The Latest Wage Crime in Educational Publishing

Image credit: crystalmedia.com

Today, while job hunting, I noticed this little gem:

Editor for English/Language Arts Curriculum
wowzers - Chicago, IL
Full-time, Temporary

We are looking for an editor for a English/Language Arts curriculum program. This position would entail reading passages of varying length and checking to make sure they are at the appropriate reading level, flow well, contain no spelling or grammatical errors, and that the accompanying questions test the students' comprehension.

Duties, Responsibilities & Expectations:

• Edit passages of varying length and subjects.
• Assist the writers in brainstorming topics and questions.
• Ensure the questions appropriately test the students and follow our rubric.
• Check informational passages for accuracy.

Qualifications, Skill, and Abilities:

• An excellent grasp of grammar, spelling, etc.
• Education background is preferred

This is a temporary position of 4-6 weeks that may lead to full-time employment. The position will pay around $13/hr, depending on experience. Writers must work in-office at our downtown Chicago location.

That's all very ordinary—until you get to the final paragraph: $13/hour. Really?! Here is why that turns me into the Angry Editor:

• In Chicago, that's 115% of the poverty level for a family of four. 
• $13/hour equates to an annual salary of $27,040/year. Of that, maybe you'll take home $1,700 a month after taxes. Considering that Chicago's average rent is about $1,200 a month, that leaves a whopping $500 to pay for an entire month's health insurance, food, clothes, transportation, utilities, and all the other necessities of life. Not gonna cut it.
• The only people who are going to apply to a job that pays so little are (1) students or recent grads with no experience, (2) people who are totally unqualified but apply anyway because it pays (slightly) more than retail; or (3) people whose unemployment ran out so they're desperate for work. 
• STUDENTS DESERVE BETTER. People should not be paid poverty wages to create educational materials for young children. It's appalling.
• EDITORS DESERVE BETTER. Editing is a learned, professional skill; it should not be compensated the same as what you could earn as a cashier at Costco. Additional specialized knowledge required to edit K-12 reading lessons makes an editor worth even more. 

For the record, I did pretty much this same job (with a few additional responsibilities) from 2006 through 2009, for a respectable company, and earned nearly double what "wowzers" is offering in this ad. Shame on them. 

If our kids turn out to be dummies, we'll know who to blame. 

Thoughts on Being Laid Off... Again

Image credit: allthingsd.com

Last week I got laid off for the third time in five years.

My thoughts, in order of appearance.

Wednesday, Sept. 25

(As boss's boss is talking to me in his office, door closed) Oh, crap. He's going to tell me I'm being laid off, isn't he?

(As he drops the bomb) Aw, hell. I was right.

Not again.

This sucks.

I'm so calm. It's going to hit me later, isn't it?

At least they gave me 2 weeks' notice, instead of escorting me out the door.

And at least they told me in person, instead of via e-mail while I was on maternity leave, like my last two layoffs.

(As I leave the boss's office) I gotta tell my husband.

I text my husband: "Bad news. Call me." 

It's been half an hour. Where is he? I want to tell him first, but I can't keep waiting. 

I go online and vent to some working-mom girlfriends, who sympathize and chat. 

Deep breaths. It will be OK. I've done this before. I can do it again. I'll find another job.

I finally talk to my husband. I shed my first and only tears as I tell him the news, because he cares, and he is kind to me, and that makes me fall apart.

I wrap up my phone call and visit the restroom to make sure my face has minimal evidence of tears. 

Two hours until time to go. I should work on this project. But somehow I can't bring myself to give a damn. 

Ugh. Soon I'll have to deal with the unemployment office again.

That's if I can even file for unemployment. I've been a "temp" here for the past 15 months. Oh, God. If I'm not eligible, we are screwed.

Riding home, I look out the window and see a homeless person camped out in a sleeping bag under a bush.  I need to suck it up. Things could be so much worse.


(Later, after the kids are in bed) Why is this so hard? I have skills. I'm a good, productive employee. I'm just trying to feed my kids and pay my bills and actually save a few bucks once in a while. 

Tomorrow morning I'm going to have that moment. That moment where I wake up, and I'm in that semiconscious state, blissfully ignorant of the real world, and suddenly the memory of what happened comes crashing back like an evil boomerang.

I need to stop thinking about this. I'm getting morose.

F that, today sucked. I'll damn well let myself be morose for a few more minutes before I move on!

Thank God I refinanced the mortgage this spring.

Friday, Sept. 27

At 3 A.M., my brain wakes me up to mentally compose a letter I'll never send to my soon-to-be-ex-boss.

This whole thing has been unexpected and upsetting. But I just realized what burns me the most: Being treated like I'm disposable. F THAT. F this economy, and F the companies that laid me off. I am worth more than that. 


That afternoon, I attend my grandfather's memorial service. I listen to my dad tell the story of how Grandpa was walking home one day during the Depression.

He was a teenager, and he'd just spent $14 of his family's scarce money on groceries. Someone jumped him, wanting to steal the food. Grandpa beat the crap out of the guy and brought the food home to his family.

THAT is where I come from. THAT is what I am made of. I can do this. It's going to be OK.

Are Copy Editors an Endangered Species?

The other day, I ran into a co-worker on the bus ride to work. He is a copy editor. So am I. Well, actually my title is Web Content Strategist, but I copy edit anyway, because proofreaders are born, not made.

He and I had the following exchange:

Me: So, you're a copy editor, I'm a copy editor. Do you think we'll be extinct soon?

Him: I hope not.

Me: I mean, because, have you seen the internet lately?

Him: Yup.

Me: Exactly.

You don't have to be on the internet much to notice rampant crimes against grammar, punctuation, clarity, and sense. It's not surprising. That's what happens when:

1. everybody self-publishes, and 
2. smart phone keypads make it difficult to access punctuation marks, and
3. people have such busy lives that "little things" like grammar are the first to go.

Of course, to a copy editor, grammar is not a "little thing." It is the shining, golden key to clear and excellent communication. Unfortunately, this seems to be a minority viewpoint nowadays.

Jobs That Evolve

Salary.com recently published a neat slideshow called 12 Jobs on the Brink: Will They Evolve or Go Extinct? Check it out: 

Copy Editor was not one of the "12 Jobs on the Brink" in that slideshow. But it could have been. I'd classify it as "Endangered."

Image credit: pbs.org

I've worked in publishing since 1999. In these 14 years, I've seen copy editors laid off. I've seen the copy editing function outsourced, freelanced, and just plain omitted. I've seen the hourly rate paid to proofreaders remain flat and even decline.

