I’ve never seen such persistence in a sales person.  Perhaps their employers deprive them of food and water, or hold family members at gunpoint each day to ward against failure.  Some of them make Mary Kay reps look lazy and disinterested.   They seem to spot you from miles away and call out to you as you approach.  They have devious ways of drawing you in.  Some will try the finding-fault-with-you technique. “You looked stressed.  I can take five years off your age in five minutes.”  Once they have you hooked they switch to flattery to try to keep you there. “My! What are you using on your neck? You look fabulous!”   Look lady, you’ve obviously never seen my neck in direct sunlight. Vampires sparkle.  I wrinkle. These people are ruthless, and they are not beyond using your kids as their little sales associates   “This was just voted best toy in the universe. Maybe your mom would let you try it…if she loved you.  Ok. I made that last part up.

     I know many of you are busy this time of year, so in the interest of saving you precious time, I have come up with tips you can try to keep the evil kiosk people at bay.  Number one … focus on the ground in front of you, as if you are finding your shoes particularly interesting today, or looking for spare change. Number two…avoid eye contact. This is the most common trick, but it does have a high rate of failure.  Sometimes they step out and address you in a tone of voice so loudly you would look rude to other shoppers if you ignore than. I’ll admit, “Excuse me, miss? ” sometimes works, but if they call me ma’am, forget it. I may even trip them on my way by. I’m so sorry I didn’t notice you there looming over me like a crazed stalker.

     Come to think of it, maybe that’s who these people are…ex celebrity stalkers who now have restraining orders against them. “Before I sold these amazing dog leashes, I spent most of my time in the palm tree overlooking Jessica Alba’s backyard.” 

     Where was I?   Oh, yes.   If this tactic doesn’t work for you it’s time to try Number three..the direct stare and glare.  Look them right in the eye as though you think they are disgusting and don’t deserve to inhabit the same planet as you.  In other words, channel your inner Simon Cowell.  One withering glance will sometimes dissuade them.    If not, you can try a verbal approach. Remember your self defense classes.  Screaming “STOP!” or “NO!” can do wonders, but it does cause slight embarrassment  Afterwards, you usually have to pretend you have that syndrome which makes people throw out random swear words, then toss some over your shoulder,  as you calmly head towards Nordstrom’s. 

     When all else fails you must move onto Number four, or as I like to call it… playing the crazy card. Do you remember the Norma Desmond character Carol Burnett used to play on her show?  If not, just Google “when Saturday night TV was good” and brush up a little.  First, do that thing she used to do with her eyes. Get about two inches from their face and say, ”Don’t you know who I am?  You will address me as madam! Now, go away, or I will report you to Louie B. Mayer, and he will have you thrown off the lot!” 

     If you have additional suggestions, I’d love to hear them. I know all of you are frequenting the
malls this busy holiday vacation season.  Be sure to Jussle your schedule, so you don’t miss one egg nog brunch or New Year’s party.  Until then, see you at the mall. I’ll be the one acting crazy.

I figure you know you’ve really made it as a parenting guru if your name has been turned into a verb, as in, “Have you tried to Ferberize the baby yet?”

But I think all of us have really missed the boat when it comes to parenting advice from humans. We should be taking a page from the animal kingdom. My husband and daughter were watching PBS‘s science program, NOVA, the other night … a welcome break from Degrassi, I might add.

The featured species on this particular special was the cowbird, or as they are sometimes known, the gangster bird. Bada bing! The Brown Headed North American Cowbird is known as a parasitic bird species, found in North America and south of the Arctic.

I know you’re wondering where I’m going with this, but bear with me. The reason these birds are called parasites is that instead of building their own nests, incubating their own eggs, and raising their own nestlings, cowbird females use other species as hosts.

They lay their eggs in the nests of other birds, relying on these hosts to incubate and raise their chicks. But, here’s the rub…if they don’t, they come back and kill them. Yes, you heard me. If the other bird refuses the cowbird egg, the female cowbird comes back to kill her.

