Myriad Muffins

My mom found the original recipe for these muffins in the newspaper when I was a teenager.  She's been making them ever since whenever she's had bananas to use, or birthdays roll around; these are absolutely one of my favorite muffins.  She made them for me when I was in college and would send them back to the dorms with me... nothing says yummy more than mom's muffins.

When I started clean eating I thought of this recipe and how it was already almost clean.  It just needed a few tweaks here and there to remove the processed ingredients.  I was excited to share this recipe because, as I named them above, they can be made in a myriad of ways.  It's actually possible to make this recipe every single day of the week using different ingredients (you'll see what I mean) and come up with something that tastes totally different.

When you're feeling limited (which happens when you're dieting or facing a lifestyle change) having the options to make something taste different but still be good for you is so refreshing!  You don't have to wonder if it's good for you, you just know already!

So in the last week or so I've set about converting this recipe for clean eating as well as accommodating myself (and my own clean eating goals, in which I'm striving to go gluten free).  What I've come up with is a base recipe I hope you'll love!  I'm also dying to know what combinations you can come up with and what you think would be good!  


Myriad Muffins

1 cup oats
1 cup flour *
3/4 cup turbinado (or equivalent sugar substitute to taste)
3/4 tsp baking powder
3/4 tsp baking soda
3/4 cup almond, rice or soy milk
1 egg, beaten
2 Tbsp coconut oil, melted
4 Tbsp moist ingredient **
fruits or nuts as stir-ins, optional

* several different flours can be used in this recipe.  I opted to use oat flour.  Whole wheat flour or rice flour would work fine as well.

Add all ingredients into a bowl, stir.

**  Add 4 Tbsp moist ingredient.  For this batch I chose to use banana.  You can use almost anything "moist" as pictured below.  Fruit juices, nut butters (sorry, I didn't have any organics in the house), apple sauce, apple butter, cooked/mashed squash, honey (you may want to reduce the turbinado a bit if you opt for honey)... you get the idea.  If it's soft and moist it can be used as the moist ingredient.  Stir into the muffin batter.

Stir-ins:  This is where it gets really fun.  You can dump about anything into these muffins.  Chopped apple or bananas, nuts of all kinds, grated carrot, squash, zucchini, spices, whatever.  You can make "carrot cake" muffins, or banana-nut muffins as I did with this batch.  I simply chopped up the leftover banana, dumped it in with some chopped almonds I had in the freezer as well as some cinnamon and nutmeg.  In the summer you can use your zucchini... Apple cinnamon muffins... you get the idea.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees, fill muffin tins 2/3 full.  Bake 18-20 minutes or until golden brown.  If you use the large muffin tin like below, up your time to about 23-24 minutes, depending on your oven.

ENJOY!

Payback (Not Really)

I'm tired of all the boobs and crushes on my Facebook wall. Get this:

Someone in Anderson does not have a crush on me.  I guarantee it.  If this person did have a crush and was sending me this message s/he (hey, I have to be politically correct, it could be a girl) would be young enough to be my child.  People nearing 40 don't write like this. We understand one exclamation point is satisfactory to emphasize the seriousness of the situation.*eyeroll*

Furthermore, this person wouldn't be spamming my wall with fake pop-up chat boxes telling me numerous times in numerous ways just how enamored s/he was with me.  Crushes aren't like that.  This is more like a stalking.

Another reason I get the distinct feeling my stalker is a girl is the male-focused advertising that's also hanging out on my wall.  Facebook is ignoring my personal account information and has led these people to believe that I am either male or lesbian.  Or both.  Shall we proceed to Exhibit A?

This is Jessica and she wants a BoYfRiEnD!  I hate to tell her, I am neither a boy or her friend.  She reminds me of my little pregnant cousin Jessica who is currently battling her third trimester and swollen mammaries.  No, I do not want to meet her.  I want her to go away and take her ridiculous video with her.

Exhibit B



This is Katie.  I am so not attracted to Katie I can immediately enumerate the reasons why.  She cannot spell the word 'me', for starters.  Adding additional e's to the end of the word doesn't make her that much more special.  It only serves as a draw to the eye, which in this case leads to me to her incredibly fake silicone jugs.  Someone should tell her by the time she's forty she's going to be suffering with a slipped disc in her thoracic spine.  Just sayin'.

