Wonderfully Dysfunctional

I Would Never Let MY Kids Walk to School

2011-04-10T11:02:00.010-04:00

U.S. Department of Transportation reports that in 1969 only 12% of kids were driven to school. Today, that number has quadrupled, while the number of kids walking or biking has fallen to a despicable 13%.

When I was a kid I didn't walk to school uphill both ways, but I did walk. I walked in the snow, in the rain, when I was sick and once with a sprained ankle. We all carried our books in our arms because book bags were for sissies. And when it rained, nobody had an umbrella or a ride home.

I never once heard Mom say, “Hi sweetie, I'm here to pick you up 'cause it's raining. Here are your headphones so you can watch a movie on the ride home.” And somehow I think I’m much better off having never heard it.

We no longer build tree forts, we buy them. We don’t watch movies with our kids at the drive-ins. Instead, we drive while our kids watch movies. We control our kid's free time and read eHow.com articles like “How to Plan the Perfect Play Date.” Every morning I join the climate-controlled car line at the bus stop. Is anyone else disgusted?

We all know that unstructured play is instrumental in the development of a well adjusted child, but still we follow the masses to soccer signups and cheer tryouts. Why should our children be left out? What choice do we have? The Let Kids Just Play article written by Berkley.edu confirms that “unstructured play time is actually more important than homework.”

So, how can I combat this parental trend without ostracizing my kids from all of their friends? I have no idea, but for the next week, I’m going to use Mom’s translations for all my common parenting phrases:

I would say	Mom would say
“Time for your Play Date”	“Get outside and don’t come in ‘till dinner.”
“You need a Time Out”	“You’re in deep shit.”
“Organized Sports”	“Summer Rec, Pickup games and Curb-Ball”
“Helicopter Parent”	There’s no translation. Abstinence is the only choice.

Sorry to cut this post short, but I’ve gotta get to the bus stop to pick up the kids. After all, it's raining, their book bags are heavy, and we have some play dates to plan.

How will you rid yourself of modern parenting?

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Wonderfully Dysfunctional

It Must be Genetic

A Memoir by Buffi Neal

A gypsy mother who refused to wear a bra and a father who had two wives. A brother who slept under the coffee table and a sister who was kidnapped. A homosexual minister, a missing uncle and a feisty red-headed grandmother who was longing to leave it all.

I always knew my family was unusual, but I was lucky enough to have escaped that gene. Or was I? In a nursing home, seated next to my dying grandmother, I looked around at my family and it occurred to me that I fit right in. No bra, dirty sneakers and two ex husbands. Maybe it really is genetic - maybe I never had a chance.

With the help of my siblings, I began a journey of self discovery as we recalled stories of our youth including juicy family secrets, inappropriate practical jokes and betrayal.

On a journey to find normal, I found myself instead.

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Protect Our Children, Stop Keeping Score?

2011-04-02T19:02:00.006-04:00

When I was a kid, Field Day was the Olympics of grade school. It was a day we looked forward to all year. It was our chance to win the coveted blue First-Place ribbon in kickball, sprints or the three-legged race.

It was my daughter’s fifth grade Field Day and I was in charge of the basketball throwing station. Adrenalin-filled voices echoed through the school yard, tickling my memories.

I instructed the kids, “Each team member gets one shot. The team with the highest score wins...”

A designer-clothes-wearing volunteer mom interrupted, “Oh no. We don’t keep score. Everybody’s a winner.”

Another Nosey-Nelly added, “She’s right. This is Field Day. This is supposed to be fun.”

What’s not fun about keeping score? These kids are ten; I think they can count. It’s mathematically and logically impossible for everyone to be a winner.

I said, “I tell you what, next year, you sign up to be Class Mom. Then you run field day however the hell you want. This year we’re keepin’ score.”

When did “Everybody’s-A-Winner” awards and “You-Participated” gold medals replace Fist-Place trophies? What are we teaching our children with these? Maybe an undeserved award will boost their self esteem. Maybe they can stare at the awards and pretend they don’t know who really won.

In the Newsweek article Winning Isn’t Everything…, Leslie Goldman writes, “But after a certain age, sports aren’t just about fun and games. They are a critical tool to teaching kids about discipline, hard work, and winning and losing.”

Life is unfair, but we can’t make it fair by pretending everyone’s a winner. We can make it fair by teaching our kids how to win gracefully and loose with dignity and find their special talent – that one thing that they want to achieve. We’re not all awarded the valedictorian title or presidential job, but we can all strive for it. In America, that’s called opportunity.

There’s much to be learned from losing and much to be learned from winning. I’m just not sure what’s learned from pretending we’re not competing.

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Wonderfully Dysfunctional

It Must be Genetic

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Contributing to the Delinquency of my Minors?

2011-02-25T09:30:00.007-05:00

Some families play Monopoly, some play Chutes-n-Ladders. In my house the game of choice is Poker. Texas Hold ‘Em.

To make it even more deplorable, we don’t play for silly prizes or trinkets. No way! We play for money, green hard cash. If the kids want to play, they know to bring their piggy banks because Mommy doesn’t bank roll their gambling.

Not everyone appreciates our love for Poker. During family parties, my children are banned from the poker table. Family members scold: “It’s inappropriate… You’re raising degenerates … Gambling leads to crime.” And my personal favorite, “What next? Money laundering?” But they’re scolding me while counting chips and peaking at their own poker hands.

Why do I let them play Poker? Because poker is our equalizer. It bridges the gap between our ages. My teens become people. We interact, laugh and talk. It works for us.

Why not play board games? I wish I liked board games. Really I do. But I’d rather stick hot burning embers in my eyes than play with paper money or dice. I hate board games and my kids can tell – they know when Mom’s bluffing ;-).

A well-known Harvard law professor Charles Nesson wants to teach kids the skills of life using poker. He says, “Though just a game, poker teaches survival skills and encourages the development of good instincts. A good poker player learns to size up the competition quickly and decide where potential risks lie."

