What Parents Will Do to Get That Christmas Toy

If you continue to dance on this planet long enough, you will get to see many trendy toys come and go. There will ALWAYS be a trendy toy, so take that Elmo and Zhu Zhu. Like many others, you will become the fond stuff of adult memories. Until then, parents will do what they can - short of wrestling with another parent in the aisles - to get that trendy toy for their child. As for the wrestling, well, I think some have resorted to that. Oh well.

Once upon a time, the Cabbage Patch Kid was THE toy. It was hard to find one, and when you waited to begin the hunt (like I did), trying to find one was even harder. Now, combine that with trying to find one for my chubby cheeked little chocolate angel was even harder. Did I mention that I have a son? There, you have it: I was looking for an African-American Cabbage Patch boy doll.

At the time, I worked for Sears, so I could get an employee discount on my purchases. I ordered my Cabbage Patch - backordered until Christmas. JC Penney - no luck. Spiegel? - backordered. Everywhere I tried - no little dude for my little dude. So, I gave up on that and moved on to other things on his list.

As luck would have it, I arrived home one day, and there was a box on the carport from Spiegel. My son was out with his grandmother, and I was so excited. Could it be? I tore open the outer box and opened it to find Jamie, my own little chocolate Cabbage Patch ..........girl. Oy, what to do, what to do?

I did what I had to do. I did a sex change on a Cabbage Patch doll. When my son went to bed that night, I got Jamie the girl out and took her ponytails down. Findng some thick thread, I stitched that doll's hair to her skull in rows and gave that girl an afro. The clothing, overalls, were unisex, so I didn't need to change that. I bought the new "Jamie" a basketball set of clothing and other sports-related cabbage patch stuff and made sure that the birth certificate didn't say anything about girl (it didn't).

On Christmas morning, EARLY Christmas morning, my son tore open the box that I had so carefully decorated and jumped on my bed with his new buddy Jamie. He was happy. He and his buddy had fun - and my sewing job held. I may have the only Cabbage Patch on the planet that changed genders, but you know what, my son didn't know. My mother, however, was very amused.

Boy, what we won't do to bring a smile to our children's faces.

2nd Poem of "Tweet"mas - Let Me Tweet

(sing to the tune of Let It Snow)

Oh the weather outside is freezing
My hair could use some teasing
Warm sockies upon my feet
Let Me Tweet! Let Me Tweet! Let Me Tweet!

Rain shows no signs of stopping
Man my joints are popping
Been up so long I am beat!
Let Me Tweet! Let Me Tweet! Let Me Tweet!

When a contest is going on
I am not going out in the storm
I'll just sit at my screen and tweet
that way I know I'll be warm!

My love of Twitter's not dying
I love it - I'm not lying,
So while I sit here in my seat
Let me Tweet! Let Me Tweet! Let Me Tweet!

Twas the Tweet Before Christmas

Twas the tweet before Christmas, when all through the net
contesters were tweeting, hadn't given up yet
The coffee cups sat by laptops with care -
would not want to spill any liquid on there.

The spouses were nestled all shug in their beds,
while visions of prizes danced in contesters' heads.
My "twiend" in her pj's and I in my gown
tweeted with one hand (we had this stuff down).

When out on the web there arose such a clatter
my eyes jumped to the screen to see what was the matter.
Away to my columns my eyes flew in a flash
Scrolled down my Tweetdeck - up and down in a dash.

The moon reflected on new-fallen snow
that couldn't compete with my laptop's glow.
when what to my wondering eyes should appear
a direct message from out of the clear.

Wasn't there before - showed up so quick
I knew in a moment that I had to click!
More rapid than disco, my heartbeats they came
and I whistled and shouted, "That winner's my name!"

A Gift Card, some jewelry, some shoes, I'm a Vixen!
Come UPS, FedEx, down below Mason-Dixon!
To the top of the stairs and knock on the door!
Bring me my prizes and please bring me more!

As lines of tweets during a party do fly
when you are so lost, you just look to the sky,
You tweet and you hope that the hosts will pick you.
but everyone else is thinking that too!

And, if in a twinkling, your name does display,
all that confusion is oh so okay!
You get back to the keyboard instead of turning around
If you left for a moment, you just might lose ground.

So you tweet during the night with your socks on your feet
You tweet and try not to ever leave your seat
A bundle of prizes you're trying to win.
You try to walk away, but your head starts to spin!