It's hard to show a clear return on investment for copy editing—that is, until an egregious error damages your reputation. But if everything you publish is online, you can fix an error in seconds—no more Dewey Defeats Truman.

Here's My Prediction

I predict that copy editors will become a luxury, affordable only to publishers with deep pockets.

And I believe certain industries will always employ copy editors because the stakes are high:

• Lawyers. In legal documents, a single misplaced comma can change the meaning of a sentence enough to prompt a lawsuit.
• PR and design firms. Their job is to make you look good, so one error could cost them their business.

Because it will become difficult to find a full-time job as a copy editor, editors will have to start learning backup skills. That's already the case for many editors, who branch out into project management, user experience design, javascript coding, and other areas.

Looks like it's time for me to work on those backup skills. Or maybe it's time to leave it all behind and write that novel instead. So far, people still seem willing to pay for those.

This Is What Chronic Sleep Deprivation Looks Like

Once upon a time, I was young and single and had no kids. I had nothing better to do than look after my own health and well-being. I regularly slept 8 or more hours a night.

Those days are a fond but fading memory. Like many modern people, I burn the candle at both ends trying to get everything done and still have some semblance of a life.

I'm one of a vast legion of folks who, voluntarily or not, are getting far too little sleep. But research shows we might be causing ourselves problems beyond just bags under our eyes.

A Typical Day

4:30 A.M.: My 17-month-old child wakes up for the day and cries for me. (No, I don't know why she is such an early bird. I've tried everything.) I wake abruptly, startled out of my dreams. My heart immediately stars pounding with fight-or-flight adrenaline.

I stumble to her crib, pick her up, whisper gently about how 4:30 is too early to get up, put her back down, cover her with her blanket, and walk out. This never works.

5:00 A.M.: Kid cries again. I get up with her. Sometimes I read her a book. Other times I keep the lights off and cuddle her on my lap while I stare blearily out the window at the pitch-black sky.

5:00-7:45 A.M.: Get both children dressed, fed, and ready for school and daycare. Get myself ready for work. Act perky and patient for the kids' benefit. Drink coffee. Place eye drops in my perpetually red and tired eyes.

I dare you to look at these and not yawn.
(Image credit: scienceinseconds.com)

8:15–4:15: Work. More coffee. Smile and act like I have my sh** together. Try not to let my exhaustion cause any embarrassing incidents, such as nodding off during an afternoon meeting or forgetting some important instruction from my boss.

5:15 P.M.: Home from work. Get children fed, bathed, and put to bed.

8:00 P.M.: Dishes, laundry, cleaning, tidying, bill paying. Make an effort to spend a bit of time with my equally exhausted husband. Sometimes I write a blog post, read a book, call a friend, or watch a TV show off the DVR. Other times I'm too wiped out to do anything except play Candy Crush or read Facebook statuses that I don't remember the next day.

10:30-ish P.M.: Collapse into bed and sleep like the dead... for 6 hours max, because that's when the baby will be up again.

Weekend: Try to make up some sleep by napping when the baby naps. This effort is complicated by the 4-year-old who no longer naps.

What Are We Doing to Ourselves? And Is It Worth It?

Long-term sleep deprivation or "short sleep" is associated with poor memory, heart disease, cancer, auto accidents, obesity, and type II diabetes. Take a gander at the scientific literature:

• Sleep: A Health Imperative. An overview of the health effects of sleep deprivation, from the American Academy of Sleep Medicine and the Sleep Research Society.
• The sleep-time cost of parenting. A study of employed adults that concludes: "Parenting minor children is associated with shorter sleep duration." (Thanks, Einstein, I could have told you that. Where's my million-dollar research grant?)
• Sleep deprivation and neurobehavioral dynamics."Chronic sleep restriction likely induces long-term neuromodulatory changes in brain physiology." In other words, we may be permanently altering our brains. Scary stuff.

I can tell you what effect chronic "short sleep" has on me:

• My memory is complete crap, to the point that it's embarrassing. I forget events, news, bank transactions, phone calls, people's names, things they told me.
• I fantasize about sleep like a starving person fantasizes about a huge, delicious meal.
• With no reserves to draw upon, I lack patience and I'm quick to jump to negative conclusions.
• My blood pressure, at 120/80, is higher than it's ever been (it used to average 100/60). 
• My right eyelid twitches. A lot.
• My alertness is OK, because I run on adrenaline and caffeine constantly.

Yet somehow I do a decent job at work, and as a parent. I have no idea how.

I just think I'm tired. This dude is REALLY tired.
(Image credit: imdb.com)

By the way, if you want a great movie about a guy whose insomnia has reached frightening levels, don't watch "Insomnia" (2002) with Al Pacino. Watch "The Machinist" (2004) with Christian Bale, who gives one of the eeriest, most haunting performances I've ever seen.

What I Fear... and What I Hope

Have you ever had a stressful time in your life where you had to GO, GO, GO for a while, and you slept little? And finally it was over, and you slept a ton, and then you got sick? That happened to me during college finals. I would run on adrenaline for days or weeks, then collapse when the semester ended. Most of the time, I'd immediately come down with a cold or other virus.

It was like my body went into super-overdrive. It poured every ounce of energy into keeping me going while I finished my papers and exams. Afterward, my body was drained—literally. Drained of the ingredients it needs for everyday body functions, like the immune system.

I haven't slept 7-8 hours a night regularly since 2008, when my first child was born. I fear a large-scale version of the cold I used to get after finals. I fear the nature of the beast that lurks, lying in wait for me.

And yet, others have it much worse than I do. Insomniacs. People with sleep disorders. People with chronic pain. Parents of colicky twin babies.

We survive because the human body has an amazing capability to adapt when huge demands are placed upon it. If you'd asked me 10 years ago whether I could sleep just 5-6 hours a night for a year and still function, I'd have said no freaking way. And yet that's pretty much what I did after each of my kids was born. And here I am, still sane (I think), to tell the tale.

Ahhhh.

It's a testament to our strength. And it amazes me. And it reminds me that I have to respect this wonderful biological machine. Since I can't change my wakeup time (for now at least), I have to turn off the computer and force myself to go to bed at 8:30 some nights. It's worth it.

In the meantime, I raise my cup of coffee to you, my fellow short-sleeping zombies. We'll make it through. And if we don't, then it's like they say—we'll sleep when we're dead.

Spam? I Don't Know Whether to Be Annoyed or Flattered

Image credit: almostsavvy.com

Apparently, Edit This Blog, which is a week shy of 3 years old, finally got enough web traffic to attract spammers.

