Do you ever look back on your younger years and wonder, “Was I a good kid?”? Did my Dad think I was a good daughter?

I seem to do a lot of “looking back” since embracing my 40’s. I think I was a good daughter. OK, so my attitude as a teen left something to be desired. Especially after moving from Texas to Rhode Island. I mean, I was a good kid, almost too goody-goody before we moved.

But those daddy-daughter trips to the hardware store followed by a milkshake?

Or lunching at Chili’s after going to Target on Saturdays? (Oh, yes, they had Target in Texas way back when, and it was glorious.)

It wasn’t long before they turned into, “But, Dad, I can’t today.”

“But, Dad…I’m going to my friend’s house.”

“But, Dad, I can’t.”

“Dad, can I borrow the car?”

I was the only girl. The baby. My Dad and I always got along. We could walk outside, play catch and talk about…everything. Or nothing in particular. We’d run errands together and he let me bring a friend along while my mom cleaned and my brother was out doing whatever the cool kids did in the 80’s.

I’ve always adored my father, with his groomed beard and glasses. I’ve always admired his corny jokes, his math wizard-ness and everything he contributed to the Space Program. I remember skiing together in Colorado, flying down moguls, giggling. And crying into his chest after we lost dear friends on The Challenger. And after he lost his job.

But something happened after we moved away.

I turned into a 16-year-old.

I’d race through dinner so I could be with my boyfriend (my now husband! ;)). My friends.

I didn’t mean to say that.

Or have that party.

Or put off doing the leaves.

It just happened.

I turned into a teenager.

But this Father’s Day, as I look back (like the hormonal mid-life mother I am), I realize I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m so grateful that my Dad is still around. I have a lot of people in my life, my husband included, who have lost their fathers. That alone breaks my heart and makes me want every visit, every phone call, and every email with my dad to count from now on.

I recently visited my parents in Florida and it was one of the most memorable trips we’ve had together.

Did we go on a cruise?

No.

Did we go to Disney?

No.

Did we lay out at the beach?

No.

Did we tour his old stomping grounds at Kennedy Space Center?

Not this time. Although i would have loved that.

Actually, I just flew out there to support my parents while my mom had surgery.

We did a lot of…NOTHING. And my mom’s surgery went really well.

I have to say it was the most special time I’ve spent with my parents in a long time.

During that trip to a little town just outside of Cape Canaveral, Florida, to see my folks, I was happy to do nothing special.

Just visit.

Just chat.

Just shoot the “hey” on the patio with the two people who brought me into this world.

So, we giggled.

We cooked.

We hung out. We piled whipped cream on top of hot cocoa when the rain started pouring down.

We took pictures of birds hanging out in the backyard.

I jogged to the tennis court to watch my Dad play a few matches with his buddies.

The day my mom had her surgery, my Dad took me out to lunch at a diner right around the corner. It’s his favorite hole in the wall, with pleather booths and a big banner that hangs from the ceiling that shouts, “Best Pie in Florida”. Because it was Tuesday, we got a free slice of pie. It was honestly the best $12 meal I’ve had in my life. Because it was just me and my Dad again.

Did we do anything special?

No.

We sat there in that booth, sharing a slice of key lime pie, talking about everything…and nothing in particular.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad!

Are you “done” with the cold weather? I know I am. I’ve had it with Farch. (Farch: When March feels more like eff-ing February). This morning, my daughter walked outside wearing more layers than Ralphie’s little brother in the movie Christmas Story. She got to the end of the driveway, turned around and said, “Mom, it’s freezing! Can I please have a ride to school?” Who can blame her? I drove four freezing cold nine-year-olds to school today.

This morning it was 25, but felt like 11. Yes, 11 degrees. In March! IT MAKES NO SENSE. I grew up in Texas and was wearing short sleeves this time of year. (White sandals? Not until after Easter, but short sleeves, oh yes.)

I realize there’s nothing we can do (aside from slowly go insane) to change the fact that yet another snowstorm is heading to Rhode Island. So I thought why not try to look on the bright side.

Before you start throwing snowballs at me, following are some good things about Farch that I have to share with you:

1)      In Farch, no one knows how desperately you need a pedicure.

2)      You don’t need to expose your un-pedicured toes until June.