Your eyes - how they twinkle! Your smile is so merry!
and winning that prize is life's sweetest cherry.
So whether you're new or longer to the show.
We keep right on tweeting - even when the Internet's slow.

The dog sits there barking, leash in his teeth
You made him your avatar, wearing a wreath.
His cute little face and his round little belly,
didn't stop you from having peanut butter and jelly.

You dressed up your kitten like a cute little elf.
I dressed up m Furbys as they sat on the shelf.
A wink of the eye and a shake of the head,
I was feeling so sleepy, thought I'd pass out dead.

Didn't say another word, but got right back to work,
If I missed another contest, I'd feel like a jerk!
Put my fingers on the keys as I wiggled my nose
and I tweeted and watched as the lines of text rose;

I needed caffeine - heard the tea kettle blow,
poured another cup of tea and got back with the flow.
Twas the tweet before Christmas , by the computer light
Happy season to all, each and every tweet night!

A Letter to the Cigar Smoking Bots

Dear Cigar Smoking Bot,

It fills my heart with glee to wake up on a Friday morning to see you. It was bad enough before when I would check my list of followers only to see your face (I would say smiling but I can't tell because you're kinda busy). When a person is new to Twitter, seeing the follower numbers do a jump is exciting (okay, it's still exciting), and we just want to see these people who think that we might be interesting enough to follow. We smile at our new found sense of worth until the follower page opens, and there you are, the cigar - smoking femme fatale. It was my daily duty to delete you because once I went a whole three days without looking at the list; I was greeted by a low row of that - nothing anyone wants to see on an empty stomach.

Now you have changed your tactic. I open up Tweetdeck and there in my replies column you sit in your full-color glory; worse yet, when that notification box pops up, you're practically eye-level with me. I may never have breakfast sausage again - even the vegetarian kind. I can't get away from you.

What do I want from Twitter? I want a place where I can chat with my friends, enter my contests, listen to my music and live in peace. Dear little bot, I will never click on your link, I don't like your language, and if I want to see a naked star, I'll go to the movies or turn on cable. I hope that Twitter can pull the plug on this little bot and all her little bot buddies.

So little bot, here's a suggestion. Go away. Leave me and my friends alone. Go hassle each other with a little bot on bot action (wouldn't that be a sight). Be fruitful and multiply somewhere else.

On a positive note, I haven't had a corn dog in months.

10 Things I'm Thankful For On Twitter

Thanksgiving is that magical time in between Halloween and Christmas - unless you're a retailer, and it's that little bump in front of Black Friday. Either way, we all have something to be thankful for. Here's my somewhat irreverant but totally me list.

• I am grateful for the break that Twitter gives me from school work. Yes, I might finish my work quicker, but I'd also need more haircolor to cover up the grays.

• I am thankful for all the nice people who want to help me make money while whitening my teeth with these "secret" methods that every 4th person seems to know but me.

• I am thankful for the music loving sites out there like @freeonlineeradio and @blipfm who let me play music my way because of their wide selections of music.

• I am thankful for the shoe-loving people out there who have allowed me to feel good about not knowing (or wanting to know) how many pairs of shoes I have.

• I am grateful for the education that I receive daily about stuff like Zhu Zhu pets. I heard about here before I ever saw them on TV.

• I am grateful for emoticons and avatars and all the other pictures that make Twitter fun. Sometimes I forget who I'm talking to - especially close to holidays, but love the pictures.

• I am thankful for Twitter parties. Nothing says concentration like lines and lines of rapidly moving text to make you really, really focus (and develop strong bladder muscles).

• I am grateful for all the nice mobile Twitter clients that allow me to take my addiction on the road. It's all about productivity, isn't it? Why should the bathroom stop me from tweeting?

• I'm thankful for features like "Block and Report Spam". It is my personal weapon of choice against the hordes of "cigar smoking Britney bots" out there. Nothing say #win like watching that avatar disappear.

• I am grateful to know that, no matter what time of day, someone is on, tweeting about their day, some contest, a recipe, non-exploding sweet potatoes and any number of things. It's an insomniac's delight.

So, what are you thankful for?

Top Ten Signs of Twitter Contest Addiction

1. Every message ends with one or more hashtags.

2. You stop blow-drying your hair because you thought you heard the ringorang bell.

3. You need extra caffeine the next morning because one of your contests was ending. tweet tweet zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

4. You wake up early so you won't miss that pesky twrivia question - and then you wonder you are dragging through the day.