In the past week or two, I've had 3 spam comments, which of course I deleted. They typically include some generic "nice blog post" remark followed by a link back to their own site (I assume so, anyway; I'm not about to give them the satisfaction of clicking on it).

As annoying as spam is, I find it hilarious that my humble little blog is actually getting spammed.

PSA, spammers: I think my readership may be, like, 25 people. Run along now and spam some blog that's actually a big deal. You're welcome!

Why Adam Weinstein's Rage Gives Me Hope

By now you've probably seen this Huffington Post article, seeing as how it's been "liked" on Facebook nearly a million times:

Why Generation Y Yuppies Are Unhappy

Basically the article says Generation Y is unhappy because they were raised to feel that they were "special" and entitled to an awesome life, and that attitude recently collided with the Great Recession. Here's a quote that sums it all up:

Paul Harvey, a University of New Hampshire professor... finds that Gen Y has "unrealistic expectations and a strong resistance toward accepting negative feedback," and "an inflated view of oneself." He says that "a great source of frustration for people with a strong sense of entitlement is unmet expectations. They often feel entitled to a level of respect and rewards that aren't in line with their actual ability and effort levels."

You may also have seen this rebuttal by Adam Weinstein:

Fuck You. I'm Gen Y, and I Don't Feel Special or Entitled, Just Poor.

Gen Y Is Not the Problem, And Not the Point

I think the Huff Post article makes a good point. Thwarted expectations are the root cause of much of the anger, sadness, and disappointment in human existence.

But it overgeneralizes. I mean, come on, as if everybody born between the late 70s and the mid 90s is EXACTLY THE SAME.

And even if they did have unrealistic expectations at first, Gen Y has been in the workforce for quite a while now. Unpaid "internships," ridiculous corporate demands for productivity, and stagnant wages drove away the rainbows and unicorns very quickly.

You can feel that cynicism in Weinstein's rebuttal:

“Stop feeling special” is some shitty advice. I don’t feel special or entitled, just poor. ... I’ve tempered the hell out of my expectations of work... And I’m still poor and in debt... Last weekend my baby had a fever, and we contemplated taking him to the ER, and my first thought was - had to be - “Oh God, that could wipe out our bank account! Maybe he can just ride it out?” 

One commenter blasted Weinstein, accusing him of being part of "A generation that grew up with soccer games that weren't scored because we wanted everyone to feel like a winner. A generation that went to school with sliding scale grades that allowed everyone to pass every class."

Weinstein responded with rage:

I never got a trophy for participation in my life. I'm a state college grad, too. I've taught judgy head-up-rectum holier-than-thous like you. ... You want to talk to me about my entitlement? Name a streetcorner, dipshit. Better bring a friend if you have one.

I've seen plenty of debate on the topics of Generation Y and entitlement. And I've seen plenty of employees hanging on in quiet desperation through this recession.

But rarely have I seen such anger and fighting words.

I am happy to see that rage.

I'm happy because the bullshit has gone on long enough. Middle-class wages have been stagnant in America for a long time. Executives make hundreds of times what workers earn. The minimum wage is a joke. Costs for key necessities—education, health care, gasoline—have skyrocketed over the past two decades.

I have felt that pinch personally. I've worked for the past 15 months in a "temp" job with no benefits and lower pay than I was earning 3 years ago. I've been laid off twice over the past 5 years, and I cobbled together a string of contract gigs to pay the bills. During those in-between periods of unemployment, the bills piled up. Raising a family is expensive, and unstable employment is an incredible source of stress.

ALL generations are suffering in this recession. Not just Gen Y.

I can see why Weinstein and others are pissed off. They're having as much trouble as everybody else making ends meet in a depressed economy (arguably MORE trouble, since they have more student loan debt than any generation before them). Then articles like the Huff Post article add insult to injury by telling Gen Y that their misery is THEIR OWN FAULT because they didn't work hard enough and had "unrealistic expectations."

I think it's a perfectly realistic expectation to be able to feed your family and pay your rent on a full-time job. I'm glad Adam Weinstein and others in Gen Y share that expectation. And I'm glad they're mad about it:

You are welcome to work your wage slave job with more hours for less pay, but I'm sick of it and refuse to accept it. –Eshln242 

The solution to the country being fucked up is not "climb over your fellow man and grab that brass ring." It is "make the country less fucked up." And the first step to that is people standing up and saying that there is a problem. –IMissTheOldInternet 

Class warfare? Sure, I'm down... I had a conversation with a guy at the bar who was making $4 million a YEAR, and I asked him to explain to me why he should get a tax break. ... Minus all of his expenses, he nets $1.5M a year, and couldn't defend against kicking in $250k more and still net $1.25M. That, right there, I think is the problem ... the inability to come up with a rational answer to why rich people can't give a little more and still have pantsload of money and not say the equivalent of "Because!" or "I worked hard for this money". Guess what, people work just as hard as you, cupcake, and don't get paid back. –hyattch

I used to think Americans were too lazy to take to the streets about anything. Maybe Gen Y will change that. Write their own version of events. If being called "special snowflakes" fuels that fire, then maybe that Huff Post article wasn't just a bunch of tired overgeneralizations after all.

7 Thoughts About Turning 37

The author. I promise that's
not a roll of toilet paper on
the left.

I turned 37 last week. While birthdays are not a huge deal to me anymore, this one made me more reflective than others. It's kind of in the middle, you know? I'm not a spring chicken anymore, but I'm far from decrepit. It's a nice place to be, really. But it did produce a few reflections.

1. There are lines on my face now. But only when I smile. Or when the sunlight is really bright. Or when fluorescent lights are on. Oh, who am I kidding.
   
   In my 20s, I used to identify with song lyrics like:
   
        "I'm standing on the rooftop, shout it out!
        Baby, I'm ready to go!" –Republica
   
        "Hot child in the city!" –Nick Glider
   
   Nowadays I identify with song lyrics like:
   
        "The morning sun, when it's in your face,
        really shows your age." –Rod Stewart
   
        "Every time I look in the mirror, all these
        lines in my face getting clearer..." –Aerosmith
   
   
2.  

   

   The weekend ponytail. I don't care
   how gray I get, I am keeping it long
   enough for a pony, even if I look like
   Marilla from "Anne of Green Gables."

   Apparently I'm still young enough to get away with acting ditzy to get favors. In a store today, I approached a tall, handsome man standing next to a shelf, smiled up at him, and said, "Could you do me a huge favor? Would you grab one of those applesauce jars for me? I can't reach that high." He smiled back and handed me the jar.
   
