Why You Should Never Sneak Chocolate

Some people drown their sorrows in drugs or alcohol. Some turn to the gym in times of stress. Still others take up yoga or listening to recordings of humpback whales to relax when things get tense. Me? I turn to chocolate. Or cookies. Or coconut cake. Or brownies. Or well, pretty much anything in the dessert family. My name is Dawn Meehan and I have an addiction to refined sugar and carbohydrates. 

This year I feel stressed out from my job. I told my boss I'd rather lose my house, live in a cardboard box, and eat dirt than to go back to work there in the fall which is really saying a lot since I'm not entirely certain I can live without the aforementioned dessert fix on a regular basis. Still, I suppose if I'm not stressed out from my job, I won't need those chocolate fixes and I can make do nicely with the dirt diet.

On the way home from work today, in an effort to destressify before picking up my kiddos, I blasted Duran Duran as I cruised along with my windows open. Sometimes you're just in a Duran Duran kinda mood. I was feeling better as I drove, the wind whipping my hair around and the scent of orange blossoms from a nearby grove filling my nose. I turned the radio up a little louder and sang off-key because I had no kids in the car to make fun of me. Then I got behind someone driving 20 mph in a 45 zone and slammed on my brakes. In a huff, I muttered something about buttmunch drivers and maneuvered my van around the Caprice. As I passed the car, I glance down to see if it was an idiot texting or a senior who couldn't see over the steering wheel and had the reflexes of a depressed sloth. That's the thing about Florida - you get the nice weather, but you pay for it in other ways. Like sharing the road with the bingo crowd who also migrate south to enjoy the nice weather.

Feeling stressed out once again, I reached for the candy bar stashed in my purse for emergency situations - hurricanes, nuclear war, getting stuck behind the Where's the Beef lady. I scarfed the chocolate while being very careful not to drop any little chocolate shavings on my light-colored pants. The secret to successfully sneaking chocolate is to make sure your kids don't hear you open the wrapper, and that you don't leave behind any evidence like chocolate smeared across your pants.

When I arrived at the school, I hopped out of my van, eager to scoop up my kids and hear about their day. I was feeling pretty good about myself. My hair lacked its usual Roseanne Roseannadanna look and was freshly straightened and smoothed. I was wearing a cute new top and a pair of pants I hadn't been able to fit into for nearly a year. I sauntered into the school, shoulders back, head held high knowing that anyone crossing my path was bound to whisper to their friends, "Who IS that amazing woman?"

I smiled at the YMCA director and chatted with her, giving her my usual countdown to the weekend. "Two more days!" I said. We chatted for a minute, then I looked at a dad waiting for his son. I smiled. He gave me an odd look. He must be trying to refrain from throwing himself at me because I look so good today. Brooklyn ran out and started chattering about her day. I made a brilliant reply then glanced up at the dad to make sure he heard how witty and wonderful I am. Did he just raise his eyebrows and smirk? I can't tell if that's a good look or he's scared of me.

Brooklyn and I moved toward the door as Clayton rounded the corner and met us. "Hey Clay! Did you have a good day?" I asked as we headed out to the car.

He gave me a quizzical look and asked, "Is that chocolate on your face?"

"Huh? Chocolate?" I asked. 

"Yeah. Did you have chocolate? What's on your face?"

I ran to the mirror and looked and sure enough there was chocolate smeared across my face. I don't mean a little spot of chocolate that might be mistaken for lip gloss or a freckle or even a booger. Nope, I had enough chocolate on my upper lip to look like Hitler. I couldn't have gotten more junk on my face if I'd tried! I groaned. So that's why I was getting odd looks! 

Great. Now I have to explain why I had chocolate and didn't save any for the kids. And, more importantly, I can never pick my kids up from school again. Yep, I am one class act.

  Can't get enough? See what Dawn is up to over at Babble!

Don't go to Sleep

Some families encourage and uplift one another. Some families spend time listening to each other. Some people respect each member of their family. I've been told that some families are actually nice to each other. In my family, however . . . Well, let's put it this way - it's probably not the best idea to fall asleep before your siblings. Or your mother for that matter.