5. You check your Twitter client while you're waiting at the stoplight, at McDonald's, at Starbucks and in the bathroom.

6. You discover that Twitter is good for weight loss because you find yourself running to the computer whenever you hear the tweet.

7. You do your nails in between tweets. You eat between tweets. Heck, you live between tweets.

8. You consider the breadcrumbs on your keyboard as signs of your dedication to your contests; besides, it was a long night.

9. You hit the refresh button constantly (or check who the company recently followed) so you won't miss the winner's name all the while chanting "please be me, please be me".

AND THE BEST WAY TO TELL THAT YOU ARE ADDICTED TO TWITTER AND CONTESTS IS....

10. If you have ever felt that sense of "What do I do with myself?" whenever Twitter is down (and did I mention hashtags?)

Twitter's True Value

Waiting for the moments to tick by was murder. "Is it over yet - why isn't it over yet?"My friends know that,for three weeks in a row, I had entered the Fiji Water Facebook contest to win a gift card to Benihana. I had to create a haiku - a three line poem with very specific syllable lengths. Whoever had the most people to click "like" under his or her haiku would win the gift card.

Week 1 - left in the dust. Resolved to start earlier. (started too late)
Week 2 - Started earlier, smoked in the end by late entry. (started too early)
Week 3 - my friends convinced me to try again, and I put my poem in about two days before the end (timed just right).

Was the lesson proof of my mantra of Never Give Up, Never Surrender? Not quite.

The lesson learned was about the true value of Twitter.

The true value of Twitter is in the connections that you make with others - the friends that you make. I've been on Twitter for awhile, and at first, I had no earthly idea what it was about. I didn't know what to tweet and who to tweet it to, but slowly, after looking around and finding things that interested me, Twitter finally started to make sense.

The day I started entering contests was the beginning of a new experience for me on Twitter. I started seeing familiar names, and we started talking. Any time of day or night, someone was on that I could talk to, or just vicariously enjoy their tweets. Contest people are a community unto themselves, and even when we are all chasing the same prize, we understand that most of us are not going to win. We are happy for the winner, and happier still if it happens to be one of our ever-widening circle of friends. We support each other.

Such was the case when I entered the Fiji Water contest for the third time. My contest buddies convinced me to try for the third time because they were sure that I could win; I wasn't convinced. I enjoy playing with words, so I entered because the challenge of coming up with another haiku was more than my brain could ignore. I went to the site and sat there with my finger poised over the "Share" button. Should I? Should I wait? Yes, and no - now or never time. I hit the key, and there it was, for all the world to see.

I told my friends that it was there, and they went to work. The message started going out, telling followers that their friend was in a contest and needed their vote. I kept getting messages from people telling me that they voted for my poem, or that they had their husbands or boyfriends vote for it too. If they could do that, I could work hard too, so I went to Facebook to look for votes.

I learned some great lessons along the way. I learned that if you ask people for help, they're happy to help. I learned that, more often than not, if you ask for their vote, you get it. I learned that my bright, funny twitter friends are the most supportive group of people that I may ever meet.

After a day of down-to-the-wire updates and probably a thousand page refreshes, the time finally ran out. The third time did prove to be the charm. Thanks to Fiji Water for your contention that 3 can be a lucky number. Most of all, thank you to my friends. I couldn't have done it without your encouragement, your cheerleading and your votes.

That, is Twitter's true value.

My "Fall" Friday

I sat there on the sidewalk, wondering if anyone saw me. The first thing I looked at was my phone; face down on the sidewalk, I didn't want to pick it up and see a cracked face. That was a win - my phone wasn't broken. I didn't notice until I got back into the department that I noticed that I broke a nail.

What did I do?  I did a face plant right on the sidewalk after getting out of my car. My stupid flip flop got caught and I went flying. So there,  I am right on track - one bandaged thumb,one scraped knee one scraped elbow and nothing broken except one for one chipped nail.

Why am I on track? I have one good fall every 10 years or so. I didn't notice the pattern until I was out of high school. There was the waxy floor slide and wall bounce of junior high, the "I almost drowned" fall off a guy's shoulder during a game in a college pool, the platform shoes butt plant at my state director's feet, and now the flip-flop fiasco of my 40's. It's just me, and so far nothing has been hurt but my pride.