Acquiring math and life skills is just a bonus. I spend a lot of my time teaching, lecturing, or punishing my kids. Poker allows me to just play with them. Don’t worry, it’s not casino central every night. Here are other equalizers we’ve found:

Cooking Channel – A compromise between their teen-trash and my chick flicks.
Colombo DVD series –Colombo rocks and is good for ages 9 and up.
Trampoline – Jumping on the trampoline reminds the kids that Mom’s not so old.
Set – A card game that doesn’t include betting and bluffing. Yes, we have some!

I’m not saying Poker is the answer for you. And I’m not picketing the schools to get poker into the classrooms. I’m saying find what suits your family and don’t be afraid to look outside the norm.

What are your equalizers?

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Entrepreneur or Thief?

2011-02-18T09:18:00.009-05:00

The Principal called me last night and said, “We have a big problem.”

She must have dialed the wrong number because my kids are perfect. I said, “Really?”

“Your son is selling the use of his iPod.”
“Oh, that.”
“He was polite and honest when I confronted him. Did you know he's collected over $60?”
“I know. Pretty smart huh?”
The principal barked, “It’s against school policy.”

Wait a minute. What about your fundraisers? You gave my son wrapping paper and candles and sent him out like a traveling sales man. You enticed him with promises of a Super Grand Prize that he was convinced he’d win. Hmmm… I wonder where he got the idea it was okay to sell at school?

The principal continued, “We expect your son to return all of the money.”
“He didn’t bully anyone. He wasn’t charging for friendship. He was providing a service and they bought it. It’s an iPod, not crack.”
The principal said, “I’ll be contacting the parents of the other kids.”

Great. Let’s really punish those kids for participating in the foundation of our country’s economic system. Kids have been putting quarters in pinball machines for years. They get value and the owner of the pinball machine gets compensated. It’s called Capitalism. I agree my son should not be breaking any rules, but return the money?

“No problem. My son will bring back all of the money tomorrow.”

He’ll also be bringing in some wrapping paper and I’ll be expecting a $45 refund too. It’ll be a great lesson for my son about how the customer is always right and the duty of a business to provide refunds.

I wonder what the other kids will learn from this?

* Disclaimer for the lawyers: The conversation above is a representation of a real conversation. My mind is not capable of recalling the exact words. I am in no way condoning breaking school rules, nor am I criticizing the actions of the principal. We all have our jobs and mine is to parent.

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Taming the Bully

2011-02-11T19:23:00.007-05:00

CBSNewYork.com reports, “The Department of Education estimates as many as 160,000 children a day stay home from school because of the threat.”

There are all degrees of bullying and sometimes kids can even be bullied by adults. On her second week of First grade, I asked my daughter, “Why don’t you want to buy lunch at school anymore?”

She said, “’cause the Lunch Lady screams at me.”

Fighting back all instincts to race to school and kick some crotchety-ass, I said, “There’s only one thing we can do. Bake her cookies.”

We baked the cookies together and imagined why the Lunch Lady was so mean. Maybe she just had a hard life. Maybe she planned on retiring to Florida with her high school sweetheart, but he died before they ever made it out of New Jersey. Now she’s stuck making grilled-cheese sandwiches and mopping floors. Or maybe she just hates the way she looks in a hairnet. We don’t know her story.

My daughter packed the cookies into a brown lunch bag and wrote: To My Lunch Lady, Love Amanda.

She brought cookies to school and handed them over, reluctantly. The Lunch Lady didn’t even glance down. She screamed, “Move it!”

But when Amanda turned around to look at the beast she saw it. It was so brief and subtle anyone else would have missed it completely. A wink and a smile. Lunch Lady never screamed at Amanda again.

Not only did my daughter tame the heart of the bologna-beast, she also learned a few life lessons:

Don't be the victim
You have more power than you think
Love is much stronger than hatred
Trust your Mommy

Not all bullies should be tamed. I teach my kids the first step is to tell someone.

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Don’t Judge the Bully

2011-02-03T07:29:00.007-05:00

Even in our sweet little country town, there are bullies masquerading in clean-cut haircuts and Abercrombie polos. They can be found in the schoolyard, on the bus, and even in my neighborhood. They taunt, push, spit, steal seats and say stupid things like, “Nobody likes you,” and “You’re gay.”

In the Yahoo News article by Steven Nelson, New Jersey Governor Chris Christie signs ‘Anti-Bullying Bill of Rights’ into law, State Sen. Diane Allen said, “We cannot change human nature, we can change how government and school officials respond to unacceptable behavior.”

Bullies are not new. I remember watching them beat up the same kid every day. I didn't know what to do and I still regret not doing anything. My kids will not regret. I put together four simple rules for my kids to follow:

Don’t be The Bully. You can’t control others, but you can yourself. Joining a Bully makes you a Bully.
Help the underdog. You don’t have a choice. You must help. Even if you feel weird, even if it makes you unpopular, and even if you’re scared. Helping may be telling a teacher. Doing nothing makes you a Bully.
Never hit first. Always hit back. If someone lays their hands, feet or teeth on you, hit them back harder.
Never hit a girl, even if she’s The Bully. Let God take care of her punishment.

I tell my kids to think about what a terrible life The Bully must have. Maybe The Bully has a mean daddy who hits him every night. Maybe The Bully has a mean older brother, or a dying parent.

Don’t be The Bully , Don’t put up with The Bully and Don’t judge The Bully.

How do you teach your kids about bullying?

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Good Mommies Don’t Bribe Their Kids

2011-01-24T09:21:00.009-05:00

I guess I’m a bad mommy, ‘cause bribing is rampant in our home.

A recent TIME cover story Should Kids Be Bribed to Do Well in School? by Amanda Ripley shows bribing may have merits.

