and to think it all started on roller skates...

My Book is Here, for realz

2011-12-16T21:46:00.004-05:00

There have been a load of fun moments in this 2 year process of publishing a novel. I've learned a lot along the way, never knowing what to expect next until I got an email or phone call from my publisher or agent. (Actually landing an agent and editor were HUGE moments in and of themselves.)

Some of the highlights include my "first pass" pages, which was basically my book in a stack of loose leaf pages bound by a single rubber band. This was the final chance I had to make revisions and tweak my a dedication/acknowledgments. A fun moment following that was receiving my ARC (advanced readers copy). This was basically my book as a paper back. That was an awesome day.

Then I was assigned a publicist and she has worked like crazy to set up events for me surrounding my launch (only a couple of weeks away - eek!). It will be fun to be on Channel 27 news back home with an anchor who is actually a girl I know from growing up in the same small town. And it will be great to do book signings and read aloud from a book that's been like my baby for a couple of years now.

But the most exciting part happened today - when I received my copy. The real deal. A hard cover copy of The Queen of Kentucky. I'm in love with the cover, the copy, the bound book itself. When I opened that box today, not expecting anything in the mail to begin with, I was surprised that new book smell is actually even better than new car smell. It was a beautiful day.

And the best part is that you'll be able to get your very own copy soon! If you haven't ordered your copy yet, you can pre-order by calling these bookstores and they'll have your copy waiting at the signings... where I'm sure you'll want to come get it signed by yours truly. Right?

BOOK SIGNINGS

The Corner Bookstore - Jan 5th, 6pm

1313 Madison Ave @93rd St

NY, NY

(212) 831-3554

Carmichael's Bookstore - Jan 13th, 7pm

2720 Frankfort Ave

Louisville, KY

(502) 896-6950

Joseph-Beth Bookstore - Jan 14th, 6pm

161 Lexington Green

Lexington, KY

(859) 273-2911

Joseph-Beth Bookstore - Jan 15th, 2pm

2785 Dixie Highway

Crestview Hills, KY

(859) 912-7860

Cynthiana Public Library - Jan 17th, 4:30pm

104 North Main Street

Cynthiana, KY

(859) 234-4881

Fan Club Friday - My Book Trailer!

2011-11-25T06:00:00.002-05:00

Book trailers have become huge in the young adult world. Teens are connected, are online all the time, and are much more willing to watch a clip on YouTube than read a synopsis on a blog. And why not? Moving images paint a vivid scene and can draw you in quickly while leave you wanting more.

I knew I wanted to do a book trailer from the get go. And since the book is already an homage to my home state, I wanted to use young Kentucky talent for the job. I contacted The Kentucky Governor's School for the Arts and they hooked me up with a couple of 17 year old New Media students: Sam Stucky and Julie Willian. I mailed them advanced copies of the book so that they could get a sense of the story. Then I posted a casting on Facebook and used this social network to cast the actors. Everyone, including the actor playing Ricki Jo's dog Bandit, is from Kentucky! The students were so professional and amazing to work with. I organized the major shooting day and wrote a shooting script, we had lots of long phone calls, and I sent emails with character descriptions. But it's amazing to me that I've never personally met these kids, we did it from different states, and the outcome is this rewarding.

So, I hope this book trailer makes you as eager to buy and read my first book as I am for its release on January 2, 2012 wherever books are sold. Of course, you can go ahead and pre-order it at B&N.com or Amazon.

Check out more of Sam Stucky's videos here. I'm a Sam fan - a big fan.

Twitter Tuesdays - KIRKUS review!

2011-11-22T14:21:00.000-05:00

I know advanced copies of my book are out there floating about. I know folks are forming opinions of my story, as well as me and who I am as a writer. I've gotten two wonderful blurbs from writers I admire, I've gotten praise from my family and friends, and even some of my contemporaries in the YA writing biz seem to have enjoyed the read.

But I forgot about the reviewers. You know, the people who don't know me and have a responsibility to their followers to tell the absolute truth. I survived Publisher's Weekly. And now... Kirkus! From what I hear, the folks at Kirkus don't pull punches, don't sugarcoat things, and aren't afraid to tell it like it really is. For all of those reasons, I am humbled beyond measure by their words:

The Queen of Kentucky

By Alecia Whitaker

Jaunaury 2012/ Ages 12 & Up/ $17.99

ISBN: 978-0-316-12506-2

Set in small-town Kentucky, this coming-of-age story depicts the ups and downs of 14-year-old Ricki Jo Winstead as she tries on a new identity.

High school is about to start, and Ricki Jo seizes the opportunity to reinvent herself. The first thing she does is ditch her “plain ol” name, taking on the new, more sophisticated (to her ears) moniker of Ericka. Swiftly getting the lay of the high-school land, Ricki Jo decides that she wants to move with the popular girls. She tries out for cheerleading rather than band, buys hipper clothing, and jettisons the real Bible for that subversive gospel according to Seventeen. Her new friends are a little faster than she’s used to, and she begins a rather daring (for her) flirtation with the handsome-and-he-knows-it David Wolfenbaker. All these changes displease her neighbor and best friend, Luke Foster, a grounded guy who is struggling with the more serious issue of his father’s alcoholism and abuse. In her debut, Whitaker paints a vivid, finely detailed picture of life in the sometime-hardscrabble heartland. But what draws the reader in is the chaotic precision of her characters, youngsters who are conflicted and frequently inconsistent, yet feel rounded and real.

Solid, just like its setting.

I've only read this review about twenty-five hundred times. Isn't this amazing? The last line is my favorite. Ahhhh. You must be a subscriber to see it on their website, but two weeks before the release of my book, it'll be available on their site to anyone. Of course, I'll post the link then. I can't wait til everyone can read The Queen of Kentucky. I share Ricki Jo with you all in a month and a half. Hurray! As I type, my awesome publicist from Little, Brown and I are lining up events in New York and Kentucky for January. I hope you'll all come out and celebrate with me! xoxo

Momma Mondays - First Haircut

2011-11-07T10:02:00.010-05:00

Well, Knox's first haircut went exactly how I'd always imagined it. He cried through the whole thing. I have to give props to Mariana at Blue Bird Salon for hanging in there and being stone cold to the tears of babes. Even as Knox swatted at her hands, she kept snipping with nary a blade nicking his little petulant fingers.

It was a weird milestone for all of us. Jerrod and I had wanted to keep Knox's long hair til his second birthday, but it was just too much. He had a thick, glorious mane. Long hair flowing over his eyes and ears, cascading down his back to his shoulder blades when wet.

Hipsters

A picture of him playing with one of his besties in the park shows him sporting the hair over his hood, hanging down in his face, while his gray skinny jeans started to sag. I was seeing the early makings of Justin Bieber.

And then Saturday, as Jerrod and I watched him tug at those locks as he played at the park, we realized that it was an unfair distraction. Hair gel had become too much of a hassle and bobby pins had been vetoed, so away we went to the salon.

The following pictures should pretty much sum up that day and those unforgettable twenty minutes in the chair. Just click Read More to see them all.

Read more »

Publisher's Weekly Review!

2011-11-01T10:58:00.002-04:00

Great news! Publisher's Weekly just reviewed The Queen of Kentucky and, thankfully, we fared well. It seems that the reviewer loves Ricki Jo as much as my editor, agent, and I do. As we get closer and closer to the book launch, I get all the more antsy to share her story with you all!

The Queen of Kentucky
By Alecia Whitaker
January 2012/ Ages 12 & up/ $17.99
ISBN 978-0-316-12506-2

Fourteen-year-old Ricky Jo has lived in the same Kentucky farming town her whole life, right next door to her best friend Luke. But she’s still the new girl, of sorts, on the first day of high school, having previously attended a small Catholic school. Renaming herself Ericka and hoping to become popular, she tries to fit in with a group of cool girls from homeroom and develops a crush on cocky fellow freshman Wolf. Ericka’s honest and insecure voice, her penchant for mishaps, and her frustration with her boyish physique will easily resonate with similarly conflicted readers. Debut novelist Whitaker paints a rich picture of life in rural Kentucky, as Ericka struggles to maintain tenuous friendships as well as her moral center. The subplot of Luke’s alcoholic and abusive father rings painfully true, as does Ericka’s ongoing crush on Wolf, who is alternately cruel and flirtatious with her, putting her self-worth through the wringer again and again. This coming-of-age romance holds few surprises, but will capture readers with its honesty and heart.

Twitter Tuesdays - CONTEST WINNER!

2011-10-25T23:39:00.000-04:00

Drum Roll please! Twitter Contest winner announced!

Thanks to everybody for following me on Twitter @aleciawhitaker and thanks to my assistant, Knox, for helping me choose my very first contest winner!

To our winner: To receive your signed advanced copy of The Queen of Kentucky, please message me on Twitter/FB/or email (through my website aleciawhitaker.com) with your mailing address... oh, and your real name. :)

The Fake Laugh

2011-10-19T14:24:00.000-04:00

Anybody can fake laugh. Even when you're feeling your rottenest, you can toss back your head, open your mouth, and guffaw. "Bwaa-ha-ha!" No one needs to say something clever. No one needs to trip over their own feet or inadvertently moon you by bending over in their low rise jeans. Simply summon up the will, and laugh.

Go ahead.

Laugh.

Did you know that if you make yourself laugh for two minutes in the morning, you will actually have a better day than otherwise? You're starting out your day by getting into the right frame of mind, come what may.

Now, you may be thinking that this advanced ideology is too much to comprehend for, say, a nearly 15 month old baby. But my son, Knox, has broken barriers once more. He does things sometimes that shock us, make us wonder at his mind, bring us joy.

A couple of nights ago at supper, Jerrod and I were deep in conversation while Knox shoveled in the rest of his food. Then, without warning or provocation, Knox began to laugh hysterically from his high chair. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present Knox Jericho Pace: High on Pasta

Since that night, he has used the fake laugh a few other times. While on the swings yesterday, I was talking to another mother next to me as we pushed our babies when Knox let out a few hearty chortles. Next thing we knew, Knox was throwing back his head in the swing, back and forth he went laughing and looking around at the other babies and moms, giggling until finally leaning over to one side on his arm as if exhausted from the effort. The mother next to me got so tickled that tears came to her eyes.

I don't know what's so funny, but Grannie said it best: "I'll have what he's having!"

Momma Mondays - Do NOT Push My Sleeves Up

2011-10-03T13:50:00.000-04:00

Well, we're there. I'm not sure we're in "the terribles" per se, but we're definitely in the "I want it my way" stage. Problem with this stage is, besides the fact that his way isn't always my way (and my way is best, obvi), that he can't tell me what he wants. He's not speaking, so he looks for other loud and obnoxious ways to get his point across. He whines, he cries, he kicks, and he pouts - oftentimes simultaneously - and I avoid a black eye while asserting my position as the boss.

Knox displayed a perfect example of this during breakfast today. He has recently let me know, in no uncertain terms, that he will feed himself. He will not be spoon-fed and he will not eat baby food. He will eat grown-up food and he will shovel it in with both hands all by himself. (Keep in mind, he's 14 months old.) Armed with this knowledge and accepting his choice, I do my best to make the work of cleaning up after him as painless as possible.

That was how we met our first meltdown of the day head on. You see, Knox was wearing long sleeves for the first time this fall, so I pushed them back because while he is adept at getting the food into his mouth in at least two tries, he is also quite skilled at rubbing his dirty hands all over his face, hair, and arms. I knew I'd be wiping down these body parts as well as the high chair, his tray, and the floor afterward, so I thought I'd spare myself the chore of washing strawberry stains out of his long sleeves. Silly mommy.

Knox is, apparently, a young man who prefers sleeves to cover the body length for which they were designed. If a sleeve is long, let it hang long. He squirmed and kicked, he reached one little arm over to where the material bunched up over his elbow and hollered like a madman trying to pull that sleeve back down. He looked up at me with tears in his eyes, searching mine for some sort of help, glaring as though I had betrayed him, "E tu, Brute?" How could any self-respecting mother saddle their own son with this sort of torture?

I faltered a tad, I'll admit it. It's hard not to give him just what he wants. But though he tried to glamour me, I looked away and employed my own tactic. I started eating his breakfast. I popped the Cheerios and cut up strawberries on his tray into my mouth while making sounds of delight with each bite. Although he truly hated his sleeves being pushed back, he is really protective of his food. If anybody eats his food, he wants to be the one to feed it to them personally. So with a little distraction, he soon forgot about the sleeves and attacked his food, offering me a morsel here and there while occasionally taking food right out of my hands to feed himself.

Every now and then he absentmindedly fidgeted his elbows, trying to work the shirt down his arms while feeding himself, but overall, Momma came out victorious today. I know that the sleeves war has probably just begun and I know that "the terribles" will only get worse, but I have to admit, it felt good to win The Battle of the Pushed Back Sleeves.

Twitter Tuesdays - Michael "Pun King" Northrop

2011-09-20T16:23:00.000-04:00

For the folks reading this blog who know me personally and/or spent much time around my dad, you know that we Whitakers aren't afraid of a good pun or a corny joke. You know that with conversation, as well as movies or television, the cheesier the better. And you know that the show Leave It To Beaver was a dead-on foreshadowing of my actual childhood.

That said, this is 2011 and it's tough to find a person in my generation who not only appreciates a good pun, but responds with a hearty pat on the back versus rolling of the eyes. It's even harder to find someone who can fashion a remarkable pun ingeniously within the strict 140 character limit imposed on us all by Twitter. That's why when you come across such a soul, you tell the world about him and neither of you pardon anything, especially the use of a mighty pun.

Michael Northrop is a young adult author living here in NYC who I get to see from time to time at book events in the city. His two novels Gentlemen and Trapped are anything but corny or cheesy, (in fact, I'd use dark, suspenseful, or gripping instead); yet I've found his own personality to be charming and funny, both in person and online. Here are a few tweets that have made me COL (chuckle out loud):

mdnorthrop Michael Northrop

Dreamt I was driving a pickup w/ my left hand while firing a shotgun at some ducks w/ my right. Not sure what it means but it's pretty fowl.

mdnorthrop Michael Northrop

You must be Djoking. Surely that's Nadal there is. #USOpen #greatmatch

mdnorthrop Michael Northrop

My new place is about a mile from the Prospect Park Zoo. Perhaps I will gopher a walk... #ireallyotter

Michael started the day at 999 followers and is itching to break into 4-digits. Head on over to Twitter and help him out. Also, and this should go without saying, follow me!

Momma Mondays - Pull up!

2011-09-19T18:39:00.001-04:00

My mother-in-law visited this weekend and not only spoiled her grandson, but also her daughter-in-law. I could really get used to having someone with her energy around, doing our laundry, fixing home cooked meals, and cleaning my kitchen. Also, I got to get a mani/pedi with my good friend Becky because Knox's Grannie stayed home and offered free babysitting!

But the best thing that happened this weekend was that she got to see a milestone: Knox pulled up for the first time! He stood all by himself, looked at us with a huge smile, and then plopped back down on his bottom. But it was a fabulous moment and one I'm glad she got to experience. Just like I wrote recently, it kills me that he doesn't get to spend more time with his grandparents, so when moments like this happen live - right before their eyes - it really brings me joy.

Here's a little video for those who, like me, doubted it would ever happen:

Kimpossible (Grannie) hollered, "Can he do this?" from the living room as I was doing the dishes, so I ran in wondering what he was eating/playing with/destroying. What I actually saw was his fascination with Excedrine and to just what lengths he'd go to get a bottle.

Tuesday Tweeps - The Fuggirls

2011-09-13T16:52:00.003-04:00

So y'all know that I am now pretty obsessed with Twitter. It's so fast and easy and I love scrolling through people's updates on my phone ap. And I think I've mentioned before about the book SPOILED by fellow Poppy gals Heather Cocks & Jessica Morgan. (We share the same editor, Elizabeth Bewley, and she told me about them a while ago and sent me an advanced copy of their book.)

Well, since reading Spoiled (which you should also read) I've started following their blog www.gofugyourself.com. It's a fashion blog that keeps me up to date with what celebs are wearing these days and whether or not they're wearing it well. The girls are hilarious and their posts are super fun. And now that I follow their blog, I also follow them on Twitter.

Go to Twitter and search fuggirls. Their updates will keep you in the loop and make you chuckle. For instance, if it weren't for these girls, how would I have known that Brody Jenner chewed gum while he drank white wine at a fashion show this week? How would I have known that just a mere glance from Gerard Butler could impregnate an unsuspecting onlooker? And how would I know that Lindsay Lohan is best friends with a real life pirate? I'm telling you folks. If you don't keep up with fashion or celebs yourself, let these girls do it for you. Follow them on Twitter.

Oh, and buy their book!

PS To the Fuggirls, in the event that you read this blog post, I just slicked back my son's hair with gel for the first time because it was getting in his eyes. Then I realized, my 1 year old looked like Kourtney Kardashian's boyfriend, Scott Disick! Oh Lordy.

Justin Bieber

Scott Disick

Fug or Fab? Which hairstyle is better on 13 month old Knox?

Momma Mondays - Only Grandparents

2011-09-12T14:47:00.000-04:00

Over Labor Day weekend, my husband and I joined my sister and my parents for a short visit in New Hampshire. My retired parents are trying to document time spent at every capital in the US and the New England states are especially enticing to these road trippers now that their only grandson is a Yankee. We drove the 5 hours up to their time share and I have to say that there is nothing more gratifying that seeing my folks love on my baby like I do.

My husband suggested that we go apple picking so we Googled an orchard and made our way over. Knox even got to go on a tractor pulled wagon ride! (We're pumpin' him with as much country style as we can). It was a gorgeous day and beautiful time spent with family.

As my dad, sister, husband, and I walked through the grass and used long "pickers" or poles to grab the finest looking apples and pears from the trees, my mom held a sleepy Knox and got some rare lovey dovey time with the boy. This picture says it all.

We also went swimming and boy does Knox love the water! He always has. He loves bath time and he loves swimming pools, whether kiddie or Olympic sized. My dad has a blast helping him kick and splash. And Jerrod held Knox near the stairs where he (finally) put his weight on his legs. I think it was easier to finally attempt standing with the water making him so bouyant.

And that brings me to the highlight of our trip. On the last morning of our trip, my dad helped Knox to stand on his own in the living room. While Knox usually kicks his legs or lifts them up when we try to work with him on standing, that day, he let Granddad help him pull all the way up on the couch. They both grinned from ear to ear, and I have to admit, it made me super homesick. I'm not homesick for a place, because I truly believe that Home is where you make it, but homesick for my grandparents. I got to spend time with mine every day after school and I am already sad that my own children won't get that same quality time. I need to just treasure the time we do get, but seeing my dad help my son stand really made it even harder to say our goodbyes that afternoon.

But thank goodness for the 2000s and the Information Age. We've got Skype and we've got Facetime. And of course, we've got Skymiles.

Momma Mondays - Hurricane Fever

2011-08-29T13:20:00.001-04:00

Pace men before hurricane

Much has been said about Hurricane Irene, who had actually transformed herself into Tropical Storm Jose by the time she reached us here in Queens. The news, as well as family and friends from landlocked states, did their best to instill panic. The news harkened back to hurricanes from the past while friends commented on Facebook and Twitter about whether or not we were ready. I even had to ask my mother-in-law to please step away from the television and assure her twice that we were absolutely not in an evacuation zone. We knew not to worry since that solves nothing, but we did prepare. In the event of 100 mph winds, we tied down our patio furniture and moved our car into a garage. We didn't have a sitter, so I carried patio chairs with Knox on my back while Jerrod carried most of the heavier items. Knox and I even stood watch over our furniture out on the street while Jerrod figured out where we'd store it, which actually turned out to be a good thing because a woman with bags full of cans to recycle moseyed over as if it were a yard sale and I had to tell her otherwise. (Looting pre-disaster?) In the event of power loss, we bought gallons of water and gave some to folks in our building, we had two flashlights at the ready, stocked up on non-perishable food and extra diapers, and made sure that our phones were charged. Click READ MORE in blue to see videos of a last minute trip to the grocery store and park and read the rest of this post:

Read more »

Fan Club Friday - Small Town Sinners

2011-08-19T10:08:00.001-04:00

I read and watch TV/movies as an escape. I'd say a lot of folks do. It's a way to unwind, let my mind wander and imagination run off. I immerse myself in the make-believe world, whether it's life on another planet or hitting a grand slam in the World Series or being swept off my feet by a gazillionaire who also happens to be a good listener and devilishly handsome. But once in a blue moon, I dive into a world that is uniquely suited to my reality, my own truth, my very existence and feel like the writer is actually just transcribing a home video. That was very much the case with Melissa Walker's recent release Small Town Sinners.

The book follows Lacey Anne, a junior in her small town high school and active member of the local church where her father is the children's pastor. Lacey Anne is a good girl, always has been, and has a close relationship with God. She feels passionately about the teachings of Jesus and turns to her parents for guidance and the Bible for wisdom. Her best friends are also members of the youth group and they are all excited to try out for Hell House, the annual haunted house of sin her church holds every year.

