Have I mentioned The Small One’s obsession with origami?

The child has true gift crafting any shape imaginable out of a teenytiny piece of paper.  It keeps his avid brain and sticky hands occupied and out of trouble.  For the most part.

Except for when he engages in this ancient art at school, in the back of the classroom, when he should be practicing his spelling words or his multiplication tables.  I have a file folder full of friendly reminders from his third-grade teacher:

“The Small One was caught folding again during reading class this morning.  Please speak to him about his choices.”

In a world full of classroom hitters, back-talkers, and pants-pee-ers, leave it to my child to get himself written up for folding.

It could be worse, right?

He has three huge shoeboxes full of his creations which he keeps under his bed.  I throw them out by the handful when he isn’t looking marvel with him at his handiwork each and every time he comes up with something new.

His favorite masterpieces?

Hands-down, his Origami Yoda collection.

May the force be with your paper. Or something like that.

He has been credited with creating the World’s Smallest Origami Yoda, featured here upon a dime. Surely this will pay a portion of his college tuition, yes?

Last Tuesday, he proclaimed that he would be taking one of his Yodas to school to show his friends.  ”At recess, Mom,” he assured me as he lovingly tucked Yoda into his shorts pocket.

I eased his backpack onto his shoulders.  ”I sure hope so,” I chided.  ”I don’t want to hear that you’ve been folding when you should be reading.” It took everything I had not to smirk as I heard the words coming out of my own mouth.  I swatted his behind and shooed him out the door.  I watched through the window as he loped down the driveway with one hand deep inside the pocket that held Origami Yoda.

Seven and a half hours later, I caught sight of him as I passed by the front window with a precariously stacked armload of laundry.  His hands were outstretched before him, cupping something.

As he drew nearer and I saw what he was holding, I dropped the laundry {dammit!} and flung open the door.

“Hon?”  I asked.  ”What happened?”

He gazed at the pile of shredded paper in his hands for a moment longer before speaking.  ”C’s friend ripped Yoda up on the bus on the way home.”

“Oooooohhhh,” I breathed.  ”I am so sorry.  Are you ok?”

He surprised me by meeting my concerned gaze with the sly grin that I have come to alternately love and dread.

“Meh.  It’s ok.  I’m going to make a whole army of Chuck Norris origamis and chuck them all at him on the bus tomorrow.”

And he did.

That’s my boy.

Inspired by a prompt from Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop:  ”Tell about something your child said or did that surprised you.”

The post The Origami Master’s Revenge appeared first on The Spin Cycle.

“What?”  I stopped chomping on my Tootsie Roll Pop {three bites!} and shifted the receiver to my other ear.  I won’t embarrass myself by telling you what I thought she had said.  ”You’re going where?”

“To the flea market.”  Mindy repeated patiently.  ”My glass projects?”

“Ooooooh.”  I glanced out the front window at my flower beds, and comprehension washed over me.

Mindy is truly an artiste at heart. Do yourself a favor, click the image, and check her out at Styled Living.

“I’m in,” I confirmed without any further hesitation.  ”So are The Cherubs.  Groom’s golfing.  What do I bring?”

“Cash…and the Groom’s pickup truck.”

I drew my breath in sharply, coughing up tiny red gems of lollipip on the exhale.  If it necessitated backing the redneckmobile F150, with all two inches of wiggle room on either side, out of our garage?  This flea market thing was, indeed, something special.

The Cherubs disagreed wholeheartedly and whinged approximately thirty-eight of the forty minutes that it took us to drive to the market the next morning.  This included 10 minutes of gingerly maneuvering the behemoth thing out of its resting place.

Which I did without putting a single ding in its precious exterior.  ThankYouVeryMuch.

Anyway.

The whinging ceased as quickly as it had started, once we arrived and The Cherubs had a little look-see around the premises.

There were collectibles.

And strange artifacts from centuries past.

And seemingly ordinary objects…

That, when opened…

…Were nothing short of beautiful.

But I wanted to come home with a treasure, too.  So my hunt began in earnest.

What was I looking for?

I didn’t exactly know.

But I was reasonably certain that this was not it.

There was potential everywhere…

Treasures every which way I turned…

Sadly, I was often beaten to the best finds by the more savvy market-goers.

But just when I had given up hope…

And was about to call it a day…

I saw it.