Just think, if you had a particularly troublesome child you would have the option of giving it to another family. “Just remember, if junior doesn’t get at least a 1900 on his SAT, I may come back and kill you.” Pretty effective I’d say. You could watch your child succeed from a distance. No need to bother with the busy sports calendar or after school schedule. No driving carpool. No dealing with adolescent angst. No changing dirty diapers. And this new family would have to do a good job raising your child….or else!

We could form cowbird mom networking groups, hold seminars on finding the perfect host family. Or we could just use the threat of cowbirding to illicit all sorts of good behavior. “Take out that trash or I’ll send you to live with another family who’ll make sure you do.” The possibilities are endless, really.

I’ve been avoiding looking too closely into the garage freezer for years. It was only when the smell started to linger after I’d closed the door, that I realized I needed to tackle this job. I mean, frozen stuff’s not supposed to smell, is it?

Hmmmm … what do have we here? Someone apparently brought us some fish they caught on a trip to Mexico … in 2005. I see waffles that are still in the box, but on closer inspection look like they have been trapped, perfectly preserved in small circular glaciers. Presumably, these are to be consumed by a frozen Neanderthal should they happen to defrost one anywhere in the vicinity. My freezer is not big enough for a frozen Neanderthal man, which is a bit sad if it actually turned out to look like Brendan Fraser.

My mind begins to wander … ok, back to the freezer contents. I see a 48-pack of Otter Pops. I put these down here intentionally, so if the kids wanted some on a hot summer day, they had to eat them outside, so as not to decorate the rug with a bright blue color not found in nature. I think that was at least three summers ago, because these were stuck so far in the back of the freezer they couldn’t be retrieved without an ice pick. Note to self: send info to Jussle calendar to remind me to buy more Otter Pops tomorrow … and an ice pick.

There is a bottle of peppermint schnapps which must have made its way here after a Tahoe trip. Seeing it contains only about an eighth of an inch of frozen schnapps gives me a clue as to why I don’t remember having any of it.

And the piece de la resistance … Tigger. Tigger was my daughter’s hamster in 3rd grade, which is four years ago. Luckily, I can’t see Tigger. He or she is bagged in several Ziploc’s and inside a paper bag with its name written on it in Sharpie. If I remember correctly, we did not have time to give Tigger the burial ceremony he deserved, but didn’t want it lying around for any length of time. I think this was intended to be a 24-48 hour remedy. How time flies. Now two hamsters later it’s still here … a furry frozen friend.

I knew what I had to do. I quickly thrust it back into the far recesses of the freezer. What the heck? If we wait long enough, science may have progressed to the point at which he can be reanimated

10. The singing I can handle. The 15,000 high-pitched, screaming girls I can do without.

9. Does Jimmy Osmond know they’ve used his DNA in a strange cloning experiment?

8. Now he’s rapping. Yes, you heard me correctly … rapping

7. More interesting song choices. “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’ “ … Yes, I’d like to start a propofol drip. (too soon?)

6. “Walk this Way” ? Really? Because when I think of Steven Tyler, I think of … well … I don’t know what I think of, but it’s not Justin Bieber!

5. Call me crazy, but I have a sneaky feeling he won’t be bustin’ out “Dude Looks Like a Lady” next.

4. Now, he’s playing some kind of percussion instrument. If he picks up a pair of maracas I may have a Davy Jones flashback.

3. If only I hadn’t been taller than him when I was 12, he would have forgotten all about that stupid Marcia Brady and gone out with me! (Sorry … still in the Davy Jones flashback mode).

2. He’s thrown his hat to a girl in the crowd. Now her friends are tearing her limb from limb

1. This is what I call stagecraft! He’s literally flying above the audience in some kind of open, heart-shaped contraption. What I wouldn’t give to see him return to the stage and dance around a small model of Stone Henge. (By the way, if you get that reference you can be my friend for life)

Stay tuned to my next blog for more adventures with Justin!