Yeah. Sorry about that kiddo. But really, who could resist? Hmmm, I should probably sleep with one eye open from now on, huh?

Why Being Left Out Can be a Good Thing

I wrote a post about how my son took his little sister to the annual father/daughter dance at her school. It just happened to work out for him to take her, but I was prepared to occupy my daughter with alternative activities had she not been able to go. And last year I wrote a post about how my other daughter didn't attend the dance. I got comments on both posts from people who were shocked and disappointed that a school would hold an event like a "father/daughter dance" in this day and age, knowing that some people would be left out because there are so many complicated families. In fact, it seemed to be the general consensus. But I have to disagree.

Why should a school stop holding events like father/daughter dances? It’s a heart-warming tradition. You should’ve seen all the fathers lined up to get in the school. Dressed in suits and ties, they held their daughter’s hands, smiled from ear to ear, proud as can be, and snapped dozens of pictures to remember the night. The little girls looked up at their dads, seeing their heroes who had taken time out of their schedules to shower time and affection on them. Why would you want to cancel that?

Because not all kids have a dad? That’s ludicrous. Should they cancel it because maybe one girl’s dad works nights so she wouldn’t be able to attend? Should they cancel it because one girl’s dad is in the military stationed overseas so she can’t attend? Maybe they should cancel it because there’s a dad who wants to attend, but he only has sons, no daughters. When did we become such a nation of whiny brats? Why do we think everything should revolve around us? Why are we so stinking adamant that no one ever gets hurt or offended? Why must everyone always be included? Why?

Remember the old days when you didn’t have to invite the entire class to your birthday party? Or how about when the winning team got the trophies and the losing team only got a “good game, better luck next year”? Does anyone remember what real life, with its ups and DOWNS, its wins and LOSSES feels like? Does anyone remember how sometimes life isn’t fair and sometimes you get hurt and sometimes you’re disappointed? And most importantly, does anyone remember how to deal with disappointment, shrug it off, and move on? Disappointment does not equal the end of all life as we know it. It’s a part of life.

So why is it that people work so hard to keep disappointment out of their child’s world these days? I mean, don’t get me wrong – I don’t like to see my kids sad anymore than anyone else. But I think parents today really go out of their way to ensure their children never get hurt. Everyone must be included and everyone must experience fairness and happiness at all costs. When a child gets a poor grade on an assignment, instead of experiencing disappointment and learning the importance of studying and putting forth effort, mom gets on the phone and complains to the teacher how unfair she is. Instead of losing the football season and taking home the experience of playing, working together, and learning, along with the determination to “get ‘em next year,” kids take home trophies for being mediocre. And instead of feeling disappointment that you can’t attend the father/daughter dance, the school should cancel it altogether so no one is left out. Heaven forbid anyone should have to simply feel the sting of being left out or disappointed, before getting over it and moving on. That’s crazy talk.

No matter how hard you try to get rid of disappointment, it will always be present.  And what favors are you doing your kids by trying to protect them from it instead of arming them with the tools to deal with it and move forward? There will come a time when your child will feel left out. Instead of demanding they be included, teach your child to enjoy their own company, to brainstorm alternate situations, and to simply say, “Well this sucks and I feel sad, but I know it’s not the end of the world.” There will come a time when your child doesn’t win. Teach them that winning isn’t everything, that losing gracefully is commendable, and that perseverance is a good thing.


Being left out isn’t a tragedy. It’s a chance to practice life skills that will equip your child with the ability to deal with life’s hardships in a positive, healthy way. What do you think? Should schools cancel activities like father/daughter dances to avoid needlessly hurting some kids by leaving them out? Or do we make too big a deal out of stuff like this, trying to protect our kids from pain at all costs?

