A Time Machine for Turning Big Kids Into Sweet-Scented Babies

My latest column for Northside Woman Magazine...

I am not a morning person. I wish I were. I envy those who awaken before sunrise, chipper as Doris Day, never considering a return to the cozy comfort of bed.

Alarm clocks give me vertigo. I hit snooze and fall back to sleep most mornings. If an IQ test were administered before a strong cup of coffee, I’d register a 50-point deficit. And I’d complain to the test administrator about the lack of coffee.

But I have a couple of reasons for crawling out of bed before dawn. The first is crowd control. By this, I mean getting my kids out the door dressed appropriately and with something more nutritious than Junior Mints for breakfast.

Just last week one emerged dressed in head-to-toe spandex.

“But I have GYM today. And this is what people wear to GYM,” she said when I told her to change. The look on my husband’s face said he was willing to acquiesce to such authoritative speak on gym clothes.

“I don’t care if you are participating in the javelin competition at the Olympics,” I said. “You’ll thank me when this doesn’t show up on a ‘Memories’ reel at your graduation.”

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I Embarrass You Because I Love You

My latest article for Northside Woman.....

On Dads and Denial by Amy M. Dawson

            I remember the day (middle of the night) we had our first baby (only I got stitches) and thinking "heisgoingtobethebestdad" (God bless valium.) Even in my pharmaceutically-enhanced state I knew my husband would be an amazing dad, and was well on my way to forgiving him for the egregious time lapse between "this hurts" and the epidural.

            He has more than lived up to expectations. He paraded our daughters around like blue-ribbon prize winners at the county fair, boasting about everything from excellent APGAR scores (seriously) to their superior abilities at things like growing and sleeping.

When they were little, he would whip them into a frenzy with loud caterwauling and wrestling matches (right before bedtime, natch.) He’d tell them stories about Russell R., a fictional child deviant known for things like exploding double-decker nachos onto his teacher, that left them collapsed from fits of laughter.

His fan base increased exponentially over the years. At Halloween he is in full costume, playing pranks so realistic there are kids who believe a werewolf resides in our basement (which would explain the state of our storage room.) He is routinely invited to children’s birthday parties.

But as the girls have gotten older, if the guy so much as sneezes they tell him to quit making weird noises. “That’s awkward, dad,” is a constant refrain. One was in tears because he was dancing at our neighborhood pool. (He maintains he was simply applying sunscreen while LMFAO played in the background.)

He has adjusted from being top dog to being a social liability with impressive stoicism. By that I mean he regularly threatens to choreograph a flash mob during their next school event and gives all their friends goofy nicknames.

            Our daughters do not approve of this behavior, and he’s okay with that. He knows one day they will look back and be grateful their dad loved them wildly and unconditionally, even through their tumultuous teen years. They’ll realize by not taking their threats to disown him too seriously, he helped them build their self esteem, even as they made every attempt to eviscerate his soul. That is, begging him to stop dancing poolside.

This Father's Day, I hope all dads give their children the gift of teaching them to approve of themselves, no matter what other people think. Because believing in yourself is what gives us the strength to say yes to what’s right and no to what’s wrong. Surviving your parents’ ever-creative ways of threatening to ruin your social standing builds character, but knowing you have your parents’ approval is a powerful, lasting thing.

I’m signing off before I start quoting Whitney Houston songs, but to all you dads with easily embarrassed teens, hang tough. They’ll thank you one day. Though probably not for dancing at the pool.

Amy M. Dawson is an Atlanta-based writer who remains grateful she didn’t stab her husband in the delivery room before the drugs kicked in. Read more at amymacwrites.com.
The above photo was taken on Oct. 28, 1999 at dark o'clock, moments after our first daughter was born. Jake is clearly elated. I was in a drug-induced coma, but when I regained consciousness was equally thrilled with our (obviously) perfect newborn baby.

The Secrets to Success (In School, In Life)

My latest article for Northside Woman (August, 2011)

As parents, we are hardwired to tender advice to our children: how to study, what to eat, and bon mots like “if someone says ‘hey, watch this,’ run for cover.” (When you’re young, someone’s about to land in the principal’s office. When you’re an adult, someone’s about to lose a limb, land in jail, or both.)