But then smart, handsome, and thought-provoking Ty Davis comes into her world and all the things she always knew to be absolutely black and white start to gray a little. She comes face to face with big issues like gay marriage, abortion, and drunk driving and for the first time, she searches her heart for how she really feels about them versus what she's always been told to feel. (click read more to expand this post)

Throwback Thursday - Songs of my youth

2011-08-11T11:59:00.002-04:00

Today is a quickie, but goodie. Just want to pay homage to my youth. Vote for your favorite and comment below! Do these songs or videos bring up any old memories?

Pump up the Jam

Blame it on the Rain

Smells like Teen Spirit

Fan Club Friday - The Day Before

2011-08-05T15:12:00.002-04:00

A few weeks ago I went to an author signing at Books of Wonder here in NYC. There I met Lisa Schroeder, an administrator of the young adult blog The Contemps. I was excited to meet her because I had just applied to be a contributor to that very blog; but after reading her newest novel The Day Before, I am ten times as stoked to be working with her.

The Day Before follows Amber, a young girl who wants to lose herself in her iPod and sneak away from her family and friends to have one last day to herself before her life changes dramatically. Although she had planned on spending the day before this ultra scary life change alone, she meets Cade, who also seems to be escaping something in his life, and the last thing she wants to be is alone... unless it's with him. They decide to spend the day together, asking no questions, but living in the moment.

This book is so great. And what I really love is the concept! Unfortunately, I can't really go into the awesome idea this book is centered around because it would be a major spoiler, but let's just say that by the time Amber reveals what's to happen the day after, we are salivating to know. I loved the suspense of that and really loved that, although I tried to guess as I turned the pages, I was surprised to learn of Amber's situation. (click read more to read the rest of this post)

Read more »

Word Up Wednesday - Young Man

2011-08-03T17:55:00.001-04:00

I recently read that it's best not to use the word "no" too often or it will quickly lose import to my one year old son. If I said "No!" every single time Knox reached for electrical wires, tried to rip off my shirt to breastfeed in public, or reached for the substance in his dirty diapers during a change, it would come out in just about every other breath. They say on babycenter.com that he doesn't truly understand many words anyway, but he certainly gets tone.

I tend to agree with this. I've found myself using the words "young man" and "excuse me, sir" quite often and having really great results. The other day I was on the phone with my best friend Whitney and in the middle of her story, I accidentally interrupted her with a firm, "Excuse me, sir." She was baffled, it not being a video call, and surprised by my tone herself - she had no clue what was going on! Because it sounded like I was talking to an adult, and not a baby, she actually said, "I'm sorry, are you talking to Knox?" And if that got her attention, you better believe it got the attention of the baby in question, who was at that very moment on all fours leaning forward toward the dirty stroller wheel with his mouth wide open. Did he french kiss that wheel, the one he was drooling over? He didn't. It amazed even me, actually. But that firm comment was all it took to stop him, mid-way. Mouth still agape, he looked over at me as I walked toward him because I still needed to stop the behavior and remove him from the temptation. That was made obvious by the fact that before I got to him, he looked back at the tire greedily, but then back at me again when I enforced my meaning with, "young man." (click read more to read the rest of this post)

Read more »

Tuesday Tweeps - An interview with author Micol Ostow

2011-08-02T12:16:00.000-04:00

Hey Tweeple! You're in for a treat today. My good friend Micol Ostow, author of over 40 books and super talented writer extraordinaire, is stopping by the blog today to answer the normal Tuesday questions as well as a few extras about her recent release family, which I blogged about several weeks ago.

Okay Micol, starting off easy:

Me: What's your favorite book? I'm talking all time here.

Micol: I definitely don't have one favorite, but "The Shining" by Stephen King is probably up there.

Me: I'm visiting your hometown today, one day only. What can't I miss?

Micol: My hometown (South Orange, NJ) is so suburban! But I guess one thing that's unique or fun is the South Mountain Arena (actually in West Orange, where I was born), which is an ice rink where the NJ Devils practice. The Turtle Back Zoo is located behind the arena, and I personally LOVE the zoo. If it's nice out, you can go for a picnic in the South Mountain Reservation afterward.

Me: Who are you following on Twitter right now that would surprise your friends?

Micol: Probably my reality tv guilty pleasures -- Real Housewives and etc. Though, I don't know if that would surprise my friends so much. My readers, maybe!

And now... extended Tuesday Tweeps edition...

A little bit about the novel:

"Told in episodic verse family is a YA novel that is a fictionalized exploration of cult dynamics, loosely based on the Manson Family murders of 1969. It is an unflinching look at people who are born broken, and the myriad of ways in which they try, over and over, to make themselves whole again."

Me: When writing family, how did you weave it together? There are so many short pieces that could almost stand alone as poems. Did they flow chronologically like following an outline in your other novels or did you write them individually and piece them together like a puzzle afterward?

Micol: I didn't outline, but I had a sense of the story's arc, and I wrote as chronologically as I could. Obviously the vignettes also jump back and forth in time, and so 'chronologically' maybe be a the wrong term, but for the most part, I wrote the vignettes in the order in which they appear in the book. There was a little bit of shifting around during the revision stage, but more than that, I was adding new pieces to help flesh certain characters and plot points out.

Me: Henry's name is the only one capitalized throughout, as well as any pronouns referring to "Him." This is similar of many translations of the New Testament Bible when Jesus speaks. Was this on purpose as a reflection of Henry being the family's savior?

Micol: I wasn't thinking specifically of the New Testament, but I was definitely trying to communicate that Mel perceived Henry differently than anything or anyone she had ever known. When I first began writing, I thought there might be other phrases or words that would be capitalized, but as moved forward, that turned out not to feel right for the character. I think you never really know until you're in the thick of the writing how these things are going to work themselves out.

Me: The book takes place in San Francisco and the description of the family compound is quite vivid. Did you visit California? Is the compound imagined or based on research from the Manson murders?

Micol: I appreciate your saying that, because I feel personally like a lot of the descriptions in the book are fairly hazy! But then, Mel's state of mind is generally pretty hazy, so that makes sense somewhat. I've been to California a few times, but only to LA and San Diego, never San Francisco. That said, I'd read a lot about the Manson murders by the time I sat down to write my book, and I had seen many pictures of the Spahn Movie Ranch, so I suppose I did have a fairly vivid sense of the source material in my head as I worked.

Me: The main character Mel is broken, but by the end, we discover that she's not completely shattered. Can you talk about the last moments and what led you to your ending?

Micol: I don't like to talk about the ending because of spoilers! Sorry to be a party pooper! But I will say that the ending is the one part of the book that changed the most drastically in the revision process -- I wrote three completely different versions. The first version felt too ambiguous, and the second version felt too bleak. I think this one works!

Okay, I get it, no spoilers. We'll discuss that one next time I see you. Thanks so much for doing the interview. I must admit that I, too, am following a select few "Housewives" on Twitter and I, too, love the zoo.

Tweeps, check out Micol's website at www.micolostow.com and follow her on Twitter! Look for family and her new release What Would My Cellphone Do? online or in bookstores now.

Momma Mondays - Cheerio!

2011-08-01T14:41:00.000-04:00

My son has always been big for his age. He was 21 pounds by the time he was 9 months, had a bountiful head of hair, and he had 8 glorious teeth as well. He was in the 90th percentile for height and 75th for weight. This 9 month old was often mistaken for being at least one year.

Although he grew quickly and sturdily, he lagged behind in other developmental areas. He didn't crawl til he was 10.5 months, is still not standing, and has not shown interest in solid food unless it is of the finely pureed variety.

Now, my friend Ellen has a daughter who's been eating Cheerios by the handful since she was 7 months old. I'm not saying that Knox should compete; I'm just saying that he has twice as many teeth as she does and is three months older. I don't care that he didn't eat Cheerios at 7 months, but at one year? Come on.

So I've been working with him. At his 9 month check up, the doctor said we should be thickening his food and I should be offering him O-cereal, banana, toast, crackers, pieces of fruit, etc. He didn't believe me that Knox gagged the minute I forced a Cheerio into his mouth. He had never seen a baby clamp his lips closed tightly and jerk his head from side to side the minute he saw a Cheerio headed his way. The doctor couldn't believe that a baby Knox's size and age was that big under the simple diet of breastmilk and Stage 1 jarred baby food three times a day.

After this check up, I rolled up my sleeves and set to work. Every day, I attempted to give Knox three Cheerios. I forced them into his mouth or broke them into thirds and sneaked them into his food. The moment Knox felt the crunchy object on the tip of his tongue (the tip!) he would gag as if it were all the way back in his throat and unless I scraped it off, he would make himself throw up. So then we would both take a break. Give it a day or two and try a graham cracker or banana instead, which he also denied. If it didn't come from a blender, he hated it all.

And during this solid food boot camp, I ate this stuff, too. With gusto! I would chomp down on a Cheerio like it was a four star meal. I would dramatize the biting so he could see my teeth chomping. I would give myself high praise, clapping for myself, and mmm-mmming like it was super delicious. After a month of this, Knox started to open his mouth when I would offer him a bite... and then he would spit it out immediately. By 11 months, he was showing interest in the food, touching it and throwing it on the ground. (He really hates when the cereal gets soggy and sticks to his fingers.)

And finally, last week, he opened his mouth and allowed me to give him a Cheerio. He bit down, worked it around in his mouth, and I gave him oodles of praise. I yelled, danced, cheered, and clapped. "Go Knox! Momma's so proud of you!" And then he giggled and spat it out.

But today - oh glorious today - my son ate a Cheerio. Not only did he eat it, but he fed himself! Not only did he feed himself a Cheerio, he popped 'em in one after another like a starving man! I am so happy. He is one year and one week old and finally eating Cheerios like his other baby pals. I know this milestone isn't walking, or talking, or anything huge to most folks, but I'm the proudest woman on the planet. And although I realize that this is his moment, I feel like a huge success myself.

Fan Club Friday - Where I Belong

2011-07-29T00:00:00.000-04:00

Let me say that you know you're into a book when it makes you homesick. That's just what Gwendolyn Heasley's book Where I Belong did to me. Readers Beware: As if having a baby doesn't make you miss your folks and grandparents enough, as if sweltering subways and crowded sidewalks don't make you long for winding roads with the windows rolled down, and as if pizza slices and bagels don't make you yearn for fried chicken and biscuits, you pick up a novel like Where I Belong and start to ponder the book title yourself.

This YA novel follows Corrinne, a New York City Upper East Sider who's life is full of "shopping sprees at Barney's" and "open access to the best clubs and parties." She's got it all, from designer clothes to an expensive education, and she takes it all for granted because, hey! Why shouldn't she? Her lifestyle may seem unbelievable to me, but to her, it's the way things have always been.

But then, her father is laid off and their family takes a powerful blow from the recession. They lose their entire savings and are forced to sell their sprawling Manhattan apartment. Corrinne is forced to move to Texas to live with her little brother and grandparents, attend public school, and leave behind her horse and best friends. She has to shop at the mall (gasp!), lose her spot at boarding school, and get a job... shoveling manure! It may not sound bad to you, (okay, the horse poop might), but remember, the small town lifestyle is some kind of alternate universe for her. She may as well have moved to Mars.

Now, I was worried that maybe I wouldn't feel for somebody like Corrinne. When we first meet her, she is snobby and stuck up, selfish and immature, and to put it plainly, not the kind of person I would want as a friend. (Heasley pens a letter from Corrinne at the jump off asking us to give her a chance, which I think was really smart. I mean, I grew up in the kind of place where driving an hour away to shop at the mall was a luxury!) But then throughout the course of the novel, this character really grows on you. You find yourself cracking along with her as she loosens up and starts eating those deliciously described southern foods. You smile at Grandpa's peace-making efforts and laugh at Grandma's sassy attitude. And as cute as Rider is and as sexy as musicians are, you can't help but like a good ol' boy like Bubby. The fact that we're actually rooting for Corrinne by the end says a lot about the author's talent.

Where I Belong was a fun read and a good time. I still think about Corrinne every now and then. I wonder how much of her southern roots she brought back with her to the big city; cause the post-Texas Corrinne had a heckuva lot more self-confidence and surprisingly turned out to be a girl I would call a friend after all.

You can follow Gwendolyn Heasley at where_I_belong on Twitter.

Also, check out this amazing blurb she wrote for my book, The Queen of Kentucky:

"Whitaker's debut sparkles as she takes the reader on a tour of two unforgettable places: small town Kentucky and the heart of our charming and hilarious narrator, Ricki Jo."

- Gwendolyn Heasley, author of Where I Belong

Throwback Thursday - One year ago

2011-07-28T11:05:00.000-04:00

My son, Knox, just turned one. We had an awesome birthday party for him, complete with cake, kiddie pool, parachute, beach balls, and other babies. He was overwhelmed and cranky at the beginning, but boy did he rally. He scooted all around that pool like he couldn't get enough. After the party, he took a two hour nap, exhausted by the amount of fun present at the first shindig in his honor of his life.

Funny thing is that one year prior, he had also been swimming... in my belly. I look back at the pictures of this amazing little newborn and am in awe. When the doctor first held him up, he took my breath away. He look liked he'd been dipped in baby oil the way his skin glistened. He had a full head of coal black hair, so thick that we couldn't see his scalp. He had deep blue eyes and a scrunched up face. His little hands and feet looked like an old man's. He was momma's boy from the very beginning.

And now, he's this little man. I mean, this kid grew like a superhuman, tripling in size! His hair has lightened up to a light brown and his (super expressive) face has stretched into that of a toddler. His hands and feet are no longer wrinkled, but dimpled. He claps and scoots and kicks and stacks. He giggles all of the time and has a smile that will melt your heart. Okay, okay, I just realized that this is turning into a lovefest.

Point is, a lot has changed in a year.

We looked like this one year ago:

And now we look like this:

Momma Mondays - Birthday Planning

2011-07-19T15:19:00.000-04:00

So all I've been doing the past few days is planning Knox's birthday party. I keep trying to remember what last summer was like, and it seems light years away. Was my belly really so big that it sweat on my thighs? According to past Facebook Status Updates, yes it was. And now I watch this amazing little man scoot and crawl around the room (whoa, and at this very moment, squeeze my big toe - attention seeking anyone?). Again I will succumb to the clich e: They grow up too fast.

And what a hypocrite this little tyke has turned me into! We live in a small one-bedroom apartment in Queens and when I was pregnant with Knox, I repeatedly encouraged the grandparents not to go hog wild with toys. Even in those early newborn months, I reminded them that great Christmas presents could be diapers, onesies, things the baby needed. And I've told my husband that his birthday party should be a small gathering where we shouldn't spend much money since he won't remember it anyway. And yet, all I've done every day this week since Saturday is buy the baby a birthday present. All of a sudden, he needs blocks. He needs not just one, but four new board books. He needs a colorful parachute and polka dot beach ball and kiddie splash pool and baby friends to come over Saturday and his own cake and colorful balloons. What?!

I can't stop myself. I'm a monster. There's no room for any of this stuff. Heat wave + internet = bad news for both the small confines of the apartment as well as our bank account. Whoops!

But I can't help myself. I just love watching Knox's mind work. Love watching him stack and move his toys, organize everything just so, then change it all up again. I love that he plays so well by himself, but checks in with me often, crawling over and pulling up to his knees to give me a big open mouth kiss on the cheek. I love that he talks and talks, nonstop. I love his squeals and I love the face he makes when he passes gas, almost as if he has startled even himself. And I loooooove his sweet giggle.

He's the greatest person to ever come into my life. You know what? Now that I think about it, a guy this great deserves another present. Now let me see...

Tuesday Tweeps - Rebecca Rouse

2011-07-12T15:15:00.000-04:00

Rebecca Rouse is a friend I've made up here in New York and is also the person who taught me how to use Twitter! She has two little girls, her youngest being only 6 weeks older than my son, Knox, and we love meeting up at the park and watching our babies watch each other. Originally from North Carolina, she and I bond over missing the South while making our way in the big city.

Me: What's your favorite book? I'm talking all time here.
Rebecca: My favorite book? I don't read! Really? I guess I'd have to say The Red Ripe Strawberry and Big Hungry Bear. Its a childrens book, and I used to love reading it when I was little, the pictures were what really drew me in. Now as an adult I'd have to say that I'm really enjoying Francine Rivers - I'm on my second book of hers and I LOVE what I've read so far.

Me: I'm visiting your hometown today, one day only. What can't I miss?
Rebecca: Wilmington NC is a small town, a beach community. You'll have to stop by the beach or course! Wrightsville beach, right by the Blockaid Runner there's a beach access and that's a great place to go. The river front is a nice are to visit, all historic and cute little shops to walk in and out of. If you're up for a walk, the loop at Wrightsville beach is a nice route. There are some great small town restaurants w/ great south eastern BBQ - pulled pork to be exact - and some good ole fried sea food as well.

Me: Who are you following on Twitter right now that would surprise your friends: #GuiltyPleasures
Rebecca: Twitter - I guess Bethenny Frankel and Kendra Wilkinson would be my secret indulgences - i love them both!

Thanks so much, Rebecca! You know I love BBQ and it being by the beach is an added bonus! I yes, I'll have to look into The Red Ripe Strawberry and Big Hungry Bear (although for Knox, not me). :) And I KNEW you'd be following Bethenny Frankel! We sure love our Housewives!

Follow Rebecca @rebeccaarouse

Momma Mondays - First Blood

2011-07-11T13:34:00.004-04:00

Seems like every time I sit down to write a blog post about my baby, he senses it and does something to provide me with new material. This time, it was nose diving into his wooden blocks and busting his lip. A new crawler, he can sometimes get ahead of himself. He also doesn't want to sacrifice the toys already in his hands in order to crawl across the room to acquire other toys, hence the occasional tumble.

When I heard the crash on the other side of my desk, I knew it was a bad fall. My husband and I tend to laugh or smile when Knox takes a spill because usually, he is more startled than hurt and he looks to us to determine his emotional reaction. But as I leapt from my chair and circled the desk this morning, I knew before he even started screaming that this fall was different. I scooped him up immediately and felt the wetness of his tears on my shoulder, soaking through my shirt. I shushed him and rubbed his head, trying to lift his face to see where he was hurt. That's when I saw all of the blood.

Seriously. A lot of blood.

He was crying so hard that I couldn't tell if he'd lost a tooth or busted his lip. He clung to me so tightly that I could feel his little fingers dig into my neck and arm. I couldn't do anything at first but walk and comfort him. I took him into the bathroom to distract him with the mirrors in order to take a peek. I couldn't see the cut but the blood on my shirt and bra made me worried.

So what did I do? I called my mom. Of course I called my mom. With the phone on speaker, I ran cold water over a washcloth to put on his lip and maybe stop the bleeding. I was searching my brain, What do I do? It's just a busted lip, I'm sure. But what do I do? The phone rang and rang. Knox cried and cried. I tried putting the washrag to his lip, but he wouldn't have it. I went to the kitchen and wrapped an ice cube in the cloth and placed it on his lip, which made him berserk.

So back in the bathroom, I called my dad. The phone rang and rang on speaker as I laid Knox across my knees on my lap (a difficult task as he tried desperately to cling to my shirt). I needed to see in his mouth, though. It was a cut, on the inside of his lip by one of his top teeth. The lip was already starting to swell. The poor baby had tears and snot streaming down his reddening face and looked at me pleadingly to make it all better. What do I do? I held him close again and rubbed his back and hair. I tried to get him to chew on the cold cloth. Nothing doing. The phone rang and rang.

So I called my mother-in-law. She'd raised five boys, so I was confident that she'd know what to do about a busted lip.

"Hello?" she answered right away.

And Knox stopped crying. Knox stopped bleeding. In that instant.

The good thing about finally getting to talk to someone was just hearing that I was doing okay. That, in the event of a busted lip, a cold wet washcloth is exactly what I needed. That using ice to stop the swelling was a good attempt. That I'm not an idiot after all. That maybe, just maybe, my maternal instinct is firing on all cylinders.

She did offer one piece of advice I hadn't thought of: a popsicle. She said, "He'll eat that for sure. He won't even realize you're trying to stop the swelling cause he'll love that popsicle so much. And make it fun! You eat one, too, so he sees you doing it and wants to mimic you."

Now, Knox being almost one year old, I can see where this would sound like a feasible suggestion. A popsicle is just frozen juice, for Pete's sake. But Knox is a picky guy and only likes his food finely pureed and given to him on a spoon. I've been working with him every day on eating a Cheerio or graham cracker. I've tried thickening his baby food, offering him a banana or piece of my toast. This kid, with a mouthful of teeth, is just not interested.

But I tried. I happened to have one Flav-or-ice in the fridge (green, not even my fave color). I sat Knox on the countertop to face me and took a bite out of that lime popsicle like it was pure glory in my mouth. A still upset, but calming down Knox watched me warily. I offered him the popsicle and he touched it with his tongue. Game over. He pushed me away with both dimpled hands and reached instead for a much more appealing dirty popcorn bowl, and every time I offered him the popsicle, this baby actually looked offended.

So finally, I sat him back on his play mat, stroked his back, and wondered in amazement at how quickly that lip stopped bleeding. When he was a baby and would scratch himself with his fingernails, his wounds healed crazy fast; but when he scratched me, the mark stayed for a couple of days. Now, looking at the amount of blood on my shoulder and no sign of blood anywhere on his face or clothes, I found myself thinking of Knox as The Wolverine from X-men whose wounds heal in a flash. Oh man, if my son is a superhero mutant, that's gonna be so boss.