And Then Sometimes They Surprise You

Recently I’ve had a problem with Jackson thinking he’s 40. He’s 14. He’s gotten into this habit of running off with friends whenever he wants. A couple weeks ago, I gave him permission to walk downtown with his friend. I told him to be back in half an hour for dinner. Apparently “be home for dinner” translated to “go out to dinner with your friend and his family and don’t bother asking first and don’t answer your phone when I call or text until you’re halfway through dessert” in Jackson’s language. I was fed up with that so I grounded him for a week. A week of not going out with his friends was pure torture for Jackson and I thought he’d learned the lesson. I was wrong.

I left work on Friday and drove to the school to pick up Clay and Brooklyn. As I was driving, I received a text from Jackson. “Mom, can I go downtown?”

A few minutes later, “Forget that. Can I go to Jake’s house instead?”

Another few minutes passed and he sent, “Change of plans again. Can I go out to dinner with Perry?”

At a red light, I quickly scanned his texts. I didn’t respond while I was driving; I planned instead to talk to him when I got home.

When I got to Clay’s and Brooklyn’s school, the cafeteria was all decorated for the Father/Daughter dance. Brooklyn rushed up to me squealing, “I’m so excited to go!” The only problem was – I hadn’t gotten tickets. About a month ago, Brooklyn brought home an invitation to the Father/Daughter Dance at her school. We talked about it a little and Austin offered to take her, but Brooklyn didn’t sound like she really wanted to go so I put the flyer in my I’ll get to it later pile and promptly forgot about it.

I admitted I hadn’t gotten tickets, and I told Brooklyn that Austin was probably at home asleep. She started crying. When I got home, I walked away from a crying Brooklyn to talk to Jackson about his plans before deciding whether to bribe Brooklyn with cookies, a movie, and nail polish in place of the dance, or to wake up Austin and ask him if he was still willing to take her as long as tickets were available at the door. However, Jackson wasn’t home. I called him.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in the car.”

“Whose car? Where?”

After much stalling from Jackson, he admitted he was already on his way to the restaurant with his friend and his family.

“Are you KIDDING me?!” I yelled. “You were JUST grounded for a week for taking off without permission. I guess you didn’t learn your lesson. This time you can be grounded for a month! Maybe then it’ll sink in!”

“But I asked you, Mom. I texted you.”

At this point, my head exploded. “Asking is not the same as getting permission!” I bellowed into the phone. “I’m on my way to get you now. You are not taking off without permission again and getting rewarded for it with dinner out.”

Meanwhile, Brooklyn had calmed down and was just sniffling. “How about I go rent a movie and I’ll paint your nails and we’ll hang out here and have fun, okay, Brooklyn?” She seemed amenable to my idea so I left to get Jackson from the restaurant.

As I drove to the restaurant, I talked out loud to myself like a crazy person. “Where did I go wrong? I’m a parenting failure. I’ve taught this kid nothing. First, he leaves without permission and next thing you know, he’ll be doing drugs and knocking over liquor stores. And I’m not even going to talk about the pigsty he calls his room.” In my head I started composing an apology letter to his future wife.

When I got to the restaurant, I’d calmed down. Brooklyn seemed happy, and I wasn’t quite as mad at Jackson. I apologized for yelling at him on the phone, but confirmed that he was once again grounded. I explained that not only is he still a kid who needs parental permission before leaving the house, but making your own plans and taking off is inconsiderate no matter what your age.

Jackson was surprisingly contrite; he didn’t argue or try to bargain at all. Jackson’s friend’s mom texted me to apologize because they’d assumed it was okay that Jackson went with them. I assured her it was fine. It wasn’t their fault; Jackson is old enough to know better. And honestly, this friend and his family are wonderful. They’ve kinda adopted Jackson and I’m super-thankful for their friendship. They’re a good, positive influence on Jax. I thanked Jackson for not throwing a whiny fit, but told him he was still grounded until I believed he’d learned the lesson about not taking off whenever he felt like it.

I arrived home with Jackson and found Brooklyn sad once again. “I really want to go,” she sniffled. I glanced at the couch where Austin was fast asleep. I looked over to Jackson. “Hey Jackson,” I said tentatively. “How would you like to take Brooklyn to the dance? You don’t have to, but if you want to, I know Brooklyn would really appreciate it.”

