Tag Archives: Musings

Working From Bed: How a sick mom does it

by The Totefish Blog
My Temporary Office

My Temporary Office

The inevitable occurred.  I caught my daughter’s germs and I’ve been laid up in bed for 2 days.   Now, I’m trying to launch a website in 4 weeks so one can imagine how convenient such a forced convalescence is.  But wait.  Turns out, this “problem” isn’t all bad.

The good things about working from bed:

1.)  Those lap desks really work.  No more laptop batteries unnaturally warming my reproductive parts.  I’m a convert.  

2.)  Spontaneous naps.  With pillows propped up around me, it’s easy to nod off for a quick 27 minute refresher.  Seriously, that’s awesome.

3.)  Take-dinners delivered to the door.  Two nights in a row, guilt-free pizza dinners.  It’s like we’re on vacation.

4.)  Instant weight-loss.  I’m too sick to walk to the pantry and grab my hourly “pick-me-up” handful of Oreos.   Who needs will power and sit-ups when a virus can jumpstart your goal to lose those extra 10 pounds brought on by stress and bad eating habits?

5.)  Wearing your pajamas while you craft a Powerpoint Presentation isn’t depressing, demoralizing or ironic (as in “working from home on my start-up feels like make-believe business”).  Instead, it’s empowering.  It shows stamina and commitment.   I’m a Mom with a start-up.  Hear me roar.  Who knew a virus could do what months of therapy couldn’t?

6.)  Taking a shower IS a big accomplishment.  When you’re sick, the little things matter and To Do lists are irrelevant.   I’m damn near becoming a Zen Yogi with this kind of wisdom, no?

7.)  When Mom goes down, the kids rise up.  Payback is a wonderful thing. My kids bring me cold drinks and fresh boxes of tissues, unprompted.   They do their homework on the floor in my bedroom “just so they can be close” in case I need something.  My son insisted on giving me a back-rub (“the way you do, Mom, when I’m sick”) and my daughter gives me “power hugs” to kill off the germs.  Forget Mother’s Day.  Sick Days rock!

Sure, the laundry is piling up, most emails have gone unanswered, I’ve had to reschedule important conference calls, and my kids have gone to bed without their usual array of Mom & kid bedtime antics.   I don’t welcome this virus on anyone but it’s not as bad as I would have thought.  Sickness acts a great reminder of what we take for granted.

Turns out, my water glass on my bedside table is half-full.

Nature Strikes Again: DAMN IT!

by Deborah
Red Ants (aka Fire Ants) Courtesy of Wikipedia

Red Ants (aka Fire Ants)
Courtesy of Wikipedia

“Fire Ants Invade Lady’s Printer In Canyon:  Hysterics Follow”

My anxiety-ridden, dysfunctional relationship with nature continues.   Rats.  Snakes (real & perceived).  A multitude of spiders.  And now, fire ants and their ever-so-disgusting maggot-like eggs.

I’m ready to move to a high-rise building in the city.

“You’re not scared of a few ants?” you ask.

“Oh, you just wait until you hear this story,” I reply, flapping my arms as if to shake any invaders off.  A shiver runs up my spine.

Yesterday, I decided I wanted to use the scanner feature on my All-In-One printer.  I’ve had the printer for 18 months but was always intimidated by its scanning functionality.  Who isn’t, right?  But being that the world has gone digital (and that I want to stay relevant in this constantly-evolving state), I decided it was time to transform all my legal contracts into digital copies. Very tech-forward of me, no?

I opened the lid of the printer and what to my wondering eyes should appear?  A colony of frickin’ fire ants (and their transparent rice-kernel eggs) living underneath the glass of my scanner.  50 of them.  A Queen Ant.  A bunch of busy work ants.  Maggot-like eggs by the dozens.

AAACCCKKKKKK!