You know…it.

I will go to my grave vowing that it spoke to me. “Take me with you,” It whispered seductively.

So I did.

And that? Is how I found love amongst the fleas.

Inspired by a prompt from Mama Kat’s Writers’ Workshop:  What are you crushing on? 

The post Love Amongst the Fleas appeared first on The Spin Cycle.

Lately?  I just haven’t been feeling it, friends.  The blog, I mean.

Ever get that inclination yourselves?  That you need to make a change?

Yeah.  That’s right about where I am at the moment.  Needing a change.  I mean, blogging’s fine and all…but…

But…

…but I just can’t help but think that I’m cut out for more than this little chunk of the interwebs.

And I believe I’ve discovered the path that I’d like to follow.  Actually, it’s not too far off from persuing a career in professional blogging.

I’m going to try my hand…

…at professional spamming.

I know what you’re thinking, friends.

You doubt that I’m up to the task, don’t you?

Well, I have news for all of you who doubt me:  I’ve been studying up on spam lingo.  My comment folders are full of spam samples. Dozens and dozens of spammy gems ripe for the picking, studying, dissection, and emulation.

I can do this.

And I can teach you how to do it, too.

Presenting:

1.  A good generic greeting gets things going.  One might think it best to use the blog author’s name when addresssing a comment on their post.  But one would be dead wrong if one were to think that, if one wishes to lead a truly spammy existence.  Ditch the familiarity.  Go vague or go home.

Sample Comment Salutations ~ Before Spammification:

“Hi, Sue!”

And After Spammification:

“This is a message to the administrator.”

Before:

“Suzy-Q!  I’ve missed you and The Spin Cycle!”

After:

“Greetings and good day to the author of this weblog.”

2.  Superlatives are the best.  (Ever!)    Don’t be afraid of false flattery.  There is no such thing to a spambot.  Lay it on thick.  And when you think it can’t get any thicker?  Apply another coat for good measure:

Before:  ”I really enjoyed this post.  You  taught me a lot about Google+ and Pinterest.  Thanks for the informative read!”

After:  ”Wow, this was very most certainly the absolutely best weblog that I have seen in this area, possibly for future forever.  You are most surely clearly the highest in this expertise. Have you considered thoughts of running for president of the web?  You’ve got all of my very finest votes!  And I will additionally speak all of my most influencers to do the vote as extra.”

3.  Speak in Tongues.  Sometimes, the English language (or any intelligible language, for that matter,) just doesn’t cut it.  That’s when you just go with your gut, say a prayer, and strike whatever keys command your attention.

Before:  ”I just have to tell you that you made me laugh and cry in the same post.  That’s no small feat.  Still wiping tears from my eyes!”

After:  ”ossKJlfknfjkl8nnfjkxkcxnjdfk;cxzv;lkzxl;vkz;lh;ofu89afygihvckjkjhUO**U*&hlknkjnkjbjk jhdksbfalkdsfj;asdjfhlkashdl;ashjdfkjashvkljshdlksjdhfkladsjhfklasdhfkajsdbflkadsjfbakjsdfhla/sdvjnzc xiuyeasf;ljasd;vu7awpoerygaihksvcmnxzjpoLSjj8sdkfhsdkljfbFJBAeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.”

4.  Sex sells.  If your screen name is anything shy of X-rated, you may want to rethink your moniker.  I understand that this might make the average mom/family/lifestyle blogger a bit squeamish, but believe you me…you’ll get results.  Just look at what a big difference a small name change makes:

Before:  Happy Thrifty Mama

After:    Cheap Cialis Online Specials

Before:  Catherine Does Motherhood

After:    Britney is Naked

Before:  My Embroidered Abode

After:     Oral Wonderland

You see?  See how easy spam can be? If you have any anything to add to my four-step program, I’d love to hear about it in the comments.

Based on a prompt from Mama Kat.  (What? I say it’s a combo of prompt #2 and #4).

The post So You Wanna be a Spammer: A 4-Step Program appeared first on The Spin Cycle.

Greetings, friends.

How are you today?

Me?  I’m great.

Better than great:  Refreshed.  Renewed.  Recharged.

You see, I spent last weekend in the company of eight dear girlfriends, soaking in the Arizona sunshine.