I sat with him for a while and watched his lip swell to the size of a grape while he played with a new toy: plastic measuring cups he found while we were in the kitchen. It was a rough morning to say the least, but we both lived through another milestone: first blood. And hey, I even got a popsicle out of the deal!

Before

After

Fan Club Friday - TIGHTER by Adele Griffin

2011-07-08T11:50:00.001-04:00

When seventeen-year-old Jamie arrives on the idyllic New England island of Little Bly to work as a summer au pair, she is stunned to learn of the horror that preceded her. Seeking the truth surrounding a young couple's tragic deaths, Jamie discovers that she herself looks shockingly like the dead girl — and that she has a disturbing ability to sense the two ghosts. Why is Jamie's connection to the couple so intense? What really happened last summer at Little Bly?

As Jamie's perception of the paranormal tests the limits — and expanses — of her core beliefs, she must navigate the increasingly blurred divide between the worlds of the living and the dead.

Are you kidding me? I've been dying to blog about this book since I finished it Monday night. I had to finish it because I started it Thursday night after going to Adele Griffin's event at Books of Wonder and I couldn't put it down; but unlike the days of old (read pre-baby days), I can't stay up all night reading because my hours in the bed are few and precious. Problem with this book is this: just because you stop reading doesn't mean the characters stop talking to you.

Which is pretty appropriate for this story. It was so hard falling to sleep every night over the weekend because I kept thinking about Jamie - the main character - and trying to figure her out. Was she the only one that saw the ghosts? What about the kids she was watching, Isa and Milo? What did they really know? And how did Peter and Jessie die and was that the reason their souls couldn't rest in peace?

Okay, all those questions meant the voices in my head wouldn't die down. Again, quite appropriate for this book.

And listen, y'all know me. I'm not the girl that waltzes into the bookstore and heads for paranormal or fantasy — at all. I tend to be drawn more toward stories that happen in this world similarly to the way I know it; but that's another thing that is just so doggone fan-freakin'-tastic about Tighter! It's not really a ghost story at all. It's a story about a teenage girl struggling with depression and pill popping, looking for love and acceptance in the wrong places, and coming to terms with even the ugly parts of herself.

I like that this thing doesn't read as a cliché suspense novel, but more like a scarf with a loose thread that the reader pulls at bit by bit, slowly unraveling the story until we finally are rewarded with an ah-ha moment as we see the once twisted piece of yarn in its entirety. And if it tells you anything, I'm reading it again already.

Do yourself a favor and go buy this book.
Also, follow Adele on FB and Twitter! I sure do.

Fan Club Friday - The Serial Comma

2011-07-01T12:06:00.001-04:00

My husband and I really get irked that many people, publications, and advertisements (notice the comma use?) have been grouping lists of three things or more without a comma between the joining conjunction. I was taught way back in the day to use a serial comma and have clung to this lesson ferociously over the years, even as I've seen the world grow more and more lazy with its use. I know that layouts have changed with the advent of computers and that we live in an entirely different age than when type sets were originally established. I know that word processors took away the need for two spaces between sentences (which is still something I'm grappling with), but I see the lack of serial commas to be just plain lazy and to make lists ambiguous.

And I'm not trying to be stubborn. When I'm wrong, I try to admit it and embrace the new way. When I noticed that my poor copyeditor at Poppy had to go through my entire manuscript and change all of the spacing, I researched the new one-space-after-punctuation thing and gave a hearty, "My bad." Now, I'm a one-spacer.

But I'm still clinging to the serial comma. I can't give it up.

For example, if I write, "I'm going to the store for watermelon, beans, and carrots," it's pretty clear to the reader what I'm getting. You may argue that it is just as clear to you if you read it as, "I'm going to the store for watermelon, beans and carrots." But that groups beans and carrots. Are you looking for beans and carrots that are already packaged together?

By going down that road, you are setting yourself up for confusion. Look how clear things are when I write, "I'm going to the store for watermelon, black and brown beans, and carrots." When ditching the serial comma, it becomes, "I'm going to the store for watermelon, black and brown beans and carrots." The absence of the serial comma implies something unintended about the carrots.

Anyway, you can read about it here real quick because Oxford makes it all much clearer. But please, for the love of God and for my sanity, could we just embrace the serial comma?

Cause seriously -- I'm a super fan. I love you, serial comma!

Fan Club Friday - Ten Things We Did (And Probably Shouldn't Have)

2011-06-23T23:30:00.004-04:00

I just finished Sarah Mlynowski's newest book Ten Things We Did (And Probably Shouldn't Have) and really enjoyed it. Seriously, go get this book. It's such a fun read. I found myself laughing out loud, as well as emitting a chuckle or two in public places such as the subway and audition waiting rooms. And what I love about her stories is that, as usual, I also found myself tear up a little bit here and there.

The novel follows April, a girl who's still reeling from her parents' divorce, her mom's move to France, and her dad's recent bright idea to move from Westport, CT to Cleveland, OH. April has already stayed behind in her hometown once when her mother and brother moved away (and no matter what she claims, she stayed for a boy, let's be honest); and if she gave up Paris, she's certainly not moving to Cleveland. That's when she and her friend Vi hatch a plot to live together sans parental supervision... also when they begin their ten things that they did and probably shouldn't have.

One thing I really loved about this novel were the subtitles throughout. Besides beginning each chapter with something they shouldn't have done (i.e. "Buying a Hot Tub" or "Harboring a Fugitive"), Mlynowski handled flashbacks brilliantly with clever quips. For example, April is talking about how she would never leave her cat behind when she segues into the flashback of her mother moving away and doing just that... except that the segue is labeled "My Mom Went To Cancun And All I Got Was A French Stepfather." Still other times, Mlynowski makes the reader laugh out loud by adding a subtitle for no real reason other than comedy. For example, at the end of one scene, April's dad threatens to call the police if she doesn't answer or promptly return his phone calls, so she makes his ringtone a police siren. The next subtitle is "Why I Made My Dad's Ringtone A Police Siren" and then the entire scene below that is "See above." I just find clever moments like these to be nice surprises during a good read.

Besides all that, the characters feel real (Vi - piece of work; Hudson - swoon, work of art; etc.) and the obstacles they face are engaging while not far-fetched. This seems exactly like what would happen if two high school girls got to live in a house unsupervised - fun! with plenty of "oops" moments. I was definitely along for the ride the whole time.

Anyway, Ten Things We Did (And Probably Shouldn't Have) gets a gold star, folks. I'm a fan, Knox is a fan, and you should be, too. Check it.

Sarah, me, & Knox at her pub party

Knox, the genius reader

Throwback Thursday - Wardrobe Woes

2011-06-23T13:39:00.000-04:00

I booked a commercial for Maaco and it shoots tomorrow and Tuesday in Philly. This is great news, right? I mean, I was pretty stoked. It pays okay and we could definitely use the cash (even though the agent gets 10% and the babysitter gets a cut, too). There will inevitably be a make-up artist and hairstylist, and that part, I always really look forward to. There will also be a stylist... and this is where my day started to go a tad south.

You see, on every shoot, we actors are expected to bring wardrobe along. Yes, even though the client hires a stylist, we are also supposed to schlep a bag of stuff to the shoot in the event that the things we own are cuter or look nicer than the brand new things the stylist brings. That never happens. At the beginning of my career, I enthusiastically brought a small suitcase full of clothing items, shoes, and jewelry; but now that I'm a bit more seasoned, I know better. Because I'm not a fashionista, I hardly ever go shopping, I wear the clothes I buy for years, and my stuff is never, ever, ever chosen over the stylist's items. I mean, come on! It's her job! I'm supposed to say my lines and smile into the camera, but I should not (for the sake of the commercial) be in charge of my own wardrobe.

I wish I were more fashionable, wish I had more money to spend on clothes or more closet space to store them, but alas, it just isn't so.

So I just got off the phone with the stylist for this Maaco shoot and she's really nice. She even told me not to apologize for my (sorry) wardrobe! But the reason I'm now having a not-as-good-as-before-her-phone-call day is because she needed me to bring along tailored slacks, skirts, and dresses. When I told her I wasn't quite back into all of my clothes yet due to the squealing baby she could hear in the background, she told me that was fine. She just needed to know what items fit, in what size, from what store so that she could shop for me. That's when we got off the phone and I had to try on most of the contents of my closet before calling her back to say, "I'm a 4 in Old Navy and Gap, but a 6 or 8 in H&M, and stretchy fabrics are my friends, etc."

And hey! Those are respectable sizes! I'm not complaining. For a girl who just had a baby, does not exercise, and eats chocolate and drinks Coca Cola every day, I look pretty good and have zero right to complain. But I still feel a little bummed.

And it's not entirely about not fitting back into the huge pile of clothes on my bed. It's also about being in a new chapter of life. It's about looking at the state of my wardrobe and realizing that it's no longer divided into: casual, bar/club, school, work-out, business, wedding/church, etc. Now it's: audition, maternity, and a bunch of clothes that don't fit my body or my lifestyle.

It's like I grew up. And it's time that my wardrobe grows up, too. Do I really want to be that Real Housewife that drops her kids off at school in mini skirts and slogan tees? And the worse part is that even though I know that my wardrobe needs an update, I know it won't happen overnight. So until then, friends, you'll have to continue to see me in the same clothes all the time... and stylists on shoots will continue to have to work harder when given talent like me.

Word Up Wednesday - Whoa

2011-06-22T14:03:00.000-04:00

So I know it's Wednesday, but I don't have a great "word" for today. What I do have - and always seem to have - is another story about my baby.

Obviously since Knox is not even 11 months old yet, he doesn't say a lot. What he does (and exceptionally well, I might add) is squeal with glee, grunt and roar, and grind his eight teeth (yes, I said eight). Since he's so young, it's amazing to me when he does speak... or rather, when he puts his random sounds together and they form an English word. A word like "Whoa."

Knox has been saying whoa since he was about eight months old and, being the comedic genius that he is, his timing is always pretty hilarious. You should see the looks we get when we stroll down the city sidewalks, not necessarily fast or reckless, and Knox yells, "Whoa! Whoaaaa! Whoa-oa-oa-oooa!" You would think he was on a roller coaster ride or something. But the kicker is that passersby look at me - at me! - with judgment as if, "That woman really needs to be more careful with her baby."

He also likes to break it out on the elevator, squealing with glee as the doors close and the floors light up, but then saying, "Whoa," when the doors open or when someone gets on. And on the subway, he bursts folks' personal space bubbles all the time. Either I am too slow to stop him or the people engage him, but either way, he is often found pointing his little index finger at them until he touches their hair, arm, or face. Then he looks up at their faces and says, "Whoa."

But the best time I've heard him break out his catch phrase was at church a couple of months ago. Pastor Mark was talking about asking God for the desires or our hearts, but being 100% sure that we really want what we ask for. His example was patience. He said that when we ask God for patience, He won't just suddenly grant us patience, but will grant us with opportunities to be patient (i.e. put annoying people or circumstances in our lives). It was a pretty deep thought, which is why so many fellow church members around us giggled when 9 month old Knox said, "Whoa."

Anyway, when it's all said and done, there are other sounds he could be putting together with way worse meanings, so we embrace the Whoa. For example, Knox has recently been using that mouthful of teeth to "shhhhhhh" while also clicking his tongue to his teeth making a crisp "t" sound - - Whoa.

Momma Mondays - A Regular Guy

2011-06-13T13:23:00.000-04:00

First let me start by saying that every time I try to write a quick blog post, my 10.5 month old ends up scooting over and getting trapped under the desk. For example, at the present, he is already poking my toes with his index finger, the little E.T. in training that he is.

Second, brace yourself for this post. If you're not a parent, you may not want to read ahead. And even if you are, you may find the subject a little hard. I have to tell you that this little whippersnapper still has the worst constipation known to man. Yeah, I went there. I'm sorry, but listen, it's been 3 months now and we're starting to get worried. He associates going to the bathroom with pain, so we see him trying his hardest to hold it in. When I see that red face and hear that grunting, I swoop in and rip off his diaper faster than you can say, "Is this blog post going to get graphic?" (it's not, btw)

People say, "Wow, he's already potty trained? That's amazing!

Well, yeah, since he's been 8.5 months, he's gone number two on the toilet. (He even has his own little seat.) But it's not a good thing. He is in no way potty trained. I think to be potty trained, children are supposed to let you know when they have to go and you help them go on the potty. In this case, he tries stealthily to hold it in, wiggling around so that the floor and diaper help push it in; but I intervene and force him to sit on the pot and rub his tummy so he can't fight it. He cries and holds onto my neck, pushing those little fingers into my skin, and bounces up and down. He wants to withhold, but gravity wins. It's awful. I hate it for him. (Also, I don't exactly have the best seat in the house for these movements, considering where one's face ends up in a poo-time hug.)

The poor guy empties his entire intestines and then doesn't go again for five days. The last time he dropped a hard-as-a-rock load, his papaw said in amazement, "Man! Looks like the boy lost a few pounds."

There are a few reasons I'm sharing. One, we've been to the pediatrician four times and they keep telling us to give him more fiber. Knox gets a spoonful of Benefiber, a bottle of prune juice and water, homemade veggies, organic baby food (fruits and veggies only), and breastmilk every single day. His system refuses to react to such remedies as Karo syrup or suppositories anymore. (It's almost as if he's built up an immunity to these things now.) The only thing that makes him go is an enema, which was a last resort we finally took after 2.5 months of watching him suffer and trying everything else.

Which leads me to the second reason I'm sharing: If you're a parent out there that's struggling with this same issue, you're not alone. And if you have struggled and have answers, please feel free to share them with me. But please don't be like the model who saw/heard Knox going in the stall the other day after my audition. He was crying, had snot running down his nose, belly hurting and mood foul. My heart was breaking for him. It was the craziest poo I'd ever seen - like twice an adult's in length - and this skinny blond twenty-something said quite judgmentally, "Why don't you give him prunes?" (Because, you know, I'm such an idiot and such a bad person that I relish the current state of affairs, love watching my son suffer, and wouldn't have thought of prunes.)

(side note - Incredibly, Knox just interrupted my writing by scooting under my desk and letting out a strong shout. Seriously? He just made a poo in his diaper and it was too painful to sit on, therefore interrupting his playing. I changed him and took a pic, but won't post it here. Let's just say... baseball.)

And now I tell you, this is why we have an appointment with a gastroenterologist this afternoon. Although I am uplifted by the fact that his bowels moved without my assistance just now, he still doesn't fill his britches with soft squishy baby poo, and that's a problem. Please pray for little Knox and hope that we get some answers today. We hope it's nothing serious, but while we're happy to see our son thrive in unique ways, this is one area of his life where we wish he were a regular guy.

Fan Club Friday - Dynamite

2011-06-10T15:47:00.002-04:00

Every now and then, a song hits the charts that you can't get out of your head. Back in the day, these were the songs that inspired me to jump up on stage or shake my booty extralicious (oh! new word!). Nowadays, these are the songs that I blare in my car and dance to at home, switching lanes on the BQE with spunk or bouncing around the house with the perfect mixture of percolation and personality. There are songs that move you and songs that you move to, and Dynamite by Taio Cruz falls into the latter category.

Click here to see the video on YouTube.

Now, once in a lifetime does one of your favorite songs find itself married to an unforgettable music video spotlighting your favorite team. Recently that's what happened to me when the University of Kentucky did a music video of sorts to this song incorporating athletes from every. single. sporting. team at the school. Over 200 athletes participated and the most incredible part is that they did it in ONE TAKE! One take people!

Professors could take note when trying to get their students to focus. These director/producers were able to convince over 200 student athletes into donating their sparse spare time to a video for the Catsby Awards that wouldn't serve them in any way but to show their friends/family. This wasn't for credit or mandatory by their coaches. It was just something they participated in for school pride/spirit and if you ask me, it's pretty doggone cool. Made me miss college... and my youth a little bit, too.

So Go Wildcats!

"I wanna celebrate and live my life!" This rules. I especially love the mascot doing the Dougie and the National Champion Rifle team showing off their trophy.

Throwback Thursdays - DuckTales

2011-06-09T11:41:00.001-04:00

Yesterday I had an audition for a vlog gig and as usual, Knox tagged along. Secure in his stroller, we filed into the small lobby of the building where the casting was being held only to be met with a long line of folks also waiting for the elevator. Apparently they'd been waiting for a while because I overheard someone up front mention that he works in the building and that the elevators were both old and slow. It being 90 degrees outside, I was covered in sweat and hoping to freshen up some in the bathroom upstairs before the casting; but if the elevators took too long, I wouldn't have time... meaning I would have to waltz into the casting with pit stains and smeared makeup.

Once it finally arrived, the guy in front of us turned around and said, "It's so hot and you've got a baby. Go ahead of me. I'll catch the next one."

It was such a sweet gesture. He looked to be in his 20s, handsome without trying, and reminded me a little of a chivalrous Kentucky boy. I thought, "He'd be great for my sister."

Ended up that after we strolled into the car with the other passengers, there was still room and he was able to hitch a ride up with us after all. That's when he said that it was so hot out, he wished that the elevator were filled with ice. And that's when I said I wish the entire floor of the studio were covered in ice and we could dive in and swim around like in DuckTales.

Which is the exact moment that I was overcome with nostalgia.

Wasn't that the best show ever? Scrooge McDuck would swim around in his vault full of gold and always try to protect his Number One Dime. Huey, Dewey, and Louie were hyper, but clever and helped protect Scrooge's money from the bad guys (mainly the Beagle Boys and Magic DeSpell). I loved that show and the theme song is one of those that will stay in your head for hours. It's one of those songs that even after 20+ years, you still remember. (You might be humming it right now. Otherwise, check it below.)

I guess I don't remember a ton about the actual episodes; I certainly couldn't write the Wikipedia page for the show. But I do remember that intro. Swimming around in a room full of money was every bit as fascinating back then as it still is today. Can you even imagine?

Momma Mondays - My Infant, My Little Man

2011-06-06T13:56:00.003-04:00

Sarah Mlynowski with me & Knox

So yesterday after church, my husband and I strolled into Manhattan, baby in tow, and hit up young adult author Sarah Mlynowski's publishing event for Ten Things We Did at Books of Wonder. She's an author whom I admire and I was thrilled to see her tweet about it, so our little family made a last minute dash into the city. First of all, if you haven't read her books, you should. Bras & Broomsticks made me a fan, so the Magic in Manhattan series is one I recommend. But I digress...

Sarah's two year old daughter was running around "helping." She brought books from fans to her momma for her autograph, a really sweet little go-between to be sure. This little curly blond head could be seen bobbing around the folding chairs and under tables, her father following a few steps behind just to keep the mayhem to a minimum. She was very sweet, getting close to Knox as he sat on the floor, chewing on the cover of her momma's new book. Watching her squat next to him curiously, and watching Knox reach toward her sweet face, it all made me nostalgic. But how? Knox is only 10 months? Can you be nostalgic in the future? (much like London in like Cat Patrick's debut novel Forgotten)

I don't know if it sounds crazy, but that's what happened. I saw myself this time next year, maybe at a signing or my own event, and imagined my own little guy running around the bookstore. I'm sure he'll be way more of a terror than sweet Chloe was, especially if the pushing, biting, and squealing we're seeing at 10 months is a sign; but he'll be there "helping" his momma work her hustle.

Knox, an early reader

He's just growing like a weed. His head is completely covered with thick light brown hair and his face is settling into that of a toddler... already! He has these deep blue eyes and a beautiful smile full of eight teeth. I look at this (very) young man and wonder, "Where did my baby go?" My baby couldn't clap his pudgy paws together and squeal in delight when he garnered his own applause. My baby couldn't use his index finger a la E.T. to knock down block towers or touch strangers in the cheek or grab their hair (apologies to Susane Colasanti, btw). My little baby couldn't scoot all around the room on his butt or try with all of his might to pull the Safety First outlet covers off the wall.

But at the same time, my little baby couldn't hug my neck tight or pat me on the back.

I guess there are trade offs, but I'm thoroughly understanding the old cliché, "They grow up so fast." I'm trying to hold on to my baby, but even as I watch him right now, struggling on the floor at my feet to push himself into a crawling position, I know he's gaining more and more independence every day. He's learning, growing, turning into a little man right in front of my eyes... and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

(Or is there? I mean, when he first tries to stand up, would it be wrong of me to push him back down?)

YA authors at Sarah's event

Fan Club Friday - "family" by Micol Ostow

2011-06-03T12:40:00.003-04:00

So as you know, I've always been an avid reader. I used to walk down the hallways in middle school like a pinball in a machine, my nose in a book as I walked, bouncing off the shoulders of the other kids passing by. But since I've had the baby, a read that would normally take me one or two days can now take one or two weeks. And that's okay when it's a book you're not really into, but when it's a book like Micol Ostow's family, it can really drive you mad.

family is loosely based on the story of Charles Manson and the Manson Family murders of 1969, so you can imagine why it tortured me to have the characters living with me for so long. As the main character Mel, a broken girl from an abusive family, runs away to San Francisco in search of anything to help make her whole again, she encounters Henry, a handsome and charasmatic man with a family of other broken souls more than eager to welcome her.

Besides this intriguing plot line, the entire book is written in episodic verse, a daunting endeavor but one that Micol pulled off brilliantly. For me, that helped lure the reader into the trance that I imagine Mel and the other girls had to be under in order to, without question, do Henry's bidding.

