If you give a mom a muffin

I got this in an email yesterday and it was just too appropriate not to share!

If You Give a Mom a Muffin

If you give a mom a muffin, she'll want a cup of coffee to go with it.

She'll pour herself some.

Her 3-year old will spill the coffee.

She'll wipe it up.

Wiping the floor, she will find some dirty socks.

She'll remember she has to do the laundry.

When she puts the laundry in the washer,she'll trip over some boots and bump into the freezer.

Bumping into the freezer will remind her that she has to plan supper.

She will take out a pound of hamburger.

She'll look in her cookbook(101 Things to Make with a Pound of Hamburger).

The cookbook is sitting under a pile of mail.

She will see the phone bill, which is due tomorrow.

She will look for her checkbook.

The checkbook is in her purse that is being dumped out by her 2-year old.

She'll smell something funny.

She'll change the 2-year old.

While she is changing the 2-year old, the phone will ring.

Her 5-year old will answer and hang up.

She'll remember that she wants to phone a friend to come for coffee.

Thinking of coffee reminds her that she was going to have a cup.

She will pour herself some.

And chances are, if she has a cup of coffee,her kids will have eaten the muffin that went with it.

THIS IS MY LIFE!!!! Except, thank GOD I no longer have a two-year old. I read this and laughed and laughed, and then almost cried. How sad is it that my life has become a comedy of errors?

Of course, my life has always been something out of an I Love Lucy episode, so I don't know why I should be surprised.

So, for all you moms out there, here's a cyber muffin and a cup of coffee--large to go with it. I hope you get five minutes to enjoy them in solitude.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!
Ari

Sad

I hate the news. Hate, hate, hate the news. It just depresses me so I try not to watch it when I can avoid it.

Unfortunately, my husband is a news hound. So I tend to hear things I don't want to. One of those things is the death of four firefighters in an arson set fire in California. That makes my blood run cold.

My husband is a firefighter. I was a firefighter. My father was a firefighter. My grandfather was a firefighter. The fact that hundreds of people are losing their homes, livelihoods and potentially lives because someone PURPOSELY SET A FIRE makes me ill.

I'm watching footage of California wild fires and my heart bleeds for all the people involved.
Regardless of your religous beliefs or lack thereof, I hope you'll join me in praying for the victims of that fire.

Scary

It comes as no surprise to many of you that I bitch about my weight. Often and loudly. I guess if I spent more time working out instead of complaining I might have less to whine about, but that's not the point of today's blog.

A friend of mine, who tends to hear my whine about my dieting woes more than others, sent me a link to a promo for a documentary called Thin. This documentary follows a group of women at a treatment house for eating disorders. Some of these women weighed 85 pounds. All of them worried about gaining weight.

I've always had a love hate relationship with food. I love love love to eat. Some people eat to live, I live to eat. And then I feel guilty. And I make promises to myself about how I'll work out more and watch what I eat, blah blah blah. Is this a healthy attitude? Probably not. BUT it's no where near as bad as the little preview I saw.

I have to say, I was seriously disturbed and down right scared. How easy would it be to foist my bad attitude about food off on my girls? I hear so much about childhood obesity, but in a way this is much worse. I try to be careful about what I say so I don't make my girls neurotic, but now I'm going to be even more careful. Some of these girls started dieting at 11 or 12. My oldest is 9.

When are we as a society going to accept and even celebrate women of all shapes and sizes? When are we going to stop putting unrealistic body images only 2 % of the women in the world can meet on a pedestal as the beauty standard?

I was just whining about wanting to lose 25 pounds (again, sigh) and wanting liposuction. I think maybe I'm going to embrace my pot belly and celebrate the fact that I'm pretty darn healthy just as I am. That may not make me look good in a slinky dress, but honestly, it's better than the alternative.

Letting go

Today was my oldest daughter's 9th birthday. Tomorrow night she's going to her first concert, the Cheetah Girls (with parental supervision, of course). This morning she walked to school unescorted for the first time. I watched her the entire way, my heart in my throat. I could watch her because the school is all of two yards away. I was still a tad nervous.

My husband insists I'm being ridiculous, but it made me nervous to let her walk out that door without me.

I think when we send our books out into the world, it's the same feeling. These are our babies who we've nurtured and wept over and now they're out there on their own, waiting for someone to either love them or hate them.