"Money is not enough. (It never is.) But for some kids, it may be part of the solution. In the end, we all want our children to grow into self-motivated adults. The question is, How do we help them get there? And is it possible that at least for some kids, the road is paved not with stickers but with $20 bills?"

There are plenty of things my kids have to do “because I said so” like clean their rooms, take out the garbage and kiss me good night. But, there are other things they should have a choice about. They are, after all, human beings with free will. This is where my bribing comes in.

Here's some cash I've recently paid out:
$5 – to play with younger cousin
$2 – to smile for a picture
$10 – to pick up a dead mouse (I would have paid more)
$1 – to warm up the car
$3 – to taste zucchini
$20 – to get a crew cut
$50 – for straight A’s

Most of the time, we settle on a price. But sometimes, like when I offered $10 and a Starbuck’s Hot Coco to take a picture on Santa’s lap, they just say no.

I think, if done properly, bribing has a place in a happy home. What do you think?

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Almost a Shoplifter

2010-12-29T09:23:00.011-05:00

My teens and I went to Walmart to get some sleds. After picking out the coolest sleds we could find, we rounded the corner, and something made me stop. It was a blue Tony Hawk stunt bike – classic, only $49 bucks, and the perfect size for my 9 year old nephew.

I called my sister. “Tami, I know we don’t do gifts for the kids, but there’s this bike. I don’t know why, but I’m supposed to buy it.”

Tami said, “Well... Ryly’s bike was stolen out of the shed last week, and we don’t have the money to get him a new one.”

Hanging up the phone, I said, “Okay, kids, we’re getting that bike for Ryly. He won't care that it’s the cheapest bike in Walmart.”

We took our treasure to the checkout counter, when it rang up at $124, I nearly choked. I said, “Can you double-check that price?”

“The bike is $124,” the clerk snapped. “The numbers don’t even match on that price tag.”

A line began to form behind me; impatient shoppers gave me the stink-eye. The checkout clerk called the supervisor, and together they discovered the $49.99 tag had been taken from some other item. Twenty minutes later, when the Supervisor rang for the Assistant Manager, I started to get scared.

Maybe they thought I was trying to steal the bike! The thought made me shiver. But the surveillance tapes will save me…Shit! The surveillance tapes! They’ll see my kids and me riding the bikes up and down the aisles! They’ll see us stopping at the accessory aisle to fill the tires with air! They'll see...

My thoughts were interrupted when the Supervisor said, “What are we going to do?”
The Assistant Manager said, “We’re going to give them the bike for $49.99.”

And that’s how, my children learned the power of giving. I wish you could’ve seen my nephew riding his Tony Hawk stunt bike: no shoes, no jacket, all smiles.

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The Kids on the Bus Told Me...

2010-12-21T04:55:00.014-05:00

Do you have a scrooge dragging down your holiday spirit? Or do you wish it was Halloween, so you could put on the witch costume? Are the radio stations, cranking out their Christmas tunes, making you feel like running your car into a tree? Or maybe buying DVDs, iPods and Kindles has you longing for simpler times, when parents gave gifts like sleds and bikes.

If so, maybe this story will bring you back to a trouble-free time in your life – a time when school was fun and spinach was disgusting. Think back to when your only worry was wondering if Santa got that letter you mailed him, and if he’d overlook that ball you chucked through the neighbor’s window. Remember? Remember waiting in line for your turn to tell the big guy that special gift you’d been wanting…since almost last Christmas, even?

My sister Randi was talking to her her eight year old son, Dean, and it went something like this:

Dean: “Mom, the kids on the bus told me there’s no such thing as Santa.”
Randi: “They don’t believe? Well, I feel sorry for them.”
Dean: “Mom. I’m not a little kid anymore, you know.”
Randi (fighting back tears): “I know. You’re a big boy.”
Dean: “You can't fool me. I know the truth about Santa. All these Santas in the mall and on T.V. are fake. The real Santa’s home making all the toys. Right, Ma?”
Randi: “Cant fool you, Deany.”

I found my Christmas spirit through the eyes of an eight year old. Where'd you find yours?

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I Wish Mom Wore a Bra

2010-10-13T17:52:00.012-04:00

My son said to me, “Why do you always wear grey?”

I said, “Because I like to wear grey.”

When I was a kid, I wished my mom wore poodle skirts and sweater sets. I wished she wore a checkered apron and she served us home cooked meatloaf dinners. Hell, I wished she just wore a bra when she met my teachers.

Maybe my kids wish I were different. Maybe they wish I looked like the women in magazines. Like that girl who married Tom Cruise – she always looks put together. They should sign me up for “What Not to Wear” and I could show all the viewers just how inept I am at looking the way a woman should look. They’d cut my hair and buy me a hounds-tooth jacket with matching designer shoes and I’d look perfect. Right?

Probably. But I don’t want to look perfect. I’d rather feel perfect and I'd rather let my kids see the real me. The me that wears grey sweatshirts to parent-teacher conferences. The me that spells worse than a third grader. And the me that has worn the same hairstyle for the past twenty years.

Do I still wish my mom was different? Sometimes. I still wish she wore a bra more. But wearing her ripped jeans and second-hand specials, my mother taught me to ignore the judgment of others.

Do I wish I was different? Sometimes. But most of the time I’m quite happy to be me. Ripped jeans, t-shirt, and a no-name I-forgot-where-I-put-it pocketbook. And sometimes… when I want to… I break out the designer outfit and kick-it Vogue-style. Just for me.

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A special thanks to Judie - from Rogue Artists. She graciously helped me break the block! Go checkout her blog here.

What's She Thinking?

2010-08-18T08:47:00.010-04:00

My daughter took this picture using the timer on her camera. She edited it with picnik. How I wish I had the creativity of a child. What's she thinking? Only two weeks left of summer vacation.

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Jump off the Balcony

2010-08-12T07:05:00.008-04:00

Got writers block? Jump.

Agents rejecting you? Jump.

Someone said your writing is rambling? Jump.