   At least I think I'm still young enough. It could be that he was humoring me. Or maybe he thought I might be a cougar on the prowl. Or he was shocked by my weekend "fashion sense"—no makeup, baseball hat over my unshampooed ponytail, grubby jeans—and figured he'd get rid of me as quickly as possible before I asked him for directions back to "the home."
   
   
3. When buying alcohol, I still get carded every once in a blue moon. But I just laugh and hand them my driver's license and keep laughing while they check it, because yeah right.
   
   
4. I have a few gray hairs now. Well, not right this second. Because I pulled them all out. Just a few have made their appearance so far, and I'm still in that delusional phase where I pluck them. But it's only a matter of time before they return with vengeful armies of their peers, bent on total conquest of my scalp.
   
   The gray hairs first appeared sometime in my mid-30s. I can't remember my exact age, but it was shortly after I had kids. That's what's known as NOT a coincidence.
   
   
5.  

   

   Image credit: wesly.org

   I'm a prime number now, baby! This fills my inner math geek with delight.
   
   
6. It's absolutely true what they say about your 30s. They are better than your 20s, because you still look pretty good but you're tons more confident. Translation: you look pretty good with the right makeup and ambient lighting, but it doesn't matter because you don't really give a crap what people think anyway.
   
   
7. My dad visited this weekend. He said, "Thirty-seven. Boy, that sounds young." And that gave me pause. Because it's all relative. When I was a kid, 37 sounded ancient. To my dad, now in his 60s, it sounds like youth.
   
   I like this middle place. I can see back, and I can look forward. I like where I've been, and I like where I'm at now. I'd say I'm looking forward to my future, but I don't want to jinx myself. Uh-oh... is a superstitious nature a sign of aging? Ciao, ya'll... I need to go apply my anti-wrinkle cream.

Why I Love the Movie "Brave"

Image credit: pixar.wikia.com

My 4-year-old daughter, Maggie, loves the movie Brave. And when I say "loves," I mean "is borderline obsessed with." We've watched it so many times, I could probably recite the script from memory.

While watching the film, Maggie rides her toy horse and pretends to shoot arrows from a "bow" made from two pens. She acts out the rock-climbing scene by scaling our couch and perching precariously on its arm, her own arms stretched triumphantly toward the ceiling as she shouts "Woo-hoooooo!" just like the movie's main character.

I thought the movie was a little silly at first (it is a kids' movie, after all, and I'm old and cranky and cynical). But it has grown on me.

Here's what I love.

1. Merida's insanely curly hair. It's the classic symbol of the free-spirited woman who will not be tamed (except by her own choice, of course). Merida follows in the footsteps of Carrie Bradshaw, Hermione Grainger, Claire Randall from Outlander, Skeeter from The Help, and many others.

Merida is the first Disney princess to rock unruly curls. As a naturally curly girl myself, I love that. You'd think that distinction might have belonged to Tiana, Disney's only African-American princess, but Tiana's curls were always pulled back. And the half-hearted waves on  Esmeralda and Belle are not "curls" by any stretch.

Check out this great piece from Pixar's blog. Who knew it's even harder to manage curly hair in pixels than in real life?

Merida has more than 1500 individually sculpted, curly red strands that generate about 111,700 total hairs. Brenda Chapman insisted upon Merida having such curly hair, which was very difficult to create. Claudia Chung, the simulation superviser, said, "We've never seen anything like Merida's curly hair. Technically, that was incredibly hard to achieve." ... The results were so pleasing that they used the program to create all the other hair in the film, from Angus's fur to the triplet's hairstyles. It took three years and left them only six months to finish the rest of their work on the film. 

2. The 10th-century Scotland setting. Watching this movie has opened up all kinds of conversations with my daughter about history, social customs, and language. My 4-year-old can now explain phrases like "will-o-the-wisp" and "stuff her gob."

Maggie is too young for some of the conversations we could have. As she gets older, I hope we can talk about why it was considered important for Merida to get married in that time and place. And why Merida's mom insisted on teaching her geography, music, and public speaking, even though those lessons bored Merida at the time. And which of Merida's actions were truly brave. And what both Merida and her mother learned from their adventures, and from their mistakes.

3. Merida's independent spirit. She's bold, energetic, outspoken, tomboyish, and thrill-seeking. For me, her spiritedness makes her a thousand times easier to relate to than any other Disney princess.

Merida comes right out and declares that she's not ready to get married because she wants her freedom. "I don't want my life to be over," she says. It's hard to explain just how refreshing that is. It makes her pretty unique not only among Disney heroines, but among female movie characters, period.

She's one of the only Disney protagonists who doesn't have a love interest (Sulley from Monsters, Inc. and Remy from Ratatouille being the others). Sure, by the end she's more open to the idea of marriage, and she flirts with boys from the other clans. But it was her choice, and it was not the focus of the movie. What a nice change from the standard love story.

4. The bits of dark humor. Like when Merida's mom is saying, "A princess should be compassionate!", and right behind her, a cook lops off a chicken's head. Thanks, Pixar and Disney, for throwing in little winks for the parents' benefit. It makes it a lot easier to sit through the movie for the 147th time.

The Mystery of the Morning Moan

Nickname: "Trouble"

So, yesterday morning, as usual, I was in the shower. Outside the shower, as usual, my 16-month-old daughter was playing with toys on the bath mat.

I keep her in there with me while I shower because, while the house is pretty much baby-proofed, she's a toddler and she does dumb stuff. I don't want to stroll out in my bathrobe and find her chewing on a shoe.

What Is That Sound? 

As I was soaping my hair, suddenly I heard a noise. A low-pitched moaning sound, like someone who was in pain. Oooo. Oooooooo. It was coming from my daughter. I'd never heard a baby make a noise like that before. I'd seldom heard a human being make a noise like that before.

Alarmed, I poked my head out from behind the shower curtain. Is that really her? Is she hurt? If so, why is she moaning and not crying?

There was my angelic little kid, looking back at me.

And holding up a stuffed cow.

"Moooooooooooo," she said. "MOOOOOOOOOOO."

Well, then.

You know what rhymes with moo?  

Whew.

Girl Scout Cookie Bars and the Walgreens Win

Image credit: Kelley U. on Yelp.com

If you have yet to experience the delight that is Girl Scout Cookie candy bars, stop reading now and hightail it to your nearest Walgreens.

In the opinion of my sweet tooth, they are the greatest candy bars ever. The Thin Mint variety tastes exactly like a Thin Mint Girl Scout cookie. The Caramel & Coconut is a close second. And to my husband, the Peanut Butter Creme is manna from heaven.