Then:

  1. I screamed again
  2. Took a photo of it (yup…)
  3. Ran the printer outside
  4. Let it sit in the driveway until the kids came home
  5. Showed my kids (cause they LOVE gross stuff)
  6. Tossed the whole damn thing in the trash can
photo-203

Canon MX512: Where Technology & Nature Co-Exist

That Canon Company, what will they think of next?  All the while I’ve been printing out my daily To Do lists, a colony of biting ants has been thriving in the machine.   That’s taking “multi-functioning” to a whole new level.  Serious “Thinking-Outside-The-Box” going on at the company.

Fire Ants, in case you didn’t know, rarely make their home in modern pieces of technology.  They usually prefer moist outdoor locations.  But then again, nature and I don’t exactly have a typical relationship.  Clearly, the universe is trying to send me a message.  Humans must learn to cohabitate with nature.  Humans must stop the destruction of animal habitats.

Well, universe.   I have a message back.

Get the F*&#%$K out of my printer.

The Most Beautiful Woman in the World and I are neighbors

by The Totefish Blog
Courtesy of People Magazine

Courtesy of People Magazine

It’s like we’re twins:

  • We live on the same street
  • We both have a son & daughter between the ages of 7 – 9
  • We’re in our early 40s (that’s code for she’s 40 and I’m 41)
  • We both have blogs
  • We like to talk about the food we make for our kids
  • We’re “career moms”

Or not.

  • She just published a second cookbook.  I have 7 drafts of an unpublished manuscript in my living room armoire.
  • She sings on stage in leather pants.  I sing in my bedroom in my underpants.
  • She works out 5 days a week.  I talk about working out at least 3 days a week.
  • Her blog had 49,000 visitors in March.  Mine had 204.
  • She has a successful “Styled Just for Gwyneth” line of products from top designers.  I’m still trying to launch my website.
  • She has endless travel, cooking and lifestyle tips.  I don’t have a personal trainer, a personal assistant or access to a private jet.
  • When she needs a cooking lesson, she brings in a celebrity chef.   When I need a cooking lesson, I call out for pizza.
  • She’s a size a 0, she’s never photographed in the same outfit twice, when she walks around without makeup, it’s called “natural beauty”, she appears to have found the secret to balancing career and family (while working out 5 times a week), her predilection for short shorts (and sheer skirts) might cause a murmur but it’s not because she looks like crap, she does look better now at 40 than she did at 20, she’s achieving on her ambition, and she’s weirdly poised to become the next Martha Stewart, just sexier.   I… Oh, let’s stop pretending.   She might live down the street but other than our appreciation for old sycamore trees, we’re not going to be sharing a bundt cake anytime soon.

Oh, envy is such an unattractive emotion.   Especially, amongst women.   You go, Gwyneth.  I’m sorry for all my snarky thoughts.

How to Juggle Work & Family: MEALS (Theory #12)

by Deborah

photo-198Okay.  This time, I’ve really got it figured out.  My sanity?!  It’s all about the food.

As a working mom,  preparing & serving healthy meals for the family is the most challenging of tasks.  Home-cooked dinners were the first casualty of my return to work.  They show no sign of resuscitation.

Here’s the problem, though.  Even my fat-pants are starting to feel tight.  I think my diet of pasta, pizza and frozen chicken nuggets is to blame.  Sure, they’re nitrate-free but really, I know it’s not healthy for me or the kids.  But how to get those good, made-from-scratch, healthy meals back into our lives?!

Fear not.  I have a plan.

Redundancy.  On a 14-day schedule.

Welcome to the launch of my “Two Week Recipe Rotation Plan.”  I’ve mapped out two work weeks’ worth of recipes (I’m no fool… we’re eating pizza and sushi on weekends).  They are easily prepared in advance (which I’m going to do on Sunday nights) AND can be thrown together the day of in 20 minutes.  I’ve got one shopping list per week (so I don’t have to think about what to buy as I walk the aisles & I’m eradicating the quick grocery run mid-week).   The meals are varied enough to keep everyone’s attention, they’re pre-vetted for healthiness, they’re kid-friendly & adult-worthy, and did I mention they are easy?  I’m going to make the same rotation every two weeks until it drives my family mad.  Then, I’ll find a new set of recipes.