The book is divided. There are three main parts, but also numerous stand-alone pieces, too short to be considered chapters, almost like small pieces of poetic prose. I loved all of the breaks throughout and think it is genius in relation to Mel, who is also broken and busted up by years of living with a negligent mother and sexually abusive "uncle." Each piece takes us in a new direction, some giving sneak peeks of what's to come, others taking us way back to "mirror Mel," and some living in the now. Swept along in the cadence of the story, we sway, we swoon, we feel chosen, just as Mel does. We believe that there is "no i, no ego, no before" and that "everything belongs to everyone." We are charmed by Henry and yet, from our outside perspective, we are worried... for Mel, for the singer, for anyone that displeases Him.

family is a refreshing example of dark YA fiction that will haunt you without succumbing to the paranormal trend.

Micol is a good friend of mine and a major reason that I finished my own YA novel, met my agent, and eventually got published. I admire and respect her and love her work. You will, too. Go get this book!

Throwback Thursday - MJ Getting My Groove Back

2011-06-02T17:49:00.002-04:00

I just want to say that the King of Pop may be dead, but his moves live on.

For Christmas this year, my mother-in-law got me the Michael Jackson Dance Experience game and it's so boss. Although I've only played a few times, I know that if I were to really use this thing, I could not only get in shape, but much like Stella, I could get my groove back.

What happened to your groove, Alecia? you might ask yourself.

Well, kids. I got married, turned 30, and had a kid.

But truthfully, I used to kill it at the club. And even if you were with me at these clubs back in the day and remember it differently, you'd have to at least agree that in my mind, I straight killed it. The dj dropped the beat and I dropped the junk in my trunk, workin' tracks from Snoop to Beyonce like I was getting paid. I longed for Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. Couldn't wait to put on some fancy clothes from Express or TJ Maxx (yeah, I said fancy) and go man huntin'... um, I mean dancing.

What I really remember is the workout. You get a good track going and weave into the throng of keyed up 20 somethings and next thing you know, your hair is sticking to your forehead and your quads are burning. I would wake up the next morning feeling like I'd gone to the gym and so, I never went to the gym!

To this day, I break out random dance moves on my family when they least expect it. It always cracks my husband up, especially since there is rarely music to accompany such outbursts. And my baby usually likes it. (Note: Only once did I make him cry, but I have since retired such percolation.)

But as far as the club scene, my life looks a little different. Now I drop the baby in his jumper and assume the position in front of our TV. MJ and his sparkly white socks shimmy across the screen and I choose a song (difficulty level EASY). Knox bounces with glee as I try to keep up with the master and look like a person who was thrown into an anti-dance prison camp and had the rhythm beaten out of her. And after one attempt at Smooth Criminal, I'm out of breath and call it a day.

imPROMPTuesday - Skirt Magazine & August Issue

2011-05-31T21:46:00.001-04:00

Okay, so I've never been published in Skirt Magazine, but I am hoping that I will one day. I've only submitted once before, and you can't win if you don't enter. So I'm challenging myself as well as you to write a personal essay for their August issue. You never know - maybe one of us will see our names in print.

For submission guidelines, follow this link: http://skirt.com/contributor_guidelines#Print_Magazine

Good luck!
Happy writing.

AUGUST - The Challenge Issue
The title says it all. Facing a challenge, throwing out a challenging, turning down a challenge, and so on.

Word Up Wednesday - Mad Hot Blog

2011-05-25T09:58:00.000-04:00

First of all, I'm running out of words, so in the comments section, I am open to suggestions.

Secondly, the word this week is "mad." No, I don't mean angry. I'm talking about "mad" as an adjective. Seems weird, you say? I agree.

When I first moved to New York City, I started working at a restaurant in midtown and became friends with a guy named Danny. He grew up in Queens and was about five to seven years younger than me. Recently graduated and not yet married, he was still hip to club life and the pop culture that thrives within. A great guy, we became friends. I think he was just as intrigued in my rearing in rural Kentucky as I was with his in Ozone Park, Queens.

Anyway, he was eager to show me the ropes of fast-paced city life. Always on his Sidekick, texting at lightning pace, and keeping his hair "fresh" (or was it "tight"? - hmmmm), he was the guy I looked to for all things current. And if he taught me anything during the two years we worked together, it was that "mad" means so much more than "ticked off."

The Urban Dictionary defines mad as:

Most predominantly used in the greater New York area, "mad" is an appropriate replacement for Northern California's "hella" and Boston's "wicked." In the common vernacular, it translates into "very," "a lot," or "extremely." Can be used almost interchangeably with any of the above listed words.

As a writer, I pride myself on choosing the right words in my work - even when I'm writing these blog posts, I will occasionally consult the online dictionary or thesaurus - so you can imagine my glee at learning to use an old word in a new way.

I was at first baffled when Danny would say, "Yo, it's mad busy today," or "Check it, that song is mad hot." But soon, my fascination with the descriptive leniency of this adjective became an infatuation. I started dropping "mad" here and there in everyday conversation - and oh yes, I did it with a straight face. Let's be honest: I am not too proud to pose.

Then I was introduced to the killer documentary Mad Hot Ballroom about New York City public school elementary students learning and competing in ballroom dance, and that solidified the urban definition for me - made it legit. I mean, the documentary could just as easily have been called Very Hot Ballroom, but then you'd get the image of senior night at the community center: old folks and hand fans. Totally different vibe.

(Note: Watch this movie. It's awesome.)

So, if we've learned anything today, it's to listen to our youth. They're mad hip. And isn't it refreshing how they took such a negative word and gave it a totally fresh spin? They deserve mad props.

Sound off below.

Keep it real. Word to your motha. Peace.

(okay, I'm done)

ImPrompTuesday - The Pop Issue

2011-05-24T11:38:00.000-04:00

Hey folks. Today's prompt is once again based off of an upcoming issue of Underwired Magazine. The July issue is The Pop Issue and for your personal essay to be considered, you'll need to write an 800-1200 word essay and email it to them by June 1 - that's next Wednesday. So get to crackin'!

July The Pop Issue
Pop music, pop art... All things pop culture. And, of course, popping the question.

They pay 100 smackers, plus you get to crack your knuckles and write down a little bit of personal history. So get to it!

Momma Mondays - Nursery Anxiety

2011-05-23T11:35:00.002-04:00

When Knox was almost 6 months old, my BFF was in town visiting and stayed home with the baby while Jerrod and I went to church. For the first time since giving birth, my husband put his arm around me during the service, kissed me on the cheek a few times, and took communion with me. We actually listened to the sermon and even followed along with the message notes our church provided, filling in the blanks and reading the scriptures aloud with the rest of the congregation. We weren't rocking the baby, fiddling with the stroller, sneaking out to feed him, or being generally distracted by his utter and all-absorbing cuteness.

Since that day, I have been a broken record: "It's time to put Knox in the nursery."

But my husband wouldn't hear of it. While I'm home with the baby all day every day, the weekends are 48 hours that Jerrod gets with Knox and he doesn't like to be away from him for a second. So as the baby has grown, gotten bigger, louder, and much more mobile, we have gone through sermons with the little guy squirming on our laps. With each squeal and gurgle, members of the church sitting close enough to us would turn and smile... or just turn... and I hated distracting them from a message that God could really be trying to apply in their lives. "We've got to start putting him in the nursery," I kept saying. "They like it," he would reply.

A few weeks ago, the pastor was preaching on asking God to use us in powerful ways, but said that we need to be sure that's what we really want because God will answer. So, for example, if you pray for patience, God doesn't just magically make you a patient person; instead, He puts obstacles in your path so that you might exercise patience, to which 9 month old Knox loudly yelled, "WHOA!" (thus, providing me with an opportunity to practice patience as everyone looked around).

So yesterday, my husband surprised me by saying, "Are we putting Knox in the nursery today?" I couldn't believe it. I had been wanting to for a while and he was actually suggesting it!

Confidently, I marched down the hallway to the nursery with the baby on my hip. As the girl started to fill out a name tag to stick on Knox's back, I felt my confidence falter, but only a tad. We were given a number that corresponded to Knox's so that, in an emergency, it would flash on the screen behind the pastor and we could be notified to report to the nursery. I glanced at the number and tucked it into my front pocket where I was sure not to lose it, then walked to the nursery room for drop off.

At the door, I saw a very sweet and very pregnant woman watching over six babies under the age of 2. My confidence, once again, slipped a bit. I had left Knox with a babysitter a handful of times (4, but who's counting?), but those were one-on-one situations where he was given 100% attention. How will this girl wrangle all of them? What if they all dirty their diapers at the same time? What if they all start crying at the same time? What if Knox needs a hug and she's busy? (ahhh, yes, the Crazy seeped in)

"Do you need some help?" I asked her, Knox still firmly on my hip.
"Well, another girl is here but she just took her daughter to the bathroom," she answered, looking toward the door, overwhelmed. A one year old boy on the floor started to cry. "She'll be right back."
"Maybe I should stay?" I offered.
"Yeah, could you?" she asked, "I mean, just til she gets back."

I plopped Knox down on the foam tiles and (ashamed to say so) I felt better that I'd be staying with him. Maybe nursery baby steps were what I- uh, er, Knox- needed.

Just then, the other girl showed up. "Oh here she is. Thanks, but we've got it." They both smiled at me and Knox reached for a rattle. He clapped his hands and ignored me.

"Okay," I said, inching out of the room. I just knew that Knox would realize that I was leaving and lose his mind. I just knew with each step that he was about to go berserk. He's almost 10 months old - all the emails say he should be experiencing separation anxiety; yet rather than sneak out, I said loudly, "Okay, I'll just go then."

Knox heard me and turned. Then, he smiled up at me, a big toothy care-free grin. Without missing a beat, he then turned toward a baby girl beside him and made a grab for her ruffled sock.

So he's fine, I thought to myself. Totally fine. We're late, I should get in there. I turned away and forced myself to walk out of the room, but before I could leave, one of the girls got up from her folding chair and I saw it crash onto the head of the baby boy who was already crying earlier. She rushed to lock the chair and scooped up the baby, obviously feeling terrible. Every reflex in my body caused me to turn back toward my own child, but I forced my brain to win out over my heart: accidents happen, these are good girls, Knox is fine, go to church, meet your husband, step away from the baby.

I hurriedly left the room, a la ripping off a band-aid, and walked quickly to the lobby. When my husband walked in, he headed toward the nursery.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"To check on Knox," he said.
I laughed.

And then started to cry.
"Oh, no!" he said, stopping in his tracks. He was on a mission to check on Knox, but when he saw the tears streaming (seriously, it was ridiculous) down my face, he paused to wrap both arms around me. Of course when I pulled away and seemed to have it under control, he made a beeline toward the nursery to peek in.

So yeah, at 9 months, there is separation anxiety. We just thought it would be the baby, not us. We've seen babies cling to their mothers' necks, cry and cry when left alone, be peeled off their daddy's legs; but Knox was fine. We were the ones that were a mess.

During the service, things were actually really nice. Jerrod put his arm around my shoulders, we whispered to each other about verses we like, we had a semblance of lives before the baby. Okay, we're figuring this out. We're getting into a new life rhythm.

Then this message flashed up on screen: PARENT OF CHILD 659 REPORT TO NURSERY.

Jerrod's hand tensed up on my shoulder. I dug into my pocket and held up our number: 669.
Whew, not us. Knox is fine.

"Maybe I should go check on him, just in case," Jerrod said.

"No," I answered, holding his hand, determined to fight against the cliches of first-time parents and emotional irrationality. "Knox is fine. His is 669."

"Or wait. Is it 699?"

Oh no. Our confidence faltered... again. I shook my head. Either way, Knox is fine. The number that flashed up on screen was... wait, what was that number?

Then the pastor showed a clip from one of the many Rocky movies where Sly is talking to his son. It's a passionate scene in the street, looks cold or rainy, and father and son stand there facing off. Sly tells his son that he is the best thing in his life, his blood, his heart. Tells his son how much he loves him.

When the clip ended and the lights came up, Jerrod turned to me again. "Maybe I should go check on Knox."

"Absolutely," I said.

Of course, Knox was fine. If anything, he was embarrassed that his folks ruined his cred in front of the other babies. Next week, he's gonna have to knock over somebody's block castle or swipe a toy and not share, just to restore his reputation as a tough guy.

Word Up Wednesday - Peeps

2011-05-18T19:47:00.000-04:00

So the word this week is "peeps," and I'm not talking about the delightful Easter-time sugary confection. I'm talking about your homeboys, your girlfriends, your posse, your inner circle. I'm talking about the folks that you could call up on the phone cause you already have their number in your contacts. These are people you connect with, you vibe with, people you know. These people are so true and loyal to you that when you call them peeps, you never do so without the word "my" in front.

The Urban Dictionary defines peeps as:
   slang for "people," referring to friends, associates, family, or anyone involved in
   your inner circle.
   Me and my peeps are having a get together this Saturday.

The Bloomsbury Dictionary of Contemporary Slang defines peeps as:
   n, pl - occurs in American slang, in which it may refer to one's fellow
   gang members or friends and family - 1997
   "Closer than my peeps you are to me" - Shaggy, from the song Angel

Either way, it's clear that in today's pop culture, one's "peeps" are folks considered to be more than a mere acquaintance.

Try telling that to my dad...

I've told you in a recent Word Up Wednesday about the enjoyment my dad gets out of incorporating hip lingo into his vernacular. Remember how I described the twinkle in his eye when he voraciously used the word "Cha Ching" during my youth? Well now, it's peeps.

He likes to use the word "peeps" to describe folks he doesn't know. An example of this is when he recently told me that some people were coming by to look at the farm where I grew up. (Plug - they're selling their awesome house and sweet 40 acres if you're interested in a great place to live, grow up, raise kids.)

He wrote in an email, "I've got some peeps coming by to look at the farm."

I asked, "These are friends of yours?"

"No," he said, "they're off of Craigslist, from South Carolina."

I tried to tell him that the slang is most commonly used to describe people that you're close to like friends, family, or homeboys. To which he replied, "Oh, I didn't know. I just use it as short for 'people' when I'm typing."

"But Dad," I tried to sway him, "please note that peeps is only one letter shy of people, therefore not really a shortcut at all. Maybe 'ppl' is what you're looking for."

"Oh, okay," he said. And he changed for a bit. I noticed 'ppl' popping up in random emails and a few Skype chats. I thought, 'Yeah, my dad is getting it. He's saving characters, could advance to Twitter and conquer the status choking tweet limits by next week at this rate.'

But slowly, and let's face it - inevitably - 'peeps' returned.

"Are you gonna have some peeps look at your car battery?" he asked me last week.

Well Dad, unless there's an auto shop up here in Queens run by some of my nearest and dearest, then no, I am not. I would venture to say that the majority of my subway commuting homies couldn't even change a tire, much less replace a car battery. I am instead bound to get ripped off by some slick talkers and their peeps.

And PS, Dad, in my middle age, I now love the silly corny jokes and cheesy puns. I have even forgiven you for the time that you once said "bummer" in front of a boy I liked at Space Camp in fifth grade. But for the sake of your own street cred, remember this: Buddy and Lucky = your peeps. Mom and me = your peeps. Hardee's drive-thru employees = ppl (and perhaps, enablers).

Okay, my peeps. Sound off!

Tuesday Tweeps - An Interview with Lisa Mantineo

2011-05-16T23:30:00.001-04:00

This week tweeps, you get a little peek into the life of one of my dearest pals, Lisa Mantineo. Originally from New Jersey, she has traveled to Kentucky twice just to check out my old stomping grounds, (my dad even let her ride his four-wheeler over our farm and she almost hit a cow, but I digress). She has been one of my most loyal supporters as I have carved out a life and career here in NYC, so I'm thrilled to interview her this week so that the rest of you out there get to know her just a little bit.

Miss Lisa Mantineo...

Me: What's your favorite book? I'm talking all time, here.

LM: I have favorites in different genres and from different stages of my life. In fact there have been times when I've become so obsessed with an author, I've done my best to buy every single thing he or she has written to prove (to myself?) how much I like their work. This book hoarding obsession began at the age of 9 during a family trip to Colorado; my mother and I had gone to a second hand book store and I picked up my first Nancy Drew mystery. From Nancy I went on to obsess over The Babysitters Club, R. L. Stine's Fear Street series, and like every good Irish-Catholic girl from New Jersey, Mary Higgins Clark. All that being said, since I first found my love for books, I've constantly found myself wandering down the mystery and suspense aisle more often than not. And in that category, Lois Duncan's "Summer of Fear" will always stand out as a page turner. I first became fascinated with the book when my older sister borrowed it from the library and then proceeded to share with me this story about a girl who upon a visit from a distant cousin, finds her world turning upside down, and begins to ask the question, who is this stranger in my house? I don't want to give any of it away, in case you haven't read it.

Me: I'm visiting your hometown today, one day only. What can't I miss?

LM: I am from the great township of Saddle Brook in the amazing state of New Jersey, (originally known as Saddle River Township). "The Brook" as those born and raised there fondly refer to it, is often confused with its much wealthier cousins Saddle River and Upper Saddle River. I know it can get confusing once a body of water is included in a town's name, but I assure you a former President (Nixon) has NEVER lived in "the Brook," it only covers about 2.69 square miles! If you were to come visit me in Saddle Brook, I would want it to be during the summer in the month of July. We would start off the morning by going to the Saddle Brook Diner, where you could enjoy anything your heart desires. After breakfast we could take a walk in the Otto C. Pehle section of the county park that runs through the middle of town. If you bring your fishing pole we may have some luck catching Sunnies in the pond! The park is huge and has a number of different playgrounds, so bring Knox along. After spending time in the park, we can head over to Cambridge Avenue and hang out in "the field." This is the main soccer and recreation field in town, and also happens to be directly across the street from my parent's house. After all of this outdoor activity, I am sure we will have worked up an appetite. I'd love to take you to Township Fountain, which is this really great luncheonette in town. In middle school and high school we used to go there for lunch. Their Hamburger Special ($3.00 for a hamburger, fries and a can of soda) can't be beat! Each July the local Catholic church throws a carnival, or as they deem it "The Festival of Fun." Everybody who's anybody can be found here, and this is definitely where we should go in the evening. They have all the classic rides from 'Big Eli' the Ferris wheel, to the Flying Bobs, and of course The Round-Up. And in case I haven't fed you enough on this trip, they've got a ton of food stands from zeppoles (Italian fried dough), to hot dogs and delicious food from the local Pizza place. You can also try your luck at one of the many games of chance, and I highly advise you buy a ticket for the 50/50 - in 1986 my Mom won a Chevy Nova just by playing! So take a look at your schedule now and we can make this happen - you, me, Knox and maybe even Jerrod - this summer a day of fun in good 'ole SB.

Me: Who are you following on Twitter right now that would surprise your friends? #GuiltyPleasures

LM: Get ready to laugh because after watching their amazing infomercial, I became the proud follower of @PajamaJean That's right, it's true, I follow Pajama Jeans on twitter. More out of fascination for this magical creation, and also to see if they are expanding their bossome product line. Please note, me following them on twitter actually inspired my younger sister to place an order for her own pair.

Ha! Amazing. I, too, loved The Babysitter's Club series and tend to be a book hoarder, although in such a small apartment, I've had to donate many to Goodwill... but I haven't done it with goodwill - more so with a begrudging attitude if we're being honest. I remember the field by your folks' house in The Brook and am eager to check out this Festival Of Fun. I'm also intrigued by "Italian fried dough"... Lastly, PajamaJean? Really? I don't even know what to say. But as per the standard, I am obligated to follow them this week per your recommendation.

Thanks for the interview! Everybody check Lisa out on Twitter @LisaMMonty.

Momma Mondays - Roll over, Roll over

2011-05-16T14:40:00.002-04:00

There were two in the bed and the little one said, "Roll over, roll over."

So momma rolled over and got out of bed,

"The baby's too sick, I can't go out," she said.

And in that one little minute, the baby kept with the song,

Just the one in the bed and the little one said, "Roll over, roll over."

Which is just what he did - rolling out of the bed -

A thud sounded through the house as he landed on his head.

Crying face down with a busted lip

Momma scooped him up and put the baby on her hip.

And she's never felt worse.

Okay, so that's not exactly how the children's song goes, but it's pretty close to what happened last Thursday night while visiting my family on vacation at the Poconos in Pennsylvania. Knox was up all night Wednesday with cold-like symptoms, but seemed to be in a better mood throughout the day Thursday. I was hoping it was just the pollen that had gotten to him, but then that night, he was once again warm and had developed a cough, thus momma-dependent and disinterested in his pack n play, opting rather to sleep with me in my bed.

As usual, I prepared what my husband and I call "Fort Knox" - lining the edges of the bed with pillows - because the last thing I ever wanted to happen to my baby was for him to fall out of bed. He was so sick and cranky (therefore whiny and clingy), so I was lying in bed on my side next to him singing, playing with his hair, and allowing him to breastfeed when he wanted to help soothe him. My sister was patiently waiting for me to make a McDonald's run with her (we were craving milkshakes); but Knox had been fighting falling to sleep for over an hour and I realized that our dairy dream was not to be. As he finally drifted off, I slipped out of bed to tell her that I was going to have to stay.