Simplify

Creating the “perfect” holiday can be overwhelming; and attempting to please everyone and do everything can leave you feeling tired and resentful. This year simplify. Choose and prioritized the events and traditions that you value most, and cross the rest off the To Do list. Be open to creating new, less demanding, traditions. For example, have a potluck or a cookie party instead of a sit down dinner.

Healthy habits

How often has a cup of coffee made up for the lack of a full nights sleep? Or an exercise session is skipped to fit in another “to do” item? Many times the vary things that help us reduce stress are the first things off the “To Do” list.

Oh Silent Night

Stress and sleep (or lack of sleep) is a double-edged sword. Stress not only interferes with the quality of sleep (all those thoughts and worries that keep us up at night), but lack of sleep also increases the release of hormones involved in the stress response. So, you’re not sleeping because you’re stressed, and you’re stressed because you’re not sleeping. If a good nights sleep has eluded you, napping has been shown to reduce stress, improve mood, increase reaction time, and even enhance learning. Studies have shown that a 20-minute nap provides more wide spread benefits than 20 minutes extra sleep in the morning. If possible, rather than hitting the snooze button once, twice, or (“oh no you didn’t”) three times, opt for an afternoon power nap.

OH OH OH

Physical activity increases endorphins. Have you heard of the runner’s high; that feeling of euphoria that happens during physical activity? That is the effect of endorphins. Endorphins reduce stress and relieve pain. They are also believed to enhance our immune system and even postpone the effects of aging. A brisk walk on a cold winter’s day is fantastic for clearing the mind and reducing stress. Twenty minutes of yoga or calisthenics have a wide range of physical and emotional benefits. However, exercise is not the only medium to a healthy dose of endorphins; try a few minutes of meditation or deep breathing, or doubling over with laughter. Yes, laughter produces endorphins. Have you ever felt stressed after a really good belly laugh?

This season, let’s add more laughs and less “To Do” items to our holiday celebration. I wish you a stress free holiday and a happy New Year

This article was written by Karen Moreno, and reprinted with permission from FIT – Focused Individual Training, 600 Rancho Shopping Center, Los Altos, CA www.focusedtrainers.com.

You can read the FIT blog at allthingsfit.wordpress.com

Our first trip took us back East to have an early Thanksgiving with my husband’s family. Then, after flying home, we had approximately 20 hours to pack, do laundry, and repack before heading back to the airport for our second trip of the week.

This journey took us to Anaheim, where our son played in a youth hockey tournament. Thanks to Jussle, my electronic calenedar told me exactly what time each day I had to go to the world’s coldest ice rink. (who knew it was in Orange County California?)

Most of the time, I was afraid to leave our hotel room because a group of nine and 10-year-old boys were running rampant through the Hilton playing floor hockey with those mini sticks and a small Nerf ball. Did I mention how bad these boys smelled? But I digress.

During this whirlwind adventure I had at least a dozen or more people tell me, “Happy Holidays.” … in airports, in restaurants, in hotels, coffee shops, shuttle buses … you name it. First let me explain something. We live in an extremely diverse part of the country. Our friends and neighbors are from different cultures, ethnicities, and backgrounds, and have come from countries throughout the globe. I always tell people Happy Holidays in December and am glad to do so.

My question is, exactly when did the expression Happy Holidays include Thanksgiving? It’s not even December yet! No one told me Happy Holidays during Halloween. Why the sudden sensitivity? Then it hit me! We don’t want to accidently wish some poor unsuspecting Canadian Happy Thanksgiving!

So be careful next year. Don’t put yourself in the situation where an affronted person glares at you and says, “Hey Buddy! Thanksgiving was last month, eh? Hoser!”`

I recently downloaded the new Nike+GPS app which has reenergized me, and allowed me to challenge myself during each and every run. It tracks my mileage, my pace, lets me choose my music.

