Facebook Nation

I caught the headline of an article from Consumer Reports, “7 Things to Stop Doing Now on Facebook.” I clicked on the article to make sure DFB (drunk Facebooking) wasn’t on there.

1. Using a Weak Password
Some people have elaborate algorithms for assigning unique passwords for each protected entity. If I was that savvy, I wouldn’t be spending my free time on Facebook.

2. Leaving Your Full Birth Date in Your Profile
How else will people know I share the same birth year as Lisa Marie Presley? Unless identity thieves can’t piece together basic guess work from high school or college graduation dates, the jig is up.

3. Overlooking Useful Privacy Controls
Who besides my stalkers care about what I read or where I took my kids on spring break?

4. Posting Your Child's Name in a Caption
Now there’s a move for the true narcissist. You are better off doing a background check on the priest in your neighborhood.

5. Mentioning That You'll Be Away From Home
As long as you remember to post how much you adore the Israeli soldier who will be house sitting for you, I think it’s okay to say you’re on vacation.

6. Letting Search Engines Find You
If my ex boyfriends were that smart, they would have married me. I don’t think I have anything to worry about.

7. Permitting Youngsters to Use Facebook Unsupervised
Yes, ladies, put down that glass of wine, get out of the tub and go sit in your teenage sons’ room while they comment on their friends’ skateboarding photos.

I think I can provide more useful tips, “7 Things to Start Doing Now on Facebook”:

1. Use humor and wit—they are free!
2. Let the love flow—if someone says something that makes you smile, “like” it.
3. If you have an annoying “friend” just “hide” them—you do not have to witness their entire Farmville escapade on your screen.
4. Appreciate the fact that your older relatives have figured out to sign-up, import a picture and friend you. Even if their comments are painful (“I remember when you were chubby!”)
5. It’s okay to friend your boss. She doesn’t really care if you went hog-wild at Target during lunch. She knows you blew off the conference call.
6. Resist the temptation to tell us what you ate for breakfast, unless it was newsworthy. Really.
7. “Untag” yourself from photos you don’t like. Gisele and Jennifer didn’t make it this far without editing.

Watch Me Now

"If you can't be a good example, then you'll just have to be a horrible warning."

I have been thinking a lot about modeling lately. No, not the infamous hand modeling career I passed up or the job most girls from California that are 5’10” think they can have if they just get discovered.

I mean modeling behavior…mostly for my children. Want your kids to tell you about their day? If they are male, for God’s sake don’t ask them about it or they will clam up immediately. Rather, start talking about what happened to you, enthusiastically, and before you know it, they are falling over each other like puppies to share their news.

In my quest for showcase actions, I have given up Diet Coke, smoking (come on, it’s not like I had them hanging out of my mouth when I talked) and over-scheduling.

Sadly, I still curse (Damn habit!), drink (moderately, I swear) and don’t make my bed.

“Mom, why do we have to make our beds if you don’t?”

Oh, the witty quips that went flying through my head. I decided to quote my father, the master.

“Do as I say, not as I do.”

“That’s only going to work for so long, Mom.”

Let that be a lesson to you, my boy.

No Fear

My grandfather had a poster hanging in his bathroom, “Behold the turtle. He makes progress only when he sticks his neck out.”

I adored my grandpa. He taught me how to ride a bike, how to dry off properly with a small towel, how to stare down my opponent in dominoes, backgammon and Scrabble, and most importantly, how to get dessert out of my grandmother without finishing my tomato soup.

Watching my mentors, then peers and friends, and now, finally, protégés and children, I am struck by how much perspective brings to the party.

It is comical what we thought would finish us off at different stages in our lives. What doesn’t kill us, really does make us stronger.

I am thankful I made it past…

Six-years-old: Death by broccoli.

16-years-old: Death by broken heart.

26-years-old: Death by evil client.

36-years-old: Death by responsibility.

As I walk towards the next milestone, I pledge to keep my sense of humor intact as I fight off...

Death by PTA, Fannie Mae, oil spills, terrorism, E. coli and Tiger Woods.

One Free Kiss

My (Not so) Funniest Mother’s Day
This was before I became a mother myself. We took my grandmother to a traditional brunch at the Newport Beach Marriott. These were in the days when Grandma was still cruising around the buffet, filling up her own plate. I remember looking over at her and her nose was bright red and her eyes were watering.

Come to find out it wasn’t avocado she piled on her fork. It was wasabi. Damn sushi station.

