Got Flow?

One of the greatest gifts my mother ever gave me was a good attitude about my period. It was never a curse or even a nuisance in my house. It just was. In fact, getting it the first time was cause for celebration. Not cake and ice cream celebration–but definitely a rite of passage. On the day of my first period, I called my mother at work to tell her the news. Thrilled, she ran out and bought an entire grocery bag full of options. (Picture a big brown kraft paper block, not one of the flimsy plastic bags we use today.) Pads, liners, wings. It was all in there. Even— EVEN tampons. But, oh, no, I wasn’t going to use those. No way.

Until… I got invited to a swimming party. What are the odds on there will be a swimming party on the second day of your very first period? This is the kind of charmed life I lead.

Mom didn’t blink. Without embarrassment or delay, she showed me how to use a tampon. Oh, the good fortune. I’ve been bowling, mountain climbing, and horseback riding on the beach ever since.

And now, as my daughter approaches the age of menarche, I’m excited about the book Flow: The Cultural Story of Menstruation. If it had been around in 1982, I’m sure my mother would have picked up a copy. Catch authors Elissa Stein and Susan Kim on The View tomorrow.

I am a participant in a Mom Central campaign for ABC Daytime and will receive a tote bag or other The View branded items to facilitate my review.

Dialoguing in the Cube

I was fortunate a few weeks ago to land a great technical writing job working with some very smart people. It was fun to work with the best and brightest, and to be reminded of the corporate/consulting lingo I once spoke fluently. I barely hesitated when, on my first day, the partner who had hired me asked if I had been “onboarded.”

Absolutely. I’m on board. Now, where is Isaac with my daiquiri?

Valerie Bertinelli on The View, and in Cleveland

I hate to admit I was planning to tune in to The View tomorrow just to see if Valerie Bertinelli had started to gain all that Jenny Craig weight back. I’m petty like that. But when I started picking around the internet, I found another reason to watch. VB’s got a new sitcom scheduled to air this summer called Hot in Cleveland. She will star with Wendi Malick (Just Shoot Me) and Jane Leeves (Frazier) in the show about three best friends from L.A. stranded in Cleveland.

Why am I excited about this? It has recently been suggested that agents and editors are only interested in women’s fiction set in New York or L.A. Maybe this TV show will lend some cred to the un-sexy, the non-coastal–therefore legitimizing Bentonville, Arkansas as a respectable setting for my novel.

Stop laughing.

Besides, she was married to a rockstar and worked with a woman who engaged in consensual incest. Val’s got stories.

Learning to Hike

A friend of mine, an avid hiker, recently took me out for a half day trip. Now, I walk in the woods all the time but I wouldn’t consider myself a *real* hiker. I was impressed when she showed up with backpacking gear and special equipment. I was happy when she knew the best spots to take pictures. And I was ECSTATIC when I plunged into the healthy and delicious lunch she’d packed. All her challenges I met with enthusiasm. Everything except crawling into the cave, even though she’d brought us each a change of clothes. I didn’t want to get muddy – not on my first time out.

I think she’d agree my first professional hiking adventure was a success. At home she told my daughter, “Your mom did really well. She even did a water crossing!”

Water crossing?

She meant when we jumped over that creek. Water crossing sounds a lot cooler. So much to learn…

Next time I’m getting muddy. I need to earn my cool lingo.

Rise of My Machines

This is the February print edition of After the Bubbly for Peekaboo magazine. If you would like to see this or any other essays in your local family publication, let me know!

We are dependent on machines: hair dryer, coffee pot, television, thermostat, washer, dryer, Toyota, microwave. Too many to list, right? And sometimes—like after my family watches The Matrix for the 412^th time—I wonder if we’re not getting a little too used to the electrical and mechanical conveniences, if we’re not getting just a little too soft. On a recent morning when the dishwasher wouldn’t start and my phone froze, I didn’t realize it was just the beginning.

After working for two hours, my computer angrily displayed the message that I had better switch over to real power before my battery died. Afraid to lose any portion of the Important Masterpiece I had been writing, I immediately checked everything—the plug that goes into the computer, the black box it feeds into, and the wall socket. All plugged in. My machine died. I switched outlets. Nothing. Over and over I powered up and the computer shut back into hibernation—trying, I assume, to save what little juice was left in its battery. Finally, it made a high pitched wheezing sound and then gave up humoring me completely.