I’m listing them, if you are interested, in the RESOURCES: Parenting section (see the top menu).

Imagine.  No More:

1.)  ”Oh, it’s Sunday night and here I am in the grocery store and I don’t know, what should I buy?  Another bag of tortillas and shredded cheese?  We can have quesadillas one night.  Oh wait.  We had that last night.  How about hotdogs?  Hotdogs are American, right?”

2.)  ”But I thought you liked my chicken stir-fry?  If I served ice cream for dinner twice a week, you’d still love ice cream, no?”

3.)  ”Oh shit.  I thought I had a can of black beans in here.  I always have beans in the pantry.    Sorry kids — We’ll do burrito night tomorrow.  Tonight, how about a stir fry?”

4.)  ”What?!  It’s already 6  pm?  Not again. Let me look in the freezer.”

5.)   “I’m sure there’s something I can make with frozen bagels, a bag of peas, a half-bag of tater tots and some chicken breasts dating back to December, right?  They do this kind of thing on tv all the time.

6.)  ”Let’s just order in some pizzas tonight.  Tomato sauce has tomatoes in it.  Tomatoes are vegetables.  Or are they a fruit?!”

7.)  ”I went to the Farmer’s Market’s on Sunday.  Bu why is the lettuce slimey?  And the zucchini shriveled ?  Is celery supposed to bend like this?  Let’s put the carrots in a bowl of ice water.   You’ll see.  In 2 hours, they’ll be totally firm again.”

8.)  ”YAY, kids.  It’s ‘Bizarro Night’ again.  What’ll it be, kids — Cheerios or Rice Krispies?  Who doesn’t love breakfast for dinner?”

Hear me now, believe me later.  This is revolutionary.  This is me, being more organized than I knew was possible.  That’s enough to make a girl go giddy.

Power Binge: 13 Hours in 3 Days

by Deborah
Courtesy of Netflix

Courtesy of Netflix

Everything you hear is true.  ”House of Cards” is that good.

[Before I go on, here's my disclaimer:  I don't own Netflix stock.  I don't even know who runs the company. I'd share my account login but I'm afraid they'd find out and block me forever.]

What is “House of Cards”?  Oh, get thy to Netflix without haste.  Just trust me on this.  It’s as good as Downton Abbey.  Just totally different.  But kinda the same.  In the addictive, obsessive kind of way.

I know what you’re thinking.  Where do you find the time, Deb?  Aren’t you trying to launch TOTEFISH in May, enrich your two children during Spring Break, lose those extra 7 pounds and read that book on Creative Intelligence?

Yes…

But since I’m off wine (2 pounds right there) and my kids implored me to let them “hang with nothing to do like regular kids for a week” and it’s not possible to read more than 3 paragraphs of any book in bed after a 16-hour work day … I was ripe for a small leap into total obsessiveness.

Enter 13 hours of Kevin Spacey’s power-hungry deliciousness.  Yes, it can be done in three days.   Who needs to sleep from 9 pm – 2 am?  Apart from the brilliance of the sublime acting, the tight writing, the gorgeous sets and the intoxicatingly complex morality of the characters… I think it’s the back-to-back availability of the episodes that sucked me in like a sale sign at the Gucci outlet.  It’s the totality of the experience.  It’s like an all-nighter with new friends in Rome.  You know you should get to bed but you just can’t bring yourself to flag down a cab.  And in the morning, you just can’t stop thinking about it.

Now, I don’t recommend dedicating a full day of sunlight to watching all 13-episodes but… if you happen to catch that nasty flu going around, what’s a little chicken soup propped up against your iPad, right?

I’m just saying.  I hadn’t intended to do it.  It was so feckless.  13 hours of tv in 3 days?!   Who does that?!

I recommend you should, too.

Itsy-Bitsy by Adele: That’s the best idea I’ve had all morning!

by Deborah
Give us a lullaby, Adele. Please?! (photo: onlinesheetmusic.com)

Pretty Please, with a smokey contralto cherry on top?!
(Photo: onlinesheetmusic)Just read  the LA Times that:

I just read in the LA Times that:  ”[Adele has been] focusing her musical output on her baby son, Angelo.  ’I've been out of the loop, really,’ Adele said.  ’just singing my baby nursery rhymes.’ “

Got me thinking.  Adele should make an album of lullabies.  Right?!