My kids are always jumping off our second floor balcony. Don’t ring up Social Services… they land on the couch.

Today I decided to try it myself. I climbed over the railing and stood on the edge. “I was a kid once. I used to do back flips off diving boards twice this high.”

The kids cheered, “Jump Mom,” and “You can do it,” followed by, “Don’t be scared.”

And you know what? I didn’t jump. Why? Because I’m forty-two-freakin’ years old. I hung my head and took the walk-of-shame down the stairs. I complain all the time about wanting to have the exuberance of youth, yet when faced with an opportunity to feel the excitement, I held back.

It got me thinking. Where else in my life am I afraid?

I thought about my book. Because when you’re writing, everything pertains to the book, right? I thought about the never-ending editing cycle, the queries... the rejections. And I am afraid.

Here are examples of how I stopped being afraid and started jumping:

I’ve got writer’s block.

I forced myself to finish my chapter. Here’s what I did:
- I put my pad and paper in a baggie and rowed myself up a river in a canoe.
- I asked my kids to write the ending. Kids have magical insight.
- I wrote naked. I wrote while eating. I wrote while cooking.
- I took a road trip. Pen and paper in my lap.
- I set the alarm for 3 A.M. to write. I wrote some incoherent stuff about root beer and went back to bed.

Someone said my writing is rambling.
I considered, for a moment, that my chapter was rambling. Scary thought. I read that chapter over and over again. I forced friends to read it too. I read a book on writing skills. I know. I know. I’m rambling. Finally, I gave in. I rewrote that damn chapter and it’s glorious.

"You'll never publish a memoir unless your famous."
I submitted my memoir to ten more agents.

Sometimes when we’re standing at the edge,
we don’t need anyone to talk us down.

We just need a push.

Sorry Eleanor Roosevelt, but I disagree

2010-06-19T08:21:00.005-04:00

Eleanor Roosevelt said, "It takes courage to love..." Sorry Eleanor, but I disagree. I think it’s easy to love.

There was a time in my life when I loved him and he loved another. Lying alone on the cold tile of our bathroom floor I wished I didn’t love. I wondered what was wrong with me. I wished I was her and I prayed for courage.

Many years later I can see clearly now: It’s easy to love. It takes courage to stop loving.

As a young mom I held my babies close. I memorized every freckle on their little noses. I knew the origin of each bruise and scrape. It’s 10 o’clock and I’m picking up my teens from the movie theatre. Cell phones and bras replace the pacifiers and diapers. I bite a nail for each minute I wait to see them safely enter my car. Tonight, when they’re fast asleep, I’ll hold them tight again.

Everyday my children teach me: It’s easy to love. It takes courage to let go.

I kept a journal of poems all through my life. Every now and then I would read a few to someone special, someone safe. Blogging has opened me up to an audience of passionate, intelligent, funny and sometimes crazy women. I read your blogs and I’m in love. I envy the freedom you have with your words. How can I be that funny or poetic? I hit the “publish” button and cringe. I read my post a dozen times and it never sounds good enough.

Blogging forces me to remember: It’s easy to love. It takes courage to let others love you.

This was my first guest post on: The Scoop on Poop

Ice Cream for Breakfast

2010-06-18T10:17:00.012-04:00

Today The Drama Mama over at The Scoop on Poop gave me a shout-out and tomorrow I'll be a guest writer on her blog.

She asked me to write about the words “Love” and “Courage”.

I smuggly said, “Love and Courage. No problem. Got that covered.”

I finished my coffee ice cream then opened my journal to begin writing. Then it happened. Nothing. I had nothing profound or interesting to say about Love and Courage.

An old quote got lodged in my head.. ”It takes courage to love…” by Eleanor Roosevelt

Not unique, not my favorite quote, and not even sure I agree with it.

I insited, "Go away Eleanor" but she remained. Finally I gave in and began reading other quotes by the amazing Eleanor (was she ever without insight?). I stumbled across this one and my mind was free:

"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face... Do the thing you thing you cannot do.” by Eleanor Roosevelt

Eleanor Roosevelt gives me inspiration today to write

without the fear of judgment.

Wish me luck in finishing my guest post.

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Don’t be the victim of your own glass ceiling.

2010-06-09T10:13:00.005-04:00

If you don’t strive to attain what you feel might be unattainable, you will never really know the limits of your potential.
I believe we fall victim to our own limitations every day.

Wikipedia defines Glass Ceiling as:
Ceiling: “a limitation blocking upward advancement”
Glass:"transparent because the limitation is not immediately apparent”

Break the Ceiling

Shatter it, climb up and don’t look down.
Here are 5 steps to help you find that ceiling:
(after all, it’s invisible and you might not even know where you put it!)

Pick one aspect of your life that you want to progress or a new goal you feel is unattainable.
(for example: money, job, family, blog, writing, preaching, coaching)
Me: I want to be a published author.
Find an example of someone who has achieved your unattainable goal.
Me: There are so many, how can I choose? Ok.. here are two of my favorites. Both of these women are accomplished authors of memoirs.

Sarah Saffian author of Ithaka: A Daughter’s Memoir of Being Found
Elizabeth Gilbert author of Eat, Pray, Love
Tell yourself why you CAN'T do what they did.
Me: I can’t be a published author because: I’m not famous. I don’t have a degree in English or writing. I don’t have an agent. I don’t have the financial means for editors or publicist. I’m just a jersey girl, ex computer geek, who knows nothing about publishing a book. Wow… I feel worse now than I did before this exercise.
Take off the blindfold, you’ve just found your ceiling.
Me: Ok… All of the reasons stated in #3 are true. I can’t change them. BUT… my ceiling is that I ASSUME these are reasons I won’t get published. If I let these doubts rule me, then I won’t even try, hence the ceiling. If I let my own limitations prevent me from climbing, then one thing is certain, I will never get there.
What next?
Seeing clearly is the first step to success.
Tune in next week for: How to keep yourself from keeping you back

Now go. Find your ceiling and let us all know about it.

