Love for Sale

Jewelry says a lot about a woman. It's an outward symbol of confidence and just like a good perfume, it should compliment her, not announce her. Too much and you get fake, brassy and bawdy. Not enough, seems lacking, undecided and afraid. It's a fine balance and most of us have our standby pieces that we wear daily, feeling naked without them. But sometimes accessorizing goes beyond good fashion and gets all tangled up in emotion. Pieces that have special meaning because they were given on a special day. Sentiment made tangible in metal and stone, meant to last forever. But, what if forever didn't quite work out? What's a girl to do with a drawer full of broken dreams and heartbreaks of gold? Oh, cry me a river, because, I am not one of these girls, but I have known them. Girlfriends with engagement rings from almost every guy they ever dated and I'm sure they still have the pieces to prove it.

Leave it to the Internet to solve all your problems. A new website, http://www.exboyfriendjewelry.com/ will sell your once cherished jewelry and you can emotionally purge yourself at the same time by writing about the break-up. Currently 233 rings are for sale with post titles like, "Oops!" or "I'm a serial engager" the stories, at least to me, are entertaining and insightful. Entertaining??? Yes. Entertaining.

There is even a category for "Gifts that should have been jewelry" expensive handbags and designer sunglasses on the emotional auction block. It seems the scorned women can't get rid of this loot fast enough and one woman's desperation becomes another one's bargain.

My one piece of exboyfriend jewelry (a Gucci watch) will not be up for sale on the site. Instead, I pulled it from the sock drawer just a few days ago and took it in for a little refurbishing. After almost twenty years of asylum, I felt it was finally safe for the piece to see the light of day once again. I'm glad I didn't get rid of it in a fit of emotion. Afterall, it's a great piece, and the sentiment is wholly new from my current emotional standpoint. No longer does it remind me of a broken heart or what might have been, that dies away with time and new experiences. It's now just a pretty piece I wear again with confidence.

Once upon a time...

Once upon a time there were children's books for children. Books about the imagined, the silly, the nonsensical. Literature that engaged and entertained. Stories requested over and over, dog-eared with love. As alive to the children who read them as the Velveteen Rabbit. Today, there are children's books on almost any topic you can imagine, though many of them are taking on issues that are anything but child-friendly. For example, the new children's book about Mommy's Plastic Surgery, entitled, My Beautiful Mommy by Dr. Mihael Salzhauer, a plastic surgeon from Bal Harbour, Florida.

It seems that anyone, and everyone lately has penned themselves as a children's author, parlaying an area of expertise into a cute title, fanciful art and much moola, appealing to the pocketbook of every concerned mom with a potentially troubled kid. But really, come on, does it do anything more than alleviate the concerns of parental anxiety and satiate the obligatory twenty minutes a night of read aloud time? Could it hurt to have actually talked to your child about the issue at hand? And, more importantly (and for the most part overlooked) do the kids even like these books?

The real talent, at least as far as my children are concerned, lies within the mind-pleasing cadence of a Seuss rhyme, the never ending prose of a Sendak sentence and the matter of fact-ness heard in Margarot Wise Brown's wording. It's not so important that they understand the world any better, or that they undesrstand why we even exist at all. It is important though, that they love books.

Brownies

She says she wants to be a Brownie and I have a pretty strong suspicion why. Afterall, we don't know anyone who belongs to the organization and they don't advertise on Noggin. So my guess is that she's free associating Brownie with chocolate and cookies. Imagining herself as the highest ranking troop member and princess of all things chocolate. What I must remember to tell her, before the first meeting is that... she's wrong. Another, more sadistic side of me wants to let her find out for herself, like I did.

Completely unaware of free will at the tender age of eight and working on the presumption that I could learn to be an outdoorsy type, I did my best to be honest and fair, friendly and helpful, considerate and caring, courageous and strong. Still, I never felt completely comfortable as a Brownie. There was always this feeling of not quite belonging. I wore the uniform, participated in the events, but was still oddly out of place, you know, like a nun playing baseball. I know there where things that I must have liked about the organization, but for the life of me, I can't name even one now. My affiliation earned me props in the local paper at least twice. My Dorothy Hammill haircut preserved for eternity in my scrapbook and the microfiche of the Unger Memorial Library in Plainview, Texas. I even recall the anxiety of going door to door asking total strangers if they would buy a box of cookies, and then taking it much too personally when they said no. To this day, I ALWAYS buy a box of cookies from any girl who asks me.