When parents need guidance, we turn to books, a pediatrician, or a parenting expert. But what if the people who have life all figured out are the ones who —if left unattended —would substitute milk with Mountain Dew, consume a sugar-only diet and sleep on the floor in a mass of dirty laundry? Nope, not your husband. Your children.

A few months ago I visited Mrs. Snow’s fifth grade class at Creek View Elementary School to lead a writing exercise. I supplied the students with fill-in-the-blank sentences prompting them, as veterans of elementary school, to impart advice to upcoming fifth graders.

What I unearthed in the stack of wide-ruled, backpack-weary notebook paper, in the midst of warnings regarding the hazards of passing gas in the classroom (mentioned on nearly every paper) were smart, thoughtful, heart-felt gems of advice that apply not only to a successful tenure in grade school, but also to the school of life. See if you agree.

At lunchtime:

·         Never eat anything with the word “surprise” on the menu.

·         Chicken sandwiches, tacos and macaroni and cheese are always a safe bet.

·         Avoid unidentifiable processed meats, that is, hot dogs.

Regarding teachers (adults — substitute ‘bosses’)

·         Always answer a teacher’s question to show you are paying attention.

·         If a teacher frowns, freeze.

·         If a teacher tells a joke, laugh.

Choosing and keeping friends

·         Make lots of good friends so you don’t become a hermit.

·         If someone tells you to duck, duck fast.

·         If someone pulls the fire alarm and there’s no fire, they won’t make a good friend.

On smart habits

·         Work hard so you’ll make good grades.

·         Don’t wait until the last minute to work on projects. It’s stressful and won’t be your best effort.

·         Be organized.

·         Drink water throughout the day.

As for Mrs. Snow, her students are thankful to her for a number of things, including inspiring creativity, teaching them to respect others, and showing them they are smart. And capable.  Which proves excellent teachers who see the potential in every child do more than make a difference — they are game changers.

The kids also offered advice to their parents on how to help them be successful in school, which can be summed up in one word: relax. Which loosely translates to: have a little confidence — we’ve got this.

I couldn’t have said — or written — it better myself.

Amy M. Dawson is a writer and public relations strategist who upheld rigid standards to avoid embarrassing her daughter while volunteering in the classroom. She blogs about work and life at amymacwrites.com.

Take the Long Way Home

         My latest article for Northside Woman ....

          I’ve always been the type of person to move along at a fast clip. I can shop for a week’s worth of groceries in 45 minutes, be ready for church in 20, and cut a 5-hour car trip down to 4 by driving in the fast lane.

But in a few weeks, my oldest baby is graduating from elementary school. And she’s craving independence. She wants a timetable for when she can wear makeup, walk alone to a friend’s house, and a dollar amount her dad and I will commit toward buying a car when she turns 16.

Um, what?

Suddenly I’m switching gears. If we can’t come to a full stop, I’d like to get out of the fast lane and take a long, winding country road through this mountainous terrain of my child growing up.

I understand her need for independence. It wasn’t so long ago I was there myself, sneaking eyeliner in my backpack, chatting on the phone well past lights-out, and arguing with my mom about everything because I, obviously, had all the answers.

 My advice to my daughter:  never think you have all the answers, it only leads to trouble. That, and to SLOW DOWN.   Not that growing up is a bad thing, but you usually get lots more days as an adult — and you’ll spend many of those wishing you could return to the simplicity of childhood.

 I tell her to appreciate these days when she doesn’t need makeup, because before you know it mascara and lipstick are a must. Otherwise, folks can’t tell if you do, indeed, possess lips and eyelashes. That the day will come when she wants to throw the ringing cell phone out the window, thus negating the issue of a “better data plan.”

That sometimes you want to lose your car keys and just feel the breeze in your hair while riding your bike. That there will come a day when you wish for nothing more than to share an adjoining bathroom with your sister.  And the time will come when you wish you could put your parents back in charge of making your decisions. Turns out they know a thing or two.