But that's not the big win. I'll get to that.

"Limited Edition"—Yeah, Right

These little nuggets of awesome say "Limited Edition" all over the wrapper. Even though I know this is a marketing ploy to sell more candy bars, I don't care. My give-a-damn takes a nap when my taste buds are this satisfied.

Except they are sort of "limited edition." Not all Walgreens stores carry them. And they're often sold out. And they appear to be sold only during the summertime. So, when I do see them, I tend to buy several.

Last weekend, I hadn't eaten one since a month or two ago. I think you can see where this is going.

Saturday Night's Triple Win

Saturday night, my husband and I went to a house party at a friend's. On the way home, we got the munchies and decided we'd stop and grab dessert. We knew there was a bakery on our walk home from the train. Alas, it was closed.

Image credit: www.nemosbakery.com

So we ended up at Walgreens. We figured we could find something there to satisfy our cravings, even if it was one of those mass-produced, plastic-wrapped Nemo's Carrot Cake squares that I have no business loving, but do.

I made a beeline for the candy aisle. Rows of Hershey, Nestle, and Cadbury goodies stared back at me, but none of my beloved Girl Scout Cookie bars.

Oh well. I grabbed a deLish Caramel Kingdom chocolate bar, my husband settled for some Oreos, and we headed for the checkout.

Our cashier was a man we've seen a few times before, this being our friendly neighborhood Walgreens. As we dropped our treats on the counter, I couldn't resist asking him: "Do you guys have any of those Girl Scout Cookie candy bars?"

Nirvana.

The cashier pointed behind me at a checkout display. Jackpot! Not only did they have the bars, they had entire boxes of them! My husband and I may have actually cheered (several glasses of wine may have been consumed that evening). We grabbed a couple of boxes each, figuring we could freeze the extras and eat them all winter long.

The cashier's eyes twinkled as he rang us up.

As he handed me my receipt, he pointed to it.

"There's a phone number on here," he said, "for Cookie Intervention."

We were halfway home before we stopped laughing.

What a triple win—a date night, hard-to-find sweet treats, and unexpected humor.

In closing, I leave you with some wise words from the Dr. Demento show:


This week I'm connecting with the great folks at YeahWrite. Check 'em out!

A PSA From Parents to Non-Parents

If you do not live with the pain in the ass blessing of having your own small children, I’ll bet you may have an idea or two about people who do have young kids.

Maybe your ideas go something like this:

• It’s unfair how parents get preferential treatment at work. They get to leave early to pick their kid up from daycare while I am left holding the bag. 
• I see parents in public whose kids are misbehaving and the parents are standing there doing NOTHING about it. WTF? What crappy parents they must be. 
• Parents are such clichés, always sharing a zillion photos of their rug rats, always talking about the kids nonstop.
• When little kids misbehave, it’s the parents’ fault. 
• Why do parents complain so much about being parents? It’s THEIR CHOICE. They should suck it up and STFU. 
• Parents of young kids are so rude, taking up entire sidewalks and store aisles with their strollers, making so much noise, not giving a damn about anyone but their kids and their kids’ needs. Therefore it’s okay to be rude back to them. 

I know you’re thinking those things. I know because I used to be you. For many years I would get crabby at the sight of small children in public. No matter how angelic their little faces looked, I would step around them warily, as if they were a bomb about to explode into an ear-splitting, food-throwing tantrum. 

Then I had a couple of kids myself. Did this make me love small children in public? No. Loving your own kids is way different from loving ALL kids. And heck, it’s even hard to love your own kids when they’re throwing the tantrum from hell.

Let's Spread Some Understanding



But having kids did give me two things that I never had before (at least, not in relation to kids or parents):

1. Understanding 
2. Tolerance 

Aren’t those two things the key to peace between people? I believe they are. And I’d like to see more peace, love, and understanding between parents and non-parents.

In that spirit, let’s start by straightening out a few facts, shall we? Let’s have a look at the ideas I mentioned above.

1. It’s unfair how parents get preferential treatment at work. They get to leave early to pick their kid up from daycare while I am left holding the bag.

Image credit: Profitguide.com

I urge you to consider the truly unfair element in this situation: Companies that make their employees work such long hours that leaving to make a 6 p.m. daycare pickup seems “early.”

ALL employees have lives outside work—parents or not. ALL employees deserve to leave work at a reasonable hour. Employees who are burned out do not become more productive. They lose morale and look for other jobs. In my opinion, companies are unwise to ask any employee to work late, either routinely or at the last minute.

Also, daycares don’t stay open all night. It’s not practical to expect every parent to have somebody else available to pick their kid up when duty calls at work. It’s also impractical to expect people to stop having kids, or for kids to stop having needs, just because it’s not fair to the parents’ co-workers.

Finally, LIFE is not fair. It’s not fair that folks with no kids have infinite freedom while parents have none. It was our choice to have kids, and it was your choice not to. All choices come with results.

2. I see parents in public whose kids are misbehaving and the parents are standing there doing NOTHING about it. WTF? What crappy parents they must be. 

Sometimes the right approach to a child’s bratty behavior or tantrum is to ignore it.

I believe that if such behavior occurs in a store, restaurant, or another public place where a reasonable level of peace and quiet is expected, the parent should take the child outside until they are calm again. But if it occurs on the sidewalk, or on a plane? There’s no “outside” to bring them to.

Unless parents are banned from all public places, there’s always going to be some noise from kids, some of the time. Insert "high school students" into that sentence in place of "parents"—still true. Some people are just noisy.

3. Parents are such clichés, always sharing a zillion photos of their rug rats, always talking about the kids nonstop.

Image credit: thegloss.com

Have you ever had a project or hobby that was a labor of love for you? Maybe you’re really into your dog—you got him as a puppy and trained him yourself. Maybe you’re into building furniture by hand. Or blogging. Or fishing.

Whatever it is, you put a lot of time, blood, sweat, and tears into it. Naturally, you’re proud of the results, so you share them.

That’s what children are. A labor of love. Because believe me, we parents wouldn’t put up with so much crap from them if we didn’t love them.

4. When kids misbehave, it’s the parents’ fault. 

Image credit: goodenoughmother.com

Have you ever tried to control another person’s behavior? Tried to make them behave the way you want them to behave, down to their every move?

It’s impossible. No human being can control another human being like a marionette.

Of course parents must teach kids how to behave like civilized human beings. But do you think that learning takes place instantly? I assure you, it does not. Perhaps you’re familiar with the phrase, “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times!” – Said every parent ever, to every child ever.