“Sure,” he readily agreed. He may have been thinking that saying yes would get me to change my mind about grounding him, but honestly, even if he hadn’t been in trouble, I’m pretty sure he would’ve offered to take her anyway.

Jackson and Brooklyn quickly changed their clothes and I dropped them off at the school. I waited to make sure they could get tickets at the door then drove home. When the dance was over, I pulled up to the school and found a little girl who was smiling ear to ear and a teenage boy who looked like he’d not only endured the evening for his sister’s sake, but that he’d actually enjoyed the time spent with her. “Were there other brothers or moms there with the girls?” I asked.

“No, I was the only one.”

“Did any dads come up to you and compliment you or say anything nice because you’d taken your sister?” I wondered.

“Nope,” Jackson replied.

“Well, I’m super-proud of you and you should take a look at my Facebook wall because a few hundred people have liked and/or commented on the picture of you and Brooklyn.


Okay, so maybe I haven’t completely failed this parenting thing. Yet. And maybe I won’t ground Jackson until he’s old enough to carry an AARP card. And maybe I’ll treasure this picture of the two of them forever.

How to Live in the Happiest Place on Earth

My friend Ally and I spent the day in the Magic Kingdom on Sunday. I generally visit the Disney World parks with my kids, seeing the place through their eyes and finding it nothing short of magical. On Sunday I had the opportunity to view the Magic Kingdom through the critical eyes of my friend who is a director of human resources for a major corporation. And you know what I learned? Disney World truly is the happiest place on earth. Companies like Delta, IBM, Chrysler, and GM have spent lots of money to learn the secret to Disney’s success from the Disney Institute which has been teaching companies about customer service and brand loyalty since 1986. Here, for the bargain price of free, I’ll tell you how you can incorporate some of Disney’s strategies in your own lives at home or at work or wherever you are.

Ally and I arrived at the Magic Kingdom, excitedly approached the park entrance, and waited in line for the next available cast member at the ticket booths. As soon as the folks in front of us stepped away from the window, we walked up. We didn’t follow directions and wait to be called because apparently we were too stupid excited. The cast member who had been there was actually just leaving and a new person was taking her place. Instead of offering a snippy, “Give me a minute to get ready. Go back and wait until you’re called,” the cast member said, “Oh, no problem at all!” with a smile. “I’ll be right with you!” And he was.


As we paid for our tickets, he made friendly conversation, asking us where we were from, etc. I gave him my license to get the Florida resident discount and when he handed it back to me, he exclaimed, “You didn’t tell me it was your birthday! Here!” he said, handing me a button that read Happy Birthday, and a pen so I could write my name on the button. In talking, he learned that it was my friend’s first visit to Disney World so he gave her a button that read First Visit.



CONTINUE READING HERE!

Another Proud Moment

Maybe I shouldn't make light of this, but well, that's how I work. What can I say? Some families talk and hug and tell each other how much they love one another. Other families give gifts or share delicious home-cooking with each other. My family expresses our love for one another by mercilessly making fun of each other. It's what we do. If my kids all grow up with serious complexes and a decade worth of material for a psychiatrist, I'll feel like my job as a parent is done. So, when I saw Savannah's test corrections for a test she took in her genetics class, I just had to blog about it. (Keep in mind, Savannah is my  straight A, 4.5 GPA, National Honor Society kid.)

Her teacher offered the students extra credit to write the test question they got wrong, put the correct answer, and explain why they got it wrong. Savannah started making the corrections by writing things like Amino acids aren't even part of it and double helix is the actual structure. But somewhere along the line she apparently gave up and started writing such gems as I just need the extra credit, If you love me enough, you'll just give me the points, honestly, how were we supposed to know this, and I am not a medical researcher therefore I should not have been penalized for this question, and it's stupid.

Yep, I'm feeling pretty proud right about now. I think it's safe to say that Savannah will probably not be a geneticist in the future.

Can't get enough? See what Dawn is up to over at Babble!

It's a Home Run!