And enjoying cocktails.

And lounging in the pool.

And engaging in a wide variety of behaviors that prompted one girlfriend to muse on the day of our departure: “You know…we really should bake all of the neighbors muffins and drop them off in baskets with little apology notes.”

But I digress.

On the day of our departure, our group did a bit of shopping in search of jealousy stokers momentos for our loved ones back home.

Cacti were bought.

Mexican jumping beans were fawned over.

Sombreros were sized up.

And as for me? I made a bee-line for Z Gallerie to purchase my souvenirs.

Got one of those near you?  A Z Gallerie, I mean.  Not a bee-line.  Or a souvenir.

Think Pottery Barn meets Alice in Wonderland.

Yeah.  Stylishly trippy.

And Z Gallerie boasts the most fantastic moderately priced gift department around.

Checkitout.

Twin A received the Ibling. Not only does it prop up your smart phone for hands-free use. When you pick it up and hold it just so? It appears you’ve got a huge, honking chunk o’ bling on your ring finger.

Twin B was given “F in Exams,” the national bestseller that glorifies the stupidest of the stupid in test answers. Sample question: “What is the highest frequency noise that a human can register?” Sample answer: “Mariah Carey.”

And The Small One? He was presented with this Sound Machine that makes no less than 16 of the strangest, rudest sounds known to civilized man. So now, when I ask him to clean his room, I am usually met with (A) canned laughter or (B) flatulence that rivals a brass band.

I mean, really…anyone can give their kid a keychain or a fridge magnet.  But in my book?  It takes a special brand of cray-cray  motherly love to bring home gifts that will alternately insult and embarrass the gift giver.

~Inspired by a prompt from Mama Kat’s Writing Workshop.

The post Strange Gifts, Indeed. appeared first on The Spin Cycle.

Do you do blog conferences?

To date, I haven’t.

But it seems that it’s all I hear about in my online circles these days.  How they make us better writers, networkers, and entrepreneurs.  How imperative is that we set aside the time to attend.

As well as the money.

Not to mention the offspring that we must sell in order to secure the cash and child-free time necessary in order to participate in said conferences.

I’m sort of kidding and not at the same time…These things are seriously expensive and time-consuming, friends.

So if a blogger wishes to attend a conference but is lacking in both the time and the capital…but a blogger still wishes to reap the benefits of a conference, what’s a blogger to do?

Drum roll…

The blogger attends The Blog Workshop, that’s what.

It’s a real live conference that you can enjoy from your own living room.  Or your bedroom.  Or your front porch.  Or your bathtub.  Provided that you take the necessary safety precautions.

But I’m getting carried away.  (seriously, though…wouldn’t a bubble bath blog conference be the ultimate?)

Ahem.  This conference boasts a spectacular agenda featuring experts in all things blogging, technology, and social media.  Speakers from IZEA, Blog-Trends, Blogads, and Sverve are just a few names on the dockett.  There will be giveaways for vlogging equipment, LLC packages from LegalZoom, and more.  There will be mimes, contortionists, and sword swallowers.

Wait…no…no, there won’t.  But the giveaways?  And the all-star line-up?  Totally legit.  And check out the agenda for yourself:

No travel involved.  And the cost?  A fraction of a traditional conference.

Want more incentive?

Okeydoke.  I have in my posession a coupon code, effective through April 26th, that’s good for $25 off of your workshop registration fee.

Le Code:  TBW25HURRY

Le Link to register:  Click Here

Les Answers to Frequently Asked Questions:  Click Here

Want to see a video with a sneak peek at some of the presenters and topics?  Checkitout:

Tell me you’re not completely sold on this event.  Just try.

The coupon expires on the 26th, and ticket sales end on May 10th.

Will you join me?  I’ll be serving my famous sparkling pear martinis.

To myself.

But still.  It’ll be awesome.  Just in a BYOB sort of way.

See you there!

Disclosure:  I am receiving admittance to The Blog Workshop via Sverve as compensation for writing this post.  All opinions are my own.

The post The Blog Workshop: Yes, You Can! appeared first on The Spin Cycle.

If you’re delusional.

Because, as any native knows, April in the city of wind is about as predictable as the wind itself. Today it is a gloomy and overcast 41 degrees in my neck of the woods, which is doing wonders for my self-diagnosed seasonal depression.

