My kids each caught "mosquito bats" last night. They proudly showed them off to their friends at school this morning.

Pipqueak had no problem, at the end of the day, letting her's fly back into nature.

Stink, in typical forlorn fashion, was too sad to let his go. "I'll miss my friend," he sighed.

Pip's teacher chimed in, "Sweetie, bugs aren't meant to live in cages. They are meant to be free. Just like you are!"

Never underestimate the persuasive powers of Stink. "I'm not free!' he bellowed. "My mommy tells me what to do all the time!"

While I certainly don't keep my son under lock and key like that poor mosquito, I do keep him safe. There are rules, like it or lump it, that he must follow.

It's a constant battle: Be a free floating spirit (who might get squashed by a windshield for passion) or stay safe within plexiglass walls. You won't get hurt, but it's not a bunch of fun either.

Maya Angelou talks about this in her epic poem. In it, there are two birds contrasted: One who has the world under her wings, and one who is stuck behind a cage, singing of what he doesn't really know.

As a mom, and a wife, I know what's out there. I know what I'm missing by leading a safe, predictable existence in a respected suburb, but I also know what I'm gaining in grounded children and solid foundations.

There's a fine line in balancing routines that tie me down and partaking of adventures with questionable outcomes.

The ticket is to be grateful for the mediocrity of my life - my safety net - but always remember that the key to true purpose and fulfillment lies in my hands.

I am giving God the credit for that power of those keys - the gentle whisper of right and wrong, hope and love.

Perhaps you'll validate someone or something else for it. But what I hope you never do is blame another person or event for sitting on that boring perch and singing the same old song.

Cock-a-doodle do. No thank you.

Hey, that rhymed! Look out Maya Angelou! (Okay, maybe not.)

I was fortunate this weekend to find out that not only do I have a crappy marriage, but I'm terrified of my husband who beats me and am very unattractive.

Yup, look what I found in my inbox this morning!

"I read your post on Yahoo's front page and had some fun with it on my website.

I hope you don't find it offensive."

No, no. Why would I be offended at statements like this from his award worthy "parody"?

He writes, "She did the “My husband is awesome(please don’t beat me) thing.  That’s amazing.  And she said she’s ugly, which I’m sure Rex tells her every night."

I can't say I was hurt. I mean, who is this person to me? No one. But I am always surprised that someone would lack such class.

I am also bringing this up to remind all of you to live fearlessly. Another tip is to bill yourself as a comedy writer only if you're truly funny.

Oh, and the "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say it all" thing. That works also.

Parents out there, let's never underestimate teaching our kids grace, humility and kindness. And when we fall short ourselves (I know I have) let's call each other on it. Let's apologize. Let's forgive. Let's move on.

In closing, if you'd like to take a look at the post, go for it! But do me a favor. Don't leave something nasty. Leave something kind. Give him examples of what he could do with his time that is more uplifting. Poor guy could use some tips.

http://www.dalezcomedy.com/2010/03/5-habits-of-happy-couples/

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What I love about my daughter is her fearlessness. She wears what she wants. She dances and sings and laughs with her whole heart. And she's not afraid to say no. Or, in her case, with a very straight back and lady like gentility, "No Thank you."

Pipsqueak is the pint sized version of Mary Poppins: Self assured, polite and a bit sassy, but she's so dang beautiful, not to mention a bit bossy, you simply have to listen.

Just this week I have been schooled on keeping my elbows off the table, leaving early for school so I'm not screaming obscenities on the way out the door, and how it's best to stick with the first scheduled event rather than do too much and be late.

Many people say that Pipsqueak is her mama all the way, but truth be told, she has taught me to be more like her. If it's simply assumed that the world will courtesy for her wishes, then I might as well take on that attitude.

Speaking of, I did indeed hear back from Oprah's people. They don't accept outside submissions for work, but they did provide addresses for me to send something anyway. So I will. I'll share those with you when I can find my phone and retrieve the message. (If nothing else, what a classy organization to actually return phone calls. Nice work, Oprah!)

