peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

It was just your typical Saturday night around here.

We cranked up some of my favorite dance songs from “way back when,” turned on the disco ball, and proceeded to have an impromptu dance party. That’s the best kind.

I taught my seven-year-old a thing or two about ’80s rap. And he taught me a thing or two about some crazy-cool dance moves.

Here are my top 13 favorite dance songs from long ago:

1. Baby Got Back
2. Can’t Touch This
3. Push It
4. Jump Around
5. The Humpty Dance
6. Walk This Way
7. Word Up Cameo
8. Rockit
9. Insane in the Membrane
10. Play That Funky Music
11. Bust A Move
12. Funky Cold Medina
13. Wild Thing

Take me home to the paradise city, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty…

And so go the lyrics of the famous Guns N’ Roses song. Which, interestingly, was playing on the radio as I was driving my kids up to the mountain for a day of snow tubing.

My seven-year-old son asks me, “Mom, where IS Paradise City?”

Brace yourself. This gets kinda sappy.

I said, “Well, I think Paradise City is where you think it is. You kinda make your own paradise, don’t you think?”

It was a Saturday; a day off. I was spending the day with my kids. We looked around: It was a sunshiny, blue-sky, crisp day. Glistening white snow banks on either side of us. The fir trees were laden with snow. We had full bellies from our stop at Subway. A day of snow tubing ahead of us. The radio blasting. We were singing along.

Yep. We were IN Paradise City.

You gotta make your own paradise, eh?

Oh and here I am tubing. Duh! The #PeskyPippiTubingCam.

I’m not a fan of washing laundry these days. What a chore.

But it didn’t used to be a chore. Growing up, my mother didn’t buy a washer and dryer until I was a teenager. So, every Saturday night, we’d haul a week’s worth of dirty laundry to the Laundromat.

It was our Saturday-night ritual. And it was kinda like date night.

With a purse full of quarters weighing down one hand and the jug of bleach in the other hand, laundry night was also a workout.

I remember the sounds of the chugging of the washers. We could wash 10 loads at once!

Then we’d sneak out and go next door for donuts. I would get a chocolate old-fashioned doughnut and a bagful of doughnut holes. Oh yeah, and a raspberry jelly-filled doughnut with powdered sugar. The anticipation of folding those mountains always increased my appetite.

When drying the clothes, the Laundromat would fill with the wonderful smell of Bounce. If it was raining, it would be so toasty inside.

Time to eat the donuts and guzzle down the carton of milk. And talk. When it was time to fold, that’s when the party really began.

My mother taught me to match up the socks and fold them over in pairs so they stayed together and how to tri-fold bath towels. Just like the Hilton.

It was together time, snack time, and hang-out time. My mother transformed the typically tedious ritual of doing laundry into Mom-and-daughter date night.

I returned home from a camping trip with my family. To the same old campsite we go every year. The same old trees. The same old lake. The same old dock. The same old hiking trails. The same old s’mores, spray cheese, hot dogs, and bean dip.

That’s what makes this trip so special to me. It’s one of our annual traditions. And it brings us back to connecting as a family. And to nature.

No, we don’t sing Cumbaya around the campfire (yeah…have you HEARD me sing? #frightful).

Besides the pure, natural beauty of camping in the Pacific Northwest, there’s the beauty of simplicity. Face it, we don’t have to make difficult decisions while camping:

• hike or swim?
• play Monopoly or Sorry?
• explore or bike?
• Oreos or Chips Ahoy?
• balance on the logs or skip rocks?
• sit in the sun or sit in the shade?

We met up with a forest ranger named Jennifer at a “campfire talk” on ecosystems. She distributed neon rubber wristbands that say “Smokey’s Friend.” I am still wearing mine. And I probably won’t take it off for awhile.

This simple bracelet is a reminder of the quality time I spent with my family…connecting and enjoying the simpler things in life.

Sometimes I think people don’t really wanna care what you have to say…take a few basic-conversation questions:

1. How was your vacation?
2. How is work going for you?
3. How are the kids?

Does the other person really want to know about your vacation? That you had potato skins as an appetizer, that your hotel comforter was comfy, and that you had perfect weather? No.

Does the other person really want to know about your work? That you’re working too many hours, that your deadlines are crazy, and your boss is cranky? No.

Does the other person really want to know about your kids? That one child had an eye infection, one got a B+ in science, and the other skipped to the next level in swimming? No.