I grabbed my toothbrush off the dresser and checked the bed. Knox was all the way over to one edge, but the pillows next to him would protect him. I thought about lining the other side too, where I had been lying, but he would have to really roll to get over there which seemed unlikely seeing as A) he was dead asleep (finally), and B) I would be right back.

Having reenacted the night multiple times out of shame and self-loathing, I can now tell you that I took exactly four steps to the balcony in the hallway outside my room to tell my sister in the den below, "I can't go to McDonald's, Bobbie Jo. He's too sick." To which she replied, "Okay." There. The whole conversation. Succinct. Quick. Non-negligent.

I then took another four steps, peeked in the bedroom where all was well, and took six steps to the bathroom for a quick brushing of the teeth, (which yeah, in hindsight, was pushing it). I got about three back n forths of the brush across one side of my teeth when I heard the sickest, loudest, most shuddersome THUD of my entire life. I knew. I just knew.

I ran to the bedroom with my toothbrush hanging out of my mouth, the gel paste not even dissolved into that nice foamy lather you really look for when aspiring for fresh breath and a plaque free teeth. There on the thin carpet next to my bed was my nine month old baby, face down, hoarse from bout two of the croup, crying. He had rolled over twice, avoiding the fort like barrier of pillows on 3/4 of the surface area of the bed, and working his way over to where he must've assumed his mother to still be. Alas, she was not.

I scooped him up, my heart racing. He was still half asleep, eyes puffy and nose running, crying softly in a half sick / half "what just happened" way. He seemed more startled than anything. He clung to me, hugging fiercely, his little hands wrapping around those super tender baby hairs at the back of my neck that always escape my ponytails. I shushed him, rocked him, rubbed his back. I ran downstairs with him to my own mother, explaining what happened, and allowing myself to be soothed by her.

"It's okay," she kept saying. "You're not a bad mother. This happens to everybody." She was saying all the right things, but the bruise on his lip was heart-wrenching. "I'll never forget the first time you fell off the bed."

And that got my attention. My sister and I looked at each other, eyebrows cocked.

My mom continued, "Yeah, all of you all fell off the bed."

And I'm pretty sure that's when I was able to start laughing about it. Cause you know, if it's not one thing, it's ten. And I was so tired and so exhausted and so shaken, that if I didn't laugh, I would surely cry.

Because, let's be honest. At Christmas, when Knox was really just learning to roll over, my dad said to me, "Just wait til the first time he rolls off the bed." And I said to him, "The first time?" amazed not only that he thought there would ever be a time, not to mention that if there were, I would allow it to happen again.

And it's just funny. I mean, because unbeknownst to me, the early 80's were apparently filled to the brim with several instances of baby-Whitaker nose dives off the couch and bed. It's not enough that it happened to me (more than once), but my brother and sister suffered similar launches. At Christmas when my dad told me that, I remember thinking, "Should I really let them babysit? I mean, what were my parents doing? Why'd they keep putting us up on the bed once we'd rolled off? Just seeing how well we were made?"

And now, I have become my parents. As my BFF Whitney said, "cut from the same cloth." But truly, I have awesome parents!

So it's a rite of passage. Knox has superhuman healing powers because his busted lip is already a memory, and something he didn't seem to notice while it was there. And although I think I should, I just don't have the energy to beat myself up for it. So I've decided to adopt his daddy's attitude, that falling off the bed will "make him tough."

Okay, bloggies, what's the good word? Any little monkey in the bed stories of your own? Comment here! Make me feel better. :)

Throwback Thursdays - The Golden Arches

2011-05-12T13:18:00.000-04:00

As I sit here with my father, in a booth at McDonalds in the Poconos, I am reminded of vacations in my earlier years. Mom and Dad drove us all over the country so we could see beaches, mountains, museums, and the way other folks live. I remember scanning the scenery in games of "I Spy" on those roadtrips, playing my brother's Gameboy, and reading Sweet Valley Twins books as the mileage continued to climb on the family car. But what sticks out to me now, right now, is that my dad has done a 180 in life when it comes to The Golden Arches.

Instead of, "Are we there yet?", my siblings and I would instead ask, "Can we eat at McDonald's?" A Hardees man, my father would groan and do all he could to avoid getting us Happy Meals. He didn't like McDonald's and it was a treat when we could convince him to pull the mini-van around the drive-thru. Oftentimes, he would even get us what we wanted and then drive to the pull up window at Wendy's or Arby's for himself.

But now, as he gets nearer and nearer his golden years, he also seems to be drawn nearer and nearer to the golden arches. He is the one suggesting McDonald's. (Were it not for a BBQ establishment called Tickle My Pig and heavy propaganda from yours truly yesterday, we would've had Mickey Dees again making it three days in a row. Ahhh, vacationing done right.)

Now I know that Wi-fi is the real reason we are here right now. I haven't been able to blog from our hotel and he hasn't been able to read the news, but I wonder if free wi-fi at McDonald's isn't just a ruse to pack away another quarter-pounder. And listen, I'm not complaining. I love the ice cream cones here. I dig the fries. And I would be lying if I didn't also have a penchant for McDonald's coke, (I mean, what in the world do they do to their fountain cokes here?!). But it is truly fascinating to me that my dad is now a champion for McDonald's and all it has to offer.

What about you? Have your parents changed post-retirement? In what ways?
Also - McDonald's - I'm lovin' it or It's killin' me?

Momma Mondays - My First Mother's Day!

2011-05-09T01:03:00.002-04:00

Okay, so a big ol' load of bossomeness happened to me today. First, today was Knox's baby dedication at church and he was dressed to the nines! I don't need to tell you how adorable he was... (but I will)... The little man was decked out in a blue and yellow plaid button up with a blue sailboat vest on top and khakis. Can you say, Polo model? It was a gift from Gramma and Granddad, who drove up from Kentucky with my sister for the special occasion. And special it really was. The pastor asked us to pray for our son daily and guide him in his spiritual walk and set a Godly example. Whoa. Talk about feeling like a grown up! But seriously, it was a simple yet important family moment.

Second reason today was killer: I wore a pre-pregnancy dress to church today. Woo-hoo! I filled it out differently than before, (no, my hips are no longer lying), but I felt great. After I gave birth, my acting agent told me, "Nine months up and nine months down." Well, I'm not fit or in shape, but the little tyke is 9 months 2 weeks, and I'm squeezing back into the pre-Knox era clothes and feeling good about it.

Third thing that made today dope was my Mother's Day gift. Knox and his dad got me a Coke and bag of Snickers (my favorite snacks), about 15 new gel ink pens (cause Jerrod always steals mine), and best of all, a really nice card. I have to admit it, right here and now I'll tell you, I love words and I love compliments. Yes! Tell me I'm great and I'll love you forever! No, I know that may sound bad, but sometimes you just want to hear that the work you do every day is noticed. So it was nice to read a sweet note from my guys saying how much they love me and appreciate the little ways that I take care of them (and the big ways, too). Did I mention the card was in Spanish? My infant is a genius.

Lastly, the day was gorgeous. 70 degrees, my husband grilled out for us on the patio (bone-in pork chops, corn on the cob, steamed broccoli, biscuits, and fresh strawberries), and a nice walk to the park so we could take turns pushing Knox in the swing and riding down the kiddie slides with him in our laps. The definition of greatness was May 8, 2011.

(Also, I'm a mother. How is that possible? Like, seriously, I'm allowed to raise a child. Is that okay?)

Fan Club Friday - HATCHET by Gary Paulsen

2011-05-06T11:25:00.000-04:00

So since I've had the baby, I've had no time for my previous hobbies like reading, going to the movies, or watching reality television. (I'm lucky to keep up with the Housewives these days!) Whereas I used to finish a book in a couple of days, it can now take a couple of weeks; which is not at all to comment on whether or not the book is engaging, but moreover a statement on the very little time I have alone.

When doing some construction on our apartment a couple of weeks ago, I had to go through my books and get rid of a lot. This pained me greatly because I love books, but we just don't have room for my ever growing collection. One book that I found though was an old beat up copy of Hatchet by Gary Paulsen. And the memories rushed in...

As you'll recall from yesterday's blog post, one of my favorite teachers Mrs. Arnold encouraged all of her students to read voraciously in order to attend a panel at UK based on Newberry Honor books. Hatchet was on that list and I remember everybody loving it... especially the boys in our class. The weird thing is that this book has always stayed with me, but I actually never read it. I just remember the rave reviews from the book reports folks in class gave.

So when I found the book the other day, I put it in the basket of the stroller and decided to finally see what all the hype was about. I was able to read it in bits and pieces, on the train if the baby and I had to go to Manhattan, at night while my husband gave Knox his bath, and on occasional trips to the bathroom (if we're really being honest here). The book is only 195 pages long and the typeset is big, but it took me three weeks to finish! Mrs. Arnold (now Mrs. Feix) would be so disappointed.

But it was worth the read. I was surprised at how long the author let thirteen-year-old Brian stay out in the Canadian forest alone and learning to survive. I thought that was a brave writer's choice and I appreciated struggling each day with the main character, basically witnessing the transition from boy to man. I texted my friend Haviland a few weeks ago that I was reading Hatchet, and he replied, "The drama!" Not having read it before, I was curious as to what he meant; and as I navigated food, fire, shelter, and his parents' divorce with the protagonist, I felt that Haviland hit the nail on the head. And what's even more interesting is that his response was so impassioned for a book he hasn't read in over fifteen years.

So Paulsen does a good job at crafting a survival story that doesn't feel forced or fake; rather, quite authentic. But more than that, while I didn't rush to read it as an eleven year old girl, I can now appreciate Hatchet as a young adult book that appeals to boys, and one that I think my son Knox will one day love.

Thursday Throwback - 1st Experience w/ Mexican Food

2011-05-05T12:47:00.000-04:00

In the sixth grade, one of my favorite teachers Mrs. Arnold (now Mrs. Feix I think) encouraged all of her students to read voraciously. She compiled a long list of Newberry Honor books and we had several months to read as many as possible and do a small book report on each one. She gave us Garfield stickers and bookmarks, but the real prize was a trip to the University of Kentucky in Lexington where we would discuss the books we had read that year with selected English instructors from across the state that made up a Newberry Panel.

Letter from my Mom

Now I loved a good field trip. And I loved reading. I had my nose in a book every day that year, walking to class and reading in the hallways, bumping into kids along the way. I hid a flashlight under my pillow at home so that I could really attack the reading list. I read almost 80 books that year - killer - and yet still didn't beat John Lynch, who I think beat me by a couple of books. Grrr... Still, I got to go on the field trip to UK.

The part I remember most about this field trip was that after we went to the panel, Mrs. Arnold took us to Chi-Chi's, a chain restaurant specializing in Mexican food. I was immediately worried! I'd never had Mexican food and just knew I wouldn't like anything on the menu. My dad was a meat and potatoes man, the king of bland food, and my mom only cooked things he liked. So we ate roast beef and cornbread and green beans and eggs, but we didn't hammer them with pepper, onions, or tobasco sauce. Puh-lease!

The other kids were stoked, but I was a nervous wreck looking over the menu, too embarrassed to ask the difference between a taco and a chimichanga. The music was carnival-esque blaring from the speakers and pinatas and big hats hung from the the ceiling. I must admit liking the festivity of it all, but my stomach was too tied up for me to really enjoy it. I was a fish out of water - no, a mariachi out of costume - and I couldn't relax. (FYI - middle school is all about fitting in.)

My friends were dipping into the chips and salsa like old pros, but I figured it would be too spicy for me, so I tried to sneak chips sans-salsa when my friends weren't looking. And then the waiter appeared.

"I'll go last," I said quickly, ducking back under my menu.

"I'll have a chicken quesadilla." Oh, 'dee-ya.' I would've gone with 'dill-a.' This is so stressful.

"Steak fajitas for me." 'Fa-hee-tas?' Was there anything on this menu I could even pronounce?

"Taco salad with a side of guac." Everything sounded so exotic.

"A hot dog!" I shrieked with glee. I looked up at the waiter, my face full of joy. I had scoured the menu and finally found the Kid's Menu on the back. Truthfully, I didn't like being thought of as a kid anymore, but technically, I wasn't twelve... yet.

My friends cocked their eyebrows along with the waiter, but I confidently ordered a hot dog with fries, my blood pressure returned to normal, and I finished the day wiser - not only in the way of books, but in culinary experiences as well.

Word Up Wednesday - Cha-ching!

2011-05-04T17:34:00.003-04:00

Do you remember it folks? "Cha-ching!" was slang I took hold to with both hands. Coupled with an awesome motion like bringing your fist down in a pump, "Cha-ching!" was a staple in conversations of my youth.

The Urban Dictionary defines it as "an exclamation connoting elation over a success or personal triumph of some kind, which was coined by the actor Seth Green, in 1992, in a Wendy's commercial - after which it spiraled off into existence becoming one of the more hackneyed expressions of the 90s."

Hackneyed or not, it was hip, it was fresh, and I was using it:

"Our middle school speech team just won State! Cha-ching!"
"Mom's letting me have a slumber party Friday night. Cha-ching!"
"My dad paid me five bucks to mow the yard today. Cha-ching!"

Imagine my enthusiasm: skinny little middle schooler, sporting retainers and turtlenecks, the shortest in her class and the peppiest, too. I clung to pop culture like a hungry dog to meat. Without cable TV or a subscription to YM magazine, I was always late to the game, but eager to play.

Another person late to the pop culture game? My father.
Another person just as enthusiastic when he catches wind of the hip new trends? Same guy.

This is what leads me to cringe to this day every time I hear, "Cha-ching!" Whether the words or just the sound (it can be a doggone cash register at the deli even!), when I hear that sound, I am taken back to every girl's nightmare: her dad pumping his fist and using the current slang in front of - not only her friends - but THE BOY SHE LIKES.

I was never kissed on the lips in middle school unless a Coke bottle deemed it so. I blame this on my father. Cause on every romantic hay ride, during every slow song at a middle school dance, and every couples skate at the roller rink, I knew my corny dad was lurking in the shadows, fist at the ready, slang at the tip of his teeth.

What about you? Did you have a "cool dad" or at least one that deemed himself to be so? Please tell me I'm not alone.

Tuesday Tweeps - An interview with Bobbie Jo Whitaker

2011-05-03T12:00:00.008-04:00

Happy Tuesday, Tweeple! Today's interview features my little sister (and newest Twitter follower) Bobbie Jo Whitaker. You will never run into her without finding a book somewhere on her person. She reads all the time, shocking some non-readers like my brother by re-reading favorites. Whether propped on the couch or bouncing along in a car, she's got her nose in a book. Bored with dinner conversation? Yes, it's true, I've even known her to read at the dinner table... in a restaurant. Besides being a fan of books, I've always known her to be a fan of mine. Hence, she was the perfect family member to interview on the blog. Without further ado, Miss Bobbie Jo Whitaker.

Me: What's your favorite book? I'm talking all time, here.

BJW: Oh wow. This is a crazy difficult question. There are books that I’ve read so many times that I’ve torn the bindings but they’re not necessarily my favorite books. I think I have to go with Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card. It follows an extremely intelligent young boy named Ender Wiggin as he is pushed through Battle School. Battle School is a place for gifted children to learn the art of war in order to beat the Formics; an alien race bent on destroying Earth. It sounds sci-fi and cheesy, but it’s definitely not. This is a book that I couldn’t put down and I find myself recommending to several people. While it is a standalone book I had to read the entire Ender series because Ender’s Game is so good. I hope you enjoy.

Me: I'm visiting your hometown today, one day only. What can't I miss?

BJW: While Cynthiana may not be an exciting metropolis, there is one attraction that has haunted me since my sister (you) first started working there many years ago. Rohs Opera House. Rohs is the local theater and one scary place, (especially for those at the tender age of eight who are helping their sister clean). The Lady in White (I believe her name to be Ethel) is a ghost that haunts the Opera House and likes to play tricks on its guests. She’s turned off lights, made noises, written messages on chalkboards, overturned chairs and has even been seen by a select few. We would definitely go to Rohs in the evening and see if the Lady would grace us with her presence.

Me: Who are you following on Twitter right now that would surprise your friends? #GuiltyPleasures

BJW: I feel as though the people I’ve tried to follow and yet failed would surprise my friends most. First I tried to go old school and follow MacGyver and Chuck Norris. I just knew that soon I’d be reading tweets about near death experiences that were narrowly avoided because of duct tape, paper clips, or a good old fashion roundhouse kick. But instead, all I found were posers and clichés. Then I tried to find someone I just discovered a few months ago…Antoine Dodson. He is somehow not on Twitter. Perhaps he is still chasing his really dumb homeboy, for real. After all of my endeavors sadly failed, I went back in time again. The newest catch word “bossome” has been stuck in my head lately and Tony Danza from Who’s the Boss came to mind. I clicked on his profile only to realize that he is now old, kind of lame, and that he has some of the most worthless tweets I’ve ever read. Needless to say, I did not follow him. I finally hit the jackpot with Brian Baumgartner who plays Kevin Malone on The Office. I feel as though he doesn’t get near enough credit on the show because he is absolutely hilarious. So there you go. Kevin Malone is my guilty pleasure.

Okay, first of all, I don't know how I've not read Ender's Game but consider it on my list. Secondly, yeah, Rohs Opera House is super scary, but it's also cool to think of all the history wrapped up in that place. I mean, folks used to watch opera there... opera! And lastly, I love that you not only joined Twitter for this interview, but also scoured the site for Chuck Norris. Ah-mazing. Thanks for the interview! Hey Tweeps, go Follow my sis @Beege64.

Momma Mondays - Mr. Hyde

2011-05-02T20:34:00.001-04:00

Well, well, well. Look who's got an attitude.

His name? Knox Pace

Relationship to the prosecution? Son

Age? 9 months

Granted, the little fellow has been sick for the past two weeks. It should also be noted that he was on steroids for his swollen voice box and windpipe. And I'll concede that he was so stuffed up, that he could hardly breathe. But ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I ask you: are these just causes to twirl his stuffed animals above his head and launch them out of his crib in a fit of frustration? Do these reasons justify the defendant's blatant use of fists and teeth (punching and biting, respectfully)? Should this child continue to wreak havoc on his family while providing none of the financial or household support, yet contributing with glee to the sleep deprivation and random sprays of urine on all members present?

I suggest that you look past his Dr. Jekyll facade when determining your verdict in the case of Tired Momma vs. Strong-Willed Infant. Look past his mesmerizing blue eyes that sparkle when his father walks in the door after a long day of work. Try to see beyond a dimpled, wide-stretched smile that flaunts five glorious tooth buds and is flashed to family and strangers alike. I urge you to beware his chunky little cheeks and meaty little thighs, take caution from that round squishy belly and those little bubble toes. When he says, "Da-da," and coos, "Ma-ma," close your ears to such sweetness, block out the squeals of delight as he learns to clap his hands and practices an awkward, yet certain wave. Do not succumb to his precious giggle, and the adorable babbling he mutters as he plays contentedly by himself.

Oh wait. Where was I? The baby just stopped playing and twisted around with both arms up, held them there and fussed until I reached down and allowed him to give me a hug and let him gnaw on my cheek with a slobbery open-mouthed kiss. Then he let go and smiled before turning back to his blocks again.

All charges are dropped. He is innocent when guilty, perfectly imperfect, and incapable of being culpable. Humbly, I rest my case.

Throwback Thursday - Soulja Boy Dance

2011-04-28T16:21:00.001-04:00

My husband Jerrod celebrated his 30th birthday right around the time that Soulja Boy Tell Em was becoming famous for his big hit Crank That. That song took off! Everybody was talking about it and I was lost. I wanted to Superman or Soulja Boy or whatever the mania was, but this was just barely past my prime. I had exited the young, hip, club scene (was shoved out really) and so it was getting harder and harder to keep my finger on the pulse of today's pop culture.

(Note: I still haven't solved this problem and now understand why my dad was notorious for picking up slang during my formative years and dropping it inappropriately in front of boys I liked. I hope to embarrass my own kids like that one day... and the video below might very well serve that purpose.)

So anyway, I wanted to throw Jerrod a huge surprise birthday party. I shocked him with plane tickets home to Kentucky that morning, invited 70 of his friends to the party, rented out the dance space from our wedding reception, and got it catered. I wanted it to be a really fun party and didn't want him to feel old, I wanted him to feel young and hip, so I thought it would be bossome to learn the Superman dance (it was a craze at the time, ok? don't judge me) and teach it to everybody at the party.

One problem: I didn't know the dance.

So I turned to the trusty YouTube channel and found loads of videos. Everybody and their momma had uploaded videos teaching the world this dance phenomenon, so I chose a few of my favorites and practiced in our 399 sq. ft. apartment in Queens until I considered myself a pro. I practiced and practiced. I was sweating it out, but I gotta tell you, I felt young and fresh and smokin' when I did that dance... by myself... in my apartment. I was at least as good as the guys on the instructional video dancing in the bed of a dry swimming pool.

However, the way you feel on the inside is not always how you appear on the exterior, so without further ado, here is the paparazzi footage from that evening. My favorite part is my husband and his buddy Chadwell freestyling halfway through. 100% boss.

So here's my jam this Thursday! Way back from 2008.