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A Bath, a Book, a Cup of Tea

2010-05-24T10:50:00.008-04:00

Tonight I reserve just for me

A bath, a book, a cup of tea

My day was spent just like the rest

Job and family, I do my best

Laundry, bills, some dishes too

Come, I’ll read that book to you

Dress-up time is always fun

Kids in bed, the day is done

Fast asleep my children lay

This I’ve waited for all day

To take some time to pamper me

My bath, my book, my cup of tea

To your bedside I am drawn

Touch your cheeks, how they are warm

Reaching down to kiss your hair

I close my eyes and say a prayer

Someday you’ll be grown up too

Now’s the time for me and you

So in the bed with you I lay

My bath can wait just one more day.

- Buffi 2002

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Someone said to me... (week 2)

2010-05-15T20:10:00.005-04:00

Someone said to me, “You need to wait until you’re married.”

I said, “I’m sorry I can’t. I just turned fifteen.”

Read how I got there

Someone said to me, “You need to wait until you're married.”

I rolled my eyes and said, “I know, Dad. Wait ‘till I’m married. You’ve told me that a million times already. Don’t you trust me?”

“Trust you?” Dad replied with his fist clinched and quickly loosing blood flow. “Of course I trust you. It’s that boy I don’t trust!”

I smiled and went in for a hug, “Oh, Dad, you really are ridiculous. He loves me and he would never make me do anything I don’t want to do, so there is nothing to worry about. You are so old-fashioned! Most of my friends have already done it, you know.”

As the words were falling out of my mouth I tried to catch them, but my hands were not quick enough. That last comment was sure to get me stuck at home again watching reruns of 20/20 with Mom while the rest of my friends were at the party.

But Dad let me go that night and by 8PM I was making out with my boyfriend in a dark basement. There were only three couples at that “party” and by 9PM we were quite alone on the couch. In a very short time, I was swatting my boyfriend’s hands away from me like I was the lone flower stuck in a field of honey bees.

I tried to stay strong, but I trusted him and I loved him. He would never do anything to hurt me. His loving voice whispered, “If you love me, then it’s okay.”

That made sense because he did love me. I broke away from his lips for a second and said, “No! I have to wait until I’m married.” He said, “You have to or you want to? Because I think you don’t want to.”

I pushed him away, fixed my clothes and walked away. My mind played ring-around-the-rosy while I said, “I guess have to and I don’t want to.”

As I stood by the door waiting for him to follow, he gently motioned for me to come back and sit beside him. He looked so cute and pitiful. He had one last plea for me to consider, “Let’s pretend that we’re married.”

“Pretend? Pretend? Did you just really say that? Is that the best you can come up with? I’m not going to pretend!”

He met me at the door, gave me a kiss on the cheek and whispered in my ear, “Then marry me!”

I had dreamt of hearing those words, but not like this. It was only then that I realized Dad was right.

I said, “I'm sorry I can't. I just turned fifteen.”

Thanks for stopping by.

Please support me with your honesty.

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Someone said to me…(week 1)

2010-05-05T17:39:00.013-04:00

Someone said to me, “You need a platform if you want to get published.”

I said, “I choose B.”

Read how I got there

Someone said to me, “You need a platform if you want to get published.”

I replied, “But you don’t understand, I have a platform.”

But they didn’t answer because they couldn’t hear me – even though I waved my hands wildly and hit my forehead with my fist. And if I really did respond to their email, I’m sure I’d be given the scarlet letter for new authors – a big letter ‘S’ for stalker, also known as ‘S’ for spam.

So I looked out my window and decided to speak to the tree that was graciously hanging on my every word. I gently pushed the curtain back so he won’t miss any of my speech.

I began, “My platform is me. I mean my platform is embracing adversity. If you read my book, my platform is clear. Hmmm.. Shit, maybe I don’t have a platform.”

Ahh… self doubt found its way into my heart again. Self doubt is a frequent visitor of many aspiring authors like me. Realizing I was not alone, I said to myself, “If you let self doubt win, then you lose. It’s that simple.”

I stood up to show the tree that I was serious now. “Look, I was given lots of hurdles; an alcoholic parent, abuse and poverty but I’m standing strong on the other side. I always thought I was so different and I longed to be the same. First I longed to be part of the normal-kid-club and then I longed to be part of the normal-mom club. You know, the ones that have it all figured out.”

The glare of the sun interrupted me. “Most of us don’t have it all figured out, you know.”

“Exactly!” I said as I threw my arms in the air. “If you know someone that has it all figured out I would bet you don’t really know them.”

The tree shook a leaf off toward me and said, “So what’s your point? You’re platform sounds more like a therapy session.”

My point is that we all know how it feels to be different. We all have our own struggles and we don’t always have the power to overcome them. I am saying, stand strong, be different, be yourself and don’t give up. My family was weird and screwed up as many familes are. That's why people relate to my story. I'm their sister, mother, daughter or friend. They will cry with me, laugh with me and in the end they will feel there is just one more person in the world that understands.

So, here's my platform:
Individuality and empowerment through acceptance of adversity.

And here's my mantra for today:

If I don’t believe in myself, I can’t expect you to believe in me. I will be published. I truly believe it. I can see it. I can feel it. I will say it out loud.

For writers in the midst of query and rejection letter hell, I say you are not alone. But you have a choice to make.

A) Let one letter from one person who doesn’t know you, determine your fate, or

B) File the letter away, shake off the self doubt and move on.

I said, “I choose B.”

Thanks for stopping by.

Please support me with your honesty.

The Kids Stole my Camera

2010-04-21T17:41:00.008-04:00

This is what you get when the kids steal your camera.

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Please support me with your honesty.