Also, the Paris Hilton sunglasses do nothing for me.  I can see she thinks she is cool driving, but for all I know she's driving a 1978 Ford Pinto.  Plus, she's young.  She shouldn't be pumping her lips so full of collagen.  She could kiss Lisa Rinna from across the room.  I prefer my trysts to be more intimate.  Yanno?

Exhibit C

This is Staci.  While she does have the Hardbody I hope to have some time in my lifetime, she cavorts around with Mike Williams, who seems to be the friend of ALL these girls.  I think Mike Williams must be some kind of man-whore.  Personally, I don't want my women to come with extras, so I think I'll leave Staci for Mike and his blown mind.  Woww!!!

Exhibit D

I'm not sure who this is, but I'm pretty sure she wasn't dancing in Anderson last night.  She would have frostbite if she wore that shirt out clubbing to any of the fine establishments Anderson offers for nightlife on a week-day night.  Like the Shouts Pub at the bowling alley.  It's high class.  Or even the casino.  I hardly think she was dancing there, though.  Mostly it's just old ladies smoking cigarettes and playing video slots.  But if she wants to say she was dancing in Anderson, she might want to be more specific about which state.

Mostly I'd just like all these girls to crawl back into whatever universe they came from.  I like my Facebook wall the way it is.  Really.  Female and happily married.

Jilly's Breakfast

Today I made Jilly's breakfast again, after much conjecture on the F2F group last night over modifications to oatmeal. I think I may have found something usable. Since I'm a little low on eggs and didn't have the supply to use all mine to make a true 761-egg white omelet, I made do with what I had. I used two whole eggs and two egg whites, and trust me, if I'd added any more egg to that mix I might have lost it afterward.

I am just not used to eating this much breakfast. In fact, since I'm such a slow eater it felt like it took me over an hour to choke all this down. Add in food prep and cooking, I've spent most of my morning in the kitchen, eating and cleaning up my mess. It's no wonder people who work don't hang in there with major life changes. Who has the time? Especially since you're adding the exercise to the mix?

Lucky (notice I reference my lucky Lucky shirt *grins*) for me, I have the luxury of time. Lucky for me I'm not letting something as mundane as kitchen prep or my bored child to dissuade me from doing this.

I am LUCKY. And made of awesome and win. (Fake it until you make it, right?)

So here's my Jilly breakfast. Enjoy!

Fat Clothes

Okay, who here has fat clothes?  Show me your hands...

Who here has fat clothes for multiple stages of fat?  Or clothes you're keeping around in case you happen to get that fat again?  Have you ditched your fat clothes yet?  Burned them on a ritual funeral pyre in the front driveway, causing the neighbors to cast sidelong glances your way and mutter under their breath to their children when your kids join their kids at the bus stop?

I'm just curious, because I have a marriage-load of fat clothes to deal with. I had a few skinny clothes from my glory days I finally sent off into the sunset a few years ago when I told myself I was happy with being fat. (Denial.)

So there's the 'just after we were married and I could still shop at normal stores fat clothes' I have in boxes, neatly labeled at the back of my closet. There's the special box of classy lingerie I just couldn't bring myself to give away... (those Victoria's Secret clearance sales finds were all my budget could handle when I was in college) and finally the stacks of things for sizes long past, which I glance at every season wondering if this year I might be able to drag them back out.

Today I bought some fat clothes. For the purpose of being fat ~ and making it go away. Wanna see 'em?

Every week I'm going to put on these fat clothes and take a picture. I'm hoping as I go along this will serve as proof to me when I'm low that yes, I am making progress. And yeah, I picked that shirt on purpose. I figured it couldn't hurt.

On Coming Back, Administration and Understanding My Weaknesses...

Ohai!

It's been awhile, hasn't it? At least since I've posted anything worthwhile or made of Deep Thoughts? I'm glad I kept this place around because I have the distinct feeling I'm going to be needing it a lot. I'm making a life change.