I think people are so entrenched in their own lives that they don’t really want to hear much of anything care about the other person. What they really wanna hear is simply:

1. How was your vacation? Great!
2. How is work going for you? Busy!
3. How are the kids? Happy!

And…you’re done. No time for details. No interest in two-way conversations. Where did the empathy go? It’s now sometimes more like a check-off-your-list: did I ask and did they answer? Check.

I think some people have forgotten their manners. Forgotten how to converse. Forgotten how to listen. Forgotten to care.

You know how Angelina Jolie and Billy Bob Thornton wore vials of each other blood around their necks?

Well, my daughter and I wear vials of silver glitter around our necks–they are pendants of sorts–with the word SHINE written in calligraphy nestled inside.

Quirky art pieces we bought at a local antique store on Mother’s Day.

And while not as headline-making as the vials of blood, these vials are magical. And they have special powers.

What are their powers? They make us feel special, especially when we wear them in unison.

As we were selecting the necklaces, I told my daughter something like this: “You are special. You are full of light. You shine. Wear this proudly and with confidence. Don’t let anyone put you down and take your shine away.”

That message is important and the necklaces serve as reminders, in case we forget or in case we are having a crappy day. Because of that, they are worth infinitely more than the $15 we sprang for each one. In fact, they are priceless.

As a kid, Saturday nights were get-ready-for-church nights.

I would soak in the bubble bath, lingering until the water turned cold and the bubbles had vanished. Emerging, with my towel wrapped around my hair like a turban, and my nightgown that my Grandmother had laid out for me, I would join her at the kitchen table. Out came the tray of wonder. Her mirrored tray, with the golden handles, lined  with bottles of nail polish in all shades of pink. No red. No purple. Just pink.

Peachy Keen Pink. Pink Lemonade. Rose Blush. Pink Carnation.

What a choice! I made my selection. But what I liked most, was shaking the little glass bottle with the miniature beads inside. The mixing beads. They don’t have those in nail polish bottles anymore, do they?

My Grandmother would paint my nails. And while they dried, we watched The Lawrence Welk Show. It was our thing.

She would tuck me into the crisp, freshly-laundered floral sheets. She would turn the sheets inside out, so that the folded-over sheet showed “the pretty side,” A homemade quilt at my feet. I would say my nightly prayer, “Now I lay me fast to sleep…” The box fan was going full speed, humming, on a hot Summer night. My Grandmother would sleep next to me, smelling like cold cream with her freshly curled-sprayed-and-set hair in a hair net.

It was Saturday night. Time to get ready for church the next day. What I remember most were the sweet rituals and time well spent with my Grandmother.

Do you know any know-it-alls?

You know, the people that know all about nutrition, home decorating, childrearing, restaurants, business, fashion, politics, news, beauty products, pet care, home loans, books, entertainment, and travel?

Simply said, they know everything about everything.

They like to name drop.

And when they tell you all that they know, they seem to like to put you down for not knowing. So, basically, you’re an imbecile.

I know my share of know-it-alls.

They are annoying. Hard to talk to. I don’t think they really want to talk “to” the other person, they want someone to talk “at.” And when you are talking to them, you are not really asking for their opinion or advice, you are simply conversing. But they LOVE to share their opinions about EVERYTHING.

Here are some examples:

Me: I need to buy some Clinique eye cream because I’m all out.

Know-it-all: Clinique?! That has so many additives. You should really be buying moisturizer at Whole Foods. Plus, department stores mark everything up.

Me: I want to see the movie Moonrise Kingdom. It looks good.

Know-it-all: I think it looks dumb. What you need to see is The Dictator.

Me: We just got a yellow Lab puppy. He is so fun and cute.

Know-it-all: Don’t you know puppies chew everything and shed like crazy?

Me: We let our children stay up later on the weekends. We like to watch movies and make popcorn.

Know-it-all: You need to keep your children on a sleep schedule. We do. Because children need 10 hours of sleep every night.

Me: We refinanced to a 15-year loan.

Know-it-all: Homes are not good investments. You should be putting money away in a 401K and in tax shelters.

Me: We went to New York City and had a blast.

Know-it-all: Did you go to the Museum of Modern Art? No. It’s one of the best museums. You really missed out.

Me: I add whey protein protein for our smoothies.