So when you’re witnessing a child’s uncivilized behavior in public, know that you’re witnessing a work in progress. It may annoy you, but it can’t be helped, unless the day comes when children can be programmed like robots with the touch of a button.

5. Why do parents complain so much about being parents? It’s THEIR CHOICE. They should suck it up and STFU. 

Image credit: Neosmack.com

I think the more appropriate question here is, “Why do PEOPLE complain so much”? Even people with easy lives find things to complain about. Rich people complain about the contractors who remodeled their mansions. People surrounded by books, iPads, and cable TV complain about being bored.

Some things are worth complaining about. Like true hardship.

Let’s say your friend goes skiing, and she breaks her leg, and you ask how she’s doing, and she tells you, “I’m not gonna lie, it hurts like a bitch.” Do you say, “Quit complaining! It was YOUR CHOICE to be a skier”? I would hope you don’t.

Let’s say you get to work, and you’re in the kitchen getting coffee, and you ask a co-worker how he’s doing. He says, “I’ve had better mornings. There was an accident on the highway and my commute took 3 hours in bumper-to-bumper traffic. That totally sucked.” Do you say, “Oh, shut up. It was YOUR CHOICE to live in the suburbs”? I should think not.

I expect you to extend the same courtesy to parents who complain about extreme sleep deprivation and violations of basic human dignity, like being pooped on and barfed on by another person.

6. Parents of young kids are so rude, taking up entire sidewalks and store aisles with their strollers, making so much noise, not giving a damn about anyone but their kids and their kids’ needs. Therefore it’s okay to be rude back to them. 

Image credit: themetapicture.com

Parents are not doing those things to be rude. In fact, most of us regret the inconvenience our kids sometimes cause total strangers.

Strollers are necessary because they keep toddlers contained so they don’t trip other people or knock down store displays.

Kids make noise because that’s just what kids do. Think of the child like a barking dog. You do what you can, but ultimately—Dogs bark. Small children cry. Them’s the facts.

Eventually kids can be taught decorum and subtlety. But that learning does not occur instantly, and certainly not while they’re between 0 and 2 years old.

Parents are hyper-focused on their kids’ needs because kids are freaking needy, especially when they’re small. Babies can’t do anything for themselves, so somebody’s gotta do it.

The Bottom Line

Image credit: dogguide.net

None of us are obligated to like children, or their parents. But we are obligated to be polite and civilized to one another.

So when you get the urge to act uncharitably toward a parent, I urge you to do the following. Imagine your own mom, back in the day, walking down the sidewalk with Baby You in a stroller. That thing you were about to do, would you want someone to do that to YOUR mother? If not, then please refrain, and know that you are doing your part for peace between parents and non-parents.

I Am a WYSIWYG Person—Are You?

The acronym WYSIWYG—pronounced "whizzy wig"—comes from computing.

WYSIWYG = What You See Is What You Get

Not my license plate. But wouldn't it be cool?

It refers to text on a computer that looks exactly the same while you're editing it as it will look after you publish it. Geek out here if you want to know more.

I think it’s high time the term WYSIWYG was brought into the mainstream. Why? Because it’s so useful to describe things other than text on a screen. For one thing—people!

Like Me, For Instance

I am a WYSIWYG person. With me, what you see is what you get.

Somebody asked me my age today. And I told him. I can’t be bothered with the conventional wisdom that a woman must never reveal her age. Who cares? If he wants to know, I’ll tell him.

WYSIWYG and proud

I have a hard time being fake in any way. I would make a terrible salesperson, and a rotten actor. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. I don’t flatter people unless it’s sincere. I have a hard time lying, even in situations where I know I should lie.

Being this way got a lot easier as I got older and stopped giving a rat’s fanny about what other people think. I look forward to being that old lady who has absolutely no filter. I’ll be able to get away with anything! It will be awesome.

Are You WYSIWYG Too? Let’s Be Friends

I can spot other WYSIWYG people a mile away. Within minutes of meeting you, I know whether you’re a kindred spirit.

If you are, then I’ll admire you for your lack of bullshit. And I need friends like you, because I have a deep need to be able to take people at face value. I will be emailing or texting you to try to make you my friend, because I have no tolerance for “don’t call right away, give it a few days” and other such games. (Dating sucked. I’m so happy I married my WYSIWYG husband.)

The WYSIWYG Personality

Image credit: Allthingsd.com

A lot of folks in my family have very literal minds. My brother, even at the ripe old age of 30-something, often thinks you’re being serious when you’re clearly (to most people) joking. I don’t think he could lie if he tried.

This makes us great at jobs that require literal thinking. Science, technology, programming, foreign languages, even writing and proofreading.

This is either the coolest, or the creepiest, ad of all time.
Image credit: Coloribus.com

But the creative arts are another thing. I find blogging fun. Nonfiction is easy. But fiction takes me out of my comfort zone. I can write it, but I have to get my head out of the mundane and take it to a different plane.

It’s my dream to write a novel. I may accomplish that one day. But until then—what you see is what you get!

I Read My First Book on an E-Reader!

Yes, I really do have only one book downloaded. For now!

After blogging two and a half years ago about how I thought I'd never give up paper books, I have caved.

Last month I read my first book 100% on an electronic device.

The device: Kindle app for Microsoft Surface

The book: The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

The motivation: I needed to read it for book club, and I didn't have time to wait for Amazon to ship it, nor to visit a real bookstore (my beloved After Words bookstore, which is located just 3 blocks from work, didn't have a copy).

The verdict: Reading on an e-reader was a fine experience. Being able to create a bookmark with the touch of a button is nice. The screen's glare is not bothersome. And it's kind of cool that it tells you what percent you've finished. But there was a night or two when I'd forgotten to charge the darn thing and so I couldn't read my book. That's one advantage paper books will always have.

It's nice to be here in the 21st century. I think I'll visit again.

Even My Dad Is Here

My dad is arguably one of the most stubborn non-embracers of modern technology. I love the man. But gadgets are not his thing. He's got a more artistic bent.

He does know how to use a computer. That was required for work. But he didn't get a cell phone until well into the 2000s. And when he finally got one, it was a gift. And while he does carry it with him, he may or may not answer it when it rings. When he first got it, he'd take it on a trip, but forget to bring his charger. It took him a while to figure out how to set up voicemail. You get the idea.

Well, yesterday Dad sent me a text message. An honest-to-goodness text message! I was so proud.

The Book Is Fun, By the Way

I think I need to see the movie. It will be nice to see
Emma Watson in a non-Hermione role.