After dinner, I sat on the couch reading a book. Ordinarily I'd be cleaning up, making sure everyone's homework was completed and in their backpacks, ready to go, but I only had a few pages left in this book and I wanted to finish it. I had literally just read these lines . . .

. . . when I heard a loud shot followed by the tinkling sound of glass breaking. Oh my gosh, someone's breaking into my house! Where's my gun? Oh, that's right, I don't have a gun. It's a good thing I don't. Who knows what would happen if a gun were in my house! What can I use? A Taser? Pepper spray? A baseball bat? Hairspray? A pointy shoe? Sort of sharp nails in need of a manicure? On second thought, I think I'll run out the back door while shouting, "Every man for himself!" 

Once I regained my common sense (you know, I put down my book and rejoined reality), I realized that if I was hearing breaking glass, my kids had to be nearby. I jumped up to check it out.

This is what I found . . .

And outside stood Clay with the smoking gun, er baseball bat. "Nice hit. Did you get a home run at least?"

His face was a combination of sheepishness and incredulity. He dropped the bat, ran inside, and disappeared. I let him go because I thought it would probably be frowned upon if I threw him through the window after the softball. Instead, I went inside and grabbed the essentials: the vacuum, my phone, and my camera. I took pictures, texted my friend Cheri - Do you know anyone who can replace glass?, and plugged in the vacuum while Savannah picked up the big chunks of glass. Then I made a few calls and found someone to come out and replace the glass tonight.

When the guy showed up, I opened the door and stood there staring at him. I may have involuntarily drooled a little. At some point, I must have let him in, but I don't remember doing this. I stood around, watching him fix the window because well, he was damn cute. I made brilliant small talk. "The sad thing is that this isn't the first time. With 6 kids, I can't even count how many broken windows there have been over the years."

He gave me the standard horrified look that folks give me once I tell them I have 6 kids. Oh yeah, he's gotta be into me. I mean, what's not to love? I'm old, I'm fat, I have like 3 teeth left, my hair was unwashed, my makeup had melted off my face earlier in the rain and humidity, and I had 6 kids running around the house like rabid wolves. Yep.

After he fixed the window, he went out to his truck, returning with my bill. "So, 6 kids, huh? That's like the Brady Bunch," he said.

"Yeah, heh heh," I laughed nervously. "Like the Brady Bunch, but without Alice or um . . ." I tried to think of the dad's name. You know, to make sure he realized I wasn't attached to anyone. But I couldn't think of the name Mike to save my life so I just repeated myself. "Um yeah, without Alice."

He looked at me like I had a learning disability and said, "Yeah, Alice did a lot, didn't she?" 

I made some incoherent mumbling sounds and hoped he'd leave before I opened my mouth to say any more stupid things.

Of course, after he left, I contemplated throwing another ball through the window to get him back here to ask him if he did other handyman type stuff because I have a fixit list a mile long and well, he's damn cute. But with my luck, they wouldn't have dispatched the same guy. They would've sent out Bubba with the plumber's crack, the camo hat, and less teeth than I have.

On the bright side, my window is fixed, my tax refund is spent, I didn't have snow coming through the hole while I waited for it to be repaired, Clay apologized and I hugged him because I know he didn't do it on purpose, and I got to practice being stupid in front of other humans. All in all, it was a good night.

If you're in central Florida and need your home or auto glass repair, these guys were friendly and quick and well, damn cute.

Meet my Dentist, Orin Scrivello

It's been a few days since I've had someone's hands in my mouth, so I figured it was time for another trip to the dentist. Now that the infection is at bay and the horrific pain from my root canal has waned, I decided to get the tooth that couldn't be saved, extracted. I went through the drill - lie down, put on the shades, get the nifty bib, open my mouth, and wait for the 4 foot needle.

After the dentist (I'll fondly refer to him as Orin Scrivello from now on) shot me up with anesthetic, I closed my eyes and tried to slow my breathing and stop digging my nails into my hands. Orin came back a few minutes later and started poking around my tooth. It hurt. More shots. More waiting. Then morbid curiosity got the better of me and I turned around to glance at the tray of implements.

