Blogging and Skiing and Babies

How can the back crawl? This is the sentence I was given to "verify" my blog with a place that may or may not pay me to advertise for them. I really have NO CLUE what I am doing these days. One morning, with encouragement from my brother, I decided to start typing--this time, for others to read. I even posted some things that I had written for no particular reason and saved for no particular reason. I know that I want to write--I just didn't know where or how to publish. Blogging seemed like a great answer and I really enjoy it (aren't you glad?!). Unfortunately, it is a little more complicated than this non-technologically-savvy former school teacher/stay-at-home mom can handle. I honestly thought I would just type, people would read and companies would pay. Wouldn't it be great if it could be that easy?! I guess if it were that easy, EVERYONE would blog. Wait--everyone IS blogging!

I have a master's degree--surely I can figure out what I'm doing here and make money doing it. Right? I think I need to go back to changing diapers. What I need to do is figure out how to make money so that I can HIRE someone to take care of...well, EVERYTHING except for the writing on the blog. I could email my writing, they could proofread, because I honestly don't ever do that--SUCH a horrible thing for an English teacher to admit--though not the WORST offense I've committed against my English-teacher persona...but I don't even LOOK at my writing after I type it because if I DID, I would NEVER publish it. I am incapable of looking at ANY work without seeing errors and I am not confident enough in my own work to publish it without worrying or being embarrassed. If I hit the final period and quickly hit publish, it is out of my hands. This logic probably makes no sense to anyone but me, but that is the case with A LOT of my...reasoning.

 Nikanomics for instance. My husband coined this term in early 2005 to describe my "ability to find deals." Those quotes are there not because HE admires my ability to find deals--they are there because I admire my ability to find deals. I'm pretty sure HIS definition of Nikanomics has something to do with buying things we don't need and spending money we don't have, but THAT is looking at a half empty glass, don't you think? This is the same logic I used when I was trapped on a mountain (you say hill, I say mountain) in Ellicotville, NY when I was in high school. My mom borrowed my aunt's skis for me for my first time skiing. They were CROSS COUNTRY skis, which could explain all of the falling and tripping and crying. It also explains how my skis crossed each other making me tumble and lose one of them while I was in the middle of the mountain, terrified. "She's skiing on ONE ski!" escaped the lips of those lucky enough to witness the debacle. Small children whipped by me, shooting snow in my face, pointing and laughing and when I was finally approached by someone I knew, I calmly said, "It's fine. I'm waiting for the helicopter." "The HELICOPTER?!" "Yes. I am going to wait for the helicopter to come and get me. I WILL NOT go down this mountain--the helicopter will take care of me. I'll just climb up that little ladder thingy."

After several hours and NO helicopter, I finally eased my way down the mountain--ON MY A@##--only to be greeted by the same little punks who had blown snow in my face. Not my proudest moment and I swore I would NEVER ski again. Luckily in college my roommate wouldn't let me give up on skiing. Our senior year she took me to a place outside of Rochester and I used actual DOWNHILL skis. WHO KNEW?! It took me HOURS (and a few Hot Toddies--no not men, drinks, though I'm pretty sure the cute men inspired me as well!) to even GO UP the mountain, but when I finally DID, I made it down without incident and was able to do it three times before they closed.

Unfortunately, my time between ski trips was so great that I was never able to REALLY get over my fear. While I was in grad school, I went with my then boyfriend and some friends who all were able to ski right out of the womb. They went up the hills without trepidation and I decided to hang out and wait for them at the lodge. That of course was NOT cool and they wouldn't hear of it. They all said they would sacrifice their fun and stay with me on the bunny hill. MORTIFYING. My boyfriend was the first sucker hero to get stuck with me spend time with me.

As the children and other beginners (...other CHILDREN) went up the T-bar gracefully, I slipped and slided like a bear on roller skates. When we approached the top, I could feel the sweat forming on my brow. My boyfriend kept reassuring me, telling me I would be fine, but one of the worst parts of skiing for me is getting to the top of the mountain (okay--I KNOW it was a hill, but it FELT like a mountain!) and exiting the J-bar, T-bar, chair lift--whatever. WITH. GOOD. REASON. My boyfriend elegantly exited the ramp as I tried to ski away, but I wasn't able to move. Terror washed over me as I lunged forward only to remain where I was. Well, not where I WAS exactly...the bar had SOMEHOW worked its way up the back of my jacket and began CARRYING me down the mountain. I was floating in air like the freakin' coyote after the road runner gets him that ONE last time before he FALLS OFF A CLIFF! The "ride" stopped and the person running it put it in reverse so that I might find land again. I swear the same kids who shot snow at me years ago were ON THAT T-BAR laughing at me that day. I don't blame them--if I hadn't been laughing hysterically, the mortification of what had happened may have caused me to stay at home. FOREVER.

