chocolategirl's blog

Help Joplin!

2011-05-31T12:39:00.000-07:00

Trying something new. Hope this works!
In case you missed it, I've been taking donations for Joplin in my store and handing out free pops to all who donate. It's been great so far, but many of you have asked me how to donate cash. Maybe you live out of town, or can't for whatever reason, get over here, so hopefully this will make it easier. I set up a ChipIn account, that works through a Paypal account, and the best part is, YOU don't have to have a Paypal account for it to work. Just give through this system, it goes to my paypal account I have set up, and everything is secure. I hope to raise $1000 for Joplin, along with the supplies that are coming in. Thanks!!! (Any questions...call me at the shop at 336 621-3320 or write a note on the Chocolate Pops Facebook page or comment below, leave your email, and I'll get back to you.)

Funeral Blues

2011-03-11T09:21:00.000-08:00

I wanted to write about Choco-Van today and what she's meant to me over the years, but the tears keep coming, and I just can't seem to find the right words. So I hope you don't mind if I borrow, in part, the words of that famous bugger, W. H. Auden. This is what I really want to say:

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent my dog, Cocoa Bean, from barking with a juicy bone.
Silence my Ipod and with muffled drum
Bring out the flatbed tow truck
Let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead,
Scribbling on the sky the message
She is dead.

Put crepe bows round the necks of my chocolate ducks and doves
Let the U Pull It guy wear black cotton gloves.
Choco-Van drove me North, South, East and West
Drove me during my working week, my Sunday rest.
At noon, at midnight
Listened to my talk, my song
I thought the van would last forever

I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now
Put out every one.
Pack up the moon
And dismantle the sun.

Pour away the ocean
and sweep up the woods

For driving an Accord can never
come to any good.

Rest in Peace, Choco-Van.
You will be missed.

Good Morning?

2011-02-23T11:12:00.000-08:00

This morning was the morning from hell. Really. Got up early, but still managed to run late. Couldn't get the kids to focus, so then they, too, were running late. Parker had one heck of a knot in his Converse...ten minutes lost there. Got lunches packed, new puppy under-foot, needing to go outside, no time for coffee with the foam on top, so settled for plain...not as good. Out of orange juice again. (We are ALWAYS out of orange juice!) Made kids smoothies, but of course, that takes longer. On the way to the boys' school, still in my jammies, spilled that cup of coffee down my front. Owww...Tried to explain to the boys how running late with them makes me run late the whole day, but they were too busy singing the latest Bruno Mars song on the radio. Realized just how much sound like my mother. argh... Got Savannah to school, puppy taken care of, my bag packed...only to realize I had forgotten something at the shop.

See, I was teaching a class today out at Lifespan, and I didn't want to be late. Got to the shop, then realized my store keys were on the kitchen counter at home. Argh....Calgon? You there? Take me away, please!

Yes, I made it to Lifespan. Yes, they were all waiting for me. Sigh. I hate being late. (For those who don't know, Lifespan works with those who are developmentally disabled.) Suddenly, I was caught up in melting chocolate, popping popcorn, showing them how to drizzle the melted chocolate, how to dip the pretzels. Smiling, laughing. That next hour changed my attitude. Working with those folks made my whole day, literally.

On the way back to work, my first thought was: "FINALLY, coffee!" Driving along, sipping my Starbucks, I then thought about my morning. But in a different light. I woke up this morning. Blessing number one. Wearing my favorte, soft jammies, I then made up our warm, comfy bed. Blessing number two. Chad kissed me. Blessing number three. Got the puppy and let her "wake up" the kids (love to see those little smiles in the morning!) Blessing number four. While the puppy was outside, I stepped into the laundry room and turned on the dryer to finish a load of laundry. Blessing number five. (BIG blessing: having your own washer and dryer.)

Asked the kids what they wanted for breakfast. Choice of food: Blessing number six. You see where this is going. I realized I can cook, drive a car, keep house, own a pet...heck, have kids even. I can run my business. I can juggle a million errands, pick-ups, drop-offs, and still remember my brother's upcoming birthday. So what if sometimes I forget the orange juice or spill my coffee? Look at all the blessings in my life. Look at all the blessings in yours. Count them. Name them one by one. I did.

Thirty-four dollars

2011-02-18T08:31:00.000-08:00

What can you buy with thrity-four dollars? You could treat a friend or two (depending where you go) to lunch. You could get a pedicure and leave a lousy tip. You could, according to my daughter, download a whole bunch of music for your ipod. Chad and I could see a movie, but probably have to cough up more moolah for Twizzlers and popcorn. Or, according to my boys, you could buy eleven packs of Yu-gi-oh cards OR the latest bionicle's motorcyle. Hmmm...

Why is thirty-four dollars on my mind, you ask? Here's the story. My Grandma's brother, Joe, 88, recently passed away. He went downhill quick: sick at Christmas, trouble swallowing, then pneumonia, then a feeding tube, two surgeries, paliative care, and days where we knew he was gone but he was just lying there, lingering. Bless his heart; he was such a vibrant, active man. To see him just lying there was hard on all of us. That wasn't the Uncle Joe we knew and loved.

One morning, I made my way up to the fourth floor of Moses Cone to sit with Uncle Joe before I had to go to work. When I walked up to his room, the family of the lady across the way was in the hall crying. She had just passed. It just touched me. I went on into Uncle Joe's room, sad from seeing their pain, sad to see Uncle Joe lying there, breathing so uncomfortably, eyes closed, not knowing I was even there. On the table next to the hospital bed was a plant and a card. "Mr. Joe." I opened it to read it to him, and out fell thirty-four dollars. The plant was from the folks at Harris Teeter, and the card was signed from each one. "We miss you," "Get better, we miss seeing you," "From your favorite meat man." I bet there were twenty or more well-wishes, each from a different employee who had become one of Uncle Joe's friends. Why did they send him money? I have no idea. Obviously, quite a few of them contributed because it was made up of fives and ones, a little from each friend.

Friend. That's what he called everyone. "How are you today, my friend?" What a personality. Uncle Joe was quite the character. He had many conspiracy theories. Never trusting banks, he liked to squirrel away money in jars buried in the back yard, or wrapped in aluminum foil in the freezer, or in envelopes taped to the under-side of kitchen cabinets. He thought city water at my Grandma's house was "dirty," so each day, when he visited her for lunch, he would bring his own ice-cubes, even though he lived right across the street (same water). He loved new shoes and always sported a new jacket or cap. He fed any cat he saw, so eventually every stray cat within a five mile radius of his place knew where to score dinner. And each Christmas, without much ado, Uncle Joe would hand us envelopes. Fifty, a hundred, we never knew. Once he handed my Grandma an envelope with ten-thousand dollars.

Remember that old word, dapper? Uncle Joe was dapper. And charming. So charming that he knew all the workers at "the market." (The Harris Teeter closest to him.) And he was good with the ladies, always having me make them chocolate popcorn for each special occasion. In fact, the number of his ladies started at around 10, but soon grew to 50 or 60. I could set my watch by his call. "Wendy, it's almost Valentine's..can you make me some popcorn for my ladies? I don't want to trouble you."

Once, at Christmas-time, Uncle Joe ordered popcorn, and asked me to write his name on a tag so everyone would know who it was from. I made cute little tags and wrote "Love, Joe." When he called me for his Valentine order, he got onto me. "Now listen, don't you go writing Love, Joe on these. I don't love all these women." I will so miss him.

The Sunday after his memorial service, my mom and I made tons of popcorn, and set up pictures of Uncle Joe on the table at Dolan Manor where he lived. We invited all the residents for one more "Valentine" from, not love, Joe.

So what to do with this thirty-four dollars? I have thought and thought about it. I want to do something that would truly honor his giving spirit. I posted it on Facebook the other day, and thanks, by the way, for the suggestions. Here's what I've decided to do. I went to the school today where my boys go, and asked the secretary (who is wonderful) to help me with my plan. I told her I wanted to start with thirty-four dollars and make it grow. I asked her to find me a kid who has it rough, a family who needs a little help, someone, maybe a single mom, who is working hard but just not making it. Then I want to anonymously send them a card each month, along with thrity-four dollars. My kids will be able to donate a portion of their allowance if they choose, and we will mail it through the secretary so no one will know who it is actually from. She will be our go-between.

I know thirty-four dollars is not a lot of money, but when you're struggling, sometimes the smallest help, helps. I have been there. I know how it feels to not know how the heck I'm gonna make it to the next payday. I have been a single mom. Once, when I was struggling, Uncle Joe handed me an envelope. Inside was $100. I have to tell you, that was the biggest $100 I ever received. Right when I needed it the most. A young customer told me the other day, how she wanted to one day, "have what you have, a place like this." That hit me like a ton of bricks. Sometimes I look at what I have and think it's not enough. So each month, when I put that thirty-four dollars in that envelope and seal it up, I'll be thinking just how much I do have, how blessed I truly am. And thanking my Uncle Joe up in heaven for teaching me how important it is to give.

Resolute!

2011-01-05T03:30:00.000-08:00

"Oh no," you're thinking, "not another blog/article/news story on New Year's Resolutions." Yes it is, sort of. I do make resolutions each year; I am part of that number of optomists who think of each new year as a fresh slate. And I hear ya, pessimists, I really do, and I get it. Most resolutions are like gym memberships: a good idea in January and a faint memory in February. But I gotta tell ya, most year's I stick to mine.

I think it's because I'm a list-girl. Got tasks? Make a list. Got dreams/goals/aspirations? Make a list. Then check them off. Simple. Easy. Organized. (Except when I lose the list.) I do, however, try to keep my resolutions simple and attainable. Instead of making the ever-popular resolution to lose weight or get fit, I re-word it to "lose 5 pounds, then set new goal for February," or "drink water with meals instead of tea." That way, the goal doesn't seem so big and I don't feel so overwhelmed.

I encourage the kids to make resolutions too. For themselves and then I give them one. Mine for them this year is "Take care." It emcompasses a lot but seems little. Just take care. Take care of our belongings...like no swinging the lunch box until it winds up in the tree outside my store...take care of our bodies and hair...like no more trips to the bathroom, BOYS, without wsshing your hands, and actually USING the soap and shampoo when you shower, not just rinsing! For Savannah, it's taking care of her stuff, like the $100 calculator she had to have for school which I constantly find on the floor, or the new clothes she just HAD to have which she keeps conveniently located spread out all over the floor.

For me, I won't bore you with my personal goals, but I will tell you that most of them revolve around the shop and making it grow this year. Someone recently told me that survival is the new success, but this year, I don't want to just survive; I want to grow. That means, new stuff. New chocolate creations. Right now, with the Christmas decorations down, the store is a blank canvass, and I am ready to paint, baby! I have been racking my brain, coming up with new ideas, and I am so excited.

This summer, I am launching a whole new type of pop. Not to spoil the surprise, but it's sweet and savory and so exciting! Meanwhile, back to the kitchen. I've got a lot of creating to do! Happy 2011!!!

The gift and the giving

2010-12-22T09:25:00.000-08:00

When I logged on today to write this, I realized my last post was dated November. December's such a blur, isn't it? So hurried, so rushed, a big sliding board ride from Thanksgiving to Christmas, with no way to slow it down! Nothing to do but throw your hands up above your head and enjoy the ride.

And I am enjoying the ride this year, I really am, but today I am a bit sad. My kids are on a plane right now going to Memphis to visit with their dad's family and this will be the first Christmas since they were born that I have spent away from them. I have gone from humming "Holly Jolly Christmas" to "Blue Christmas." And, of course, I have been reflecting.

Christmas is a time of giving...we all know that...but it doesn't hurt anyone of us to be occasionally reminded of that small wondrous fact. To find examples of how to give, and how NOT to give, I need look no further than my own family. There are a few people in my family, not naming names, who never give presents. I don't know if they forget (although "forgetting" can't possibly be an excuse year after year after year!), or if they just don't care, or if they just weren't hugged enough as children. But whatever the reason, these certain someones always seem hurt if they don't GET presents but never GIVE presents. It's a weird paradox. And a bit hurtful. And a bit thoughtless. Now, before you jump on me about the economy and how times are tough, let me just say that excuse is hogwash. There is ALWAYS something you can give: your time, a small token, even a hand-written letter saying how much you mean to someone...there is always something you can give. It's not that I want a present; I just wish they would find joy in giving.

Changing gears to my wonderful parents, the best example I can think of, they are true givers. When I was growing up, my parents showed be time after time how to give. They were the first ones to step up to the plate, the first ones to dig deep into their pockets, the first to open our home to whomever needed a place to stay. And now, they are older, and in their words, "really don't need anything." My dad told me last year at Christmas, that all they ever wanted was to live to see my brother and me happy and set and to spoil thier grandchildren. "We are there," he told me. "We are there."

So, instead of giving each other gifts, my mom and dad for the past few years have been giving each other $100. The catch is...they must each go out and help someone with that money, then report back to the other person. Who they helped and how is their gift to each other. $100 is not a huge amount, but sometimes $100 is huge. Sometimes $100 can turn your whole attitude around. Sometimes $100 can feed your family. Sometimes $100 can bring a struggling parent Christmas for their child. My mom and dad love doing this. They get excited like little kids. I know whomever is on the receiving end of their gift truly appreciates it, but words cannot decribe the joy my mom and dad get from giving. And what a good lesson to me and to my kids.

Speaking of my kids, they lost their grandfather this past fall. I knew at that moment, when I realized my ex-mother-in-law would be sad at Christmas, facing that first holiday without her husband, that my gift this year would be her grandchildren with her on Christmas. It didn't cost me any money, but this was a hard gift for me to give. Yes, I am sad, and yes I miss them already, and yes, I am tearing up even typing this, just thinking about them boarding that plane and saying, "Bye Mommy." But in about an hour or so, at the other end of that plane ride, there is going to be some sincere joy, and I will know that I had a hand in creating it.

I wish you all a very happy Christmas, and a very giving holiday season.

what "they" think

2010-11-30T08:07:00.000-08:00

On my morning visit to my Grandma today, she was excited to show me something she had "found." I put "found" in quotations because my Grandma forgets easily, and she is always "finding" something she has had for years. I joke with her that it's the beauty of early dementia; each day everything old is new again. In reality, watching her forget is tough. She just grins and says, "It's the process of aging."

This morning, she had found a box the kids had made her a few years ago, full of tiny notes from each of them. I had helped them write them. On each note was their name and what they love about Grandma. She delights in reading them again and again, and that's exactly why I had the kids make them. I sat in her old rocking chair while she read them to me.

"I love Grandma because she doesn't get mad when you make a mistake."

"I love Grandma because she has a strong faith in God."

"I love Grandma because she always has ice cream in the freezer and cinnamon buns in the kitchen drawer."

...and the lsit goes on and on. Each little note brought a smile to her face. She read them to me twice. On my way to work, I started thinking, what would my notes say?

If my friends, family, customers wrote tiny notes about me, and put them in a box, would I want to even open it?

Then I thought, what if, just for fun, I imagined what I would WANT thse notes to say about me, then actively made myself into that person?

I can tell you a few things poeple have said about me in the past...funny, always upbeat, positive, nice style about me (one of the elderly ladies, Edna, from my Grandma's place), thoughtful, giving, takes time with her family, treasures her grandmothers, good mom, good wife...I've received these complements before, and sometimes brushed them off, but what if I took them all to heart, believed that the person they're describing is the real me, or the me I want to be?

So that's my early resolution: Go out and be that person. In effect, put that pen in the critic's hand,and go out and make myself be that person I want to read about, so that one day, I'll cherish that box when I open it.

ahhh, chocolate

2010-11-18T08:04:00.000-08:00

"Good morning, store." I say this every day, out loud, as I walk into my shop. You might think I'm crazy, but to me, this little store is a living, breathing part of my family. There's so much of me here, it's like I breathed life into this place when I created it, and gave it a little piece of my soul. This store definately has my personality, but it takes on a life of its own too, sometimes, just like one of my children.

love being here. My family loves being here. I hope my customers love being here. I want, more than anything else, for the store to be a happy place, a magical place where, as soon as you walk through the door, you are greeted by warm smiles, inviting smells, and colorful, yummy, fun chocolate.

I know I tend to rant about the politics of the day, or wax nostalgic about my grandmother or times gone by, or relay the latest of my adventures as a mom or busness-owner here on this blog, but today I'd like to just talk chocolate...if ya don't mind.

Me and chocolate? Well, we go way back. Back to my childhood, with mom's baking or stockings at Christmas filled with chocolate santas, or walking to the five-and-dime with my brother and my grandpa to buy penny-candy. Back to my teenage years, full of angst and pimples and bad hair, when only a Hershey bar with almonds could mend my latest broken heart. Back to my college days, when a secret stash of M&M's was the only thing that could get me through Western Civ. Oh, there have been times when I thought my one true love was coffee, and it stills warms my heart, but chocolate is, and will always be, my favorite. In the words of David Cassidy, my other first true love, I think I love you, chocolate.

It's almost holiday season, and lately, I've been creating chocolate-y goodies non-stop. There are ten or so more "crunches" to make, countless chocolate lollipops, and the ever-in-demand peanut-butter balls still waiting on the list of Things To Do. But I don't mind. I love this stuff. I love the feel of stirring chocolate, melted to just the right consistency. I love pouring it into the molds or draping it over truffles. I love the shiny-ness of the finished product. I love decorating each pop by hand. And I love the smile on the face of someone trying my chocolates for the first time.

Yesterday, I made coconut bon-bons. First I made a coconut "dough," (think the inside of a Mounds bar), then smothered them in creamy dark chocolate and lined them up in rows on the baking sheet to set up in the fridge, each one topped with a few sprinkles of coconut flakes. I just stood there looking at them, and smiled. I made those. They're beautiful, and yummy, and I made them.

This morning, a lady stopped by who had ever been here before. She looked around, picked out some pops for her nieces and nephews, then a few for herself, and ate one of hers right then. Her eyes got bigger, then a smile broke across her face, and she said, "That's good!"

That, right there, simple as it is, is the reason I'm here. And that feeling of happiness, that feeling of contentment and bliss with that first bite, is the reason I love chocolate.

Ex and the City

2010-11-15T10:38:00.000-08:00

This blog today is for every parent out there who is divorced. Or on your way to a divorce. This is for every parent who has racked her brain wondering what she could have done differently. For each parent who has to almost physically hold a hand over his mouth so he won't say a harsh word about "the other side." This is for every parent who hopes child support will be on time. This is for every parent who finds himself accepting the blame from a kid who doesn't, and probably will never, know the truth of what really happened. This blog today is for those parents out there, who find themselves on the losing side of a crappy situation and somehow make the best of it.

And speaking from experience, it does get better with time. Well, sometimes. I wasn't going to write the blog today--I have so much prep work in the store to do for the upcoming holidays---but a Facebook post by a friend of mine made me stop, and think, and be thankful. I am a divorced parent, and share custody of the coolest three kids ever. There were, and still are, times when it takes every bit of moral fiber I have not to attack. Or defend myself against an attack. And there was a time when I could only refer to my ex's new girlfriend as "the idiot stick figure with no soul." But talking bad about the other parent is never right. It just hurts the kids.

Oh, I'm sure it would feel good at the time. I'm sure it would feel great to unleash a fire-storm of comments. Kudos to all those parents out there who don't. Kudos to all those parents who find a way to co-exist so the kids can enjoy peace. So, if you are in the middle of the storm, hang on. Gather your friends and your family close, let them know that you may need to blow off steam with them. Keep your faith and your wits about you. You can use my prayer if you'd like: "God, keep one hand on my heart to guide me and one hand over my mouth."

The Meanest Mom Ever

2010-11-10T06:59:00.000-08:00

That, according to my youngest son, is my newest title. This morning, to hear him tell the story, I earned it. To hear him speak of the Book Fair Incident of 2010, I am the ONLY mom ever not to buy my kid the book he wanted. I am the ONLY mom with rules about which book is appropriate. Forget what you think you know about mean moms. Apparently, I have surpassed them all. Leona Helmsley got nuthin on me baby! (Is she even a mom? I dunno...)

But now, in my defense, let me tell you...the rest of the story. I don't like Book Fairs. Back up, I don't like school fundraisers. Back up more, I don't like the PTA. There, I said it. Out loud. You can all gasp one collective loud gasp, as I have, probably, just offended half the moms in the country and certainly all the people at Scholastic. Without even getting into all the reasons why schools shouldn't have to "fundraise" to begin with, let me begin with this: I don't allow my children, never have, to participate in fundraisers for their schools. I simply will not be blackmailed into sending my children out to cajole unsuspecting neighbors, friends, co-workers or family into buying low-quality, high-priced wrapping paper so that the school can receive 1/10th of the profits. I won't let my kids collect addresses so our family can be bombarded by advertisements for magazine subscriptions. If I want chocolate, you can bet I'm gonna make it, and I take great issue with that bar that proclaims itself to be "World's Finest Chocolate." Ahem, I don't think so. I will not let you pressure my children to sell this stuff, luring them in with chincy prizes and promises of a "ice-cream party" to the class that sells the most. This, to me, has no place in our schools. Furthermore, I will not be sending my kids to school on the day of said party, and I dare you to mark their absence as "unexcused." I think these fundraisers are "unexcused."

Now, even though I do not like the PTA's tactics in ths manner, causing me to not like the organization as a whole, I do support the school, and I will go along with the PTA's use of the Book Fair, or linking my Harris-Teeter card, or Chick Fil-A night or skate-nght. These, to me, are the lesser evils. I am, though, beginning to have more and more of an issue with the Book Fair.

Here's why: Year after year, the quality of the books goes down and the prices go up. The amount of "junk" goes up. My kids come home with all sorts of items they would like for me to purchase, and I dole out "mom's rules about the book fair" speech once again. My kids can 1. Quote it almost verbatim, and 2. Never seem to remember it when we get there. Chapter books. On YOUR reading level or above. No "How to Draw Pokemon" or "Captain Underpants" or "101 Jokes about Body Parts." No erasers, pencils, posters, toys, highlighters. Nobody is the least bit interested in these school supplies at Wal-Mart, but put them at the front counter at the Book Fair and we just "have to have them!"

This morning, the drama unfolded like a nightmare that keeps repeating. Kiefer comes at me first with a blank book. You heard me, well, almost blank. "Look mom, they give you blank pages to write your own book!" $8.95...My answer: "I can give you a whole STACK of notebook paper for 39 cents and you can go at it...no."

Next up, "The Adventures of Ook and Gluook," or something to that effect, a book that's basically just a series of comic strips. My answer, "If you want to spend your OWN allowance, fine." Of course, this is SACRILEDGE! No one wants to spend THEIR money, just mine. (And ps, when my children want me to spend my money, they would like for me to hand it over with no say-so whatsoever in how it's spent. I don't think so.)

Next up, "Mom, I've been wanting this book FOREVER!" Here, I think my eyes rolled back in my head as I don't remember anything about said book except it contained very few pages, lots of pictures BUT came with this "amazing" DVD...$9.

Parker wised up, or he recognized that my head was about to explode off my body, and he grabbed the book I already had approved, got in line, and asked in the sweetest voice, "Mom, can I buy this now?" Kiefer, however, dug in.

Onlooking parents, teachers and other children all watched Kiefer's display of crocodile tears as he was made to leave the Book Fair with no book. In the hall, the pleading of his case continued and he was sent to class empty-handed. Half-way down the hall, he turned and said, "You're the meanest mom EVER!" I am left, alone, standing in the hall, students rushing by me to class, teachers down the hall whispering to each other, "She really is," or at least I feel like they are, and my youngest son, shoulders slumped in defeat, treads on, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve, making sure to sniffle louder whenever someone passes by.

In my heart, I want to rush after him and hug him and buy him a book. But in my head I know that doing so would fuel a later fire. Being a good mom is not always hearts and rainbows; sometimes it's drawing that harsh line. Playing the heavy is part and parcel of the job.

The story should end here. But you all know me, don't you? Maybe I should have left quietly, gone on to work, consoling myself with a pit-stop at Starbucks on the way. But not me. In typical Julia Sugarbaker fashion, I had to tell those teachers and those Book Fair people what I really thought. Maybe they weren't even thinking what I thought they were thinking, but just in case, I had to set the record straight. "I don't know if I speak for all parents. Heck, I don't know if I speak for any at all parents. But speaking just for me, I don't like what the Book Fair has become. I can trot down to the Barnes and Noble and buy better books, that would cost me a lot less, but I buy books at the Book Fair, at EVErY book fair, because I want, at least in some small way, to help the school. But when you load this place up with crap, overpriced highlighters and posters, and dumb books like "The History of Justin Beiber," or comics or books FAR below even a kindergartner's reading level, then don't sit back later and wonder why the kids have low test scores or you can't get little Johnny to read the classics. My son left here today because he threw a fit for this crap and I said no, and I will continue to say no. My wish is that you would not cave into Scholastic's pressure to sell this crap to our kids and demand better quality for our Book Fair. So, y'all have a nice day."

Then I left. I am sure, somewhere in the library, they are plotting my death. Or at least an injunction. Any future job at Scholastic Books is off the table, as probably even Clifford the Big Red Dog is mad at me now. And I shouldn't count on anyone nominating me to a PTA office. But that's okay. I am at work now, I have my latte, and I am going to go make some chocolate snowmen and santas. I'm sure Kiefer's friends have all heard of my mean-ness. I'm sure we'll have to talk about this over dinner. And sadly, I'm sure this won't be my last battle. But I'm also sure, that MY kids will read...good books.

Walking on graves

2010-11-08T08:16:00.000-08:00

Today I walked on my great-grandma's grave. I didn't mean to, of course, as I was taught, as lots of us were, that walking on a grave is disrespectful. I simply did not see her there. Her grave is marked, and there is a headstone, but it's nothing fancy. Not noticeable, really. (My great-grandfather is not beside her, but not far either, and his tombstone is a bit larger.)

My great-grandmother's name was America Jane Money and she is a mystery to me. I never knew her, but I have an image of her in my mind, fashioned mostly by dates and facts and figures; the blanks filled in by my own imagination. She is not featured often in family Bible's or records...only a line here or there about her birth and her death. I found a bit more on ancestry.com about her, but not much.

As you can tell so far, today's blog is not much about chocolate. But I've always been of the belief that we should ALL know where we come from, and be thankful for the ones who came before, the adventures they lived, so that we can now have our own adventures. Now, I know this story is part of my family's story, and may not even interest anyone else, but maybe...it might inspire you to find your own story.

My grandfather was part-Indian. I grew up hearing tales of such. He was a dark-complected man, with black hair and a fiery demeanor. He spent time in prison; my grandmother raised three kids practically alone. Later in life, he gave his life to God, and changed his ways. He died when I was seven. I was inconsolable; he was a big teddy-bear to me, and to my younger brother.

Stories of Indians was all they were, no facts, until my brother and I were older and did our own research. My brother and I are weirdly drawn to "dream-catchers," and have them in our homes, but don't really know why. My brother carves and plays Indian flutes, and the music is soothing in its familiarity, though we don't really know why. It seems to be calling from another world, a world we couldn't possibly remember, but to quote Stevie Nicks is "hauntingly familiar." We believe we are Cherokee, and think we know where the Cherokee comes into the family tree, but cannot directly prove it. We, my brother and I, think it has to do with our great-grandmother.

First of all, our thinking is that her name is 1. pretty cool and 2. a bit made-up-sounding, don't you think? (But, I admit, LOTS of these old names sound "made-up.") America Jane Money. She was born February 14, 1895 here in North Carolina. Her parents were Bud Money and Almetta Bell. Researching these two has been difficult, as around the time of the Trail of Tears, almost all information dries up. There are a few names to be found and a few birthdates, but nothing substantial and nothing that can be verified.

Another curioisty about Ms. America, as I'm fond of calling her now, is that she married a man whose mother's last name was Money. I can't quite wrap my head around this one. If my husband's mother's name and my father's name are the same, wouldn't they be brother and sister? America (my great-grandmother) married Reason Brown, my great-grandfather, and Reason's mother's name was Rebecca Money...I can trace this line all the way back to a name-change to "Moon" and the late 1600's. I find it odd that I can trace this name all that way back but cannot trace back even a few generations on America's side. So, timewise, the info dries up around the time of the forced removal of the Cherokee from North Carolina(1838-9).

I don't know if you all know this but there are were basically three ways the Eastern Band of Cherokees escaped the "trail of tears." About 600 of them found help in becoming citizens, 400 or so hid in the woods and moved around so as not to be found, and another 300-400 married-in. (These were mostly Cherokee women of course, who then had a different name.) I truly think my great-grandmother is a descendant of someone who "married-in." Time-wise, it fits...America's father, Bud, was born in 1870. His parents were the generation living during this time in history.

Here's another interestng piece of information: America's father, Bud, has a father named Henry EMERSON Money. Why is this curious? Ralph Waldo Emerson was opposed to the forced removal of the Cherokee from their lands,and was quite verbal about it. He even wrote a letter to President Martin Van Buren, urging him not to inflict "so vast an outrage upon the Cherokee nation." Date of letter? April 23, 1938. Date of Henry Emerson Money's birth? As far as I can tell, 1838. May be just a coincidence, but I think it isn't.

So, what does this all mean to me? Probably, I will never be able to prove any Indian legacy. Some have suggested to me, that if I could prove this legacy, my children might be in line for scholarships. But this doesn't appeal to me at all; I'm not interested in "being Indian" for any monetary gain. Let someone else who really deserves that help have it. I only want to know that world, and to know the members of my family, living or dead, and the adventures they lived in their short time on this planet. They are responsible for my being here, and I'd simply like to tell their stories.

I sincerely hope you read this part of MY story and it sparks you to find your own.

Wanted: Parents

2010-11-02T08:53:00.000-07:00

POSITION: Mom, mommy, mama, ma, Dad, daddy, pop

JOB DESCRIPTION: Long-term team players needed for challenging, permanent work in an often-chaotic environment. Candidates must possess excellent communication and organizational skills and be willing to work variable hours, which will include evenings and weekends and frequent 24-hour shifts on call. Some overnight travel required, including trips to primitive camping sites on rainy weekends and endless sports tournaments in far-away cities. Travel expenses not reimbursed. Extensive courier duties also required.

RESPONSIBILITIES: Must possess the physical stamina of a pack mule, and be able to go from zero to 60 mph in three seconds flat in case, ths time, the screams from the backyard are real and not someone just crying wolf. Must be willing to face stimulating technical challenges, such as small gadget repair, mysteriously sluggish toilets, and stuck zippers. Must be able to put together a bike or the latest lego creation with no instructions. Must screen phone calls, maintain calendars, and coordinate multible homework projects. (Must be able to come up with said projects with absolutely no prior notice!) Must be willing to be hated, at least temporarily, until someone needs five dollars. Must cheer for the losing-est tee-ball team in history with a smile on your face. Must be willing to bite tongue repeatedly. Must be able to plan and organize social gatherings for clients of all ages and mental outlooks. Must be willing to be indispensible one minute and embarrassing the next. Must handle assembly and product safety testing of all cheap, plastic toys and battery-operated devices. Must be able to serve imaginary tea to a bear with a straight face and to assure awkward teens that yearbook photos are "not that bad." Responsibilities include complete stocking, and running, of the kitchen and routine floor maintenance and janitorial work throughout the facility. Must monitor all influences coming in from the outside world and discuss accordingly. Must always hope for the best and be prepared for the worst. Must accept final, complete accountability for the quality of the end product.

POSSIBILITY FOR ADVANCEMENT AND PROMOTION: None, your job is to remain in the same position for years, with no complaining, constantly re-training yourself and updating your skills, so that those in your charge can ultimately surpass you.

TERM OF SERVICE: the rest of your life.

PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE: none required. On the job training offered on a continually exhausting basis.

WAGES AND COMPENSATION: Get this--YOU PAY THEM! Offering frequent raises and bonuses to them! A balloon payment is due when they turn eighteen, due to the assumption that college will help them become financially independent. When you die, you give them whatever is left. The oddest thing about this reverse salary is that you actually enjoy it and wish you could do more.

BENEFITS: While no health or dental plan, no pension, no tuition reimbursement, no paid sick leave or holidays, no stock options are offered, this job supplies limitless opportunities for personal growth, unconditional love, and free hugs and kisses for life! Any takers?

(I did not come up with all of this solely on my own...it was gleaned from several writings like this, and I added some...to be honest. I love it though! Hope you enjoy!)

HOT chocolate

2010-10-19T07:06:00.000-07:00

I got the wrong drink today at Starbucks. I had extra time this morning. My hair did (somewhat) what I wanted it to do. I had picked out my clothes the night before. I got the kids to school on time. I ate a nutritious breakfast, answered emails, even started a load of laundry to be finished later. I visited my Grandma, bought a few things needed at the Walgreens, and then...feeling good at being accomplished and early, I allowed myself the guilty pleasure of a tall...nonfat...caramel macchiato. Ahhhh, the steaming espresso poured over foaming warm milk drizzled with caramel...mmmmm.

I should have noticed something was up when I was handed my drink. The cup was a grande instead of my usual tall, and I even mentioned it, but the barrista said, "Oh well, enjoy!" I counted my good fortune and headed off to the shop. Queen came on the radio, and since I couldn't sip AND sing, and Queen's "Somebody To Love" requires I belt it out!, I waited till I got to work to taste my coffee.

Then I realized..."I know caramel macchiato, and you sir, are NO caramel macchiato!" Ick. Hot chocolate. Not a coffee bean in sight! Argh! (Not knocking hot chocoate, mind you, but when I think Starbucks, and $3.50!, I'm thinking caffeine.)

Now, if I had driven back over to Starbucks, I would have been greeted with an apology, a new coffee, and probably a free coupon for next time...I KNOW my Starbucks. Then I thought, nah...if you think about it, life is just like this wrong cup of coffee. I'm gonna sip this dang hot chocolate and remind myself that if you look for it, life will teach you its little lessons.

Not everything goes according to plan. In fact, it's sometimes the small detours, the wrong turns we didn't mean to make, the inconviences thrown our way, that form our character. So I ordered caramel macchiato and got hot chocolate. I did get a grande instead of a tall. I am having a great morning. And I'm not going to allow something so insignificant to ruin my good mood.

We go throught his life once, and we had better enjoy it. Because enjoy it or don't enjoy it: It's over before you know it. So the blouse you wanted to wear today didn't get washed. Or the baby burped up all over your dress right before church service and you have no time to change. Or your hair decides to fall flat the moment the photographer snaps the picture. These things happen. These kinds of mishaps used to really concern me, because I used to worry about my reputation, what people thought of me. As I get older I realize that while that may seem important, what's really important is your character. My Grandma read me a quote this morning about the difference between reputation and character. "Care less about your reputation because that's what people THINK you are and more about your character, because that's who you REALLY are."

And who I really am is a person enjoying this hot chocolate.

Spooky

2010-10-18T08:07:00.000-07:00

I adore Halloween. It's my favorite holiday. I love when Halloween falls, at the end of October, when leaves are crunchy and changing color, when crispness is in the air, when pumpkin patches seem to pop up at every corner. Like Linus, I anxiously await the arrival of the Great Pumpkin each year.

And I love all Hallows eve itself: Helping my kids dress up, sometimes even dressing up with them, watching them revel in their excitement while mapping out their planned routes so as to snag the most candy. Carnivals, trunk or treats, walking with my kids, laughing the whole way from door to door to door. What could be more fun?

In the shop, too, Halloween signals my busiest time. Orange and black and candy-corn colors fill the shelves, and I busy myself each day making bats and ghosts and pumpkins. Halloween is the time I make peanut butter eyeballs, which sell out quicker than you can say, "Eeek!" Halloween signals the fast-paced fun-filled slide into Thanksgiving, Hannukah, and Christmas, when I can barely turn around I'm so busy.