Oh my gosh! Is that a CHISEL I see?! What kind of medieval torture goes on in this place? Oh, I should've been knocked out for this. 

When Orin returned, I asked, "Do you have a paper bag I can breathe into? I think my heart's going to explode."

Orin laughed his maniacal laugh. Apparently he thought I was joking.

He commenced Operation Torture wherein he attempted to relieve me of my tooth. After much pulling and digging around, my crown popped off. The rest of the tooth remained. He continued to pull to no avail. After half an hour of this, he got up, mopped his face which was drenched in sweat and informed me he'd have to break the tooth apart and remove it in pieces.

"Shoot me. Shoot me now."

I think he left the room to call his wife and tell her that he'd be skipping the gym after work since he'd already gotten his upper-body workout. I took this moment to run to the bathroom. That wasn't one of my better plans. I glanced into the mirror as I washed my hands. Despite the metallic tang of blood that filled my mouth, I wasn't prepared to see the blood on my bib and smeared across my face. I thought about making a dash for the front door, but the waiting room was filled with kids. I was afraid that watching a frantic lady in a blood spattered bib with wild hair and crazy eyes run out the door might scar them for life.

Orin and I returned for round two.

He drilled what was left of my tooth in half and started tugging again. He yanked and used my jaw as leverage as he tried to pop out the pieces of tooth. He braced his foot on my chest, grabbed the tooth-yanker-thingy with both hands, and leaned back, using all his weight to pull. If he'd lost his grip at this point, he would've flown back a good 10 yards. 

Eventually he removed all the pieces, effectively reducing me to a toothless, redneck, hillbilly, toothless, dork with no teeth. I'd like to say that I will never, ever, ever set foot in a dentist's office again, but since I have a problem with looking like a hillbilly, I guess I'll be going back at some point for a bridge.

And here I'll leave you with a video of my dentist. Yes, I know it looks like Steve Martin. But it's my dentist, I assure you.

Can't get enough? See what Dawn is up to over at Babble!

In Too Deep

Here I am with Michelle in the middle and Mimi

Because of my blog, I've been fortunate enough to meet some really wonderful people. Several years ago I met a woman who is amazingly talented. I said to myself, after reading some of her work, "This woman is going to be published one day." That woman is Michelle Brownlow. She's got a huge, wonderful servant's heart and she's got a real passion for empowering and inspiring teens and young adults. She can not only write, but she's an absolutely incredible artist as well! I'd seen dozens of her illustrations which are all awesome, but when I saw this portrait she drew of her grandfather years ago, I was simply blown away by the scope of her talent.

See what I mean? She's amazing, no?

And I was right about her! She's having her first book published in June and I couldn't be more proud! She revealed the cover of her book, In Too Deep this Friday. Check it out!

Here's the synopsis:

Gracie has just finished her freshman year of college in Memphis when she takes a job at a local pizza joint in her home town of McKenzie, Tennessee. She is the epitome of innocence when she meets Noah. Noah is unabashedly handsome, intriguingly reckless and just cocky enough to be sexy. Gracie’s instincts tell her to stay far away from him and based on the stories she hears from her co-workers he leaves broken hearts in his wake. But still, she can’t explain her fascination with him.

Noah puts aside his bad boy ways when what he thought was a summer crush has him unexpectedly falling in love. But soon after Gracie transfers to UT Knoxville to be with Noah, their unexpected love becomes riddled with anger, deceit and humiliation.

Jake, Noah’s former roommate and Gracie’s best friend, can no longer be a bystander. Gracie’s world falls out from beneath her and when she breaks she turns to Jake for strength. As Jake talks her through a decision she’s not yet strong enough to make, together they uncover a truth so ugly neither of them is prepared for its fallout. Will Jake pull her to the surface or is Gracie Jordan finally In Too Deep?

I cannot wait to read my good friend's book and will be doing a giveaway when it comes out in June. I'll keep you updated!

Want to learn more about Michelle? Check out her Facebook page HERE!

Harlem Shake - Mom Blogger Style

A few days ago, my sixteen-year-old daughter asked me, "Have you heard of the Harlem Shake?" 