Know-it-all: Whew protein? Egg protein powder is better. And you should switch from cow’s milk to almond milk. There are more health benefits. Do you know how many hormones are in milk?!

Me: We just bought new sofas at Macy’s. They had a killer sale.

Know-it-all: Macy’s? I would never buy furniture at Macy’s.

Me: The killing of innocent people in Syria is so sad.

Know-it-all: The killings in Somalia are more sad because that has been going on for decades.

And so on and so forth.

You kinda wish you didn’t open your stupid mouth in the first place, only to be shot back with some know-it-all–often condescending–comments.

What it isn’t is a two-way conversation and interaction. But instead, one person with a megaphone. And it really doesn’t matter who is listening.

Blah. Blah. Blah.

But you’re the sucker, who is stuck listening at the moment.

Makes me think…

If a tree know-it-all falls talks in the forest and no one is around to hear it her, does it she make a sound?

Yes, Virigina, there is such thing as too much oat bran.

Here’s a little story about how I nearly changed my name from Pesky Pippi to Poopy Pippi. If you can’t handle poop talk, better not read on.

It all started out with an innocent batch of cookies. I made Oatmeal-Coconut Chocolate Chip Cookies. And I swapped out all of the flour with oat bran.

Note: Raw coconut and oat bran both are packed with fiber and increase metabolism. A powerful combination.

It was a gorgeous batch of cookies. Chewy. Tasty. Hot out of the oven.

I ate four. I ate seven. OK, I ate nine.

Then it was time to take my daughter to soccer practice. While she practiced, my seven-year-old son and I played on the play structure at the park. Everything was going just swimmingly. We were climbing, jumping, swinging. Just another day at the park.

Then it hit. The oat bran fiber bomb was about to explode.

You know that feeling when you have to poop and there is no toilet nearby? Yeah that. And you start to sweat. And clench. And take baby steps. Fast baby steps to the car.

You call to your son with panic in your voice, “Honey. We have to go NOW. Mommy has to go poop. And it’s an emergency.”

He says, “I know that feeling.” Yeah, he knows. And you know he knows.

You share a brief moment of understanding. I mean, haven’t we all been there?

By this time, you’re halfway to the car and you think you just can’t make it. Things are percolating.

And you are regretting the multitude of cookies you shoveled into your mouth, one hour before.

But your young son takes your hand and you hold it. And you know you HAVE to hold it in to show that you can do it.

You continue to sweat. You swear you’ll never eat another cookie in your life.

You make it to your car and drive frantically. Squeezing your buns all the way to the nearest grocery store, which is 4 minutes away if you make all the green lights. The grocery store becomes a beacon of light, welcoming you. Because you know from experience that the restrooms are clean and at the front of the store.

And you get there and the women’s restroom door is open because a guy is in there cleaning it. “Sorry, Ma’am, this restroom is closed.”

You give him the most helpless look. You feel like the one in Bridesmaids, the one who takes a dump in the sink.

So you stand there. Squeezing. Praying. One minute later he leaves and says, “It’s all yours.” And you want to high-five him, but you’re worried that too much movement will jiggle something loose.

Whew. You make it. And you breath a sigh of relief.

Your son peeks in, curious and eager, “Is everything OK Mom?”

“Yes, everything is OK,” you smile. A big, toothy smile, “Even Mommies nearly poop their pants.”

And he smiles. And understands.

Who knew that a poop emergency could be a life lesson in empathy?

Ophidiophobia = the fear of snakes. Yeah, I got that.

If my kids ever ask me, “Mom, can I get a pet snake?”

“Hell, no.”

Snakes at museums? I can handle that. Because there are padlocks on the lids. But snakes on the loose? Indiana Jones and I. We both hate snakes.

So, the movie selection with my newly-minted-13-year-old son? Snakes on a Plane. OMG.

• A snake peeping out of the overhead storage bin? Hell no.
• A snake striking out of the toilet? Hell no.
• A snake slithering up your leg when you have nodded off? Hell no.
• A snake sneaking into your purse and then–surprise–you find it while rummaging around for some gum. Hell no.
• A snake attacking the co-pilot? Hell no.

But I wanted to be cool Mom. So we watched, side by side, as the snakes peeped and struck and slithered and snuck and attacked.

Here’s a teensy little clip that made us bust up laughing (don’t proceed if you don’t like swearing…me? #sailormouth):

You and me both, SLJ, you and me both.