But...(there always has to be a but, huh?), I do not like the icky side of Halloween, the blood and guts and disgusting part. I don't let my kids go into that Halloween Express store for that very reason. I just don't want them to see all that gore. Yesterday, shopping for costumes, my son Parker lamented, "You're the only mom in the world who doesn't let their kids dress however they want!" And you know, he's right. I don't. (I don't think I'm the ONLY mom that feels this way, though.) Call me old-fashioned, call me a prude, call me whatever you will...but I don't let my sons dress up in all that gory, blood-dripping, ax-murderery mess, and I don't let my daughter dress as a sexy nurse or sexy cat or sexy whatever the costume-makers want to push on tweens this year.

Maybe I'm not in charge of everyone's Halloween, but I am in charge of ours. I heard one parent complain in the party store that all her kids wanted was the scary junk. I guess as they get older they want that stuff. But I think it's all in how you present it, and govern it. We watch scary movies sometimes with the kids, but choose the ones with more suspense, less blood-and-guts. They don't know Jason or Freddy or the Scream guy, but they know Hitchcock and Cujo and some of M. Night Shamalan's stuff. As parents, it's our job to walk that line between what's appropriate and what's not.

And it's the same with costumes. Halloween isn't in itself a bad holiday, as long as you be true to your beliefs. Contrary to how it began, or what some others make out of it, Halloween to us is a celebration of fall, a time for costumes and candy and fun, a time to really enjoy being a kid. You will find that lighter side of Halloween in my shop, and you'll find it our home. If you like all that blood and guts and gore, I'm sure you'll find it (it's everywhere!)...but if you're looking for a pumpkin patch that's sincere in celebrating fun-only, then come on over...I think even the Great Pumpkin would be proud.

Flying Home

2010-10-12T09:54:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, Chad (my husband) and I flew to California for his sister's wedding. It was a beautiful wedding, gorgeous weather, lots of family and friends...on the way home, on the flight from L.A. to our layover in Houston, I made two new friends.

Chad and I both had aisle seats, so while he worked some/napped some on his side of the aisle, I chatted with my new friends on my side. I think I had more fun! These two men in the seats next to me were businessmen on a trip to Belize, to meet with investors there. They were both from Hong Kong, and had immigrated to the U.S. in 1955. "We came over when Eisenhower let 6000 Asians in," they told me.

Over the next three hours, man! Did I get an education! (Warning: Not everything I'm about to share is politically correct, so if you offend easily either 1. Blame these two men or 2. Stop reading now. I personally don't get offended easily so I found them hilarious.)

One of the men had a newspaper and our three-hour or so conversation started when he saw me reading over his shoulder. "Look at this Obama, you vote for him?" I told him "No, but my husband did." Then he said to me, "Smart girl, he a communist." (I'm trying to capture his accent with punctuation, use your imagination to fill in the blanks here...) I giggled and asked him, "How do you know that?" The man shrugged and said, "We from China, we know communist when we see one."

Later, he spoke of Obama again, and this time he called him a socialist. I saw an opportunity here to get knowledge straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak, and asked him the difference between a communist and a socialist. He answered, "Socialist, communist, basically same thing. Socialist is ideal, what's yours is mine, what's mine is mine...that's socialist. Communist is socialist with ideal and with gun."

After I calmed down from laughing, I asked, "Well then, what's a fascist?"
He must've seen me coming....he smiled. "You are funny, girl... Fascist is other side. Socialist is crazy, it never work...fascist and communist: either sides of crazy."

He asked what I did for a living, and I told him I owned a chocolate store. He said to me, "See? You have chocolate, people buy chocolate, you make money, simple...capitalism. That works." I told him I don't really consider myself to be a capitalist, I'm so small and all. He said, "No matter how small, you part of the wheel." Hmmm...

So, there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. I made a little joke next and told him, "Glenn Beck would probably get a kick out of you!" He looked at me for a moment and asked, "Glenn Beck?"

"Yes," I continued, "you like Glenn Beck?"
"NO! He crazy!" The old man was on a roll now. "But he has a point! And, he good teacher. I watch him, I think, he stupid, but sometimes I think maybe he not stupid at all. He say look for yourself, find out for yourself, I like that."

I held my tongue, since the only person that gets on my nerves more than Glen Beck is that Nancy Grace woman. Geez, can you imagine if they had a love child? Wow!

We talked about so many things, as much as you can possibly fit into three hours on a plane...I asked about his work, he asked about mine...he gave me sooooo much advice. He said, "People always say you gotta diversify....that's crap! Diversify! You stick with chocolate! Everything chocolate!" I told him that I get so much advice how do I know what to keep and what to ignore? He said, "Test is, you ask them if they make money...if they make money, take their advice but if they no make money, it's crap!"

Turns out this man and his wife raised three kids who are all now grown with kids of their own. He asked about my kids, and how public schools are in North Carolina. I told him that so far, we've had pretty good luck, that I stay involved and I think that's key. He told me, "That is very smart. Some parents not involved at all, wonder why their kid is dumb." At this point, the other gentlemen piped in and did a little rant about parents not caring, dumping their kids off and saying, "See ya later," then complaining about the system. I listened and nodded. I loved the part at the end of his speech. He finished with, "We don't present college as option. We brainwash kids when little, tell them you no finish school at high school...you finish school after four years college. Then you want more, okay. Don't want more, okay." Makes sense, huh? There was a time when one could drop out of school, or even finish high school and go to work. But I feel like that time has mostly passed. I know I certainly want my kids to go to college, for sure.

The two gentlemen asked me if I hired help to make my chocolate. When I answered, "No, I make everything myself," they told me again that I was smart. "Yes, you must grow, but never leave business in hands of someone else. I once had a french bakery. I bought it, I know nothing about bakery, I just like eating bread. So, I hire chef to come in, make the pastry, make the cakes, make the bread. He see everyone happy, everyone like his pastry, he asked for more money. Few months, he ask more money. Few months, he leave, go some other bakery. Now I am in kitchen, making pastry, making the bread. That's not me! Eventually have to close bakery. That's not smart. But you. You the owner, you the baker. See? That smart." The quieter gentleman asked me if I lived close to New Point.
"New Point? You mean, New Bern?" He said, "No, furniture, New Point."

"Ahhhh, High Point."
He replied, "New Point, High Point, same thing."

The conversation shifted back to politics. I told him what really scares me is North Korea and what they might do. The talky gentleman laughed. "They not do anything. Forget them. Don't worry about them."

The other one agreed. "They too far away. They don't mess with us." We had a long talk about U.S. foreign policy. "We need to leave people alone!" It was very enlightening. The two men shared with me what life was like growing up in Hong Kong, and a little of the history there, that Hong Kong was under Great Britain's control for 99 years, then, as these two tell it, "Margaret Thatcher says we want to extend our lease...you don't do that! You don't negotiate with landlord; you just stay there til evicted." We talked about the difference between showing respect and showing weakness. "I bow to you, you bow to me, that's respect. Obama bows to Japanese emperor...show weakness! You see emperor bow to Obama? No!"

We talked more and more, more than I can remember to write here. I so enjoyed seeing the world through their eyes. By the time the plane landed, I'd had the most fun conversation I'd had in a long time! I was actually sad the flight was over. We said goodbye, they took my card, "Nice card, very pretty, look you up when we come to Durham, not far from you?"

"Not far," I said, "Bout an hour or so."
"Good," they smiled. "We come get goooood chocolate." The other man smiled too and said, "You going to do well, you going to be famous!" How's that for a vote of confidence? Then we said goodbye and as I turned to get off the plane, one of the men told me, "Now, get home, get back to work, make lots of money!"

And I replied, "Yes sir."

From Timothy, with love

2010-10-01T08:01:00.000-07:00

Those of you who know me, know that I like to visit my grandmother in the mornings before work. It started when she moved to Morningview, an assisted-living facility, mainly as a way for me to make sure she wasn't lonely. Her place is right around the corner from my shop, so after I drop the kids at school, I swing by Grandma's. Now I realize, Grandma is probably the most popular resident at Morningview, attends almost every function or class they offer, and never gets lonely. My mom visits every day at lunch, other friends and family visit when they can, and in between you'll find Grandma at Bingo or Wii bowling or Jazzercise.

I usually find her in her room, reading her Bible, doing her "daily devotion." Today was no different. I knock, she calls "Who is it?" even though she knows it's me, and I sit in the rocking chair across from her and soak up all I can. I ask what's she's reading this day, she explains, and we laugh and share funny things the kids have done, family events, that kind of thing. Sometimes I lead with a question, sometimes I let her tell me what she wants me to hear. My grandmother's memory is like a feather in the wind; it lands still for a moment only to be whisked away to somewhere else, touching on here and there before it lands again.

"Today I'm reading in Timothy," she tells me. "Who wrote Timothy?, she asks me. "Paul," I say. "Right! Very good." I feel like I'm five years old. "Wendy, do you know what was so dear about Timothy?," she asks.

"What?"
"He was taught the way of the Lord by his grandmother."

Tears started to fill my eyes, but then she was off again, to another subject, wanting to show me old pictures my mom had sorted and brought to her. I flipped through them, one picture my Grandma is holding a strawberry pie, her favorite. One picture she is reading to Savannah, my oldest then three sitting in her lap in that same rocking chair I sit in now. One picture my mom is pinning a corsage on Grandma, Grandpa is standing behind her looking on..."Must've been our anniversary," Grandma said.

"Grandma, how did you manage to carry on when Grandpa died? Weren't you lonely?"

My Grandma waved her hands in the air, dismissing the lonely comment like it was nothing, "You just do, I had no choice, and I trusted God."

The key to my Grandma's whole life right there, trust God. Now I know some people would make fun of that, maybe even call Grandma's trust naive, but how else do you get through what life throws your way? Without trust, and faith, and some kind of reassurance that there is a plan bigger than you can imagine, how can there be peace?

My Grandma lives in a place where routinely someone dies, or someone leaves for the hospital never to come back, or someone is moved into the alzheimer's ward. I'm reminded of this every time I walk down the halls to my Grandma's, and I see the empty, packed up rooms where someone lived just a moment ago. "Death is just a part of life," Grandma says and waves those little hands in the air again. She is so content with her station in life and her fate.

I, however, am not. So I ask her, "How can you be so at peace with old age?"

This, as best as I can remember it, was her reply. "It's not hard being old, not for me. You see, I am a child of God and he will take care of me. Everyone younger is struggling, but I've got news for you, it gets easier. When you're 90 like me, people don't expect much from you. They are just happy to see you're still alive. They are shocked that you're still walking around. If I don't remember something, or drool when I eat supper, or make any kind of mistake, people just blame it on my age. If I act silly, they just say I'm in my second childhood. I can get away with anything!"

I snickered. "Yes, but what about dying? Aren't you afraid?"

Grandma then quoted me word for word her favorite scripture. The woman who can't remember what she ate for breakfast quoted word for word..."Fear not for I am with thee. Be not dismayed, for I am thy God. I will strengthen thee, yea I will help thee, yea I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness."

Then Grandma's mind did its little feather dance again, and she said, "That's it, now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go to the bathroom...your mother will be here in a minute to take me to get my hair done, and you have to get to work!"

Yes m'aam, Grandma, that's it alright. What would I do without my Grandma? And my God?

What's your (Candy) Sign?

2010-09-29T10:22:00.001-07:00

I don't put much stock in horoscopes. But some do. So, just for fun, I've put together a little insight into what your astrological sign says about you...only, this one has a sweet twist.

Not a believer in the Zodiac? You can still play along...just read these as personality traits instead.

Here's are the ties, as I see them, between your sign and your candy choice: Enjoy!

ARIES: Fire signs like Aries enjoy candy with a kick, which is why you'll often see Rams reaching for a box of Red Hots. Pop Rocks are a good choice too, since Aries simply explode with energy. When it comes to chocolate cravings, Aries reach for M&M's, since that's the only candy that won't melt with all that heat Aries is generating. Aries are sometimes impulsive, so they might just pick up whatever candy is in front of them!

TAURUS: Taurus like candy that will last and last, like Gobstoppers. Bulls also enjoy knawing their way through a Mary Jane or two. When it comes to chocolate, satisfy the Taurus in your life with anything chocolate and caramel, since chewy chocolates cannot be gulped all at once. Nestle's Crunch is also a hit with Taurus, since this well-rounded personality can be a bit snappy.

GEMINI: If there's anything Gemini can't resist, it's getting two candies for the price of one. Charms Blow Pops are the natural choice, lollipop and gum all in one. Gemini also love Twix, and their fave? Reese's Peanut Butter Cups...two cups, two flavors, chocolate AND peanut butter. Gemini are also known for their creativity, so don't put it past them to create their OWN candy.

CANCER: Sentimental Cancer enjoys old-fashioned candy like Lifesavers, or any candy that conjurs up memories of childhood. Twizzlers also appeal to their inner child's twisted and playful sense of humor. The calm, peaceful nature of Cancers draw them to the simple, unassuming Hershey bar.

LEO: The most playful of the Zodiac love Fun Dip. Starburst candy reminds Leos of their own celestial radiance. Kit Kats also make them purr. Be warned though, even though Leos are generous, you may get a loud roar if you raid their candy stash...paws off! Leos are notorious for being champions of underdogs and slayer of dragons, so don't be surprised if you see them reaching for a 3 Musketeers.

VIRGO: Because this sign is associated with the harvest, the obvious choice is candy corn. Sour Apple candy really makes Virgos smile, as the bright green color evokes spring-time thoughts for this nature-lover. Virgos love to be organized too, so just for fun, give them Skittles and see how long it takes before they have the candies all sorted by color.

LIBRA: Libras have a strong sense of aesthetics, which is why they love the pretty pastels of Jordan Almonds. These hopeful romantics love Sweetarts too. Junior Mints are a fave, since the mint combined with chocolate makes kissing even more delicious. Since balance is so important to the Libra, Snickers, the perfect balance between chocolate and nuts, is held in high regard.

SCORPIO: Scorpio is a fan of all that is dark and shadowy, and love the color black. Licorice is the obvious choice. As far as chocolate goes, the darker the better is Scorpio's motto...Hershey's Special Dark is rich enough to fit the bill. Scorpios also are drawn to intense and dramatic relationships, in life and in candy, so please them with the intense sour flavor of Sour Patch Kids.

SAGITTARIUS: Archers always dream of visiting distant lands, which is probably why they enjoy Mounds...nothing says palm trees like the taste of coconut. Naturally, some of these jokesters like Almond Joy too, when they "feel like a nut." The Sagittarius is smooth, articulate, yet takes risks...like a Butterfinger.

CAPRICORN: Status-oriented Capricorn likes images of abundance...like 100 Grand or Good & Plenty. But don't let these work-horses fool you though; they may espouse virtues of labor, but all Capricorn really wants is a Sugar Daddy. Capricorns make excellent businessmen or women, so expect them to bring home any candy that was on sale.

AQUARIUS: What type of candy would a water-bearer like best? Why those freaky little wax bottles filled with syrup, of course! Hard-to-find Necco wafers also give this sign a kick, since they like to find things that are off the beaten path. Aquarius also like the malted milk flavor in Whoppers. Philosophical by nature, they like to ponder over a Milky Way.

PISCES: Is this one any surprise? Swedish Fish! As far as chocolate is concerned, Rolo is the choice of Pisces, since its liquid caramel center makes a big splash with this water sign. What other candy would the compassionate, caring Pisces like? Gummy Bears...!

Hope you liked my little analysis...now, go out, eat some candy, and tell me if my musings were correct!

Dream Dinners

2010-09-22T09:36:00.000-07:00

When I was teaching dance, I had a boss who loved to send us to those motivational seminars. Cheesball central, let me tell you. One workshop, we were supposed to walk across hot coals...I couldn't really see how THAT would enable me to sell more dance lessons so I skipped out and went for coffee. Some seminars, I sat towards the back ad doodled...Hey, at least I got the free tee shirt and tote bag! A few times I actually did learn something. The coolest exercise I ever did at a motivational seminar was to imagine your "dream dinner."

Now, I have NO problem whatsoever imagining my fave foods, but this was something more. This guy, I forget his name, had us close our eyes and imagine, if we could have eight people at a big dinner table for the evening, real or fictional, dead or alive, who would they be and why? He told us to make our list not based on who would be the most fun or entertaining, rather who would be help in our business lives. Who would those eight people be that would motivate you, inspire you, push you to new heights, have answers for you?

I don't remember all eight of mine, and really it doesn't matter anyway, since they were eight who would help me in my dance career. Question is, who would the eight be now? Who would yours be? I did some thinking, and thought, "Who would I really like to hear from now, at this point in my life?"

One: Henry Ford. No, I don't agree with his politics, or with his marketing skills, but he was brilliant in his unswerving work ethic and his ability to know what he wanted to create. Even though no one believed in the gas-powered engine, he did and he practically willed it into being. Nuff said.

Two: Oprah. Say what you will, I know of no other person today who has taken so little and made it ito something so big. Proof that it's not what you have, it's what you have inside.

Three: My Grandfather. He was Midas. Everything he touched turned to gold. No, I didn't agree with his politics either, but the man could fall out of bed into money. I miss him.

Four: Gene Wilder. Oh, you thought I'd say Wonka? Well, Gene Wilder WAS Wonka, and was also married to one of my fave persoalities, Gilda Radner. Just think it would be so telling to hear of his experiences on, and off, the screen. Plus, he could sing, "Imagination" for us!

Five: Donny Deutsch. Sure, there are too many business geniuses to count, but he has interviewed so many of them, he's sure to have the scoop. One man, millions of motivational tales.

Six: Thomas, from the Bible. The one who doubted, then believed. Feel like I have more in common with him sometimes than the others. I'd like to hear more from his point of view.

Seven: Meryl Streep. I think the genius of Ms. Streep's acting is her ability to seem so real. She is, to me, the best actress America has, and I bet she would be a wealth of information on how she became so esteemed.

And Eight: Don Cornelius. No one can TOUCH this man when it comes to marketing. Would love to pick his brain.

I know what you're thinking. I forgot so many. But these are people I would like to ivite to my dream dinner. Who would be there at yours?

Pride

2010-09-21T08:25:00.000-07:00

My Grandma likes to tell me the story of how "pride goeth before the fall." She was walking home one day, after a routine doctor's appointment where all the nurses had commented on how well she was doing, how pretty her hair looked, what good shape she was in for someone her age...when out of the blue, she tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and fell, breaking both of her wrists. It's a terrible story, and a memory I'd like to forget, thank you very much, but my grandma, ever so cheerful just smiles and says, "You know, pride goeth before a fall." "I was walking along very pleased with myself then..." At this point of the story she always gestures with her hands, like she is leading an invisible band. (I don't know why she makes that gesture, but everyone who knows her will know immediately what I'm talking about.)

I thought about that lesson the other day. And had my own lesson in pride and what comes next. You see, when I'm in the back room, creating chocolate-y goodies, most times I wear an apron. But the other day, I was wearing my favorite jeans, and a cute top, and I was feeling pretty snazzy. Shoes, hair, outfit...everything that day just clicked. I wasn't about to mess up my cute little look with an apron, no sir.

Now, you have to know that I have this mindless habit of wiping my hands on my apron...and I was working with white chocolate that day...and there was no apron.

Fast forward to closing time, and I stopped by the Food Kitty to pick up a few forgotten items, and just felt too cute to buy groceries. Like that Right Said Fred song, I'm too sexy for this store, too sexy to buy bread, too sexy by far.. Got a couple of glances from the checkout guys, nice. Bread restocker guy smiled at me. Wow, I must look cuter than I thought! Lady on Aisle 3 smiled and giggled when I passed. (Guess she over-heard the ever-witty comment I made to the kiddos.) Got to the counter with my haul, and guess what! The lady in front of me let me go ahead of her...how nice. I made another witty remark, and she laughed. Man! I am popular in the Food Lion today!

You are probably guessing by now the real reason everyone was eager to glance my way. Yes, I had wiped my white-chocolate hands on my pants and there, on the backside of my cute jeans were two white hand-prints. Snickering kids filled me in AFTER we got home. Thanks, thanks a lot. You're all grounded!

In retrospect, I guess it could have been a lot worse. I didn't REALLY fall, like Grandma, but the bruise to my ego lasted a few days. And, if you're listening God, I learned my lesson. No more pride, and wear that apron!

Distractions and Attractions

2010-09-13T14:17:00.000-07:00

Good news: Fall is here, having fun decorating the shop. Bad news: In a hurry, dragged all kinds of stuff out and now the back room looks like a tornado went through! Today's task: Clean up my mess!

So, here's what happened, maybe this will sound familiar to you...I started out this morning with a plan and a conquering attitude. I was gonna tackle that backroom with firth and vigor. Ha! I got about five minutes in, then realized that I couldn't really move this box without finding a home for that box, and if I moved those two shelves I would have more room, and if I switched this cart for that desk, I could create more room there, and maybe I should store these things under here....it all went speedily downhill from there. Sigh...

Meanwhile, I have to tell you about my newest love, the new flavors of Hershey's kisses...pumpkin spice, caramel apple, and candy corn. So cute and heavenly! Realizing my distraction in the backroom, I took a break and indulged. Realizing I had indulged a bit too many (By the sheer number of little foil wrappers!), I decided to keep these in a jar up front.

Can you guess what happened then? Yup. I worked a little in the back, snuck up front for a kiss, worked a little in the back, snuck up front yet again for a kiss. This continued till lunch, when, surprise! wasn't really hungry for lunch today for some reason. By the time the kids came in after school, I didn't feel so well. And the back room wasn't much better than when I had started this morning. Oh well...

Some days are just like that: High hopes in the morning, then one distraction after another and poof! the day is gone. (In my defense, I got LOTS of work done in the front of the store, hee hee.) What lesson did I learn from today? One: Do not, for any reason whatsoever, buy Hershey's kisses; they are small, but deceptively dangerous. And two: Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans...sometimes things just don't according to plan. Shake it off, start fresh tomorrow.

And three: Think that's what The Killers meant with those song lyrics: It was only a kiss, how did it end up like this?

It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss.

Lessons from Loompahland

2010-09-10T10:05:00.000-07:00

I don't like watching the news. There. I said it. It's boring and depressing and just plain makes me mad. I, instead, like to watch movies. I think you can get a lot of life lessons from movies (and bad lessons too...you have to choose the RIGHT movies). I personally have learned a lot about business, and life, from Willy Wonka. (And Mr Magorium, but he's a blog unto himself.) Lots of kids' movies contain lessons, but this one is my favorite for obvious reasons.

First, to be a good business leader, you have to be imaginative. One look at Willy and you can see he marches to the beat of his own drummer...heck, his own band! He dreams up room after room (hundreds of them) full of the most yummiest candy, each of them containing chocolate. Who else could think of installing a chocolate river? Or a glass elevator? Wonka is "pure imagination" as its finest.

Second, Wonka is a humanitarian. He rescued the oompah-loompahs from Loompahland, where they were in constant fear of their lives from all sorts of nasty creatures, and gives them a home and job security. Even pays them in chocolate. Nice.

Third, our friend Willy is a brilliant marketeer. The Golden Ticket idea is the most clever marketing campaign...EVER! It sparks interest in Wonka's products, builds brand awareness, gathers media interest generating free publicity, even speeds up word-of-mouth since kids all over the place are constantly clammoring for the prize.

Let's not forget little Charlie: Never was there a more positive thinker. Faced with insurmountable odds, even false rumors that all five tickets had been found, Charlie keeps on believing. The results of negative thinking can be devastating, especially to a child, but Charlie is proof that positive thinking and belief in your dream can lead to success.

Charlie also embodies the indomitable spirit it takes to succeed in business, and in life. Even in the toughest moments, when every else is telling him to not get his hopes up, Charlie doesn't quit. Combine this never-quit attitude with Charlie's positive thinking and his humility and generosity and you've got one cool kid, not to mention a good role model.

Behind Charlie is a good support network, a valuable asset in business. Although Charlie's family has no money, they have an abundance of love. They encourage him to keep the Golden Ticket and take the tour, even after he offers to sell it for vital cash the family needs.

Life lessons abound in this movie too. Don't be greedy, don't be slothful, don't watch too much tv, don't get hooked on gum. In life, business, and chocolate-making, you'll need clever marketing, positive thinking, a humanitarian outlook, and a good support network. Oh, and don't ever quit...your success may be just one scrumdidlyicious bar away.

Girl Posse

2010-09-09T04:23:00.000-07:00

When the kids were smaller, back when we got the Disney Channel, we watched a show called "Kim Possible." As a mom, I have honed my powers to tune out kid-shows, but this one, I actually enjoyed. Kim, you see, could do anything. She fought against all sorts of injustices, AND wore the cutest outfits, a girl after my own heart. In one episode, her partner Ron said, "Yo, KP, we got your back." And that, ladies and gentlemen was my inspiration for this little blog today.

It's nice to know that no matter what, someones "got your back." My husband certainly does, all my friends do really, but today I want to focus on the group I call my girl posse. (I don't know who originally came up with that moniker, but it stuck, and now we all use it...and that's posse with an "o" for you wise-crackers out there.)

I cherish all my friends. But there is a little group-inside-a-group that I know I can go to in times of need. They are my party-planning committee. They are my advisory council. They are my grief counselors. They are my spiritual guides.
And I hope I am all those things, right back at 'em!

I won't single each of them out; suffice it to say, that we are a varied group: Some of us are older, some younger, some married, some still waiting for Mr. Right (or Mr. Right Now), some here, some...sadly...there. But we formed a bond somehow.

Men, I think, have it a bit easier when it comes to making friends. Women can be so catty and jealous, that we often get in our own way. So when you find "your girls," the ones that will always be there for you, well, my friend, that's an amazing gift. I think that's why I loved Sex and the City so much (not for the sex, although that's a little like saying you read Playboy for the articles, but for the example of true friendship): At the core of that show was this beautiful bond between these four strong women, through careers, marriages, babies...the power of their love for each other was the driving force in their lives.

So here's to my girl posse: I love each one of you. Thanks for always having my back. With friends like you, I feel like "Wendy Possible."

Old Friends

2010-09-08T12:06:00.000-07:00

Inside my brain lies all the motivation I need. All the creativity, the ideas, the sparks that turn into ideas, tons of gumption. It's all there, but just like a pipe that sometimes gets clogged, sometimes my brain has trouble filtering itself and pumping out the stuff I need at the precise moment I need it. That ever happen to you? It seems that sometime or other, we all need a little jolt to get those juices flowing.

I got that much-needed jolt today. A friend of mine stopped by to see me. I saw her when she got out of her truck and just thought "yay!" I have to admit, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, about life, about career-choices, about kids, about aging. Maybe it's that this year is the 25th anniversary of my high school graduation. Maybe it's turning 43 this summer. Maybe that my baby girl started high school a few weeks ago. Could be, all of the above. Whatever the cause, I have been thinking about choices I've made, roads not taken. I told this all to my friend.

Before I had children, I taught ballroom dance...and loved every second of it. I loved the travel, the competitions, the dresses, the music, the people. I loved that I had such a cool career. And for awhile there, I was making darned good money. But then kids came along, and schedules conflicted...they needed me so I was there. I gave up teaching and settled in to my new role as stay-at-home mom.

I became super-mom, totally submersing myself into the lives of my children, and though I wouldn't trade one minute, I lost me a bit. (Plus, I fell in love with Steve on Blue's Clues...sad, I know, but I really felt like I KNEW him, I saw him so much!) So, owning a business now is fun. It's mine, something just for me, by me, and I get to be creative, have the kids in the store with me when I choose, and set my own hours (to a certain extent). But I have to admit, lately I've been feeling a bit small. I've ran into people from school recently and it seems like everyone has such a big, important job. I don't. I look around at luxury cars zooming past me, and I keep chugging in the chocolate van. Chad and I go to dinner parties at friends' homes, these beautiful big homes, and then go home to our little townhouse. Sometimes I just feel small.

So today, my friend and I talked about school and reunions, where others are, where we are now in our lives. I confessed that sometimes I feel like I should be doing more, that I should be farther along than I am...after all, my life is half-over it seems. But my wise friend made me see that I am right where I need to be, that this little shop makes me happy, that having a place where the kids can join me after school is priceless, that having the freedom to close up and go to one of the kids' ballgames or see my grandma is a freedom few have. No, we don't have a huge house, and I'll probably never drive a mercedes (where would I paint the lollipops?), but I love what I do and that is just as important. And, of course, I knew all that, but having someone remind you is so helpful when you're stuck. Gotta love a friend who has remained your friend almost your whole life, who knew where you came from, where you've been, where you are now, and helps you get to where you're going to next. In Italy, there's a saying, "chi trova un amico trova un tesoro." He who finds a friend finds a treasure. Thanks Burke.

Baby Carrots

2010-09-01T11:28:00.000-07:00

You know, for some time now, we as a family have been eating more healthfully. It goes without saying that I spend lots more time now in the produce section. Trying to market nutritional snacks like celery and carrots and the like to kids who find cheetos and doritos and (and all those other OH!s) more appealing is a difficult task. Not to mention the constant chocolate calling! The one snack we all agree on, however, is the baby carrot. Baby carrots are cute and small and well, have baby in their name, so the kids will eat them. It got me thinking, just where did all these baby carrots come from?

When I was a kid, my mom bought grown-up carrots, you know, with the green on the top. I don't remember baby carrots from my childhood, do you? Know why? Cause back then, carrots were just carrots, one size, thank you very much.

So when did carrots have babies? And are they baby carrots or midget carrots? Ones too small to make the cut? I know it's silly, but this is how my brain works, so I decided to do a little digging. (Get it? Digging, carrots, hee hee) Turns out, there's really no such thing as a baby carrot. A baby carrot, picked before it's dreaded teenage years...doesn't exist. How DID these babies happen then? A clever farmer realized that he was constantly weeding out ugly, stumpy, bent-out-of-shape carrots, not pretty enough to sell, and feeding too many carrots to his livestock made for orange animals. In an attempt to reduce waste he invented a form of ugly carrot-recycling. Why not, he thought, cut these unsellable carrots into bite-sized pieces, peeled and all, and make them more appetizing? At first he used a potato peeler, but with no success. He then bought a green bean cutter from a going-out-of-business bean business, and voila! The perfect fun-size baby carrot was born!

Out of not wanting to create waste, this farmer gave birth to a whole new generation of carrots. AND, what's more, baby carrots are more expensive than regular, full-sized carrots. People actually pay more for the peeled, whittled-down, bent-up, ugly carrots...now turned into something cute and cuddly. The farmer suddenly had a gold mine in his new baby carrots. Hmmm...I'm sensing a life-lesson in there somewhere, arent' you?

Now, everyone knows that I'm not the tallest person, so stories about small things turning into big things...well, they tickle me. But this story goes deeper than just a "size-matters" joke. Not all of us are "market-ready," so to speak. We may be lumpy and bumpy, bent out of shape, or just not big enough to be appealing. We may not fit the mold of how a proper "carrot" should look. But with some creative tweaking and trimming and peeling, we all have the potential to be something sweeter, more valuable. Underneath the bumpy surface could lie treasure, waiting to be found. Just like those baby carrots.

Who is Chocolategirl?

2010-08-31T10:15:00.000-07:00

I've asked myself that question a lot lately. All summer actually. Like Bob Seger, I've questioned, "what to leave in, what to leave out." Sometimes I feel like I'm making progress; sometimes I feel I'm running against the wind. So Fall is almost here, with its downhill slide all the way to the holiday season, and the questions still nag at me.

I read this week, that when tackling a big project, you should be willing to commit five years at least. I guess opening a new store qualifies as a big project, so that puts me not quite two years in, huh? Where do I want to be in five years?

I know I want to grow, duh...but how? And I know I want to expand what I do? But how? I've toyed with so many new recipes and ideas over the summer...home-made, from-scratch marshmallows, hard candy lollipops, fudge, brittles. Someone suggested I add a line of gifts for chocolate lovers...mugs, tees, the like...that's a thought.

Since the questions outnumber the answers, I decided to make a list of Things I Know. THAT would help, right? Yup. It did. Here's what I came up with, in case you're wondering...

I know that I love chocolate.
I know my family will support whatever I do in life.
I know I have faith.
I know I have confidence.
I know I love the people who come into my store.
I know that chocolate-dipped pretzles are divine.
I know that kids sometimes have the best ideas.
I know that word-of-mouth is the best form of advertising.
I know that I'm impatient with myself and patient with others. Hmmm...
I know that I love having my kids in the shop with me.
I know that it's cool to make people smile.
I know that over the past two years, I have made lots of new friends.
I know that I'm good at this job.

The list went on and on for a bit more, and some of the items got a little silly, so I won't bore you with the entire thing, but think about it...maybe sometimes, it helps to lsit things we know. In a world where there is so much uncertainty, having some fundamental truths makes me feel more relaxed, calm, secure. So, who is chocolategirl? Just like that line from the who-ville song, she started off low then she started to grow. Against all odds, with just a cute smile and an indomnitable spirit...little Wendy-Lu-Who is almost two. Whoo-hoo!

Dear Paris Hilton:

2010-08-30T09:31:00.000-07:00

I don't really get into celebrities much. Sure, if I'm stuck in line at the Teeter, I might read the headlines on the magazines, and I see the latest yahoo offerings every time I check my email, but that's about it. I surely don't watch TMZ or any of those pseudo-news shows and I've never once been in possession of a National Enquirer. But this week, I can't help myself, but rant a bit.

Last night was the Emmy's, and while I don't usually watch, this time they got me...just had to see how my Gleeks did! Plus, I had heard that George Clooney was receiving an honor, so duh...Clooney! He didn't disappoint, even showing up in a hilarious skit. (Just love a man who can laugh at himself!) Mr. Swooney, my pet name for him, was honored with the Bob Hope Award for his tireless efforts in fundraising and awareness to those in need...the Haitians, the victims of the Tsunami, those devastated in Pakistan. His speech was funny, but right on the target. He addressed the need for relief efforts to continue even after the event has become old-news, and he applauded others who use their celebrity for good.

Which brings me to you,Paris. Paris, I don't know you, and you certainly would never even know I was alive (like the cool girls in high school). I'm a mom, and a small business owner, just trying to survive and make a way for myself and my family in these tough times. My husband and I are raising five kids, and trying to teach them values and morals and give them direction so they will hopefully become good citizens and good people. So when I see someone like you, who seems to have an awful lot of resources at her disposal, and yet decides to do nothing good in this world, I just cringe. First, I'd like to just slap your parents. What are they thinking, satisfying every little whim that your much-underworked brain can imagine? If I were your mom, you would be grounded, young lady. No judge would have to order you to do community service; I would see that you put our money to good use. You are rich and famous, no doubt, but you had nothing to do with it...you were handed this life on a silver platter, by parents who obviously never taught you that to whom much is given, much is expected.

I'm sure it's hard to find time to get your new hair extensions in between your cocaine busts and drunken parties, but maybe you could squeeze in some time to actually be a valuable member of society? (Or is your sex tape going to be your legacy when you're gone?) People like me, little people, who work and raise children and vote and volunteer and heck, read even, are tired of hearing about your latest arrest. So you're not really worried? You should be.

Might I suggest you look up Mr. Clooney? He lives out there in La-la land. I know, he's old. But he is what being a celebrity is all about. His aunt was a great lady, a great singer, Rosemary (I'm sure you have never heard of her; your point of reference probably only goes as far back as Green Day), who did lots of good works in her time. No doubt her character rubbed off on her nephew. Sure, he's handsome, and is rich and famous and adored by millions, but somewhere in his schedule, he finds time to help...really puts his money and his time and his energy where his mouth is. Plus, he's classy. (Class, grace, poise...these are words you should google-search.)

I'm sure, if you asked him, Mr. Clooney would love to tutor you in how to use your celebrity for good. I dare you. Give it a year. Go out, find a cause that you believe in, someone who could use your smile and money to promote some kind of change for the better, then jump in! Those of us who have to work for a living would respect you so much more then. And maybe, if you concentrated on serving others for a change instead of indulging yourself, you could respect yourself a little more too.