I gave her my best Whatcha talkin' 'bout, Willis? look. 

 She went on, "Well you will hear about it." Then she handed me her iPod and hit play on the video she had queued." 

I watched the 30 second video and laughed. "That's pretty funny," I admitted. "Are those friends of yours?" I asked about the people in the video. 

 "No, but there are a ton of these videos out there. Everyone has made one." 

 Today I decided it would be fun to make my own. "Hey kids! Will you dance around in a video for me?"

Savannah rolled her eyes. “Mom, that’s out.”

“But you just told me about it a few days ago,” I protested.

“Yeah, I know. But now it’s old.”

My son added, “It’s actually been around for years, but people found it on Youtube and it took off from there.”

“So what do you guys do, just search Youtube for fun stuff? How do these things spread so quickly?”

“Yeah, we mostly use Youtube. We hear stuff from friends and we see stuff on other sites like Funnyjunk, Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.”

I asked Savannah, “So what makes a video go viral?”

She gave me the Whatcha talking’ ’bout, Willis? look. “I don’t know. People tell me about something, I watch it, then I tell other people.”

“So there’s no secret formula?” I asked.

At this point, she gave me her I’m bored with your general lameness and uncoolness, but I’ll humor you because you hold the money and the car keys attitude.

So there you have it. Who knows what the next Nyan Cat, Llamas with Hats, Charlie Bit Me, Marcel the Shell, Gangnam Style, Harlem Shake will be.  But you can bet that teenagers will be the ones to determine if it’s share-worthy and thus viral material.


Now, without further ado, is my Harlem Shake – Mom blogger style!

I'm Ready for the Oscars! Are You?

I’m hopelessly out of the loop. The day OF the Super Bowl, I texted my son, “Is the Super Bowl this weekend?”

He answered, “Uhhh yeah.”

“Who’s playing?”

“The Ravens and the 49ers,” he answered.

“The Ravens? Are you sure? I’ve never heard of them. Where are they from?”

“Baltimore,” was his answer.

“That’s the Orioles!”

“Mom, just stop talking.”

Yeah. Out of the loop. I saw all my friends tweeting about the game and the commercials and I felt like a loser because I didn’t know anything about any of it. It was basically the same with the Grammys. But not this time. I am READY for the Oscars® this Sunday! And I’ll let you in on my secret. The official Oscars app! I have to admit it’s a pretty cool app. You can check out the nominees for every category, see pictures, watch trailers, and get information about each nominee.

The last time I went to the movies, my parents had to drive me there and I had a curfew. Well, that might be a slight exaggeration, but I rarely go to the movies and before I downloaded the app, I hadn’t even heard of most of the films that are nominated. With this app, you can even cast your vote and share it on Facebook (bragging about how many you winners you get right is optional).

Sunday night, watch interviews and special features, go backstage, and watch your favorite stars walk the red carpet with over a dozen LIVE backstage and Red Carpet video streams. You can watch the Oscars on TV while getting all the backstage fun and tweeting from your Oscar app at the same time!

Not only that, but get ideas to host your own Oscars night with recipes (I drool a little every time I look at the Easy Brie Bites and the cocktails that are featured). I think I’m going to have to make my own DIY popcorn bar for my family to enjoy on Oscar night. Yum!

Plus, as if that isn’t enough, you can watch like a million videos on Oscar history, past winners, and memorable speeches from over the years. Really, this app does everything but windows. To see more features, check it out here. And to get all the scoop on this year’s Oscars, go to Oscar.com!

A big thanks to Disney for sponsoring this campaign. Click here to see more of the discussion.

Book Winner

And the Valentine's Day winner of the set of 4 books is . . .

 Jenny said...

I am totally a single parent, much like yourself. Four children, incredible busy and I feel for you so much. My only consolation is having family nearby that can help. But, I do feel the pain of being 100% a single mom while working full time. It's not easy and I admire you greatly through your blog!

Congratulations! Email me at dawn@dawnmeehan.com with your shipping information.  :)