Anyone who has ever rocked a baby to sleep, knows the power of a lullaby.  And anyone who has ever listened to hundreds of hours of saccrine-toned, plinky-xylophone versions of “Toora, Loora, Loora” knows that lullabies can drive a Mom to a drink at nap-time.

Over the years, I’ve sung (which is code for mumbled, hummed and made up words for) thousands of lullabies to my children.  As they grew older (and I, more tired) they graduated from my untrained, slightly off-key voice to recordings made by professionals.  At bedtime, we popped them in the cd player and voila, 15 minutes later my children had fallen asleep to a synthesized verse of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”  Even now, long after the crib was donated to a neighbor, when nightmares rattle the peacefulness of their sleep, I pop in one of those old cds and watch the calm return.

Courtesy of Time.com

Forget the mocking bird.  Why can’t Mama gonna buy you an inspiring lullaby experience? (Photo: Time.com)

But those lullaby collections?   Totally lacking in any true musical genius.  Maybe it’s the limitation of genre but I have got to believe that if anyone could accomplish the impossible, it is Adele.  Imagine giving the next generation the gift of a gorgeous rendition of “Hush Little Baby”?  Doesn’t it seem selfish that only little Angelo should grow up with such melody and inspiration???

Come on Adele.  Give us a lullaby album.  Then, maybe a tired mom could fade off to dreamland for a short little cat-nap herself.

Friday’s “Feel Good” Story

by Deborah
Courtesy of ABC News/Good Morning America

Courtesy of ABC News/Good Morning America

While surfing the web & eating a bowl of leftover mashed potatoes at my lunch-break today, I came across this story.   Tears welled up in my eyes (and mashed potatoes in my throat).

The world is a good place.

Check out the story for yourself:  “Tennessee Homecoming King Nominees Give Crown to Another Teen.”

May it overwhelm you, too, with faith in humanity.  We have such potential.

Happy “Feel-good” Friday.

Ageism. It starts with the young.

by Deborah
Screw you, young folk. I'm still relevant.

Screw you, young folk. I’m still relevant.

Today, my 9-year old daughter shows me this picture of an upgrade avatar on the ipad game, Subway Surfer and says (and I quote):

“Mom, I don’t know what he’s holding but it costs a lot of coins so it must be really powerful.”

That’s a boombox, you little shit Gen Z’er.  It’s as powerful as shoulder pads, Jane Fonda’s aerobic VHS tape and parachute pants, all rolled into one middle-aged Mom body.

Gag me with a spoon.  I’m not that old.

Am I?

First rats, then snakes and now… heights! Startup-induced phobias?!

by Deborah

It’s a long way down, even for Julie Andrews

Hiking 3 1/2 hours up a steep mountain? Lovely.

Riding 7 minutes down on the gondola? Spear your hiking pole thru my heart and call it a mercy killing.

I’ve turned into a 40-year old acrophobe.  And I blame it on my start-up.

Here’s the back-story:

This past summer, my husband and I went day-hiking up Bald Mountain in Idaho.  Perfect excuse for exercise, communing with nature and accomplishing a goal.  Who wouldn’t feel good after that?

We made our way up the mountain in the shade of the gondola.  The free ride down was to be our reward.  Three hours later, I bounded, thrilled to be sitting down on the cushioned seat, happy for the beautiful scenery in front of us.

That was until we began the descent.  My stomach immediately lurched and my only vision was of the gondola slipping off its rail and careening into the rocks below.

I was afraid of heights?    What the hell!?!

As a teenager, I loved rollercoasters, cliff walks and skyscraper viewing decks.  I savored the take-offs of airline flights, I jumped from the high-dive platform without hesitation and I never lowered the security bar on ski lifts.  But now, in the safety of Swiss-manufactured steel cage, I got light-headed, starting negotiating with God and ended up with my eyes closed, humming “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens” until we reached the ground.   I figured it was a gondola thing.  No more Swiss transportation for me.