It may not be as cool as the technology that lets your calendar read your email, but then again … what is? And, no, Nike isn’t paying me to say any of this. However, I wouldn’t be opposed to it if they wanted to!

Anyway, on my first run with this new gadget, I started thinking about what running has meant to me over the years. I fondly remember going with my Dad to the track to run during elementary school. Then, in college, one of my best friends in became my running buddy. During our runs we talked about classes, guys, what parties we were going to after we got home. In 2001, I lost a friend to Leukemia, and raised $2500 for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society to run the Portland Marathon in his honor. Now I have Mom friends I run with. We talk about our kids, school, kids’ sports and activities, our husbands. To me it’s a time to either forget about my stresses, or talk them out while breathing heavily. Either way, I feel better when it’s over.

But during my most recent outing, I finally realized what I like best about running. I don’t have to act all prim and proper! Girls growing up in the Midwest in the 70s were expected to be … well … girly. It’s not like I wore dresses everywhere. I even climbed a lot of trees in those days. But there were still things you weren’t allowed to do.

When I’m running, I don’t have to worry about being prim and proper. In fact, I can be the opposite. When I’m running I can drink a half a bottle of Gatorade then burp loudly. I can sing along with my iPod. I can blow my nose in the bottom of my shirt. I can spit. If it gets too hot, I can take my shirt off and run in my sports bra. (Thank you Brandi Chastain!) In an emergency I can even pee in the bushes. Not that I do. It’s just so liberating to know that I could if need be.

Can any of you Jussle users relate? If so, let me know. Did I mention that new app allows you to challenge other people and talk smack if you beat them? Another thing I wasn’t allowed to do when I was 12.

It wasn’t pretty. My hands were ink stained. My laptop was frozen on my pre-pay lunch menu account, and my right hand was clenched into something resembling a claw. As I look back to my own school days, I have no recollection of my Mom doing what I was doing … completing piles and piles of back-to-school paperwork.

Can someone explain to me why we need so many forms? Oh sure … I can understand the need for emergency contact/medical information, so the school can decide what to do with little Timmy when the San Andreas Fault finally goes, but what was all this other crap? Computer policy, library policy, directory changes, lunch information, classroom volunteer form, supply updates, classroom wish list, back-to-school night. Laid end to end I was pretty sure they’d reach Oregon.

My favorite was the reading survey we received from the teacher. It started out beautifully. How many books does your child have in his/her room? That was easy. My adorable fourth grader has upwards of 150 books in his book case. How many books are in your house? We scored with that one too. Doing a quick estimate brought me to about 500. I was so smug that I wanted to include additional sentences about my love of Dickens and Austen. The latter made me think of Colin Firth, which caused me to lose focus for a few seconds.

The next question in the survey, however, was when it all fell apart. How many books did your child read this summer? I yelled to him in the other room, where he was devouring a copy of Black Beauty. Okay, so he was really watching Phineas and Ferb, but I digress. “How many books did you read this summer, sweetie?” “Two.” “I’m sorry. I must have heard you wrong. I thought you said two.” “Yeah.”

Sixty-plus days of summer and two books. They should have made this much easier and gave me the opportunity to check a box that says, “I am a bad Mom.” Then I could have skipped this form altogether.

I tried reasoning with him, but he would not budge. “Are you sure it wasn’t four or five?” He was having none of it. My son had suddenly turned into George Washington. I cannot tell a lie. And then I wondered if that famous story had happened in modern times, whether good old’ George would have said. “I did not have any relations with that cherry tree … the one in the back yard.”

Oh well, back to the forms. At least with Jussle I don’t have to enter any calendar information. That may just save my right hand from permanent disfigurement.

If your house was anything like mine this summer, the siblings were threatening to kill each other on an hourly basis. I think I’ll go mad if I have to see another Sponge Bob episode or hear more intrigue about the finale of Secret Life of the American Teenager.

