Mayberry Mom — Raising Opie and his sister in the most wholesome town in America.

That came back to bite me

by mayberry on July 13, 2011

Over the weekend I saw some friends, one of whom has children just a bit younger than mine. I was telling them, with no small amount of enthusiasm (fatal mistake!), how nice it is that I can now stay in bed a little while after the kids get up. I believe my exact words were, “Well, O. helps himself to as much candy as he wants. But what do I care, I’m sleeping in!”

Guess where O. went yesterday? The dentist. Guess what he has? TWO HUGE CAVITIES. Matching, one on either side of his mouth on two bottom molars.

Then, when we were scheduling the two (!) appointments for the fillings, the woman at the dentist’s office said that we could choose silver, for free, or tooth-colored, for $25 each. I was thrilled. Just $50 to cover up my huge parenting #fail? Sold!

But no. When you’re six years old, and you get the chance to have shiny silver teeth? You’re totally going for it. And your mom will be stuck looking at them for three or four or five years until the tooth fairy comes for them.

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Who ARE you?

by mayberry on June 28, 2011

Cranky question of the week: Where have all the writers’ bios gone in magazines? Am I the only person who ever reads (read) those? Anytime a writer refers to him- or herself in the first person, I like a little introduction, please. But lately, that’s nearly impossible to find.

This has been happening for awhile and The New York Times Sunday magazine is the latest culprit. Before the magazine’s recent redesign, each writer’s bio was included at the bottom of the first column–where one could find it quickly and easily if one were curious. Now, there are a few bios in the front of the book, near the table of contents. So if the writer you’re interested in learning more about happens to be there, you can flip around and look for him or her. But chances are, you won’t find what you want.

Is this a generational thing? Am I supposed to just Google these people? Or is it about writers being a dime a dozen in the world of user-generated content and web 2.0?

I worked on a project a few months ago, reviewing and tagging a major content site after a redesign and reorganization. In the process, many long articles were shortened considerably, which was a good thing; they were much too long for the online reader/scanner. Most bylines were stripped, too. In many cases, this didn’t matter; a how-to or a bulleted list of tips doesn’t exactly cry out for a how-do-you-do from the writer. But a personal essay? A statement of opinion? A persuasive argument? I need to know who you are!

Do you ever read bios in newspapers, magazines, or online? Or wish you could?

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WW: Yarn bomb

by mayberry on June 22, 2011

Right here in Mayberry!

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Yogi and Pepe

by mayberry on June 15, 2011

The kids and I are enjoying a visit to Grandma’s chateau in her final weeks of occupancy. But on our way here we enjoyed a little adventure courtesy of the National Association of RV Parks and Campgrounds. If you are Aimee, you take this ball and run with it right to some stunningly beautiful national park in Utah.

If you are me, you go visit Yogi Bear at a Jellystone Park in Indiana! True story. It’s Great Outdoors Month, which the association observes with a promo called Go Camping America. Through June 25, stays at participating campgrounds and RV parks are 20% off, and you can get 15% off camping gear at Coleman.

Now, we are not what you would call “campers” in any sense of the word. We don’t own a tent, for starters. So to get in on this Go Camping action, we needed a campground that was a) on the way to Grandma’s house, and b) equipped with cabins for those of us who have lived to the ripe old age of 40 without acquiring any camping gear except the sleeping bag/”tent” combos for little kids that you get at Target.

So, Yogi to the rescue! At Jellystone Park, we could get a teeny little cabin (with electricity, without plumbing–but the bathroom was very close by and clean) that smelled totally piney fresh. It had a cute front porch and a sleeping loft that my children were almost brave enough to sleep in, and some sweet Yogi curtains. See:

(Also pictured: green bear from the skil-crane machine at Denny’s! Score!!)

In order to get to the campground, we had to drive through a pretty sketchy stretch of road (abandoned buildings, the occasional fast-food joint, and a trailer park), but the campground itself felt safe. It was pretty packed with RVs–some visitors own their lots and keep their campers there all the time, adding landscaping, decks, lawn ornaments, road signs, and other goodies–and I think our favorite activity was just walking around and looking at them all.

That, and observing the small family of skunks we noticed doing some spring nest cleaning under someone’s shed. Luckily, they did not seem to mind the attention. I don’t think the piney fresh scent of our cabin would have been up to the task of competing with skunk stink.