I enjoyed The Perks of Being a Wallflower. With a title like that, I figured the main character would be female. Not so. He's a boy, Charlie, a 15-year-old high school freshman.

If you're my age, you'll probably get a kick out of this book for the nostalgia alone, as the characters discuss Nirvana and college applications and 1990s teen angst. Charlie turns 16 in 1992—so did I. He goes to the Rocky Horror Picture Show a lot—so did I. He is a good student and loves to read—me too. This made him feel like a buddy to me, and it made his oddities, which are many, more sympathetic.

I did have a moment where I realized how many years I've put between myself and the 90s. In the book, Charlie goes to a bunch of house parties where people drink and smoke pot and have sex. My first thought was not: "Cool, sounds like a fun party." It was: "Where are these kids' parents?!?!" Ha!

The Power of a Photo

You all know I love the written word. But sometimes I'm reminded of how words are no match for an exceptional picture that says it all.

(Click the image to view it larger)

Image credit: Jessica Bissonnette Higgins

A friend took this photo. I know very little about the boys in the picture. But when I saw it, it set off my imagination instantly...

Is it dawn, or dusk? Probably dusk... unless their dad got them up early to go fishing. Probably they're up past their bedtime and are in total kid heaven. Are they brothers? Cousins? Did the older one teach the younger one how to fish? Both kids look so natural in this setting, like they've been to this lake and stood in that grass and maybe even put a worm onto that hook many times before. I feel transported, like I'm there, in that scene. I can practically hear the crickets chirping, the water lapping. I can feel the warm nighttime summer air, smell the freshwater lake, see lightning bugs glowing, and hear a frog croaking. Maybe their family has a campfire going nearby, and the whole world smells like hot dogs and wood smoke. If I were their mom, I'd be calling them to bed soon, and they'd complain, because they're having too much fun, but then they'd crash and sleep like rocks from being active in the fresh air.  I want to be there. So I can be as peaceful and serene as this photo makes me feel.

Was that a thousand words?

See you later. I have a sudden craving for s'mores.

The People on the Bus Go Yap, Yap, Yap

It never fails.

Some days, when I am exhausted and crabby after a long work day, all I want is a nice, quiet, peaceful commute home before I enter Bedlam (aka the madhouse that is my home from the time that we all get home until the kids go to bed).

On those days, I inevitably board a city bus chock-full of people who:

• Yell into their cell phone as if they are talking to someone who is going deaf
• Crank their iPod volume up to 11, so that everybody on the entire bus can hear the music even though it's coming through earbuds
• Board the bus as a pair, who then sit 8 seats away from one another and holler back and forth to have their conversation
• Board the bus in groups, and loudly reminisce about the party they were at last night, because they are clearly the coolest, most entertaining people in the vicinity and we ALL need to know it
• See nothing wrong with doing any of the above, because it's their God-given right to do as they please and to hell with courtesy, decorum, chivalry, or any other such hopelessly outmoded concept.

But wait! Some of you probably haven't ever been on a city bus during rush hour. Allow me to illustrate. It looks a lot like this:

If you're lucky enough to get a seat, you usually end up getting your feet stepped on, sideswiped by gigantic backpacks, and beaned in the face with dangling purses as people squeeze past. If there are no seats left, well, you're standing, holding on for dear life, with your face in that dude's armpit. Enough said.

This tends to give me Cranky Commuter Face:

I am not amused.

Oh well. I suppose it could be worse:

And thank goodness I can write blog posts (or start drafts, at least) from my phone. Hooray for the creative release of stress! By the time I picked up my youngest and got home, we were back to this:

TGTF. Only two more bus rides until the weekend.

4 Reasons Why You Should Give Yourself Permission to Suck

Image source: ClearStory Data

It's the dark side of perfectionism. You want your creative project to be perfect right away. You have little patience for the process of creating first drafts, second drafts, third drafts. And heaven forbid you share your work with anybody else until it's just right. Share an unfinished draft?! The horror!

Sound familiar? Then you just might be a perfectionist.

It's both a blessing and a curse. Perfectionists strive for kaizen—continuous improvement. They are never bored. They often excel in the workplace.

But being that way can sabotage your creative work. There's no need to let perfect be the enemy of good. Putting that kind of pressure on ourselves just leads us to misery and self-doubt.

Give yourself permission to suck! Here's why:

1. Instant perfection is like a unicorn. It does not exist. Nobody gets it right the first time. All published authors have editors. Actors do second, third, and twentieth takes of their scenes. Chefs tweak herbs and spices and sauces before they put the dish on the menu.
   
   Okay, maybe there's ONE exception. We've all seen those brilliant improv comedians who stand up on stage, and somebody gives them a prompt, and they produce comic genius on the spot. But dude, those people have supernatural powers as far as I'm concerned. They're not the standard by which we mere mortals should be judged.
   
   And even those guys screw up. Take it from comic genius Wayne Brady, who told the Denver Post that Whose Line Is It Anyway? would do about three hours of taping to get a 30-minute show.
   
2. Feedback is valuable. The benefits of having other people read your drafts can far outweigh the terror and vulnerability you may feel in sharing those drafts. Why? Because you can never truly be inside somebody else's head. The more perspective you have on how your creative work is perceived by others, the better able you are to tweak that work to meet your goals. After all, the ultimate goal is for people to see your work, right? Not for you to keep it in a box.
   
3. People who don't nit-pick get MORE DONE. Take that, Type A personalities. In the time you spent editing your blog post for the fifth time, somebody else wrote two more blog posts. Sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and publish because it's good enough. Fight against "analysis paralysis" and you'll end up with more work to show for it.
   
4. Witnessing someone else's screw-ups and idiosyncrasies can be kind of awesome. Isn't that why we like live performances? We don't go to a concert expecting a regurgitation of the studio album. And I love watching interviews with performers that I've known only through scripted TV or radio. Because they loosen up and show their true colors, and drop F-bombs, and make inappropriate comments, and basically reveal that they're human beings like the rest of us. It's refreshing.

Believe me, I know it's tough. I edited this blog post more times than I care to share. This post may be a final draft, but I'm not! I'm a work in progress, man.

But mistakes and flaws and messiness and imperfection are what make us human. Lovable, even. In blog terms: relatable. And those things can be just as good as perfection. 

Why I Want Tim Gunn to Be My Uncle

My life is hectic and jam-packed. I work full-time and have two kids, not to mention extended family, friends, a blog, and a Candy Crush addiction.