Here's hoping,
chocolategirl

How to be an Evil Genius

2010-08-27T15:05:00.000-07:00

Watching reruns of The Office, waiting for Chad to get home from work, my kids are at their dad's house for the evening...all is quiet, when the doorbell rings. I know who it is. Who it always is. I open the door, just a crack just to mess with him...."Yesssssss?" I say in my Lerchy-i-est Lerch voice. Tate just giggles.

Tate is my son Kiefer's best friend. A year older, a bit rounder, a hair blonder than Kiefer...they share a love of all things Yu-Gi-Oh, Pokemon and Lego. Theirs is a true bro-mance. I hate to let Tate down and tell him the boys are not here, "Sorry Charlie," I say.

Tate usually tells me some piece of trivia when he comes to the door. Yes Tate, I did actually know the average human head weighs eight pounds, and yes, you already told me how you have reached the two-hundred mark of silly-band-acquisition. Today, though, I decided to ask Tate the questions. (I think I may have caught him off guard.)

"Tate," I asked, "How does one become an evil genius?" Now, if you asked this question to a grown-up right out of the blue like that, with no leading-up-to-it at all, a grown-up might immediately take your temperature or think you've finally cracked. But not a kid. Especially not a kid like Tate. So precocious is he that my question didn't even shake him, not for a second even.

"Well," he replied, pausing only to tap a finger on his chin, "You'd have to first have an secret lab somewhere, like your chocolate store. Evil geniuses always have secret laboratories."

"And there should be scary music playing in the background whenever you enter the scene..."

"Go on," I said.

"And, you would definately need to rap your fingers together like this, when you're thinking of evil plans." Tate then unwittingly did his impression of The Godfather.

"And, of course, you MUST have an evil laugh! Mu-ah-ah-ah!"

"So, to sum up," I interject, "to be an evil genius, I'll need a secret lab, scary music, an evil laugh, and The Godfather finger-tap."

"CORRECT!" Tate is giggling now. "Oh and you'll need some guy named Igor, but I don't know WHERE you could find him, and you could use some minions."

I told Tate that I had PLENTY of minions, hello! He thought this was hilarious. "You could make only DARK chocolate in your store, see, like the dark side, get it?" We were clearly on a roll now.

I used to call Tate, "Tate-r Tot", but he asked me to stop, he's no longer a tot he explained...he likes my new nickname now though, "Funyon." Cause he's fun and many-layered, you know like an onion (Shrek-reference, HE got it) Tate then exclaimed, "HEY! I could be one of your minions, I'd be Funyon Minion!"

"Oh Tate, that's awesome! You could be the minion in charge of snacks!"

"Yessssss," said Tate, rapping his fingers together in his evil genius fashion, "if you're going to be an evil genius, you'll need snacks."

With Halloween approaching in 65 or so days, it's not a bad idea to start polishing up my evil-genius-ways...and I love the lessons I got today, and the dark-chocolate/dark side idea. I don't know why grown-ups don't get more ideas from kids; they are a wealth of information. And Tate, thank you my little Funyon Minion. You're a righteous dude!

Summer , turns me upside down

2010-08-20T09:25:00.000-07:00

Summer, summer, summer: It's like a merry-go-round...listening to that old Cars' song in the shop today and realizing that summer is almost over. I have to say, I'm glad. I am happy school starts next week, happy to get back into a normal routine, and I'll be extra happy when temps drop a bit.

I love summer, don't get me wrong, but this one has seemed to drag on for me. I'm ready for 70-degree days, and fall breezes, and crackling leaves. I'm ready for the carnival to come to town. I'm ready for Halloween.

I've got the shop all decorated for fall now, and am working on making tons of new treats! It's always fun to make new stuff! To come up with new ideas!

It's totally by chance that I live where I live...my parents chose this as their home, so I did too...and I'm sure that there are a million awesome places to live in this world, but I'm so thankful to call NC home. I love that we have the mountains and the beach. I love that we have snow, and heat, and fall leaves, and fireflies. I love that just about the time we get tired of a season, we get to usher in a new one.

Someone said to me the other day that they hate fall, because winter comes after, and they hate winter the most. I find that a dreary way to look at the seasons. I like to instead look forward to each season, finding the good in each one, and know that when the "good" wears off, I can look forward to another season and the joys of that one. Without the long cold days, we wouldn't enjoy the days of lounging by the pool. Without the sweaty hot dog days of summer, we might not relish the cool fall evenings watching football games. I love winter, and nights by the fireplace and all the holidays with family. I love the newness of Spring and the first budding flowers. I love hearing the kids yell "Cannonball!" as they jump into the pool in summer. And I love Fall most of all. Yay!!! It's almost here!

Short and Sweet

2010-08-12T10:00:00.000-07:00

Today I am declaring fall. I know, I say this on a day that is rapidly approaching the 100 degree mark, but I say it anyway. Don't get me wrong, summer, I adore you, with your swimming pools and your barbeques, and your picnics and your baseball games. I adore being tan. I adore the laziness we can't help but fall into, the days of sleeping late (at our house, 7:30), but now...I'm afraid to tell you, it's over.

I feel myself falling for fall. I miss fall. I am tired of sweltering heat. I'm tired of you melting all my chocolate. The kids are almost back in school, and I find myself longing for the routine. So, summer, I'm kissing you goodbye for now.

Today in the shop, the kids and I started dragging out all the fall and Halloween decorations and sorting through them. Even though Halloween is my fave holiday of the year, I can't quite bring myself to put out bats and cats and ghosties...not yet. But pumpkins and apples and autumn leaves, you betcha!

I told Savannah today, "This is my favorite thing to do here in the store." I LOVE LOVE LOVE to redecorate for a new season. I love finding things I had forgotten and planning what goes where. Inevitably, I'll end up saying more than once, "You know what we could do..." It seems that a new season always brings fresh ideas.

You know, they say (Isn't it funny how often we rely on "they"?), that spring is the season of rebirth...but I think each new season brings that feeling of starting again. I'm so happy to live in a state where we feel and see each of God's seasons.

Savannah and I tackled quite a bit today...we got several of the displays done, or at least started. It's been the most fun day this week. Happy fall, y'all.

Golf, Accents, and Accidents

2010-08-06T15:39:00.000-07:00

This week has been my vacation. A self-declared vacation. Just needed a week off to hang out with the kids, swim all day, read a book, just relax. Of course, the mom-guilt kicked in a few times, and the business-owner guilt, but I banished the guilts with afternoon naps. Ahhh...I've done some thinking and planning and dreaming too over the week, so hopefully I'll come back refreshed and energized...and ready to get back to work, and the kids back to school.

Being out of the store, though, I kinda forgot who I am. Without the chocolategirl part of me, all week I felt like I was forgetting something. Then I'd say to myself, "Oh yeah," and that would be that. A few times, as hard as it is to believe, I would forget the GIGANTIC lollies on the van, and twice I was approached this week. "Hey, you have that chocolate store..." or "Hey, we're coming to a birthday party there next week." I ran into a fewpeople who had bought Groupons for the store, and talked to them about what I do. I had a long conversation about chocolate in the line at Target. I even took an order standing around talking after church. Reflecting on the week, I am thinking, maybe I AM getting my name out there...maybe it will just take awhile. Accidents? I suppose. Good accidents.

Now, on to golf. You know, our Savannah made the golf team and she did pretty well, but she needs more practice. We just so happen to have a golf pro that lives by us, so today I approached him and asked him about private lessons. He happened to know someone who knows me and so I got some good advice, and HOPEFULLY a discount. Then, as I was walking off, he asked, "Hey, how's the Chocolate Pops going?" Now, he's Australian I think, so when he said, Chocolate Pops, I melted a bit. Nothing like an accent to make me melt. Nothing like someone saying YOUR name with an accent to make you melt more. I tell you this, because I like you and want to make you giggle...I walked off, wondering how in the world he knew about my store, and wow! I must be famous. Then I see my van, and go, DUH!!!! Here I am, feeling proud, then duh! Hilarious...and sooo like me.

I've enjoyed this vacation. Now, off to get more famous, hee hee.

Ups and Downs, Ins and Outs

2010-08-03T07:49:00.000-07:00

I have some friends who own a bakery. Actually, I have three different friends who own three different bakeries, with three different sets of circumstances. I have one friend whose bakery just moved into a new location, a better location, and her business is thriving. I have another friend, who opened a bakery with his wife, and after some slow months, is grappling with the decision to close up shop. I have yet another friend, a very young friend, who has decided to use her college money to open her own bakery, her life's dream, and is in the construction phase. One riding high, one on the way out, one on the way in. Telling, I think, of life's ups and downs, ins and outs.

Of course, the bakery part of the story is irrelevant; the story could be told with any business as the backdrop, just happens in this case, that I have three friends in the bakery-biz. Thinking about these three friends, and their circumstances, raises so many questions...How do find the courage to strike out on your own? How do you keep it going? How long do you struggle and fight to make it before you give up and call it quits?

I guess you could ask those questions of just about any circumstance in life. As a business owner, though, I am always intrigued by what motivates others, what inspires others, what makes some succeed, some fail, some quit, some give up, some keep on keeping on. Someone asked me the other week if I was scared when I opened my store. Without thinking, I answered, "In the moment, I was too dumb to be scared." I opened my store in the worst possible time: right when the economy tanked I was upfitting the store. A whole shop devoted to chocolate, not exactly a necessity. A girl, with no professional training, with no business degree, with just a little home-business, a big mouth, and lots of gumption. Looking back, I should have been scared. It's been almost two years now...in October, I will celebrate being a real store for two years. Time to reflect.

Three friends, one riding high, one coming in, one going out. Which one am I? Not the one starting up, surely, and not the one going out, hopefully. Not quite riding high, or at least, not as high as I'd like. I'll just have to hope I'm on the way up. And hope the ups are big ups, the downs are little downs, and the ins and outs continue.

Save the rainforest...and save chocolate!

2010-07-29T05:21:00.000-07:00

It's a bold headline, but I got your attention, didn't I? Actually, it's true...the fate of chocolate is in the hands of those who care and would protect our rainforests. In fact, two of my great loves, coffee and chocolate, hinge on the preservation of our rainforests.

A long time ago, if you were a farmer, you held onto fundamental truths. One truth was God controls the weather, not man. Another truth was that man was the steward of the land, and that requires a respect from man for all of nature and its wonders. Another truth was the law of checks and balances. Another law was that everything is inter-connected. So, if you were a farmer a long time ago, you planted diversified crops, knowing that rotating the crops was good for the soil. You had chickens that pecked in the dirt and provided a sort of "aeration" to the soil. You had cows that grazed on grass, and in turn left their manure as fertilizer. You were the steward, overseeing all the little pieces of the puzzle, ultimately relying on God and nature for your harvest.

Over time, though, man got "too big for his britches," as my grandma says. Man decided that he wanted more, and more, and more. So he cooped up all the chickens in houses, side by side by side, and kept them there. He rounded up the cows into overcrowded pens...who cares? They're just animals...and fed them corn instead of grass because it was cheaper. He could then plow under his pastures and plant more...rows and rows of the same crop, year after year after year. He could alter nature's system of checks and balances by using pesticides, fungicides, and man-made fertilizers. Clever, huh?

It seems like now we're caught in this horrible, all-consuming cycle. "I want more, I don't care how it's done, I don't want to see it, I just want it and I want it now."

This mentality is what eventually will ruin chocolate, and possibly coffee, for us all. Unless...Remember in Dr. Seuss' The Lorax when the onceler warns the young man with one word? Unless...unless someone like you does something...unless these ways are changed...unless...

Chocolate is awesome. Adored by almost everyone. And taken for granted. Keeping up with the high demand for chocolate isn't easy. Chocolate comes from the seeds of pods that grow on the cocoa tree, and cocoa trees grow in rainforests. But farmers, trying to grow more, more, more, have relocated cocoa trees to "sun farms." On sun plantations, farmers plant only cocoa...the cocoa is shaded until it is mature enough to flower, then the shade trees are removed, exposing the cocoa to the sun's full strength. Cocoa produced this way produces a greater yield, but only for a short period of time. Within ten or so years, the cocoa tree will stop producing pods altogether.

In its natural habitat, the rainforest, natural pollinators called midgens breed in leaf litter on the rainforest floor. These pollinate the cocoa. Natural plants, mammals, and insects provide a complex system of pest management. Nature's checks and balances. When farmers take cocoa out of this system, and instead use sun farming, they then have to use man-made pesticides and fertilizers. Coffee is in the same boat, I'm afraid. Both coffee and cocoa originated in rainforests, both were removed from their natural habitats, both are now being grown in isolation on large, non-shaded monocrop plantations.

Researchers feel that sustainable farming is the only thing that will save chocolate, and coffee. And rainforests. Sustainable farmers would plant layers of farms along the edges of rainforests, thus not encroaching into them. These farms would act as buffer zones to protect the rainforests, and since planting close to the rainforest would allow the natural cycle to continue, farmers would have no need for pesticides, fungicides and fertilizers. Farmers also would plant other crops in rotation, and this would supplement the farmers' incomes.

Seems like to me, we are coming full circle. We have, as a consuming culture, interupted nature's cycle for our profit. We have trampled on natural law, God's law, just to make a buck. And now, we're beginning to see that this over-consumption, this greed, is just not sustainable in the long run. I love my chocolate. (And my coffee.) I don't want to see the day when cocoa becomes an endangered "species." Sustainable farming is not a new idea; it's what our forefathers did. It's time to wake up, smell the coffee (and chocolate), get back to basics. And save our rainforests.

Customers and Friends and Changing the World

2010-07-27T07:22:00.000-07:00

I have the best customers. I like to call them friends, though, since I feel like I know them. I like when people stop by, buy some chocolate (of course) and leave a little happier than when they came in. That's my goal. The other day, two ladies came in and said, "We read your blog, we feel like we know you!" That was the best compliment of the week! I don't know which I like better, making and selling chocolate goodies, or writing about it, but I'll tell you this, knowing that somewhere, someone is reading this little blog makes me smile. So thank you!!!

Signing off a conversation the other day, one of my best friends said, "Go make the world a better place." Maybe it was a joke, maybe it was just a clever way to say see-ya, but it got me thinking...what if this was my goal each day? Wouldn't that be cool? To go out into the world each day, asking how can I make the world a better place and finding little ways to accomplish that goal? Thinking this way also begs the bigger question, Can one person make a difference? Can one person change the world?

What do you think? Can one person make a difference? Corporate giants, too-big governments, and just everyday cyncics would like us all to believe the answer is no. They would like us all to be lemmings, just going along with the way things are, because to change the way things are is just too big for one person. That's what THEY want you to think...but the proof is in puddles. Think about it, look at your reflection in a puddle next time it rains. Then swirl your fingers in the water...your whole reflection changes, right? What if one person can cause just enough ripples to alter someone's perception? Then THAT person causes ripples, then another, then another... If you knew you could cause ripples, and change the world, what would you do?

I heard someone say recently (in a movie...funny how I find so many good lines in movies) that the biggest act of revolt is to be an optimist. So, with my rose-colored glasses on, and an optimistic view, I'm looking at the world today as how I want it to be, and thinking of ways that I, one little person, can change it.

Baby Ruth

2010-07-22T05:39:00.000-07:00

This is my birthday week. I know, I know, I get a day, not a week, but turning another year older causes a body to reflect. Reflect on where I am, where I'm going, and I must confess, reflect on how old I am. Twenty-five years out of high school this year, the reunion is coming, can it be? Am I that old?

I know, in the big scheme of things, 43 isn't old, but allow me to whine, will ya? Yesterday, I went to have lunch with my Grandma, and got some perspective.

One of my favorite things about owning the store is being able to go to lunch with my Grandma, or with the kids at school, or to a school play. I know I might miss someone, but I love that I can "have my chocolate and eat it too." When I go have lunch at Morningview, I pull up a chair and sit at the table with Grandma, Fleeta, Yvonne, and James. Yesterday, James wasn't at lunch, so I sat in his chair. Fleeta, a cute white-haired little woman, think the inappropriate Grandma in Wedding Crashers, sat on my left. Across from me was Yvonne, a quiet, reserved older lady (mid-90's), who sometimes doesn't hear or comprehend. Tough to keep her on subject. Then there's my Grandma, the baby of the bunch at 90. The other residents call her "Baby Ruth." Cute, huh?

My mom was already there when I got there, so ours was a lively table. The conversation turned to age, and I got a lesson in Noah, and the ark, and just how old was he when he built that boat. "See, you've got nothing on Noah." "Yeah," Ms Fleeta said, patting my hand, "you're a babe."

Thanks, ladies. I needed that.

Mom and Pop, part two

2010-07-21T07:15:00.000-07:00

I blogged the other day about immigrants, and two stories in particular, and how we all, basically, are immigrants. If you think about it, we are all immigrants in all kinds of ways. None of us are actually from here. And by here, I mean America. We say we are, but we are only two or three or four generations from-here. My ancestors, as much as I can trace, are three-fourths not-from-here. One grandad was Cherokee. (Not full, but I think half, not exactly sure...records on that side get cloudy. Funny how I would love to prove we're part Indian, but back then, my people wanted anything but...wanted to cover it up. There's a point in my family tree where the last name of a relative is left off; we think that's where the Cherokee comes in.)

On the other side, the records are just as murky. I can trace my grandmother's people back to the "French," not the country, the last name, the same that the river is named for...French Broad River. (Family story=not clear if it's true.) Somewhere on that side is Greek or Italian, where the olive skin and dark eyes come from. My other Grandma is part Irish (where my mom's fair skin and blue eyes come from.)

Like all families, my people, over the years, have worked many different jobs, but the most prevalent job throughout is farming/owning a business. If you think about it, we pretty much all came from farmers, as our grandparents and their parents grew much of their own food. My Grandma tells me stories of her as a girl, and the pigs they kept in a field across from their house, their cow, their "smokehouse," where they cured meat, their chicken house, and of course, their garden.

Farming being more survival than job, probably the one job I can trace more than any other would be "business owner." My dad and brother own the company my dad started years ago, his dad owned a meat-store (You rarely see THAT anymore), I own a store...and as you go back through family records, we could probably trace a line all the way to our Ellis-Island ancestors and their mom-and-pop stores.

I can't figure it out completely, but as far as I can tell, our American family tree probably was planted in the late 1700's, as the first of my ancestors stepped off a boat, went through the lines at Ellis, and ended up in Baltimore. Like many back then, he found a job sweeping floors for an older Irishman who owned a little shop. They trusted each other, knew some of the same people, knew each other's families. The shop owner, who had no children, left the shop to the young Irishman, and he, his wife, and his chldren lived over the shop for many years.

Through time, however, children grew up, moved away, the shop closed, the young Irishman became an old man. I don't call myself Irish, I call myself American, due in part to the journey of this young man.

This isn't the only story like this in my family, this is just one, but the point is, we are all here because of the journey of someone else. We forget that. Someone the other day called my store a "mom-and-pop" store. This person meant it as a compliment, and that's how I took it, too. I hope I always create that feel in my store. Being a "mom-and-pop" store is a blessing, a symbol to me of something we've lost, a way to connect with the past and what it means to own a little piece of the pie.

Another way we are all immigrants is spiritually. "Be in the world, but not of the world." Isn't that what we've been taught? As Christians, we are here for a little while, stewards of what we've been given, a people just "passing through." While we're here, are we supposed to squabble over who gets in our country and who doesn't? Aren't we supposed to "love our neighbors?" Or only love our immediate neighbors and not anyone else? I don't know how to end the arguments/battles over immigration policies, but I do know these simple truths:
1. We are all here, first, by the grace of God. It's his world, his country, not ours.
2. We are here, second, by the work/sweat/tears of those that came before us. Very few of us today are here because of anything WE did.
3. We are all immigrants, one way or anohter.

Now, how do you write THAT into policy? THAT should be the question.

A Little Bit More

2010-07-19T14:33:00.000-07:00

A few things have happened this week that have really touched me. Like that old song, "Things That Make You Go Hmmm," I've had several things that have made me go, "Hmmm." I listened in Sunday school class this week to a lady complain that she had so much on her plate, she wondered how she was going to handle it all. I had a lady come by the shop with her college-bound daughter, a mom who despite all odds, and four strokes! has managed to raise a beautiful smart young woman that is now on her way to a great education. I was inspired by my son Parker. I was pleasantly surprised by all my kids at the responsiblity they showed this week. I was encouraged when my daughter Savannah tried to "educate" a family member who offered her a seemingly-innocent "Coke."

What do these have in common? Well, me, and my store. You see, I don't think I could spend as much time with my kids if I worked for someone else. I don't know if I'd have the energy to fight the battles I do, or the time for that matter. I don't know how bank-moms or nurse-moms or waitress-moms do it. The one thing I learned from being a stay-at-home mom is that you are never staying at home! I can't tell you the number of times I have worried about "making it." I can't tell you the worries and thoughts that have creeped into my head. But sometimes, you get so many signs, that you just can't ignore their message. And that message for me is that maybe, just maybe, running my store is not all about the money. Maybe, just maybe, it means a little bit more. (Oooh, did I just sound like the narrator in The Grinch?)

Let's start with the kids. I have been leaving them with a sitter a few days a week, always with a list of chores. This week, I tried something new. I thought I would just trust them. "Look around, see what needs to be done, and do it." Those were the only instructions, and Boy! Did they rise to the challenge! I am so impressed. Oh, and the picky-eating thing is all but gone. Kiefer's behavior is getting better (although he has his moments, he IS making progress). I think his taekwondo classes are helping him too...lots of driving for me, but I think it's important for him, the youngest, to have something all his own. Savannah recently turned dowen a soda, and told the offerer why sodas are bad for kids' health. Parker came up with the idea to raise all his money for an upcoming school trip. Man, whose kids are these? We're getting to a good place here.

If I didn't own the store, couldn't arrange my hours, couldn't take my kids to work some...would we be here? Could I ever get Kiefer to his class? Could I have the time to study food sensitivities, go to farmers' markets, search health-food stores for the best fish oil? So, the store is more than just a job. No, I'm not getting rich over here, but I'm able to do this cool thing I love, AND concentrate on my REAL job as a mom. That, my friends, is priceless. Next time I whine about bottom-lines, I'm gonna remember that.

Now, on to the mom and daughter who came by the store. Here was a mom, struggling obviously, who in spite of four strokes, raised this daughter to love the Lord. You could just see it in their faces. They almost beamed. The daughter said she had always wanted to come by, was going off to college soon, and finally got her mom to stop in. The mom asked all about me, was surprised to know I grew up in that neighborhood, then said to me, "This is a blessing. Look at you, from this neighborhood, and done hit the big time. This is a blessing. Count it." I remember each word, because as soon as they left, I wrote them down. Big time? I don't think so! But to her, I did. And that blessing part? Her saying that was a blessing. Having my store enables me to meet people like that. I never know who will pop by. I keep thinking about that childrens' song, and letting my little light shine. Having my store gives me a place to shine. Thank you, God, for this blessing!

And finally, the lady with the full plate. We've all been there. All I kept thinking was "be glad you've got a plate." I've felt this exact same way, felt overwhelmed, felt like just throwing my hands in the air. And I've done my share of complaining. I don't know exactly how to help her, don't know if I even could, but all the way home I felt thankful.

Thankful for my full plate, thankful for my store, and thankful for chocolate.

Equal Souls

2010-07-16T09:33:00.000-07:00

You can't turn around these days without hearing some older person complain about "kids today" and their lack of respect. It's true, there are so many examples out there of some kid mouthing off, or making a rude gesture, or just not respecting others' property. Heck, if we can't get kids today to even pull up their pants, what hope do we have of making them do anything else?

Of course, as parents, we all want to teach our kids respect. But I submit, respectively of course, that respect is a two-way street, and if we want to teach our kids to respect others we, in turn, should respect them too. By respect, I mean, in essence, value them, listen to them, give them responsibilties, then belive in their abilities.

How many times have you been in Wal-Mart or Target or the grocery store and seen some exasperated mom yelling at her kids, or dragging them along barking "Hurry UP!" or threatening some horrible consequence (that you KNOW she can't follow up on)if they don't stop driving her crazy? How many dads have you heard threatening to "slap the taste out of mouths" or "blister butts"? I've heard WAY too much, enough to make me want to say, "Enough!" Think those same people would DARE talk to another adult that way? What makes it okay to talk to kids that way?

First, before you defend your use of your belt, let me say this: I'm not saying we shouldn't discipline our children. There is a time and a place (not Wal-Mart, please), when you just have to get their attention. If you normally don't yell, and suddenly you raise your voice, then THIS gets attention. But if all our kids hear is yelling, then they just tune us out.

Here are some thoughts I've had recently, and strategies I'm trying to use with those little creatures in my house:

1. My child and I are equal in the eyes of the Lord. My soul is no more important to God than those of my children...I should remember that and treat them accordingly.

2. The only differences between adult and child are size, experience, and knowledge. All three of these are temporary.

3. I read recently that we should guide our children, guide then step aside. This means, that yes, we are here to guide them, to teach them, to model for them good behavior. Then we should step aside and let them fly. If our children never mess up, if we constantly rescue them from their mistakes, if we get frustrated and fall back on that matyr-mom attitude (I'll just do it, I do everything anyway around here), then what are we teaching them? My kids are so much more competent than I give them credit for. Granted, Kiefer is now fired from "soap," since he put the WHOLE box of detergent in the laundry one day. Can you say rinse and repeat? But he can do other things...think an eight-year-old can't vacuum? He can! In fact, he's great at it! My dad grew up on a farm, and was up doing chores like feeding the pigs and chickens before school. Somewhere in the last generation, we've forgotten that kids can be responsible. Is that their fault, or ours?

4. I want my kids to have an internal voice, a sense inside themselves of what is right and what is wrong, a moral compass. If I don't teach them how to recognize this internal voice, then they will fall prey to all kinds of external pressures/rewards. We all wonder why some kids fall victim to peer pressure and some stand strong in their beliefs and convictions. I want my kids to know for themselves what they believe, and why. I don't want them to just spout out MY beliefs. Or anyone else's for that matter.

5. I need to shut up. If I'm constantly nagging, yelling, over-explaining, then how can I expect my kids to hear their inner voice? I tried this yesterday. Instead of my usual, "Why can't you pick up this mess, your room is a pig-sty" routine, I simply said, "Savannah, clothes." She replied, "I know, I was just about to hang those up, got it." Wow, what a difference.

I think maybe it all does come down to respect. Respect for our elders, yes, but also respect for our children, respect for our planet, respect for our fellow man. Maybe before pointing fingers at just our children, we should point a few at ourselves. (Now, that pants-on-the-ground thing, I don't know WHAT we're gonna do about that!)

Mom and Pop

2010-07-15T09:49:00.000-07:00

I want to tell you two stories. They are similar, eerily similar, and see if you can guess who the main characters of these stories turn out to be. Both stories begin in Austria.

Before Hitler, before the war, Austria was already becoming a difficult place to live if you were a Jew. Oh, it was beautiful alright, and life was peaceful, until the Ukranians came. "I don't know what these Poles have against us," Abraham Teichman wrote, in a letter recalling his hometown of Galicia, "It is not easy for me to record my recollections of dear Jews who are no longer among the living because of the deeds of animals in human form."

Abraham Teichman and his wife, and the rest of the people in his village, were confronted daily by the horrible treatment of Jews. Fearing their lives, they decided to escape. Abraham got into an altercation with the Ukranians and by the time he got the chance to look for his wife, she, and his son, just a few days old, were gone. She was hiding somewhere,like Abraham had told her to do, but he didn't know where. He just had to trust that she and the baby made it out, and he, with the help of some friends, eventually sailed to America. Moses, the baby, and his mother did make it, and went through Ellis Island in 1897. Moses was two years old by the time he and his mother reunited with his father.

Just five years earlier, in 1892, an Austrian named Fritz Austerlitz first arrived at Ellis Island. Fritz was born in Linz, Austria to Jewish parents who had converted to Catholicism. Fritz was a young man of 24 when he came through Ellis Island. Later, Fritz and his wife changed the last name of their children, Adele and Frederich, to a name that sounded less "Jewish." Also, Fritz's hometown became the hometown of someone else, Adolf Hitler, yet another reason to distance themselves from their old life.

Ellis Island was a scary place for moms and dads, and their children. There were lines, lots and lots of lines, and each line meant you were a little closer to freedom. Families were seperated often, and you can just imagine Moses' mother watching her child being inspected. What if she made it through and he didn't? Those who had some affliction were marked by chalk, and either detained or sent back to their country of origin. You can just imagine young Fritz going through the lines...maybe he had a cold or the sniffles (Who wouldn't after weeks at sea, sailing through storms, cooped up with hundreds of other hopefuls in close quarters?). Any hint of sickness could get you "stuck" on Ellis Island, feeling like you're in prison, wondering if you'll ever make it onto the boat that will ferry you into NY. Most of us can only imagine.

These did make it, though, and we are so lucky they did. Moses, changing his name to sound more American, went on to become Arthur Murray, and Fritz's children became Adele and Frederich, or Fred as we know him, Astaire. Arthur Murray and Fred Astaire: We think of them as gifted American dancers and entertainers, and they are. But they could have easily never made it to America. They, or their parents, could have easily been turned away.

It's easy, as we are generations removed from Ellis Island, to forget. With all the battles going on now concerning immigration, it's easy to forget that we too, came from villages in the Ukraine, or Russia, or Japan or India or Spain or Italy. If you go to ellisisland.org, and type in your family surname, you'll be amazed at the results. Who do you know who braved storms at sea, or gunfire, or burning villages, or cold Russian winters with little food, to get here? Who in your family slept in church basements, hiding from gunfire, scared to make even the slightest sound, so that in the morning, they could run for the border? How many of us are here because of the sacrifice of our family that went before? I think we all need to remember that.

Pay It Forward

2010-07-13T09:22:00.000-07:00

Did you see that movie? Pay it Forward...Kevin Spacey, that cute little boy that sees dead people...awesome movie! When I saw that movie, 1. I cried, and 2. I wanted to pay it forward. We tried out our idea, our version, soon after, and since then, every Wednesday, when I get my morning coffee, I pay for the car behind me in line at Starbucks. (I've given up Starbucks the past few weeks, but I may have to give in just on Wednesdays so I can keep this tradition going, hmmm.)

I know, in the big scheme of things, that my gesture of good will is quite small, but it makes me feel good. The kids like it too, and beg me to do it all the time. Once, I looked in the rearview mirror, and the lady behind me just had "bad morning" written all over her face. As I drove off, I imagined that maybe I had made her day a tiny bit brighter.

I'm blogging about this today because yesterday afternoon, I got thanked. I was standing in the lobby, watching Kiefer in his Taekwondo class, chatting with the other parents. I heard someone say behind me, "Wonder who Chocolate Pops is...are they here?" When I said, "Yep, that's me," the lady replied, "Thanks for my coffee." I didn't know what she was talking about at first. To be honest, it's gotten to be such a habit, I don't give it much thought anymore. It's just a little thing I do.

"I was having a rough morning that day, and when I pulled up to the window, the guy told me you had paid for my order. So thanks." She then told this to other moms standing there, and one said, "Like that movie, Pay It Forward."

Now, THAT was cool. I never expected to run into someone I paid for...I know the info is on the van...it's a little hard to miss...but I try to drive off before the car behind me spots me. I'm not, after all, doing it to get recognition. But this lady asked, and the Starbucks guy ratted me out.

Last night, I thought about one person, and that Bible school song, "This little light of mine." You know, we hear all the time how one person cannot make a difference. I think one person CAN make a difference. Even in the darkest night, one tiny flicker of light can illuminate the room. All the dark in the world can't put out one little light.

I was talking over this idea this morning with Kiefer, my youngest. "Like fireflies, mom." Fireflies...what a profound thought from an eight-year-old. Even on a dark night, especially on a dark night, we can see tiny fireflies lighting the sky. "Maybe good deeds are like fireflies, mom."

So, like in the song, this little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine. Big or small, all around the neighborhood, cause you never know who is watching, who will see your light, who will say "thanks."

Won't you be...my Neighbor?

2010-07-12T08:01:00.000-07:00

Three or so days a week we have a sitter. She stays with the kids, helps them do their chores, takes them to the pool, makes countless pb&j sandwiches, and referees arguments over Scrabble. On the surface, things look peaceful. But behind the scenes, I'm training her to be a ninja!

Before you make any jokes about my kids and how they need a NINJA-nanny, let me explain. We live in a townhouse. It's a nice townhouse, in a quiet area, and for the most part, we have nice neighbors. But there are, like everywhere else, problems. We've had a few break-ins in the past couple of years, and lately have had trouble with older kids trespassing and jumping the fence to get to our pool. I want to make sure that the kids are aware...not afraid...aware of their surroundings. Keep the back door locked, check in every ten minutes when you go out to play, let the sitter answer the phone, little things like that. I don't want the kids, or the sitter, to constantly be suspicious, but I'm trying to train them to "be prepared." I want them all to be on guard, be aware, that bad things happen even in the best neighborhoods, and while they shouldn't be scared to go outside, they should take precautions. These are things I'm always teaching the kids, but last week, we went a bit more into "spy mode."

Last week, when I was pulling out to go to work, I noticed a man, a creepy man, loitering. He would walk around in and out of the trees, then I'd see him behind the back fences, just lurking. This made me nervous. I turned around and came back home, and warned the sitter to keep the kids inside for awhile, till she could see he was gone. I called home as soon as I got to work, and of course everything was fine, but all day, I had a knot in my stomach. All day I worried. Think I called home like thirty times!

Today I saw him again. This time, I was angry. I followed him. (I know, it might not have been the smartest thing to do, but they don't call me "chicken hawk" for nuthin'!) While stalking the stalker, I called my dad and he came over. I was a little afraid to go to work, honestly. I warned my other neighbors, the ones who stay home during the day, of this suspicious lurking man. Dad drove over, and he and I confronted the man. "Do you have business here?"

The man said that he lived "right over there" and was tired of his neighbors being robbed, so he had appointed himself "Neighborhood watch." Our association had decided that those watches just aren't effective, so this man, who had recently lost his job, decided HE would take on the task single-handedly. "You scared the be-jesus out of me!" I was still a little angry. "Haven't you seen me," he asked, "I've been out here watching a week now." I answered, "And I've been watching YOU for a week!"

We both laughed and I felt marginally better. (I say "marginally" because I'm still a little wary. And he still looks a little creepy.) It's got me to thinking though. Do we even know our neighbors? And shouldn't we?

I must confess, I know some, but not many. We have townhouses that are rented, and renters come and go. But I don't even know all the owners. What if someone was watching ME this morning? From the outside looking in, I must have looked like a lunatic, creeping around behind creepy-guy. I think our association is wrong in their assumption that neighborhood-watches don't work. I think they do. Neighbors looking out for neighbors...seems pretty basic to me.

Our world has certainly changed. You know, used to be, neighbors would come over and help you build your barn. I remember my Grandma sending me to her neighbor's house to borrow a stick of butter or a cup of sugar. When I was little, we never sent our dog to a kennel...our neighbor would just come over and take care of him till we were back. Seems we've kinda lost track of this neighborly mentality. If you live in a neighborhood and still have this relationship with your neighbors, count your blessings. If you're like me, and know a few, but not many, of your neighbors, then we've got some work to do.

At work, I don't have this problem. When I opened the store, I filled a basket with goodies, (NO, I didn't dress up like Red Riding Hood!) and walked around introducing myself. I just thought it would be neighborly to let the people who lived around here know who I am and what I'm doing. A young man who lives in the house across from my store keeps a watch on my shop for me, and comes over to chat sometimes. His mom owns the house, he lives there until they can sell it, and he said to me, "Here's my info in case you ever need it." I thought that was extremely nice.