Yeah, I'm going to exercise. I'm paying two trainers (Nick and Rick) at www.Flesh2Fresh.com who come highly recommended to look at my sedentary life and mold me back into something resembling a human being.

But it's more than that. This time instead of going through the motions I'm going to allow myself to succeed at something rather than immediately railroading myself into failure. I'm not going to make it about dieting or about exercising. It's going to be about me, physical activity, healthy living and allowing myself the happiness that all people should have in their lives. Self-hatred blows. It sucks the soul and energy from every single thing you do and I'm not willing to give it away anymore. I'm just not.

So I'm making a change. And I'm letting you know, so now I'm accountable. See how that works?

I spent quite awhile today doing some very unpleasant things like measuring my body and taking pictures at very unflattering angles. I had to take my rose-colored glasses off and look at myself the way I really am rather than who I used to be when I was seventeen. It's a hard reality. Denial is some powerful stuff and I've been in it so deep I've allowed one hundred pounds I don't need to creep onto my body. It's not only shameful it's demoralizing. I've lived through much sterner stuff to now allow myself to fall apart like this.

So I'm stopping. Taking back the reins, so to speak. I hope you'll support me. I can't say I won't whine or sound like a crying fat woman. I probably will from time to time. If I start wallowing to far into the shit and you think it's time to pull me out, do it. I'll need tough love to make it through this.

So now that my administration day is done and I've gone through some of my old, familiar routines I've already pin-pointed something I know is going to be a challenge for me.

Eating. Or, rather, making time or taking time for myself to do it.

I should explain. Elizabeth and I got up this morning. We both had cereal for breakfast about 7:30. I made myself my first life-changing day of Cheerios with some sliced banana and went light on the milk (skipping the sprinkle of sugar) and tried to start thinking about what I was doing as feeding the furnace rather than sparking the taste buds. A little while later I was convinced I was starving and ate a plum. I'm pretty sure that was a mental, but whatever. I'm not trying to win a race or anything, I'm just putting one foot in front of the other.

After giving Elizabeth a bath, her medicines, doing her treatments, working on some paperwork for my LASIK surgery I noticed I was hungry and Elizabeth was scavenging for sweets. It was a little after 11:00 so I told her we'd make her some lunch.

So I made her some lunch. And even though I was hungry and thinking of making myself a sandwich, I decided I wanted to get a few more things done before I sat down to eat. My one-more-thing mentality usually leads to ten more things and without fail it did today as well.

I finally made it to this about 2:00 p.m.  I knew I was hungry at 11:00.  So why didn't I just eat then?  By two I was really hungry.  A half hour after I ate I felt woozy from the spike in my insulin levels.  (Or that's what I assume it is... it always happens when I forget to eat.  Which is a lot.)

So if I sit down to  lunch late in the afternoon I'm usually not hungry for dinner and you guessed it, I don't usually want much then.  But about 9:00 p.m. I want a snack... and it's usually sweet and unhealthy.  Mostly because sweet and unhealthy is what my husband lives for, but I can't lay all the blame on him, either.  (I could go months without ice cream though.  For him the thought is next to blasphemy.)

So how do I address my terrible eating habits as well as a disastrous metabolism?  I obviously have to deal with this pretty quickly.  Otherwise I'm just shooting myself in my insulin-resistant foot.

Lastly, I am reminded of my own brilliance with certain things.  When I created my blog I certainly had no idea how aptly named it would be...

Merry Christmas, Shutterfly! WOO!

With Love Chartreuse Christmas 5x7 folded card

Make a statement with custom Christmas cards at Shutterfly.

View the entire collection of cards.

Have Some Merry, Pass It Around!

Every year at Christmastime I mull over whether we need to have the dreaded family portrait taken or do what we always do, get fabulous pictures of our daughter with the intention of sending them out in our cards and then somehow end up forgetting about it.

After the success I've had using Shutterfly for some of my most treasured pictures this summer, including a weekend trip to the St. Louis Zoo with the eBaby's momma v 1.0 (which I have collaged in an incredible frame and hanging in our office now) I've decided to beat myself at my own Christmas card game this year. I've always wanted to try custom Christmas cards and Shutterfly has now given me the reason not to put it off any longer. Their collection of holiday cards is amazing! I don't think I'll be able to choose which one I like best!