I’m dead already!

The black screen stared at me. The blinky-blinky orange light on the power button disappeared. I inspected the cord and found it was broken, possibly mistaken for a rawhide by the dog I feed and bathe and medicate. (Not cool, Simon, not cool.) When I whined to my husband that I was on my way to Best Buy for a new power cord, he told me we had a universal cord in the desk drawer. When you hear that–universal–it sounds like something even a technophobe writer could figure out, right?

Right.

The universal cord had several tips to choose from and too many pieces to fit together. I eventually figured it out, but even fully assembled, the master of all power sources wouldn’t turn my computer on. Again, I checked all the holes and connections that could be amiss. All were in order so I gave up on the omnipotent power cord and took everything to Best Buy where two guys younger than my Compac told me I needed a new cord. Perhaps I would like the $149 model. (Not that they’re on commission or anything.)

In desperation I visited the Geek Squad desk. I was outrageously lucky to get a wildly talented geek. She listened to my story and offered a few tricks. While she spoke–and without breaking eye contact–she gently turned my computer over, effortlessly located the battery release, moved the battery slightly, and closed the compartment. So elegant and completely without ego. She sent me on my way.

At home, the tones of the power up sequence melted my shoulder tension and let me know that I would live to log in another day. All it took was a loving touch.

Maybe the machines aren’t so different from us after all.

Lela Davidson’s award-winning column, After the Bubbly, appears regularly in Peekaboo magazine, and periodically in other magazines throughout the country. She is the parenting columnist on HubPages.com and a regular contributor to ParentingSquad.com. She loves ALL her machines and tries to treat them nicely. Find out more on her wildly entertaining blog, www.afterthebubbly.com. Or just Google her. She loves to be Googled.

A Night at the Wine Bar

On a recent Girls Night Out with some friends, we found ourselves at a ‘wine bar’, which I think is code for a bar with comfortable seating frequented by the 35-50 demographic. As soon as we walked in and claimed our real estate, a boisterous gentleman let’s call Bob greeted us. Bob was attentive and seemed intent on making sure the six of us had a good time. At first we assumed Bob was the proprietor, or maybe an especially fulfilled employee.

However, when Bob failed to take our drink order, suggested we call him Big Bob, and embarked on a long reminiscence of his high school basketball career, it became evident we were on our own in the drink department. Amid Bob’s gregarious tale telling we collected drink orders and sent a scout to the bar. When she tried to hand the bartender a credit card, Bob intervened. The Big Man wanted to cover our round. Back in the circle of revelry much fuss was made over Bob’s generous contribution and soon we were sipping and chatting about other things.

At the same time, two more women showed up and joined our group. On one of his showy trips to the bar to fetch our drinks, Bob’s seat was taken. Instead of gallantly standing by, continuing to enjoy our company (including those of us who were also standing or less-than-comfortably perched on hard furniture), Bob asked one of us to get up so he could have her seat. Also, he wanted her to sit on his lap.

Um… no.

You don’t have to be young and sexy to get our attention. We appreciate conversation and appreciation. Even boring stories and the ill-advised hand on the leg we can accept, so long as you are entertaining us. But don’t push it.

“I just bought you drinks and you won’t even sit on my lap? That’s not very professional.”

Dear, sweet, pathetic Bob. Perhaps if you’re looking for a professional, you hit the wrong bar

Cheer Up, Nicholas Cage – I’m Here For You

PBS is running a new series on the science of emotions, and happiness in particular. We now have evidence that when a person is happy, that feeling not only makes their own lives better, but also benefits their friends, their friends’ friends, and so on – out to three degrees of separation. If I’m having a good day, the quality of casual acquaintances’, or even strangers’ days are improved.

You know who needs a little cheering up right now? My Other Love, Nicholas Cage. Because he’s in a bit of a financial bind. Listen, Nicky (I can call you that, right?), I live in Walmart country. I know a lot of suppliers. The ones I don’t know, we get coffee from the same barista. And your movies, they’re on the shelves, right? By my calculations you and I are separated by a mere two degrees, three tops. We’re so close, my husband is a little nervous that you’re on my Free Five list.

Dear Nicholas, my happiness is your happiness.