Not.

So what’s a Chicagoan to do on a day like today, when it’s no fun to be had outdoors?

Why, you get crafty and make some indoor fun.

Don’t look at me that way, friends.  I’m craftier than I look.  As long as I have Pinterest at my fingertips.

And the only thing better than springtime Pinterest goodness?

Is edible springtime Pinterest goodness.

Or drinkable, edible springtime Pinterest goodness.

Or…

{drum roll}

BOOM. Alcohol-infused, drinkable, edible, springtime Pinterest goodness. Originally posted by http://www.homeiswheretheboatis.com

Why the Peeptini hadn’t crossed my radar until last year, I’ll never know.  It combines two essential components of springime.  And that would be vodka and Peeps.

Aw, heck…who am I kidding?  They make Peeps year round.  And they make vodka year-round, too.  Thank goodness.

Anyway.

I make these each {okay, this and last} spring as a way of ushering in the season of new life and new beginnings and hayfever.  Here’s how I do it:

*Buy a package or sixty of Peeps.  Slit the package open and leave the Peeps in the pantry to age like a fine wine until they are of just the right hardness, somewhere between a chewy crunch and “Oy vey, I’ve cracked a tooth.”

*Garnish your martini glasses with a sugar/sprinkle rim, if desired.

*Make this lemon drop martini recipe that I found on allrecipes.com.

*Retrieve your Peeps from the pantry and float them in the glasses.  Marvel at the buoyancy that their hardness affords.

*I highly recommend letting the Peeps swim around in the glass for as long as possible.  Save those vodka-soaked babies for last.

*Clink and drink, friends.  Enjoy.

Inspired by a prompt from Mama Kat’s Writers’ Workshop.

The post The Peeptini: A Springtime Recipe appeared first on The Spin Cycle.

“Hey…do you grow corn in those brows?”

I hunched over my lunch tray and feigned extraordinary interest in my rectangular slice of  pizza and giant chocolate chip cookie.  I dutifully mopped up the grease that shone from both of their slick surfaces with a ridiculously thin napkin.  Anything to appear preoccupied enough not to respond to my tormentor.

But this particular jeer was differnent.  It was not directed at my lavender Minnetonka mocassins or my Gloria Vanderbilt jeans with the swan insignia on the right butt cheek.  I was used to being ridiculed for my fashion choices that had been all the rage in Minnesota but didn’t quite cut it here in suburban Chicagoland.

However.

Something about brows?

Perhaps it wasn’t directed at me.

So I shot a furtive glance across the cafeteria table.  And I instantly regretted doing so.  Robbie Catalano was sneering at me.  I felt the familiar heat creep up my neck and color my face.  He was making fun of me.  Again.

And I didn’t get it.

“What?” I asked.

“Your eyebrows.  Can you grow corn in them?”

“Huh?”

Robbie flicked his bangs out of his eyes and snickered.  ”Ever heard of TWEEZERS? Minnes000000-duh?”

Comprehension washed over me.  My parents had, time and again, told me that I had inherited The Derby Brows from my mother’s side of the family.  I had always worn this title…and my thick, dark eyebrows…with a certain degree of identity-forming pride.

Until this moment.

My pride shattered into a zillion little pieces and was replaced by resentment.

That resentment propelled me through the rest of that afternoon and pedaled me home from junior high faster than I had ever ridden before.

I burst through the front door and past my mother’s bewildered expression.  I took the steps two by two, veered sharply to the right, entered the master bathroom, and locked the door behind me.

I rummaged through Mom’s vanity drawers, ignoring her insistent knocking on the door and muffled inquiries as to whether I was all right.

I would be all right after I found her blasted tweezers and tamed The Derby Brows.

But I could find no tweezers.  Wiping tears from the corners of my eyes with my shirt sleeve, I sat on the edge of the tub and looked dejectedly around the bathroom…until my gaze settled upon the razor that lay inches away from me in its little plastic holster.

With a trembling hand, I picked it up, rose, and looked in the mirror.

I centered that razor just below my brows, and with one smooth stroke, drew it upwards.

Nothing happened.

Because I had positioned the wrong side of the razor against my face.  Sighing, I flipped it around, repeated the smooth stroke…and…

sssccccrrrrraaaaatch.