But last week, it happened again on the plane ride home our Christmas vacation.   The flying scared the shit out of me!  Consistent turbulence and the sight of snow-capped mountains just below the wing tip sent me into a panic attack — sweaty armpits, shallow breathing and shaking arms included.   We were all going to die!  I shouted to my earphoned kids “I LOVE you!”  They nodded and kept watching their movie.

A few days later, while skiing, I found myself holding tightly to the chairlift bar, wondering if a gust of wind could send our chair tumbling down a ravine.

What on earth was happening to me?!  I was unraveling at the seams. 

I know the phobia of heights has plagued thousands, but for me, it was new.  A NY Times article (“Can A Playground Be Too Safe?”) discussed growing trends of acrophobic children due to the lack of high climbing equipment at parks and gyms.  Maybe I just needed practice bungee jumping and climbing ladders?  My husband suggested that I just needed rest.  But I blamed it on the start-up.   The stress and pressure of building a company, raising two children and not letting my muffin-top of fat overcome ALL of my jeans had made me afraid to leave sea-level.   Maybe I couldn’t handle it all?

No way!  I thrive on multi-tasking.

IMG_0364

Flight of Impending Death

So I started researching late-in-life phobias and strategies on how to overcome them (without a cockatil of heavy medication and vodka).  Turns out, the fear of heights is often most caused by a simple fear of dying; a greater realization of one’s mortality.  For some reason, I’m more afraid now of dying than ever before.  Hmmm.

Could it be that now, with a loving family and a start-up launching in April, that I am more in-love with life than ever before?  Could it be that the “pressure” to juggle my family and ambition is, in fact, engaging me more in life?  That I want to live more than ever?

Well, well, well.

That’s a spin on stress and aging, isn’t it?  Life is simply getting more interesting and I, more anxious to live it.

I’ll take it.  Here’s to a promising 2013… and lots of fear of dying.

What’s wrong with outsourcing a little “wife duty”?

by Deborah

In case you can’t live the life, you can always buy the book on Amazon.

For the month of July, I hired a “wife.”  And I love her.

No, not in that way.

For an hourly rate, “my wife” deals with the termite-invested sideboard, negotiates with the internet-provider company for a new router, picks up the prescriptions at the drugstore, swings by Whole Foods for the 1% milk, verifies the warranty (and arranges the return) on a busted Bose speaker, shops for a beautifully-themed birthday gift for my niece, measures (and compares prices) for new patio furniture covers and picks up the kids from camp.  And that was just yesterday.

I love my wife like my husband loved me when I wasn’t working on my start-up company:

She frees up my time so I can focus on my work.

She empties my personal inbox & deals with all those post-it notes on the refrigerator.

She keeps the house running in tip-top shape.

She reminds me to take the kids to their dental check-up at 4 pm.

She brings me a cafe latte in the afternoon because she “knows how much I need it.”

But my husband tells me I have to stop calling her “my wife.”  He says it’s derogatory to women.

I was raised by a 1950s-fashioned mother but I quickly picked the other side in the feminist revolution.  I wanted to make my own money.  I wanted my own apartment.  I wanted to wear men’s jeans.  I got married and left my career when we started a family but not because it was what my mother did.  I became a stay-at-home mother because child development experts told me, in their books, that it was the best way to kick-start a child’s life.  For eight years, I did the 1950s thing — total division of labor between home and office.  My husband went to the office and I stayed at the home.   I did all those “wifey” things because that was how we kept the whole thing afloat.  Shit had to get done and someone had to do it.  My husband ran his company – and I ran the house.

But I’m now trying to run my own company.  So who’s running the house?

My “wife” is!  And I don’t mean ANY disrespect by the term.  Or do I?  I am so confused.  What do I call her?!

