Obligation to Blog

You have my permission to skip this mess.

Yep. It's just what it says. This is a blog I feel obligated to write because I've been such a slacker. And my head has felt post-Hiroshima for the past four days. My apologies to the people of Japan for any offense. My apologies about Hiroshima in general.

I've decided that the headache and lack of writing, thereof, are simply due to a head filled with too many things. Ideas for magazine articles, books I want to write, books I've started to write and not finished, journaling I want to accomplish, setting up my new iPhone properly, wondering about Memorial Day plans, worrying about my children, worry about my love life, an innate desire to buy jewelry, an even greater desire to make jewelry for which I have no time, an online course I'm tackling and responsibilities to social media clients to which I lend a hand.

That's a plausible excuse for not blogging, right? Bo-log-na. Writing for me every day is as natural as brushing my teeth or really more like cleaning the cat's box.....which I don't do every day, I admit. So what's the holdup? Never writer's block. More like writer's laze. And if you don't do it every day, you get sloppy. And when you get sloppy, you write obligated blog. So skip this, and I'll be back fresh as a daisy before you know it. Ciao.

When Did Trending Become a Verb?

Trending now on Yahoo.....Kim Kardashian, student loans billow, Obama Clinton beef, FaceBook stock, Lauryn Hill's ex, Kelly Preston. And trending on CNN: airbrushed photos, "mommy porn" pulled from Florida bookshelves, and roller derby.

Trending on this blog: Nausea from all this trending.

Do I really need people to tell me what's hot right now....what's "trending"? And when did the word trend even start becoming a verb. Apparently, a long time ago. It's the latest trend.

According to Merriam-Webster's online dictionary, trending can certainly be used as an intransitive verb -- the definition being to show a tendency or deflection or to veer in a certain direction. In the past we've primarily heard it used to describe weather patterns or the economy.  "The prices are trending upward."  "The prevailing winds are trending east-northeast.

Now on the news, we're constantly told what's trending now. Like we are cattle that needs to be trending in a certain direction.  The next time I hear a newscaster tell me what's trending, I will scream.

Apparently, because of the Internet we, as a collective group of cattle, like this trending trend. We want to know what is hot and buzzing -- and we want it now. Instant gratification wins out! Apparently describing people, events and items as trending is not leaving us anytime soon. It's the new buzzword, and unfortunately we're stuck with it.

Google has even gone so far as to add a Google Trend search option. My check one minute ago shows that trending in the U.S. right now: Dancing With the Stars, NCIS: Los Angeles, the solar eclipse, Brevard County, flesh-eating bacteria and The Preakness.  There. You were hip for maybe a minute, if that. Google's option lets you see what's hot in a gazillion areas right now and on which Web sites. It does so by measuring the hottest searches on any particular site, including it's on search engine.

For example, the coolest, up-to-the minute recipes trending on allrecipes.com right now are: chicken salad, egg salad, asparagus, quiche, tilapia, pork chops, coleslaw and pasta.  How could you have possibly gone on with your day with knowing what foods are trending. I don't know about you, but I'm making pasta salad with pork, tilapia and asparagus tonight.

Trending right now in Europe? The Olympic torch run was a "farce" say newspapers/public, Greece is setting up elections despite bank panics, everything you wanted to know about sunscreen and Why I hate my face. Ten FaceBook tips are trending high on Twitter right now.  Oh wait, now that is so five minutes ago. Moving on......

Pinterest is Crack

I have found myself in the deepest throes of social media addiction.Calling for an intervention, please. The white flag has been raised. Pray for my salvation.

The little demon?  Pinterest.

Have you succumbed to this little devil -- the third largest social media site around?

Here, you get to "collect" and "pin" all of the wonderful things in life that are important to you. Like 60 ways to tie a scarf. Or recipes for dog biscuits. The idea is that this giant bulletin board of sorts is available to you 24/7 the minute you need  inspiration from  a powerful quote to the nanosecond you must make an alphabet of "rubber" stamps using a 10 lb. bag of potatoes.

