When I started publicly blogging last year, I was pretty naive. I had no idea that some people made money off this stuff. Advertising. Sponsorships. Book deals.
Clearly, I had never heard of the Pioneer Woman.
I’ve never written here with the ultimate intent of making money. First and foremost, I do this for me and for my kids. However, I have to admit, the idea of monetizing something I spend a fair amount of time doing does have its allure.
My only problem? Of the various unsolicited pitches I’ve gotten from different companies, none have appealed to me. They just don’t seem to represent me, or what I feel comfortable promoting.
So I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands. I’ve determined that maybe the best tactic is to approach brands that I want to work with, and sell my value to them. With that, I’ve written a few pitch letters to various companies.
I’m thinking this kind of partnership would really be a win-win for both sides.
I just hope they realize what a good deal it would be for them.
Dealing with the fire department because I accidentally started a huge blaze while attempting to blow out the candles on my cake.
Recovering from Black Friday.
Waking up from my tryptophan-induced hibernation.
Reminiscing about how 25 used to seem old.
Thinking about how I’ve officially closer to 40-something than I am to 30-something.
Drinking copious amounts of beer due to the aforementioned thought.
Drinking prune juice and taking my Geritol. ‘Cause I’ve heard that’s what old people do.
Realizing how pathetic I sound bemoaning another birthday. In reality, I have lots to be thankful for. Like the fact that I still get carded at the grocery store.
Admiring the shiny bling my husband got me card my kids made me for my birthday.
Celebrating my latest fantasy football win.
Spouting some belated Thanksgiving sentiments over at Kludgy Mom’s place.
Hint: the correct answer is #11. However, #1, 6 and 7 may also be true. And I remain optimistic about #10.
Wow, that feels good to get that off my chest. And Mom and Dad, if you’re reading this, you can just pretend the rest of this post never existed.
I was no wild child growing up. But when I ventured off to college and, later, into the big wide world, I spread my wings a little. I did what a lot of young adults did.
I played a little. I experimented a little. And I made some mistakes.
Looking back, there are a lot of times I wished I would have done something, but didn’t. And there are an equal number of things that, if I had a mulligan, I probably wouldn’t do again. I don’t dwell on a lot of these, because what’s done is done. They’re in the past.
Or are they?
As a parent, I wonder if some of my past adventures may possibly rear their ugly heads again. I know that, one day, the uncomfortable questions will likely come. And when my kids ask me about certain events and experiences, what do I tell them? When the time comes, do I reveal some of my confessions to my kids?
Confession #1. I’ve done the deed. Well, the cat’s out of the bag on this one. I think by the time my kids are old enough to learn about the birds and the bees, I don’t think I’ll be able to fool them into thinking the stork brought them. And I think by this point, my parents have probably figured the truth out as well.
But if the questions probe deeper? I don’t even want to think of touching that conversation with a ten-foot poll. Anyway, I’m in denial that we won’t need to have that talk. Because according to Jay, Bobo won’t even be allowed to date until she’s 30. Problem solved.
Confession #2. I drink. I do drink responsibly around my kids; they’ve seen me with a beer or glass of wine in hand. So I can’t deny that.
But if they ask? I certainly never had a sip before I was 21, never did anything stupid while under the influence, and I never got completely snockered.
Yeah, I’m betting my kids won’t buy that one either. I’m wondering if I could just mix a little dirt with water, and tell them that’s what Guinness tastes like. It wouldn’t exactly be a lie, would it?
Confession #3. I’ve celebrated 4/20. But only once. And I never inhaled.
Oh, crap. Someone famous already said that.
I don’t know what to say about this one. I’m just hoping to go with the “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy on this one. And I hope they never ask.
Confession #4. I love rock & roll My first concert was a Kenny G. concert Ah, finally an easy confession!
I’m not a big rock & roll fan, so I can honestly I’ve never participated in any shenanigans at a rock concert. I once drug Jay to a Dixie Chicks concert, but there was definitely no shenanigans at that event.
I do, however, still receive quite a bit of flack from Jay regarding my undying love for Kenny G.
But at least that’s one confession I don’t mind wholeheartedly admitting to my kids.
The arrival of fall always makes me a little depressed.
I am a sun person. And eight months out of the year, we don’t see much of it around these parts. Here in Oregon, autumn foreshadows months of dreary, overcast drizzle. The kind that makes you feel wet and soggy down to your very bones.
In trying to stay upbeat about the impending gloom, I put together a list of things that make me happy about fall. So here goes.
Why I Like Tolerate Fall Until Spring Comes Back Around
Fall rain means that my lawn will soon be green again. Being the cheapskate that I am, I’ve neglected watering our lawn, and it now resembles a bowl of shredded wheat. My neighbors, who likely don’t appreciate my frugality as much as me, are probably also cheering on the rain.
Crockpot dinners always cheer me up. Nothing beats coming in from a cold rainy day to a house that smells like crockpot kalua pig. Mmmm, pig.
Two words: Fantasy Football. Go Colts, by the way.
Seeing these by the front door. Because they’re just so cute.
I finally have an excuse to take down the Fourth of July decorations. I’ve actually been getting sick of looking at stars and flags for a while now, but have been too lazy to take them down. Pumpkins and ghosts save the day!
As the days grow shorter, there’s always the chance I can fool my kids into going to bed earlier. And waking up later. A slight chance, but a chance nonetheless.
A fridge full of this:
Mmm, beer.
I don’t have to worry about painting my toenails or shaving my legs for at least another 5 months. Being hairy is hot, right honey?
Speaking of hair, Booyah doesn’t shed nearly as much in the cooler months. Which means less hairballs. And that, hopefully, my bedspread will no longer look like an animal pelt.
And the best thing about the arrival of fall? It means there are only 178 days, and counting, before spring arrives.