Back to my point--logic. I employed my sense of logic when I went into labor with my son as well. In between tears and cries of agony, I "calmly" told my husband (in my "a helicopter will surely come to save me!" voice): "Just tell the doctor to cut me open and lift the baby out THAT way. Really. It just makes the most-AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHH SENSE. Have him cut me open and take it out. It's fine--I'll be fine if he does that. Tell him. Tell HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMM!" Needless to say, the doctor did not support elective C-sections while the mother was currently laboring a healthy baby (who CLEARLY hated his mother). Duly. Noted. What REALLY makes me laugh is that a story about how to make money blogging ended with the delivery of my son--and when I put it THAT way, it sounds so very wrong! Only I am able to go on THAT many tangents. Who will EVER pay me for THOSE?!

Our shelf elf...

We have an Elf on the Shelf. My cousin first told me about it three or four years ago and I found the idea BRILLIANT. So brilliant that I whined about getting one for a few years before I finally bought one last November. Although it pains my husband to pay for nonessentials, we came up with a plan for the Elf's visit. The behavior problems and yelling and screaming had been escalating and we knew we had to do SOMETHING. Enter, THE ELF. We wrapped the box and addressed it to the family from Santa on St. Nicholas's Day. We included a letter about behavior and how disappointed Santa would be if they didn't start to turn things around--that simply watching from the North Pole was not enough--he needed a man INSIDE. The Elf was sent as an extra set of eyes for Santa--THAT'S how poorly we'd been behaving. NOT our proudest moment. Don't judge--we were DESPERATE and it was really for the safety of the children. If things didn't turn around SOON, SOMEONE was going to be hospitalized. The instructions stated that we were only allowed to touch the elf that first time as we placed him on a shelf. We were supposed to name the elf (which in a normal family would be a fun thing to do...IN A NORMAL FAMILY) then modify our behavior so that the elf would only report GOOD things to Santa. For children who believe that a man is able to fly around the world on magic reindeer and deliver presents to billions of children, my six, five and four-year-olds REALLY had a problem believing in this whole elf business. "But he's just a DOLL. How could A DOLL report anything to SANTA? That doesn't even make SENSE!" Ryan scoffed, clearly unconvinced. "Well, SANTA sent him, RYAN, so he MUST be real!" Brayden responded earnestly. "Do we really want to take the chance?" I asked. "Don't you think we are in ENOUGH trouble with Santa?!" "I just don't understand--he's like--A DOLL--not a REAL elf..." My loud gasp interrupted her. "Well, we should all hope that he didn't hear you say THAT!" I said in my most convincing mom voice."I know I don't want to live in a house that Santa doesn't visit..." "Denis A. lives in a house where Santa doesn't visit and Mrs. Feldman is Jewish, so Santa doesn't go to HER house either and they seem very happy," Brayden offered. "Thank you for that. However, Santa WOULD go to their houses if they WANTED him to go to their houses because they BEHAVE and don't need Santa to send an extra elf to keep an eye on them like WE do. Now get upstairs for nap." All three helped me place the elf on top of the armoire and slowly backed away from him to head upstairs for nap time. When were all upstairs, Ryan remembered she had left her blanket downstairs. She hurried down to get it when my husband saw her circling the elf, scrutinizing every inch. He witnessed her point two fingers at HER eyes then point them back at the elf like Deniro indicating he had eyes on Stiller in the Fockers movies. I think she was missing the point of this whole elf thing. After nap, my children were STUNNED to see that the elf had moved to another high location. "What could this MEAN?" they asked. "Well, he is supposed to move around so that you don't know WHERE he is, to catch you[hopefully] behaving. He must have wanted to get a better view." This answer appeased Addison, but the other two were still a bit skeptical. Brayden came around first--mostly out of fear of not getting presents, but Ryan...SHE spent most of her time in the room with the elf, watching him and waiting for his next move. About an hour later, we heard a crash and ran to see what had happened. Ryan, the elf, a shoe, some dust (okay...A LOT of dust) and some papers were all on the floor, the victims of some kind of accident. "I just wanted to see if he really WAS a doll, Mommy" Ryan wailed. "I thought if I threw Daddy's shoe at him, maybe he would catch it, but everything fell and I slipped..." We needed a new plan. That night, the elf "left." hHe left no explanation or forwarding address, but we suspected that perhaps he left because we had disappointed him and Ryan after all had TOUCHED him (which the directions specifically stated NOT to do...this family has a problem with SPECIFIC instructions...we'll get back to that another time) so he was probably either with a new family or back at The North Pole. We hadn't even NAMED him yet (we had only fought and cried for an hour over names), so he probably felt sad and unwelcomed. MAYBE if we REALLY behaved well, he would come back so that we could have another chance with Santa. THIS seemed to resonate with my children and they had a FANTASTIC day. After another day like that one, the elf popped up in Ryan's room with a note that REMARKABLY sounded a lot like our suspicions written above, though he included a line that forgave Ryan for touching him. His name was Ernie--he thought we should know--and he was willing to give us another chance with Santa because he was SO IMPRESSED with the way the previous two days had gone. Every night until Christmas eve, Ernie moved around our house to keep an eye on things for Santa. Ryan slept with her note for a night or two--I'm not sure what THAT relationship was all about, but she was a believer. THIS year, we decided to bust Ernie out early since the behavior is getting a little rocky. He hasn't been moving locations which baffled the older two. "Why is he in the same spot today as he was yesterday? " Brayden wondered aloud. "Maybe he's tired from his trip," Ryan offered. "Maybe he's giving us a chance to remember how to behave," Brayden added. "Maybe heeeesa DOLL," Addison chimed in from the art desk. Here we go again...