Waiting for something makes you appreciative when you finally get it. You take care of it and cherish it.  I don’t mean material things. A lipstick or pair of earrings can be replaced. But when things come too soon, it’s human nature to raise the stakes. But if you can’t see your value without the designer jeans, or your beauty without the glossy lips, you’ll always be striving for something beyond your reach.

So the next time she asks when she can go with her friends to the movies without a parent, instead of responding “when I have solid proof every criminal on earth is in jail,” I’ll say “all in good time.”

Amy M. Dawson is an Atlanta-based writer who wrote this article in a record 32 minutes, but edited it for 2 days. Visit her at amymacwrites.com.

Batman and the Bully

My latest article for Northside Woman magazine ...

Batman and the Bully by Amy M. Dawson

Have you ever noticed when one thing goes wrong, the universe can deliver a one-two punch like a middle-school bully? Where’s a superhero to deliver you from disaster when you really need it?

The punch always comes when my husband is away. Once, my then three-year-old lodged a Polly Pocket shoe so far in her nasal cavity an air-blasting scope was necessary to extricate the tiny plastic invader. Another time, a bird flew down my chimney and into my house. Yet another time, my dog ingested a roll of grosgrain ribbon. In all instances, my husband was out of town. This year’s whallop: my nine-year-old has mono. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Thirty seconds after my husband leaves for a week-long trip to Belgium, I start sniffling. The next morning I have a sinus infection threatening to eject my eyeballs from their sockets, bronchitis suggesting an iron lung will be my next big purchase, and malaria. Okay, I said malaria for dramatic effect, but you get the point. Then both my children catch strep throat for the 47^th time this year. Not good for a working mom whose occupation requires a modicum of time uninterrupted by requests for Motrin, popsicles and to mediate disagreements over who is tackiest on Toddlers and Tiaras.

Then my dishwasher floods, and Willie Nelson lectures me about drinking wine. Really it was a repairman who looked like Willie explaining a broken wine glass was clogging my dishwasher. Super. Then my daughter announces she’s found a lump in her neck.

Kapow.

Bam.

Splat.

Let me tell you, if you search Web MD for “lump in neck” while on sinus meds, rational thought disappears quicker than a $20 bill in Vegas. She has mono, which on the scary-stuff spectrum is pretty low.  But it’s far from fun.  I’m not looking for sympathy (or enticing you to Google the word lump – don’t.) We’ve all been in this spot — where you think things could not possibly get worse. And then they do. Then they do again.

When this happens I am reminded of the kindness of good friends – the ones who race to your house because they know something isn’t quite right. I’m reminded moms are tough, and kids are resilient. I remember I’d rather my husband be home and forget to take out the trash than be away and all the chores be done. And I learn to appreciate those “nothing interesting happened” days. Boring is a blessing in disguise.

I’m reminded superheroes don’t necessarily wear capes, but are often the unassuming neighbor, a kind pediatrician, a helpful teacher. And that the combination of prescription cough syrup and a Google search is always a bad idea. But most important, when you stand up to a bully, he backs down. Kersplat.

Amy M. Dawson is an Alpharetta-based writer way behind on her to-do list, but way ahead on reaching the cap on her medical spending account.

Love and the Written Word

(My most recent article for Northside Woman)

While watching Modern Family, I was reminded of the risky nature of writing. In that episode, Gloria puts a few snippy thoughts into an email, then – whoops! – accidentally hits send. “It sended! Please come back,” Gloria moans.

For your own safety, I recommend putting nothing in writing. That’s right, during the month that launches a thousand love letters, I am telling you to save yourself some heartache and put down those pens.

Here’s why: once you write something, it has the potential to live in the universe forever. And that can be a bad, bad thing.

Case in point: as a fresh-faced college graduate embarking on my first job, my supervisor sent an email regarding a co-worker’s promotion and misspelled her name. This was a particular sore spot with her, so I sent her a note joking about his mistake.