Shutterfly is also great for photobooks, calendars, custom enlargements and all sorts of great photo gifts. Stop hoarding all your digital photography on your computer! Make your card your own this year and do something original. I'm hoping by doing this you won't notice the dumpy lady in the back of our family photo!

• · Christmas photo cards to http://www.shutterfly.com/cards-stationery/christmas-photo-cards
• · holiday cards to http://www.shutterfly.com/cards-stationery/holiday-cards
• · wall calendars to http://www.shutterfly.com/calendars/wall-calendars
• · Christmas cards to http://www.shutterfly.com/cards-stationery/christmas-cards
• · birthday invitations to http://www.shutterfly.com/cards-stationery/birthday-invitations
• · photo cards to http://www.shutterfly.com/cards-stationery
• · graduation invitations to http://www.shutterfly.com/cards-stationery/announcements/graduation-announcements

If you'd like to learn more about how you can use your blog to qualify for Shutterfly's holiday card promotion, visit http://bit.ly/sfly2010

Merry Christmas!

I'm drinking Kool-Aid

I’m drinking Kool-Aid. It’s the cherry flavor. It tastes good. I’ve got lots of ice and a big plastic cup and I’m crunching on the little stray bits of ice that are floating to the top of the cup every time I take a sip.

I like Kool-Aid…even the sugar-free kind, which is what I’m slurping at the moment.

slurp, slurp, slurpity, slurp

Have I ever told you I have days when I admit I know nothing about adoption? That all this is like walking an unmarked path through the woods?

GAH.

Guess what? *giggles* I’m having more of those days. Not only am I forging my own way through motherhood, I’m forging my own way through motherhood of someone else’s biological child. Let me tell you something: some days the experience can be intense.

righteous, dude

Sometimes I go through months of dark contemplation of my actions, wondering how to control a situation that’s completely out of my control. Now, you’d think I’d have learned by now that even my own perfectionism cannot extend past my own little world. I cannot create the perfect adoption experience for any of us. Not eBaby, not me, not my husband, and most certainly not Crettie or Arthur. Yet here I am, trying my damnedest.

And now I have to laugh at myself and my own self-righteous ridiculousness. I always want to make this shit about me. Me.

It’s not about me.

smacks self and giggles hysterically

Crettie’s back. She needed some time to process. She hasn’t said much about it other than the one thing that completely unhinged her; the one thing she cherished above all others regarding our visit; the one thing that broke her down completely:

When eBaby gave her a hug and kiss good-bye, and then she crawled into Arthur’s arms and did the same thing…at a time when her stranger anxiety was at full-tilt. She smooched and hugged them like they’d been here every day.

And I want to make this shit about me. Or the house. Or whether I fucking made the tea sweet enough. It’s not about me. It’s about losing your child to another mother. It’s about having to accept that kiss and walk away…to have to hand over the Christmas present, watch your child crawl all over some other woman and call her ‘Mommy’ all afternoon, accept these sweet, little kisses and then somehow get into your car and function well-enough to get yourself from Point A to Point B in one piece.

Could I do it? Probably not. Would I need a few weeks or months to get myself together in order to communicate with Mom 2.0? Oh, yeah I would.

years, I’d need years…

Crettie emailed me and apologized. She apologized. The woman I find stronger than anyone I’ve ever known…someone I grow to love more and more each day — she apologized TO ME.

No, Crettie. It’s me who owes you the apology. It’s not about me. I’m going to stop drinking the damn Kool-aid and start slurping a more grown-up drink. It’s time, don’t you think?

Be Careful What You Wish For

I’m a notoriously foul loser. I may smile sweetly and wish you well for your victories, but inside I despair over them.

So imagine my surprise when I realized just as recently as four months ago — much to my ignorance and dismay — I was still drinking the Kool-Aid.

Yes, me.

The person who swore she knew exactly what that rancid stuff was made of: the sweet, sticky, fruity goodness of it; the syrup that threatens everything I find good and fair.

After all this time I was still drinking the fucking Kool-Aid, believing the swill of the stereotype.