This post is linked to the following Blogs:

Long Hair Breeds Bad Behavior

2010-04-12T08:18:00.004-04:00

I've been told that long hair breeds bad behavior. So, I'm posting this for all the moms with long-haired boys that are misbehaving. If only you had known that a simple haircut would have solved your problems. No longer do you need to teach your boy to be a good person. Simply chop off those nasty locks of hair and watch the magic! Don't take any chances, cut your girl's hair too. People will think your kids are respectable and so they will be. Right?

In the article Boys hair: long or short by Christina Sbarro, her husband argues, "...boys with long hair grow up to be irresponsible, carefree, wanderers, who don't know how to hold down a regular job. Said long haired boys might join a low-life garage band, or be influenced by the wrong crowd, and in general, would be disadvantaged in the corporate world of "grown up" America." Do you think she agreed? Nope.

If it were completely my decision, I would let my young boy have whatever hairstyle he wanted. If he started to misbehave, I would grab a big can of "no more video games" before grabbing the clippers.

As an adult he may need to worry about how others perceive him, but as a child I need to worry about how he perceives himself.

To clip or not to clip? What's your opinion?

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Please remember to Take My Poll!!

It's only a matter of time

2010-04-01T11:56:00.009-04:00

I was walking out of the bagel store yesterday and noticed a car parked crooked. The back end was all the way over the white line into another parking space. Don’t you HATE that? I was secretly having a discussion with the driver saying things like:

“Did your five year old park the car for you?” and “Did you get hit over the head with a baseball bat today?”

But then it happened. I realized the parked car was mine! But here’s the really terrible part – it was not the first time this week I did that. What’s wrong with me? Now I’m saying to myself:

“It’s only a matter of time.” and “You’re only as old as you act.”

This is how it all begins. First I started peeing my pants every time I laughed, now I can’t park straight and before you know it I’ll be on line for the early-bird specials at the local Perkins.

And then one day, when I’m not paying attention, I'll run one of my kids over…

OK… don’t get freaked out – I’m in a parking lot here and my daughter is acting. We were laughing so hard I peed my pants - really!

Thanks for stopping by.
Please remember to Take My Poll!!

Stopped Counting - Started Blogging

2010-03-26T18:51:00.003-04:00

In with the NEW: I changed the blog name so that I could blog about my passion – the wonderful side of everyday life.

Here are SOME of my family’s passions:

My kids love to jump off the second floor balcony.

We love to make Gingerbread houses - even in the springtime.

We love family parties!

(Mom’s sixtieth - we all dressed like hippies – except mom always dresses like that!)

My son loves to moon us through the skylight on the roof of the house!

We love to sleep on the living room floor!

We love to cook the babies!

(This was when my sister let me babysit her son!)

What are your family passions???

-Buffi
http://www.imbuffi.com/

Please take my Poll. Click here.

The Pitch and Bitch Conference

2010-03-21T16:27:00.001-04:00

This past week I had the pleasure of attending the NY Pitch and Shop writers conference . It was an intense four days of crafting the perfect pitch and trying it out on visiting Editors.

On the first day we were broken into groups by genre. My group was lead by Susan Breen, author of The Fiction Class . Susan worked with us tirelessly to smash our full novels into a concise 150 word marketing pitch. Susan was the perfect blend of kind, professional and intelligent. Her advice was spot-on and in the end we all walked away with better pitches.

I wrote 50 versions of a single paragraph

and still rewrote it the next day!

I will admit that I had reservations about paying for ANY conference, but I took a chance. All of my reservations are now gone and I would delightfully recommend the NY Pitch and Shop to any author with a completed manuscript who is looking to properly market themselves. I promise, Algonkian is not paying me to write this, but I will take any money they want to throw my way.

Many of us ate lunch on the steps of the Post Office and fate graced us with the best weather imaginable. The writers in my group were dynamic, supportive and intelligent. I know I will have lasting friendships with many of you!

People ask me, “Did you meet any interesting people?”

I answer, “Plenty. Want to know what happened to them?”

Well, since the conference, Amanda quit her job as a journalist to become the new babysitter for Toots, but was fired when her obsession with cyber-sex became out of control.

Our fearless leader McFearson was picked up by a major publishing house, but when they found he led a secret plot to embezzle millions from the self publishing industry, he was forced to move to Paris.

Rafael, realizing where his real talents lay, went on to become an exotic dancer, or was it Brad? No wait, I think his name was Johnny.

The raven, who was making rude jesters behind the editor’s back, was shipped off to a mental institution where he is scheduled to be released later this month as a polite blue bird, instructed only to sing songs from The Ramones and Led Zeppelin.

Emma, formerly a textile expert, is now the author of a successful blog called “But really, who doesn’t know a homosexual minister these days?”

Kip gave up his job as a composer to work on his pitch with the literary genius, Rose. But when Rose turned out to really be a bra-burning hippie, Kip escaped to bartending on the Jersey Shore.

And no one can forget the little old couple, seen swapping spit in the corner of the room. They went on to host their very own talk show entitled “Old People do IT too”. We are so proud of you!

I wish the best of luck to all of my new writer friends.

Get published or get me published!

-Buffi

http://www.imbuffi.com/

You Can’t Choose How You Die

2010-03-08T09:15:00.001-05:00

Mom is terrified of flying, so I promised take the trip to Oklahoma with her last week. When we were waiting in the airport I didn’t tell her what “Express” means and that our plane would be quite small for our 3+ hour flight. This news would have to wait until the last possible minute.

While waiting for the plane, I could see she was nervous so I tried to find the words to make her comfortable. I asked, “What are you afraid of?” As she thought to herself, I continued, “Are you afraid of dying?” After all, the fear of flying is simply a control issue, right? If Mom can just give up control, she will not be afraid. Sounds good in theory only, I’m afraid.