Almost immediately, he sends a correction. So I send another note along the lines of “wow, he can’t spell, but maybe he can read minds.” Ah, the accidental reply when intending to forward. Classic.

And while my personal feeling that you should not write love notes to anyone to whom you are not legally bound might seem extreme, I urge each of you to teach your children to not write letters in which they emote in any form.

Why? Because there is a television show called “Hoarders,” that’s why. Do you want somebody to find a long-forgotten letter you wrote to a person you’d rather enter the Witness Protection Program than speak to again?

In first grade, a boy wrote me a letter about how pretty and nice I was, and how I was clearly his intellectual superior. Okay, that last part I made up, but he did tape a quarter to the letter. Or maybe it was a nickel. Whatever, it was a nice touch (or maybe he thought I could be bought, in which case I am belatedly offended). The point is, my mother still has that letter and we still chuckle about it.

I’ve come across letters from former boyfriends declaring their undying love, roommates apologizing, and friends sketching out all manner of ill-advised ideas. None of which will ever see the light of day as long as I receive payment by the end of the month (kidding.)

When it comes to sharing something that can be taken the wrong way, deniable plausibility is key. And you only gain that advantage by not writing it at all. Don’t write, text, tweet or update your Facebook status during emotional distress, and write only under the influence of a nice, deep breath of fresh air.

If you happen to come across something I wrote prior to 1995, please destroy it. And, if you accuse me of writing this article, I will deny it. Now, I’ve got to find out the hidden meaning behind taping coins to love notes.

Amy M. Dawson is an Alpharetta-based writer eternally grateful for the delete key and a good shredder. She writes about balancing work and life at www.amymacpr.blogspot.com.

© Amy McCormick Dawson, 2011. All Rights Reserved.

In Real Life, I Am Not a Procrastinator

Here's my most recent article from Northside Woman ...

I am not a procrastinator. Really, I’m not. I relish finishing projects early and crossing them off my list with the swipe of a medium-point pen. I’m a planner, a scheduler, a regular Type-A, (some call it control freak) get-it-done type of girl.

But every winter, a strange sickness sweeps in with the bitter northern winds. The symptoms: a foul concoction of malaise, lack of motivation, and general dawdling. It’s the Procrastination Flu, and it’s been the bane of New Year’s Resolutions since the beginning of time.

Just while writing this article, I walked my dog (which he loathes), went shopping (which I loathe), checked Facebook (the Shangri-La for all who stall) and dashed off a few non-priority emails – all to avoid the inevitable deadline.

Like the seasonal flu, the Procrastination Flu follows a predictable pattern. A general hum-drum attitude settles in like a slacker relative. Then comes “I’ll do that tomorrow” fever, crushing fatigue relieved only with a heavy dose of reality television, and generalized weakness in all areas requiring discipline. Exercise? Nope. Errands? Not today. Effort of any sort? Eh, no thanks. Before you know it, your list of excuses to avoid your to-do list is as long the return line on Dec. 26.

I blame the craziness of the holiday season for weakening our defenses against Procrastination Flu. Let’s face it, many of us overexert in December: between shopping, baking, parties and travel, by the end of the year it’s a wonder more of us aren’t in a crumpled heap pulling bits of tinsel from our tangled hair while maniacally humming “Jingle Bell Rock.” By the time the New Year rolls around, we’re just too exhausted to do anything more than snuggle under a blanket and watch the new season of Glee.

Alas, few of us have the option of living a life of luxury where no action is required. Is there a cure for procrastination? Respite from the fever, the chills and the guilt from failing to make an appointment because you were catching up on “Jersey Shore?”

I know when I procrastinate, there’s an underlying cause for the illness – a virus of indecision, if you will. Maybe I don’t have everything I need to get started, I might need a bigger block of time to get something done, or perhaps the task is something I don’t like spending time on … but it’s something I must do.

A little scrutiny is like a Z-Pak for the procrastinator, and just getting started tends to be my miracle cure. Very often, the sense of accomplishment creates enough energy to push through that task list until I am officially a procrastinator no more.