For months upon months, I cried and stressed over our lack of communication with eBaby’s firstparents. Then one day I praised the Lord and everything that was worthy and just for finding them. I worked day after day, nurturing the relationship. It was nothing if not precarious. Every day was hard for me: I was in constant question of whether I had said or done the right thing.

And yet, despite my worries I created something. It wasn’t really a friendship nor was it mere acquaintance. I really believed we were people coming together for the mutual benefit of our daughter. Looking back, I can even see the ridiculous romance-movie forming in my head: the feel-good story where everyone comes out a winner in the end. Hell, it was almost Juno.

Except, when adoption is the subject matter, someone always has to be the loser; sometimes it’s every single person involved.

How did I forget something so crucial? How could I stand and proclaim the atrocities of coercion and firstparent loss day after day and still feel my own circumstance could defy all the rules?

I am so self-righteous it’s not even funny. Look at me: the girl with all the right words who can’t even make the damn machine work for herself. I’m not worthy to spin in your circle…I’m really not. I suppose that’s why, after all this time, I’ve still been hiding my face in shame. Because: No Virginia, there is no fucking Santa Claus — and I was caught holding the reindeer food with stars in my eyes and the red stocking cap on my head.

And so here I’ve been, denying all this to the sun and moon. Everything is just fine. Well everything is not just fine. It sucks. My heart is broken, yet once again…and this time I’m pretty sure it’s staying that way. And I have yet to figure out why.

*******

Before Thanksgiving I was just a bit burned out from blogging. I was anticipating a visit with Arthur and Crettie that wasn’t happening… which was hard to write about day after day. So I took a break.

But behind the scenes our relationship with eBaby’s firstparents was better than ever. And then something happened. I’m not really sure what, but it had something to do with offensive, rolling advertising on Facebook and Arthur being under the impression I sent him an invitation for a game containing questionable content. He deleted his account as a result.

When I asked why, I received the surprise of my life. One seemingly innocuous invitation, which I didn’t even remember sending his way, called into question our worthiness as eBaby’s parents and Arthur and Crettie’s decision to place her in a “good Christian home.”

When I went back to the app in question…the advertising I was being accused of sending his way wasn’t there… So I stood accused of offending his sensibilities for an advertisement I never saw. And I told Crettie as much.

They were somewhat pacified, but things weren’t the same. No, everything I’d worked for was gone in a day or less. Because of a silhouette of a scantily-clad female advertising swimwear or something equally ridiculous, I was suddenly a purveyor of internet pornography… and a bad mother to boot.

I cried for days. I was devastated.

I’d stood accused of making bad parenting choices… and was told they possibly made a mistake in choosing us based upon our morals.

I cried some more.

Instead of even bringing up the Christmas visit we planned, I simply forwarded their gifts to their school addresses. After the box arrived, I heard nothing. Then one day a week or so later I received an email asking if it was still okay with us if they stopped by to bring eBaby her Christmas gift while they were passing through town…

I sent them the directions straight away but I was still guarded and afraid of saying the wrong thing. In fact, I truly didn’t believe they’d show.

But they did. On January 3, 2008, Arthur and Crettie met the eBaby for the first time. It was a strange but wonderful four hours. When they left I didn’t want them to go. I cried. Mr. Going cried. eBaby gave them kisses and hugs.

The entire visit, while a bit strained from nervousness, was the most natural thing in the world for me. It didn’t seem forced. I really believed we had made the step to bridge the Facebook divide.

But they drove away… and I haven’t heard from either one of them since.

At first I gave Crettie space. I knew she’d need it to process her feelings. But after two weeks, three weeks, a month…I knew something was wrong. When I sent their Valentine’s Day care package and received no word I started to feel distressed. After sending a quick note of inquiry with no response, and then another a few weeks later with nothing… I knew.

Everything I’d worked so hard to build was over.

Mr. Going confirmed it when he sent his own message and received no response.

The Easter care package went and we’ve heard nothing.

*******

So I’m left to wonder: was it the house? Was it me? Were we not doing the things we should’ve? Was the nursery not good enough? Were there too few toys or books? Did we have too many videos? Should I have worn a dress with an apron and offered freshly-baked cookies? Should we have prayed over the iced tea? Was the bottle of Aquafina not to Arthur’s liking?