Wait, there's a quote I must print, and a necklace from felt flowers I swear I will make. Next I'm pinning DIY sorority frames,  a wreath made from old book pages, a way to make your own canvas art (scurrying off to find Mod Podge!), a set of napkin rings for Christmas, a cool way to cut a t-shirt that my daughters will love, a picture of a hot guy, a quote about getting my life together (helloooooo?), earrings made from typewriter keys, braided headbands, knitted headbands, flower headbands, a jewelry organizer made from broken twigs, canisters made from rusty coffee cans and next it's flowery pins made from old tea bags and scarves from recycled newspapers or a really nifty way to tattoo myself with a old safety pin. I mean green is good. But come on! This has to stop.

I am blindly following other people on this journey as I find the savvy pinners who really share my taste. And then, wait, there are folks blindly following me. Seeking out what I'm pinning -- from corsets I love to jewelry to crafts to quotes to wedding ideas for my young daughters (wrong on so many levels) to a few recipes to more crafts I swear I will make. Stop. It is like crack.

My time is so much more valuable than pinning bits and pieces from all over the Internet. Right?  I could be writing more blogs or developing a business plan for a client or checking on old friends at FaceBook or following Adam Levine on Twitter. I have important things to do, people! And Pinterest is sucking the life out of my day. Do you hear that giant vacuuming sound?

BTW, did you know that Chik-Fil-A sweet tea and Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies also contain crack? I'm just saying . . .

A Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Today my daughter turns 19. She's home from college for the summer, having completed her freshman year.

I'm simply stunned at those two sentences.

When you have your first child, there are so many well-meaning and wise mothers (and fathers) that give you good advice. The best was "enjoy it all, because it will go so quickly."  Hey, they weren't kidding. It feels like yesterday when we celebrated 18 years and watched her walk across a stage to collect her high school diploma. But it feels like hours ago when I first held her in my arms. She was nine-days-old and a tiny, tiny premature baby. I had waited so patiently, worrying constantly as I sat by her isolette in the neonatal intensive care unit. "Can I hold her today?" I'd ask the nurses every single day since my daughter arrived early.

Finally the day came that I was able to cradle her in my arms. Those skilled, loving nurses maneuvered IV lines, a gastric line and a nasal cannula for oxygen just so I could hold my two-pound sweetie all swaddled in blankets. I sat in the rocking chair and cooed over her, urging her to fight and grow. And I cried again as I had been doing since her birth. I was young and scared of losing my little girl. The NICU was a scary place and the doctors and nurses rushed about constantly. We got very little information.

But these tears were different. These were tears of joy as I held her. Tears of pride that I was a new mother holding her baby, and thinking I "had grown up."  Ha! If I only knew how much more I had to learn.

When I am down or distressed, I often think of the moment I first held my child, not right at birth, but later when she was stabilized.  I think of the calming effect that moment had on my frayed nerves. I sat proudly in a rocking chair right next to her isolette and rocked gently so as not to startle her. We could have been the only two people in the world at that moment -- and probably were. I looked into her blue eyes and thought, "I love you more than anything and always will." Now I realize it's a little thing called unconditional love.

Nineteen years later, I still hold that unconditional love and I always will. Sure we scuff with our children as they age, we take jabs at one another or find a toddler exasperating at times. But that cool, calm, unconditional love is just always beneath the surface. And it always, always will be there. Life is just good like that.

So here's to a crazy little thing called "love." Happy birthday, baby. I love you more than anything.

To All The Mothers and Their Mothers and Their Mothers Before Them

"A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie."

 ~Tenneva Jordan

Huh?  I don't think so! I like my  pie too much for such nonsense. 

Today I blog about Mother's Day because if I didn't someone might shoot me or land an airplane on me. Oh, wait that might happen anyway! Seriously just because my mother's current husband is an airline pilot...... I do have good wishes for all the mothers in the world today, and as a mother myself, dammit, we deserve this day!

Forget the tender memories of labor, birth and the first time I held you in my arms. We can ponder that 364 days out of the year, and probably still are paying for that labor and birth with scars and pain. Today should be a day when you are simply Queen for The Day. That's right. I said it. Queen for The Day. That means the following activities are not fit for royalty:

Laundry (don't you do it!)

Preparing a meal

Using stain remover in any way, shape or form

Picking up dog poop

Cleaning lint from the dryer (get away from the laundry facilities!)