So if you are waiting on someone (like me) to return a phone call, write a blog post, make an appointment or send an email, please be patient. We’re under the weather. But there’s some good news: progress is being made, and it looks like recovery is just around the corner. We’ll be back to our timely, Type-A selves before you know it.

And with that, I can cross this article off my list.

Amy M. Dawson is a writer, blogger and public relations strategist living in Atlanta. She doesn’t actually watch “Jersey Shore”, but knows people who do.

©2011 Amy McCormick Dawson

The Real Turkey at Thanksgiving

Northside Woman magazine is still working on its web site. I'll post my articles here until NSW is back up and running. -- Amy

One of my favorite Thanksgiving Day traditions is listening to my loved ones give thanks for good health, a loving family and the plethora of casseroles with the main ingredient of cheddar cheese placed before them. I am thankful, in spades, for those very things and so much more.

So why is it I sometimes must resist the urge spurt out unruly thoughts like “I am thankful Target is open today so while you suckers are walking off the 9,000 calories you are about to consume I can check out their selection of holiday cards”?

And this is before I’ve even had a glass of wine.

All kidding aside, I wonder what we would say if we went beyond the obvious and expressed gratitude for the less significant, yet still important, things we appreciate. The underdogs of our thankfulness repertoire, if you will … because sometimes I wonder if we’re missing the real meaning of being thankful by failing to acknowledge the little things. For example, I am thankful for:

Caller ID. Seriously, I have no idea how I was ever brave enough to pick up the phone without knowing if it was a friend from college calling to share a juicy tidbit or a nosy neighbor asking me to watch her twin Tasmanian devils suffering from croup, the measles, and the ebola virus.

My ability to remember the words to every song ever written. Only my children and husband know how I use this talent, along with rather loud singing, to manipulate the atmosphere during any journey in a car.

The fact that digital cameras and Facebook came long after my college days. I have a feeling there are lots of you out there just like me. Feel free to give thanks at the table this year.

Salt-and-vinegar-flavored potato chips. I can only imagine the offense which would be taken if I offered thanks for chips while seated in the hemisphere with Aunt Betty’s sweet potato pie, but there is no problem in the world I cannot solve with the assistance of a good product from Frito-Lay. Well, perhaps there are some algebraic equations, but that’s for another article.

That in the world of pre-teens, a Pop-Tart will suffice as breakfast until an adult is awake. The day that I woke up to discover my children had advanced to fetching themselves sustenance and maneuvering the remote was better than when they slept through the night for the first time.

My husband’s willingness to do the bulk of the weekly grocery shopping. He was driven to this course of action by complete desperation (either he’d go to the store or we would subsist on 8-day-old celery and peanut butter.) Fifteen years later, I remain extremely grateful.

This season, let’s remember being constantly thankful for things that seem trivial allows us to appreciate our many more substantial blessings more keenly.

That, and drinking a glass of wine before stuffing yourself with turkey has the potential to end with Aunt Betty snatching up her casserole and storming out. If this happens, I suggest consoling yourself with potato chips.

©2010 Amy McCormick Dawson. All Rights Reserved.

Read All About It

I've been waiting for the paper that publishes my columns to post my most recent article to their web site. They are having technical difficulties with their web site (ie, the web technician resigned and they've not replaced him yet), so I'm posting the article in its entirety here. Enjoy! (PS - If you are interested in publishing this article to your blog, newsletter or web site, just drop me a line at amymacpr@gmail.com!)

Read All About It by Amy M. Dawson

Between sporting events, mountain getaways, Halloween, and the impending holidays, time for quiet relaxation during the autumn months is hard to find. Curling up on the couch with a riveting book is, in my opinion, perfect respite from the chaos. With a book being published about every hour, I’ve got to believe there’s a great read out there for everyone.

Reading has always been one of my favorite pastimes. In grade school, I gobbled up books like a castaway at a hot-meal buffet. I loved Little Women by Louisa May Alcott so much I read all 643 pages in about five days (though I still bear minor rancor toward Ms. Alcott regarding certain events affecting Beth.)