3)      If your roots are showing, you can just put on a hat.

4)      You can get away with wearing practically the same outfit every day in Farch by simply changing out your hat and scarf.

5)      The piles of dog poop you forgot to scoop have turned into hard, odorless poopsicles.

6)      There’s no yard work to do (except eventually picking up poopsicles).

7)      If you’ve gained weight over the winter, you have more time to get in shape before swimsuit season.

8)      Because there’s no yard work to do on the weekends, you can justify binge-watching shows on Netflix while folding laundry.

9)      Exercising in the cold helps you burn more calories (along with some feeling in your face).

10)   If you’re not in the mood to go for a run, you can easily blame it on the weather.

11)   If you forget to shave, no one will know (or care) until July!

Spring is definitely NOT in the air. (It was 13 degrees this morning in Rhode Island, and it felt like 7.) (I can barely feel my face as I type this.) But it’s March, which means…. it’s tax season. My birthday is on tax day. Yes, my birthday is April 15. (I share it with a friend, and my husband’s birthday is the day after.) So I tend to get a little stressed about taxes…. and excited about spring fashion trends this time of year. I run my own consulting business, so I have to do both personal and business taxes. So. Not. Fun. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I’d rather get a mole and my molars removed on the same day, without any pain killers, than do my taxes.

So, the following list is for every one of you, in honor of all the bean counting that needs to be done in the next few weeks. God bless America, let’s all try to get through this. With all the procrastinating I’ve been doing, if anything, this should make you feel better about your progress.

You know you’re procrastinating (during tax season) when:

–        You vacuum UNDER the couch;

–        You dust even when guests are not coming over;

–        You unload the dishwasher at 6:30 a.m. and again at 6:30 p.m. and put away that random piece of Tupperware that somehow gets stuck in the bottom rack and never gets put away;

–        You fold and put away your laundry as soon as they come out of the dryer;

–        You make the kids homemade pancakes for breakfast (even during the week);

–        You clean every toilet in the house (with a toothbrush);

–        You bake cookies the same day your Girl Scout cookies arrive;

–        You voluntarily do the grocery shopping every day (even just to pick up two apples);

–        You make excuses to go to CVS so you can flip through gossip magazines;

–        You remove the dog fur from every surface of your house and car (with a lint brush);

–        You clean the kitchen floor with a sponge;

–        You “like” every post on Facebook;

–        You comment on your own posts;

–        You make a dentist appointment without rescheduling it;

–        You go to the eye doctor;

–        You brave the cold and actually exercise in 13 degree weather;

And last, but not least….

–        You write articles about avoiding doing your taxes.

Do you LIKE grocery shopping? I never used to enjoy going grocery shopping. (I’ve vented about the Horrors of Shopping with Kids before.) It was never something I looked forward to.

Not until my youngest started school.

Oh, I said it. You see, that was when I knew I could actually shop… in peace.

Shopping without kids for me is like spending an hour in a charming European village with cobblestone streets. It’s pathetic, but true.

The fact that I can wander the feminine aisle without someone asking, “Can I have some? What is that, mommy?” is exhilarating.

That I can put a brick-sized bar of dark chocolate in the cart and hide it in the back of the pantry? Zen.

That I can smile (that knowing mom-to-mom smile) to another mother as she whisper-yells to her kids to be quiet in the cookie aisle?

Like falling into child’s pose.

Knowing that I have to take a trip to the grocery store at least twice a week, I’ve started to make a game of it. The fun part is actually at the end of my list and the beginning of the check-out line.

The few times I don’t have to race back for a meeting or appointment, after I cross off all the items on my list, I search for the longest check-out line.

Yes, the LONGEST line.

Why, you ask?

So I can stop and smell the roses?

Not exactly. Unless Sarah Jessica Parker has one pinned to her adorable sweater jacket.

It’s actually so I can see who wore what best.

And find out why so and so left so and so. What she said. What he thinks.

What’s on trend for Spring. The newest hairstyles.

How I can find happiness in six easy steps. How I can stay fit in five minutes a day.

And so I can read all about Lena Dunham, and see how cute she looks in her photo shoot in Vogue.

Yes, I am one of those women who shamelessly flips through magazines while waiting in the check-out line. I’m a marketer’s dream…in the market.