Where IS everyone?

I haven't broken 100 since I told you about my desire for a dog on October 27th. Can you BELIEVE that?! I came close (99) ONCE, but my number of readers has SERIOUSLY been slipping. I would offer incentives or giveaways, but I'm not sure who would want some unpaid hopsital bills or the handle off of my mini-van. It's not even my NICE mini-van (as evidenced by the missing handle)--it's the mini-van I got stuck with when the Corwin financial downfall happened. No bailouts here, my friends. We said goodbye to my Sienna (which I would not hesitate to give up a kidney to have it back) and hello to no car payment. I have to say, I do LOVE not having a car payment. I do NOT love sliding the door closed only to find that I am still holding onto the handle--and IT'S NOT holding onto the car door! I also do not love that EVERY TIME I drop my children off and follow the "drop off procedures," they assume that my door will shut itself. EVERY TIME. This wouldn't be so bad if, when I DID have a fancy-but-crazed-mother-vehicle, the opposite hadn't happened. EVERY TIME I would follow "loop procedures," the sweet woman who greeted my family and helped my children out of the car would slam the door shut like her life depended on it and then say, "Ooohhh" as if she were shocked. AGAIN. EVERY TIME. This happened in Montana of course, and the lack of shutting (where they ALSO look shocked EVERY TIME)is in New Jersey. Hmmm. I'm sure there is a study of some kind that someone far more motivated than I will EVER be could do on this. Perhaps I am the ONLY ONE in New Jersey who has to shut her door ON HER OWN. That must be right up there with pumping my own gas (which I wasn't ready to give up when I first moved here, but I have to say, I'm a BIG fan of not having (excuse me, not BEING ALLOWED) to do it myself anymore. We must NEVER leave Jersey...) On the contrary, Montanans (After over three years of deliberation, we came to the conclusion that "Montanans" is correct. I don't CARE if I'm wrong) must be happy to shut their own doors--no buttons needed. Interesting... So back to my initial gripe (the Sienna thing was CERTAIN to come out soon--it's been KILLING me!)--losing my readers. The GOOD news is, I have over 70 followers and about fifteen Network followers (that evidently MEANS something...I'm not sure what!), so I may actually break 100 FOLLOWERS soon. Which means absolutely nothing if no one wants to read what I write! For the twenty-seven of you who seem to read regularly (totally pulled THAT number out of my...actually, I took it from the number of people who read yesterday...), I thought I would present you with the opportunity to read MORE of my work ('cause you can't EVER get too much Nika! Wait...I think it's actually, "EVERYONE needs a Nika break...," but I'm implementing the NEW saying!) I signed up for yet another venture that I do not fully understand. I'm writing articles for examiner.com. I am now a "Toys and Games Examiner," and will hopefully get motivated enough to explore other areas of interest on examiner.com. If people READ my articles, they may actually LIKE me and then I could get more work and eventually I may even be able to publish those children's books I've been writing or that novel I will never write...well, you get it! SOOOO...if you ever want me to make some money so that I am able to offer you prizes and incentives, PLEEEAAAAASSSSEEE check out my article on examiner.com. Just type "This Holiday Season, Microsoft "Kinects" with gamers" into the search bar in the upper left corner then scroll down until you see the title (feel free to make fun of my title--I need to start cracking OTHERS up and stop cracking MYSELF up as it gets me NOWHERE! Oh--and THANK YOU for reading my words--even when they AREN'T funny!