I said, “Mom, you can’t control when you die. If today is your day, there’s not much you can do about it. So if you let go of the fear of dying, then maybe you won’t be afraid to fly.” Here I am trying to teach my mom about life. My mom, a woman who was a Hospice social worker for longer than I can remember, a woman who raised five children and went back for two more, a woman who carves stone statues and designs stained glass in her spare time. Okay, life -maybe Mom has me beat but flying - now that’s something I know more about for sure.

Mom just smiled at my attempt to help her and answered with a simple, “I’m not afraid of dying. I just have a lot more living to do.” So simple. Did she just turn my words around? I guess wanting to live is different than being afraid to die, which got me thinking:

You can’t choose how you die, but you can choose how you live. It’s not a unique thought, but a good one to be reminded of every now and then. I choose to live content with what I have, I choose to make a difference where I can, and I choose to write.

Mom was not happy when we entered the tiny plane, but she did it. God really smiled on us because it was definitely the smoothest flight I have ever taken. Good job, Mom.

This week I worked on my book covers to distract me from my real task of writing the book proposal, here they are, let me know what you think.

** NOTE: These covers represent 3 Different Books - A Series of Memoirs

Please support me with your honesty.

-Buffi

http://www.imbuffi.com/

Writing is Like Perfecting a Golf Swing

2010-02-22T10:04:00.001-05:00

In 2009 I set out to write my first book. The words were boiling inside me and it was only a matter of time before I went completely insane or began to write. In the same year I took up golf as a hobby. Unlike writing, I never wanted to play golf. In fact, I never really understood the draw and swore I would never waste my time chasing a stupid little ball with a crooked stick wearing an ugly polo shirt. But here I am one year later wishing the snow would clear from my yard so that I can chase a little ball around with a crooked stick. Life is funny, now I spend my days perfecting my writing and golf swing, both equally frustrating and rewarding.

Writing and golf are equal opportunity ventures where you strive to achieve your goal while submitting to the fact that perfection is unattainable.

Equal Opportunity: Golf and writing are what I call equal opportunity sports/pastimes/careers. The golf ball, like the reader, does not care if you are young or old, big or small, or even from where you come. If done properly, a ninety pound woman can hit the ball further than a linebacker just as the words of an uneducated ninety year old man can reach further into a reader’s heart than the words of a young Ivy League scholar.

Perfection is Unattainable: Thanks to “Tin Cup” for this classic line. To complete my first book and perfect my golf swing, I’m constantly moving toward perfection knowing all the while that it’s completely unattainable. Just when I think I’ve done it, it’s a masterpiece and there is no further to go I soon realize I’ve only made it half way there.

I finished writing my book in 2009. It took me 20 days to write my hook. It took me 15 days to rewrite the hook , and I thought I was on my way.

GREAT NEWS: My hook was successful and my first agent is interested!

BAD NEWS: The agent wants to see my Book Proposal and I insist, “But I already wrote the book, why do you need the proposal?”

Just when I thought I could make up my own rules in this game of being published, I’m smacked right back into reality. So I began the task of writing my Book Proposal, which is essentially a marketing plan for a non-fiction book. In about fifteen brilliant pages it must answer the simple question:

“Why the hell should we put our good money into publishing your book?”

I have spent the better part of the past month writing my Book Proposal and I’m almost finished. I’m not ready to concede to my imperfection just yet. Wish me luck and please support me with your honesty.

-Buffi

http://www.imbuffi.com/

15 Days to Rewrite the Hook

2010-02-09T19:24:00.001-05:00

It took me 20 days to write my hook . I like it, so do my sister and some other folks that were forced to read it. So it must be great, right? Well, I can tell myself that all day and watch the rejection letters pour in, or worse, watch nothing pour in. Or I can stomp on my masterpiece, cut its head off, and stretch its arms out until it looks better than it did before.

My sister says to use my instincts and never mind what others say, but my instincts have taken a long vacation from hook-reading. So maybe Mom was right, maybe the last part of the hook was too harsh:

“...leading to the realization that her family is far from normal and she is not so different from the woman she wishes would die.”

It was a little misleading, but literal. I think it was fair, but I don’t want to sound like a hag, or do I? Why does she want her grandmother to die, they ask themselves? I mean, really, isn’t the goal of the hook to make you want to read more? So, I admit, mom wasn’t the only reviewer to gasp when she read that line. “Not from the mouth of my sweet, Buffi!” But that made me want to keep it even more.

And then there was the little problem of my run-on sentence, but what the hell do my reviewers know about hooks? I have read almost 80 hooks on the internet at this point and I would say most of them are run-on sentences. I insist that no one can use the When Formula without creating a run-on. Well, maybe I’m exaggerating, but I’ve seen plenty of super-long hooks. OK, I’ll admit I had trouble reading to the end of them. “But mine is different,” I insist.

So, with lack of instincts, a 50/50 review rate, and a five-line run-on, I decided to write some new hooks to see if I could come up with something better and when I finished, guess who decided to show up? Instincts, that’s who. My feeling went from “I hope they like the hook” to “I can’t wait till they read my hook.” So much for writing the hook in 20 days !

I looked to my peers for examples of good hooks and found some answers here:

Fiction Factor says, “The key to a good hook is hiding as much information as possible while revealing enough to interest a reader.”

Rites of Submission: Cover Letters and Query Letters includes a fabulous section entitled “What not to do.” Hey, did she read my hook?

Writing and Selling the Personal Essay: How to Write a Hook That Hooks Kristin Bair O’Keeffe says, “Not a paragraph. Not an entire essay. Not even, in most cases, two sentences.” She will not like my new hook, but she has really great information. Check out her new website: Christina Katz ~ The Prosperous Writer

So, with the help of stranger’s generous advice, family support, and lots of caffeine, it only took me 15 days to rewrite the hook. I managed to also include the remainder of the query in that time. Mom thinks it's a winner! Here it is:

Wonderfully Dysfunctional - It Must be Genetic

A woman who laughs at funerals. A gypsy mother who refuses to wear a bra and a father who has two wives. A brother who sleeps under the coffee table and a sister who was kidnapped. A homosexual minister, a missing child, a pedophile grandfather and a feisty, sharp-tongued, red-headed grandmother who was longing to leave it all.