What?

What in the hell went wrong?

My daughter received a rocking horse she plays with every single day. Crettie couldn’t have picked a more perfect gift for her if eBaby had been there herself to choose it.

Now everyday as that horse sings and clippity-clops and eBaby tries to feed it her raisins or pieces of cheese, I am saddened. Then I wonder how I failed Arthur and Crettie. Then I ruminate over why I prepared myself for an open adoption only to end up in a closed one.

And I get angry. Very angry. Just like I was when I was infertile. Now it’s hard to be around you all and your open adoptions. It’s hard to admit my failure. So I hide behind closed doors and stick my head in the sand.

Once again, I’m reminded why I chose my moniker: I truly am back to square one.

Coming Back

I took a break. I needed it. I needed to clear my head, reassess my priorities. Determine exactly what my purpose was in my adoption journey.

I've found it.

We've had some break throughs... I have some sadness. It's a long story. I'm not sure how it ends yet, or how I want it to end, frankly. I'm wishy-washy about the whole thing right now.

What I should say is I wanted to come back with a bang. I had a whole, long, ingenious post for you. Snark and wit typed directly from the fingers of Jen, queen of Jenniferland.

And then I saw it.

And I was sickened.

Literally floored.

Stunned.

Left gasping for air.

In the three months or so I've been off gallivanting, concentrating on myself... someone else out here has been suffering. I have missed it. And I am ashamed. Sick I couldn't even keep up on by blog reading. How selfish am I? I skipped out on this part of my life only to find out it went plodding along without me, bumps and bruises and sadnesses be damned.

I'm so sorry Judy.

Err, Gifting

Okay, another hijacked article. Why recreate the wheel when it's already been crafted so beautifully? Ponder this:

Gift cards are not gifts

Holidays have rapidly devolved into what amounts to an exchange of cash. A gift card says nothing about the personality of the recipient -- but it says lots about the giver.

By Liz Pulliam Weston

Gift cards are incredibly popular. They're also an oxymoron.

A gift, ideally, says, "I thought about you. I considered your likes and dislikes, your needs and wants, your dreams and desires, and found you this token of my esteem that I hope will delight you."

A gift card says, "There! Checked you off my list."

It's not just me that says so. Judith Martin, the doyenne of etiquette known to millions as Miss Manners, dismisses gift certificates -- and, by extension, gift cards -- as "a pathetic compromise convenient to people who do not trust their judgment about selecting the right present for those whose tastes they ought to know."

Think about it. Would a lover, in the flush of romance, lean close to the object of his affection and present … a gift card? Would proud grandparents present the latest addition to the family with … a gift card? Would your best and closest friend, the one you've known for years, who's stuck with you through the roller-coaster ride of life, walk into your hospital room and give you … a gift card?

(If the answer to any of those questions is yes, by the way, you need to start hanging with a better class of people.)

Yet gift cards continue their relentless spread:

• Last year, 74.3% of respondents surveyed told a National Retail Federation survey they planned to buy at least one gift card, up from 69.9% the year before.

• Half of respondents (50.1%) said they would like to receive a gift card, up from 41.3% two years earlier.

• The younger you are, the more likely you are to be delighted by a gift card: 82% of Americans under 44 said they appreciated receiving gift cards, according to a national survey by Coinstar, purveyor of coin-counting machines and gift cards.

Many young people are so enamored with gift cards, with being "empowered to make their own choices," as one retailer laughably put it, that they don't even realize what they're missing.

Older people might, but hey, they're busy, cards are convenient, so what's the harm?

The harm is that the art of gift-giving is quickly devolving into an entirely commercial exchange. How much longer until we simply start thrusting wads of dollar bills at each other?

Some people, apparently, would be delighted with that prospect. While researching party themes for my daughter's upcoming celebration, I stumbled across a posting by a woman who proudly included the horrifying words "monetary gifts would be much appreciated" on her 3 year-old child's invitations. She went on to explain that "I wanted money as gifts for my daughter's savings and for us to buy bigger toys, like a big kitchen and a Barbie Jeep that she wanted, instead of guests giving her small toys."