Even a treacherous encounter with a chilling book couldn’t scare me away from reading. When I was nine, I swiped a copy of my dad’s copy of The Ghosts of Flight 401 detailing the paranormal after-effects of a 1972 plane crash. It seemed a pretty innocuous read in the daylight hours.

I read 10 pages, calculated a high probability of our house being haunted by ghosts from an aviation disaster, and slept with my bedroom lights brighter than an operating room’s for the next six months. I didn’t stop reading, but I developed an extreme aversion to bright lights and pilots with creepy eyes as a direct result of that little blip on my literary reel.

I like to think my love of reading originates from the typical Southerner’s appreciation of a well-told story. Thanks to the rich, captivating storytelling of various gifted authors, I’ve visited 1960s Mississippi through the eyes of an African-American maid, seen the horrors of war (and a flag-raising) at Iwo Jima, navigated through a raging snowstorm while descending from the summit of Mt. Everest, and landed front-row tickets to the circus during The Great Depression.

I love that reading isn’t like an Olympic sport, where unless you start training in utero, you’re behind the eight-ball. I enjoy sharing reading experiences with my kids. Once they get over their astonishment the printing press was invented prior to my birth, we find quite a bit of common ground with my grade-school self and their grade-school selves.

Reading a good book is like travelling in a time machine – either into the past, the future, or the world of make-believe. It’s an effortless method of expanding your vocabulary. A good book sharpens your imagination and breaks down barriers. A well-written story can clarify your values and broaden your horizons. It can shake the foundation of everything you’ve ever believed, help you see an opposing viewpoint with greater empathy, or just make you feel happy.

Or, it can scare the heck out of you. I looked up that ghost book on the internet and got a chill as soon as I saw the cover. Tonight, I’m reading a happy book about sunshine and daisies – and I’m sleeping with my lights on.

Amy M. Dawson is an Atlanta-based writer and public relations consultant. She writes about marketing and integrating work, family and life at amymacpr.blogspot.com.

©Amy McCormick Dawson 2010. All Rights Reserved.

The Real Secret to Staying Sane During Back to School Chaos

In the rush to get school supplies (and complete the ten million other necessary tasks to get ready for a new school year), I feel it would be helpful to have a back-to-school list to keep mothers sane. I write about it here, and would love to hear ideas from you – real and imagined – that might help moms through the first few weeks of school without losing our minds.

And, hey – who says the kids should be the only ones with the cute notebooks, folders and writing pads? The folks at Carolina Pad make some of the cutest school and office supplies around, and they’re going to give a little bundle away to Amy Mac readers! Leave a comment by August 31 to be entered.

The photo in this blog entry was taken with my iPhone with a very groovy application called Hipstamatic which allows you to create retro photographs with your iPhone camera – check it out!

XO-Amy Mac

Greetings from the Gulf Coast, where I would toss my laptop into the surf a la the Corona commercials, but I'm pretty sure I can't throw that far and I am certainly not ruining this relaxing moment to get up off this chair and walk over to the water to toss it in. So this is just a case where the thought is gonna have to count.

Anywho, in honor of Mother's Day, I've written my most recent article about .... Mother's Day. I can see the shock and surprise on your faces all the way from here. I hope you like it ... and I'm wondering, if you could get one thing for Mother's Day that isn't actually a "thing," what would it be?

Hitting the Road

For my most recent Northside Woman article I issued this plea via Facebook:

Writing an article (due today, naturally) about Road Trips with Kids - what's your favorite tip for keeping them entertained in the car (and dosing them with Benadryl does NOT count as a good tip)? What's your favorite road trip memory from when you were a youngster?

Friends submitted the most fantastic responses, but my stringent word limit for the article kept me from sharing them all … but the memories and tips for travelling with kids were too good to keep to myself. Enjoy!

I distinctly remember riding in the back of our station wagon on the way to my Grandparents on Christmas Eve. I saw Western Barbie in her shiny Barbie box through the cracks into the trunk in the back and wondered to myself why we were giving my cousin Alice that Barbie when I had asked Santa for one. Miraculously Santa delivered to me a western Barbie that next morning! It still took me years to figure out what was really happening!

