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Some of you have asked me why I haven’t blogged in two months. Here’s 10 excuses–I mean reasons:

10.) The dog ate my laptop.

I was jumping on the trampoline with my laptop (because I take it everywhere) and then I came inside. But I left the laptop outside (because I don’t really take it everywhere) and the dog chewed it up.

Oh, wait. That wasn’t me. That was my son. And it wasn’t a laptop. It was an SP. Or DS. Or PSP. Or whatever portable video game system/demonic device the kids are playing these days. 

But still. I couldn’t blog.

9.) I was farthering my education by taking an editing class.

And I learned that there is a difference between (not among) farther and further (go figure) and that the correct spelling for website is Web site, even though I will continue to write website, because Web site just looks wrong, and wrong is well, not write. I mean right. 

(And yeah, I know. It is furthering my education. So, don’t send me emails. But leave comments. Comments are good.)

8.)  After I stopped posting regularly on my blog, it was easy to continue to not post. And then to continue to not post some more.

7.) My sister wasn’t posting on her blog. And if she didn’t have to write, then neither did I.

6.) I wanted to see how much spam I could accumulate in two months. Final spam count: 73. I had 73 spam comments in my in-box!  My sister only had two. Two! And I had 73! I must be the more popular blogger. 

Or my sister had her spam filter set to automatically delete spam comments after a certain amount of time. Whatever. 

5.) I was doing other stuff. 

Since I first started Life in the Highlands, I have been sucked into that time wasting vortex that is blogging, and I haven’t been doing other things. And so I needed to get other things done. And, I don’t have the capacity to blog while I am doing other things. So, I can either blog and get nothing else done, or get other stuff done, and not blog.

What a conundrum.

4.) It was (and still is) impossible to always write something funny. And if I couldn’t write something funny, I felt like I shouldn’t write anything at all. 

3.) Blogging wasn’t (and still isn’t) paying the bills.

So far, my blog hasn’t helped to get any of my books published. Or sell any of my published books.

And, I don’t make any money off adds on my blog.

Of course, I don’t have any adds on my blog.

And I haven’t written any books.

Which could explain why I haven’t had one published.

And why they don’t sell very well.

That’s probably why I’m not making any money.

Probably.

2.) I can’t dictate when the muse strikes.

And she decided to strike (as in “go on strike”) for the past two months. So, to all (both) of my wonderful, awesome, loyal readers, my recommendation is that you get updates to my blog by email or in an RSS feed reader . Then you will be instantly alerted whenever I have posted something new. Which will probably continue to be erratic. I mean spontaneous. 

And the number one reason why I haven’t blogged in two months:

The blog makes me look fat.

Finally, I would like to say thank you to everyone who encouraged me to keep blogging.

And thank you to those who asked (on their own blogs and on mine) where I was.

And thank you to those (okay, my brother) who sent me emails (okay, one email) that said “I check almost every day… And I know you must be busy… Or maybe you were captured? Abducted by aliens? Moved to Washington DC to become the president’s top speech writer… The dog ate your computers? But… When are you writing a new blog post???”

To my brother:

Right now.

(It’s that time of the year when, rather than eat a bunch of cookies, a bunch of cookies eat me. And my entire month of March. In other words, it’s Girl Scout Cookie season. I’m re-publishing this post from a year ago.)

Peanut M&M’s are, in my over-experienced candy tasting opinion, the closest mankind has come to creating the perfect candy.

Peanuts (protein, plus the good kind of fat), dipped in chocolate (also good for you), and then coated with a hard candy shell (yum!), so that the chocolate “melts in your mouth, not in your hands.” Sheer genius.

 Except, of course, that M&M’s do melt.

In your hands.

But a little rainbow colored dye on your palms is a small sacrifice to pay for the privilege to consume such a confection. 

If M&M’s are the most perfect candy, then Thin Mint Girl Scout Cookies have to be the most perfect cookie.

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And I’m not just saying that because I have more than 300 boxes of them taking up space in my living room that I have to help sell.

And I’m not just saying that because I’m a leader of a Girl Scout Troop and I’m trying to help my troop earn money by selling those aforementioned cookies.

And I most certainly am not saying that because I am trying to sell cookies over the internet, because that is against the Girl Scout rules, and that would just be wrong, I tell you, wrong!

I’m saying that because I love Thin Mint Girl Scout Cookies. 

Even before I became a Girl Scout leader.

I would see those girls dressed in their brown or green uniforms, selling those cookies outside of a grocery store, and nothing could keep me from heading over to buy a box. Or more.

I was even afraid to put up a “no soliciting” sign on my front door for fear that Girl Scouts would avoid my house when peddling their wares.

When we first got our cookie order two days ago, I tore open a box of Thin Mints, wondering if they would taste as good as I remembered. Would the fact that I’ve consumed more than I should have over the past three years as a troop leader make them any less delectable? Less scrumptious? Less melt in your mouth minty? 

They were just as good as always.

If not better.

They were “extra thin, extra minty!” Just like the brochure promised.  It describes them as “A thin wafer covered with a smooth chocolaty coating. Made with natural peppermint.”

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I describe them as “absolutely perfect.” 

So support a good cause. Buy a box–

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or more–

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from your local Girl Scout troop today. (Just not over the internet, because that would be wrong, I tell you, wrong!)

Your taste buds will be treated to one of the most perfect cookies ever created by mankind.