Sticking to my "Be Brilliant in 2010" plan, I have been in touch with several other magazines and muckety mucks - many who have turned me down. But it feels good to be back out there. I'm not doing it from a "I must validate myself" perspective. I'm doing it, as Pip has so wonderfully taught me, because my talent and love are in those areas. 

And so, I bring you this question: Why deny your talent? Why not simply, like Pip and Poppins, put on that fancy hat and let the world see the star you are on the inside?  What is holding you back if you are not?




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 I went to a baby shower last week for a friend who is having her second child any minute now. She's American with 100% South of the Border ancestry blood running through her veins. A Jewish American hosted, while several ladies from India contributed to the festivities, including hiring a henna lady to decorate our bodies with temporary ink. (I'm top left.)

I love my son and daughter's public school and the mamas that come along with it. Our backgrounds are different, but our love for our babies are the same. We can talk about sex and religion as supportively as we chat about immunizations and the LA school system.

One of my friends wants to take me to her Muslim temple. I'd have to wear a  hijab to her mosque - the traditional headpiece women wear in that culture.
 
At six foot one, I don't need any more reason to cause attention to myself. "Look out! It's a lighthouse covered in fabric from Joanne's 50% off sale!"

And yet, if we don't grab the opportunities in front of us to support our fellow human for what they believe in, regardless of our own faith, then what is the point of even educating our children? Isn't love and respect what it's all about?

I'm far from being a saint. A few years back I had a fight that brought me to my knees. I am still reeling from the diatribe that came from my mouth. I was a jerk. And while I can't change the past, I can learn from my mistakes, forgive myself, and pave ways for new friendships formed through openness and love.

And, on days when my kids are driving me nuts with their endless noises, that Muslim head piece is going to come in real handy. I'll just hide a walkman under it and drive down the road. A cop wouldn't suspect ANYTHING. Unless he notices that the quiet reserved Muslim mama is blasting Johnny Cash. I'd gladly pay a ticket for that.)

I was recently given a one-week membership to a fancy ladies gym. With the terrible earthquake on my mind, as well as so many people losing their homes in this economy, it seemed unfair and decadent that I enjoy an incredible shower, a pristine spa and a soft towel when so many have so little.

As I have often done during my two month hiatus from writing this blog, my mind started churning. "What is life really about? Why are we here? If there really is a God - why are so many people so unhappy?"

I looked into a squeaky clean mirror, free of the streaks, fog and little thumb prints so typical of my jack & jill 50's bathroom. Even the soft lighting couldn't hide the changes on my face - a face that hadn't taken a long look in the mirror in quite a while.

Soon another face, a good thirty years older than mine, joined my reflection. She didn't say much. She simply picked up a dryer in an attempt to blow out her short gray locks. Nothing happened.

"Weird," she mumbled. Soon enough, though, she found a dangling power cord. She attached it into the socket, the noise started, and she was one step closer to fabulous hair.

Clearly this woman didn't live to be her age without knowing what to do when things went wrong. She had confidence. She had know-how. She didn't spend time complaining or moaning. She took the bull by the horns and fixed it. To be specfic, she plugged it in.

How many times have I complained about the dangling power cords of my own life? My kids, my marriage, my bills, my spirituality. It dawned on me, there in the womens' locker room, that I might want things different, but it's not going to happen by whining. I have to PLUG IN. And when I'm plugged in - emotionally, physically, and spiritually - electricity happens. Growth happens. Hell, I might even get some good hair out of it.

I'm going to be 40 in a month. I don't know what the second half of my life is going to mean. But I certainly plan on spending more time attached to the power of friendship, love, hope, faith, writing, new projects and, god willing, some good humor. (I just hope I don't electrocute myself in the process. That is NOT going to help my hair issues.)