My caterpillar-like eyebrows were now half their original length, with a two-inch chasm of extra-pale skin spanning the distance between them.

……………………………………………………………………………..

That was some thirty years ago.  And over the weekend, when Twin A watched me touching up my brows before bedtime and asked about the tweezers, I gave her a quick lesson on her own Derby Brows before placing the tweezers in her hand and closing her fingers around them.

“Here.”  I told her.  ”They’re yours.  Put these in a safe place.”

And she did.

Inspired by a prompt from

 

The post The Derby Brows appeared first on The Spin Cycle.

Heard of it?  No?  Well.  You’re in for a treat, then.

If you’re a blogger, or if you’re a brand looking to work with bloggers, you need Sverve in your life.  Heck…even if you’re neither…just come along for the ride and learn about the neatest thing on the Web since sliced bread.

Which, I realize, is technically not on the web.

But I digress.

Follow me to Sverve’s blog by clicking here, or on the Sverve button above.  All will be explained when we get there.  I’ll bring the wine.  xo

The post I’m at Sverve! appeared first on The Spin Cycle.

Remember, friends?

After having our sweet Macy put down in September, my family endured a long, lonely fall and winter.

The void in our home was so great, it was actually tangible.  The silence?  It was audible.

And all the lonely while, I crafted the perfect plan.

Taking everyone’s ‘druthers into consideration, I decided that a purebred Doberman Pinscher would be our next pup of choice.

His name would be Redd, a nod to Otis Redding and Red of The Shawshank Redemption.

We would find a well-respected breeder through an extensive search and visit his farmhouse estate in June, once school had let out and the weather had turned warmer and more pet-friendly.

We would select the pick of the litter and raise a show-worthy dog with an impeccable pedigree.

Yes.  It was the perfect plan.

But…friends?

Guess what I forgot to include in the plan?

Compassion.  And Love at First Sight.

My plan sprouted wings and flew right out the window

When my family and I were hit smack in the face by those two forces that make the world go ’round.

So we will not have Redd the Doberman come June.

No.

We have Gwen the Rescued Foxhound-Beagle Mix.  As of this past Sunday.

And now, in retrospect, I’m quite certain…

No.  Absolutely certain…

That the good Lord, in His infinite wisdom and with His ultimate sense of humor, chuckled at my folly

When I crafted the perfect plan.

Note:  Gwen was rescued by A Place to Bark.  We cannot thank them enough for their tireless efforts.  Please take a moment to read about them on their web page and to follow them on Twitter and Facebook.  I received no compensation for writing this post.  I just felt it worthwhile to share this wonderful organization with my readers.

Inspired by a post from Mama Kat’s Losin’ It.

The post The Perfect Plan appeared first on The Spin Cycle.

And now…Back to our regularly scheduled post, inspired by the most excellent Mama Kat:

 ****************************************************************************************************************************

You know that poster, All I Ever Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten?

Cute, right?

Quaint.  Amusing.  Touching.

And a total load of hooey.

As the past few days of my life have run their course, it has become clear to me that there are some things that simply cannot be taught in school.

No way, no how.

They must be learned, first-hand, on this roller-coaster of motherhood.

And I present them to you here:

Six Things They Didn’t Teach Me in School

1.  Eight year-old boys are the most oddly fascinating creatures.  They tend to do all sorts of absurd things, like getting low-lying tree branches poked in their left ears while playing in the snow with the neighbor boys.

2. If your oddly fascinating creature is hysterical, though his ear may look perfectly fine to you, you must trust your gut and seek medical attention.  Even if it’s seven o’clock on a school night.

3.  As any emergency room physician will tell you, there are are three teenytiny cartilage-y bones that connect your eardrum to the inner ear.  Break one?  And it’s an instant, major hearing loss that requires surgery to repair.

4.  It is possible – albeit rare –  for a branch in the ear to bypass all three bones and poke a neat little hole in the eardrum that can be as painful as all get-out but, thankfully, is likely to heal on its own in time.

5.  Prescription medication, followed by a post E.R. trip to McDonald’s, does wonders for painful eardrum perforations.

6.  There is such a thing as a Magic Get-Well Chair.  It works best when it has been designed by the oddly fascinating creature’s older sister.  And it does work, friends…if the proper amount of love goes into the design.

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