I don’t have time to pause and look for inspiration. But sometimes inspiration finds me. And that’s why I love Tim Gunn.

Why Tim Inspires Me

Like most people, I first saw Tim on Project Runway, where he serves as the charming, avuncular mentor and advisor to the designers who compete on the show.

I liked him immediately. Despite his quirky bow ties and overly elegant manners, there seemed something so relatable and human about the guy. Like he was somebody with a deep capacity for understanding other people, because he’d known pain and hardship himself.

And he has known pain. He grew up in a household so homophobic that he didn’t come out to anyone in his family until he was 29. As a child, he felt isolated and unhappy—teased because of his stutter, lacking close friends. Yet he put all that behind him and made an incredible life for himself.

He’s my idol. He achieved international fame, yet he remains both humble and accessible. He works in an industry that’s hyper-focused on the superficial, yet he cares deeply about being fair, kind, and encouraging to other people, and being the best possible version of himself.

Seriously, Can I Adopt Him? Or Have Him Adopt Me?

How can I not love the man who said:

• “You can be too rich and too thin, but you can never be too well read or too curious about the world.”
• “I believe that treating other people well is a lost art.”
• “I will always be there in the wings saying, 'You need to be good to people. You need to take your work seriously. You need to have integrity. You need to work with what you've got.”
• “Few activities are as delightful as learning new vocabulary.” 

― Gunn's Golden Rules: Life's Little Lessons for Making It Work
― Tim Gunn: A Guide to Quality, Taste & Style

An Angel on My Shoulder

Every so often, I’ll be having a blue moment. My kids will be driving me insane and shaking my faith in my parenting abilities. Or I’ll be heading in to work on 3 hours of sleep because the baby was up half the night.

And then, in my head, Tim Gunn is there. He gives me that look that only he can give: sympathetic and sweet, but businesslike and down-to-earth. And then he says to me, as if I were a Project Runway competitor:

“Jennifer, you have a lot of work to do. But I like what you’ve done so far. Make it work.”

And then I smile. And I make it work. Because if Tim Gunn says so, then it’s going to be OK.

Comments Enabled—Tell Me How You Really Feel!

Well, here's my DUH moment of the day.

I didn't realize I could change my Blogger settings to make it so that anybody can comment on one of my blog posts. Prior to 3 minutes ago, you could only comment on this blog if you logged in. Oops.

Comments are open now. I'm very happy about that. Comments are part of the fun of blogging! I don't want to be up on a soapbox blathering on and nobody can respond without the obstacle of logging in (and maybe registering first), that's no good.

If by some chance you have a blog on this site and you have had the same problem, ask me (in a comment!) and I'll share how to change the setting.

To Share, or Not to Share? My Biggest Blog Dilemma

Image credit: condenaststore.com

I've been blogging for a couple of years now, and I think I'm hooked. Blogging is fun, it's creative, it's often cathartic. And it forces me to write more often, which is great since I am a procrastinator by nature and I need that little nagging voice telling me, "You haven't posted anything in two weeks, girl! Write something already so your blog doesn't stagnate like middle-class wages!"

Many bloggers write emotional exposés, baring their souls naked to the public. I don't mind when other people do that. I like reading them, for the most part (though there's always some that truly over-share, describing ad nauseum every single thing that passes through their head. I'm like, seriously, if I wanted that, I'd just go read Twilight again).

But I have trouble baring my own soul. It's just not my style. Outside of my family and best friends, I'm a fairly private person. I have never craved attention. I'm not necessarily comfortable disclosing intimate details of my life with total strangers. Call it insecurity, call it self-consciousness, whatever, but it's there. There's something about baring my soul publicly that feels insufferably emo to me.

So what's a privacy-loving blogger to do??

Privacy Is Passé, Right?

I suppose I could just throw in the towel and bare it all on a regular basis.

Pros:

• Great payoff requires great risk. Tapping into some deeper stuff may make for better writing. Some of my favorite blogs are the ones whose writers go into great detail about what they think and feel. I think it's cool to get inside somebody else's head and realize either how very different, or how very much the same we are inside. But if I'm going to do that myself, I need to get past some stuff.
• I need to get over myself. I may be too shy and self-conscious for my own good. If something about myself is going to make for an entertaining or relatable blog post, why hold back? Maybe I'm afraid people will laugh at me, middle-school style. But that's the chance you take when you do anything in public, even walk down the street. Dwelling on that possibility is no way to live your life.
• Words are all I've got. Readers are not gonna get to know me through body language or any of that face-to-face stuff, nor through video, cuz I'm super camera shy (see above about insecurities). My blog won't be truly mine unless I can share what's in my head.
• Blogs live forever. When I kick the bucket one day, my blog will be a permanent record of myself for anyone to find if they choose to. I don't think it's egomaniacal of me to think that my kids or grandkids might want to read some of it. If my own grandmother or grandfather had had a blog, would I want to read it? Hell yeah, I would. It would be like reading letters or postcards that they wrote back when they were young. I'd be fascinated.

Cons:

• Over-sharing grates against my nature. For me, writing true emotional exposés on my blog would be akin to flashing my boobs in public. I can share something, but not everything. Privacy is an endangered species—why should I contribute to its demise? I'm horrified enough that I'm caught on camera 800 times a day by the various recording devices in my environment (storefronts, store interiors, the bus, the train, the office building lobby, random tourists with camera phones on Michigan Avenue). It's bad enough that anybody on the internet can look me up and find my address and other details about me (public records). Why would I share even more stuff voluntarily?
• There's no place to hide. Fiction writers may very well be baring their souls in their novels, but they can hide behind their fictional characters and events. Blogs, not so much. If it's your blog, then it's all you, baby, and everybody knows it.  
• Blogs live forever. I often want to write about my kids, but I don't, because I think to myself, "What if they read this one day and say 'MOM, TMI! I did not need to know that you hated my guts and fantasized about shipping me off to a gulag camp when I was a teenager!'" I think this sometimes when I read my favorite "mommy blogs." For instance, I adore Baby Sideburns and she cracks me up like no other. But I wonder what her kids will think when they grow up and read about how she called them assholes all the time. Don't get me wrong, little kids absolutely CAN be assholes. But would you say it to their faces?

From a writing standpoint, sharing "just enough" is a welcome challenge. It's tough to balance "Have I shared enough to make this piece worthwhile?" with "Am I OK with this piece living online forever?"

I'll probably end up somewhere in between baring nothing and baring it all. It's not like I have to go to either extreme. But even taking it up a notch is going to require some effort on my part.

Deep breath... time to take myself out of my comfort zone.