(click the video to see bigger version)

Word Up Wednesday - Flirtbook

2011-04-28T14:52:00.001-04:00

So when I first used this word, it was when a friend of mine brazenly and unashamedly called another friend of mine "fetching" on Facebook. Bold and confident, he flirted with her openly for the world wide web to see. Nothing has ever romantically transpired between these two, but when she responded that she "loves a man in uniform," the flirtbooking could not be denied. I called them out, told our mutual friends about the ridiculous fun, and we still laugh about it.

These two Flirtbook - make flirtatious comments over Facebook. It's fun, and I can imagine that if I'd had Facebook when I was single, I'd definitely be flirtbooking hotties 24/7. When I first used the term, it was light-hearted and merry, just a fun way to say, "Hey, I see what y'all are doing and it's silly." But recently, I've been thinking about flirtbooking and what it could mean in a dimmer light.

Maybe because I just read a few articles about Facebook being linked to 1 in 5 divorces, but Flirtbooking can actually be dangerous. Whether you're married or not, have kids or not, initially interested in someone or not, it's way too easy online to "bump into" past loves and share intimate details about your personal life with the wrong people. All relationships have their ups and downs, and a simple Flirtbook when someone's love life is in a more stressful phase could start the ball rolling down a slippery slope.

It's one thing for you and your spouse to run into his/her ex, for example, at the supermarket or a ball game. There is the tense introduction, the gracious small talk, and then going your separate ways and enjoying the rest of your day. You judge his/her ex's attractiveness in comparison to your own (come on, don't deny it) and may glean information such as their marital status, their form of employment, or whether they prefer paper or plastic. It's a quick conversation, awkward even, and then everybody moves on; but in a brief, real world, accidental face-to-face encounter like that, you don't go through their photo albums, find out which of your old mutual friends you still share, or have access to their email address/phone number.

So, what I'm suggesting is this: protect your relationships. All my single ladies, Flirtbook away! And if he put a ring on it, then close the Flirtbooking chapter just like you did with cage dancing, hooker boots, and body shots.

And PS - I promise you that your ex will enjoy his/her birthday even if you don't post on their wall. If you wouldn't call them at home to wish it, then don't disrespect their spouse by doing it online for the world to see.

Okay, so all of this is obviously just my humble opinion. :)

imPROMPTuesdays! - June guidelines for Underwired Magazine

2011-04-26T12:53:00.000-04:00

So, good news: another of my personal essays will appear in Underwired Literary Magazine, a bossome publication based in Louisville. The May issue was about "Ah-ha Moments" and if you read my blog post, "Momma Knows Best," then you'll know what to expect in print.

And now, we near the June deadline. I've been horrible about submitting to Underwired (or anywhere) since my son was born, so let's use the last Tuesdays of each month to hold each other accountable. I know a lot of you respond to my blog with narratives of your own and a lot of you write. Well, tell your stories... and get paid!

Okay, you can go to Underwired's Website for submission guidelines; but here on the trusty blog, you can read about the June theme. We've got til Saturday night to turn something in, so get crackin'.

Here's the prompt:

June The Office Issue
workaholic, glass ceilings, dream job/job from hell, 9-5, water cooler gossip, office politics, annoying co-workers, corner office, retirement

Momma Mondays - "Tylenol?!"

2011-04-25T12:22:00.000-04:00

Oh dear blogsphere, I have been dying for today to roll around so that you can share in another jaw-dropping moment of My Life As A Queens Momma.

As you know, my 9 month old son has been sick for over a week, but the blog post du jour goes way back to where it all began last Monday evening. Knox started feeling rotten Sunday night and neither of us got much sleep. I was worried and took him to the doctor Monday afternoon, but the pediatrician said he only had a cold and sore throat and that there wasn't much I could do except to give him the generic brand of Tylenol if he felt warm or maybe to help him sleep. It was a virus, not infection, so he'd have to let it run its course.

When my husband came home, we decided to take the little sick patient for a walk around the building. This is always a welcome distraction. A jaunt through the halls and down the elevator helps Knox get his mind off of his runny nose and aches. He loves watching the bright red elevator numbers move as we climb floors and he could watch the fountain in our front lobby for an hour if we'd let him.

So after a while, he started rubbing his eyes and whining a pitiful little whine. He had started to develop a deep cough and clearly felt just awful. We agreed to give him a steam bath and start his bedtime routine, hoping that he could get a little rest. The feeling of helplessness we had as parents was overwhelming, and as the baby started to cry, we headed back upstairs.

And that's when we shared the elevator with Bulgarian Woman Upstairs (BWU).

"Oh, is the baby sick?" BWU asked.

"Yeah, he's got a cold," I said.

"Are you going to medicate him organically?" BWU asked, nodding her head and pushing up her glasses. She wrinkled her nose and tried to get close to Knox, but my husband ran block pretty well. She straightened up and looked down at me. "Non-traditional medication is the best way to help them," she said in her thick and accusatory accent.

"Um, well, we'll probably give him some Tylenol before bed," I said, wondering how an elevator ride to the first floor from the lobby could possibly take that long.

The doors opened and our family stepped out as BWU exclaimed, "Tylenol?!" I turned back to see her cock her eyebrows and shake her head.

"That's what his pediatrician recommended," I said from the hallway, desperate for some reason to defend myself.

As the elevator doors closed, she clenched her teeth and sharply inhaled. "Tylenol," she repeated as if the word alone had a sour taste. And then she was gone.

My son's cry from our doorway was the only thing in the world that could have squelched the impulse I had in that moment to tear through the STAIRS doorway and race the elevator up to her floor. This woman, this insane, trouble-making, selfish, and idiotic woman had the nerve to judge my parenting.

Let's go back... back back back in time... to previous encounters with Bulgarian Woman Upstairs:

Encounter #1.
The first time I met BWU was over 2 years ago. The elevators were being replaced so the whole building had to use the stairs. I had just gotten back from Manhattan and headed upstairs to my apartment, when I was suddenly shocked to find a blond little toddler in the middle of the dimly lit concrete stairway. She was on all fours trying to crawl up the stairs. I supposed she could walk, but she was obviously still young enough to be wearing a diaper and she was alone.
"Where's your mommy?" I asked her, bending down to spot her in the case of a stumble.
She pushed her hair out of her face and continued to crawl upward, shaky but determined.
"Come on, baby!" BWU shouted from above. Annoyed at having to wait, she finally stalked down the stairway and found her child with me, a stranger. "She's taking forever, right? I just needed a cigarette, you know? And the baby takes forever. I couldn't carry her and the laundry, so I went on up. I need another one already."

Encounter #2.
"Hi," I said to BWU and baby one afternoon a few weeks later.
"Listen," she said. "I need to go back to school so I was thinking that you could babysit the baby 3 times a week for me. I can't afford to get a nanny, but you're already at home so it's perfect."
(Do I even need to comment here readers? She wants a stranger to babysit her daughter, not to mention that my time isn't of value.)

Encounter #3
Last spring, Jerrod and I were preparing our patio for company.
"When are you going to make me a steak?" BWU asked from the clouds.
We looked up and see her perched on the fire escape, (against bldg. policy), smoking a cigarette.
We laughed her off, she wrinkled her brow in confusion (def. not joking), and went back inside. Better to wait her out than engage in conversation.
A few minutes later when the coast was clear, we resumed setting up. When we uncovered the patio table and pulled it out, we saw that the chairs behind it were covered in ash and cigarette butts. BWU, apparently, felt that such items organically evaporate into the air rather than succumb to gravitational pull and litter up her neighbor's property.

Oh, how the list goes on, but for today's purpose:
the chain-smoking Bulgarian Woman Upstairs finds second hand smoke and leaving her baby in the care of strangers perfectly acceptable, while doctor prescribed Tylenol for a baby with a temperature of 101.7 bad parenting.

Comment away!

Fan Club Friday - Forgotten

2011-04-22T11:25:00.006-04:00

Just finished the ARC (Advanced Readers Copy) of Cat Patrick's debut novel Forgotten. It was really nice to have a book on hand that gave me an opportunity to open up my mind to a new idea and embrace it. And with Patrick's book, you really have to do just that.

The plot follows sixteen-year-old London through her junior year, but only day by day. London remembers, but not the way you or I remember. Due to a traumatic incident as a young girl, she only remembers forward. So, for example, since her mother and best friend are found in her future memories, she recognizes them immediately; but if she's just had an encounter with someone she'll never see again, it's as if that encounter never existed. That means she has to leave herself notes every night before she goes to bed so that when she wakes up with only the memories of a future she will have, she can fill in the blanks of memories she's already had. Of course this can get tedious, so each day brings boundless missteps and certain uncertainty.

When I tried explaining the plot to my husband as I was reading, he didn't get it. I don't know if that was me not explaining it well enough or if a person just has to read the book to get it. Either way, the back cover doesn't lie: part psychological drama, part romance, and part mystery, Forgotten really does make you question the what-ifs in life and encourage you to control your own destiny. (There were many moments when I wanted to shake London and say, "Change it! You know what's to come [especially with adorable and dreamy Luke] so you can change it!") And I've found myself thinking about London even after the last page, wanting to know more, thinking about her family and her future, and wondering if her memory ever readjusts itself, which is always the mark of a good book.

I enjoyed this book so much. I loved diving into London's world, and I think that if the reader will commit fully to this unique way of remembering, then they will enjoy it, too. I will say that one part I really loved was meeting Luke... again and again and again... because due to another traumatic incident (this one in his future) her mind blocked him altogether. It never got old feeling my breath catch with London's every time she first met him.

Cat Patrick's YA novel Forgotten is available June 2011. It sold to Paramount even before its release date, which is pretty bossome if you ask me. Hailee Steinfeld of True Grit fame has already signed on to play London. Cat Patrick is a fellow Little, Brown gal, so don't wait for the movie. Be sure to pick up Forgotten in a few months!

Throwback Thursday - The Bell

2011-04-21T23:31:00.004-04:00

Taking care of Knox this week has been extra hectic. It's so hard to see an 8-and-a-half-month-old baby struggling to breathe. He's cried and cried, letting me know that something is definitely messed up in his life right now, but without the ability to tell me what. We've been to the pediatrician's office twice and the emergency room once. We've had four sleepless nights in a row, and seeing how it just took me an hour and forty-five minutes to put him to sleep in order for me to finally write this blog post, I'm assuming the fifth sleepless night is upon us.

That said, this is not a pity party for me or for my son. It's a throwback to sick days at Mamaw & Papaw's house. Those were so glorious (I mean, aside from the strep, flu, cold, pox, or whatever). With Mom and Dad both working, they couldn't always take off when we woke up with a fever or just the ickies; and on those days, we were driven to town.

Mamaw & Papaw have a front bedroom that my husband and I now refer to as Hotel Fryman; but back in the day, it was where my brother, sister, and I went to be sick and doted on. Being sick at my grandparents' house was way more bossome than being sick at home. They had cable television for starters. And Mamaw always sent Papaw down to Ken's Supermarket to buy us whatever food (or popsicles) we "needed." But the best thing of all was: the bell. (pronounced "bail")

The bell is old. It's small. It's of the brass variety and tarnished just so out of years of use. The handle is actually not tightly adjusted to the bell itself so it already feels like it could break right when you pick it up. But it rings. And when it does, the grandparents come a runnin'. Might be a little rinky dink, but shoo-wee! It does the job.

When you're sick at Mamaw & Papaw's house, the only thing you're responsible for doing for yourself is using the bathroom. And I swear that if Mamaw had catheters, she wouldn't even make us do that. Sick days at their house meant kicking back in a queen sized bed, propped up on loads of pillows, talking on the telephone mounted on the wall next to the headboard, watching My So Called Life (but changing it back to Saved By The Bell if anyone approached), and eating chicken noodle soup.

And if I needed anything - ANYTHING - I'd just ring that bell. Lights off? Ring the bell. Another cover? Ring the bell. Someone to scratch my back? Play with my hair? Bring me the remote control cause I kicked it off onto the floor while I napped? Just ring the bell.

As I head into sixth day of caregiving for my infant son - - a child who has learned to reach for me and does so pitifully with both arms in the air and lips in a pout, whose cheeks are covered in tears as he says, "Mmmmmama," who can't wipe his own nose, feed himself, use a toilet, or put himself to sleep - - I realize that Karma has come to pay me a visit... and she's a ringin' that bell.

Who took care of you when you were sick? Who takes care of you now? And I'm only responsible for this kid til he's 18, right?

(Note: the last time I rang the bell at Mamaw's, I was 29 years old with strep throat.)

Word Up Wednesday - Bossome

2011-04-20T16:54:00.000-04:00

This is a word I've only started using recently. It came about one night when my husband got home from work and complimented the blog.

Him: Dude, so sick that you started your blog up again.
Me: You like it?
Him: It's hilarious.
Me: Awesome.
Him: Yeah, pretty boss.
Me: (pause) Boss-some?
Him: 100%

You see, the urban dictionary defines "boss" as: Cool. Awesome. Someone who runs sh@! in his/her hood or city.
And the regular ol' dictionary defines "awesome" as: Slang. Very impressive.
So the Awhit dictionary marries the two at moments when both of those definitions are incredibly and powerfully true.

Boss + Awesome = Bossome

(Note: don't let your computer or phone auto-correct the spelling. Bossome, not to be confused with Bosom. While a bosom could possibly be described as bossome, the reverse cannot be true.)

Comment below. Your thoughts on this new word? Any recent moments that could wholeheartedly be called bossome?

Tuesday Tweeps: An Interview with Becky Bennett

2011-04-19T15:01:00.002-04:00

Okay folks. This week I chose Twitter Follower Becky Bennett for the blog cause a) she loves to read and b) she's sort of like my manager... and assistant. She's given me some killer ideas about the blog and it wouldn't be this rockin' without her. She's boss. She's awesome. She's bossome (more on that tomorrow). I give you, the one and only, Becky Bennett.  

Me: What's your favorite book? I'm talking all time, here.  

BB: I know it's a cheesy or cliche answer, but my favorite book is Catcher in the Rye. Maybe it was just me, but if I was forced to read a book in school, it was almost always an automatic dislike. Some sort of rebellious "damn the man" mentality. "They think this book will enrich me? I'll show them! I'll hate it!" Well, along came Salinger. And I actually found myself enjoying this book. Looking forward to the next week's assignment and discussion. Perhaps (gasp!) even reading ahead??!?!?!?! Is that possible? Something about Holden Caufield grabbed hold of me and hasn't let go. I think especially living in the city now and sort of having my own story has really made me fall in love all over again.  

I've gone as far as to save a website on my favorites that contains a ton of Holden Caufield quotes. Went back to that today to try and sound inspired in my interview. Know what I found? “Chapter 3: What really knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it.” Now you know (as my friend and also an author) that I agree with this statement 100% as it's actually become true in my life. Holden and I have the same sentiments about stuff and that's pretty cool.

Seriously think I'm going to read this again this week. Thanks for reminding me. (As a sidenote, I am currently going back and re-reading some of these classics that we were force-fed in high school and discovering that they weren't so terrible after all.)  

Me: I'm visiting your hometown today, one day only. What can't I miss?  

BB: OK, I'm going to ask you to come to Freehold on a Sunday. We'll have breakfast at Perkins on Rt. 9. Now there is nothing special about this particular Perkins... except that I worked here for 9 years! The owners are great and were really good to me through high school and college, so we'll go there. Then we'll go to my hometown church, First Baptist on the corner of Manalapan Ave. and Main. We'll have lunch at Sorrento's Subs - the greatest sandwiches you'll have in your entire life. Entire. Life. We'll hang out in Freehold for the day, see some peeps, little tour, then end up back on Main Street. We'll enjoy some Federici's Pizza while we sit outside in the cafe-like setting that downtown Freehold becomes in the Spring/Summer. Fed's is a family owned place that's been in Freehold forever if you ask me and has a super-thin crusted pizza. It's even our favorite son, Bruce Springsteen's, top choice if he's in town. After dinner we'll head over to Jersey Freeze for dessert. Soft serve ice cream at it's best. I'm sure the line will be out the door, but we won't mind waiting because we'll run into at least 5 people we know and get some time to catch up with old friends. Maybe you could even come for Memorial Day weekend and stay over for Monday morning's Memorial Day parade, reminding you that small town America is amazing and absolutely alive in Freehold, NJ. (I just re-read this answer and realized that you said that YOU were going to my hometown for a day...but I've invited myself to join you. Welcome!) 

Me: Who are you following on Twitter right now that would surprise your friends? #GuiltyPleasures

BB: No brainer - MC Hammer. I'm still not quite sure why I'm following him, but I can tell you that he had a fabulous birthday last week! He retweets some really fabulous stuff. Sometimes it's an inspiring quote, sometimes a shoutout to an appearance on TV, sometimes a recommendation of a movie or TV show or song, but the Hammer is really active on Twitter and has been entertaining me on a daily basis for weeks now. And there has been more than one occasion where the mere sight of his name has brought me back to high school and the jams of my youth. #ucanttouchthis #pleasehammerdonthurtem #toolegittoquit

Dude, I can't believe I called you boss in my intro and then you mentioned The Boss in one of your answers. Is everyone from Freehold bossome? Thanks for the peek inside Bennett-ville. I've never read Catcher in the Rye (gasp, shock, I know) but will get right on it. It's always been one of those books that I say, "Oh, I've been meaning to read that" when it comes up in conversation. I can't wait for a Freehold extravaganza, and I'm totes adding MC Hammer to my Twitter account in your honor. Everybody follow Becky Bennett on Twitter @producerbecky (and follow me, too while you're at it). Happy Tuesday, tweeple!

Momma Mondays - Sick Baby Boy

2011-04-18T17:16:00.001-04:00

I am so blessed with a child that rarely cries. He has been known to fuss. He will also occasionally complain. But the few times that I've heard him really cry have always been due to pain. That's why I was so alarmed last night when he screamed out around 6pm and why I continued to worry all through the night.

Just got back from the doctor and Knox has a cold. A sore throat and a cold. I figured as much, but am so unaccustomed to him crying so hard and for so long that I thought I should go and ask the guy with his M.D. to be certain. We can't stop his nose from running like a faucet. We can't make it easier for him to breathe so that he can sleep longer than one hour at a time. We can't force him to eat, which he won't do because he's cranky and because his throat hurts. Doc says there is nothing I can do for him, which is the worst part of the whole thing.

He's almost 9 months old. He's been a healthy little guy and really, is still pretty healthy. The cold will run its course as these things do and I will just have to keep rocking him and singing to him and shushing him and loving him until it does. I wish I could Green Mile that cold right out of his little body. I wish I could kiss it away and love it away. I wish I could do anything to make him feel better.

But what I can do is count our blessings. It's just a cold. Thank the Lord.

And as for the Momma part of this whole thing: this job is 24/7, y'all. I'm tellin' ya. So stop what you're doing and call your own momma. Say "thank you." Cause for all the long nights and runny noses and crying spells and feelings of helplessness, it's a nice thing to hear.

Catch up post : Fan Club Friday - Sassy

2011-04-18T17:05:00.001-04:00

As many of you know, my husband's dog, Sassy, passed away last Thursday night. She was 15 years old and could no longer hear. She was the boss of his two dogs and jealous of anyone that came near her owner. She was a mutt, a beautiful white mutt, and a rescue puppy that he nursed back to health 15 years ago. This isn't a forum for describing the way it feels to watch a grown man's heart break right in front of you; but it is a place to give kudos to someone or something of which I am a fan.

So to Sassy, here we go:

- Jerrod couldn't wait to get home to see his dogs. Oftentimes, he would get out of the car and run down to the lake with them before even going inside to greet his parents. Sammy is an easygoing and overweight golden retriever, but Sassy was always an athletic and energetic dog with a whole lot of spunk. One thing that always tickled me about Sassy was her personality. We would throw a stick out into the lake and Sammy, the water dog, would go in after it. She was old, heavy, and had arthritis, but she would ease herself down into the deep water and swim out after that stick. I loved watching her big old butt float side to side as she swam. But here's the thing: by the time she got the stick and then swam all the way back, Sassy would jump in when she was about two feet from shore and steal the stick from her mouth! Then she would turn around and hop out of the water to place the stick at Jerrod's feet. He would praise Sassy, scratch her and kiss her face, giving her more love than she deserved as Sammy struggled to climb up the muddy bank, panting so hard I thought she would keel over.

- When our newborn son, Knox, was given his first stuffed animal, it was a blue little doggy attached to a pacifier. Before I knew it, Jerrod was calling this toy "Sassy" and now, although I fought for originality, the entire family calls it his "Sassy Paci."

- There is a picture on the front of our refrigerator of Jerrod's brother Paul and Sassy. My first question was, "Why is there a picture of Paul on the fridge?" (because we don't even have one of our son up yet). And my follow up question was, "If a picture of Paul needed to make the front of our fridge, why would Jerrod choose one of him cheesing with his eyes closed?" Jerrod's response was, "Cause it's an awesome picture of Sassy."

- And my favorite: Sassy was very territorial of Jerrod. She was a jealous little dog. Jerrod and I loved to taunt her by hugging and/or kissing in front of her. She would lift that little white head up and howl and bark with all she had, all the while worming her way in between our legs, an envious little wedge.