So, will I sign her up for the local troop this fall? You bet! Will I tell her about my memories of it? On my Honor....I will.

Mom Logic

The term 'Networking' is so, well, so office-y. I shudder to think of the forced pleasantries and impersonal conversations it connotes. And yet, there are those rare occasions when you bridge the gap. Hit paydirt. Make a real connection. It becomes personal, not business and you end up in a relationship that has less to do with work and everything to do with play.

Meet my new friend http://momlogic.com/ . It's THE PLACE to get the latest on all things parenting, celebrity news, fashion and more. And I'm excited to be part of it. Hello It's Tuesday is now officially affiliated with Mom Logic, a division of Warner Bros.... Hello, Hollywood!

It's like being invited to a sleepover at the popular girl's house, and finding out that you really do like each other!

May I please be excused?

I am a strong proponent of the after-six white tablecloth rule. No child should be in a restaurant with white tablecloths after six p.m. After all, there are a million other viable options out there. The market is saturated with "Family Friendly" venues, boasting healthy kiddo cuisine at reasonable prices. Some even go so far as to provide an incentive (or as I like to call it-a bargaining chocolate chip.) Since dessert is reserved for birthdays or company dinners at the Hello house, my children relish the idea of sweet treat at the end of a meal out, or rather they expect it as a reward for decent behavior and a mostly eaten meal.

That being said, there have been times, when even at a family sanctioned restaurants, we have offended. Most recently, this past week at the little Italian eatery down the road. And for your inconvenience, I offer the following letter of apology:

Dear Mr. Offended,
I saw the look of terror in your eyes the moment the waitress asked, "Will this be OK?" Really, you could have said, "No, could you please seat us in the love nest next to the kitchen door?" But you said yes. And with that one word, sealed your fate for the next 34 minutes.

Honestly, my three year old knows better than to get out of his chair during a meal. I reprimanded him both times. It's just that he's never heard a cell phone ring to the tune of "Funky Cold Medina" and he thought it was kind of, well, dance-worthy. If your conversation was at all interrupted due to the commotion he caused, I am sorry.

And as for the inappropriately too long stares of my five year old daughter, well, she really did think that your date(?) was beautiful. She even ventured to ask me if, when she got older she could have a tattoo and wear purple lipstick. For the gawking, I apologize.

And lastly, for the ghastly and much too loud announcement, "Mom, I need to poop." I apologize. We have been working on our 'inside voices' now for a while, still obviously not perfected. My apologies.

I hope you were able to enjoy the remainder of your meal after we left. And just so you know, my children thought you were fabulous, even though I wished you'd have been somewhere else, maybe a restaurant with dim lighting and a nice white tablecloth.

Sincerely,
Marcy Hello

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

It goes like this............ First I hear a 'THUNK' and then an interval of silence. I freeze. Using my finely honed auditory powers I wait for the cry/shriek that is sure to follow. It does. I determine it to be of the 'I'm down' variety. Faster than you can say 'sibling' I spring into action. Down the hall and onto the scene of the crime. To my dismay, there is already a superhero in charge! Not wanting to undermine his authority I step back.

He questions the two parties with all the diplomacy and civility of a child psychologist.

'Did you hit him?'

'Did she hit you?'

'What happened?'

'No daddy....I didn't!'

And then this........

'Tell me the TRUTH'

'I am telling the TRUTH!'

'I'll give you a ....'

But before he can finish his sentence he is ensnared in my telepathic gaze. My message...'So now we are bribing her into telling the truth?????' As he stands there sensing the incoming telepathy, I opportunistically step in to squelch this phenomenon that can only be called Quantum Lying.

It happens in a millisecond. The original lie grows at an exponential rate, mushrooming into a cloud of monolithic proportions.

My interrogation techniques are not sympathetic. There are no NATO guidelines to insure that the culprit is presumed innocent until proven guilty.

'You hurt your brother!'

'Now tell him you're sorry for hurting him and give him a hug!'

And poof, the situation is diffused. As the dust settles and the sky clears, I scan the room for hard evidence to bolster my intuition that I had so quickly acted on. It could have been the solid wooden building block or even the hard plastic red flute that was the weapon of choice. We may never know. I decide that no further investigation is needed.

Case closed. My job here is done. Just another day in the life of a superhero.

Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive! - Sir Walter Scott
"Don't lie or your nose will grow!" - Mom