I guess I could use the term “Assistant” but in my experience, an Assistant works out of an office and is “in training” for a bigger job.  And while a “Personal Assistant” does work out of someone’s personal home (or at least, their shiny SUV), I imagine their tasks are more “personalized” (“make my appointment with Fabio at 10!”) and their task-masters usually have some dramatic flare (tiaras and yachts do come to mind).

I could call “my wife” a “Secretary” but yes, much like the maligned “Stewardess”, that word is laden with cultural references that include knee-length skirts, Girl Fridays, and martinis at lunch.

So how about “Home Manager”?  When I mentioned to a close girlfriend that I was thinking about hiring a “manager to run the house,” she quickly replied, “Oh, you need a wife.”

Household Engineer?

Life Details Administrator?

Uber-Me?

I’m paying a generous hourly rate and I am in constant appreciation (and awe) that these tasks (which for the last four months have been neglected and/or forgotten) are now completed on-time, with efficiency and grace.  As a woman, I don’t find it embarrassing that a “wife” has traditionally done these tasks.  I did them myself.  And I used to do them well.

Until I can come up with another term, I’ll have to refer to my new woman as the “Industrious, Smart, Professional Woman Dealing With All the Loose-Ends of our Family Household” although you and I both know… it’s no different than calling her my wife.

Don’t Try This At Home: Do’s & Dont’s for the Internet

by The Totefish Blog

Just because some of you were late to the modern tech social media thingie, doesn’t mean you can’t go pro. Here are the basic rules to follow as you head open-armed into the social network of the world:

1.)  DO ASSUME YOUR MOM IS READING IT

Yes, I know your mom is 72 years old but imagine if she knew where the power button was on your hand-me-down laptop and read that you had a graduate degree from an Ivy League school when, in fact, you barely finished college in a drunk stupor?  Don’t lie about your credentials.  Not only will your Mom be disappointed but it’s the internet, people — it’s crazy easy to cross-reference data.  Don’t swear (unnecessarily).  Don’t post anything naked about anyone (including yourself, your husband, your cute babies in the bathtub, your highschool ex-boyfriend who you’re still bitter over, your neighbor, your favorite celebrity or your pet).  Don’t gossip (excessively).  Do use proper punctuation and upper-case letters to start sentences.  Don’t make fun of your Mom or else she won’t come out to babysit the kids the next time you and your husband want to go to Palm Springs for the weekend.

2.) DON’T POST PHOTOS FROM MOMS’ WEEKEND IN VEGAS

I know, occasionally we all have a photo where we think, “Oh my god, I look so amazing. Hot and sexy and tan and thin and my hair, wow, I ‘m hotter now than I was at 19.  Eat your heart out, Bobby Lipkinsky, I still got it.”  But you can’t post it because either a.) you don’t look sexy as much as “slutty” and no one wants to see you looking like that, especially not your Mom or your kids or b.) you do look that hot and sexy and thin and no one, not even your best friend, will think kind thoughts about it.  Instead, they’ll think “wow, it’s so obvious you posted that photo ’cause you look so great and it’s not what you look like most days so why even post it other than to rub my nose in how great your hair looks and that’s so not nice… blah, blah, blah”

3.)  DO ASSUME YOUR KIDS WILL READ EVERYTHING YOU POST

Even if they can’t read right now, whatever you say on the ‘net, stays on the ‘net.  It’s like Vegas with video-cameras.  That means, it’ll be there forever.  So, when they turn 16 and figure out how to disable the nanny filter function on Google, they’re going to type in your name (right after they type in “boobs” & “penis”).  So, if you thought your credibility was compromised the day they said, “But Mom, that’s not what you said about Dad on the phone to Grandma” or “But Mom, that’s not the way the teacher told us to add mixed fractions” just wait until they read one of your typo-riddled rants about some gossipy thing you had no good reason on which to be commenting, especially if it involves a celebrity or your neighbor or the new hot Science teacher at your kids’ school.  Which brings me to number 4…