When I get home, I am going to start an email chain. It wouldn't take very much work to send out a monthly email about news in the nieghborhood, or new tenants, or just introductions. Or maybe make a facebook page. Something, anything. I think we should all know who our neighbors are. Since I'm the crazy lady who didn't even know who my neighbor was, I'll go first. I'll get it started. Being neighborly is the right thing to do. (Knowing who they even are probably would help!)

Crushed

2010-07-09T13:17:00.001-07:00

Do you remember your first crush? I do. Bruce. His family lived two doors down from us. He was sweet, always smelled of playdoh and had the cutest freckles. I used to let him ride my big green caterpillar...remember those? We were three when we met. Ahhh, young love. (Funny story: Years later, I was in college, working at Darryl's and guess who worked there too? My Bruce. Yes, he still made me giggle, no he no longer smelled like playdoh, and the freckles? Still there, still cute.)

Throughout elementary school and junior high, crushes came and went, most I have forgotten. The high school crushes I remember more. I can close my eyes and imagine myself at the skating rink, the heady mix of Galaga and strobe lights and Foreigner songs made for some intense feelings.

Yesterday on Facebook, I dared my friends to admit their high-school crushes. Some answered...some refused to answer...some just thought I'd opened a big can of worms. (One friend, now my favorite friend, said me...was hoping SOMEONE would...thanks T, you made my day!)

I thought about crushes all day: who, and why we never tell. Why is it so hard to say, "Hey, I like you"? Back then, with my mouth full of braces and my hair teased to high-heaven and my ability to walk right into any given wall, crushes were painful. There is, after all, a reason they're called crushes. No way I'd ever tell, no way he'd ever like someone like me. I'm sure, at some point, we've all felt that way. Even the cool kids (the kids we THOUGHT were cool) probably had their insecurities.

But now, all of us are older, wiser and hopefully more confident, what's our excuse? Why is it so difficult to put ourselves out there? I'm not just talking about dating here--although to me, dating was always a bit difficult--it seems no matter how far we come, inside each of us lives that still-shy adolescent. Life's too short to hold back. I don't want to just sit on the sidelines listening to music...I want to dance! Even if I embarass myself, I want to dance!

Part of the fun of Facebook is reconnecting with people from your past, friends from school or old jobs or cities where you used to live, those who used to be friends but now are memories. I've had the most fun reconnecting and I say this all the time---cause it's true--the best part about owning my own shop is that I never know who will come walking in!

Sometimes a childhood friend will stop by, sometimes it's someone that used to take dance lessons from me, sometimes it's a brother or sister or aunt or grandmother of someone I used to know. It really is a small world.

And sometimes, the someone who walks in is an old crush. For a moment, the lights dim, the strobelight flickers, and somewhere faint in the distance I hear Foreigner sing, "I've been waiting for a girl like you..." That someone walks in and I'm back to that nervous-silly-flirty girl of fifteen. Gone is grown-up Wendy. Gone is confident Wendy. Let me see an old crush, and I'm back to talking too much, constantly fussing with my hair, embarrassingly awkward, Wendy.

I've decided to adopt a new rule: Tell them. Put it out there. I've decided that life is too short. The people I like are going to know I like them.

No, I'm not gonna leave my husband and go chasing after every old high-school crush. But that feeling--that warm, dizzy feeling you get when you just really "connect" with someone--I don't want to forget that feeling. I'm gonna let people (men and women) know how I feel. Even if I'm embarrassed, I'm gonna wear my heart on sleeve.

And maybe listen to my Foreigner records a little more...

If Only...

2010-07-08T06:44:00.000-07:00

What would you do if you knew you could not fail?

That's a question I read in a motivational book the other day, and it kinda stuck with me. What WOULD I do, if the fear of failing, and failing itself, were completely irrelevant?

We all have doubts and excuses. If only I was smarter...if only I had more money...if I just had more time...if, if, if...reminds me of my favorite movie, The Wizard of Oz. At times, I have played the part of every character of that movie (Except maybe Toto, and no-witch cracks, puh-leez!...no house has fallen on me, yet!). I've been the wanderer Dorothy, I've lacked courage, or brains, I've wanted a bigger heart. Oh what I could accomplish...if only. Like the scarecrow sings, "I could think of things I never think before, and then I'd sit, and think some more."

In my Sunday school class recently we studied the parable of the talents. You know the story...the master leaves five to one servant, two to another, and with the third servant he leaves one. All three servants are expected to use their talents wisely. Of course the master returns to find two servants did well and doubled their talents, but the third servant, scared to lose it, just buried his. What could that servant do, what would he have accomplished, if he knew he could not fail?

Sitting in Sunday school that day, I couldn't help but think of that line from an old America song, "Oz never give nothing to the tin man that he didn't, didn't already have." That WAS true, remember? (And the whole point of the movie.) Dorothy goes looking but eventually she finds everything she wants is in her own back yard. The lion thought he lacked courage...the tin man thought he lacked heart...the scarecrow thought he lacked brains...Oz didn't give them anything they didn't already have.

Inside each of us is courage, and knowledge, and heart. It's our responsibility to use these talents and make them grow.

So, back to the question: What would I do if I could not fail? Stay tuned...

And PS, what would YOU do?

Summer Breeze

2010-07-07T08:16:00.000-07:00

This morning, everything just clicked. Up early, I had time to make the coffee, eat my biscotti, pack my lunch, answer emails--all before 8 am. Wow! That never happens.

My youngest, Kiefer, said "Wanna come watch me ride my bike?" As I stepped outside, and watched him pedal off, I realized today was a perfect day. Clear blue skies, just a hint of fluffy white marshmallowy cloud, slight summer breeze, still-warm coffee in hand, ahhhh.

There's nothing like watching a kid ride a bike. It's just sheer joy. The boys both got their bikes for Christmas last year, a little late to learn how to ride (10 and 8), but they've got it now. Didn't take long at all, and they were riding like the wind.

To a young boy or girl, a bike means independence. I remember that feeling. Wind in your hair, going downhill not even having to pedal, off to explore the day...

Of course, the world is a different place for my kids now, different from the world when I was a kid. Back then, my brother and I rode our bikes all over the neighborhood...three or four streets over...and our parents thought nothing of it. We'd be gone all day, and as long as we were home for dinner, my mom wouldn't worry. We'd come barrelling in the front yard, throw our bikes down in a heap (never used kickstands, I don't know why), and run towards the smell of fried chicken wafting through the screen door. At dinner, dad would tell us about his day at work, and we'd tell him and mom about our day of adventures. Found a turtle, got beat at baseball by those new kids that moved in, fell and skinned my knee but it's okay now, Marc learned how to ride with no hands.

I remember the freedom our bikes gave us. We'd be up, dressed and out the door right after breakfast. We'd hop on our bikes and be off...over to the next street to play kickball or ride down the steep hill or down to the park at the end of our street to see if anyone was playing ball. We could check in with friends whenever we wanted, and knew which house was the "hot spot" by the number of bikes parked in the front yard.

Now, my boys have definite borders---"Stay between here and there" and "check in every ten minutes." I hate having to be so careful, and wish I didn't have to. The boys have helmets. They can't ride on the "big road." I can't help but be nostalgic when I feel a breeze like today. I can't help but wish the world of their childhood was as simple as the world of my childhood. Nostalgic and sad, but just for a minute. Then I see that little smile on my son's face, hear him yell, "Watch me, Mom!" and I smile too. The breeze picks up, and just for this moment, all is right in our world.

I want to ride my bicyle, I want to ride my bike.
I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride it where I like.

Queen

Fiscal Responsi-what?

2010-07-06T04:32:00.000-07:00

The other day I got schooled in fiscal responsibility. One of my friends was talking, complaining really, about parades and firework shows and how in tough economic times those should be cut. I argued with him. "Oh I get it," he said, "You're a democrat." "What? Hey!" I replied, "Don't you have some whos down in who-ville to scare?"

Saturday the kids and I were in the parade downtown, and yes, while we WERE there promoting the business, that's NOT why we love the parade. We go every year, never miss it...we dress up in our red-white-and-blue best, wave our tiny flags, and cheer on each float. It's been a tradition for as long as we can remember.

It's not that I didn't hear my friend's argument...I certainly understand where he's coming from. If towns have to decide between fireworks or firemen's jobs, like a town in Tennessee had to last year, then duh...that's a no-brainer. But my argument is, do we really have to decide? I just don't think it comes down to that. I feel there are so many other things we could cut instead. (Like in the movie, Dave, when Kevin Kline wanted to keep the kids' program and cut out other spending to do so.)

I'm sure there are lots of families that would be happy to go to Washington and show those guys how to do it. I don't know many families these days who don't live on a budget. In our house, we can't just run out and buy whatever we want. It doesn't work that way. We have to plan for bigger purchases, keep an eye on smaller ones (so they don't mount up) and when unexpected needs arise, we have to shift things around. But I'll tell you this, somehow we always come up with the money for that new dress for the dance, the sixty bucks for the little league fee or a bike for Christmas. Some things you just can't cut. Some things are important for your team's morale.

In a baseball game, when the team is losing in the bottom of the ninth, does an irritated coach get the job done? Does a coach who is strictly business motivate those players to wanna win? No way...rally caps do. Somehow the silliness of turning caps inside out or backwards can unite a team and its fans, and give them that little spark of hope that maybe the game can be won.

Parades, I think, are like those rally caps. Especially July Fourth parades. Parades bring people together from all walks of life, smiling, waving, cheering,celebrating our country's birthday and remembering what's good about our country and what could be again. In tough times especially, we need this bonding. Some things, especially the things that bring us together, should never be cut. Let them cut other stuff, but don't cut the parade. It's important.

And to answer your question, Mr. Grinch, No, I'm not a democrat. I'm a flag-waving, hopeful, parade-loving American.

Don't Rain on my Parade!

2010-07-02T05:52:00.001-07:00

Is rain in the forecast? I hope not! But this time of year, you never can tell...what with every other ballgame rained out for my little-leaguers this season, I'm now wary of clouds. Come on sun! Stay shining at least for tomorrow!

Tomorrow is the parade. The kids and I got this idea last year. Watching the parade go by last July, the kids turned to me and asked, "Why can't WE be in the parade, mom?" What a fun idea...why couldn't we be in the parade? It's free, you just sign up and the committee lets you know if you made it (which most everyone does), and that's it. Oh, and the little detail of planning and decorating...tiny details...let's do it!

Today is the day-before, and we are scurrying. First, the kids drew up plans for some huge float that would rival Macy's floats, and I had to reign them in...we can't build a volcano shooting out chocolate lava, guys. No, Kiefer, we don't have time to construct a real rocket ship. No, I'm not sewing matching lollipop costumes.

We decided, since this is our first year, to just decorate the van. Yesterday we gathered materials, secured helpers, assigned posts. Today is the actual day to get most of the work done, and the finishing touches will be added in the morning. So, off to create! We'll post pics after the parade and let you know how it went. If you can, come join us downtown! Oh, and pray for sun!

Tooth Fairy

2010-07-01T06:03:00.000-07:00

My kids still believe in the tooth fairy. Is that a lie? Hmmm...The Santa-thing I handled by explaining that Santa Clause was a feeling, a childhood innocence, the spirit of giving...and while, no, he wasn't a physical man who comes down our chimney, he is the warmth we keep in our hearts to remind us that it's better to give than receive. Luckily, the kids were old enough to understand. I also warned them that once you denounce Santa, you are losing that childlike quality that we all should try to keep way into adulthood.

The Easter bunny was difficult, though. How do you explain the giant white bunny-prints in the backyard (Mom with shaving cream) that we all saw with our own eyes two years ago? How do you tie candy and eggs and baskets to something real? A few years back, my first Easter after my divorce (I was struggling to make ends meet), I pinched pennies and scraped together what I thought were great baskets for the kids. Wasn't what I had wanted to give the kids, but times were tough. Savannah looked at her loot, and mind you she was younger then, said, "I've seen better Easters." That cut me to the bone, I started crying, and the jig was up. "You mean, YOU'RE the Easter bunny?" The kids looked at me with their big eyes, wide with their new knowledge, and I nodded. Savannah ran up the stairs, crying, "Everything I've believed is a lie!"

It's funny now, but then it was traumatic. So Santa and the Bunny gone, the Tooth Fairy is the last mythical creature in our house. Savannah is about to turn fourteen, but Parker and Kiefer are still in tooth-fairy years, and it pains me to think that they will soon grow out of them soon.

It got me to thinking, WHO comes up with these stories? Is there someone in a cubicle somewhere concocting these childhood myths. And what other lies do we tell our kids? Brussel sprouts are yummy. If you cross your eyes, they'll stay that way. Swim after eating and you'll get cramps.

And what kind of lies do we tell as adults? I'm not talking about the biggies, rather the tiny little lies, the seemingly innocent ones, that we let sneak by. No, that dress doesn't make you look fat. Yes, honey,I LOVE action movies. He will call. No, the chicken isn't burned.

Someone told me last week that people don't want their friends to be honest; people want to surround themselves with friends who will tell them what they want to hear. Is this true? I certainly hope not. I think my friends are honest, I try to be honest, and while we all may sugar-coat a little (Hurting feelings is not fun!), for the most part we tell the truth.

I challenge myself today to tell the truth, to say it in a nice way, but to say it. Love is truthful. But, if you all don't mind, I think I'll hold onto the tooth fairy a little bit longer.

Visions

2010-06-30T06:50:00.000-07:00

I had a vision of this place before it even opened. Like many daydreams, I had spent loads of time wishing and hoping and wondering if it would ever happen. I even drew the store, and what I thought it would look like, and made list after list of the cool creative goodies I could make, in case it ever happened. And, I wrote a creed, a few pages outlining the WAY I wanted to do business, the priciples I would stick to, the beliefs I wouldn't sacrifice for money. Kinda like Jerry Maguire and that infamous memo...and look where THAT got him!

Recently, in an email full of unsolicited advice from an anonymous individual, my principles were questioned. Well, not questioned really, more like attacked. "Are you running a business or a family?" was one of the questions. And although the harsh words did sting, that email only made me more sure of who I am, how I operate, and what's important in life. I thank each one of you who reached out...your comments made me realize you think I'm on the right track.

One comment really stood out for me, though, and I'd like to share it with you now. These words come from a good, honest friend, who would tell me the truth no matter what, even if it wasn't just what I wanted to hear, making them even more powerful and more special to me. AND, these words express EXACTLY the way I want to run my business, my vision.

"Here's my opinion (you asked for it, you got it), and let me go ahead and apologize in advance to my friends from north of the Mason-Dixon line...Paul from Graham sounds like a cold-hearted yankee who has NO idea of what a "mom-n-pop" operation is all about. If I came to your store to get my chocolate fix and there was a sign on your door that read, "Having lunch with my grandma, be back later," or "My kids are sick...closed," or "Watching my son get his baseball trophy" ...I would smile and get a warm feeling all over. This is the kind of mentality that America needs more of...you bring back that small-town feel to an ever-expanding Greensboro. We don't want a super-mega corporate chocolate factory..we want YOU and we want to know about your kids AND your grandma. Chocolate Pops is more than just a chocolate shop...it's a story. It's a place to stop and say "Hello" and share a laugh. You are doing a great job with all those hats you wear...but especially being a supermom. That's the most important hat you wear and you obviously have your priorities in line. So back to Paul from Graham...I bet he didn't even send his mother a Mother's Day card. Let him get his chocolate elsewhere...I would prefer not to hear his opinion if he were to visit your store. You need to keep doing what you're doing...because you do it so well."

To this friend, you know who you are, thank you. This is my vision of this little shop. Some may not like it, some may think I should only think of the bottom line, some may think they could do it better. Perhaps they could. But this is my store, this is my story, and no one can do it like me.

Kids and Candy

2010-06-29T05:33:00.000-07:00

Last summer, I thought it would be fun, and a great way to teach the kids the value of work, if I took the kids with me to the store each day. Now before you holler, "Child-labor," may I remind you that working your own kids doesn't count, AND they were rescued often by their grandma who would then take them to the pool, or to get ice-cream or just to her house to play. ("Those poor little kids..." she would say. Of course, this is the same mom who used to pile on the chores on my brother and me, citing such phrases as "Hard work never hurt anyone," or "When I was your age...")

Remembering last year's attempt, I wasn't really looking forward to this summer. I thought, for a fleeting moment, of sending the kids to cool camps or classes, but nah...Instead, we tweaked our plans until we've come up with a plan, a good one so far.

First, we have enlisted help. (Help me, Obi Wan!) Our Obi Wan is Jess, our sitter, who comes three days a week. Her job description: Take the kids to the pool, make smoothies, referee board game disputes, and play lead guitar on Rock Band. Second, the days when Jess can't come, or we can't afford her, the kids go to work with me. FUN! Third, I shortened the shop's hours to accomodate taekwondo lessons and baseball games and made Saturdays by appointment only.

So far, and I know it's not far in yet, being only June, but so far...so good. The kids are happy that we don't have to stay in the shop till 5, and I'm happy knowing that when school starts, I can readjust the hours back to normal. The kids love the sitter, and I love those days when I can work in peace.

I keep thinking about that movie Baby Boom, when Diane Keaton was making homemade babyfood after leaving the corporate rat-race. "I have a crib in my office and a mobile over my desk and I LIKE it that way." I've always liked that scene. That's me: I want my kids there (Not ALL the time, but some is good!). I relish my time with them. I know some people out there won't get it, won't understand, but I'm not looking to be Hershey here. Just like in that movie, "the rat race is going to have to deal with one less rat." Give me my little store, my kids underfoot, and you got one happy chocolate-girl.

Left Side or Right?

2010-06-28T10:08:00.000-07:00

Is the left side of your brain the creative side, or the right? I always get those mixed up. Anyway, whichever it is, I have a creative brain. I like pretty. I don't care how things work really, as long as they do, and I want things to look pretty while we're at it! I'm a little messy, not much, but clean. Does that make sense? (In other words, I don't like dirty, but a bit disorganized is heaven to me.) When I work, I like to spread all my materials out around me. If I'm in the kitchen, I like to gather all my ingredients before I start. I call my creative method "Organized chaos."

That said, I'll tell you what's cooking lately: A new website. A really cool one, with all the bells and whistles, a professional one where customers can see my work AND order stuff right then...an online store! Whoo-hoo.

It's a big production, this new website, so in the meantime, I created an updated website...the in-between site, a bit cleaner, a bit easier to read and navigate. (It's up now, www.chocolatepopsnc.com...let me know what you think!)

Change is icky sometimes. Last night was my first meeting about the new site and I've got to confess, my brain already hurts. I know just enough about computers to make me dangerous, and I'm not ashamed to tell you, I hate this middle part. I like the part where you get the idea, and I like the end result, but the middle part, where you have to talk about formats, and shipping costs, and layout...ick.

My husband, the web-guy, and his sidekick/work-wife sat on the couch. I sat across from them in the easy chair, answering questions and (don't tell Chad) sometimes zoning out. I know this is important, and this change is good, but I'm the creative one, remember? I just wanna get back to creating. (I felt the same way in Advanced Math in high school!) Does this ever happen to any of you?

I think it went okay. I answered their questions, for the most part, well. They shot down a few of my suggestions, Chad gave me some story (supposed to be a metaphor, I guess) about how people want to eat sausage but NOT see how it's made, they laughed about I.T jokes that went right over my head, and I don't think they noticed when I fell asleep for a moment toward the end. All in all, I think we're off to a good start. We'll see...

Google me

2010-06-25T05:14:00.000-07:00

The other day, I googled myself. (No Grandma, this isn't something dirty.) I was impressed; I actually was there! On the second page of the search, but there I was nonetheless. So obviously, even though my website is home-made, I am doing SOMETHING right. I think the blog is helping with the search engine rankings, and I'm enjoying writing it, so the blog will stay. But there will be changes...

I have been working behind the scenes on a new, more polished website, and hope to go live next Monday. I'm not the web-developer of the family, but I think this new one is pretty darn good. It's simpler, not so hokey, and easy to navigate. I'm excited! Speaking of the web developer of the family, Chad and his work-wife (a co-worker who keeps him in line at work, hee hee) continue to work on the new Chocolate Pops online site, a very professional online store that we hope to launch this fall. I feel like Dolly Parton in Steel Magnolias, "Oh Spud! I'm a chain!" (If you don't get this, shame on you...netflix it!)

Now, speaking of the blog...the blog as we know it now will morph, actually, into two blogs. Chocolate Girl will remain, and its ties to Facebook will remain, and I will continue to write about life as I know it. But a new blog, solely for Chocolate Pops, will be added to the website. The new blog will stay strictly on task (Hard to imagine, for me!) and will share news and events for the business only. More writing I know, but my schizophrenic side will love it! (No we won't...yes we will...no we won't...yes, we will)

So many changes, I'm getting dizzy. But change is good, right? Oh, and one more thing before I skeedaddle....(how's THAT for a Southern word?)...sometimes in life, we get a bad review. Sometimes it's completely unfounded and untrue. It still stings. I got one of these this week, and it hurt. ( Thank you for all your comments and encouragement by the way; they really helped! ) But when we get a bad review, sometimes it can actually be a blessing. No, I am not heedng ANY of this person's unsolicited advice, rather, his bad review made me ever so resolved. Resolved in who I am, what I want. So thanks, Mr. Bad Reviewer, you alleviated all my doubts. I am stronger, better, faster. I have turned your one bad review into the motivation to not change the way I do biz, but grow it. I am Chocolate Girl. And I am not someone to be truffled with!

Now, if you'll all excuse me, I am off to work!

What's New?

2010-06-24T14:34:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I know I haven't blogged about JUST store-stuff for awhile now, but I think it's time to let y'all in on what's been going on lately. Instead of a real vacay, I took some time last week and spent extra time with the kiddos, got them all settled with a new sitter (Yay!), and spent time daydreaming and working on recipes and new ideas.

This week, on Monday, I was the featured business on Groupon, and that has brought a ton of business into the shop. For those of you not familiar with Groupon, let me tell you, it's awesome. You sign up, then receive emails Mon-Fri for the featured coupon...it's a group buying coupons...groupon, get it? The coupons are great deals, and it's a way for new customers to learn about Chocolate Pops..win-win!

Not completely knowing what to expect, I wanted to get the store as full of goodies as possible. So I made tons of peanut brittle, more fudge, oodles of goodies, lots of pops. Today I made new summer displays, one with July Fourth ideas and one with summer ideas...mermaids, seashells, even chocolate sunglasses! I've got two new mottos that I'm following this week: One is "I am not someone to be truffled with," and "If you make it, they will come." The first I am repeating to myself so that I remember to be myself, be strong, and be strong with being myself(Facebook friends will understand.) The second I am chanting so I keep focused on making more and more and more chocolate...believing that if the store is choc-full (get it?), then customers will come!

Also, I faxed in my application to be in the Fourth of July parade downtown next Saturday. Keeping fingers crossed I get in...can't wait to be Wendy Wonka in the parade...now I just need some oompah-loompahs!

If you haven't been in the shop this week, you should stop by! It looks awesome, if I do say so myself!

For Your Consideration

2010-06-19T18:08:00.000-07:00

Short blog today...tonight really...tummy full with cookout food, family relaxing, Alice in Wonderland playing for the third time. But I just need to get this off my chest. (I can hear you all saying, "Uh-Oh!)

On Saturdays, the shop is open usually 11-2 but some extremely busy Saturdays, I work by appointment. (And by busy, I mean little league games, Grandma-time, and family matters.) Today was one of those busy Saturdays. I had two pickups arranged for 10 am, then off to Kiefer's baseball game at 10:20. Mind you, his game was across town, so no time to waste. (I like to live on the edge.) After the game, the idea was to run back to the shop for two more customer pickups, then off to more family stuff.

Here's the low-down: First customer, check. Second customer: No show. No phone call, no show. Time a-ticking, Kiefer a-worrying, I call the customer. "Oh, I can't come now...I forgot." Nice, huh? Nevermind that I squeezed in her last-minute order...nevermind that I had to stay up late and work at home to get it done when she needed it...nevermind that she knew I was slammed busy with "appointments" of every kind today...the most important thing at that moment was setting another time for her and somehow getting my son across town to his game in 5 minutes. I re-scheduled another time for her and flew out the door.

Game on, Kiefer made it, missed only a fraction, and we left the field and headed back to the shop. Second appointment. Think she made it? Nope. Not a phone call. Nothing.

So here I am, stuck with this custom order and some not-so-nice thoughts. And thoughts are all they can be...In business, you have to smile and take it. You can't call the lady and tell her how you get more consideration from your dog. You can't fuss and scream. You can't even heavy-sigh. I love my customers, I really do, but sometimes, someone does something like this and I just cringe when I have to "eat it."

Most times, when I take a custom-order, a larger one, I require a deposit. Makes me wonder, should I just require everyone to pay up front. This is hard, though, since corporate orders are a big part of what I do, and checks are cut after invoices are sent...payment up front is a hard rule to enforce. And, many of my customers have come to be friends; I don't want to draw a hard line with them. What's left?

I guess, the only thing left is to live and learn. Take down her name and remember it, so she doesn't do this again. Use this as a lesson to teach my kids about being considerate. (Yes, I have considered the possibility of an accident, but there was no apology this morning, just a flippant, "Oh, sorry," and then when she did the whole no call/no show thing to me twice, well, the accident theory went right out the window.)

Lesson learned. Try not to let this happen to me again. And BIGGER lesson, never be this inconsiderate and teach the kids just how this kind of inconsideration makes others feel. And, maybe I'll find someone who needs 50 orange basketball pops.

Fight or Flight

2010-06-18T05:53:00.000-07:00

Humans and animals are endowed with a fight-or-flight reflex. Sometimes it's best to run away from danger; sometimes it pays to stay and fight. Yesterday I blogged about fear, and running, and asked the question, "What makes some of us run toward and some of us run away?"

Like I said yesterday, I'm not talking about predators or life-threatening situations, rather the danger of just "swaying in the breeze," letting life just bounce off us until we've just run out of time.

What makes some people just run away from life, hide from decisions, let life "happen" to them? What makes other people so good at grabbing life by the horns, heading "full-steam" ahead into the unknowns, making life "happen" for them? And if you're a run-away-er, how do you become a run-toward-er?

In my life, I have been both types. There have been times when I have been scared, ran away from a decision, or just not acted on decisions at all. Like the ostrich, sometimes I've taken the easy route and buried my head in the sand. Still, there have been moments, shining moments, when I have ran toward a goal so fast and so hard that there was no doubt I'd reach it. My question is, how do you have more of those "toward" moments and fewer "away" moments?

Fear is, of course, the obstacle. But, you know, fear is slippery. Fear is not always cloak-and-dagger, dark shadows, haunting music fear. Most times, for me, fear presents itself as a tiny voice, planting little seeds of doubt. Fear's goal---inaction on our part. Show me a person doing nothing and I'll show you a person who has been talking to fear. For me, fear doesn't make me cower in a corner; fear makes me want to not change, anything. Chad and I joke about how change-averse I am...I don't see it...he clearly does...I can't even stand it when we paint the townhouse, when they discontinue my favorite lipstick, when we had to throw out the old couch (It was falling apart, yes, but I LOVED that couch.) Fear of the unknown, the new, makes me want to keep the old, even if, like the couch, it's just not working anymore.

How do I embrace the unknown? How do I run toward it? What if I fall, or fail? I watched Field of Dreams the other afternoon with the kids (They have never seen it). Practically that whole movie is about faith in the unknown, and running toward even when you have no idea of the outcome. Kevin Costner plows under most of his corn to build a baseball field even though he has no idea why, just because the "voice" tells him to...now that's either faith or insanity! But the scene I keep thinking about is the scene where Joe Jackson invites the writer Terrence Mann to join him and the other ballplayer ghosts in the corn field. "What's out there?" the writer asks. Joe Jackson simply says, "Come and see." A giggling Terrence Mann then disappears into the corn field, vowing to write about his adventure. "If I have the courage to go through with this, what a story it will make."

Makes me wonder, if Joe Jackson had invited ME, would I be brave enough to go into the corn? Would you? (Of course, my first thought was my children, and my second thought was children of the corn...that's just how my little mind works, sorry. But I digress...)

Each day, I have ideas. Do I implement them? Do I act on them? Each day, I'm confronted by some challenge. Do I shrink or meet it head-on? Each day, there are so many ways I can improve, so many little ways I can "do" for others, so many choices I can make or not make. I think the way we become a run-toward-er is that we set goals, simpler ones even, daily goals if we have to, until we know/refine what the big goals are. Don't know what you wanna be when you grow up? I struggle with that one too. I've decided that until I am completely sure of what I eventually want to be, I'll stay on this path. Go this way, 100%. My father-in-law, who was West Point military, used to tell Chad, "Choose a path, go 100% until you are sure that is the wrong path and you should choose another. Then go 100% again." You don't really get anywhere if you go 50%, 60%, so on. Makes sense.

Also, I have decided to get out of my own little box, so to speak. Whenever I find myself thinking too much about me and my life and my decisions, I'm going to do something for someone else. Take the focus off me for awhile. That's sure to put my tiny worries in perspective. (Cause when you think about it, there's always someone out there worse off, someone who thinks you have it made, someone who would trade places with you in a minute. Makes me really appreciative. AND, there's always a way to make someone else's day. Making someone else happy is a simple way to find our own joy.)

Now to squash that little voice, fear. That, I'm afraid, will be an ongoing process. Till then, I think I'll just replace it with the Field Of Dreams voice, think I'll adopt that idea as my mantra: If you build it, they will come. (I changed it a bit, but it is, after all, my voice.)

Ready to run

2010-06-17T11:09:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been daydreaming about running away. No, I'm not gonna really do it---it's a daydream, after all--but the thought is there. Like that 80's remake, Tainted Love, "sometimes I feel I've got to run away, I've got to get away."

I think this seed of discontent was planted in my head by a friend last week who confided that he felt stuck in his job, in his life, and just wanted to run away and live at the beach and lead a simple existence.

This friend of mine is a swell guy. Outside looking in, he has a great life. Nice house, two kids, wife has a good job, he has a good job---yet he is discontent. He told me he'd give anything to just move to the beach and open a little lunch-spot there, a "hot-dog stand even." What I can't figure out is what makes this seemingly successful, happy person want to run?

"Somewhere you could hang a note on the door that says, Gone Fishing, and no one would care," I said. He smiled and pointed at me, "Exactly!"

So, thanks to my daydreaming friend, and my business being slow because of summer, I too have found myself harboring these sea-side longings.

Question is, if I did run off, run away, would I be happy? You know, when Jenny left Forrest for the umpteenth time and he took off running, trying to outrun his demons or her memory, he ran and ran, but that didn't make him happy. Our buddy Gump just stopped running, turned around to those running with him, and simply ended his run with, "I'm pretty tired, think I'll go home now." Completely fitting that Jackson Brown's Running On Empty was playing in the background when Forrest started his jaunt. Good choice, soundtrack-guy. Aren't we all, when we run away from life, just running on empty, running blind?

I discussed this topic over lunch with my friend Harry the other day. "You should write about that, "Harry told me, "The difference between running toward something or running away. "Hmmmm....big question, huh? And really in two parts. WHY do we run?---is it toward something or away from something---and what makes us run in the first place?

A rabid dog, a possible attacker, I'm not talking about those kinds of things...of course we run from those threats. I'm talking more about life, our purpose, what we do and want and think and feel. I keep coming back to this: That in "running from" we are creating a void. "Running from" really requires little of us, so over time, we are left with an emptiness. We get stuck in strongly conditioned habits, social dynamics, ways of doing things, and instead of working a change, we cut and run. "Running away" has no purpose other than escape. You need not even know where you're headed---just that where you've been is fading in that rearview mirror.

"Running toward" is more of an action. Scratch that. "Running toward" is a state of being. "Running toward" requires you have something to actually run toward. Moving toward creates meaning, fullness, and eventually a peace. Peace, at least to me, equals joy.

But why do we feel the need to run in the first place? I think...one word...fear. The definition of fear is "an emotional response to a perceived threat." Stop here a moment: PERCEIVED threat. So the threat doesn't even have to be real, just perceived. And EMOTIONAL threat. Not intellectual, or rational, emotional. This really says something---many of our fears can be totally emotional reactions to threats that may or may not even happen. No wonder fear is so crippling.

I heard this depressing phrase used once; some author on Oprah, I think, discussing his book, said we are all "running to our deaths." That's a terrible thought. He explained that we're always running, physical and in our minds, in so many different directions and ways, that we are simply running to our deaths. "I'm about to turn 43, " I told my friend Harry, "That's half-way to 86! I don't want to be an old lady lookig back thinking I missed out." How awful to imagine--we run so fast through our lives that we get to the end and turn around and all we can say is "I'm pretty tired, think I'll go home now." Was that it? Is that all?

I read a book recently that was inspiring. "The Memory of Running" is about a man, 43, in questionable shape and health who, after some horrible events in his life, decides to cycle across the country. Throughout the ride he re-discovers himself. There's a quote form the book that really grabbed me, so much so I wrote it down.

"Sometimes there are moments when a person has to make a decision, as opposed to just letting things just happen. A person then has to happen himself. I have never done this. Life bounced off me, and bounced me, and now it was going to bounce me to death."

I don't want to let life just bounce me about, or bounce me around. I don't want to be one who always runs away. That doesn't sound good at all. So...how do we (1) not run or (2) run toward and not away? Stay tuned tomorrow...I'll have to ponder on this some more...

Venting

2010-06-16T05:41:00.000-07:00

Of all the things I wanted this blog to do for me...introducing myself to new customers, expressing thoughts of running my own business, providing me a place to announce new items, specials, etc...I never realized how much I would use this blog to vent. Blogging started innocently enough, but soon became my forum for venting on all sorts of topics. (Big business/corporate America, lunch ladies over-stepping their bounds, and yes, I did call the North Koreans flying monkeys...oops.)

I have been giving my thoughts a lot of thought lately. Yes, I am a business owner, but I'm also a mom, a daughter, a wife, a grand-daughter, a Christian, a citizen. I have many sides, and so I have many interests. Do I want to continue the blog as it is, reign it back to solely business-topics, or start a whole new blog? AND, on a bigger scale, what do I want to DO about these issues that rile me up? Not one to just sit and complain, what do I intend to do to help fix this world I care about?

AND, on an even bigger scale, what do I want to BE when I grow up? Do I stay on the path I'm on now? Is there some other calling I'm not heeding? How do I know? These little nagging thoughts have been absolutely driving me crazy lately. (DeAnna, this is why no-bloggy for four days.)

So here's what I have decided: I have decided to just stay me. My blog will reflect me, the ups and downs of biz, the ups and downs of family-life, the ups and downs of being a mom, the ups and downs of trying to have it all and keep all these "balls in the air." I promise I'll try to keep my political ramblings toned down, sorry North Koreans but I still stand by my flying monkey comment, and I'll try to give you more chocolatey-news. But I can't promise a politic-free zone....that's just not me. If I'm taking on lunch-ladies or writing a letter to Congress about retiring Ronald McDonald, you'll hear about it. Sorry, that's just me.

With that said, here's what new: After creating what I considered to be the perfect peanut-brittle, I tested it in the shop and sold out over and over. So that's a winner. Still working on the fudge idea...the recipe I developed for peanut-butter fudge was awesome, but chocolate fudge? not so much, too sweet. Peanut-butter fudge stays...back to the drawing board for chocolate. Stay tuned on that one. Over the summer, I'll be working on lots of other new flavors/concoctions/pops...in the fall, I'll roll out my new line-up. Just like designers display their new lines come Fashion Week, this fall I will too. It'll take all summer to tweak these recipes, so visit often (yay!) and give me your input on my creations. Come fall, Chocolate Pops will debut the latest fashions in chocolate. So there you have it, my latest musings...now, back to summer!