My First Mother’s Day
I was a dot com widow, so it was just me and my gorgeous seven-month-old baby boy. We went to Houston’s for lunch and walked all over San Francisco that day. It was sunny and everything was right in the world. I imagined people looking at me and thinking either, “Poor woman, all alone with her baby” or “How lucky can you get? Look at that child!”

My Best Mother’s Day
Last year I got homemade cards from my boys filled with kiss and hug coupons. They will even redeem them past their expiration dates.

My Worst Mother’s Day
The Professor’s gift-giving style used to make me mad.

“What would you like for Mother’s Day?”

“I don’t know, surprise me.”

“You better tell me, Lisa, or it isn’t happening.”

“I want you to be a mind-reader.”

This Mother’s Day
There are still three generations of us mothers in my family. This will be the first year in a while I am away from my mama on our big day. I’ll be thinking of her, finally understanding why hotel brunches aren’t that fun, all that matters is who you are with, gifts from the heart are always the best…and sometimes you have to ask for what you want in order to get it.

I’m waiting.

Sleepless In Ithaca

1:27a.m.
Glance at clock. This is not happening.
Lay in bed resisting temptation to do something stupid. Like Facebook.
Try breathing technique learned in meditation class. What? It could work!
Take Chinese Special Formula herbs.
Open computer. Read headlines. Wonder if I should feel alarmed.
Pirates indeed.
Close computer. Read interesting article on amazing COO of Facebook in Vogue magazine.
Some women have all the energy.
Turn light out.

2:48a.m.
Was it the red meat? Red wine? Both! Bastards!
Go downstairs. Refill water glass.
Consider cleaning up dining room from dinner guest. Not. A. Chance.
Go back upstairs. Listen to rain storm outside. I like Ithaca.
Charming Baby wanders in and climbs in and starts snoring. Men.
Leave light on.

4:19a.m.
This is not pretty.
Think of funny jokes to lighten mood. Afraid chuckling will wake others.
Allow Lulu to make pies on belly.
Allow Lulu to clean my arm. God am I generous.
Consider getting dog again.
Think of possible dog names: Lover Boy. Beast. Time Suck.
Maybe I should name something we already have.
Think of possible boat names: The Goodwife. Fast Company. Time Suck.

5:04a.m.
Hear bird chirp.
Game over.

How do you spend your sleepless nights?

Check Mate

For years now Lulu has been collecting rubber bands and keeping them in her food bowl. I just regularly toss them into the trash bin when I am cleaning and refilling her dishes.

Her habit has reached an all time high so I figure she is either totally delusional that the rubber bands are prey or she is trying to help the boys by cleaning up the ammunition from the floor around the house after their games (rubber-band guns are a favorite pass time).

I decided to look up the behavior to make sure I wasn’t causing irreparable psychological damage to the clawless wonder.

It just might be that your cat is trying to find a "safe" place for his favorite things. It often happens that the toy that ends up in the water or food bowl is often a toy that has recently been enjoyed by your cat. In the wild, cats often take their prey back to their "nest" area, and hide it from predators. Indoor cats don't really have a "nest" per se, so they often consider their food and water dishes as the "safest" areas within their "territory".

Maybe that’s where the disapproving looks are coming from. I guess I better learn to leave her business alone or else…or else what?

Google some more.

Your cat may be putting his toys in his food dish as a game. This is even more probable if you constantly remove his toys from the bowl. He has trained you to play this game with him.

Great. Not only am I her servant, I’m a pawn, too.

You Give Me Fever

I have been wandering around Ithaca in a spring stupor. I screamed out loud the other day when I accidentally scared a turkey hen and she flew out from under a bush right in front of my face. I looked down and there was her egg-filled nest. No wonder she was in a huff.



Then, coming home later that same day I ran into my neighbor who said she had a surprise to show me…a box full of barn kitties she rescued. They were so sweet with little meows that are totally irresistible. I had to get out of there. Fast.



I have been waiting to blog because the unfolding of spring has been so tender I didn’t know where to start. How do you describe the birth of an entire landscape?



Everything was barren and brown and there was literally no color. Then, just when you think maybe winter was such a bad boy it killed everything, you see the cheerful yellow forsythia, waving at you, announcing the season. Everyday, new colors, flowers and buds of green show up. I didn’t really understand the concept of spring bloom until I experienced everything around me going through it.



Also, I don't think I really appreciated the hype and euphoria. I wrote off the music and fussy celebrations as fodder for Martha Stewart and Hallmark. But now, I get it! The eggs…the babies…the flowers…the couples walking hand-in-hand all over campus...



Spring has arrived I am left wondering once again about who could possibly be slipping me drugs.

And, P.S., Mother Nature, I know you’re in on it.