4.)  DON’T DRINK AND TYPE

You’re thinking, “Duh, Deb, I’d never do that” but trust me, you’ll do it once ’cause you think you can handle your liquor better than most and then, about twenty minutes later, you’ll wish you hadn’t but it’ll be too late to unsend and then, you’ll come to me crying, “You were right” and I’ll find no pleasure in your pain but I will nod knowingly.  When you drink, your mind turns into your own personal frenemy (who likes you but likes to see you fail even more).  When you drink,  you think that pun makes sense,  you think your “I’m-just-writing-because-I-like-electrons-as-much-as-my-son” email to the new hot Science teacher is subtly sexy rather than creepy and desperate, and your short angry email response about volunteering to work at this year’s Cupcake Fundraiser does not belie your secret jealousy towards that Mom who not only owns a cookie-company that was just profiled on Oprah.com but has perfectly coiffed hair, two high-performing well-behaved teenagers and genuinely is liked more by the Administration than you. If you’ve had more than one drink and you find yourself saying, “Oh, I’m just checking my email..,” arrest yourself.  Trust me, you’ll be glad you did in the morning.

5.)  DO THINK LIKE A VIRAL SHERLOCK-HOLMES

Okay, that heading doesn’t make sense but here’s the story behind it.  There’s this mom who posted an article in her major New York-based newspaper blog about her son’s friends who smoked way too much pot but mind you, she didn’t post their names ’cause she didn’t want to rat them out to their parents even though her blog byline has her whole name in it and she mentions her son by name.  Hmmm.  Shocker, the website “Gawker” picks up the story and outs everyone.  When you write something secret, please know that it isn’t secret.  I mean, seriously.  Secret means keep your mouth shut.  Secret is gossiping in person so you can later deny that you said anything about anything to anyone.  If you want to share a secret online about your neighbor (or your husband or your kids or your favorite celebrity or your beloved Mom), be prepared for that cold-shoulder in the carpool lane when your secret to goes viral.

6.)  DON’T POST ABOUT YOUR CUTICLES

That’s code for no one cares about the mundane habits about your human life.  I get it.  We all love our kids, we all wish we could sleep in longer in the morning, we all have smelly feet at the end of the day.   I don’t need to read another post about it.   Seriously, the internet is about ‘upping your game.  It’s your chance to show the world what you could really be if you weren’t constrained by your geography, age, gender or resume.  Cream rises to the top, baby.  Consider what you post before you post it.  If your mother is going to be bored by it, don’t write it.    You can try to be amusing (which is my schtick) or smart (which is a good thing if you have a PhD) or inspirational (ah, Oprah) — whatever you choose to do, whatever you like to do… do it with gumption and originality and passion.  And use spell-check.

7.)  DO TAKE YOUR OWN PHOTOS INSTEAD OF COPYING-&-PASTING PROFESSIONAL ONES

Even if the photo of your own “wagging finger” doesn’t make sense at first (or ever…) and sure, it’s not nearly as good as the one you found on Google Images ’cause your pointer finger is weirdly long, but that’s the one you should use.  Otherwise, it’s stealing.  Copyright rules are real (and photographers have feelings which do get hurt and then, they hire lawyers) so even though you didn’t bother reading any of the legal mumble-jumble on the new Google privacy rules, you should at least know not to steal someone else’s photos.  Remember what happened to those kids who got fined because they used Napster when it first came out?  The courts threw out their “I didn’t know and everyone else was doing it” defense.  I’m just saying, you don’t want to be the one “they made an example of.”    Oh wait.  That means I should pull down that photo of Madonna and the rat.  Hmmm.  Those are going to be trickier than the finger to do with my iphone.

Help! I can’t stop changing my blog themes

by The Totefish Blog

It’s an obsession.  It’s procrastination.  It’s all I’ve accomplished today.

Themes (for my friends who aren’t knee-deep in blogging) are the pre-set templates for the blog format.  They make the blog look like the blog.  Headers, footers, color palettes, photo placement, text font.  WORDPRESS has a bunch of these for your picking and you can try them all, with just a click of your thumb.  It’s like going into an ice-cream shop and sampling each of the 33 flavors.  Unfortunately, the calorie-count (in lost work hours) is obscene.

