Txting 1, 2, 3

And, we have contact. I sent my first ever text-message to my daughter yesterday. It said: “Test” and it only took me and the rep in my local Verizon store (who discovered my number was blocked for texting purposes and the only way to unblock it was for me to call India) a mere 70 minutes to send it.

Her response?
“OMG. U sent me a txt?”

After exchanging a few of these scintillating messages back and forth, I received yet another text later that afternoon:
“Dont get usd 2 txting me all the time.”

Well, fat chance of that. Personally, I think the whole text messaging thing is a pain, and I’d rather just pick up the phone and leave a quick voice message. So here’s my question: What’s the allure with this? I can see that for kids, it’s a big plus being able to text during class and no one’s the wiser. But what’s in this for me? Help me out here; what am I missing?

A Half-Baked Idea

I love reading the local paper every morning, don’t you? I mean, where else can you find out the real scoop on what’s happening in your own neck of the woods? Take this recent breaking front page news from my hometown paper. Turns out the self-appointed nutrition police in the county just north of mine has come out with the brilliant idea of passing an ordinance prohibiting its senior citizen centers from serving donated doughnuts to this community's grandmas and grandpas.

You’ve gotta love tax dollars at work that result in front page photos of outraged seniors sporting signs like “We’re Old Enough to Choose” and “Give us Our Just Desserts.” Apparently Putnam County, NY's Office for the Aging made the decision without any input from its elders. “As a rule, I don’t eat doughnuts, but it’s a matter of principle,” explains one protestor. “We want our baked goods back and we want to be treated like humans.”

What’s next…a cuppa joe? Now, that would really show those seniors who's boss.

Home is Where the Laundry’s Done

My college student came home yesterday for a long family weekend. I pick him up from the train station.

Dog in car with me for the big reunion? Check.
Surprise at how more grown up he looks even after a few weeks away? Check.
Home cooked meal prepared and happily devoured (after all, it doesn’t take much to top cafeteria fare)? Check.

“Mom,” my Soph-person says with a mischievous smile later that night. “I brought you a present.” Of course, he was the real gift. The dirty laundry? A mere goody bag.

The Grass Really is Greener Here...Maybe

Bragging about one’s kids is practically a varsity level sport out here in the ‘burbs (hence, the proliferation of all those “My child is an honor student at ABC Middle School” bumper stickers). But how many residents can brag about that iconic symbol of suburban domesticity, their lawn? The answer: us.

Yes, the hubby and I are fairly bursting with pride. I came home from work the other day to find a letter in our mailbox informing us that our personal patch of earth is being considered for a national TV commercial for a big name lawn care company. Yup. Apparently our lawn is one of the finalists being considered to play the part of “Lush Green Grass” in a future commercial coming soon to a TV near you.

Of course, it’s not a done deal. Apparently several other talented lawns are being considered. But as they say, it’s an honor just to be nominated. Our chief gardener, the hubby, is, quite naturally, just beside himself. Too bad they don’t make a bumper sticker for that. ‘Cause in the battle of the bumper stickers, surely “My lawn is a TV star” would trump even the most ivy-covered college decal.

PS: So will our lawn get the part? Stay tuned.

Time to Come Clean

Whew. A study recently conducted for USA Today says that I am not alone in employing the time-honored “throw-everything-in-the-closet-when-company-stops-by-unexpectedly” approach to house cleaning.

Over 800 moms were asked to clock their weekly clean up time. The majority of respondents – more than half or 61% - said they spent one to five hours a week cleaning. (Twenty-three percent spent between six and ten hours a week, 7% between 11 and 15, 3% between 16 and 20, and 5% more than 21 hours weekly.) Two-percent don’t spend any time at all on housework (you go girls!).

Okay, it’s time to come clean here: how much time do you spend cleaning your house in a typical week?

I’ll start us off: “More than the hubby but not nearly enough. The dust bunnies around here have been known to multiply like, well, rabbits."

A (N)ice EZ Idea

Okay, you have to understand: I rarely open forwards and when I do, I hardly ever pass them on. But my friend Bess sent me one recently about an idea so simple yet potentially important that I had to pass the suggestion along to all of you.

With just about everyone, including younger and younger kids, carrying cell phones these days, someone came up wih a great idea to standardize emergency contact info should the cell phone owner not be able to speak for himself. Just program your (or your child's) emergency contact number in the phone's phonebook as "ICE" -- an abbreviation for "In case of emergency." If you have more than one emergency number (e.g. a mom's cell phone and work numbers, let's say), you can designate them as ICE 1, ICE 2, etc.

What do you think...great idea, huh? Let's try to pass it along to everyone. Me? I'm going to get busy right now programming my ICE numbers into my own phone.

Sick Days: Wasted on the Sick?

“Please excuse Laurie Y. from blogging because she is not feeling well…”

Okay, I don’t really need a note, but honestly, if youth is wasted on the young, sick days are wasted on the sick. I actually took my first one yesterday in I can’t remember how long (though I checked in with my office via cell, fax, and e-mail…) and all I can say is: the thought of a sick day, with marathon junky TV and hot chicken soup, etc. was a whole lot more fun than the actual thing, maybe because, oh yeah, I was sick (nothing horrible, just a virus-type thing).

Then again, maybe it would be more fun if someone was bringing me up trays of Jello and OJ, but alas, for us moms, that someone is, oh yeah, moi. (Kinda takes the fun out of it…)

Oh well, thanks for letting me vent. I feel better already!

Coming in for a Landing

Six loads of laundry, four-and-a-half pounds of mail (including a dozen credit card offers), and 52 work e-mails later, I have (reluctantly) re-entered my real life a week after coming home from our awesome vacation in Wyoming. No wonder recent studies show that fewer Americans are taking traditional week (or longer) vacations nowadays; with two-income families, work schedules are harder to coordinate and clearing the decks before vacation and catching up afterwards kind of undoes the benefits of getting away. Not that I am complaining!

Anyhoo, the hubby finally downloaded some of our pix, so I am posting them here to share with you. Here’s me having hiked a couple of miles up one of the Grand Teton mountains, resting at “Inspiration Point” (the hubby called it “Perspiration Point” and for good reason).

And here I am getting ready to throw myself off a mountain to go paragliding. I still can’t believe I did that and now that I have, I feel I can dine out on that story for the next decade or so.

...and here's me in the air!

So let’s hear: What daredevil kind of thing did you surprise yourself by doing?

The Tale of the Doggie Heiress

Let me come back as Leona's dog (after her owner checks in to the great hotel beyond, that is). Pretty please.

No one loves her dog more than moi (I went so far as to post a pix of my yellow Lab Maggie on this blog, gushing about her as “the love of my life.” My hubby knows it; heck, my kids know it: when it comes to my affections, Maggie is Top Dog.

But even if (a critical qualifier here) I had $12 million, I wouldn’t leave it to my favorite fur-person, unlike the late Queen of Mean hotelier Leona H, whose will provided a trust fund in that amount for Trouble, her white Maltese. I mean, that’s a whole lotta kibble.

As someone who is positively crazy about canines, I can’t help but think of all the good such a sum could do for the millions of dogs languishing—or worse—in shelters or living without adequate food, lodging, and medical care. Too bad Her Royal Highness of Hotels didn’t stop to think about all of her four-legged subjects. That kind of pet project would have gone a long way to repairing Her Majesty’s image with the little people, those with paws and without.