Cleaning lint from your belly button

Running the dishwasher

Watching any children's shows on Nickel0deon,  Disney or other

Wiping off counters

Texting a teenager

Waiting in any type of carpool line....Sunday School or Nursery School included

Sitting through any interminable sports practice

Brushing anyone's teeth, even your own

Wiping anyone's behind

Feeling like you must "do" your nails or toenails

Helping with Algebra 3 or Physics homework

Getting out of bed

So there. You're free. Go about your own royal duties, and practice your wave. Happy Mother's Day!

Coffee at 4:30 a.m.

Lately, I've had the inclination to wake up earlier and earlier, deciding what's best at that very moment is a cup of coffee. I've never been a huge fan of java. Never had the urge to seek out the best beans, grind my own or sniff out the best brands. I am not a coffee snob. I indulged in college by the pot fulls when I had to pull all-nighters to write papers or study for exams. But this is somehow different. I am awakened by a lull to begin the day already. Enough with the sleep. It's as if the day is already waiting, and I need to be there at sunrise to not miss a minute. I say that with some hesitancy because many times I'll drink the coffee and go back to sleep about an hour later. Strange because caffeine has always been a problem for me and sleep. Now it seems I need an early morning period of being awake. I'm finding I'm more creative for that brief time, and then slumber will beckon -- sometimes one hour later, sometimes four. And you're talking to someone who has always needed eight hours of uninterrupted sleep or watch out. Grumpy does not even describe the effect.

So here's to all the midnight owls, the all-night creative types, those who labor on a graveyard shift (Granddaddy, rest in peace!) somewhere, those who require very little sleep and ones who find sleep a waste of life in general. I think I'm beginning to join your ranks.

Rest in Peace, Dear Little Ones...and Your Mother

Earlier this month, I committed murder. At least it felt like murder. After weeks of tenderly watching two wrens build their version of the Taj Mahal in a wreath on my front door, I opened the door at the wrong time. The worst possible time. Mama Wren was sitting on the nest and refused to give flight as she normally did. I swung the door back and forth so that she would fly away and I could sit on my front porch. This had been the norm. This time Mama Wren chose a different flight. She flew into the house, panicked as I tried to "shoo" her out and hit her head on the ceiling, falling with a flutter of wings with a light thud onto the Oriental rug. I panicked, picked her up and placed her quickly on the nest, her limp body resting lightly on her six small eggs. Perhaps she's just stunned, I thought. But I knew inside that her lolling neck was a bad sign. Mama Wren had broken her neck, her small babies encased in eggs were doomed and Daddy Wren would be mad as hell.

I cried. Not just a tear or two but great sobs of sorrow for what could  have been and how I had played an inexplicable role in this tragedy. After recounting the story to my father, he reminded me that life goes on and that nature has its' cycles. I still cried.

Was it the babies, I cried for? Or was it for the weeks of patiently watching the parental duo in flight, trip after trip, grass, twine and tiny twigs in their beaks, building this home for their new family? It had been a miracle to watch and brought me great joy. They had grown to trust me as I had my morning coffee and watched their progress. Now I could only look at the wreath with sorrow.

Rose Kennedy once said, "birds sing after a storm; why shouldn't people feel as free to delight in whatever remains to them?" Yes, birds do sing after a storm. They are wonderful to watch and hear and a delight to see as they continue the cycle of life.

I said a tiny prayer for all involved in this mishap. I hope that Daddy Wren will sing after a storm, and that I, too, will delight in all that remains for me.

Houston, We Have a Problem!

Today's blogs have become as ordinary as vanilla ice cream. Grant you, there's nothing really wrong with vanilla ice cream (except that it's better with chocolate chips or pecans), but you get the general idea. Day in and day out, you're reading the same recipes, craft tips, blog tips, marketing strategies, business hoo-ha, or smarmy advice about decorating and how to avoid parenting mishaps and so on...

How about a breath of fresh air? SuperWriter Says is not run by a super hero. Just an ordinary person with thoughts, perspectives and an occasional rant. Not too bad, you say? Give it a try. I may sometimes roll close to the boundaries of the aforementioned but I'll do my best not to. I give you my word or you get your vanilla ice cream back....with a cone.