I’m new to blogging.  Sure, technically I “created” this blog in September (right after I bought the URL for my start-up) but I wrote my first boring post in October, and its duller follow-up in November.  Truth is, I had no idea how one used a blog, let alone why.  All I knew was people were using “blog” as a verb and every business had a link to theirs on their website.  I found WORDPRESS by googling the word “blog.”  They were giving them away free.  I named mine “totefish” (’cause that’s my clever company name) and checked it off my To Do list.

Don’t get me wrong.  I wasn’t a total pop-culture, tech idiot (although I do believe in the Big Brother conspiracy theories about the inner-workings of Facebook).  I was aware that there had been a social media explosion while I was picking up the newspaper from my wet lawn.  Eventually, I even bought an I-phone (as the world’s most expensive distraction tool for my kids at restaurants).  But once I committed our own personal money to building an internet company, I was deep into social media.

I opened a Facebook account.  I synced a Google work calendar to my I-phone.   I learned it wasn’t cool to say “Linked ‘N.”  Tech childs’ play.  As I said to my mother (who shuts her cellphone off after she leaves you a message because she doesn’t want her battery to run low), “I should have majored in Computer Science.  I did go to LOGO computer camp in the second grade, didn’t I?”

But blogging… I just couldn’t wrap my head around it.  If a blog was filled with news, then why not call it a newspaper?  If someone’s looking for a recipe, don’t they just go to Epicurious.com?  Blogs were like a foreign exchange student. Pretty to look at it and although I’m smiling & nodding… I haven’t a  clue what they’re saying.

A tag is different than a category which is different from a menu which does or does not need a label but should contain a link with a feedback loop that, I think someone said was called a pingback although maybe that’s a piggyback, as in pretending to like someone else’s blog just so you can pimp their subscribers for your blog, which would give you a higher chance of getting your blog on someone else’s blogroll, which makes that flat little bar graph below your browser bar grow high and jagged.

I took me two days to figure out how to upload my gravatar image.  I begrudgingly posted a blog in December.  I had 3 followers.  My husband.  My CTO.  And me.

Well, well, well.  Every new challenge has a learning curve.  Practice makes perfect.  If life gives you lemons.  Blah, blah, blah.

I finally cracked the nut.

The theory: Blogging is the way of giving yourself that magazine column you always wanted to write but couldn’t get hired for.  Write what you care about.  See if anyone cares to read it.  Easy.

The specifics: Tags = Keywords.  Categories = Files.  Links = Shortcuts to a Website. Blogrolls = Recommended Reading.  Widgets = Additional Features (or “Bells & Whistles”).  Dashboard = The charts that show you if anyone cares about you or your writing.  Menu = Still trying to figure that out.

All this heightened knowledge got me back on the blog train.  I started writing about… me.  As I grew up as a blogger (you’d be surprised who quickly one moves from baby to toddler in 5 posts), my old blog title didn’t work.  Totefish.  That’s my business idea, not my blog.  But what about the 55 friends I’d forced to subscribe to Totefish?  Would they be totally disoriented if I suddenly, without warning, changed to “Canyon Woman:  Hear Me Blog”?  Fans, even if gathered hostage-style, need respect.

I worked an hour or two on title hybrids.  I took photos of the sky outside and downloaded 12 different treetop versions.  I whipped that color-wheel until I found the perfect shade of grey-green.  I “previewed” every theme until the lines blurred between “The Linen” and the “Twenty-12″.  The clock struck 3, my kids barreled through the side door and I activated this theme.  Not a (wasted) moment too soon.  Who cares that I didn’t work all day?!  I run tbe company.  Can’t fire myself, now can I?

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(1 hour later)

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I’m back.  I’m just thinking that maybe I should change the photo?  Or the small tag line under the big title.  I mean, do you think it’s weird that I mentioned my label maker rather my husband?   Maybe I should splurge for a Premium Theme.  Something with pre-tabs already designed in it for my category sections.  Or, I should leave it alone, right?

Oh my God.  I’m a WordPress Theme Junkie.

Make it stop.