To Jerrod and his family, I say I'm so sorry for the loss of your dog, a Pace family member. To Sammy, I say I'm sorry for the loss of your best friend and constant companion. And to Sassy, I say that although we only saw each other once in a while and although I am quite allergic, I loved the smile you always put on my husband's face - and for that, I am truly a fan.

Throwback Thursday - Rock Steady

2011-04-14T11:46:00.006-04:00

Okay, so many of my New Jersey friends are hard core rock n roll lovers. They boast of their "Boss" and "Jovi" with ferocious pride, and rightly so. But when you grow up in a house with Glen and Vicki Whitaker minus cable television, you end up loving a different kind of rock. The soft kind.

Besides basically filling my head with ballads and love songs, besides training me to think of Journey, Elton John, and Hall & Oates as "rock," I also grew up in a very small town in the days before internet or Twitter. I caught on to trends after the kids at my school, (and I realize that by the time they'd reached Cynthiana, KY, they were already out in fashion meccas); but don't think that just because I was constantly behind the fads of my day, I didn't embrace them whole heartedly once they reached me. I'm nothing if not fervent.

This leads me to one of my all time favorite JAMS. I remember loving, loving, loving this song. I tried to hold the tape recorder up to the radio to get it on cassette so I could listen to it whenever I wanted, but it never seemed to come on when I was ready. It was this rare gem of a song. I'd hear it in the car and tell my mom to pump it up. I'd hear it at my Mamaw's and use a pencil as a microphone. I remember being at a friend's house watching The Mickey Mouse Club with her and staring in awe at these kids' sweet moves!

I wanted to Rock Steady.

Here's the thing: It wasn't until typing up this post that I discovered something pitiful. (Yes, more pathetic even than considering The Whispers' Rock Steady a jam.) Here we go...

It was Valentine's Day my freshman year of high school and an older boy liked me. Swoonfest! As usual, I went to my grandparents' house after school and did my homework, while sneaking MTV in the back room, and doodling hearts with our initials all over my notebook. Then, MAJOR SURPRISE, this boy brought me a dozen red roses! Unfortunately, I had changed from my school clothes into my papaw's teal oversized "World's Greatest Grandpa" t-shirt and had loosened my previously tight-rolled jeans. Clearly, I was mortified. But there I stood on the front porch in front of this ultra-cute boy, receiving my first flowers and hoping for my first kiss. The romantic vibe was short-lived cause my papaw had his face smooshed up against the glass pane in the front door watching our every move, so it didn't quite pan out. But still, I had flowers and a probable boyfriend.

When I rushed back inside, face flushed and heart racing, The Whispers' Rock Steady came on the radio. I fled to the back bedroom and danced like a woman drunk on love, sang along with this glorious "rock" group at the top of my lungs, and dreamed of my most certain future with this boy who'd brought me roses.

Now, didn't I mention there was a pathetic part?

Upon writing this post, I couldn't remember who'd sung this particular jam. So I looked up Rock Steady on the internet and discovered it was The Whispers. The memory I wanted to share was loving their jam and providing you with a sense of pop culture at the time; however, my little story about the soundtrack of one particular young romantic interlude occurred circa 1993, whereas Wikipedia just informed me that the song actually hit the Top 40 charts in 1987.

Alecia Whitaker - ignorantly embracing throwbacks since 1993.

Comment below! What's your favorite throwback jam? What should I write about next Thursday? And be honest: should side ponytails and tight rolled jeans make a comeback?

Word Up Wednesday - The Freel

2011-04-13T12:51:00.000-04:00

This is a term that I've been using for at least 7 years. The "freel" is something that happens to all of us, whether we are the giver or receiver. It's a free feel. An awkward or inappropriate touch that bears no consequence due to its innocent (and oftentimes ignorant) nature. A brush of the hand across the body's, ummm... shall we say... private zones.

Here are a few examples:

- My husband and I went to a wedding in Colorado one summer. He didn't know many of my girlfriends there, so he tended to stay around the outside of the circle that we sorority girls are so prone to make when reunited. He lingered near enough to me that he was present, but wasn't one to dive right into girl talk and chum it up with the ladies. So I was engaged in catching up with the gals, when my friend April's eyes bugged out. She grabbed my wrist and whispered fiercely, "Alecia! I think he thinks I'm you!" I didn't know exactly what she was talking about, but then I looked over her shoulder and saw the reason for her alarm. Jerrod, eyes glued to his smartphone, had floated a bit beyond where I was standing and while one hand was holding the phone, the other was squeezing the wrong gal's butt. I got his attention, saved her from his clutches, he blushed and apologized, but we all had a great laugh about it - the whole gang thought it was a riot! You see, my husband grabbed another woman's tush and wasn't punished for it. A freel for the history books.

- Since having a baby, everybody that wants to hold the little guy is sure to get a freel across my chest as I pass him off. They either come in too far out of fear that they may drop the babe, or come in too fast because they can't wait to get their paws on him. Either way, between the breastfeeding and the baby grabbers, my chest is hardly private enough to be considered a private zone anymore, but these touches are freels nonetheless.

- At a basketball game last year, we ran into a woman I used to work with. I was so happy to see her and her family! We hugged, caught up on life, and then I got my camera out and started snapping photos. The whole encounter took about 10 minutes and I was so happy to have run into her. But as we settled back into our seats, Jerrod said to me, "She just got a freel." I laughed him off but he said, "I'm serious! Give me the camera." I had been right there, this woman would never do that, and I had seen nothing inappropriate; but a determined Jerrod clicked through the pictures until he stopped at one of her hand clearly groping his pectoral region. "See? A freel," he said. And although I had never judged that area of a guy to be a private zone (maybe it's society, maybe too many pics of topless dudes on magazine covers and birthday cards has desensitized me), I had to admit that she had, indeed, gotten a mighty freel.

So do tell. Comment below. Have you been the giver or receiver of any noteworthy freels? And how did it feel?

Tuesday Tweeps - An interview with Mike Brown

2011-04-12T07:49:00.000-04:00

Mike Brown has been a friend of mine for a few years. He's a big reader and lover of the arts. A genuine guy and one of my earliest Twitter followers. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the one and only, Party In A Can, Mike Brown.

Me: What's your favorite book? I'm talking all time, here.

MB: The Brothers Karamazov. It has everything! It is simultaneously a courtroom drama, a murder mystery, romance, and philosophical treatise. It's one of the most profound explorations of the nature of humanity's relationship to God anywhere in literature. There's a lot in there about the intensity of relationships between fathers, sons, and brothers. The characters are so completely developed that Dostoevsky convinces you that you're developing your own relationship with them. Truly something for every one in that one.

Me: I'm visiting your hometown today, one day only. What can't I miss?

MB: Cumberland Falls of course! Located in a wide arc in the Cumberland River, she's the "Niagara of the South" and about ten miles from the house where I grew up in Corbin, KY. Depending on the rainfall, she can slow to a trickle, or become this massive cataract you have to shout to be heard over from two-hundred feet away. It's just a really pretty spot. The road leading down to the park from town is this long, slow, meandering affair. Drop offs on either side of the road make it seem as if you're traveling level with the tops of the trees. When Xander, my girlfriend's son, wants to take a picnic down there, he'll say, "Let's go to the tree tops!"

Me: Who are you following on Twitter right now that would surprise your friends? #GuiltyPleasures

MB: Ke$ha. She of the dance/pop hits "Tik Tok," "We R who we R," and "Take it Off." Have you seen her videos? She seems to live the kind of rockstar life that guys like Keith Richards use to live and I find it really fascinating that someone can just give themselves over so completely to that; the seedier side of musical fame we all imagine. But most of my friends will never buy that. They'll just assume I'm singing her stuff in the shower or in the car on my way to class or something.

There you have it, folks. A glimpse into the life of Mike Brown. You can follow him on Twitter @MikhailSolonsky (oh! and follow me, too if you don't already). I'll definitely check out The Brothers Karamazov, add the Cumberland Falls to my bucket list, and start following Ke$ha for at least this week in tribute to you. Thanks for being the guinea pig on the Tuesdays blog posts!

Momma Mondays - Stranger Danger!

2011-04-11T11:01:00.002-04:00

For the past 8.5 months, I've become a magnet for strangers. Once they see my baby, they are drawn to me. Sometimes it looks as if they try to fight it, but the infant magnetism is so great that they cannot. It is a force beyond their control. They must see his face, must work for a smile, must try to grab tiny fingers or toes, must take just a quick peek, must speak to him in high pitched tones, and must - MUST - give me advice.

I'm not a know-it-all. I will go on record as saying that there is much I do not know. For this reason, I make lists of questions for my pediatrician. Yes questions, for my child's DOCTOR. However, I've found that many a random person on the subway or the street are so brilliant and so well educated in children's health that they cannot keep themselves from imparting their wisdom on me. I am nothing but the child's mother, a person who must seem to the outside world as completely incapable of providing adequate care to this sweet baby whom they have encountered.

Were it not for the interference of strangers, would Knox:

- be comfortable?
Knox is 6 weeks old and cuddled up against my chest in the baby carrier. His face rests against me so that he can smell the milk he is now hungry for. It's been two hours since he last ate. This must be torture for him, and as he starts to fuss, then cry, I know that it is indeed. But we are only two stops away from our neighborhood. I rock, I shush, I stroke his small head, I give him a pacifier and hope for the best. I stand up and pace the aisle. We are almost home, I keep whispering.
"It's his leg," a woman says to me, grabbing my elbow and then pointing at him. "His leg is hurting him," she says again, gruffly, as if I should be sent to child services. With a disapproving glare, she exits the train and I stare, mouth agape.
I look down at my child's leg, these sweet little legs that have been curled up in my womb for the last ten months, and are now tucked neatly against my belly. They are flexible and small; positioned in the exact same way they always are. But because my baby is crying and this type of stretch seems impossible to adults, a complete stranger has the gumption to solve what must have seemed to be the obvious problem.

-be developing?
Knox is a laid back guy. He didn't roll over consistently til about a month ago, around the same time he started sitting up well on his own. He doesn't crawl, nor try to. Does not pull up, attempt walking, wave, clap, or eat finger foods. He takes things at his own pace and cannot be rushed.
"Oh, he's 8 months old and not crawling?"
"He doesn't like Cheerios?"
"You should be feeding him meat, anything from your plate."
"She started walking at his age."
"Really? Nothing? But he's so big!"
These comments are not innocent. They are loaded. They are followed by suggestions for my husband and me to try with the baby at home. Obviously, we are not spending enough time with our child, not coaching him enough, not holding him up, not feeding him enough solid food, not making it happen. Our thoughts are that he has his whole life to sit, crawl, eat, walk, etc. What's the rush?
I just smile and say, "Oh, but look how well he drools!"
Yep. They want to take my baby away.

-be alive?
Knox is 6 months old and we are navigating post-blizzard streets to go to Manhattan. The wind is fierce, so I have put the clear plastic rain/wind guard over his stroller. This thing keeps him so warm that he doesn't even need a coat. He can see where he's going, can smile at his many admirers, and dodge any harsh elements or dangers. I call it the Pope mobile.
While Knox and I are on the train, I usually pull the plastic cover up a little to give him some fresh air. Now this cover has loads of holes in it and also doesn't velcro all around, so it's totally safe and breathable; but I always lift it a tad on the train anyway so I can reach him easily if he loses a paci or something.
As we near our stop, an older woman approaches with her finger pointed at me. "You take that thing off and get him out of the stroller as soon as you get home!" she demands. Again, I am so amazed that she thought I would need this advice that I can only stare (and almost miss our stop). Were it not for her, Knox might still be in his stroller right at this moment, two and a half months later.

Advice is great - when asked for. I honestly think that most people mean well. My theory is that they are so unconsciously drawn to the child that once they are near to him, they realize that they are in also near to me. Problem is, they came toward the baby without preparing something to say to the momma, which leads to awkward and sometimes harsher-than-meant comments.

What's your opinion? Have any crazy stories about stranger danger?

Fan Club Friday - SORTA LIKE A ROCK STAR

2011-04-08T11:33:00.001-04:00

I just finished the best book. It's a YA called SORTA LIKE A ROCK STAR by Matthew Quick (a fellow Little, Brown dude) and I just have to encourage you all to pick up a copy. His story follows Amber Appleton, a secretly homeless girl who lives on a school bus with her little dog and alcoholic mom. She refuses to focus on her downer life situation, and instead keeps her eyes on where she wants to be one day. And her favorite hobby seems to be lifting the spirits of everyone around her -- the more eccentric, the better.

The thing I most love about Amber is her voice. Amber is funny, quick-witted, and super frank. I've found myself talking like her this week while reading the book. She's charming and her little Amber-isms are so catchy! She's down with J.C. (yep, that's the Savior, if you're wondering), she's spunky enough to stand up to the jerks on the football team (word), and she writes killer haikus, (sucka!).

My heart broke for her, (homeless and freezing on a school bus), yet I also found myself smiling so often as I tagged along on her day-to-day. Then, when a fatal tragedy finally kinks her armor of optimism, I was worried we wouldn't get the real Amber back. (and PS, I had a nightmare last night about a scene toward the end - spoiler alert - confronting a killer)

Matthew Quick really stunned me because I expected the protagonist to be a boy - sorry, I know that's generalizing. I just haven't come across many men who can identify closely with the female teen perspective; but since it's not really a coming-of-age piece and more of an inspirational surviving-wicked-circumstances book, maybe that helped. Or maybe he's just super keyed in. Either way, it worked. I think only he could have written her unique 'tude into existence... sorta like a rock star.

So yeah, I'm a fan. You should be, too.

Throwback Thursday - On a Roll

2011-04-07T13:39:00.002-04:00

You know that feeling of sheer joy you get when you put on your winter coat for the first time and discover money in the pockets? Seriously, it's awesome. Well, I feel that way when I get caught up on some sort of pop culture movement. For the purposes of today, I'm talking about the Rick Roll.

On April Fool's Day this year, my husband and a bunch of his friends were Rick Rolled when they clicked on a link about Kentucky basketball on kentuckysportsradio.com. (I had never heard of the Rick Roll, but apparently it's been around since 2007!) The article was preparing UK fans for the Final Four game and the link they clicked read something like this: If you are a Kentucky fan, this is not what you want to hear before the game against UConn. Then, instead of the link taking them to player stats or something like that, it took them to a YouTube video of Rick Astley singing Never Gonna Give You Up.

I think it's hilarious. Setting someone up to see something they're really interested in and then slamming them instead with an 80's video, complete with a skinny white guy snapping and side stepping in denim from head to toe, is amazing. So I tried to Rick Roll my brother that same day.

But here's the thing: my brother loves the 80's. He reminisces fondly on his Michael Jackson mesh tank top and sweet rat tail. He can name the title and artist of almost every 80's song within just the first few notes, be it Bon Jovi or Bananarama. And he worked Hammer pants throughout the entire late 80's, probably still dreams about them at night, to tell you the truth.

So how do you Rick Roll a guy like that? He left me a voicemail yesterday saying, "I don't get it. Never Gonna Give You Up is an awesome song. How is that a prank?"

Sound off folks. Good prank or bad? Is the prank in the fact that you are simply gearing someone up to see something else, or does the person also have to hate the switcheroo? And more importantly, how sweet is Rick Astley's hair in this video? And those shades? The crazy dance moves? Seriously.

Word Up Wednesday: The Flext

2011-04-06T10:26:00.002-04:00

It's come to my attention that I tend to make up words and I should share them with the world wide web. Sometimes, you just need to say something and Webster leaves you hangin'.

This happened recently when a friend of mine told me that our mutual friend had been blatantly flirting with her via text message. Now, you know how things are these days: only x amount of characters allowed per text or Tweet or complimentary gift note on an online purchase. So things are getting condensed.

Oh my God has become OMG. Praise the Lord is PTL. Laugh out loud is LOL, (and that one in particular is greatly overused, IMO).

So as my friend and I wrote back and forth about this texting of a highly flirtatious nature, I began to refer to it as flexting. I'm not sure why this term doesn't already exist, to tell you the truth. I guess it's the G-rated little brother to the sext, which is a text of sexual nature - oftentimes including a pic.

But isn't the flext more fun? By nature not being overtly sexual or overstepping, don't you need to be more clever when formulating a juicy flext?

And the flext is a great tool for singles, not getting anybody in trouble if things don't pan out. If you can make somebody blush via cellular reading, then you are one suave Cupid.

What say you? Would you rather hear a news story about an inappropriate flext, or more about role models like Favre and Woods texting pics of their manhood to women they aren't married to? Feel free to post a few meaty flexts you've sent or received in the comment section.

Flext someone today!

Momma Knows Best

2011-04-03T17:18:00.004-04:00

My most recent Ah-ha moment happened Sunday afternoon. The University of Kentucky Wildcats were playing in Newark, NJ in the Elite 8 game of the NCAA Tournament. My husband and I, both graduates of UK and quite separated from our team because we now live in New York City, were very excited for the opportunity to watch the Cats play. Newark is just two stops away from the heart of Manhattan via train and we couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

The thing is, we have a baby now. Jerrod hasn’t “felt comfortable” leaving our son, Knox, with anyone yet. I’ve suggested date nights, movies, Broadway shows, etc, but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave the baby because he really misses him at work and treasures spending his free moments with his family. That’s sweet, but this stay-at-home momma needs a night out every now and then.

If only I’d known sooner that I was dangling the wrong carrots! Absence makes the heart grow fonder and ever since we moved to New York, Jerrod’s passion for college basketball (UK in particular) has increased 100 fold. He watches every game on TV or live streaming on the computer, then records and posts videos of the games on YouTube, and follows the players on Twitter. He’s a fanatic and over the weekend, had his chance to see them play live.

“Let’s get a sitter,” he said when our team advanced in the tournament.

Shocked, I replied, “Deal!”

I’ve never been the hesitant one to leave the baby with a sitter because I feel like that every time I take a girls’ night or a mommy moment. Leaving the baby with my husband already feels that way. Maybe because he feeds Knox on his lap instead of in his high chair, or maybe because he never records nap or feeding times and relies on me to tell him, or maybe because he would rather throw Knox’s onesies away than rinse them out when a dirty diaper knows no bounds; but since Day 1, I’ve adopted the mantra, “Daddy’s way is different, not wrong.” I repeat it often… quite often.

Because otherwise, I would kill him.

So one of our dearest friends offered to watch Knox Sunday night. She hadn’t babysat in at least 10 years; thus, she had a small amount of anxiety. That afternoon, to help ease her of any nerves, I typed up all of the important information that I could: naptimes, bottle amounts, bedtime routine, etc. But as soon as she walked in the front door, my husband nearly assaulted her. Keyed up about the game, and his own anxiety about leaving the baby, I watched him drag her all over our one-bedroom apartment.

“Now, when I watch the baby,” he said, “I like to warm a bottle in the sink and then have another one ready just in case.” Or “When I watch the baby, I like to take a walk around the building if he gets fussy.”

I finished getting ready as this went on.

“When I watch the baby, we take a bath before bed. He likes his hair spiked up, and I did oil yesterday so use lotion tonight, and these are the easiest pj’s to put him in, and I like to use this piece of cardboard as a fan to let him get a little air down there before slapping on the diaper, you know what I mean?”

I smirked. The look on her face was priceless.

“When I watch the baby,” he continued, overwhelming our poor friend, “I bounce this blue ball and build a block tower for him to knock over. That’s key when you need a go-to mood lifter.”

I felt like popping popcorn as I watched this scene unfold.

“When I watch the baby,” he pulled her close and whispered, oblivious to the fact that I could still hear them through the baby video monitor. “I sometimes skip that third nap. Alecia says he needs it, but I think he’s growing out of it. Just watch for the sleepy signs, but if he’s happy and having a good time, don’t sweat it.”

I saw them both smiling as they stood over Knox’s crib. Was that a fist pound?

Knox needs a third nap. I’m telling you. I know this kid. Otherwise it’s all toothy smiles and giggles one minute, but total meltdown the next before you can blink an eye. I wanted to interrupt, but they were so chummy and I was pretty amazed that Jerrod was taking charge, and although I really wanted to encourage that third nap, I didn’t want to step on my husband’s toes.

“Daddy’s way is different, not wrong,” I said to myself. After all, he is Knox’s dad – he wants what’s best for his son – and my way is not always the right way. I was feeling very mature.

So I let him finish, gave our friend some emergency contact numbers, and off we went to watch the Cats make it to the Final Four.

We came home on top of the world, but our friend was completely pooped, sprawled out on the couch.

“Are you guys hungry?” she asked first thing. “Because I don’t know how you all do it. I’m exhausted. We played, we laughed, we danced. I didn’t even have time to eat!”

“Why didn’t you order something during his third nap?” I asked, taking off my coat.

“I couldn’t get him down for the last nap!” she cried. “He wanted to play! And then, he just lost it. Lost it. Totally went berserk. Crying and rubbing his eyes and, oh man, he was just so overtired! He never cries! I’m the worst.”

I started to speak, when Jerrod cut me off, “I know, dude! That third nap is killer! Alecia has no trouble, but it’s hard for us outsiders!”

‘Outsiders?’

Seriously?

And that’s when it hit me:

Even my husband thinks of himself as a babysitter.

So yeah, we parent differently. My mantra is nice and peacekeeping and loving and a way to keep me sane when they’re making a mess. And listen, most of the time, Daddy’s way is okay. But because of Sunday night, because of my Ah-ha moment, I can now affirm and be boldly confident that when in doubt, Momma knows best.