We also played mini golf and panned for “jewels” at the Old Faceful Mining Co. What my kids really wanted was to rent and drive a golf cart. See, we’re so outdoorsy! I said no. If we hadn’t needed to keep going towards Grandma’s house, we would have checked out the Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore, which was just a few miles away. Maybe next time.

The ARVC comped our stay at Jellystone (just $65 for the night for the cabin we had–more on weekends and holidays) and helped fill our gas tank too. Thanks!

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Justifiable

by mayberry on June 6, 2011

This is going to make me sound like a jerk, but I am convinced that I am completely justified. That probably makes me even more jerky. So be it.

Every Sunday I get the the New York Times. We don’t even have home delivery here so I pay a guy named Scott to deliver it. I don’t know where he gets it, but who cares? I get my Times. Some weeks I recycle most of it because I don’t get a chance to read it. Some sections stack up for weeks (Style!) so I can read them when I do have time. But I always, always read the magazine, and I always, always save the crossword puzzle. I may not do it right away, but I will carry it around with me until I can do it.

And when I am, finally, doing the crossword puzzle: I do not want any help, nor do I need any. Okay? It’s nothing personal. Jo wants to help by “just writing the letters” for me. This seriously disrupts my flow. When I come up with an answer, I want to write it down. I don’t want to dictate it to a secretary (one who refuses to use capital letters, which is completely unacceptable in a crossword puzzle).

I do not want my husband to look over my shoulder and try to help. (Unless I get really stumped and I specifically ask for suggestions.)

And I for sure do not want some random mother at the karate school to harass me–repeatedly–about how I can possibly work a crossword puzzle without crossing out each clue once I’ve solved it. I JUST CAN, LADY, OKAY?

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Personalization #FAIL

by mayberry on May 31, 2011

At the beginning of the year, Jeff received a personalized calendar from a vendor. We both thought this was a bit of an odd choice for a grown man. When is the last time anyone over 13 got excited about seeing their name spelled out in letters made of flamingos (May) or fireworks (January)? We’re all familiar with the power of mail-merge by now, and the personalization bloom is off the rose. Way off, given how much it’s abused by emailers who are lazy (“Dear Mommy Blogger”) or too quick with the trigger finger (“Dear <name>”).

But here’s a tip. If you are going to distribute a personalized calendar, one that says “Designed and produced especially for … ” at the bottom of every page in addition to the flamingos and whatever the heck?

You might want to make sure you are spelling the person’s name right. Or else he and his wife are going to laugh at you for an entire year, because his name is not JEFFERY.

One-oh-one, folks.

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I thought this would be good for wordless Wednesday

by mayberry on May 25, 2011

Because really, the only words I can come up with are “conjoined” and “Duggars” and “ouch” and “WHY?”

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Special delivery

by mayberry on May 4, 2011

Remember when there was that whole brouhaha over Facebook censoring photos of moms breastfeeding?* I wonder how Zuckerberg et al. would feel about the breastmilk relay I participated in last weekend–since it was facilitated by Facebook.

My friend K. posted that she had milk to donate (pumped before she knew her baby couldn’t tolerate dairy). I replied that I knew a mom who would be very grateful to have it–my friend T., whose baby girl is thriving on donor milk while her mom undergoes chemotherapy.

So K. and I met in a parking lot and transferred a huge batch of milksicles from the cooler in her trunk to the cooler in my trunk, and then I brought my cooler to T.’s and emptied it into her freezer. Jo was with me and we had a long conversation about what we were doing and why. It was a privilege to participate and we all have Facebook to thank for it. Ha!

*Apparently it’s still going on… says this post at a Time mag blog.

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Royally happy

by mayberry on May 1, 2011

I loved everything about the royal wedding. Everything! I was smiling all day on Friday. Then sun came out for the first time in days. I even went to an afternoon tea party and wore a hat.

I loved the dresses, the trees in the Abbey, the uniforms, the music, the cars, and the carriages. I loved the genuine affection and loyalty and pride between the two brothers and the two sisters. I loved Pippa wrangling the train and all the little kids. I loved Beatrice and Eugenie looking like Cinderella’s stepsisters. I loved the boy choir and everyone in the congregation singing along to the hymns. I loved the camera angles from the BBC–bells tolling! Hats perching! Cathedrals soaring! I loved “Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire.”

I loved the crowds lining the routes. I loved the kisses and the grumpy little girl on the balcony and stuffy old Charles picking up a little bridesmaid so she could see. And then I loved rehashing it all with the Fug Girls coverage. Loved. it. all.

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