:30 Take Benedryl to fall asleep. It’s a clear liquid, right?

8:00 Wake up. Go for test.

9:00 Sit in waiting room. There is a sign that says No Food or Drinks. Everyone who is not having a test is drinking or eating.

10:00 Still in waiting room. Now Rachael Ray is on. They are assholes at this place apparently. Hubby says he might just come back for me instead of waiting.

10:05 Hubby asks nurse for bandaid for nail marks on his arm.

10:10 Go in for test.

11:40 Test done. They offer me juice and a cookie A cookie, as in ONE. They can shove their cookie up their butts…I’m have steak and lobster.

Filed under: parenting humor Tagged: Colonscopy, food, Iced tea, jello, Prep for a colonscopy