Summer, Day One

2010-06-11T07:54:00.000-07:00

Everywhere I turn, I hear parents talking about what to do with their kids over summer break. It's all over Facebook...summercamp ads are all over the radio...I overheard parents at Parker's baseball game last night discussing this very topic. Proehlific Park seems to be a cool option, with it's focus on sports and activity. The kids of another friend of mine are going to sleep-away camp. Oh how I wish the school schedule could match the work schedule...parents' lives would be so much easier!

My daughter is, at this moment, heading down I-40 on a cross-country road trip with her grandparents, leaving her two brothers here with me. (My parents are good, but all three of my kids? They're not THAT good.) We've got an ace-in-the-hole sitter lined up for a few days/week, but here's my plan for right now: I am taking some time off. Gasp! I know, I know, what to do with the store? What will my customers think? What if there is some dire need for chocolate?

I want you to know, I gave this decision a lot of thought. I keep coming back to one thing...I started this business as a way to make money, have fun, and spend time with my kids. I was a single-mom when I started this adventure, and I hated the thought of spending eight hours a day away from home. I had this little hobby, and thought, "Why not?"

Now that I'm married, and a little more set in the personal department, I can concentrate a little more on what I really want professionally. I have my home, my family, my dream-man...now I just have to make the store into my dream job. So....I am taking some time to "find myself," to relax, to enjoy my children, to give some thought about how I want to make the store grow, new products...time to daydream and plan and set new goals. Summer is slow for chocolate-sales anyway, so this is the perfect chance.

Chocolate Pops is a family business. I hope you all will understand that I need to spend time with my kids. I will pop in now and then, and will check the messages daily, and will certainly still take orders. I'll update on Facebook and still blog. I'll simply be "by appointment" for the next few weeks. Thanks to all my friends out there who support me. Happy Summer!

Summer School, for me

2010-06-09T08:14:00.000-07:00

Well, this is it. The countdown has begun. Tomorrow is the last day of school for my three kids. They've been counting down since Spring Break, who am I kidding? since winter break, and it makes me smile to see them so excited. I remember summers as a kid...the sweet taste of watermelon, that jingle from the ice cream truck, the sting of sun on my shoulders, the crack of wooden baseball bats. Nothing quite compares to the potential of an entire summer to waste.

As a mom, summer means "what the heck am I going to do with the kids?" And while I don't yet have the whole summer planned, I will tell you this: This summer I will spend on prep work and damage-control. I love to joke about the last day of school being my last day of freedom, but this year, it kinda is. It's been quite a school-year, and I have some major filling-in-the-blanks to do.

The prep work I speak of is with my daughter Savannah. This summer is the summer between her middle school years and her high school years. Do you remember that summer? When I was her age, we called it Junior High and Senior High and, call me sentimental, but I think those names suit it best. Tomorrow I'll watch Savannah graduate from eight grade into her 30's...or so it seems. Junior High girls are on the roller coaster, inching it's way, click click click...High School, the ride is on! Up, down, upside down, spinning, twisting, turning...it's my job this summer to prepare her for the ride of her life.

To her, this summer is about a new look, maybe a new hair style, new clothes for fall, hanging out with her friends, swimming, vacations, relaxing. To me, this summer is about prepping us both for letting go. And I don't mind telling you that I don't like it, not one little bit. Savannah is naive now, beautifully naive. It's my job this summer to encourage her to keep that innocence while exploring a new world. I've heard of tribes that have rituals of sending their young into the jungle to meet their fates head on, the young then return having battled wild beasts and the elements to become adults. Sounds like High School to me. (Hello, did you see Mean Girls? I did, and it scared me to death!)

The damage-control I speak of is with my two sons. Parker (10) and Kiefer (8) have had interesting school years, to say the least. Parker has been tortured by a nemisis so evil, so insidious, so hard-to-shake...I'm talking, of course, about a MEAN TEACHER. I complained right away about this teacher assignment, but got the put-off by the front office. "Give it a couple of weeks..." Followed up with more complaints, more office-visits, but still no class-change was granted. With each month of this school year, I have felt my power over my kid's education and Parker's self-confidence waning. I am so pissed-off (Pardon my German, my mom used to say), that the only thing I can feel good about at this point is that I survived a whole year without giving Parker's teacher a black eye. Parker went from a little boy who loved school, never in trouble ever, to a kid who now hates going. Thank you, school system. This summer I have the challenge of instilling in him again his love for learning. (Reading to him since he was a baby, pre-school, driving him to speech-classes pre-kindergarten, working with him on manners, math, and mutliplication...all this time invested just to be swept away by one bad teacher. Nice...)

The other damage-control I will have to do this summer involves Kiefer. Actually this I will call detox, as that's a much better term. The three of you who read this blog, hee hee, will recall the eating-adventure we've been through this year. I'll quickly catch the rest of you up-to-speed: Convinced that Kiefer does not suffer from ADHD but tormented by teachers, counselors and other administrator/professionals to "get that kid on medicine," I decided to explore the link between what we eat and how we behave. Turns out, adding fish oil, proper vitamins, deleting red dye #40 and mucho sugar has a positive effect. Hmmm...this isn't rocket science, people. Seems this info would be a case of common sense, but I've learned from our lovely school system that common sense is not so, ahem, common. Kiefer's school year has been one of constant lunch-lady battles (Trust me, you don't want to fight lunch-ladies, Sca-ry!), red-tape, and blank stares. The applause I think I should get for standing up for my kid and preaching good food choices...well, I'm still waiting for that applause. So, this summer, I have two and a half months to detox my child from class-room snacks, contraband honey-buns bought in the cafeteria without my consent, and big red Tootsie-pops given for good behavior. (Isn't THAT a riot? Kid behaving? Reward him with the one thing that sends him back to bouncing off the ceiling.)

Summer? Bring it. I'm ready for sleeping a bit later, enjoying that second cup of coffee, lounging by the pool listening to my kids yell, "Cannonball!" I'm ready for spontaneous beach-trips, sand between my toes, a comfy towel, big hat and a good book. In fact, I've already started my tan. I'm also really ready to have my kids back...no more dirty looks from mean teachers, no more bureaucratic red-tape, no more might-as-well-slam-my-head-against-a-brick-wall feeling. I've got two and a half months to prep my daughter for high school, detox my little bouncy-ball eight-year-old and re-confidize (new word, like it?) my budding 5th grader. With as much as I've fought this year, I think I could rival those guys in Fight Club...Pitt was tough, but I could surely take Ed Norton! With as much as I've fought AGAINST this year, it'll actually feel GOOD to fight FOR something now. Summer? Bring it on. I got this.

Count your Blessings

2010-06-08T07:48:00.000-07:00

"Count your blessings, name them one by one..." I remember learning that song before I could even read the words. The verses are easy enough, the chorus a bit repetitive, the melody is upbeat. But in spite of its sing-songy demeanor, "Count Your Blessings" is a profound lesson. How many of us actually count our blessings, naming them one by one?

Lately, I know I haven't. When business is slow, and the power bill is due, and you find an invoice you forgot to pay, and the kids need shoes or yearbook money or a new baseball glove, when I'm counting each penny, it's hard for me to stop and count my blessings instead. Sometimes I feel like that lady in that old Calgon commercial, and I just want to draw me a bubble bath, climb in, and yell, "Take me away!"

It's at this moment, the moment I want to just be rescued from it all, that I must change my focus. Let the worries and concerns and bills and daily stresses become blurry; I need to focus instead on what I have. Benjamin Franklin used to joke that there are two ways to get rich...have more money or be content with what you already have. I'm convinced none of us realize just how much we DO have, so I did a little research. Here's what I found:

*If you own a Bible, you are blessed. One third of the world doesn't have access to one. (Note to self here: I have three, kids each have their own, and there are ample extras at our church. How's THAT for blessed?)

*If you have food in the fridge, clothes on your back, and a place to sleep, you are richer than 75% of the world's population. (And WE groan each evening, "What should we have for dinner?")

*If you have any amount of money in the bank, in your wallet, even spare change somewhere, in your car or in a jar, you are among the world's top 8% of wealthy. (I'm always complaning about the spare change that builds up in my purse making it heavy.)

*Can you read? Two billion people cannot. (I think to a conversation Sunday by the pool with my stepdaughter, both of us grumbling about the sun in our eyes while we were trying to read.)

*If you make at least $10,000 a year, you are richer than 87% of the world's people. (and I complain about business being slow...)

*If you make $50,000 a year, you are among the top 1% of the richest people in the world. Imagine...

*If you own a car and a home, you are richer than 95% of the whole world. (High gas prices? At least we own cars.)

*In many countries, if you own a book you are wealthy. And if you own several books, you are considered extremely wealthy. (Don't know about you, but we have shelves and shelves of books.)

I know it's easy to look at these statistics and rationalize...of course we don't live in Darfur or some remote island village without running water. Of course we are richer than those people. But we are here in America, and we have to keep up with the Joneses. We look around at what everyone else has, and of course, we want more. There are always things to be bought, bills to be paid, more money to be made. I realize the power bill has to be paid or they'll cut off the lights, but let's face it: There are so many trappings in our everyday life, so many "things" around us, that we can't even see our blessings to count them. In a country where we have a reality show called "Hoarders," where we have "experts" to teach us how to throw out junk and simplify our lives, we are bound to have a distorted focus. I'll leave you with a story I once heard in college. (Turns out, I didn't sleep through EVERY philosophy class...something must've sunk in!)

One day, a rich businessman stumbled upon a fisherman taking a leisurely nap on the shore beside his old beaten-up boat. "Why aren't you fishing?"
The fisherman answered, "Because I've caught enough fish for the day."
The rich man couldn't understand and asked, "Why don't you catch some more?"
Puzzled, the fisherman answered, "Why? What would I do with more fish?"
"You could earn more money," the rich man said. "You could fix up your boat so you could go into deeper water. You'd catch more fish in deeper water."
Still the fisherman was confused, "Why would I do that?"
"With more money, you could buy nylon nets to catch even more fish, soon you could buy two boats, maybe even a fleet of boats, the you would be a rich man like me!"
The fisherman asked, "What would I do then?"
"Well," the rich man said, "Then you could REALLY enjoy life."
The fisherman smiled, "What do you think I'm doing now?"

Makes me jealous of that fisherman...

Peanuts and cracker jacks

2010-06-07T07:36:00.000-07:00

We are only four or so games into baseball season, but honestly, it seems we've been going for a year! Mother Nature obviously didn't get the memo that we have games to play, and keeps sending us unwelcome thunder storms. Each game-day, my little ten-year-old Parker prays for sun, but more often than not, has to settle for rain. Each rain-out dampens Parker's spirit...he just wants to play. I think this off-and-on schedule has diminished his enthusiasm. It's obvious at practice.

Our coach must have noticed it too, because after practice the other night, he gathered our boys (and one girl) around for a pep-talk. Ritchie always knows just what to say to these young listeners, but the other night was special. Sitting on a playground bench a few feet away, I couldn't help but overhear.

"You are the luckiest kids there are," he told them. Coach bent down on one knee at home-plate, some of the players taking a knee too, some standing, my Parker's arm resting on Ritchie's shoulder. "Kids who get to play baseball are the luckiest kids alive." He explained to them that some kids can't play because they have physical limitations, some can't play because there is no baseball where they live, some can't play because they have parents who can't or worse, won't, get their kids to the field. I listened, watched those little souls soaking in their coach's words, and thought, "Wow."

Baseball great Roy Campanella once said, "You gotta be a man to play baseball for a living, but you gotta have a lot of litle boy in you." Maybe this is why Coach Ritchie knows just what to say. Maybe he has a lot of little boy left in him.

Driving home from practice, I thought about a little boy who, years ago, was one of the lucky ones to play baseball. He was born February 6, 1895 in Baltimore, Maryland. This little boy's father tended bar and eventually owned his own tavern down by the Baltimore waterfront. His father and mother had eight children, but only two survived past infancy, one daughter, one son. This little boy had a very unhappy childhood. His parents worked all the time, and left him all alone. At seven years old, they took him to an orphanage and signed over custody. And this part makes me cry thinking about it: During twelve years at the orphanage, this little boy's parents hardly ever visited. On the one Sunday a month, when family was allowed to come visit at St.Mary's, this little boy watched other little boys have visitors, but never his parents.

Brother Matthias at the orphange took a liking to the boy, even though he was a complete trouble-maker. Brother Matthias was a very muscular man who taught our little boy to love sports, especially baseball. A father-figure, Brother Matthias taught him to hone his swing and to catch and pitch. In fact, our little boy alternated as catcher and pitcher on the St. Mary's varsity team.

At 19, he was recognized by Jack Dunn, a well-respected baseball scout at the time, and signed to a contract with the Baltimore Orioles (who then were a minor-league farm team of the Red Sox.) The Red Sox sold our little boy to the Yankees and the rest is history. Rick Maksian once said, "Life will always throw you curves, just keep fouling them off...the right pitch will come, but when it does, be prepared to run the bases." This is exactly what the little boy did. Life threw him some curves, he made it through his stormy beginning, and was lucky enough that someone took an interest in him, and taught him America's game. When that opportunity came, he ran with it. Lucky little boy. Lucky for us too, because that little boy grew up to be Babe Ruth.

Truth is, we all get to stand in the sun and we all get caught in the rain. Storm clouds blow in when we don't need, or want, them. Baseball is such a metaphor for life: Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Sometimes, it rains. Chin up, Parker, the sun will shine...it can't rain ALL the time...we'll get those games in, I promise. Just remember what your Coach said the other night, "Every time you take that field, just think how lucky you are to get to play baseball." Babe Ruth once said, "I won't be happy until we have every boy in America between the ages of six and sixteen wearing a glove and swinging a bat." I couldn't agree more, Mr Ruth, I couldn't agree more.

Ain't Misbehavin'

2010-06-04T10:31:00.000-07:00

My Grandma lives at Morningview. Morningview is an Assisted Living Facility here in town. (Assisted living: Now there's a term for ya! I wish I had some assisted living, sometimes!) My Grandma, while unsure of her new surroundings at first, now loves it there. She has a private room she calls an apartment, and she has some of her furniture from her house to make her room "familiar." Her room overlooks the courtyard, and my grandma loves to look below and watch the birds or whomever happens to be out there sitting in the sun. I go visit her most mornings on the way to work.

The other morning, Grandma was finishing getting dressed in her bathroom, so I stood alone at her window, looking out into the courtyard below. On a bench, by the birdbath, sat a couple. A man, a woman, a cane propped up against the bench on one side, a walker on the other side. I watched them, sitting close together, the woman talking, the man hanging on every word. Every few minutes, they would both giggle like teenagers.

"Who is that?" I asked when Grandma came back into the room. "Oh, that's Betty and Jimmy Dean," Grandma answered nonchalantly. "They're a couple." I did a little snooping and, as it turns out, Grandma wasn't making this up. Rumor has it that Betty has been seen many times leaving Jimmy Dean's room, and word is around the Bingo table that they are quite the pair. Betty is the thoughtful, over-protective girlfriend and Jimmy Dean is a flirt, always singing. I think it's precious.

Over at another assisted living facility lives my grandma's last remaining sibling, her brother Joe. Uncle Joe is a character, let me tell you. From the moment Uncle Joe moved in over there he was popular with the ladies. Uncle Joe was a handsome man when he was younger, and at 89 is still a dapper-dan. He walks everywhere, is in fine physical condition, and apart from never wearing his teeth, is quite the catch. Ever the charmer, he likes to lavish little gifts on his lady-friends, so he calls on me to make them all small bags of chocolate-popcorn. His order has gone from 12 bags (first order, last year) to a whopping 38 bags (this Easter's order). Each time he calls the store, the number goes up. Looks like his ladies love their popcorn, and, turns out, my Uncle.

Last Christmas, Uncle Joe asked me to include a gift card on each bag. I made the mistake of signing each one, "Love,Joe." Uh-oh. When Valentine's Day rolled around, and Uncle Joe called to place his order, he got onto me..."Now listen, don't write LOVE this time, I don't love all these women." Yes sir, I got it.

Love (or like, in Uncle Joe's case) in the old folks' home is not uncommon. I recently had a customer tell me a fascinating story. I was just getting off the phone with Uncle Joe, and I was chuckling, and my customer chuckled too. "I can top that," he said. This man, my customer, was called into the administrator's office at another assisted living to talk about his father. Turns out, the staff had caught Mr. Customer's father in SEVERAL of the ladies' rooms. He and one lady-friend had been caught in the bathroom. Another time, a nurse walked in on him and another lady in a "delicate position," if you get my drift. Jealousy had caused more than one catfight in the cafeteria. The administrator told him this was happening all over, that this probelm was springing up everywhere.

"What am I supposed to do?" My customer shrugged. I could hardly stop laughing. I couldn't stop thinking, "Who cares?" While I don't condone "public activity," I think we should stay out of the affair. If these older people still have gumption, then more power to them! I know my Grandma probably wouldn't accept advances from a man at this point...she's pretty set in her ways...but if Betty and Jimmy Dean have found love in their twilight years, then good for them. If Uncle Joe has 40 lady-friends, who am I to judge? Go get 'em, Uncle Joe. (Just play safe, young man.) I say, love is love. Romance is romance. Even for the grandmas and grandpas out there.

These men and women have put in their time, have worked hard, have raised their families. Most have buried their life-partners. I think if they can make it to their eighties and nineties and still have a zest for life and a fire in their hearts, then who are we to stop them? As the children, and the grandchildren, maybe we should set some ground rules (probably not a good idea to "date" too many women at once, public places may be a little risky), then back off. I personally hope that when I'm an old woman, Chad still wants to chase me around the room. Even if he has to use a walker.

Advice from Grandma

2010-06-03T09:22:00.000-07:00

When I was younger and dating, my Grandma was always giving me advice. And while much of it was unwanted, and I never asked for it anyway since I knew it all, I now know that Grandma, and the women of her day, really knew what they were talking about. It would do us all a world of good to listen up!

I look around at my single friends now, listen to their endless stories of how he's the one...I just know it! turn into why didn't he call and I wonder, "Didn't these girls have a grandma?" Don't these women get it? What gives?

While most of my Grandma's wisdom directed to me at that time in my life was about dating, these principles can be applied to all sorts of relationships. These are little bits of wisdom, passed down through generations, and they have stood the test of time. Not the invention of the automobile, not the advent of the internet, not even the feminist movement can negate the power of these "rules." Hardheaded as I am, it took me FOREVER to understand and use these rules, to follow them, to make them part of my everyday interactions. (I even read once a book by two women who had claimed credit for these rules, but basically this is grandma-wisdom.)

What are these principles? Well, sit down, pour yourself another cup of coffee and scoot a little closer. Cause my Grandma has lots of secrets...

1. When I was thirteen, my Grandma made me a scrapbook. The title of it was "Clean," and inside she had pasted articles, cartoons, and notes from her to me...all about the importance of being "clean." "Now that you're a teenager..." is how it started. The theme of the scrapbook was the importance of my "aura," and how everything I did as a young woman should be clean. Physically taking care of myself was important, but also I had to keep an eye out for my thoughts, my actions, the way I presented myself. In all honesty, there were some times back then when "Clean" was the farthest thing from my teenage mind, but I still have that scrapbook. And you know what? Grandma was oh-so-right. If my heart is clean, if my mind is clean, if my hair and teeth and nails and clothes are clean, then I feel beautiful. "Beauty may be skin-deep, but ugly goes clear to the bone," Grandma used to say, "Make sure your beauty is all the way through!" Grandma also used to say, "You should look your best not just for your sake, but for the sake of those who have to look at you!" Very funny, Grams.

2. "Act like you were born happy." My Grandma gave me so many gems about dating, I just can't remember them all. But I got the jist of it. Any man is lucky to have me, so I had better act like it. Women should be elusive butterflies...don't leave the house without a little lipstick, be easy to be with, listen attentively, stand up tall, shoulders back, walk with a purpose...don't dawdle...gems...every one. Happy girls are busy, so busy we can't possibly accept a date at the last minute. "Never accept a Saturday night date after Wednesday." That's good advice, if you think about it. If I am just sitting there, waiting for some man to call, how valuable can I be? "Tell him you're busy," Grandma would say, "but be polite. Just say you wish you could and leave it at that. He'll get the hint eventually."

At this, I would whine. "But Grandma, what if I'm NOT busy?" She would smile sweetly and pat my hand. "I don't care if you're rearranging your sock drawer, YOU are busy." A wink, another pat, and I got the message. Thanks, Grandma.

3. Never ask a man to dance. Ever. Now this one I had trouble with, certainly. Teaching dance for years, I of course, HAD to ask men to dance on occasion, but that's not what Grandma was talking about. "We don't chase men," she would say. When I was learning dating ettiquette, girls didn't call boys, girls didn't ask boys out, girls left the chasing to the boys. "Don't look or act like a boy," she would say, "You're a girl, be a girl." And you know, she was right. I know this flies in the face of feminism, but letting the man open the door, letting the man pick up the check, letting the man call, book the date, ask for the dance...that is letting the man be the man. Our job, as Ginger Rogers once said, is to "follow the man, backward and in high heels."

Now, before you form a mob and jump me, I am totally for women-power. I don't NEED a man, I own my own business, I raise my children just fine, thank you. I am a complete person all by myself. I believe that women are equal with men, but you have to admit, we are different. An old Greek saying I love goes..."The man is the head of the family, but the woman is the neck, and the neck can turn the head anytime it wants." Call me old-fashioned, but I like my role as a woman. I don't NEED a man to complete me; I WANT a man so I have someone to play with. The business of women and men should be fun, right?

4. "Dress nice, be nice, thank-you, goodbye, go home: That's a date." Sounds so simple, doesn't it? Why can't we do this then? I learned early on the power of ending the call/the date first. This is the old adage, "leave them wanting more," but we hardly ever leave them wanting more. We don't give them the chance. We tell too many secrets on the first date, plan the wedding in our minds over that first cup of coffee, babble on and on, or worse, be as loud and raucous as we would with our girlfriends. That, to my Grandma, would be date-suicide. "Dates are like job interviews, but with cocktails." A fave line from my muse, Carrie Bradshaw, and so very true.

Now, as a married woman, a mother, a business owner, how do I apply these priciples to my life now? Simple. I just tweak them a little. 1. The "Clean" thing still is important to me, because when my thoughts match my body matches my heart, I am at peace. Clean=beauty. True in dating, true in life. 2. I am a happy, busy person. Not too busy for a friend to call, but too busy to jump at the last minute. Not too busy to take time for my kids, but too busy to be taken advantage of, by anybody. My plans, no matter what they are, are just as important as yours, so don't expect me to drop everything. And I won't expect that of you. This is respect. 3. My husband is the head of our family. He loves me and knows he married a strong, independent woman, but also, he knows that I back him up no matter what. I will state my opinions, clearly, honestly, loudly at times, but he is the one leading this dance. My job is to follow, and twirl! 4. I sill hang up/end the emails/the evening first, even with friends. I am never the last to leave a party. I have an inner voice, probably my Grandma's, saying, "Let's go, leave them wanting more." I follow this one religiously. Part of my charm...

Writing this makes me think back to something my daughter said when she was four or five. Savannah had a friend, Heather, who a bit older and a little too "grown" if you know what I mean. One day we had to interrupt their playtime to visit "Brown." (My kids call my Grandma, "Grandma Brown," and over the years it shortened to just "Brown.") We walked Heather back across the street to her house, and got in the car. "You know mom," my sweet little girl said, "Heather doesn't have a Brown. That's sad, isn't it?" Yes, Savannah, that IS sad. I wish everyone had a Brown. I feel sorry for all those out there who never had a Grandma, and feel so blessed to still have mine.

A Lovin Spoonful

2010-06-02T06:30:00.000-07:00

"What a day for a daydream"...The shop was closed on Monday for Memorial Day. The weather is getting hotter. Pools around town are open now. Barbeques, weddings, graduations...all kinds of outdoor events, fun for us, but not for chocolate. :( We tan. Chocolate melts. Warmer weather + holiday off = business slow. What's a chocolate-girl to do?

Daydream. That's what. I've been daydreaming since last Friday. First, I was daydreaming about a day off and having a long weekend to relax and revel in. Time spent at the pool is time well-wasted, and I read a whole book this weekend and daydreamed about looking better in a bathing suit. Pool-lounging makes me hungry, so I daydreamed about the fabulous meal I would create for dinner that evening.

Sunday rolled around, and I am ashamed to say I daydreamed even in church. Don't worry, I caught myself and re-focused. But after church, I daydreamed myself right into a nap. Dreaming about the beach, I woke up resolved to plan a vacation soon.

Monday, I daydreamed more about the shop, and my goals, and even wrote some down. I reviewed my "bucket list," and marked off a few old, or already reached, goals, and daydreamed about how to reach some others. A storm cloud swept through, and I watched the rain dance on my flowers on the patio and daydreamed about planting a garden. I sat on the couch and watched Ellen, and daydreamed about meeting her one day.

"It's one of those days for taking a walk outside..." I must admit, I'm still daydreaming now, but it's back to work time, so I am a walking day-dreamer today. You may read this and think, "Boy she wasted a whole weekend," and yes, I'm sure there are lots of errands I could have run or jobs around the house I could have finished. But here's my case for daydreaming: Sometimes, your brain just needs a break.

Tuesday, inspired by my looking-better-in-a-swimsuit daydream, I got up early and went for a run. Yesterday, I found a great article about building a raised garden in even a tiny space, talked it over with Chad, and decided to plant some herbs and maybe lettuce this weekend. Last night, I made spaghetti with sauce I made from scratch...nothing better than simmering garlic, fresh tomatoes, basil and parsley, and a little white wine.

Now, how to get on The Ellen Show. Emails, sent. Basket of goodies, sent. Pics of me and Ellen in Italy, sent. No response yet. In October, we have to fly out to California for Chad's sister's wedding...ah-ha! Lightbulb moment! We go there, they fly back on Sunday, and I stay for an extra day and try to get tix to her show. I'd be in the audience, yes, but something is better than nothing. Hmmm....

I'll leave you with a few more lines from The Lovin Spoonful, "And you can be sure that if you're feeling right, a daydream'll last a long into the night.."

I just may be daydreaming for a thousand years.

Snakes and snails

2010-06-01T11:42:00.000-07:00

...and puppy-dog tails, right? Isn't that what little boys are made of? I have two boys and that just about sums it up! My boys run everywhere, even when it's not required, pick up any stick within their reach, jump, dive, fight, poke, and constantly talk about bodily functions. (Hoping they outgrow the last one, but have you met my dad? HE still hasn't grown out of it! ie...pull my finger.)

Savannah, my oldest, is calmer than the boys, not so proned to hit people with sticks, and basically secretive about bodily functions. When you're a parent of boys and girls, you tend to notice these differences on a daily basis. I have customers who speak of this very phenomenon, the phenomenon I like to call Alien vs Predator.

My daughter is the alien. The "sugar and spice and everything nice" from that poem quoted above ONLY applies to girls below twelve. ALL teenage girls are aliens. In fact, when a young girl becomes twelve or thirteen, their sweet little girl selves are transported to some other planet in some other galaxy and an alien comes down to reside here. Kinda like a foreign exchange program, but not at all a fair one. Planet X gets our little sweeties and we get their drama queen, know-it-alls. Of course, they all switch back around 18 or so, just in time for us to buy them graduation gifts and cars to drive to the mall. These aliens use defenses like heavy sighs and eye-rolling to divert our attention. When they are "put upon" to do any chore, these clever aliens will use stalling tactics (I'll do it later) or the big gun...the WHINE.

The boys are the predators. They lurk, they skulk, they seek any opportunity to scare, surprise, annoy, or tease. They lull you into a hypnotic trance with their countless facts about Pokemon, then BAM! give you a wedgie. Classic hunters, the boys will stand forever with refridgerator door open scouting the last piece of pie. Experts at camouflage, boys will avoid bath-time, since a layer of dirt helps them blend in with their surroundings. Also, some weird five-second rule applies to these predators...the boys who will eat nothing on their plate (It's yucky!) will eat anything off the floor.

Never do I realize the difference between boys and girls more than when I bring the kids to work with me. Their father NEVER takes them to work with him, probably a defense mechanism on his part...Funny, I don't remember this being part of the divorce agreement. I always have high hopes when I drag the kids to work with me. I close my eyes and envision us, in the back room together, singing little songs and making chocolate, ahhh. But once there, we're back to our same old roles...Alien vs. Predator. I tend to always think of that line from Anchorman, you know when he jumps in with the gorilla to save his girl...and he says, "I IMMEDIATELY regret this decision!"

Three kids is sooooo different than two kids. Two kids, you can man-on-man them...send them off to their corners to cool down. Three kids? You now have to play zone defense...and zone defense requires more energy, and more Starbucks, I must say. In this corner of the store, weighing in at 80 lbs and 65 lbs, you have the Fart brothers....in this corner you have Ms. Drama, weighing in at (None of your business, mom!)...in the center you have a working mom, hiped up on lattes, trying to smile sweetly and hold it together. I am just too busy to have the nervous breakdown I deserve! Who ARE these kids and WHY do they keep calling me Mom?

I started thinking about the differences between men and women...Do we keep the roles we created as children? Do we even have any differences left? In our watered-down, homogenized, metrosexual world nowadays, do we want to maintain these roles, these differences, anymore? I am reading a book now (Yes, I read!) about the Italian people and how they have such a zest for life. The author suggests that the Italians revel in their male or female roles. Men are men and love their women to be women. But what does this even mean?

Like the song says, "I adore being a girl," but I also love a cold beer, peanuts in the shell, and a baseball game. I love shoes, but I also love classic Corvettes. I love having my nails done, but I also love wearing my old ballcaps. In essence, I love sugar and spice, but I really like snakes and snails too. (Except for the whole biting part, THAT HURTS, and that whole snail-slimy thing.)

A few weeks ago, I found some really cute little buckets, bright green with frogs on the front. My first thought was "You have to kiss a lot of frogs," so I made chocolate frogs, and a chocolate castle, and a chocolate Cinderella carriage. Then I thought about little boys and filled some of the buckets with of course the chocolate frogs, only this time I added chocolate lizards, turtles and snake pretzels. Something for little girls, something for little boys. Or so I thought...

I have three buckets left, all three "little girl" buckets. The frog/snake/lizard combo sold out immediately, to girls and boys alike. Hmmm...
So, I guess, that poem about girls and boys is cute, but old-fashioned. And I guess we are different AND we are alike. I guess girls and boys can be both alien and predator. Especially when they join forces against a common enemy, Mom. And, heavy sigh and eye-roll, I guess I should make more snake pretzels.

I'm Unarmed

2010-05-28T07:38:00.000-07:00

Sipping cosmos with five of my girlfriends the other night, I actually said to them, "I want you all to know that I am, in fact, a genius." Amid their giggles, I explained how I had come up with some fabulous new recipes, and had tweaked and tested those recipes until mmm--mmm perfection. I came, I saw, I conquered (with peanut-brittle I might add) and that, my friends, I think, qualifies me as a certified genius.

But...and yes, there is always a big but....no one wants to hear that you're a genius. You may be a genius, you may walk around all day with that little confident voice in your head telling you just how smart you are, you may be proud, you may sing your own praises to yourself....BUT the key to being a real genius is to get other people to promote your genius status. Yes, to get noticed you have to toot your own horn, but that's just one horn. Get other people tooting and that's a whole band!

We've all seen those cop shows where the perpetrator comes running out, hands in the air, yelling, "I'm unarmed!" That's kinda how I approach my life. I have for years. Here's how it works: I may be smart, but I don't announce it. Playing dumb can get you much farther. (No, not dumbing yourself down, or lying, just not coming off like you know everything.) Try this: Next time you're in a social situation where you KNOW the answer, try asking a question instead. Questions get people talking, get people thinking, and you come off looking like a brilliant conversationalist. I heard Jay Leno say it best; instead of saying, "Close that window!" ask "Is it cold in here?" Asking if it's cold accomplishes two goals. One, asking a question requires someone else to give an answer, giving them the power. And two, asking the question makes closing the window someone else's idea, which is one of the best ways to get YOUR ideas accepted. I have tried this on customers, on my husband, on my kids, on my parents...it always works. I may know I have the answer in my pocket, but just like that perpetrator, announcing "I'm unarmed!" shifts the power to the other guy. If I come out guns ablazing, I'll certainly be shot down. So much more clever to conceal my "weapon," if you will.

No offense guys, but I think women are better at this than men. Case in point, I learned how to change a flat tire at fifteen. But, I bet you I can get my husband or my dad or my brother to change that tire for me if I just say, "Where does this thingie go again?" Manipulation? Maybe...I prefer to call it a win-win situation. I get my tire changed, they get to feel important and smart...win/win.

Kids...gotta love 'em. Always with the questions. "Mom, what's eighty-two times five?" "Mom, have you seen my new jeans?" "Mom, I'm supposed to go to the movies with Liam but I want to go to David's sleepover, what should I do?" My first instinct is of course to answer all their questions for them. I do, having forty-three years experience (oh wait, did I say forty-three? I meant twenty-nine), think I have more answers after all than these young-uns. But being smarter than my kids does them no service. Instead, I turn the tables. "Figure it out," or "Where do YOU think those jeans are?" or "What do YOU think you should do?" I stand back, keep my answers in my pocket, and let THEM have the power to come up with a solution. Win-win.

My customers have come to learn to trust me, but I use this tactic on them too. "What do you think about maybe doing the red tulips with the lime green and white daisies?" "Maybe we could do hot-dog and hamburger lollipops instead since it's a cookout party?" Asking questions puts the customer in the driver's seat. Yes, they rely on me and my expertise, but having open body language, asking them their opinions, being "unarmed" with all the answers makes everyone feel part of the process. To me, that creates friends instead of customers. And friends are more likely to spread the word that I am in fact, a genius. Chocolate, genius, that is.

A note to Mr. King

2010-05-27T11:07:00.000-07:00

Dear Michael Patrick King,
I have been a Sex and the City fan since Carrie sported a Shirley Temple curly-top and shoulder pads. I immediately took to the show, mostly because: 1. The writing was just so clever and quick, 2. The main characters were strong women, 3. The fashion was just as much of a character as the women, and most importantly, 4. If I squinted just right I could see myself in each of these four ladies. I remained loyal through Mr. Big, power-lad, and Aidan. I played along when you cast Bon Jovi as a psycho/patient, I kept watching even though you sent David Duchovney to the mental hospital. I was a fan through big hair, curly hair, straight hair. I have loved these characters through six years of make-ups and break-ups, knowing that in the end, the relationship that counted was the friendship between the women. To me, Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha were "real."

When the series ended, I cried. I knew Carrie would end up with Big. My only consolation was that I knew you would make a movie soon. There was no doubt, since I own every season, that I would buy the Sex and the City movie as soon as it was released. But I didn't. Here's why: You let me down. You took these strong, funny, complex characters, made them whine and strut for two hours, threw in some clever product placement and called it a day. You basically "phoned it in." Oh what you COULD have done with these women!

Last night, even though you let me down with the first movie, I gave you another chance. I am such a fan, and I love these characters so much, that I was willing to drink the koolaid again. I gathered my girlfriends, stayed up past my bedtime for the midnight showing, and groaned and sighed my way through two and a half hours of what I now am calling, Sucks in the City.

For one thing, you have my heroin, Carrie Bradshaw, whining about her horribly boring life when the man of her dreams buys her a television instead of jewelry. This is not the Carrie I know and love. The Carrie I wanted to see would have laughed about it with her girlfriends, maybe written about losing the spark in her column, then taken matters into her own hands by greeting Mr. Big at the door in a cellophane dress. With all your dialogue about her being "not like any other woman," she was like EVERY other woman I know. Except maybe in Dior and heels.

Now, Miranda. LOVED the dress she wore to the wedding. Whined too much about her job...so she has a partner at the firm not taking her seriously. Her solution? She quits. The real Miranda would have shamed him in public by out-manning him at every turn. Shame on you for making her cop-out.