Have I mentioned I'm not real good at letting go?

Spitfire makes its print debut today. I love that book. LOVE that book. It's gotten great reviews and a lot of positive feedback, but now it's going into stores. Will it languish on the shelves, unloved and lonely while all it's little shelf mates go to good homes? Will someone buy it and hate it so much they throw it against a wall? Or will it go to a good home on someone's keeper shelf?

I guess once you're a mother, be it books or children, you can never stop worrying, you can only trust that you've done the best you can and hope for as little damage as possible.

And I thought labor was tough 9 years ago. . .

The blame game

Oh yes, it's that time of the year again. What time do you ask? It's election time so the tossing and dodging of blame begins.

Or maybe just continues. Because I think it isn't just in politics that blame gets thrown about like a hot potato, but in life in general.

Pop Quiz! When was the last time you heard someone say, "It's my fault. I made poor choices and I accept responsibility for my actions." ?

Anyone?

If someone is caught cheating on their taxes, molesting a child, shooting a school full of kids, or whatnot, it's always some body's fault. Some body ELSE'S fault.

Granted, many people have been traumatized by their pasts, and many people don't have coping mechinisms in place, or have serious medical/psychological disorders that cause problems, BUT NOT EVERYONE DOES! Some people are just greedy, stupid, selfish, or plain evil. The decisions they make, they CHOOSE to make, regardless of who it hurts and by blaming it on the fact that they got cut from the baseball team in fifth grade is baloney.

I work with kids that have some SERIOUS issues. I mean, things have happened to these kids that you just can't imagine in your worst nightmares. Some of them put it behind them and move on, some use it as an excuse for why I should HAND them a diploma instead of earning one.

My response? Suck it up. There are plenty of people out there who are much worse off so get over it. When they whine (which they always do) I point out some of my English as a Second Language students who have come from war torn countries without a dime and no language skills at all who are plugging away trying to make a better life for themselves and their families. Most of them have lost more than one family member to war or poverty.

Sometimes it shuts them up, and sometimes they pout about how unfair I am. My response? If you want warm and fuzzy adopt a puppy.

I have made mistakes. Many of them. Legions of them. Some of them have been honest mistakes, and some have been poor choices on my part. There are many things I've done that I cringe about when I remember them. Many times I haven't made the right choice because I've been immature, greedy, or selfish. But I'd like to think that at my age I'm willing to accept responsibility for my actions.

It would be nice if some of the folks in the media would too.

Spammers suck

Okay, I know I've been off line for a while when I go to check my email and there's a million messages for me. I accept that burden since I know what happens when I don't clean out my in box.

But, I think it's REALLY unfair when some spamming bastard sends out a million messages using @ariannahart.com as part of their evil mission and ALL THE REJECTED/OUT OF OFFICE MAIL COMES BACK TO ME!!!!

I can handle it when it's my own mail coming back to bite me in the behind, but when it's someone else--an annoying someone else sending it-- well that's just not fair!

Honestly, don't these people have anything better to do? And if they don't, why don't they come to my house and fold my laundry or clean my floors.

D'oh!

What do you do when you've done something really stupid and have no way to make amends?
I'm not talking about with a friend, but with a perfect stranger?

Here's the situation:
I was driving on a four lane road, two lanes going north, two lanes going south. I was in the left lane preparing to make a left turn when a fire truck came up behind me, lights and sirens blaring. I didn't know what to do. I was in the left lane, was he going to come up on my right side or go around me on the left?

I froze in indecision, then at the last minute pulled over to the right.
I'm sure the firefighter driving the truck was cursing the idiot in the SUV who didn't get out of his way quickly enough. I felt like such a moron. And my husband is a firefighter! Heck, I was a firefighter years ago, and it made me nuts when people didn't get out of the way. I know better, darn it.

I guess I have a huge sense of karma because when I do stupid things I always feel the need to fix it. There have been times when I've cut people off in traffic and felt terrible when I realized how close I'd come to causing an accident. I'm sure I've contributed to my share of road rage out there.

Perhaps the best way to make amends is to be more forgiving when other people make the same mistakes I've made. Maybe they didn't mean to do it either and are apologizing in their cars just like I do.

What do you think?