We play the ABC game with road signs. But, I actually just saw these cards at Learning Express for dinner games. I'm buying those for us to play this summer when we drive back to Texas.

We always played the ABC game... Where you had to spot every letter of the alphabet on road signs or license plate... We would keep our fingers crossed to pass "q"uick stops, e"x"xons, or e"z" marts... Those last few letters were always the hardest... Of course Ellen and I would also sing all the songs from our tape of the Grease soundtrack... she always got to sing Sandy’s parts, and I got stuck singing Danny’s

(the sister’s response) of course I sang Sandy's part... we also counted cows (whatever side of the car you were on was the side of the road your cows would be on) not sure that was exactly fun but we did it and somehow I think I won every time (there is no way I would have cheated). Now with the boys we just put a DVD in and are good to go.

She always got to sing Sandy's parts, and I always got stuck singing Danny's... I'm sure Chris would have killed for a DVD player-- if only they'd existed back then!She always got to sing Sandy's parts, and I always got stuck singing Danny's... I'm sure Chris would have killed for a DVD player-- if only they'd existed back then!

Listening to books on cd (Chronicles of Narnia—the present favorite), switching seats mid-trip (this always restores peace), handing out toys/books that I have kept hidden for a month or so before the trip (they respond like I've given them something brand new) . . . looking forward to reading it!

I LOVE LOVE hearing these stories! My children would, of course, dub these "Pioneer Days Stories." They are always stunned to discover when I was little it was perfectly legal not only to ride around without a seatbelt, but that, as a tyke, I was frequently allowed to stand up in the front seat on the way to the store. Though, upon further scrutiny, that seems to push even the boundaries of 1970s safety....

These days we take two cars! Divide & conquer!

Ok, my mom always had Tootsie Pops and we counted how many licks it took to get to the middle. Once you got to the thinnest layer of candy coating you just couldn't help but bite it, thus, losing! We had to listen to real country music, Johnny Cash, Tammy Wynette, on 8-Track!! We also slept, with no seat belts, in the back part of the car (a Suburban so there were no seats, it was just flat.)

My mom had a bag of pennies and she would be creative, first one to find a black sheep gets a penny, we would be quiet and intently look for the black sheep. First one to find a dog in a car, a lady wearing a hat, etc. Then we could spend our pennies in the souvenir shop at our destination. I also loved the invisible ink books, still have them today and my kids love them!

Riding to West Tenn. from Disneyworld with the family of 4 and a 3-foot stuffed Mickey Mouse taking the middle of the back of a VW rabbit...

We used to drive to LA from Nashville from '73 - '80 around Christmas to visit Aunt and Uncle. We slept in the back of a Mercury station wagon ( think Griswolds) with no seat belts, but we did have a TV and VCR (mom was an electrical genius). We watched so many episodes of NOVA and National Geographic. Every year we would stop to ski somewhere out West – parents would take a different route every year. One year my parents gave us our own CB to play with on the trip. It’s amazing what truckers will talk about. I didn’t understand most of it at the time.

When our son was 18 months old we were driving up to Wisc. to visit. He was crying and really fussy (his sister was sleeping) so I opened up a Gogurt and handed it to him. He was so very happy and so very quite. Half an hour later I looked backed at them and the entire back seat was covered with Gogurt! He had flung it all around my brand new BMW. The roof, the dog even his sleeping sister was covered in the stuff! It kept him quite but I wouldn't recommend it - Jim was very happy to see us!

As much as I love being "published" (ha ha), I'm fresh out of ideas for road trips. I hate them!!! My only tip is to try to be the parent who drives, so your spouse has to deal with the kids' fights, passing back snacks, Kleenex, changing out the DVD's, and, God forbid, car sickness.

It's not old fashioned like alphabet billboard. We do the dvd thing. We travel A LOT. We do all of our shopping, dentists, & doctors 6 hours away. My biggest secret is for mom. Not really a secret, but I NEVER drive w/out a great book on my Ipod. Earphones work fine. Since it's not constant music I can hear the road safely.