Samantha: Perhaps the character that has grown the most over the seasons, through breast cancer, and finally finding love with Smith, she sure didn't show any of that growth in this movie. You took Samantha back to being a first-rate.....well, you know. Samantha loves sex, we all know, but this doesn't DEFINE her. In this movie, Samantha is so one-sided, if she turned sideways you couldn't see her. And that red jacket, ugh...drag queens everywhere saw that scene and gasped!

Charlotte: I love Charlotte in the movie, she was your only saving grace.

I could go on and on...Is Liza Minelli certified as a preacher now? WHO told these ladies how to dress for a camel ride? How the HECK did Stannie end up with Anthony? And hello, why was Smith only given a split-second scene? But I keep coming back to one thought: For years, I have wondered which one of these ladies is me...am I the writer Carrie, quirky and funny and inquisitive? Am I the smart, go-getter Miranda? Am I Samantha...quick no. Am I the mom/classic beauty/well-mannered Charlotte? Your movie last night has me thinking, that as a woman, I have too many sides to count. I am a complex creature, not fenced in with a label (or a character's name). I am part-Carrie, part-Miranda, part-Charlotte, part-Samantha, sometimes all in the same day.

Maybe, Mr. Michael Patrick King, this is what you failed to show when you produced this movie. Real women are more than high heels, wardrobe changes, and remote locations. You knew this when you were on HBO. Now, you have just lost your sparkle. I looked around the theater last night and realized, the best characters were not the ones on the screen...we were the ones in the audience. So Mr. King, as much as it pains me to say this, please don't make another Sex and the City movie. When I want to see those strong female characters I know and love, I'll stick to my DVD's.

Who put the bop in the bop-sh-bop-sh-bop?

2010-05-26T08:29:00.000-07:00

When my baby heard "ba-ba-ba-baa-ba-ba-ba-ba-bah" every word went right into her heart....and when she heard them singing, "Ram-a-lama lama lama lama-ding-dong" she said we'd never have to part." Who was that man? I'd like to shake his hand. He made my baby fall in love with me. I just love that old song.

The other night, Chad and I took Colin and Izzy (Chad's son and daughter) to Steak and Shake for a celebratory milkshake. I know, not so healthy, but Izzy got her license that day, so it was a milkshake kind of day! I don't know about you, but I just can't sit still in Steak and Shake. Their music is so awesome, that I dance and sing along to every song. God help whoever's with me! I try to remain calm, I really do, but I look around and feel like I'm the only one in this musical! Doesn't anybody else feel like jumping up and dancing? Doesn't that Big Bopper song make you wanna sing? Maybe it's just me...

This has me thinking about music though, and our choice of music, and what it says about us...even what it DOES to us. I love that feeling of looking forward to the next song....bet it'll be a good one! I love Steak and Shake's music selection...whoever picks out their playlists does an amazing job...AND I always want to hang out there a little longer just to listen more...

I started going through my ITunes when I went to work the next day, combing my selection for new stuff! I want that Steak and Shake feeling in my store. I have songs from Chad, all those free downloads from Starbucks, some of Savannah's stuff, some songs from the 50's, the 60's, the 70's, OF COURSE the 80's, and lots of cool music from movie soundtracks. I made a new play list for the shop and I must say, it's jammin'!!! I want my new music selection to make my customers smile and want to stay a bit longer.

I read a quote once from Steven Pinker (a famous linguist), who called music "auditory cheesecake." He went on to say that music really serves no purpose and happened by accident as language developed. Sorry Mr. Pinker, but I strongly disagree. Music is so much more than an accident; it is the soundtrack of our lives.
Just breathing in and out is a rhythm, the flow of water, the birds tweeting, the crickets, the frogs, all have their places in the symphony of nature. Being the superior animals that we humans are, we have expanded our natural rhythms, and have created music that stimulates, that inspires, that depresses, that heals, that comforts. The right song can bring back a memory of a first kiss. Clicking on the radio and hearing a favorite song and turning it up...what a great feeling.

Top down, cruising to the beach in my Firebird, I still remember Don Henley's Boys of Summer coming on...ahhh, what a song! 50's music reminds me of being a kid and watching my mom put on her old 45's and dancing around the kitchen. My old bedroom closet at my parents' house still houses my old record collection. I can close my eyes and imagine that viennese waltz I did to that Bryan Adams song. I sang a John Denver song to Chad instead of a toast at our wedding. Music is a faithful friend, with us at every milestone of our lives.

Music can bring back memories so strong that even my Grandma, who can't remember what she ate for breakfast, can start singing, "Down by the old mill stream..." and remember every word. Children who learn to read sheet music or play a musical instrument do better in math, that's a fact. I had the Sound of Music always playing when Savannah was a baby, and now, even though she doesn't realize why, she has such an attachment to those songs. I used to kid her and say, "By the time the nuns started singing, you'd be asleep." Nothing warms my heart more than to hear my children singing at church, or even in the back seat of the car. And I LOVE watching them play Rock Band...so cool to see MY kids jamming to Pat Benatar or the Ramones!

I have noticed how people react when they are in my store...my customers are singing along, there's lots of smiling in here anyway, but now, there's more. One lady even asked the other day, "What IS that station?" A good sign that I'm onto something here. Good music, peppy music, fun music makes people happy. Makes me happy. Probably makes the chocolate taste even sweeter, who knows?

Just for fun, here are a few lines from songs on my new play list: (See if you can guess the song!)

1. "Well, he walked up to me and he asked me if I wanted to dance.."
2. "Take it hip-to-hip, rock it through the wilderness."
3. "Make me feel real loose like a long-neck goose"
4. "Well, dance all night, keep the beat, dontcha worry bout two left feet..."
5. "Imagine me and you, I do, I think about you all the time, it's only right..."
6. "Now let me get right to the point, I don't pop my cork for every man I see."
7. "All you Calabrese, do the mambo-like-a-crazy"
8. "Raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens"
9. "I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike."
10. "I saw the world crashing all around your face, never really knowing it was always mesh and lace."
11. "Cause your friends don't dance, and if they don't dance, then they're no friends of mine."
12. "I shoulda changed that stupid lock, I shoulda made you leave your key."
13. "I remember when rock was young, me and Susie had so much fun..."
14. "If I were the king of the world, tell you what I'd do..."
15. "Cheer up sleepy Jean, oh what can it mean?"
16. "Didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you crying?"
17. "I met him at the candy store, he turned around and smiled at me, you get the picture?"
18. "2-3-4, tell the people what she wore."
19. "Here's my story, it's sad but true..."
20. "I sailed away to China, in a little boat to find ya."

How many can you get? Need some hints, let me know...:) Hope these keep you singing all day! PS If you just can't figure these out, call the shop...I'll be glad to sing them All for you!

Back to Work!

2010-05-24T07:16:00.000-07:00

I know Sundays are supposed to be a day of rest, but it seems like Sundays are quickly becoming my "catch-up day." No, Parker, not ketchup (that kid's obsessed!), I said, "Catch Up." As in, catch up with the laundry, catch up on school projects, catch up on the grocery shopping and the meal planning, and well, you get my drift.

Yesterday, though, I decided to make Sunday MY DAY. As in, banish all the kids from the living room and kitchen area, so me, myself and I could have the downstairs to ourselves and could create new recipes. We had all five of the kids yesterday, so how, you might ask, did I accomplish such an amazing feat, as to get that alone-time? My I-tunes, that's how!

Whenever I want some alone time in the kitchen, I just set up my computer and design a playlist so awful, so 80's, so Patridge Family meets the Sound of Music soundtrack meets Jan and Dean that any kid with any music taste at all runs shrieking from the house! Naturally, curiousity sets in, and now and then, one will wander back into MY space just to see what all the noise is about. That's when I rely on DJ EZ Rock and start rapping, "I wanna rock right now..." No, I'm not internationally known, but I'm known to rock the microphone, and better yet, ROLL those kids right out of the house. Success!!!

So, here I am, alone with my music, and a few reliable friends...dark chocolate, mixed nuts, vanilla extract, and a few "secret" ingredients. I am singing and mixing and drinking my at-home version of a caramel macchiato, and Bam! Fudge is born, and not just any fudge, a creamy, melt-in-your-mouth fudge. Whoo-hoo, what did I do? After testing three or four pieces, I forget, I realized this was goooood stuff. I recreated the recipe, this time with peanut butter instead of cocoa and slap your mama if it's not just heaven!

I had recently posted a request for Facebook fans to send me their ideas for new items for the shop and one got my attention...something with dark chocolate, sea salt, and nuts...hmmmm. I think this may be just heaven right here on earth, ya'll! I'm calling it dark chocolate brickle, because it's not just a brickle, or a brittle, it's a bit more layered and has a softish center. I think you'll love it. The sweet with the semi-sweet of the dark chocolate paired with the touch of sea salt, mmm-mmmm.

The crowning achievement of my Sunday is peanut brittle. I tweaked and tweaked until I think I have perfected my own recipe for this, my absolute favorite of candies (Shocker, it's not chocolate, I know, but I am a complex creature, go figure!) Peanut brittle is always my weakness, but I rarely buy it or eat it, because my teeth just go, "Ow!" I have honestly never found a brittle that doesn't make me feel like my teeth are cracking, or that doesn't get stuck in my teeth, and everyone I talk to about it says the same thing. Hold the presses! I think I have created a perfect peanut brittle. I felt like Dr. Frankenstein, watching my creations come alive yesterday, fitting for a Sunday, hee hee.

The kids were the first taste testers and were so eager I think I could have fed them chocolate-covered dogfood at that point. Biased, next. Then came Chad and he liked everything, but again, biased. I suckered my mom and dad into coming over after church Sunday evening, and their votes were: Fudge, yay! PB Fudge, yay! Peanut brittle, double yay! On the dark choc/nuts/sea salt combo, they were split...mom was a no, dad was a yay! (Bias a little here because mom is sooo not a dark chocolate girl.) So, dear blogees, I need your help. Stop by the shop this week, taste the new items, and give me your honest opinion...(Unless you HATE everything, then water it down a little so I don't cry!)

Geez...whatever will I come up with next Sunday?

A Little Political

2010-05-21T09:23:00.001-07:00

When Chad and I finally had a moment to ourselves last night, after work, Parker's baseball game (They lost, but played a great game!), dinner, homework, kids' bedtimes, he turned to me and laughed, "You were on a rant today, huh?" Of course, he was talking about my blog yesterday comparing the North Koreans to the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz. "Yep," I admitted, "I was feeling a little political."

That got me to thinking. Too much? I started this blog as a tool for my business, to express all my feelings about owning a business, and muse about the day-to-day ups and downs that go with owning a store. Somehow, though, my blog keeps taking these detours. While most of my posts are indeed about the chocolate shop, sometimes I do wax political, sometimes I get nostalgic about my grandma, and sometimes I write about the adventure that is being a mom. Why is this?

Today, though, the reason for this became clear. I have been struggling with trying to clean up my kids' diets while being sabotaged at every turn. Seems like this wouldn't even be an issue...kids SHOULD eat right, right?...but daily I am bombarded with ignorance or pig-headedness or both. The latest battle is with the school lunch-room (Once again! Argh) and how they are still letting Kiefer "sneak" breakfast there each day. I feed him at home, he is not hungry, so you can imagine my surprise when yet again, he is sneaking into the lunchroom to get his fill of contraband honey-buns or doughnuts. Another conference call resulted in another road-block. "If a kid requests breakfast, we can't refuse him." See why I am so frustrated? What's a mom to do?

I had just gotten off the call when the mailman came in, and asked why I looked so angry. When I related the particulars he said to me, "Why don't you just close the shop and home-school your kids...you do have a choice, you know." I think he saw the smoke rising out of my head, so he promptly got back into his mail-mobile and left, but here I sit, still steaming. Even now. I need my store. I love my store. And I love my kids. "You can't have it all," isn't that what the world wants to tell us women? And usually, isn't it men trying to sell us that bill of goods?

As a woman, I chose to have kids. But as a mom, do I now have no other choices? Did the process of giving birth to three children render me brain-less and spine-less? Am I not able to be a business-owner and a mother? I gave up teaching dance to raise my kids, I stayed home with them for 10 years...but now, I feel I can have a career AND be a good mom. I feel I am so much more than meets the eye anyway. A classic multi-tasker, I spend an enormous amount of time with my children, oversee all their school-work, stay involved in their schools and their projects and their sports and their hobbies. I visit my Grandma almost every single morning. In fact, I visit with many of those residents so much that all of them know me. I run this shop on a daily basis and make everything in the store. I take my kids to church every Sunday morning, and teach them about faith and God and how to sing the "parts" of the hymns. I make friends easily and cherish them, and no one in my life ever doubts how I feel about them. I don't miss birthdays, but instead take time to always think of the perfect gift. I have opinions about my world, and my place in it, how we can fix it, and I express them. I write a blog, am about to publish a little newsletter, and designed my own website (cutesy as it is, it works!). AND, I think all this is possible not in spite of me being a woman, but BECAUSE I'm a woman. Perhaps, the reason my blog covers so many subjects is because I have so many facets...I am not just a _______ (fill in the blank), thank you very much!

So, for all you men out there, I beg of you: Think before you speak. Yes, Mr. Mailman, I could close up shop and home-school my kids, and to you, a man, that DOES seem like a choice. But for me, it isn't. I need a life too. I deserve to have interests outside of mommy-dom. I think, instead of your suggestion, I might choose instead to fight the system, to take on the schools,to inform the ignorant, to work to make a change. All while balancing my store and my family and looking fabulous, I might add. I think I choose to work my job, play with my kids, and be a woman that "gets things done." A woman, that in the end, will make my kids proud.

Flying Monkeys

2010-05-20T10:13:00.000-07:00

Nothing scarier than a clown. I don't like clowns. Never have. But I may be wrong about my previous statement; I think there IS something scarier than a clown...the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz. Now, THAT's scary!!!

I never liked that part of that movie. Love, love, love Dorothy...love Aunty Em, love Glenda the good witch, even love that pesky Toto...but those monkeys? Eeeek! When I was little, I had to cover my eyes at that scene, and when Savannah was five, and we took her to a special showing at a neighborhood theater, we had to leave the theater as soon as those hideous creatures came on the screen. Why am I telling you all this? Because, I think I now know where the flying monkeys come from!

The other night, Chad and I were watching a video of Lewis Black, that cranky political comedian, and he talked about North Korea as a place so evil, that the whole country is black and white. No color is even allowed to exist there. "You don't mess with THAT kind of evil." (Alright, Mr. Black used an expletive, I've cleaned it up a bit, you get the idea.) "North Korea is the country where the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz come from!" Chad and I laughed at that, but think about it...it COULD be true.

This is a cutesy little blog, and I tend to wax poetic more than political, but with North Korea so much in the news lately, I just can't help myself. So, loyal readers, get ready for a Julia Sugarbaker-style rant! If you haven't been under a rock lately, you've undoubtably heard that South Korea is accusing North Korea of attacking one of its subs...46 men were killed, I think that's the correct count. Of course, North Korea is denying this, EVEN THOUGH pieces of the missile, including the daggone identifying numbers of the thing, were found. EVEN with this kind of evidence, North Korea has the audacity to deny. Not only deny, but also threaten that if any retaliation is taken, it would mean all-out war. Are we gonna let this kind of bullying take place? Does anybody in office have anything that coud mistaken for a backbone lately? I know they didn't threaten us, but hello! Neither did Hitler right away. Ignored, insideous evil is the most dangerous kind of evil.

That's not even the part that boils my butter! North Korea is a country run by an evil horrible man, Kim Jong Il, and America knows this. He has built a nation out of control and fear. 40,000 people have died in his country's concentration camps in the last thirty years. We used to wonder if these existed but with our technology now, we can see them on Google Earth! What else are we waiting for? In 2004, our Congress passed a law that included a resolution: The US should make an issue of human rights in North Korea. Really? This has never been even brought up again, let alone addressed. Just the opposite: In February of this year, our beloved America, South Korea, Japan and Russia signed a deal that aspires to remove North Korea from the "terrorist list," returning North Korea to normal trade realtions and full diplomatic relations. Mr. President, are you kidding me? The only way North Korea should be removed from the "terrorist list" is if they are now put on the "really really serious terrorist list."

South Korea has poured $7 billion in aid into North Korea in the last 10 years, only to have Kim Jong Il spend the money on weapons while millions of his people starved. His people died from starvation, but... He has never been so armed or so ruthless.

The way I see it, North Korea is a weird witch's brew of nationalism and socialism that incenerates lives by the millions. What does this have to do with flying monkeys? The flying monkeys of the Wizard of Oz have come to be a symbol of evil or fear. They were the henchmen of the Wicked Witch. Apparently intelligent enough to obey commands, but not allowed to speak...they were completely controlled by the witch. Hmmm...

Some critics interpret the Oz movie as a political allegory and suggest that the flying monkeys represent an oppressed people, ruled by an overbearing force. Does that sound familiar to any of you? Now, for the good news: We all know what happens to the witch at the end of the movie. She is melted. She is not chastized, or imprisoned, or banished...she is melted. And her evil hold over the flying monkeys melts with her. As Americans, who have a voice and have freedom to use that voice, we need to act on behalf of the flying monkeys. I don't believe all North Koreans are evil, but the horrible attrocities done to them have made them too afraid to stand up and fight. We need to fight for them. I have to believe that eventually, just like in the movie, good will triumph over evil.

PS Just a side note here: I also believe our policy-makers in Washington are very much like the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the cowardly lion, and really, they should all get together and record a remake of "If I Only Had a Brain"...if the fight is to be won, it will be up the the everyman, the "Dorothy." For more information or to find out what YOU can do, go to DoSomething.org or research a group called L.I.N.K (Liberty in North Korea)...I think LINK is even on Facebook.

The Short List

2010-05-19T11:04:00.000-07:00

My daughter Savannah is growing taller by the minute! She thinks it's SOOO funny that I now have to look up to her. Being short usually doesn't bother me...it's such a part of who I am...but I have to admit, there are those moments I wish I was taller.

Like when the yoplaits are pushed WAY back on the top shelf at the Food Kitty and I have to lift one of the kids up to reach them for me. Or when I have to stretch with every bit of stretch in me to turn off my open sign in the store. Or when I wear cute new flats only to feel twelve-years-old all day. argh...

Savannah's jokes about my height have got me thinking. Is it so better to be taller? What's so bad about being short anyway? Let me share with you now what my tiny little brain in my teeny little head in my short little body has come up with:

1. There's lots of talk it seems, about the average height in America. I think for men it's like 5'9" or something close. I say, who wants to be average?

2. Some of my favorite actors are short...Tom Cruise is not so tall...Dudley Moore was famously short and cuddly, and my idol Sarah Jessica Parker is I think 5'3" (High heels are so sexy!)

3. My favorite President James Madison was 5'4" (I know what you're thinking: I only like him for his ties to Dolley Madison ...ho-hos...yum!...but he WAS a pretty cool president!)

4. France's president Nicolas Sarkozy is only five-five and he's married to a super-model!

5. When you think about it, having to ask some random hot guy to get items down from the shelf for you is an advantage. Hmmm...I've been coming at this the wrong way, using the kids and all. Shopping just got more fun for me!

6. Sleeping on the couch is more comfy for shorties...no feet dangling off the end...yes, I'm talking to you, Chad.

7. Limbo contests are ridiculously easy!

8. I never have to worry when someone yells, "Duck!" Whatever it is that solicits that "Duck!" will probably go way over my head anyway.

9. Shortness builds character. Shorties can't rely on our height or our dignified stature like you tallees can. We have to develop instead a sense of humor, a cute personality, a sharp wit. I'm not saying tall people can't have these traits, just that short people have no choice. It's survival of the fittest. We have to so we don't get squashed.

10. Short people look younger. Stockard Channing (five-two) played Rizzo in Grease when she was 34. Michael J. Fox is crazy-young looking! And me, well, nuff said.

I looked up the definition of short; know what it says? "Extending or traveling not far enough, lasting a brief time, lacking in length or height." Does that sound like me? No way! I don't think of myself as "lacking" in any way. And as far as me and my business goes, I don't intend in any way to last only a brief time or not travel far enough. So, Savannah, you're tall and beautiful, and I envy your long legs, I really do. Just if you will, slow down a bit? These little Mary Lou Retton legs have a hard time keeping up!

Embers

2010-05-18T07:40:00.000-07:00

...but it's different now, cause summertime's calling me...you know that old Embers's song? Or was it Chairmen of the Board? In any case, if you're a shagger, you know the song I'm talkin' bout, right? I realize it's only May, school's still in,most pools are still closed, but the lure of summertime is right around the corner. Feel it? I sure do.

Summer is both my favorite season and my least favorite season. I am a sun-worshipper, totally. I would be perfectly content spending each and every day of summer by the pool, OR better yet, at the beach. Give me a good book, a beach towel, a cold drink, sunglasses, and my kiddos screaming, "Cannonball!" and I'm good. I love the non-schedule schedule of summer. I love the days running together, when the only events on the calendar are birthday parties, backyard barbeques and the Fourth of July.

Now, for the real world. (Leave it to the real world to creep in and spoil our fun!) I do have to work sometime, and Summertime is bad for business. My chocolates just can't survive the heat of outdoor weddings, or birthday parties, backyard barbeques, not to mention the fireworks of Fourth of July. Just like the rest of us, my chocolates need air-conditioning. So, personal-wise, I love summer. But professional-wise, I hate it. As a candy-maker, I look forward all summer to Halloween.

The good news is: It's not summer yet. While it's still May, I need to formulate a summertime plan. I have a few weeks, mind you, before the pool opens for the season, the grill gets fired up, and the sales start spiraling down. It's times like these when I think to myself, WWWWD? (What would Willy Wonka do?)

So, I'm off...to formulate a scrumpdily-o-tious plan for summer. I'll leave you with my favorite quote from the man himself: "Invention my dear friends is 93% perspiration, 6% electricity, 4% evaporation, and 2% butterscotch ripple."

Motivation

2010-05-15T07:31:00.000-07:00

What motivates you? Now, THAT's a loaded question, huh? I once read in an Anthony Robbins book that we are all motivated by pain or pleasure. Pain= we go to work so we won't get fired, or we work hard in school so we won't fail or we do what our parents tell us so we won't get punished. Pleasure= we go to work so we get that raise we want or we work hard in school so we get that "A" or we do what our parents tell us so they'll be proud. Robbins suggested that when you realize how you yourself are motivated or how those around you are motivated then you can use that power for good. You are in effect then "speaking their motivational language."

When I used to teach dance, I had a student that so frustrated me. He was hard to get along with, he was perpetually cranky, and he was a big guy who sweated so much he was soaking wet after one waltz. Not a fun combination! He complained constantly and I often wondered, "Why are you EVEN here?" He obviously didn't want to be.

But you know what? He NEEDED to be. As unpleasant as teaching him was, I kept on, knowing that there was something else there. Under all his crusty exterior, way deep inside was an unhappy person that hated his life. He was desperate to change but just didn't know how to start. Now, I'm a very stubborn girl, so when he pushed me away, I just pushed back harder. I rolled with every one of his punches. I was brutally honest. I made jokes. I just basically hung in.

I have to admit, I hated him at first. I dreaded those first lessons. But something wonderful happened about a month in: Howard started to smile more. He actually learned enough those first few weeks to move me around the dance floor. He came to the dance "parties" and practiced. I felt like a proud parent watching him ask the ladies to dance. He lost some weight, his sweating diminished (I think because of his weight loss) and he actually became a gentleman. I remember one day he walked in for his lesson and I teased him, "Howard, what is that THING around your waist? Why, I think it's a belt!" He giggled back and said, "I know, I can tuck in my shirt! I haven't worn a shirt tucked in years!" That may seem like a small thing, but that was a momentous occasion for Howard.

I remember taking him to his first competition. Standing in front of him, waiting for the music to start, he lifted his hand for me to come into dance position and smiled a smile so warm I could FEEL it. I lost it for a minute there on that Birmingham dancefloor, and had tears in my eyes. I positioned myself in his arms, the music started, a Harry Connick Jr version of a Sinatra classic, and we were off. We finished that foxtrot and walked off the floor, me squeezing his arm. I'll never ever forget that feeling that day.

Howard and I danced together for years. We danced in so many competitions, shows, we went to San Francisco and Acupulco on dance trips, we took cruises, and Howard learned and grew and became a truly happy, confidant man. And a terrifc dancer. I eventually stopped teaching, Howard moved away, but the lesson remains in my heart forever. I taught him. I believed in him. And I motivated him.

I think sometimes, it's easier to motivate someone else. It's so hard to motivate ourselves. Why is that? I must confess, lately I haven't spent as much time as I should in the gym. I love the gym; we belong to The Rush, and have an excellent plan there that includes our whole family. The classes are awesome, the hours are 24/7, they have child-care for the younger boys: There is no excuse for us not going. I highlight classes I want to go to, then always seem to have a reason why I don't make it. Life just always gets in the way. I confessed to my friend Wendi that there is a class Tues-Thurs at 5:15 in the am that I really want to do. I could get my workout in, get home, and still get the kids to school, basically get everything done and over with and wouldn't that be great! But getting up that early is not great!

Wendi works with a trainer, and goes to the gym at different times than me, but last Thursday, she got up crazy-early and met me there. Just so I would have no excuse for not being there. Call it guilt or shame, but whatever works, huh? I was there, and was so happy I did it! I now know that I can do it. I felt proud of myself all day! And thankful for my friend Wendi and her motivation.

Motivation is a mystery. What motivates me today might not motivate me tomorrow. And we all are motivated in different ways. But having that tiny taste of success, I now feel I can get myself to the gym for boot camp. 5:15 am. Tuesdays and Thursdays. Bring it on! Howard would be so proud.

f-u-n

2010-05-13T08:09:00.000-07:00

A customer came by today to pick up an order and said to me, "I'm gonna look around a little, it's so cute in here...what a fun job you have!" Of course I was all smiles: What a nice thing to say! It got me to thinking, though. With all the stress lately that is my life, have I forgotten how to have fun?

"It's fun to have fun, but you have to know how." Thanks, Cat. When I used to read The Cat in the Hat as a kid, I used to envy Sally and her brother and the fun they had that day. As a grown-up reading it to my kids though, all I can see is that mess! Now, who's gonna clean that up? "I know how to have fun." Remember Mrs. Griswold says that to Clark right before she jumps half-naked into the swimming pool in the movie, "Vacation." Don't get any ideas; fun or no fun, I am NOT going skinny-dipping anytime soon! Kidding aside, DO I remember how to have fun? Do any of us? Do I even remember what FUN is?

As a country, we are so obsessed with being PC nowadays...having to think about the PC version of what's about to come out of my mouth just hurts my brain. I'm not a mean person, I don't make fun of unfunny situations, but c'mon! You have to admit we all need to lighten up. We have all grown up to be un-fun adults.

I have thought about fun, or my lack of fun, ever since that customer's comment. I even googled "fun." The wikipedia definition of fun is: the expenditure of time in a manner designed for therapeutic refreshment of body or mind. Hmmm..."therapeutic refreshment of body or mind," how often do I do that? My husband probably would have his own idea of what THAT means, but seriously, how often do I concentrate on refreshing my body and/or mind? It's time I took having fun seriously!

My research for this topic led me to two sources: Spongebob and my kids. I consulted Spongebob because there's nothing funnier than the idea that you can draw basically a square with pants, give him a silly laugh, make him outrageously naive, and Voila! Success in cartoon-land. When I googled fun and Spongebob together, I came up with a video. Spongebob singing about fun. Perfect.

From the words of that comic genius, Spongebob Sqaurepants: "What is fun? Let me spell it for ya: F is for friends who do stuff together, U is for you and me, N is for anywhere anytime at all down here in the deep blue sea." Let me get this straight: Fun is friends, together, and the beach. Okay, sounds good so far...

Next I observed my children in their natural habitat. I learned things I didn't even want to know! But basically, their fun-ness taught me 10 lessons.
1. Create happiness. Laugh for no reason. Smile a lot. Play games or make up your own!
2. Opera singing. Or any other kind of loud singing. Apparently my kids will bust into song at the drop of a hat.
3. Watch cartoons.
4. Be silly. On purpose.
5. Get loud. Any excuse to get loud. No yelling, but raucous laughter is encouraged!
6. Play outside. (My favorite, especially when they decide to do #5)
7. Dance. Even when there's no music playing.
8. Tell dumb jokes. My favorite? A horse walks into a bar, the bartender says, "Hey why the long face?"
9. Learn something new. Kids are sponges when it comes to learning...hey sponges, spongebob...hmmm
10. Run. My kids run everywhere they go. Wouldn't that be fun if all the adults started running? THAT makes me laugh just thinking about it!

I had to take a break from writing this for another customer. She was coming to pick up farm animal lollipops for her son's 2nd birthday and she had a friend with her. They were first-time customers. "Awww....what a cute place!" They both broke into smiles, and ooohs and ahhhs, as soon as they walked in the door. How could I possibly not have fun here? How could I even THINK of this job NOT being fun? I am living my dream...I gotta remember that...and man! what a dream! I get to be Wendy Wonka every single day. That's pretty cool.

New rule: To me, but you can borrow it too, if you want...every day I'm gonna have fun. Some items must be checked off that daily to-do list, for sure, but number one, from now on, is HAVE FUN. Here's hoping you have fun too!

Screenplay

2010-05-12T09:03:00.000-07:00

"There is one day even the most cyncial woman dreams of all her life...She imagines what she'll wear, the photographers, the toasts, everybody celebrating the fact that she finally found...a publisher. It's her book-release party..."

I am writing a book. Did I tell you that? Or at least, I think it's going to one day be a book. I have started many times to write a book, and have had, what I thought, to be great ideas for books, but nothing has really hit me like this blogging has. So, I decided to keep the blog going, expanding on some of the ideas in the blog and forming them into a book. I have daydreamed about being an author my whole life. I have imagined the writing process, the book signings, the tag line at the end of my name...Wendy Hayton, best-selling author of...

I have also often imagined that my life was a movie. I am a fabulous, flirty, spunky gal about town, spouting well-written one-liners and tossing my hat into the air on the city street like Mary Tyler Moore. I am the center of the show, the plot is built around me, and all my friends and family play supporting roles. Nice dream, huh?

In real life, of course I play the role of main character, supporting actress, the heroine some, the victim some, and even sometimes I just build the sets or direct the action behind the scenes. Many times, I'm the gopher! Oh, how I wish I could always be the star! In my movie, my movie is not even a movie, but an ongoing tv show. In my movie, I am Carrie Bradshaw. (Hey, this is MY daydream...I can be Carrie Bradshaw if I want!)

I channel Carrie Bradshaw daily. No, I don't live in New York City, and no, I don't own 50 pairs of Manolo Blahnik's...but I do own a business, and I write a blog (not about sex, mind you), and I have some really good girlfriends who could possibly be Charlotte or Miranda, and a few who could be Samantha! I have a picture of a pair of tiger-print Manolo Blahnik strappy sandals that I want to order when I make the "big time" tucked away in my notebook.

I have said all along, and really believe this, that a girl's problems can be solved if she just watches the correct episode of Sex and the City. I own the entire set, and the first movie, and you can bet, I'll own the second one too when it gets to DVD. I have a natural affection for all things fashion, always order cosmos whenever I'm out, and I straighten my hair now, but it's natural state is curly, so you see, if you hold us up side-by-side, me and Carrie Bradshaw are like peas and carrots. It's only natural for me to write a book.

Now, here's the wrinkle...all I have to do is write the thing AND get it published. Not at all difficult for Carrie Bradshaw, but ME? What an enormous task! I've already set the impossible goal of getting on The Ellen Show this year. It seems like I have all these dreams...am I going to really be able to pull them off? Of course I am!

It took my heroine Ms. Bradshaw four seasons to finally become financially stable. (The first three seasons she was a poor writer who was always maxing out her credit cards to buy new shoes!) Four seasons to go from a small column in a meager newspaper to a book of essays. AND it took her six seasons to find her true love. I'm already way ahead of her on that one! So book deal, here I come. Ellen, watch out. World, you ain't seen nothin' like me, baby.

PS I just bought the CUTEST new shoes...pink and green strappy sandles...Target, not Blahnik, but who cares?

My First Job

2010-05-11T08:25:00.000-07:00

The other day, talking with a friend at lunch, I hear these words come out of my mouth: "I'm a mom first." I've said this before, and I really DO mean it, but sometimes those words ring louder than usual. Being a mom is my first, and most important, job. Running the chocolate shop, writing my blog, keeping up (or not) with the housework, these all play second fiddle to my kids.

I've been so consumed at work lately with the stress of making the business grow, what's happening with the situation next door to me, should I move my location, and the steady stream of grads, moms and teacher appreciation chocolate orders. Spring is busy at home too, as the mom taxi is never off-duty...two boys, one with three baseball practices a week, the other with two, plus their games, daughter's golf ending, step-son and daughter returning from studying in Italy, step-daughter graduating high school, family coming in from California. Whew! Plus, the May birthdays and Mother's Day. It's enough to make even the most organized mom (which I am not, but aim to be one day!) run for the hills...or the closest Starbucks!

With all the stuff going on around me, it's easy to lose sight of what's really important. Plus, with all the noise, constant, loud, it gets harder and harder to hear the steady still voice of God. Sunday I enjoyed. We all gathered at my mom and dad's, and just picked up a bucket of chicken. No meals to prepare, paper plates, it was awesome! At one point, there was a moment I wish I could just freeze and save, and pull it out whenever I need to re-focus. I was barefoot in the front yard, hitting fly balls to my son, my daughter being her prissy self trying (not really trying) to catch too, my other son riding the power-wheels jeep, my mom and Uncles in the house having coffee, my Grandma in the swing on the front porch watching us...that was a good moment. AND the reason for everything, capsulized right there.

Right then, at that moment, sales didn't matter, money didn't matter, moving the store didn't matter...all that mattered was my son diving for the ball. All that mattered was me laughing at Savannah when she hit the tree over and over with her bad throws and her brother said, "What did that poor tree do to you?" All that mattered was Kiefer's giggles as he drove down the hill. All that mattered was the taste of strawberry pie and the fact that my Grandma is here one more year to enjoy it.

A customer came by the other day, actually not a customer, a salesperson trying her best to sell me pre-paid legal services, and she said to me, "I came by one day last week and you were leaving...why do you close at four?" I said to her, "Baseball practice." I don't think that reason was good enough for her, but I don't care. Yes, I own a store, yes I have a responsibility to my patrons, and yes, I spend a huge chunk of my time here. When I have big orders that just don't squeeze into my days, I'll work at night after the kids are asleep if I have to, and I'll turn those orders out on time, you betcha. But what I won't do is give up my time with my kiddos. If that doesn't make any sense to some, then so be it. If you come by, and I'm closed and I miss you, I hope you'll stop by again. But you see, my first job is being a mom. It's a job I take very seriously, it's a job I love, and it's a job I simply won't fail at...(pesky prepositions...gotta love 'em at the end of a sentence!)

I see Parker high-five his coach as he runs into the dugout, hear Kiefer chatter (to his own team-mates, hilarious!) "Hey batter, batter," or cheer Savannah on during a golf match and realize, "This is it. This is what matters. Right here. Right now." As a woman, I am so many things to so many people. But I'm a mom first.

Clean Slate

2010-05-10T08:02:00.000-07:00

If you could start all over, what would you do? That's the question I've been asking myself a lot lately. I don't mean my life...that's impossible...but rather my store. If I were opening my store all over again, what would I do? What would I change? How would I improve?

We are always our own worst critics--I know this--so it really helps me to look at my shop through the eyes of others. I have one lady who tells me every single time she comes in here, "I just love coming in this store; this is the happiest little place." That warms my heart. I wish Wanda would come in here every day! I love the reactions on kids' faces when they see a video game controller made from chocolate, or a slice of chocolate pizza. And I love when customers taste something yummy for the first time! All these reactions are priceless to me. It's what keeps me going, definately!