And I enjoy every minute of it.

I think of it as junk food for the brain.

I try to suck in as much information as I can in a matter of minutes. And as soon as I notice that the lady in front of me has enough items to feed a soccer team, I head straight for something like O, Marie Claire, In Style, Vogue, Real Simple, People or US Weekly. I rarely read OK magazine, because, and mark my words, they feature mostly lies. But People and US Weekly? Now these guys are the bomb. They’re practically the kings of truth (especially when it comes to useless information).

I am a maniac. A maniac..for magazines.

Call me old-fashioned, but I still like to hold the glossy pages in my hands rather than digest it all online.

Just as the check-out line thins out, and the white-haired woman has finished counting her manila envelope of coupons, I realize it’s almost time. Just as I’m desperately trying to find out Oprah’s secret to feeling and looking good, I know it’s time. Time to say goodbye to the pages that make my brain smile and hello to the teen behind the cash register. It’s time to start lining up my groceries on the conveyer belt. So I buy one magazine. Just one.

And as soon as I get home, I hide the magazine away. And then, when everyone else is reading or drawing or watching TV, I open it up and happily consume every last page…along with my secret stash of dark chocolate.

I took my daughter on a “girls’ shopping day” recently. We used the excuse that we had to stock up on long underwear and other necessities to help get through the rest of this bitterly cold New England winter. It’s the truth. Well, what can I say, as a native Texan, I truly believe in the power of retail therapy, (as long as what you’re buying is on sale).

So off we went, listening to tunes from Pitch Perfect. (And in case you’re wondering, I sang along too.) I have to say we enjoyed our day out. I realize that in a few short years, going shopping with mom is going to be more “torture” than a “treat” for my daughter even if it includes an entourage of friends and a stop at the local frozen yogurt shop. So I celebrated her still being nine and we drove to Garden City with big smiles on our faces.

We had a ball, walking around the adorable shops, trying on sunglasses and scarves, smelling candles and gathering home design and fashion ideas.

Then suddenly, like a sugar crash following a Pink Berry frozen yogurt with chocolate drops, my mood changed. The moment we walked into a store that was one of my favorites in my 20’s and 30’s, the ugly truth came to me.

The mannequins looked anemic.

Every skirt was too short.

Every top was way too trendy.

And every pair of skinny jeans looked like they were made for an American Girl doll.

Whether I wanted to believe it or not, I had outgrown this store, and it had outgrown me too.

You know you’ve outgrown your favorite clothing store when:

1. The sales associates don’t even bother to make eye contact with you.
2. You are never greeted with a friendly, “May I help you?” because every sales associate (that looks 14) can tell you’re 20 years and two dress sizes beyond their target customer.
3. You try on one pair of “stretchy skinny jeans” and get depressed.
4. Nothing fits no matter what you try on. And if it does, it makes you look like something that begins with the letter “h” and rhymes with “looker”.
5. The horrid lights in the fitting room accentuates every lump, every dimple and cellulite you didn’t even know you had.
6. Even the pieces on the sales rack no longer appeal to you.
7. If you attempted to tie a “skinny belt” around your waist as many times as they tie it around the anorexic mannequins, you would embarrass yourself even more because you’d soon be surrounded by paramedics on the dressing room floor.
8. The sales associate announces that all regularly priced button-down shirts are 20% off, but she doesn’t share this information with you. She shares it with the 20-year-olds walking around the store.
9. Even the headbands are too tight for your head.
10. You walk in and out without buying ANYTHING.

Oh boy, it’s almost Valentine’s Day! And my dad’s birthday! Happy birthday, dad!

Do you do anything out of the ordinary on Valentine’s Day?

We do something silly every year. My husband and I have been married for 22 years. I realize we’re not old pharts yet, but we do tend to get a little tired of the same-old, same-old every Valentine’s Day. We go all-out for birthdays, Christmas and our anniversary. But Valentine’s Day, not so much. We actually treat it like opposite day.

You see, my husband has a quick, dry wit. He likes to use Valentine’s Day as an opportunity to give me the cheesiest Infomercial-inspired gag gift possible. Through the years, he has given me a Snuggie (with a free reading light), Pajama Jeans, roses from the gas station, an As Seen on TV-featured “Ahh Bra” and the Time/Life Country Love Songs collection, which I still keep (and play) in my car…to everyone’s dismay.