At least one good thing came out of it. While I was icing my knee, there was a loud knock on the door. It was the FEDEX guy with my RubiksTouchCube. Maybe someone did see me fall after all, and gave me a little present for my "boo boo". It's pretty enough to make me almost forget my knee.

Papa and Me - a Ghost Story

When I was a little girl, I had a favorite great-uncle who used to come by for visits very often. We all called him Papa. He was a tall man with a ready smile, a hearty laugh and big hairy arms. He would take me for rides and play horsey with me. He was a character, often slightly inebriated, but harmless and always fun. I was never in any danger with him, and he would have protected me with his life.

Papa died, and my mother and great-grandmother thought that I was too young to understand what death was, so they didn't tell me. That lack of information is what set off the turns of events that made them believe that there was much more to the universe.

A few days after the funeral, my great-grandmother was in the kitchen when she heard a commotion in the living room; I was yelling about something. She put down her dishcloth and ran in to see what had me so worked up. When she came in, she said that I ran to her and told her that I had been telling Papa to get out of her chair and he wouldn't move. Her chair was one of those vinyl plush chair that let out an audible "whoosh" when you first sit down. In the midst of her telling that it wasn't possible, she looked at the chair and saw an imprint that looked like someone was sitting there. She told me that it was alright, and she left.

When my mother came home. my great-grandmother told her about it, and my mother asked me about my day and I told her all about Papa and his visits. She tried to tell me that Papa was gone, but I wouldn't  hear it. She told me that I shouldn't make up stories and that Papa would not be coming anymore. It was one of those arguments that little ones have with their parents, and it ended with me doing what little ones do when they're frustrated; I cried and told her that she was mean. She put me to bed still sniffling.


My mother finished up and went to bed. She liked to sleep in total darkness. As my mother relates it, she was sleep and felt the covers being tugged. Being half asleep, she said that she thought I'd gotten up, so she mumbled something about going back to bed. It was then that the covers were yanked off the bed and something grabbed her ankle. She looked down and saw two hairy arms in the darkness - and nothing else. She knew those arms anywhere; they were Papa's. She screamed, and when my great-grandmother came running and switched on the light, there was nothing there - nothing at all, just my mother and the covers on the floor. 

She apologized to me for not believing me. None of us, including me, ever saw Papa again. My mother was happy about that; can't say that I blame her.

Breast Cancer Affects Us All

On most years, on one Saturday morning in October, I put on my comfortable shoes, my pink sweatsuit and my t-shirt to walk in the Komen Race for the Cure. It is important for me to participate any way that I can because I have been affected by breast cancer. For the record, I have never had it, and hope to never have it. However, that has not stopped this disease from affecting me.

Two of the ladies in the picture have both had breast cancer. The one in the foreground with the beautiful fuzz growing back on her head was my friend Pat. I met Pat years ago at church and liked her from the beginning. She was this quiet, calm person. I did not know all of her story - not until we started working for the same agency. It was then that I found out that cancer was something that she had fought twice before and was now fighting for the third time. She had worked with it, raised a son with it, seen the birth of her grand-daughter with it and never stopped smiling. Even when she lost her hair, she had accumulated a collection of hats and scarves for going out.

One of our state-wide television stations wanted to feature Amazing Arkansas Women. I sent in the article that I had written for our local newspaper, and Pat was chosen. A large group of co-workers and family showed up to shoot the piece. We stayed and walked in the Race for the Cure. For months after that piece was done, Pat could be anywhere in the state and people recognized her. It was wonderful, and she beat the cancer again.

A couple of years after that, the cancer came back again, and we all rallied around her as always. By this time, the sister of her daughter-in-law had been diagnosed with breast cancer, and one of Pat's best friends had to be treated as well. We had many reasons to walk that year, and we did; she couldn't, so we walked for her too. What we didn't know was that she was still our Pat, still stoic and forever planning. By the time we knew about her Stage 4 cancer, she had already engaged hospice services.

A group of friends and family were with her day and night. Since I was one of the shorter people, I curled up and slept on a loveseat. It wasn't the most comfortable thing but I didn't care. I sat holding her mother's hand on the night Pat left us. The pain that she had felt in those days was over.  The strongest person I have ever known was strong until the end.

No, I've never had breast cancer, but it has affected me, and it always will. Every year, whether I am able to participate in the race, I celebrate the lives of each and every survivor - and of the people who faced it on their own terms and lived their lives on their own terms - people like Pat. You go girl!