So cheer up, I’m happy. If the scientists are correct, soon you will be too. And if you’d like a more direct line, feel free to friend me on Facebook.

Johnny Depp, So Hot He Makes a Mustache Look Good

I recently rented Public Enemies, the movie where Johnny Depp portrays brutal 1930s bank robber extraordinaire, John Dillinger. Can I just say – of all the terrible acts he commits in the film, the most surprising to me was pulling off that mustache. And he did. Oh yes he did.

My favorite line is when he goes after the coat check girl:

“I like baseball, movies, good clothes, whiskey, fast cars … and you. What else you need to know?”

I don’t need to know anything, Johnny. You should know that I like long walks in the woods, good underwear, vodka, fast men … and you.

Also, that I will suspend my No Mustaches rule for you, and only you.

See Johnny’s pretty pretty picture.

Anti-Resolutions

This is the January edition of the print version of After the Bubbly, an award winning family humor column. If you’d like to see it in a local publication, let me know and I’ll do my best to get it there!

Self improvement is overrated. This year instead of vowing to be better and then letting myself down two weeks later, I’m taking a different approach. I’m making anti-resolutions. That way if I succeed I’m successful, and if I fail I’m successful too.

I resolve to gain weight.

This should be a fun one. Who wants to be skinny anyway? Just think of all the new shopping I’ll get to do when I can no longer zip my jeans—to say nothing of the joy of Brie and chocolate. And once I gain all that weight, I’m going to start a foundation similar to Locks of Love, except instead of donating hair to cancer patients, we’ll get lipo-sucked and donate the results to runway models.

I resolve to stop working out.

It might be difficult to find the time to not exercise, but a little determination goes a long way. Marathons of the Real Housewives on Bravo will help. And hello—double bonus, no workout clothes means less laundry! Who needs extra energy and long life?

I resolve to start smoking.

So many people smoke, I’m starting to wonder what I’m missing. Seriously, if it’s so hard to quit it must be pretty good, right? However, I’ve heard smoking helps keep the weight off so this could make my resolution to gain weight more difficult. I’m willing to take the chance. Besides, considering the state of my retirement account, a shorter life expectancy makes sense.

I resolve to up my alcohol intake.

Next year at my annual physical I’d like to move my answer from the 3-5 drinks per week to the 5-8 category. It’s a realistic goal. Combined with the weight gain, lack of exercise, and smoking, this resolution has the potential to make a real impression on my overall health—and my physician.

I resolve to mess up the garage.

I’ve been trying to organize our garage for five years. (Maybe it’s more accurate to say I’ve been trying to get my husband to pick up his stuff and get rid of the junk he calls tools.) At this point I’m ready to give it up to the family of squirrels that have taken to eating the dog food the children drop on the floor.

I resolve to spend less quality time with the family.

Do you ever get the feeling your family takes you for granted? I do, and I think a little extended absence from Mama is what they need to make their hearts grow fonder. I’m thinking of a solo tour of Europe.

I resolve to decrease my tithe.

Okay, so I don’t actually tithe, but I can cut back on what I drop into that wicker offering basket. Aren’t I helping the world enough by spending money on my $4 cups of coffee and my 38 pairs of black shoes? All those unfortunate people don’t need the money like I do—Retrinol doesn’t grow on trees you know.

I resolve to decrease my vocabulary.

Some of the words floating around my brain have very little purpose in my everyday life and frankly I need to free up some capacity to stay on top of Facebook updates. Autumn for example—who needs it? Fall is shorter and more descriptive. Autumn, you’re dead to me.

I resolve to make less money.

This one needs some clarification. Let’s be clear that I don’t want to have less money or spend less money, I just don’t want to be the person who makes it.

Thank You for a Miraculous 2009

That anyone wants to read this stuff? That’s a miracle.

Thanks to all of you who have read, commented, shared, linked, and encouraged me in many other ways throughout 2009. You’re creating a monster, you know that right?

Thank you. Keep reading. Please.

And Happy Holidays,

~Lela

Please look for me (and ask your friends to do the same!) in the following magazines in January:

• Peekaboo NWA, Northwest Arkansas
• ParentWise: Austin, Austin, TX
• South Jersey Mom, Southern NJ
• Parents’ Source, Southeastern PA
• metroParent, Milwaukee, WI
• Arizona Parenting, Scottsdale, AZ

Thank you!

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