A Note About Your Daddy

2010-02-01T15:32:00.002-05:00

Little baby, we are both so excited to meet you, but your daddy wants to know you already. He coats his hands in Tummy Butter every night, rubs it into my belly, never can keep from saying, “Wow” - more to himself than to me. He says he wishes he could carry you, wishes he could feel you growing, and wants you to know how much he loves you, too. He talks to you, bends his lips down low to my stomach and asks you to give me a break, (the nausea is killing me), then kisses you... and me, too, I guess... who am I kidding?... he kisses you every night.

Your daddy is already taking care of you. He makes me fruit shakes every morning before he goes to work, shakes that I just can't stomach, but he pleads with me, “Just a couple of sips. For the baby.” He makes me toast when I need it, buys me ginger ale, lets me eat Papa John's and Pizza Hut even though he has put his foot down at McDonald's. He brings a bottle of water to the bathroom when I'm bent over the toilet and tries not to freak out when I cry for no reason – asked me yesterday if it was the hormones or the Golden Girls rerun I was watching. Your daddy makes me laugh, and makes me feel better. He can't wait til I get my energy back so that we can walk on the treadmill together at the gym... to make you strong.

Your daddy goes to every doctor's appointment with me, asks questions, puts his head right up to the monitor so that I can't see a thing. He had his iPhone out at the last visit, snapped a picture of the first sonogram image, the one where you were only .24 centimeters long, and emailed it to all of his guy friends and our families before the doctor had even left the room. He loved, loved, loved hearing your heartbeat – so fast, crazy fast – and held my hand tightly on the way home. He asked me, “Did you hear the doctor say that our child has the strongest heartbeat he's ever heard?” Hmmm... Somehow I missed that, but he just smiled and assured me it was so. Your daddy is already so proud.

Now your daddy is not perfect. He doesn't put things back where they go (I find spatulas in colanders and pot lids stacked on top of our plates). He leaves his underwear on the bathroom floor and I'm always finding his white t-shirts stuffed in our couch cushions. He gets too mad at the television during Kentucky games and is not a friend to drivers who honk at him. He's even expressed a strong resistance to changing your future diapers.

And your daddy wants to name you something I just can't allow. Of course, I want to name you something really charming that he just won't agree to. We laugh, go over the list he's started on his phone, say the names over and over, letting them roll off of our tongues. As we get to know you better, the perfect name will come. A family name maybe, a Bible name, or something we invent – we can't wait to start using your name – your daddy so eager to whisper it into my popped out little gut.

I tell you every day that I love you, but your daddy loves you, too. And he loves your momma so much. He strokes my hair when I can't sleep, lets me munch from a box of cereal by the bed at all hours of the night, and tells me every day that this is the most beautiful I've ever looked to him... even though I've never felt more tired, sick, pale, and pudgy. But he takes my picture once a week, wants to make a flip book later, and I find his eyes on me constantly. I don't want to embarrass you, little baby, but your daddy's eyes are glazed over and he is head over heels for us both.

Your daddy is so full of love. I can't wait to place you in his arms. I hope you have his blue eyes and his dimples and his soft blond hair. I hope you have his full bodied laugh and his hungry ambition. And I hope you are just as true.

Dirty (4th grade) Dancing

2009-05-13T14:06:00.000-04:00

1987

Emily Petry's slumber party and Kimmy Wyatt is glued to the TV downstairs. She's watching Dirty Dancing... I'm not allowed to watch Dirty Dancing... but I think Kimmy Wyatt is the most grown-up, beautiful, perfect human being on the planet, so I cross-leg myself right down on the carpet beside her.

This is a story about Baby. She's growing up and she wants to make her parents proud, always do the right thing, and see more in people than other people see. Am I Baby?
I curl my knees up under my nightgown and hug them tight against my chest and can't think of any other place I'd rather be. Emily brings popcorn and starts talking to Jemma about the watermelon scene.

"Can you believe she just said, 'I carried a watermelon?'"

"I know."

I would like to ask them, at this time, what would be a better way to segue into the sweaty, sexy, outrageous club scene that she has stumbled upon, but don't. I imagine myself in Baby's Keds. I carried a watermelon. Okay. So? Is this embarrassing ‘cause she should have carried two?

Emily's mom calls down to see if we're okay and I think she's the coolest parent I've ever met. We can watch PG-13s, she doesn't consider "piss" a curse word, and lets us have the whole basement to ourselves!

Okay. The main girl dancer, Penny, is pregnant. My mouth drops open wide and none of us can believe it ‘cause a) she's not married and b) we're still not perfectly clear on how that even happens. She has some sort of botched surgery and Baby gets in trouble with her dad. Parents never seem to understand. I totally relate with Baby.

Now though - BABY GETS TO DANCE! I think that Patrick Swayze is the sexiest man I have ever seen and this movie, two years later, is what prompts me to secretly practice dancing in my full-length mirror at home before every school dance in middle school. I don't know what I'll do though if anyone ever tries that fingers down the inside of my arm thing. I just know I'll DIE of tickle tingles.

Pretty soon, Baby and Johnny are a couple and I am informed that the reason they are in his bed together is because they just had sex. Whoa. This is where my dear, precocious friend Emily takes the remote control and keeps rewinding the scene where Johnny gets out of bed. I SWEAR WE CAN ALMOST SEE HIS BUTT! This is the wildest slumber party ever. She has him getting out of bed, backing into bed, up and down, the sheets tossing as we see AT LEAST an inch of the top part of his right buttocks. It's incredible.

At the same time, I am gonna be so nervous if anyone ever tries to kiss me like he kissed her. I feel tingles. My body feels hot. Even Kimmy is sitting up straight in her bean bag chair. I really hope this movie leads to one of those boy talks later where I sit back and nod my head as the other girls gossip, (Emily's big sister has told her EVERYTHING about boys), while at the same time soaking up everything they say to ask my mom about later. Of course if she asks where I heard that stuff, I'll tell her from TV or from this girl in class who is super mean to me and whom I really hate.

Baby is slowly becoming my hero. She is sexy, but look! You can still be playful if you want without being a nerd! Baby and Johnny are dancing and goofing off, crawling toward each other, and hiding behind a screen. All of us girls pair off and start to call "Come 'ere lover boy" and "if he STILL doesn't answer" and I, especially, feel like I have this part of flirting down pat. (Of course, I take out my retainer first because a) it doesn't make me feel sexy and b)... Emily took hers out.)

Someone mentions that they've already seen this movie and want to do Ouija board instead. I am terrified. Not of the spirits (okay a little), but more of peeling my eyes away from this love story. One that I am absolutely under no circumstances allowed to see and one that everyone will be talking about in the cafeteria!

Luckily, Emily announces that we're staying up all night long and if we go to sleep, she'll put shaving cream on our faces, so, "What's the hurry?"

(Thank God.)

It's the end-of-season party and Baby's lame sister does a horrible talent show presentation that makes us all hope we never grow up to be like her. We hate that Baby is stuck with her parents while Johnny is just a beautiful memory for her diary pages.

When, wait! Dressed in black leather from head to toe, Johnny crashes the party and cowboy boots his way over to her table where he announces that "Nobody puts Baby in a corner."

We scream.

We scream in unison.

We clap, and squeal, and kick our feet, and scream.

Our knight has ripped us away from the stifling clutches of our parents and knows that we are each beautiful stars that should be shining onstage in a down and dirty version of the mambo! Truly!

The only thing better than seeing ourselves twirl in Baby's beautiful dress and saucily swing our hips around with her as she kicks and points in those fabulous silver shoes is...

the lift.

Baby soars into the air and we are giddy! Arms outstretched, we fly with her! 8 year old girls, accustomed to passing notes in class, writing boys' names on folders, and perfecting our bangs every day into magnificent statuesque towers are now seeing the glory of teenagedom!

Ends up that after Ouija board, we try seances and Emily passes out. I get freaked out by all the conjouring of the dead and the devil stuff, so I call my mom to come pick me up in the middle of the night.

She holds my hand on the way home, which I hate but allow when not in public.

I look out the car window into the 2am night, the moon pouring silver onto hay bales and rolling Kentucky hills. As I’ve Had the Time of my Life repeats over and over in my head, I can’t help but hide a grin… I can't wait to carry a watermelon.

Old? Never.

2009-05-13T14:05:00.000-04:00

Words flow from my fingertips freely. Always have. I know what I want to say. I say it. Words sometimes wrestle each other as they fight their way around my mouth, each demanding a voice. Thoughts, ideas, but mostly, emotions. Whatever I'm feeling is splashed across my face and flowing from my mouth, skyrocketing from my heart to the back of my teeth, before my mind can stop it. Blurting. Loud.

But not my husband. He is quiet. His emotions hide, tucked into the corners of his heart and mind. Feelings curl up hushed inside, are only given away by the clench of his jaw or curl of his toes. Words are tools, carefully chosen to build an idea and express it logically. Thoughtfully. Firm.

I say.

He shows.

It is Wednesday. Not a holiday or special occasion. It is a regular old Wednesday in March. The night is not as cold as it has been – I feel winter losing its hold – but the wind still whips fighting til the end. It is Wednesday after class and I am tired and cranky and hungry. It is Wednesday and he works early tomorrow and I still have a twenty minute walk ahead of me.

At our door, I take off my high heels so as not to click-clack across the hard wood floor when I walk in and possibly wake him. Our apartment is small and he will be asleep. I use my key and hear the loud clap of the heavy duty, standard issue, New York City lock slap open. Turning the knob, I give a little push...

And see red rose petals leading straight from the foyer to the dining room, where the table has been set, two candles lit, and a red rose placed in a too big vase. In a trance, the door smacks closed behind me as my husband takes me in his arms and kisses my cheek.

“I'm glad you're home,” he says, taking my bag and coat, but not letting go of me, arms firm around my waist. He kisses me again, soft lips all over my face, warm breath down my neck. My mouth would like to participate, but is fixed wide open in shock.

“You shaved,” is the only thing I can think to say.

“Just for you,” he tells me, ocean blue eyes sparkling.

He grabs my hand and leads me to the table, pulling out my chair. He uncovers a filet mignon, corn on the cob heavy with salt and butter, and broccoli. He offers his hand and we say Grace, thanking God for the food and for each other. I am spinning.

“What got into you?” I ask, whole milk coating an empty stomach.

A shrug of his shoulders trumps talking about his feelings, and that's okay. I swallow every analytical idea shooting up my throat, swallow the words that are fighting to ask questions, swallow the emotion that threatens crying. Acoustic guitar plays from the computer, lulling me into the trance set before me. Our shadows bounce off the mirrors on our walls and I see my life... and love it.

He takes our plates to the sink and I lean back in my chair. Watching him. Full.

He leads me past rose petals down the hall to our bedroom. Candles keep the mood soft, another long stemmed rose graces my pillow, and a plate of chocolate covered strawberries sit atop the white bedspread. He went to the bakery.

The soft hands I have loved for six years tenderly take hold of each side of my face. In his kiss, I hear every word he doesn't say. He needs me. He thinks about me all day. He is happy to be my husband. He feels loved and safe with me. He misses me, even when I'm only gone for a few hours, on a Wednesday.

My husband is a man's man, a sports and weather kind of man, a never let 'em see you sweat or cry type of man. And I am worth his time, his vulnerability. I am special.

There is nothing new about rose petals, or dinner, or candlelight, or strawberries, or flowers, or music, or shaving, or saying “I love you”.

But it never gets old, either.

Country Girls

2009-04-15T22:36:00.000-04:00

As soon as Bus 30 drops me at the end of our long gravel driveway, I get the mail and race up the hill to my house. My best friend, Janie, waves from her propped down window, “LYLAS! LYLAS! Love Ya Like A Sister!” and continues to bump along the one lane road to her house around the bend. We have all afternoon and yet no time at all. My younger brother chases after me in his Mickey Mouse shoes and Michael Jackson t-shirt, but he knows it's no use: No Boys Allowed.

I change from my “good school” clothes into my “around the house” clothes (my parents can be so lame sometimes) and I'm off. We always meet at my Uncle Jeff's pond and skip rocks and talk about boys and try to figure out why this one girl in our class hates us both so badly. And then we make fun of her, cause making fun of her together – alone – by the pond – makes it easier to bare when she makes fun of us – in front of everybody – at school. It is 5th grade and we are best friends.

We run across the fields, dodging cow pies and thistles. The farm is sprawling – our kingdom. My hair is summer, blonde and bright, skin browned and freckled. Janie's hair is autumn, burnt orange and bright, skin white and freckled. Running together, we are a beautiful Indian Summer.

We turn cartwheels, jump rope, taunt the bull from behind a woven wire fence. We throw our smiles back into the sun and send its rays back with a message: Nothing is brighter than our futures.

We walk through rows of tobacco, tall and leafy, sticky and sweet smelling. It covers us, our fortress, as we sit in the dirt and talk about how cute Kurt Williams looks with a buzz cut and how life-threatening it will be if I have to get braces.

We sit cross-legged under the shade of the tobacco, stalks thick yet hollow looking, and Janie cries. She misses her dad. He drives a truck and he's been gone two weeks... California and Idaho and a Dakota. I hold her hand, caked in dirt and tobacco gum, and feel guilty that my daddy tucks me in every night.

“Every time we pass a Big Rig, I pull my arm up and down as hard as I can,” I fiercely demonstrate, elbow crazily slicing into the humidity, “just in case it's your daddy.” She sniffs, and smiles.

I pull out an eraser, big and purple, the kind you stick on the end of a pencil, the kind that cost me 25 cents from the big gray dispenser by the principal's office. “You're my best friend,” I say. She wipes her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her t-shirt. “I saw Laura Beth and Becca do this at recess today. You rub the eraser as hard as you can over the back of your hand... rub it til it bleeds. Then we put our hands together, moosh 'em around, and we're Blood Sisters. Best Friends Forever. It's like a pact. Makes us family. Real sisters.”

She gulps. “Does it hurt?”

I shrug and give it a few rough back-n-forths.

“Owwwwwwwwwwwww!” I throw a cry down every row of tobacco. I scare foxes from their holes!

“It hurts,” I confirm.

We sit in silence. I blow on the back of my hand, feel stupid, defeated.

And then, Janie stands up and rips a leaf from a stalk next to her.

“Since when are we like those stuck up city girls anyway? We're farm girls, country girls. Tobacco Sisters.” She rolls the leaf up and squeezes, the stickiness dripping down on the back of her hand and then mine. She rubs the leaf on her hand, hard. Passes it to me. My hand is still raw, but this feels better... feels right.

I stand next to her, not as tall as my uncle's crop, and we rub the back of our hands together.

“Sisters,” she says.

I look at her blue eyes and see my own reflection, smiling. “Sisters.”

a la Dad

2009-03-05T19:05:00.002-05:00

The microwave buzzes as does the air around us. We stand across from each other, Dad on one side of the counter, me on the other. We are poised for these 10 seconds in time, spoons in hand. The ice cream has been put back in the freezer, the chocolate syrup back in the fridge. The only thing left to do, is wait.

This is our tradition. We melt our vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce. Not to a milkshake consistency, just for a little softness. It's easier on Dad's sensitive teeth and I just like whatever my dad likes.

The back deck is the place for ice cream. A summer night is the best time. We each have a chair, sit back far, and a there's a homemade bench for leg-propping. Ice cream bowls held with left-hand against chests, we slowly slurp spoonful after spoonful and look up at the stars. The Dipper is ours – really, either one – it's ours. Just mine and my Dad's. The first time I stayed away from home, he told me to look up into the sky and that if we could both see the Dipper, then we couldn't be that far away from each other. That has worked from slumber party, to summer camp, to New York City.

I miss my dad a lot. His corny jokes, “Knock knock” - “Who's there?” - “Hotch.” - “Hotch who?” - “God bless you,” he says with a grin.

My dad is solid, was Room Father in second grade and then in third grade, he brought coins from Africa and gave them to my entire class! At my 10 year reunion, Lorie Perraut told me she still had hers. My dad took a job on 3^rd shift when I got to Middle School and our time was a little cut into. We left Post-Its for each other every day. He got home in the morning in time to put us on the bus and then tried to sleep while we were at school. Pretty hard task for a country boy who's whole life has been 4:30am wake-up calls to milk the cows. My dad aged and tired right in front of our eyes in those send-me-to-college years... in those put-clothes-on-my-back years and food-on-our-table years. A retired man now, he's a cowboy again, romping over our farm on a 4-wheeler with my Uncle Jeff as they check their cattle and keep an eye on the “neighbors”... you know, the ones crowding in on the “back ten”... acres, that is.

My dad nodded off in church every Sunday during those years, but he didn't miss often. Religion by osmosis maybe, but we could never beg off since he never did.

My dad stayed up with me til sunrise one winter night when I woke up screaming. I was 100% sure that a rapist was in my closet. The dream was so real and I swore I saw a face. My dad checked it out – all it really took was turning on the lights – but he saw how shaken I was, blankets tucked up tightly under my chin. He made ice cream, our way, and we ate it in the living room. Stood with our backs to the wood-burning stove, the heat pressing up against our backsides and thighs. (I like to take the heat as long as possible and then run to the couch and sit down, feel it run up my spine, glorious.) We talked until dawn that night... talked about life, about death, about jealous girls, and boys' initials on my notebooks... about what I want to be when I grow up... about growing up.

With my dad, I feel safe and taken care of and worth his time.

I always look forward to ice cream a la Dad. We hold our bowls to our lips and slurp up the very last bit of chocolately goodness. And we smile. Contented. The company sweeter than the confection.

2008-11-18T15:56:00.000-05:00

As I let my friends down, I realize how long I've been holding some of them up.

An Elbow to the Heart

2008-07-25T13:29:00.000-04:00

Bump.

Buh-Bump.

Bump again.

New Yorkers weave fast-paced trails through mass groups of tourists, looking for holes in the foot traffic like my granny's knitting needles look for the next stitch. Their bodies move and bend, hokey-pokey style toward the subways... toward something.

Buh-Bump.

No "excuse me" or "sorry" as elbows find their ways into my side, hit my bag, knock me hard. I move forward, am pushed back, know bruises are surfacing in angry response, feel my body tense up to defend itself... but my heart just isn't in it.

Bump.

I am nothing... no one... another beating heart beating the pavement in search of something with nowhere to go. I would say I am lost, but have no destination. No friends to meet after work, no work to meet new friends... a transplant from anywhere-other-than-here-USA. I head North, wander the streets, ponder the lights, feel a tear slide down my cheek, hear myself sob - not one person notices.

Buh-Bump.

"Look at me!" I want to yell. "See me!" No eye contact, no existence. This is the only time in my life that another human being has physically touched me and has not felt my heat... my life.

Bump.

I have never been around so many people.

Buh-Bump.

I have never been so alone.

I only hear her calling me

2008-03-09T11:40:00.005-04:00

Her words chase each other across the screen with a competitve fervor. She gives her fingers a pep talk and powers them over the keyboard - DON'T STOP, DON'T STOP - it hurts! - DON'T STOP.

When I read her journal it's like looking down into a deep pot of chicken dumplings, her mind stewing and bubbling and fire hot. You can't really get closer than that. She won't let you and you'd burn yourself anyway. Peek inside. That's it. We get to peek.

Her words run effortlessly. There is no over-thinking - WHAT IF HE READS THIS? - there is just gold truth.

She doesn't write for anyone but herself. It's a quality like cashmere, stands on its own, needs no validation, knows there is nothing like it. Knows proudly that it is a quality that you can't help but admire. She writes - we admire - she doesn't give a damn.

Freedom. Maybe something I forfeited along the way while looking for security and love and stability. I peck out phrases more carefully, choosing my words - since when did I ever choose my words? - more aware of his feelings than mine, of their morals than mine.

Sometimes I feel my feelings rally my brain, my fingers, my gut and they drive me to my journal, to the computer, to the telephone... but my mind is a brilliant source of overriding control... and I put them all down. All blood has thinned to ink as my innermost genius channels through my body, words shoving thoughts from limb to organ to vein til my smiles crack and tears flow and loneliness is welcome.

But I do not let them out. Not anymore. Not anymore.

Vulnerability has become alone time.

But the world sees hers and cherishes it. She beckons me.

2007-10-11T16:35:00.001-04:00

I don't think she meant to fall in love with him. They had very little in common and beside that, the "world" would never allow it. So their interactions were few and their smiles were without motive.

Which is exactly why they did, in fact, fall fatally in love.

having a baby

2007-08-21T01:49:00.000-04:00

somewhere in my side, low, like appendex, is a weird clenching. stress. maybe. or those random days where i think i'm pregnant, even though i'm definitely not. it's the gemini in me, maybe, that creates inner drama where there's none.

still, there's a catch in my breath that i feel above my right breast. is my lung there? or is that just where i'm keeping the "when am i having a baby?" question... and therefore, the stress.

elizabeth gilbert, eat, pray, love writes: "Having a baby is like getting a tatoo on your forehead - you better be 100% sure."

do i really want a tatoo?
on my forehead?

my friend cindy just had a baby, heather is pregnant, brandi is pregnant, megan is pregnant, and you never know when my sister-in-law darla is gonna pop another out.
i could just babysit.

i'm definitely not having a baby.
yet.