It's official. Shame is dead.

Heaven forbid that givers use their own judgment and spend a little time picking out small items that might give the recipients pleasure. Just give us the cash and get out of the way.

It's not that I've never given a gift card. I have, three times that I can remember. But I viewed these cards what they were: a cop-out, an admission that I had grown so out of touch with the recipients that I didn't know what would please them. In two cases, I used the experience as a prod to spend more time with the giftees and get to know them better. In the third instance, I finally decided that what had been a close friendship no longer was and ended the gift exchange -- to mutual relief.

It's also not that I don't understand the practical aspects of the gift card. I do. I just can't help mourning the passing of a lovely tradition, one that helped us focus on each other and had the potential to bring us closer.

How would I have felt, for example, about the new friend I rushed to the hospital one night had she thanked me with a gift card rather than a basket of chocolate-dipped strawberries, each more luscious than the last? Of course, no gift was expected or required, but her thoughtfulness created a bond.

Or would I have felt nearly as welcomed by my new mother-in-law if, on my first Christmas as a wife, she'd presented me with a gift card rather than the antique soup tureen that had been in her family for years? Her present told me I was part of the family.

And should I give up trying to please my husband who is -- Kenneth Cole as my witness -- one of the hardest human beings in the world to shop for? I think not. With each gift, and each return, I learn a little bit more about his tastes and style. It's a challenge to delight and surprise him, but occasionally I do -- and it's worth the effort.

The search for a gift is a gift itself

Sure, the old way included plenty of opportunities for misfires -- for the tie shaped like a fish, the sweater that's six sizes too big, the dolls from the aunt who could never figure out that her teen-age niece no longer played with Barbies. But those experiences taught us the fine art of tact and diplomacy, of expressing gratitude to people who tried to make us happy, however bizarre the actual result.

It also drove home the point, as few things do nowadays, that special occasions are about people -- not about getting more stuff or increasing our net worth.

If you find yourself purchasing gift cards, maybe the solution is to buy less and think more. Do these folks really need to be on your gift list, or would you all be better off getting together for coffee or drinks and skipping the exchange? If you really need and want to purchase a gift, maybe you can start brainstorming ideas year-round, rather than panicking at the last minute and settling for a piece of plastic.

If you really must buy gift cards, then at least:

Make certain events off limits. Even etiquette expert Peter Post, who believes gift cards have become acceptable in many situations, makes a distinction between cards and "real gifts." There are certain situations, like weddings, where "you should give a real gift rather than a gift card," says Post, great-grandson of manners-icon Emily Post. Valentine's Day and anniversaries are other situations that call for the real deal.

Combine a card with a real gift. If you want, it can even be from the same retailer that's providing the gift card to facilitate returns. Even a small gesture is better than none at all.

Think twice before giving one to someone you love. If you ever shared a home with the recipient, you can -- and should -- do better by them.

Don't add to the recipient's burdens. If your recipient would have any trouble redeeming the card, don't give it. "It probably wouldn't be appropriate to give one to your grandmother in her 80s," particularly if she suffers from limited mobility, said Post, author of "Essential Manners for Couples." "It's not for (a recipient) who finds shopping more of a burden than a pleasure."

Liz Pulliam Weston's column appears every Monday and Thursday, exclusively on MSN Money. She also answers reader questions in the Your Money message board.

Comic Relief

I hijacked this. I admit it. However, it was just too darn funny not to post here. So without further ado:

AN OPEN LETTER TO
MR. JAMES THATCHER,
BRAND MANAGER,
PROCTER & GAMBLE.

February 6, 2007

Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over 20 years, and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core™ or Dri-Weave™ absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from "the curse"? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my "time of the month" is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call "an inbred hillbilly with knife skills." Isn't the human body amazing?

As brand manager in the feminine-hygiene division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers' monthly visits from Aunt Flo. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy! The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in capri pants. Which brings me to the reason for my letter.

Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: "Have a Happy Period."

Are you fucking kidding me?