I've hit a plateau lately, though, and I guess it's like losing weight. Losing weight is no stranger to me; I know just how to lose it or gain it for that matter. After all three of my kids I went to Weight Watchers and one thing I learned there is that weight gain is slow and steady, or SHOULD BE, and sometimes you hit plataeus. During those times, you can do every little thing just right and still remain the same. So frustrating! It's at those moments, though, when you have to dig deep, keep going, believe in your will-power, AND kick it in high gear! When I would hit those plateaus in my weight-loss, I would drink extra water, ramp up my exercise, and tighten up my eating habits. With business, is it the same? Can I use that same formula now?

I am in my second year here in the store, and although I am gaining new customers almost every day, I haven't seen a huge increase in sales, or profits. I decided at the first of this year to stop paying for advertising, to take a year and pursue other forms of getting my name out there. Running ads is just sooo expensive! So far, between Facebook and Twitter, and doing strategic donations, just being out in the community, I've done as much, or a little more, business as I did with traditional ads. So that's cool.

But, I want to grow more. I can't wait to get to the day when I have a steady stream of traffic each and every day, when I am slammed busy not just right before holidays. Maybe this is the nature of my business, and that day will never come. Maybe this is a seasonal business. I hope not. I have gambled my money, my time, my energy on making this a year-round, self-sustaining business.

When I was thinking of opening the store, I daydreamed so much, that my daydreams were REAL. I mean, down to the color on the walls real. So real, I drew a picture of the store...next time you're in here, ask about it, I'll show it to you. It's uncanny. Down to the flowers in the polka-dot vase on my counter. Eerie, really. I spent that summer before I opened, most days at the pool with the kids, watching them swim, closing my eyes and picturing just how my store would look. Just how it would smell. Just how it would feel, owning my own place. Finally.

What is it about daydreams? Why do we feel the need to wake up? Maybe I need to dream more. I think maybe I need to add to the store, but what? I've got this cute store, now what? I know I have a great product, one I'm proud of, but it sure would be easier if I had more stuff in here that I didn't have to "create." Hmmm...
If I had a clean slate, and was building the store right now, I would probably stick to the way it is now, but better, more. If I had a clean slate, I think I would add more, maybe tee shirts, maybe coffee mugs...possibly a whole line of "chocolate" gifts. Maybe candies that you could buy by the pound. Maybe candies that came in gift boxes? I feel like some research is needed. (Last time, I felt this way, I ended up in New York! Careful, girl!)

As always, your opinion matters to me. So shoot me an email if an idea hits you. I'll gladly consider it. And Gary, I know you're reading this, still working on your whole nana-puddin' idea...just so ya know!

Big and Little

2010-05-07T07:17:00.000-07:00

I love making small decisions. They make me feel powerful, like I have some control over this life. I can't make decisions on a global scale, but I can decide what goes in the store window this month, or how many turtles to make today for this weekend, or even what to have for dinner. These tiny decisions give me the illusion of being on top of things. I make a million of these every day.

It's the bigger ones I have a problem with...I will wrestle and wrestle with the big decisions until I am so stressed I can't see straight. Sometimes, I will even make myself sick with worry over them , literally. Someone once told me, "Make the little decisions with your head, and the big decisions with your heart." Is it really THAT simple?

Throughout my life, just like in everyone's life, I have been faced with some doozies...decisions I didn't want to make but had to, and I am fairly content with the outcomes. Of course there are always those regrets, and we all look back and wonder if there are situations we could have handled a little better, but all in all I am "finally content with the past I regret," to quote a Rascal Flatts song.

The past couple of weeks, however, have made me face some realities. I love where the store sits now, there is a history here, and my family owns this property. I am paying into my own future, so to speak. One day, my brother and I will own this property outright, so it makes sense that we both run businesses here. But lately, everyone I look, the signs are pointing for me to move.

I was approached awhile back about moving, and no...I won't tell you where...(It's my fantasy that EVERYONE reads my little blog, and I don't want to jinx any future moving plans.) I have to admit that until now, I really thought moving was out of my reach. But after some research, and talking to the right people, I have learned that maybe, just maybe, moving to a higher-traffic location may be well within my reach. In fact, it may just be the decision that could really put my little store on the map.

I didn't even ask my Grandma this morning what she thought; I know both my grandmothers well enough to already know the answer: Pray. When you don't know what to do, pray. When you don't even know what to pray for, pray anyway. Part of me wants to stay where I am, and help bring this neighborhood "up" a little, but it sure would be nice to have more walk-by traffic. I can feel my stomach flipping even as I'm typing.

I have tried Chad's fall-back question: What's the downside? Well, we all know the downside is money. More money, higher rent. Plus the ughhh! of moving. No one likes moving...what a pain. The upside, though, could be the upside to end all upsides! I would be in a chic little spot, and possibly see a big boom in sales. It's a gamble, I know, either way.

I keep coming back to that advice: "Make the little decisins with your head and the big decisions wiht your heart." Can I really make the big decisions with my heart? Can I trust my heart to know what I should do? Granted, in the past, my brain has let me down a time or two, (Insert obvious joke here!) but my heart has always known what's right. What do you all think? This is not an overnight decision: I know I'll be pondering this dilemma over the next few weeks at least. Meanwhile, I'm getting back to the kitchen. Got some turtles to make.

When Harry Met Sally

2010-05-06T08:57:00.000-07:00

When Harry met Sally, they were in between relationships. They thought about dating each other, even shared some witty banter over emails, toying with this idea, but eventually decided against it and chose instead to become friends. Yes, you heard me, friends.

I know, it brings up the age-old question, "Can a man and a woman actually BE friends?" For Harry and Sally, the answer is "Yes!" Harry and Sally live in the same city, and work right down the street from each other, and are both very social people. They travel in some of the same social circles, know some of the same friends. Harry and Sally went to different high schools, but at the same time, so their social networking ties go all the way back to the 80's.

Harry is divorced, still...sigh, but Sally is remarried, happily. Harry has one son, while Sally juggles three kids, and two step-kids. As you've guessed by now, I'm not referring to the Harry and Sally of the movies, but a real-life Harry and Sally (and although I would be thrilled to have Meg Ryan play me in a movie, Billy Chrystal just wouldn't do for THIS Harry. No offense to Mr. Chrystal, he's a funny guy, but I'm thinking more along the lines of Jude Law.) Harry, you're welcome.

Yes, I am Sally. My friend Harry has often asked why I never blog about him, so today, Harry, is your day. Yesterday, I woke up thinking, "I'm gonna ask Harry to lunch today!" And that's what I did. You see, I've been a little stressed at work lately, so many stresses out of my control, so I needed help. ( Thank you God for friends...I have the bestest friends, and each one is special in their own way. I feel like a commercial sometimes...whatever I need or need advice with, there's a friend for that. I don't have to know everything; I just need to know which friend to call each time, and they never let me down.)

Yesterday was a Harry day. I needed his smile and his enthusiasm yesterday, but I got something more. I got the most valuable advice. I will spare you specifics, but let's just say that he said the exact thing I needed to hear the exact moment I needed to hear it. Harry gave me advice, a great idea, and some much-needed confidence. I had given up on a certain dream, but lunch with Harry made me think, "Hey, maybe it's possible..." I truly believe that God puts people in your life for a reason, and maybe Harry is in my life to teach me that there are all kinds of love, and yes, a man and a woman can really be friends. Harry, you know, I love you more than my luggage!

Of course, my friend's name is not really Harry, but if I reveal his real name, he might get bombarded with adoring fans. We don't want you to get a big head now, do we Harry? Thank you Harry for being my friend. I'm so glad to call you that. (And I realize...now that you gave me such a pep-talk...that I probably owe you a hot-dog.)

Wednesdays

2010-05-05T07:38:00.000-07:00

Every Wednesday, I do a good deed. It's a small deed, and it usually only costs me a couple of bucks, but the feeling I get is enormous, AND you never know, this small deed just might make someone's day! Yes, I admit, I'm a hopeless Starbucks addict, so I have to ration myself. Else I'd spend all my money there, $3.48 at a time. Each Wednesday, however, I let myself splurge. Tall, nonfat, caramel macchiato...hello lover! Sometimes, I even buy a raspberry muffin. I know, shame, shame.

But also each Wednesday, I pay for the car behind me. I like the drive-thru Starbucks up on Pisgah Church Road, that way I can be semi-annonymous. (I say semi because duh, I have lollipops all over the van...not so stealth.) Sometimes, the person behind me has ordered just a coffee; sometimes I get stuck with a car-full of orders. Once, I saw in the rearview mirror what had to be a mom, her hair was disheveled, and she looked like she REALLY needed that coffee. I drove off wondering how she must have felt when she got to the window and the barrista (see, I know all the terms) told her it was already paid-for. A tiny gesture, but it made me smile all day.

I wonder how long the chain goes, if it continues at all, and how many other people behind me pay it forward. The kids are rarely with me, since they're in school by the time I hit the Starbucks, but during the summer, they remind me. "Can we do it today Mommy?" Of course I can't afford to do it all the time, but their excitement just melts my heart.

A few weeks back, I had just pulled out of the parking lot, and was driving to work, when my cell rang. It was my friend Teresa Burke (yes, I have to use both names, they just go together, Teresa-Burke.) and she cracked me up! "You at Starbucks? Dang, I wanted to get behind you!" Ha ha ha..

There are so many problems in today's world. So many huge mountains of problems. I know my one little good deed doesn't solve much. I'm not THAT naive. But, I like to think I'm like that ant...he thought he could move that rubber tree plant. Remember that song? (They used to sing it on Laverne and Shirley.) "Just what makes that silly old ant think he can move that rubber tree plant? Anyone knows an ant...can't...move a rubber-tree plant...But he has...what Laverne? HIGH HOPES."

If everyone, every single person who feels as small as an ant, would do a tiny good deed, just one every Wednesday even, we could move mountains. And apparently, rubber-tree plants. Call me naive if you will, but I'm keeping my high apple-pie-in-the-sky hopes. And drinking my yummy macchiato. Happy Wednesday to ya!

Strawberries

2010-05-03T09:09:00.000-07:00

Strawberries are on my mind today. With Mother's Day aroung the corner, I am busy stocking the shop with all kinds of goodies, but it seems, chocolate-dipped strawberries are the favorite. I wish all moms a happy day on Sunday, and hope none are forgotten! (Kids, you listening?)

I dip strawberries all year, since in today's market we always have them, but aren't they just the BEST when they are in season? Last Saturday, the kids and I visited the farmers' market and when we got home, I compared the strawberries from the market with the strawberries I had gotten from the grocery store. Wow! What a difference! The local berries were darker in color (that's the first thing the kids and I noticed!), and so much sweeter. I just love eating fruits and vegetables in season...seems sad we don't do it more.

Strawberries are a quirky fruit, if you think about it. The seeds are right there, out in the open, and we eat them...not discard of them like other fruits. And it seems to me that most times, the lumpy bumpy ones taste better, even though we're drawn to the perfect ones that look better. Bigger doesn't mean better either, as the smallish ones can often be the best ones.

If you think about it, strawberries are like people. We all have our faults, we all have blemishes, lumps, bumps, but that's what makes us...well, us. We can't all be perfectly shaped, and we all get overlooked sometimes while someone else is picked.

Strawberries have to be tough, making it through all the elements until the sun ripens them. Just like us. In time, though, we all have our season, when we reach our peak and enjoy the sweetest days.

I love strawberries. (Now, if you'll excuse me, I have chocolate melting...)

In and Out!

2010-04-29T07:12:00.000-07:00

Gotta be brief today. I have a million-kazillion details to handle before tomorrow. (Women in Business luncheon, I'm doing the centerpieces on all the tables.) Wanted to share a couple of cool changes with you though, so here goes...real fast!

One: Thank you to my friend Kari Fellers, who ordered frogs for her nieces and nephews. Normally, the froggies are chocolate filled with caramel, but Kari asked if I could fill them instead with the peanut-butter filling, and they are so cute! This request sparked an idea!!! Coming soon (like next week!) FROGS! I have been searching since I opened for a signature piece of chocolate, like a mascot, something I can be "known-for," and I think this is it. The chocolate froggies will be available with different fillings, and can be bought as individuals or in gift sets. I've got a few of the fillings worked out already, of course the caramel will stay, and now, thanks to Kari, the peanut-butter, but I need to work on a few more. Any suggestions?

Two: Don't forget MOM! Next week, the Mother's Day and graduation stuff will roll out, so come see! I hope to get all those goodies done by Tuesday!

Three: Also exciting, I am working on home-made marshmallows, testing recipes, tasting recipes!!! These will BLOW YOUR MIND! They are that good! Stay tuned...

And Four: I am so excited about tomorrow. And a little intimidated. All these brilliant business-women in one room, and me. Eeek! I'm more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs! Wish me luck!

Sorry can't blog more...gotta get ready for tomorrow!

Be Careful!

2010-04-28T08:34:00.000-07:00

When I was little, we used to sing a song from Sunday school, and I used to sing it to my kids when they were little. It has a bunch of verses, all beginning with "Be careful..." Be careful little ears what you hear, be careful little eyes what you see, be careful little feet where you go, and so on...My favorite one, the one that has ALWAYS applied to me and my big mouth, is "Be careful little tongue what you say."

The tongue is so powerful. We underestimate its power. We dash off comments flippantly, not realizing the damage we can do with a few words, the wrong tone, or listen up you teens!..a heavy sigh. Scars from these careless wounds can last a lifetime.

I remember being in the fourth grade, I think, and a new girl came to our school. I don't remember why we didn't like this girl, probably for some stupid reason, or something she didn't even do, but we sure didn't like her. My friends and I taunted her endlessly. We even formed a secret club and held meetings under the big canopy of the shadetree on the playground, all centered around what we could say or do to get her goat. This memory makes me so sad, sad for her and how she must have felt, and sad that I was involved. I knew better than that. I've often wondered if she remembers us and if I saw her again, if she would even accept my apology.

My son, Parker, is having a tough year, also his fourth-grade year. But with Parker, his problem is how to deal with a grumpy teacher. Now when I say grumpy, I don't mean the kind of grump that could be solved with another cup of coffee or a much-needed vacation. This woman makes the Grinch look warm and fuzzy. When Parker brought her a present for Christmas, she just grumped, "Put it over there," and Parker said she didn't even look at it.

"I'm not giving her another present, Mom, and you can FORGET about a Valentine!" It's all I can do not to agree with him, and encourage him to stay the course. Once, because he stopped to tie his shoe in the hall, she made him run laps the whole recess. Last week, she took away a favorite book he had been reading, and when he asked for it back, she told him he had a bad attitude. These mean things she says to him are leaving their awful impression on my sweet little boy. He will always remember her, that's for sure! She is creating a painful memory.

Kiefer has heard many bad comments about himself, advice from all sources, inferring something is wrong with him, and even "Why isn't this kid on medicine?" These are NOT things kids ever need to hear. Sometimes, Kiefer told me, he feels like everybody thinks he's bad. What a terrible low-expectation to live down-to! His sister Savannah has been subject once or twice to "mean girls." Instilling confidence in our youth seems like an unwinnable war sometimes.

The sad thing is, sometimes these comments come from us, or from someone close to us. These are even more powerful, and their effects last even longer. I am constantly striving to make my family proud of me; one slip of the tongue or mean look from my mom or dad can melt me into a puddle of tears in a heartbeat. And my parents are wonderful parents. Think of the kids out there who have moms and dads who don't care how they talk to their children. What about their little feelings? I see people struggling sometimes with addictions, or homelessness, or anger problems, and I wonder, "How were they talked to? Were they praised ever?"

There is a customer who comes in often who is a foster-parent, God bless her, and has been for years. She tells me horror stories about the places these kids come from and the evil they have seen and heard. How utterly sad.

The good news is....thankfully, there is some good news...we can fix us. We can't fix everyone, but we can fix us. I can fix me. I can make sure that when my kids talk to me, I am engaged. (Not drop everything, mind you, but make them feel that I am interested in what they have to say.) When my kids walk into the room, I want them to see my eyes light up. I say things to them like, "You're a great kid," or "I'm glad I'm your mom." But not just MY kids, that's not enough.

There is a group of little boys that ride their bikes in this neighborhood. When I first opened, they would come in and snack on all the free samples. One customer actually told me I should run them out. I haven't yet. I have given them lemonade on summer days, I have sent treats home for their moms on Valentine's Day, and they in turn are being sweet. Once they offered to help me around the shop, and I made up jobs for them to do. I have believed in them all along...they are not just trouble-makers to be dismissed; they are ten or eleven now, but will be men before long. Hopefully, along the way, they will gather memories of neighbors who were nice.

When I was in high school, I felt like an eternal dork. I couldn't imagine a day when I would be self-confident. I still remember, though, a compliment I received that I have carried with me all these years. One day, Coach Coggins passed me in the hall, stopped, looked right at me, smiled, and said, "Wendy, you look put-together every single day." The he walked off. My mom remembers that day too, because I was still beaming when I got home. I have kept those exact words with me all this time, and every once in awhile, when I question my fashion-sense, I recall them. Coach Coggins, I don't know where you are now, but thank you. You made a skinny, bookwormy, gawky girl feel like a super-model that day.

A conversation here on Facebook made me feel awesome too. One day, I got a call from Denny Hill (I know, you've grown up and added to your name, but you'll always be Denny to me.) We had the best talk, and I was glad I wasn't too busy to talk.. Later she posted that she had the nicest conversation with me, and my other friend, Lynn, posted beneath, "Every conversation with Wendy is a great one." You two...you don't know...THAT is how I want to be remembered, right there. THAT has been my goal since.

So here's my challenge to you. Seek out moments to "make someone's day." You don't have to be obvious, or huge in your comments, but you do have to be honest. Say something about their hair, compliment the way they are with their children, heck, just smile. You might get a smile back. Or, you just might make a memory.

A Memo from God

2010-04-27T06:50:00.000-07:00

I love visiting my Grandma in the mornings. I truly never know what she's going to say...it's like waiting for a jack to pop out of the box. Sometimes we talk about happenings in the family, sometimes we talk about my store, and sometimes I just sit and let Grandma share with me whatever she wants. It's during these moments, during these unguided conversations, that my Grandma's wisdom springs eternal.
I didn't get to go by and see her yesterday, so this morning Grandma wanted me to catch her up with all my comings and goings. Chad is repainting the kitchen...Savannah has an important golf match today after school... Parker and Kiefer have their baseball schedule and their first games are coming up next week... we're so happy with our new church...I got to meet my girlfriends for dinner last night... I'm working on a big order for Friday. She listened to all this with a big smile on her face, now and then commenting, "Well, good," or "I like that Chad," or "I'm so happy for you."
Then she pulled out this piece of paper with something typed on it. "I don't think I've read this to you yet," she said. Grandma unfolded the paper carefully, like it was a secret, like she was opening a diary. "THIS is for you." She adjusted her glasses and started reading.
I wiped the tear from my eye when she was busy reading; if you've been reading my blog lately, you'll know why this touched me. I've been losing faith in myself lately, worrying about things I cannot change, and just plain focusing on the wrong stuff. Grandma has no way of knowing; I have spared her details of my worries lately. I just didn't think she would understand. She read this to me, stopping now and then to comment. I've set her comments apart so you'll know.

Grandma read:

To: YOU (and she pointed at me)
Date: TODAY
From: THE BOSS (I asked, "Who's the boss, Grandma? You?" She said, "Shhh, you'll see.")
Subject: YOURSELF
Reference: LIFE

I am God. I will be handling all of your problems. Please remember that I do not need your help.

If life happens to deliver a situation to you that you cannot handle, do not attempt to resolve it. Kindly put it in the SFGTD (something for God to do) box. All situations will be resolved, but in MY time, not yours. (Here, I got a wink.)

Once the matter is placed in the box, do not hold onto it by worrying about it. Instead, focus on all the wonderful things that are present in your life right now. (At this point, Grandma looked out from behind the paper and said, "All those wonderful things you just told me.")

If you find yourself stuck in traffic, don't despair. There are people in this world for whom driving a car is an unheard-of privelege.

Should you have a bad day at work...think of the man who has been out of work for years.

Should you despair over a relationship gone bad...think of the person who has never known what it's like to love and be loved in return.

Should you grieve the passing of another weekend...Think of the woman in dire straits, working twelve hours a day, seven days a week to feed her children.

Should your car break down, leaving you miles away from assistance...think of the parapalegic who would love the opportunity to take that walk.

Should you notice a new gray hair in the mirror...think of the cancer patient in chemo who wishes she had hair to examine.

(Now, listen here!) Should you find yourself at a loss and pondering what your life all about, asking what is my purpose? Be thankful. There are those who don't live long enough to get the opportunity. ("YOU'VE had great opportunities!")

Should you find yourself the victim of other people's bitterness, ignorance, smallness or insecurities...Remember, things could be worse. You could be one of them!

Grandma folded up the little piece of wisdom and placed it back into the drawer of her bedside table. I don't know where she got it, how long she's had it, and why she chose today to read it to me. She walked me to the door and hugged me goodbye. "Grandma, can I take that and make a copy?"
"Sure," she giggled, "you need it more than I do."

Women in Business

2010-04-26T07:04:00.000-07:00

This Friday, my store will be closed for most of the day. I will be at the Embassy Suites hotel by the airport instead, meeting and greeting and networking with about 400 very bright, very motivated people. And the coolest part: They will be women.
The Women in Business luncheon will be held there, and is sponsored by the Business Journal. They have asked me to do the centerpieces on the tables this year, quite a lot of them...40 tables of 10 to be exact...that's a lot of chocolate! I've been busy designing clay flower pots exploding with red and green tulips, daisies, and chocolate butterflies. I'm so excited to have my chocolates there! But the best part is that I get to be in the room with movers and shakers of the local business community, and these are all women. Doesn't really seem like such a big deal, but if you think about it, women in this country have come a long way, baby.
Think Women's Rights is just history? Think again...here's a timeline for ya! Hope you don't mind, but I made it a little personal.

In my Great-Great-Grandmother's Lifetime:
1869: The territory of Wyoming passed the first Women's Suffrage law.

In my Great-Grandmother's Lifetime:
1893: Colorado is the first state to adopt an amendment granting women the right to vote.

In my Grandmother's Lifetime:
1919: The Federal Woman's Suffrage amendment, origianlly written by Susan B. Anthony and introduced in Congress in 1878, is finally passed.

1920: The Women's Bureau of the Department of Labor is formed to collect information about women in the workforce and safeguard working conditions for women.

1920: The 19th Amendment granting women the right to vote is signed into law.

In my Mother's Lifetime:
1960: Women are given the choice of the number of children they have when birth control pills are approved by the FDA.

1963: The Equal Pay Act is passed.

1965: The Supreme Court strikes down the one remaining state law prohibiting the use of contraceptives by married couples. (Get that? Before, it was ACTUALLY against the law!)

The Year I Was Born:
1967: President Lyndon Johnson's Affirmative Action policy of 1965 is expanded to cover discrimination based on gender.

1968: The EEOC rules that sex-segregated help-wanted ads in the newspaper are illegal.

1969: Divorce laws are passed that allow women to 1. Ask for a divorce and 2. divide property equally.

The year I started school:
1972: The Equal Rights Amendment is passed.

1972: The Supreme Court rules that the Rights to Privacy be expanded to include an unmarried person's right to use contraceptives. (Wow! Thanks, guys!)

1972: Sex discrimination is banned in schools.
(Hear that? The year I started school! What freedoms I enjoyed were not enjoyed by the ones right before me!!!)

My Junior-High Years:
1976: The first marital rape law is enacted in Nebraska.

1978: The Pregnancy Discrimination Act passed (before this, a woman could be fired if she were thought to be pregnant, or if she may become pregnant.)

The Year after I graduated High School:
1986: Supreme Court finds that sexual harassment is a form of illegal job discrimination. (You think?)

Into my Career:
1994: The Violence Against Women Act tightens federal penalities against abusers.

Year my First Baby was Born:
1996: Supreme Court rules that the all-male Virginia Military School has to admit women in order to continue to receive its federal funding. (My first baby, a baby girl can go to college anywhere she wants!)

I know I have left off major accomplishments from this list, but the point is made. Within my lifetime, and a few lifetimes before me, so much has happened. The thought that so much change can take place in 150 years boggles my brain. I enjoy my work, my right to vote, heck, my right to decide how many children I want to have, all because women before me, some RIGHT before me, set this change in motion. We women in business today deserve a luncheon, and deserve these freedoms. We've worked hard. But on Friday, as I brush elbows with some great women, and frankly, hopefully turn some into customers, I'll be thinking about the women that went before. If you're there, come see me. You might just hear me mumble under my breath, "Thank you."

Luke, I AM your father...

2010-04-24T08:17:00.000-07:00

Did you know that Star Wars is based on a true story? The evil empire really does exist, right now. It's here among us! Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Princess Leia, Darth Vader: They are characters based on REAL people, living among us, in America. At least, that's what I've told my kids.
I have approached the subject of healthy eating with my kids from every angle, with tears, with guilt, with pleading, with threatened-punishment, with statistics...nothing gets through to them. Chad and I have developed new policies in our house. We have adopted new strategies. We have spent the last two years slowly chipping away at the picky-eater syndrome, the chicken-nugget mentality that has invaded our home. While we are seeing some success, I want to instill a knowledge in my children of WHY we eat this way, WHAT bad food can do to you, HOW we can make better choices. Until they fully "get" this, they are still "in the dark side."
My parents don't understand our battle. Frankly, I don't see how anyone of that generation could. Our children today are brainwashed from birth. We, as children, were treated to fast-food MAYBE once a month; we, as parents, see fast-food as a staple, sometimes "treating" our kids two/three times a week. I'm not going to preach the ill-effects of nugget-syndrome here, but at the bottom of this blog, I've posted a link...read this article. You will be sick. I promise.
What I want to share with you today is a story I've been feeding to my kids. It started off as a joke, but lately I've heard my kids repeating parts of it, so maybe, just maybe, THIS will get through to them. Maybe, by relating to one of their favorite movies, I can finally get their attention. Muah-ah-ah...
Suppose you were evil. You are part of the evil empire. Darth Vader is your captain. Your mission: To take over the world! Where would you start? With old people? Nah...they're too set in their ways. You must start with the young.
"Get them from birth," your evil leader says, with a slight grin. "Use that box called a television."
"Yes," you answer, drumming your hardened, yellow fingernails on the table, "They won't know what hit them!" The room fills with evil laughs. Muah-ah-ah-ah-ah...
The evil empire grows, spreading like a cancer. "We'll get the moms to come buy our food, first...they're busy with work, keeping the home, raising the children. We'll promise them cheap food, a night off from cooking." This is how it begins. Then the evil grows...more meetings are held within the evil empire. Darth Vader comes up with a plan to make food cheaper and cheaper, in kitchens that resemble production lines.
The empire grows and is soon the largest purchaser of beef in America, and farmers supplying the empire have to change the way they "grow" their cows. Empire cows are fed corn (way cheaper) and are injected with hormones so they will grow faster. The empire also soon becomes one of America's largest buyers of chickens, and chicken farmers too have to meet the empire's standards (cheaply, quickly grown). Farmers see their power over the market dwindling...the evil empire's power, meanwhile, is so huge, it's frightening.
Of course, througout the process, the evil empire uses television to further their campaign. "You can't be in the commercials, Lord Vader," one of the storm-troopers says at a storm-trooper board meeting, "You're kinda scary, with that cape and heavy-breathing."
"Hmmm...heavy-breathing...what can we use instead?"
"We need to hook the kids," one storm-trooper suggests. "Have you interacted with these youth in America? They are funny little creatures that will whine and whine until they get their way."
Lord Vader slams his hand on the table..."That's it! We'll use the whine-factor. Appeal to these children at once!" He turns on his heel and exits the room, his cape flowing behind him.
Meanwhile, a "nugget" is created in a Death Star lab. "Genius!" exclaims Vader. The scientist is relieved. "Glad you like it, sir." He doesn't want to face Lord Vader's wrath...
Last scene of the story: A board meeting, somewhere deep within the evil empire. All the storm-troopers are present. Lord Vader walks in. "We have success," he announces. "With this "nugget" we will rule the world!"
"The question is, gentlemen, how we will trick these children into buying our food?" "We need a mascot."
In the back of the room, a hand is raised. It's yours. In a small voice, you say, "How bout a clown?"

The link I mentioned above is:
http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/195157/exposing_mcdonalds_chicken_nuggets.html?singlepage=true&cat=5

Happy Reading!

Faith

2010-04-23T09:58:00.000-07:00

Hi there. Thought I'd lost ya. It seems you keep changing on me; one day, you're huge, towering so tall I can see you over everything else in my life, and other days, you're as tiny as a ladybug.

I met you when I was a little girl, you were introduced to me by my parents, remember? And I kept bumping into you again and again at Sunday school. You knew most of my family. When my brother broke his leg in the second grade, you were right there, spending most nights by his bed in the hospital. When my Grandpa died, you beat even the church-ladies bringing food, and never left my Grandma's side. You and my grandma go way back. I tell you, you really get around...in a good way, of course.

I know lately times have been hard for you. I know you've been lost and found and lost again...must be hard for you to keep coming back. I admire your resilience. I know, in hard times, people either cling to you tighter or let you go completely; that must be hard to take. I am guilty of that myself...I'm so sorry about that.

But I'll tell you what: I promise if you stay with me, I'll do better. I'll be the girl you used to know. I'll be the woman you want me to be. I just don't want to lose you. You're such a big part of me. And I won't doubt what we have any longer.

When I was a little girl, all I had to do was look up and see the stars, or watch the leaves turning colors in the fall, or see the quiet blanket of snow on our front lawn to know God was here. All I had to do was dream the dream, pray the prayer, and you appeared. It was so simpler then. The girl's grown up now, and staying in touch with you keeps getting harder and harder. Your evil cousin, Doubt, keeps creeping in to take your place. I know she's related to you and all, but I don't like that Doubt, never have, just don't trust her. She's always nagging me.

So, Faith, I'm begging you...stay where I can see you. I need to be able to find you no matter what. If Doubt comes knocking, I just won't let her in. You've always been there for me, Faith. I'll try and remember that from now on.

Patrick Swayze, I need you!

2010-04-22T08:17:00.000-07:00

Did you see the movie, "Roadhouse?" Not exactly an Academy-award winner, but I loved it anyway. Patrick Swayze as a bouncer, Sam Elliot as his buddy, performances by Jeff Healy, lots of shirtless scenes...you just can't beat that with a stick! My favorite part of that movie is when Swayze, a bouncer legend, is training the new bouncers..."Be nice...if you have to walk someone, walk them nice...you be nice till it's time to not be nice." One bouncer asks, "How will we know when it's time?" The camera zooms in...dramatic pause...Swayze grins his sexy half-grin, "I'll tell you."

That's so awesome...I wish with all the drama around my little store lately that Patrick Swayze was here. Not dancer Patrick Swayze...Roadhouse bouncer Patrick Swayze. I wish...

My Facebook friends have been cyber-witnesses to this awful mess for over a year now. To catch the rest of you up, basically some seedy shady business opened next to me last year, and as soon as they opened, the air filled with smoke and the parking lot filled with bad company. So much smoke seeped into my shop that I actually had to close for a week and throw out ALL my chocolate. I had the fire marshall in here, the health department in here, I even contacted the city council, all to no avail. While there are regulations and laws going into effect about smoking, there are none that pertain to smoke traveling from one biz to another. I was beating my head on a brick wall.

All that I could do was pray, and pray I did. A lot. Each day I was scared to come to work for what I would find...more ruined chocolate? People that scared me in and out of the parking lot? My kids are here, dammit! I'm here...my customers even began asking if the neighborhood was safe...THAT'S good for business, huh? One day, the MEAN MAN ,as I've come to afectionately call him, fired his no-count employees and closed up shop. He still paid the rent, but the place was closed. Great for me...until now.

Now, another MEAN MAN wants the spot. So one may go out, but another is waiting to take his place. The task now falls to me to convince the landlord not to rent to these kinds of people. Even if the place next door reamins empty for awhile, no rent would be better than THAT rent. Fun! I have done so much research on these kinds of places that my brain hurts. We all know that video-poker has been outlawed, but these new places, the "internet sweepstakes" places fall through a loophole in the law. I think they are vultures, perching themselves in lower-income neighborhoods, where they can then prey on the poor. Yes, it's "technically legal," but should it be? And even taking the legal aspect out of it, isn't this just plain wrong?

I don't know who first came up with the saying, "You can't legalize morality," but I sure wish we could in this case. I am just a mom trying to grow a business, not trying to get in anyone's way, not trying to conquer the world, and I know I have a small voice. And yes, I could move, but have you priced buildings for rent lately...astronomical! I can't afford to move. Either I win this battle or I close the doors. It's that dire...I cannot feel safe if the same business moves in again next door. How I wish Patrick Swayze was here! I am nice...Patrick, I am so nice...I have been nice till the point where now, I don't wanna be nice! The Bible says, "In your anger, do not sin." Fortunately it doesn't say, "Do not be angry." I am so angry. How do I keep my values and fight with these sorts of people? My Grandpa used to always say, "Fight with a pig and you both end up in the mud." I don't want to end up in the mud. Chocolate, yes...mud, no.

Sorry about this post today...I know usually I'm upbeat and inspirational in my writing. But this mountain looming before me: I'm not sure if I can climb it. I'll take any help I can get at this point...advice, contacts that could help me, ideas, whatever you got! Thanks for listening. And God, if you see Patrick Swayze, could you tell him I miss him?

Cherry Street

2010-04-20T08:29:00.000-07:00

My Grandma lives at Morningview Assisted Living, but she still owns her house. For now...we family still haven't decided what's best to do with it, so for now, it sits there on the corner, yard kept just so, the most beautiful irisis blooming, fresh coat of white paint. Inside, it's a shell. An almost-empty reminder of what used to be.

Grandma's house holds the sweetest memories for me, years of barbeques in the back yard, Easter-egg hunts in the dewy grass with my cousins, the secret "goody-drawer" where Grandma would "hide" cinnamon buns and nutter-butter cookies for her grandchildren, years of chicken and dumplin dinners followed by chocolate-pie desserts: Enough to keep me feeling full and satisfied my whole life.

Grandma's kitchen was where you entered the house, fitting because her kitchen was the heart of her home. No one but visitors and salesmen knocked on the front door. Her rocking chair that rocked every one of her babies and grandbabies sat in the corner of that kitchen, and is now with her up at Morningview. The lazy chair where she relaxed and read her Bible, or watched Jeopardy, is now with her up there too. She'll tell you how she has her living room and her kitchen right there with her. Ahhh, the comforts of home.

Lately, on my visits with Grandma, I've been asking her about her growing-up years. Sometimes Grandma forgets what she had for breakfast or what day it is or when her next hair appointment is, but she can recall with crisp clarity the events of her childhood. These stories fascinate me. My Grandma lived during the Great Depression, and even though I know our recession now is not of the same magnitude of the Depression she lived through, I can't help but see similiarities. Every time I turn around I see families getting "back to basics," or someone spouting "living more simply." I find myself wanting a simpler existence for my family, to strip away the unimportant things that weigh us down.

This morning, while talking about this very thing, my Grandma handed me a book. It's worn, and it obviously was printed cheaply, has tattered pages and resembles a church cookbook more than a real book. On the cover is typed, "While Mama Worked," and it was written by my Grandma's brother, Newby. (Don't ask me where my great-grandmother got these names!) I'd like to share a passage from this treasure with you:

Mama had her eye set on the end house on the last street facing a wood. The woods consisted primarily of oak and pines. A small meadow with an icy-cold stream of water running through it lay between the red clay street and the small woods. The sidewalk in front of the house was made of hard clay covered with tar paper. To the south of the house was a larger meadow that separated the White Oak village from the Revolution village. In addition to White Oak and Revolution, there were the Proximity and Print Works mills. All mill employees had to live in the village where they worked. The cotton mills and their respective villages were just outside the northern city limits of Greensboro.