Buffi always knew her family was unusual, but she was lucky enough to escape that gene. Or was she? Joined by her siblings at the bedside of their dying grandmother, Buffi begins on a journey of self discovery as they recall stories of their youth including juicy family secrets, inappropriate practical jokes, abuse and betrayal. She is on a quest to find Normal but finds herself instead.

It Must be Genetic is about acceptance, forgiveness and the great capacity of love. The story is written from the perspective of a third generation divorced mother, Buffi, who realizes that the very traits that make her family dysfunctional may be the same traits that make it so wonderful. At 64,000 words, it is paced for a quick-and-easy read.

You did it Mom!!

I’m finally ready to submit to an agent. Wish me luck. Please support me with your honesty

-Buffi
http://www.imbuffi.com/

20 Days to Write a Hook

2010-02-04T16:12:00.000-05:00

I completed my manuscript at the end of 2009 and on January 1st set out to get published. I began by searching the inside covers of my favorite books, ones most similar mine, for clues about how the author managed to snag a publisher. I quickly came to the realization that my invitation to the publisher’s ear lies in the discriminating hands of my agent-to-be.

Where's my agent?
I was on my way to find my special agent, the one that will love me and my manuscript and spend every waking moment selling it to the most distinguished publishing agencies around. While there are a mind-numbing number of sites to find agents and publishers, AgentQuery.com was the best suited for the novice agent hunter (me). Search by genre, interest, location, favorite animal - okay I made that one up, but you get the gist. Found some agents that will love me, but wait, they don’t want a completed manuscript, they want a query letter. So I ask:

What the hell is a query and how do I get one?
Now all the writers are saying, “Duh.” But really, I had no idea. Remember, I have been stuck transcribing from my journal, taking harsh criticism from my reviewers, cutting whole chapters and digging deep into my soul to birth my manuscript. My ego has recovered, but my fingers still hurt. When you search for information on writing a book, I assure you that the word query never comes up.

Agents want a Query, I was delighted to find a ton of information on how to write a query. Here’s a list of my favorite articles on the subject – I promise they have not paid me to write this, but if they do, I’m taking the cash:

AgentQuery.com – “How to write a query”
GuideToLiteraryAgents.com – “How to trim Your query”

A query is the written commercial for you and your manuscript, your 70 seconds on stage, better make sure it’s one page, less than 250 words, includes the word count – not to be mistaken for the page count, clever – but follows the rules, creative – but not outside the lines, no problem. I could say that a query should read the mind of the agent and know how to keep him/her reading to the end. Or, I could open a huge can of “shut-the-hell-up” and realize if I can’t sell my own book, then how do expect an agent to? So I began the tedious task of writing my query, only to find out that, first I need a hook. So I ask?

What the hell is a hook and how do I get one?
Now all the writers are saying, “Are you kidding?” Okay, hook was an easier concept and made perfect sense. I found some inspiring examples on many websites, AlanRinzler.com being one of my favorites. Feel free to take a look at some of the articles that really helped me:

Alan Rinzler – “Hooks that snag great book deals”
Kimberly Wells – “Your Query Letter Hook”
FloggingTheQuill.com – “A revised query hook & a Flogometer prize”

It took me 20 days to write my hook and I’m still not sure if it’s good enough to capture the eye of an agent. I rewrote it about a hundred times. I started by writing little phrases and favorite words in my journal and eventually pasted them together. My sister loves it and my friend hates it, the danger of using friends and family as reviewers. But they're free and honest, two great qualities.

Not only did it take me 20 days to write the hook, it also took me that long to realize that I can submit my hook to agents, decide that it really sucked, re-write it and submit to the next agent. Yes, I may have blown my chance of snagging my favorite agent, but that’s better than spending six months revising my hook.

I re-write my hook in my head all day long and one of these days I'm sure I'll stumble upon the perfect mix of clever, informative and professional, but for now I'm using the best hook I have and here it is:

What do you think about my hook?
Wonderfully Dysfunctional – It Must be Genetic is the first in a series of memoirs about Buffi Neal, a career woman and single mother of two who joins her four siblings at the bedside of their dying grandmother and begins her journey of self discovery recalling stories of inappropriate practical jokes, abuse, betrayal and juicy family secrets, leading to the realization that her family is far from normal and she is not that different from the woman she wishes would die.

Please support me with your honesty.
-Buffi
http://www.imbuffi.com/

Welcome

2010-02-02T18:49:00.000-05:00

Hi, my name is Buffi and I’m a Blog Virgin and Social Networking Preschooler. While investigating how to publish my completed manuscript, I was baptized into the informative and addicting world of Social Networking and found myself drowning in an ocean of Blogs. Thank you to the many aspiring authors who have shared their experiences on blogs and allowed me to secretly empathize. I have decided to jump in without a nose plug and conquer my fear of blogging.

I have put down my pen after a long year of writing and re-writing now all I have to do is get my manuscript published. I have the notion that if a publisher would simply read my manuscript, he/she is sure to publish it and make a movie soon after, common writer’s illusion. Or is it?

My goal is to become a published author and this blog will allow me to leave breadcrumbs for those in my same path to follow. My journey will be what I learn about myself along the way. There it is, on the internet for all to read and judge and I think, “Now I just have to do it.” One percent inspiration is complete and so starts my ninety nine percent perspiration.

Thinking about being published makes me remember the old commercial: How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? For those of you who are too young to remember see: Tootsie Pop Video. So, how many days does it take to get published? Take the journey with me to find out.

Please support me with your honesty - Buffi http://www.imbuffi.com/

	Sarah Saffian author of Ithaka: A Daughter’s Memoir of Being Found
	Elizabeth Gilbert author of Eat, Pray, Love