I can’t wait to see what he’s getting me this year. I’m secretly hoping for a pair of these. Oh yes, they are As Seen on TV’s super-spectacular Slimming Sauna Shorts: http://www.asseenontv.com/slimming-sauna-shorts/detail.php?p=370074&v=fitness

 

 

There are so many reasons to celebrate your imperfections. I know I joke about this all the time. From my obsession with chocolate to my issues with Spanx, the list goes on and on. But I have to say it’s also important for you to remember the fabulous stuff about yourself too. The good things. I write about how I rediscovered the good stuff in my latest Ask Mom OnlineRI.com column. Thanks for “listening” as I share more about my experience with The Revelation Project. Being a part of this amazing photography and social media “experience” actually helped me grow as a person and overcome my insecurities. Learn more here at this link to OnlineRI.com. 

“I don’t think I want my play kitchen anymore,” my daughter announced while we spring-cleaned the basement the other day.

I had to leave the room to collect my thoughts. (And weep quietly in the bathroom.)

I may be walking around with a smile on my face this week, but I cry a little inside every time I think of that moment. Not just because of the dreary weather (well, maybe) or my erratic hormones (well, that too), but because I’m realizing that my little girl isn’t so little anymore.

She couldn’t mean the plastic gourmet play kitchen that she used to “slave over” when she was a toddler? The one with a “working” stovetop, beeping microwave, faux hardwood floor and other cute mini-gourmet-culinary accessories?

It couldn’t be.

I still want to play in that kitchen.

How could she NOT want to play in it anymore?

The fact that this mini-kitchen is nicer than any kitchen I’ve ever owned is beyond the point. Or the fact that if I sketched a Randy-to-the-Rescue blue print of my dream kitchen, you’d pretty much see THIS KITCHEN.. in white. And the fact that I’ve actually pretended to make bacon and eggs on the stovetop that makes an unbelievably cool boiling noise and brew a pot of coffee in the pretend coffee maker that actually sounds like a real coffee maker is also beyond the point.

What kills me… is that my daughter getting rid of this play kitchen symbolizes the beginning of a new phase.

The pre-tween years.

I realize my baby is growing up. But she’s 9.

Can’t she hold onto it a little longer?

My best friend and I played house…until we were WAY too old to play house.

We actually turned her mom’s garage into an imaginary world – we transformed half of it into an apartment and the other into a school. We were like Janet and Chrissie Snow without Jack, but we were teachers in Clear Lake City. We would play school for hours and then go back to our “apartment” while listening to the Go Go’s and Foreigner. And, yes, our older siblings and their friends totally made fun of us for playing pretend straight through fifth grade. They still do, to this day.

But we couldn’t help it. We were kids. And it was fun.

It’s not that I don’t want my daughter to grow up. I want her to grow up and be everything she wants to be in life.

I just want the growing up part to slow down a little.

I should be thankful that she still likes to play dress up. She still plays with her American Girl Dolls. (I no longer have to take care of them while she’s at school.) But she doesn’t want the kitchen anymore.

What if we remodeled it? Maybe THAT would change her mind? Re-vamping the cabinets and re-finishing the faux hardwoods?

I’m all about ringing in the New Year in style. I mean, we stayed in and watched New Year’s Rockin’ Eve on TV and kissed when the clock struck midnight. The next morning, we cheered on my husband as he took the Penguin Plunge! But as far as New Year’s Resolutions, this year, I’m just saying NO. I’ve had it with all the “New Year, New You” guilt. I work out…and eat dessert. So shoot me. I’ve decided this year, to do away with New Year’s Resolutions. I’ve resolved to be at peace with myself. Yes, this year, it’s all about accepting myself and all my imperfections. (I’m enjoying a handful of semi-sweet morsels right now, in case you’re wondering, but I did work out this morning.) So far, I’m loving every minute of my decision! Check out my latest AskMom OnlineRI.com column to see why you should too! https://onlineri.com/articles/ask_mom

From my house to yours, wishing you a very Merry Christmas and a happy and healthy new year! – Jackie