Mama was very excited about moving into the stucco house that she had selected.
"Just think! We won't have to pay no rent. The electric lights are free, too. We can have cows, horses and chickens in our backyards," she paused for a new breath, "and people say we can have hawgs in the woods in front of our houses."

"And there's a spot for a big vegetable garden in our back yard. We can save money on bills what with the hogs, chickens, and vegetables," Papa added.

"O sweet Jesus, help that house to hurry up and git emptied," Mama prayed out loud.
Papa asked, "How many rooms in that house? There's nine of us, you know."
"Four. Two bedrooms are big and that room opening on to the front porch can have two beds in it. We all can live in that house just fine. More room than we've had..."

This was in 1924. Mama and Papa are my Grandma's parents. The room opening on to the front porch is the living room, and my Grandma's sister Lamer was scolded because she wanted to "decorate it fancy with a couch and tables and lamps." My Great-Grandmother quickly shot down that idea because they needed more room for beds. There is one bathroom now, but back then, they had an outhouse too. My Grandma's mama got her wish and got her house. They all lived there, in a house tiny by today's standards, but somehow it was big enough. The family had hogs and a smokehouse, and a big garden, and only shopped at the store for dried goods and coffee, Grandma says. Mama and Papa worked in the mill, and the older kids looked after the younger kids while they worked. After the death of her parents, Grandma and my Grandpa bought the house, and this is my Grandma's house to this day. The house on that corner faced Cherry Street which turned into Poplar Street which turned into Main Street, and is now Church Street. The icy-cold stream that ran through the meadow across from the house got buried over the years but ran deep. Grandma told me that when the apartments were being built across the street she prayed, "Lord, don't let them build those ugly things in front of my house. That meadow and me go way back." The builders hit that stream and the meadow was saved...if you wanna check it out, just drive down Church Street and see for yourself. Apartment building...beautiful grassy meadow...apartment building. The residents of those apartments probably credit the owners with leaving that meadow in tact for their enjoyment, but I credit it to Grandma's praying.

Grandma's house has seen so many changes over the years. I wish houses could talk, oh the stories they could tell! The stories that go back to the hard Depression days, when that small house was a big dream-come-true for my Great Grandmother. I know my Grandma is where she needs to be now, and is so happy there at Morningview, but I know she misses her house a little. Mama and Papa are long gone, all Grandma's brothers and sisters are gone, save one. She and my Great-Uncle Joe are the only ones left. But while I've got her, you can bet that each morning, I'll be up in her room, sitting in her rocking chair, listening to every story she will give me, stories of a time that was truly simpler.

More than Conquerors

2010-04-19T06:50:00.000-07:00

You know, I'm always saying how I wish there was a book that you could read and learn everything you need to know about business. In detail, every in and out, every day-to-day worry/concern/problem would be addressed. You could consult the appropriate chapter and voila! You could get the answer you need.

Of course there is no such book. While there are shelves full of advice in your local bookstore, you have to sift through and glean what you can use and throw out the rest. No one book has all the answers. And of course, every business is different, full of its own unique rules. Making the chances of finding the information you seek even smaller.

I stopped by to visit Grandma the other morning, just like I do most mornings, and she asked me how the store was going. "What did you decide to put in the window?" "Did you keep the umbrella? I just love that umbrella." "What color did you paint the table and chairs out front?" (Grandma is usually more concerned with the fun stuff...) I was telling her how business was a little slow after Easter, and yes, I changed the window display, and yes, I kept the green umbrella. I lamented to her how I wished I knew just what to do, how I wished for that book.

My visit had caught Grandma right in the middle of her daily devotion, the few minutes she sets aside each morning to read and study her Bible. When I walked into her room, she was sitting in her rocking chair, dressed in her pink sweater, blue jeans, and her little white Keds. "I wish I could just read a book, Grandma, and know just what to do," I sighed.

Grandma smiled at me. She patted the Bible in her lap. "You do, honey, right here." My gracious! There it was, right in front of me the whole time.

I usually bring a book or a magazine with me to work, and when I break to eat my lunch, I relax and read a few pages. (Probably the only time to relax all alone all day...) The next day, instead of Business,Inc or Guerilla Marketing, I brought my Bible. Here are a few business lessons I've found so far:

1. The love of money is the root of all evil. Not making money, not wanting to be successful, not money itself...the LOVE of money. We can worship anything ahead of God, but when we put money first in our lives, evil abounds. I'm always surprised at what man will do to his fellow man for money. Chad and I have been watching documentaries lately, and they all have the same recurring theme: The Corporation, Capitalism: A Love Story, Food Inc all tell the sad tale of what happens when the almighty dollar becomes more important than people. Scary, very scary. Makes me want to stand up and rage against the machine.

But on a personal note, I need to remember that even though I want a successful business, money is not the only way to judge success. I started this business as a way to support my kids, and still spend time with them too, and I need to not lose sight of that. If I focus only on money, then I've sacrificed what's most important. I am so much more than the amount I have in the bank.

2. In Luke, the parable is told of the man who has been blessed so much that his barns are full, so what does he do? He builds bigger barns. That night, he dies. What should he have done? He had such a surplus, he was set. He should have given back more. He forgot to give as he was prospered, or just didn't want to, and his greed led to his demise. I hate that show Hoarders, but if you think about it, we all are hoarders. We hoard our talent, our money, our time, our resources, just in case we need them later. I am so guilty of this. As a business, and as a person, I like to pat myself on the back for what I do give, but I need to give more. I'll tell you this, every single time I have given, I mean really given of myself, I have been doubly-blessed. Coincidence? I don't think so.

3. "Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may shine like stars in the universe..." How many of us can say we do everything without complaining? This passage in Phillipians 2 is one of my favorites. Note it doesn't say, just in worship, or only on Sunday morning...it says, "Do everything..." Can this be applied to all business? I don't know. But I know, I can apply it to mine. What would happen if we all went to work with this verse in mind? Hmmm...

4. Perhaps my fave-o-rite passage of all is found in Romans 8. Paul, the writer here, doesn't tell us that we may be okay, or that things might work out, or that if we believe, we could possibly win. We are more than conquerors. More than...Now, if you think about this, one doesn't get to be a conqueror without battling someone or something. You have to fight the battle to be the conqueror. And much of the time, the battle is not of this earth. Self-doubt, temptations, lack of faith: These are all battles. Personally, it makes me feel stronger knowing that if I keep God on my side, then I am more than a conqueror.

These are a few of the lessons I found over my twenty-minute lunch the other day. I bet, if I read my Bible as much as my grandma, I would find thousands of em, maybe more. Thanks, Grandma. (And, by the way, the verse about "angels unawares"...I think that applies to my grandma.)

Be True to Your School Now

2010-04-16T06:09:00.000-07:00

I know, I know, here I go quoting a song lyric again. Rah, rah, rah...it's an old Beach Boy song. I used to worship the Beach Boys, even used to think that Dobie Gray song actually said, "Give me the Beach Boys and free my soul, I wanna get lost in your rock-n-roll." I have to admit that, as a young girl, I DID get lost in their rock-n-roll..

Been thinking 'bout school lately. I guess ole Northeast High has been on my mind because this year is our 25th reunion year. Lot of good times at Northeast, lot of awkward times too: Insecurities plus excitement plus growing up is a potent cocktail.

Our class, the Class of '85, held a five-year reunion...I didn't go. I hadn't done anything yet. I was still in college, still drove that old Firebird, wasn't married, wasn't 30 and flirty and fabulous. I did go to the ten-year, and I have to say, THAT was fun. I was a dance teacher by then, was married to my dance partner, and had gained a self-assurance that I never had in school. I must admit, part of me went to the ten-year reunion to show-off a bit.

The next reunion, however, was NOT as much fun. I was in the middle of a divorce, the extra 15 pounds I gained from having kids was still weighing me down, I had lost a little bounce in my step. My friend Scottie was my date. Always could count on Scottie to make me smile!

This year, is our 25th. Twenty-five...I have to keep saying that out loud...how is it possible that we have been out of high school for twenty-five years? Argh...are we old?

I don't know about y'all, but I have grown and changed and learned SO much in those twenty-five years. In high school, I thought I would marry Tony Hall (Jarrett, he was Hall when he was my high-school fantasy), and that didn't happen. Sorry, Tony. (Or maybe, yay for you...you probably got off good in this case!) I just knew that I would be famous by now, or rich, or at least further than I am now...yikes! In high school, I had such a vision of my life, and I'm embarrassed to say my vision involved a housekeeper, cook and nanny. I'd still be driving a convertible, but not that old Firebird...by now, I'd of course be in a beemer.

Looking back, I just have to laugh at myself...Maybe it was the big hair that affected my brain somehow. Too much Aqua-net can do that to a girl!

I'm so excited to see everyone this year. Facebook has been so much fun...finding old friends, seeing how they've changed and grown, listening to their stories, sharing pics of kids and grand-kids. I think the reunion will be fun too. This will be the first reunion I will attend as myself. Not the me I want you to see, not the "look-what-I've-accomplished" me, just the real me. The real me is so far from the high school me. The girl who actually ran to the bathroom and threw up the first time she was asked to a dance grew into the woman who taught ballroom dancing for nine years. The girl who hated getting in front of the class to give a report turned into a woman who could speak in front of hundreds without batting an eyelash. The girl in school who dreamed of having an exciting career one day is now the woman who is excited every day with her life, her family, her kids, her friends and her store. The girl in high school who never really felt like she belonged actually turned into the woman who is right where she should be. And the real me hopes to see the real you there, too.

Coming Out of the Dark

2010-04-15T07:56:00.000-07:00

It never ceases to amaze me how many trivial memories pop into my head! Seemingly unimportant morsels, tiny blasts from the past just zing me when I least expect! Lyrics from songs I haven't heard in years, a complement my gym teacher gave me in eighth grade, where I was when Kurt Gibson hit that magical homer for LaSorda's Dodgers, every dad-gum line from Steel Magnolias: These fill my brain.

If thoughts are things, then my things are scattered all over the place! This morning, out of nowhere I started singing the lyric, "coming out of the dark..." Boy! After yesterday's blog, I really NEED to sing that! I willed myself into a good mood yesterday. I poured out my feelings to all you hapless bloggees, then absolutely made myself happy. "You're gonna be happy, dammit!" I said this to myself all day. I went through my I-Tunes and checked every 80's song on the list (and some 70's), and danced all day. Chad brought me coffee in the middle of the day, for no reason. My dad popped in and brought me lunch, just because. Hmmm...things were looking up...

I have been working on some projects, small really in the scope of things, ways that I can "give back." I focused on these. I made 100 golf-balls for my daughter's golf team to sell to raise money, donated them of course, and that made me feel good. I started booking more events where I go to Assisted Living's and make chocolate goodies with the residents there...that made me feel good. No money involved, but the good feeling is worth more.

Then a customer came in, then another, then the phone rang with an order...and this morning, I got a really nice-size order, two wedding orders and some interest and requests for more info by email. Some people may think, "So what?" But I am not one of those people. I am the type who sees signs when I need them and I'm taking all this as a sign. (It may not be, but that's my story and I'm sticking to it!)

I realized too last night that this is tax-week, and I have been crunching numbers the past week, really focusing on all the bills I have paid out, and the not-big-enough return. I know I need to know EXACTLY how much the store is doing, but I have learned enough about myself to know that when I focus on numbers only, I get depressed. Anyone would. There is so much other than the numbers. I'm like one of those VH-1 specials, "Behind the numbers..."

Speaking of VH-1, I watched the most insightful and inspiring story about Meatloaf this weekend. Did you know that he and his song-writing partner hit the big time, only to fight over creative differences and split? Meatloaf lost his voice and went through therapy for years to find it again...then he was bankrupted...he actually had to go from selling out huge arenas to playing local clubs and dive bars...THEN, the following built, his album sold again, he wrote and recorded new songs, hit the Number One spot on the billboard charts, won a Grammy...wow, what a story. I just thought he was some big hairy guy with a voice!

If Meatloaf can do it, so can I. I think it's so funny that in a week when I have been blogging about food choices, my inspirations come from a show about a guy named after a comfort food! Hilarious...but then again, that's my life.

Fear and Loathing in NC

2010-04-14T07:32:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the first day I have really been scared of failing. I adopted a devil-may-care attitude when I was about, say 4, and it has served me well over the years, but reality slapped me across the jaw yesterday and I can still feel the sting.

To open your own business takes a thick skin. I know this. You have to look fear right in the face, listen to fear tell you all the risks, all the dangers, all the tales of others before you who have failed, and then say, "SO?" You have to smile so the world sees your faith when in fact, you're faith is dwindling. If there's a chip in your armor, you fix it and keep right on going.

When I taught dance, I would tell my students to "fake it till you make it." Just like the old commercial, never "let them see you sweat." I was a new dance teacher, eager to learn, when I walked into the Fred Astaire studio on State Street. I was hired to take the place of a teacher who had done the unthinkable, the unforgiveable sin in the dance business: She was dating a student. She was fired, I was hired, and found myself with students who frankly, knew more than me. But I had in my corner an ally, Jaime, fellow teacher and owner of the studio who groomed me and believed in me. I would come into work early each day, learn all I could, and teach my little heart out! I really did "fake it" till I made it.

Over the years I was blessed to dance with so many wonderful people, some couples, but mostly men, and I would encourage them to have confidence. Mistakes WILL happen, not might, WILL. Just keep dancing. Smile and dance. Listen to the music, hold your partner with a strong frame, trust yourself, believe in your heart...your feet will catch up.

Yesterday, after work, we were rushed (as on most evenings...golf matches, baseball practice, dinner, homework...our list never ends, whew!). The boys and I decided to eat fresh...Subway. Parker was the first to notice the sign. On the door to the cutest little sports pub/restaurant next to Subway, where our family has watched many games, was the notice that they had closed. Another independent bites the dust. It's nothing new, in fact, it's really the norm now, to see businesses go under. I don't know why this one hit me so hard. It wasn't our favorite place; we had only been there a handful of times, but Parker read the sign and immediately started recalling memories. "Remember, that's one of the first places we went with Chad," or "Remember when the manager switched the tv's so we could watch Tennessee AND Penn State at the same time?"

We drove home a bit sad, the boys ran out to play, and I sat down on the couch. By the time Chad got home, I was all-the-way depressed. (For those who REALLY know me, this is unusual...1. I'm NEVER depressed and 2. I'm so pig-headed, I wouldn't admit it even if I was!) We did dinner, I did the what-seems-like nightly run to the Food Kitty for something I forgot, Savannah came in from her golf match, and still I was depressed. I'm sorry to say that even the return of Glee couldn't revive me. Now, THAT'S serious.

I know my business. I KNOW my business. Chocolate ebbs and flows with holidays. The week after Easter and I'm bound to be slow. But having time on my hands makes me worry. The phone doesn't ring and I worry. I told Chad I can just close my eyes and see my darkened space, empty, note on the door...friends and family would drive by and say, "That's where Wendy's shop used to be."

This is the first time I have been scared. By telling you this, by confiding this secret, I know I'm breaking my own rule. I haven't made it yet, but on my blog, I don't want to fake it. If I'm going to write about what it's like to own your own business, and the bumpy roller-coaster ride that is being a biz-owner/mom/wife/blogger/and all my other labels, then by golly, I'm going to write the truth.

Now, don't everyone come in here this week and buy a lollipop. I'm not destitute. I have a very rich life even if the store never makes a penny. And I ain't just talking bout money, honey. I am blessed in so many ways I lose track in counting them. I just hate having doubt. I don't like getting down. I don't like myself when I lose faith. It's not me.

Last week, I had a truly inspired idea. And while I can't reveal it exactly, I have been working on it, tweaking it, and the best part is that this idea takes time. Time that I have if business is slow. But the worst part is that I won't see any results from this idea for a long while.

I think of Jaime, and how he saw something in me those first few days at Fred Astaire. I remember a story he once told me about bamboo. Bamboo takes years to grow...bamboo farmers literally have to "believe" it into growing. They have to water it, give it good soil and constant care, and not see any growth for years. Then suddenly the bamboo shoots up to the sky. The beginning is planting, the end is reward, it's that darn middle, when you have to keep faith, that is the hard part.

Maybe it's like in Field Of Dreams, "if you build it, he will come." Only I'm not looking to attract ghosts of baseball past, I'm looking to attract future customers. And I don't have a corn field in Iowa...but, maybe...I'm bamboo...

Little Successes

2010-04-13T08:57:00.000-07:00

I'm so excited to write this blog entry today! I almost typed it up yesterday, but that goes against my concept of writing "fresh" each day. I type this stuff straight from me to you, only checking for spelling errors, no proofs, no time to read and reread. I think that way, the writing is more honest, more true to my feelings and circumstances each day. But this blog entry just bugged me till I could type it up...it's that exciting!

Before I let you know about our little successes in our quest to not medicate our children, I need to back up a bit. I want to make sure that this doesn't come off as 1. easy and 2. done. This will never be done, just like keeping my weight under control will never be done, just like parenting will never be done, just like most worthwhile things in life...this is an on-going project. And as far as easy, this is about as far from easy as you get. I have chosen a very unpopular stance here, and it seems like an uphill battle. You would think the choice not to medicate your children would be applauded, but it's not. Oh brother, is it not! I am always surprised at how this becomes a heated argument in like, two seconds. I know there are those out there who disagree and you can make the best decision for your child all you want, but this is the decision I have made. I get questions ("Is he on medication?"...I get that a lot, and frankly, every time I hear that, I want to shoot back, "Are you?") I also get the "Well, so-and-so says that getting their kids on medicine was the best thing they ever did." Good for them, and I respect that decision, and it was theirs to make. Now, please respect mine.

Guilt is nothing new to moms. (And, it seems like women worry about this more than men do, and criticize each other more than men do.) If you're a working mom, you're criticized or feel like you are, and if you're a stay-at-home mom you're criticized. I went through this battle too...and no matter what you decide, as a mom you always feel guilty.

I used to keep a small notebook in my purse for reminders to my self, to-do lists, stuff like that...I started a page in the back with tally-marks. Each time someone would ask, comment, or bring up medicating my kids, I made a mark. The page was full in no time. I think that speaks volumes. A very sad trend in our country is the belief that you can take a pill to "fix" whatever's wrong. Over-weight? Don't eat better, don't exercise...just pop this diet pill. It seems like whatever ails ya...there's a pill for that. So, I know that my opinion here is not the prevalent one in today's society.

Chad and I met for lunch yesterday and discussed our plan and what's working and what's not. I wanted to make sure that he saw progress too, and it was not just in my head. (My mom and dad, to be fair, say they see no difference in Kiefer's behavior. I want to make sure I'm not "tainting" the results, seeing what I want to see.)
But here's what we have noticed:
1. A few days after we got (mostly) off dairy, we all felt better. We started the fish oil a few days after that, and we felt better. About a week in, with the switch to almond milk, the fish oil, and adding flax to our cereals/oatmeal, Savannah's psoriasis was completely gone. (She had been using a pharmaceutical cream which calmed it, but never alieviated it, but now it was all gone, no trace.)
Izzy, our vegetarian, was THRILLED to be off-milk, since that fits her beliefs. (I'm sure Colin drinks milk at his mom's house and at school, but we can only change OUR house, not the world.) Being a blended family, we can't enforce rules at the "other" parent's house. We can "suggest," but that's about it. Not to be gross, but certain "belly" issues Chad would get from drinking too much milk got better too. Milk has never bothered me, but after my research, I don't think we have any un-contaminated milk in this country. Unless you have your own cow in your back-yard. So, I'm happy not to put that into my body.

2. We went through the cabinets and fridge and threw out anything that had RED DYE #40 in the ingredient list. We were appalled at the amount of junk in our trash can! Ick! Kiefer immediately responded to this change. Funny story: One week back to school, and Kiefer's teacher gave him a big red lollipop because he had been so good at school that week. Red+sugar = BOUNCING! Lucky for us, she gave it to him Friday afternoon, so we had the whole weekend to get him off the ceiling. I thought maybe just one wouldn't hurt...boy, was I wrong! RED DYE #40 must be a trigger.

3. In the weeks before Christmas break, I had the boys in the store with me after school. We would have these huge melt-downs, and they would come out of nowhere. If Kiefer broke his pencil, forgot a book, the tiniest thing went wrong, he would just fall apart. Arguments with his brother would quickly turn into fights, and he would instantly "rage." He cried all the time. Once I was trying to calm him, and I asked, "Why are you crying?" It was the saddest thing..."Mommy, I don't know." A few weeks after we started this "food adventure" we had peace. Not all the time...I have three kids, remember?...but an overall peace. No more melt-downs. Now, he still cries some, but it's not the wailing he used to subject us to.

4. I really struggled with whether or not to keep our "food adventure" a secret. I thought maybe I would just let people see the difference in Kiefer and draw their own conclusions. I laughed at the teacher who told me one day in February, "I'm sooo glad you got Kiefer on medicine! He's so different now!" It sure would've been easier to let them believe that! But I decided to share our plan and our goals. I got a lot of eye-rolls, I must tell you, especially from the cafeteria. Lunch-ladies are tough cookies, remember? I stopped by the school and met with the school secretary (the real heart of any school) and she said she could see a change happening. Next stop, the principal's office. Now, we have a wonderful principal, Dr. Bethea, and she has wonderfully comfy chairs in her office (I know, I've sat in there often!). She too, had seen a difference in behavior and gave me her support. Whew! Good news for a change!

Mrs. Dumas, Kiefer's teacher, whom after a year with Kiefer may be nominated to saint-hood, has witnessed the change too. I'm glad to report that for the first time in our little young-un's life, he brought home straight S's on his report card!!! Savannah's conduct was always O's for outstanding, and Parker has constant O's and S's (satisfactory), but where Kiefer was concerned, his conduct grades should have just been F's (for the word I was always tempted to say!).

Despite these little successes so far, we still have doubters. Some of my family members think, "We grew up with milk, didn't hurt us," or they'll just pepper the conversation with little digs or jokes, like we're deciding to become hippies or worse, liberals. Just this week, I got the question, "Have you ever thought of getting him on medicine...sure would calm him down." The smart-ass in me shot back, "So would a fifth of vodka before school, but I'm not gonna give him that." With the successes come set-backs. And you can bet, every time we have a minor set-back, there's someone waiting right there to say, "Told ya it wouldn't work!" But then yesterday, here comes my little man in from school, beaming from another great report-card. "Mom! Straight S's AGAIN!" And that right there lets me know I'm on the right path!

Part two: The Changes

2010-04-12T07:26:00.001-07:00

In Saturday's blog, I shared with you our dilemma with Kiefer, and our struggle with what to do to help with his supposed ADHD. If you haven't read that one yet, go back and read it now, I'll wait...okay, now that we're all up to speed, here's some more of the story. As I told you guys last time, through extensive studying, I found some horrifying facts. Here are a few that stopped me in my tracks:

1. Ritalin, while it controls some symptoms, it does not cure them, and is a class II controlled substance (other class II's...think cocaine, methadone).

2. More than five million school children are on behavioral medication.

3. 66% of children diagnosed and treated with ADHD medicines go on to take adult medicines later in life...AND this is a potential gold-mine for drug-companies. In other words, they know if they can get you as a "customer" at a young age, they can keep you for life. Sca-ry!

4. Ritalin production has increased 700% since 1990 and the US uses 90% of the world's production of Ritalin.

5. Americans don't eat the right kinds of fats, the essential fatty acids, and the lack of EFA's causes symptoms like restlessness, short attention span, irritability, mood swings, and even panic attacks. Sound familiar?

6. Cow's milk is not only low in essential fatty acids, the bacteria in cow's milk breaks down EFA's in our systems too; some studies have suggested that dairy is a link to causing ADHD...think this is why? And yes, milk contains calcium, BUT dairy also requires calcium to digest it, and many believe the calcium required to digest the milk is more than the calcium we derive from it...does this make any sense? And lastly, we are the only animal on the planet that drinks the milk from another animal. What's our goal here, to grow baby cows? PS If you REALLY want to be horrified, look up Monsanto. (Sweet little company that makes the hormones so cows can produce more milk.)

7. Sugar is not bad for you just because it makes you fat; sugar is bad for you because to digest sugar, your body needs B-vitamins, calcium and magnesium to digest the sugar. This depletes the body's store of these. A body low in B-vitamins, calcium and magnesium is likely to show the same symptoms of ADD or ADHD. Hmmm...

8. SOOOO many problems we have can be corrected through diet. We believe in alien abductions, we believe that American Idol is not rigged, hell, some of us even believe that the Cubs might actually win the pennant someday...why is the link between the crap we put into our bodies and the problems we have so hard to believe?

Like I said before, these, and other facts, scared the hooey out of me. As a parent, I want to be fun and surprise my kids with Mickey D's for dinner. I love letting my kids taste-test my goodies in my store. I totally bought the milk marketing and for years really believed "milk does a body good." I certanly don't want to be that mom who says no to everything fun and yummy.

But here's the rub: I am poisoning my children. I am contributing to their poor health. I am playing into the hands of marketing schemers who want nothing more than to get at my kids with their slick ad campains for pop-tarts and ring-pops and lunch-box must-haves. Well, no more.

I am an idealist, but I'm a realist too, and I know I can't control every bite that goes into my kids' mouths. Nor mine. Sometimes, we all need, or want, a treat. I get that, probably more than anyone. But we have developed a little catch-phrase that kinda has become our slogan at home, "It's a treat, not a meal." Used to be, those treats were reserved for special occasions. Now, every day is a special occasion! I don't know about you, but when I was growing up, we rarely went out for fast-food. Now, it's nothing to hit the drive-through three/four times a week. (Side note: Did you know that McDonalds calls its frequent customers "heavy users?" They do...and if that doesn't wake you up, nothing will!)

So here's our plan (and no, naysayers, we're not perfect and we don't know it all, but we HAD to do something, and yes, we're constantly tweaking and improving):

1. We are trying our best to reduce sugar. And if we can't reduce or eliminate, we improve the quality...in other words, no refined sugar...the closer we can get sugar to its natural form, the better. (Like swimming upstream, this is a constant battle.) Same with salt...no more table salt...iodized salt is probably the worst thing in your cabinet. We use sea-salt now. We also went through the cabinets and threw out anything with RED DYE #40. All those dyes are yucky, but there's something about RED DYE #40 that sends Kiefer threw the ceiling. Don't believe me? I have watched it happen right in front of me! RED DYE #40 is like a drug to my son.

2. We decided, as a family, to get off the dairy wagon. (This, too, is more difficult than it seems.) We immediately gave up milk, and switched to almond milk, which is so yummy and also WAAAYYY less fattening, and we like soy too. I like coconut milk in my coffee, but don't think I could drink it straight. Rice milk's okay, but almond is our staple. We buy veggie cheese-slices, which look, taste, and are packaged (a BIG factor in child-approval) the same as Kraft singles. The shredded variety is good too, and is right there in your Harris-Teeter, no trouble at all. The wrinkle is yogurt and butter. I HEART butter and will never use margerine, and the kids love love love Yoplait, so finding subs for those has been tough. Ice-cream is easy to switch to soy at home, harder out, so stopping at the Baskin-Robbins is a treat we save for special days, few and far between.

3. We haven't given up fried foods entirely but changed our oils, and speaking of oils have incorporated more of the good oils into our meals. (Sunflower, safflower, and olive) We also started adding flax to our dishes; if you buy the ground-up kind, you can spoon it over yogurt or cereal or oatmeal and not even notice it's there! Also, we have all been taking fish oil since January. I cannot tell you what a difference this makes! We all immediately felt this one, and a side benefit we didn't expect was Savannah's psoriasis has completely disappeared. Remarkable!!! (Only warning here...we buy ours at Earth fare and read many labels to find one that is all fish oil and no fillers...my dad and mom have tried some cheap-o variety and see no benefits...I guess you get what you pay for. Ours is $29.99, yikes! Still, it's cheaper than Ritalin!)

4. I have met with and informed the lunch-ladies at the school that under no circumstances are my kids ever allowed to buy ANYTHING there. For awhile, Kiefer was sneaking chocolate milk, to the tune of $30 worth!, so I cut them off. There is nothing they need there, I make sure of it, right down to the napkin and spoon, so their lunches are totally under my control. You know lunch-ladies...I got some mean looks, but these are MY kids, and I will fight if I hafta, even lunch-ladies, if I hafta!

5. We developed a "No Picky" rule. We all have our likes and dislikes, but the kids would no longer dictate what we ate...I promised to make healthy, yummy meals, and they would eat them. If not, the rule is, "Go to bed, and eat it for breakfast." We don't yell, we don't spank, we don't beg. It took one or two times of someone going to bed early, and now everyone knows what's coming. Not that we don't have the occassional whine, but we don't have the melt-downs we used to, and complainers are asked to leave the room. I must tell you, nothing makes me feel better than hearing the kids rave over dinner. "Thanks for dinner, mom," is music to my ears!

6. We slip. Easter was rough. Holidays are rough. But, you do the best you can and you get through it. We are in the south after all, where food and good times are partnahs...someone dies, someone is born, we take food, that's just what we do. Food=love. There are times when we grab a burger, eat those waffles we shouldn't have, or just plain dig into a slice of pie. Church fellowships, holidays with family who think you're new diet is crazy, birthday parties...these all happen. But, you just keep going. You choose the best you can what goes onto your plate, and if you have no good choices, you make a better choice next time.

7. We are trying...emphasize trying...to keep calm when Kiefer spins out. He likes to create his own drama and loves an audience. So, we just take that audience away. If we minimize the attention he gets from his little outbursts, it seems they aren't so much fun anymore. We are also spending mandatory time reading, and we even set the timer, not just for him, for his brother as well. (Savannah reads for fun on her own; we actually have to MAKE her stop reading and go to bed! And the step-kids are good about that too.) The boys need to slow down, so we make them slow down. And we take things away that cause problems...right now, Chad has three boxes full of Pokemon, Yu-gi-oh cards and video games in the trunk of his car. The boys are slowly earning them back, but if these things keep causing problems, then they won't ever get them back. (It's been four weeks...see...ongoing...)

Blog's getting long today, so much to type...I'll continue tomorrow with what changes we've seen in Kiefer and the rest of us. For now, I'll let you chew on this...In the meantime, the two books I learned the most from are 1. Guide to Stop ADHD in 18 Days by Bob DeMaria (don't be fooled by the title, this is amazing!) and 2. The ADD Nutrition Solution by Marcia Zimmerman.

Revolution? well...

2010-04-10T08:38:00.000-07:00

"You say you wanna revolution, well, we all wanna change the world."
I didn't set out to change the world. I didn't even set out to change anything, really. But since my youngest son entered pre-school, we've had problems. All kids get in trouble a bit, do goofy things for attention, talk when they should be listening, but Kiefer was different. I like to call him "extra."

Once my daughter, Savannah, painted one of her pre-school classmates, a big yellow stripe right down the middle of his face. And Parker, bless him, is constantly fishing for a laugh. So when Kiefer would have notes sent home, we didn't take them too seriously. (I even saved the one about no more yogurt-in-a-tube...apparently, he couldn't get the tube open, and when he applied extra pressure, the yogurt squirted ten feet across the room and into the teacher's hair...priceless!)

But then, pre-school shenanigans that were cute turned into kindergarten problems. "He'll grow out of it," was my fall-back position. First Grade: still the bad kid. Kiefer has the biggest heart and the biggest smile and gives the biggest hugs, so it pained me when others couldn't see that side of him. The summer before second grade, having pulled as many strings as I could pull, including some whines and pretty-pleases, I was happy to learn that come fall, Kiefer would be in Mrs. Dumas' class.

Mrs. Dumas was Savannah's second-grade teacher, and I love her. She is fun and outgoing, but takes no crap. Just what Kiefer needed. Now, he would have no choice but to straighten up. But soon, Mrs. Dumas was about to pull her hair out. Speech teacher, P.E. teacher, music teacher, cafeteria helpers...all about to just scream...something else was going on with this kid. I even had to pull him out of ACES because he was just out-of-control. (The boys now come to the shop after-school, and yes, it's hard on me, keeping them on task, and running the store.) "You HAVE to get this kid on medicine." That's what I kept getting from the school.

I have a very unpopular opinion about the whole ADHD-thing, think it IS an epidemic in this country, but not the way most people think: I think the epidemic is the mis-diagnosis and the mis-treatment. I truly believe that medicine is not the answer, and, before you blast me with stories of those whom medicine has helped, let me say this, that while there are those individuals whom I'm sure need medication, I believe there are countless over-medicated kids in this country and this is a complete shame. I have been approached so many times about getting Kiefer on medicine, I wish I had a dime for every time.

Finally, after being threatened with Kiefer going into in-school-suspension, I took him to the doctor. I was in tears the night before. As a mom, I want to do everything in my power to help my kids, but also, I didn't want to with-hold medicine if that's what would help him. I was so torn. Kiefer and I went to the appointment, and after a five-minute look-see, the doctor informed me that he was a "slam-dunk." (Medical term, I guess.) The doctor horrified me. The cost of the medicine was high, also the medicine he wanted to prescribe caused insomnia in most cases, so he would prescribe a sleeping-pill along with it. Brakes on...

Chad and I have friends whose son has been greatly helped, but this didn't sound like the same medicine to me. I left the doctor feeling confused, angry, helpless. I drove Kiefer back to school and talked to teachers and counselors there. The "paperwork" involved of course would take weeks to complete, so even if this was the course of action I wanted to take, the action would not even begin for a month or more. Argh...

Being a week out from Christmas break, Chad and Kiefer's dad and I decided to ride it out until the break, then start fresh in the new year. Over the break, all I did was read and study about ADHD. Chad and I spent hours in the bookstore, bought more books to read at home, and I stayed up late at night reading everything I could find online, trying to sort this out. Here's what I learned: 1. In a lot of ADHD cases, learning difficulties accompany ADHD or ADD. (Kiefer has none...he is a very smart kid and whizzes through his studies.) 2. Many of the symptoms of ADHD or ADD are the same symptoms of food sensitivities. Hmmm...

Let me stop here and say again, that I am in no way slamming anyone for their decision to medicate their children. As a parent, you have to make the best decision for your child, not anyone else's. But, my gut was telling me that medicine in Kiefer's case was wrong. I couldn't shake that feeling. Chad's advice was to explore this path of food sensitivities...what's the downside? We all eat healthier, and if it doesn't work, then we explore other options. "We" being the operative word here; we didn't want to single out Kiefer, so any dietary changes would be made by ALL of us. So, that became our plan.

I know what you're thinking, and I thought it too. But, and this is a really big but, I OWN a chocolate store. How the heck can I preach "healthy" and practice "chocolate?" Here's how I sold it to the kids: The world if full of yummy treats, but they are just that, treats. The occassional chocolate or cheeseburger or milk-shake is not the culprit here. The culprit is the daily onslaught of these treats, and how they have become staples in our diets. That's why I'm such a fan of Jamie Oliver and his Food Revolution and the Slow Food movement in America. It's not about never eating these yummies; it's about knowing where your food comes from, slowing down to prepare our foods with better, fresher, and more nutritious ingredients, educating ourselves on the link between what we put into our bodies and what we get in return.

We saw a difference in Kiefer in a few days, then a more noticeable difference in a few weeks, and we can see a change in his behavior when we "fall off the wagon." We saw changes in the rest of the family too. In tomorrow's blog, I'll share with you our plan and exactly what we did to make this change. If you're a parent struggling with behavior problems, you might want to follow this path...there are so many preservatives and colors and sugars in our kids' foods, it's bound to make a difference. But don't take my word for it; read for yourself, question everything. We are our childrens' advocates. Time for us to step up to the plate. Literally.

For more information on Jamie Oliver, go to his facebook page or www.jamieoliver.com. For more info on the Slow Food movement, see www.slowfoodusa.org. Tomorrow I'll cite the books that helped me the most.