Trick or Treat...

Halloween. I know that some people wait for it all year and decorate their homes like the seasonal aisle at Walmart and I LOVE participating in their fun--I do. I love going to OTHER people's houses to look at their decorations and even to help if they need me to. For us, the only decorations we've been known to have are the overgrown weeds in our garden and the white-trash trash that accrues in our yard (TOASTER OVENS, for example...). We usually carve a few pumpkins, though this year we almost missed THAT. Luckily, there was a place that still had them--ONE place that still had them--and THEY were only charging six bucks a pumpkin. SIX BUCKS A PUMPKIN. Eighteen dollars later, I head home, knowing there is NO WAY we will be carving them until mid-November. They are FROZEN. We probably won't even carve them at all--goodbye eighteen dollars. My Halloween moms are cringing right now. How could I wait so long for the Halloween experience? My friend Laura starts getting ready in August. How COOL for her kids! I LOVE looking at the photos of all the fun she and her friends have getting ready for and enjoying Halloween. My friend Marcia always gets a pumpkin the size of Texas and generally hands out beer and hot dogs along with the sweet treats. THAT is something I can get on board with--SOMEONE ELSE providing the fun FOR my family. My friend Cathy seriously owns enough Halloween stuff to open up her own Spirit of Halloween store. I'm serious--if they made it, she has it and no words can really describe her Halloween...menagerie...? Their houses are like Halloween wonderlands and I love driving by with my kids or bringing up facebook photos to show them. Only now they say, "Why don't WE ever have fun things like that at OUR house?!" Because YOUR mommy is lazy--shut up, kid! I feel like I should adopt my children out during this time of year--just so they can have the experience of living with someone fun and organized for an amazing and exciting Halloween experience. You know--someone who actually DECORATES, does gift bags, makes orange and black baked goods, serves eyeballs and worms...someone who is not me. I don't know what my problem is really. I seem to be able to make an effort for Christmas, but that's all I have in me. One holiday. I would claim Easter as well, but I'm lucky if I throw a bunny or an egg on the window and we tend to use our palms from Palm Sunday to decorate. And by decorate, I mean throw strips of pulled-apart palm leaves around the floor. Happy Easter! Currently, my children can be distracted by and are mainly concerned with the candy of course, but that is because they don't know what they are missing. Eventually they will find out that I am a dud. Eventually they will learn that they can have candy AND fun. Hopefully by then they will be old enough to run it for me.

I KNOW what fun is!

Well, I started a different blog about my mother and her disdain for my recent topics (it seems she DOESN'T want me to discuss my family drama with all of her friends she so kindly asked to view my blog (SO NICE of her, I know!). Who knew that the big "D" was so upsetting to so many people? Okay...I did. Though I was trying to help myself and others--I swear!

Anyway...I will post THAT later. My daughter Ryan just came downstairs with her Halloween costume on--she created it herself and she is QUITE pleased.
 "I'm going as "fun" for Halloween!" she boasted, wearing red and purple flowered stretch pants (that end at her knee), a black and orange jack-o-lantern tutu and a black, gray and pink shirt with an enormous pink, purple,teal-colored butterfly-eagle that has the word "Fubu" worked into the design with a layer of gray tutu and a layer of pink tutu at the bottom (though the sleeves reach just past her elbow, which leads me to believe the pants and shirt belong to Addison).
 "What?"
"Fun. Don't you know what "FUN" is? I guess not," she snidely remarked.
Nice.