What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness—actual smiling, laughing happiness—is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything "happy" about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlúa and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreens armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. For the love of God, pull your head out, man. If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like "Put Down the Hammer" or "Vehicular Manslaughter Is Wrong"? Or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your accounting department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flexi-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit. And that's a promise I will keep. Always.

Best,

Wendi Aarons
Austin, TX

Coming up for Air

She lives, she lives!

(only marginally.)

Mom is doing great. My many thanks to all of you who've sent me messages and said prayers on her behalf. The whole thing scared the chickens out of her, but she's back on her feet. If all goes well she should be able to go back to work around the middle of next month. There's a possibility she may have to have a pacemaker implanted, but we won't know about that for a few weeks or so. Until then, I choose not to ruminate over it. She's doing plenty of worrying for all the people in the family.

And let me tell you one thing: my mom worrying means I get no peace. Whatsoever. I've told you all about our, um, unique relationship. It's even more unique when she gets spun up about something. So, since she hasn't been driving and all that I've been the one taking up the slack.

I deserve a nomination for sainthood. Really. I'm amazed I haven't driven a dull spoon into my brain just to save myself the ten-million telephone calls a day.

_____________________________

On the Elizabeth front: she got better. Now she's sick again. Growl. We have two referrals, one to an ENT and the other to an Allergist/Immunologist. Our pediatrician suspects one or two things, or possibly both combined: her ears are going to need tubes and/or lowered immunity from her scary bout with RSV/pneumonia last January is still causing her problems now. So we wait to find out. It's going to be several weeks before we go to the specialists as it took forever to get in, especially with our nutty allergy season here, but I'm praying for an answer. I just want my baby to be well.

_____________________________

My most recent good news? I'm a SAHM now. As of last week. But, since Mom has been commandeering all my time and Elizabeth now thinks it's fun to run circles around the kitchen island until she's dizzy, I haven't noticed being any less busy. Actually, I've been MORE busy. I wonder why that is? Anyone?

_____________________________

I'm still writing like a mad-woman. I'm also editing three other stories for other people. To be honest, though, once I finish these editing jobs I'm going to cut it down to just one beta-job at a time. Three is too much. I find myself procrastinating and resentful that I'm not spending time on my own projects.

Either way, I'm this much closer *holds fingers a tiny bit apart* to actually starting to think about my own novel. Now that I'm home full-time I'm going to do some praying about it and see what the Big-Man says.

_____________________________

And last but not least:

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 2007

The Indianapolis Children's Museum

Indiana Get-Together

Meet outside the front doors when the museum opens at 10:00 am?

Adult admission is $12.50, children (2-7) are $7.50

Email me or post a comment and let me know if this works.

Pumpkin Spice Lattes

I went to the dentist this morning and the hygienist used grape gritty-stuff to clean my teeth. I can honestly say that was the most unpleasant cleaning experience I've had since I was twelve. When I was twelve I may have enjoyed the grape-flavored cement muck, but today that flavor was just over-the-top.

So after leaving the dentist's office with a nasty taste in my mouth and a slight headache from being poked in the teeth with sharp implements, I decided I wasn't ready to spend the rest of the day waiting for mom's heart procedure just yet.

Oh yeah.

My mom dropped my god-son off at my house on Monday afternoon, hung out with the Ebaby for awhile and then left to drive home...a whopping two miles from my house. In the time she left my house and made it home, she developed a heart condition called Supraventricular Tachycardia, which basically sends your heart rate sky-high, like over 200 beats-per-minute. After a night in the ICU, the doctor gave a diagnosis of a genetic heart disorder I can't spell. So now we're hanging out in the Indiana Heart Hospital, waiting for mom to have a Radiofrequency Ablation to fix her ticker.

As if I haven't had enough drama in my life lately. And yes, this is the mother.

So, like the good daughter I am, I decided to procrastinate with good coffee. And where does one go to get good coffee? Certainly not the Starbucks in the lobby of the Indiana Heart Hospital. That would make too much sense, be too globally responsible and play into my guilty conscience for procrastinating.

So I took a drive to the west side for my Pumpkin Spice Latte.

And Lauren wasn't there.

Shit.

So now I'm at the hospital. Waiting.