But, don’t despair! School is literally right around the corner.

You may have already received an e-mail from your kids’ new soccer coaches and requests to fill that “great” opening on the PTA. You know the one … the job that won’t take too much time, is super fulfilling, but no one else wants to do it.

Please, please make me the gift wrap sales coordinator! I’d love to volunteer in the classroom on every other Tuesday! Nothing would make me happier than ordering the soccer banner and coordinating the snack schedule. And, while you’re at it, please make me a room parent again!

Two years ago, after only four parents in the second grade volunteered for crosswalk duty after three solicitations, I actually sent out an E-mail with the subject heading, “Bueller? Bueller? Anyone? Hello?” All it got me was a few strange glances and some uneasy smiles at pick-up time.

But the point is, during the next few weeks, your inbox will probably be filled with sports practice schedules, back to school meeting notices, the piano teacher’s new hours, meetings with your boss, swim team. Wait. Did I say I wanted summer to be over?

Although e-mail is a time saver, it seems like we still go from the printer to the cell phone calendar to the whiteboard, to the spouse’s e-mail, back and forth until we’re sinking under the weight of all the scheduling obligations.

But, actually meeting the obligations is not the problem. We moms have that down to a science! Give us a “to do” list and we’ll do it.

The problem is trying to get all those obligations organized without it taking an extra 1-2 hours out of our already severely limited time. I won’t insult anyone’s intelligence by calling it “free time.” There’s no such thing.

And , once you have everything on your calendar, what if it changes? Is the field too muddy to play? Is the softball coach stuck in a work meeting? Does the Hebrew teacher have the flu? The problem with the schedule is that it’s fluid … ever changing, and since they’ve outlawed texting in the car, trying to fix problems or glitches on the go is out!

What if there was someone to do it for you? Someone you don’t even see … kind of like the tooth fairy, or whatever it is that steals socks from the dryer.

That’s the beauty of Jussle. It’s a unique, reliable technology that takes all of your family’s events and activities from your e-mail and syncs them to your electronic calendar. Your calendar is updated automatically, continually and securely.

Now, how do I fill my extra time with something besides dirty laundry?

No. My head is pounding, because I’m trying to lose the weight I gained on vacation by going on the low carb diet. You know the one … you give up all bread, pasta, grains, and fruit for one to two weeks, and eat only lean protein, low fat diary and veggies.

It works. I’m not hungry. I always lose at least six pounds in a two-week period. It’s relatively easy to follow, but after day two it feels like someone is pounding on my head with a sledge hammer.

Apparently the headaches are part of some kind of grain depravation phenomenon. It starts with a minor forehead pain, progresses to a feeling like someone has your head in a vise, and finally, around day six, the pain subsides slightly, leaving you feeling like you’ve lost 60 IQ points. You can’t form complete sentences, you may get lost on the way to the grocery store, and suddenly everything Tracy Jordan says is hysterically funny.

I was discussing this with a friend of mine recently, who calls it the Hollywood Syndrome. “Ever wondered why some actresses on the red carpet can’t put together a simple sentence?” she asked. “Why they have a vacant expression on their faces and giggle when at a loss for words? I’ll tell you why! They haven’t eaten a piece of white bread since May of 2006.”

Do I really want to be reduced to this … being unable to finish a thought? No! I want to be witty, and smart. I want to hold intelligent conversations with people without my mind straying to pancakes and pasta. I don’t want to drool when I see a lunch companion dipping a piece of Italian bread into a plate of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Wait. What was I saying?

I’m in a quandary. Although, I have found that an occasional glass of wine (approximately three) dulls the pain in my head. Is this how Lindsay Lohan got started? This doesn’t sound healthy. I will have to rethink all of this. On the other hand, if my skinny jeans fit by mid August, I could take being dumb for a few weeks longer.