My dad used to put 10 Hershey's Kisses in a row on the dashboard at the beginning of a trip. If we misbehaved, he would take one off and eat it in front of us. Whatever was left at the end of the trip we got to eat. Don't recall ever eating one.

Played "pa-diddle" (not sure how to spell it), the game when you look for a car or truck missing a headlight? Loved that game as a kid! These days we play the geography game when you say a city/state/country etc and the next one has to start with the last letter of the previous one...fun one! The girls love the alphabet animal or food game when you say something that starts with A and the next person says something that starts with B and so on! Can’t wait to read this article! You always crack me up!

Are my Facebook friends the smartest, most resourceful parents on the planet? Yes, they are. The best things I’ve learned about parenting I’ve learned from friends – and I hope you learn a few tricks for travelling with kids from this post!

Click here to read the full article! And become an Amy Mac Fan on Facebook, too!

Vogue - Beauty's Where You Find It

Ah, the young and fashionable. What's more fun than playing dress up ... and being lucky enough that your friends' mom is a photographer? Here's my latest article - this one about parenting little people who are (already) dabbling in fashion. XO-Amy Mac

September Sneak Preview

Wouldn’t it be nice to see into the future? It would totally be helpful with key decisions (buy a new car now or wait until the first of the year? Will I get the birthday gift I want, or should I get it for myself? Who will win …. well, you get the point.)

I can’t see into the future, but I can give you a glimpse of my next article. I think it’s only fair, since you helped write it. Enjoy!

I Wish That I Knew What I Know Now ... When I Was Younger

I’m getting alarming close to yet another birthday, which got me to thinking … if I could go back and give my younger self (that's me in the center of the above photo) advice from this “older, wiser” perspective, what would it be? For example, I’d definitely say “an ounce of sunscreen is worth a pound of wrinkle cream.”

What advice would you give your younger self? Particularly from a beauty perspective, but really any perspective will do. Be sure to tell me how old you are, where you’re from, and be forewarned I’m writing an article for the paper (but I won’t identify you by name without your permission!)

XO, Amy Mac

The Ten-Year Learning Curve

Anyone who has a child (whether a brand-new baby or one old enough for college) has read a parenting book. Lots of them are full of sound advice, and some of them are ... not. I recently wrote an article for Northside Woman about a few things I wish I'd read in a book when my girls were tiny babies. What advice do you have for new moms that they'll never read in a book?

Sunshine on my Shoulders

Here's a link to my latest article for Northside Woman. Here's to sunscreen on a sunny day - Enjoy!

The Witching Hour

As you may already know, I write an article for a local, monthly publication. Sometimes there’s a theme I write around (like Mother’s Day, or summer fun) and sometimes they just set me loose with whatever I want to write.

For an upcoming article, I’m going to write about “The Witching Hour,” that time of day where kids of all ages seem to fall apart. If there’s a fit to be pitched, an argument to battle, a knee to skin or white carpet to spill grape juice upon, 3 p.m. to 7 p.m. is the time for it to all go down.

I used to think the frayed nerves of the hour was an exclusive privilege of moms of infants and toddlers, and that my children would grow out of it, much like they outgrew the need for a nap. My kids are nearly 8 and 10 years of age respectively, and …. well, let’s just say someone burst into tears yesterday because we ordered her pizza instead of pasta at the restaurant for dinner. Seriously.

So parents of kids of all ages, send me your stories! Is there a Witching Hour at your house? (If not, can I move in with you?) What’s your best Witching Hour story? Did you figure out a legal way to keep the Witching Hour at bay? If so, I’d like to know!

Send your stories to amymacpr@comcast.net no later than June 30, and be sure to include your full name and contact information.

May Day

Wasn't it just yesterday that we were in our favorite bookstores, wearing heavy coats, scarves and mittens, buying our 2009 calendars?

Are the blooming flowers taking anyone else by surprise?

Are you where you intended to be when setting your goals for the year? Darn that storage room.



XO - Amy Mac

Spring Cleaning

Follow this link to my latest article in Northside Woman about the perils of Spring Cleaning.