And I wouldn’t lie to you about that. Scout’s Honor. 

Would you like to brighten a blogger’s day? Then send a message like the one I got from my brother: “Just a short email to let you know that I love your Blog….Keep up the good work and don’t eat too many sweets!”

This brother is my favorite brother, and I’d say that even if he weren’t my only brother.

And the “don’t eat too many sweets” part reminds me of my New Year’s Resolution– to spend more time on Facebook.

(What?! You didn’t think my resolution was to cut down on sweets, did you? That would be pure madness, I tell you. Pure MADness.)

I need to spend more time on Facebook because the other night my daughter was chatting with my brother on Facebook.

My brother. My favorite, only brother. Who lives over 2,000 miles away. That I hardly ever get to see or talk to. And my daughter was chatting with him on Facebook.

And he mentioned that she should come babysit his kids.

Don’t panic, Mom! I’m sure the whole conversation about one more of your grandchildren moving across the country was filled with lots of “jk’s” and “haha’s,” as is Facebook custom, so none of it was serious.

Besides, I told my daughter that if she moved, she would miss me; she said she’d miss her dog, Graham Cracker.

Like I miss all the pre-Graham chewed lawn decorations we used to have: the fake plastic deer, the wishing well, the garden gnome, and the trees. Yeah. We used to have trees.

My daughter has not been chatting just with my brother on Facebook. Last week, she was talking to my younger sister, too.  The one who lives about 860 miles away.

They spent their Facebook time debating which episode of Star Wars is the best and how the Anakin/Padme love story is more romantic than the Han Solo/Princess Leia love story.

Because all the aliens and space ships and blasters are nothing but a disguise for a good love story. Too bad Han wasn’t a vampire.

This discussion was prompted by my daughter recently watching all six Star Wars episodes for the first time. She watched them in order, from 1-6. Not 4-6 and then 1-3, the way George Lucas intended. So, she was upset when Anakin turned to the dark side. 

Fortunately, my sister was there on Facebook to help my daughter through this crisis.

Which is why I need to spend more time on Facebook. So that I can discuss my crises with my siblings.

And I need to get my youngest sister (who lives 30 miles away) to sign up for Facebook, too. She has a goal to be the last person on earth to join.

If she were on Facebook, we wouldn’t have phone conversations that go like this:

Me: “You called and left a message asking why I called. I never called.”

Her: “Yes, you did. You left a message.”

“Really? I don’t remember calling.”

“Well, you did.”

“Hmm. Well, I guess I was calling Mom and called you by mistake. Sorry.”

So, she should totally get a Facebook account.

In closing, I’ll leave with you a quote that my kids wrote up on our kitchen white board: “Anakin, you’re breaking my heart. You are going down a path I cannot follow.”–Padme.

He probably ignored her chat request on Facebook. The scoundrel.

You’ve probably been wondering why I haven’t written many blog posts lately. I’m sure you’ve been eagerly checking and rechecking your google reader, hoping for some news of my life.

And the lack of my post-age has likely caused you to worry that I’ve been sick or hurt or that our downstairs bathroom toilet flooded, causing our house to be released from it’s foundation and float off down the river. 

Or maybe you thought that I haven’t written a new post because I have been doing something productive, like cleaning up a flooded basement, or rotating my food storage, or planning a trip someplace warm where it NEVER, EVER snows, because right now I might as well be living in Narnia where it is always winter but never Christmas, since the White Witch has somehow taken over our land, only she doesn’t give us Turkish Delight.

Well, that’s not what I’ve been doing.

I’ve been spending all my free time trying to learn CSS.

A computer language.

A language so complicated that as soon as I master it, I should be able to program a flux capacitor, or at least create fuel to power a time traveling DeLorean. But I’d settle for knowing enough CSS to redesign the look of my blog.

Which is why my blog still looks exactly the same. 

Although I’ve learned so much CSS that I’m practically a professional web site designer already. So if you want me to redesign your blog, I’ll be happy to do it. Unless you want your sidebars to line up and your header to be visible–then you probably ought to hire someone who isn’t me.

But I’ve been working on redesigning my blog, and I unveiled the almost finished, revolutionary design to my sister the other night, and she said, “Truthfully, I can’t tell much of a difference,” meaning the new blog looks similar to the old blog, so now you know you can expect great changes, my friend. GREAT, BIG changes.

Like not having the header image lined up with the sidebar.

Or not having a visible title. 

And you also probably want to know why I need a better looking blog when it doesn’t matter how a blog looks on the outside–it’s whether or not it is funny; but, honestly, we all know it’s not about the content, it’s about who has the cutest blog.

This month is my blogaversary. Next week, it will be a year since I started “Life in the Highlands.” I didn’t officially go public until October, nor did I post often before then, so it’s a fakish blogaversary, but one I wanted to celebrate with a new design, anyway.

And, also for my fakish blogaversary, I wanted to host my first give away.

But then I realized that a give away should include, you know, giving something away. And the only thing I could possibly give away is the bag of shoes that my daughter has outgrown that I need to take to the DI.

Or one of the ceramic pots that my kids made.

Or our Red Heeler/German Shepherd/Dingo dog who keeps digging huge holes under our fence, escaping from our yard, and stealing stuff from the neighbors. Except then my kids would be mad at me for giving him away, until he dug a huge hole under your fence and escaped from your yard, and made his way back to mine, because that is just the kind of thing he would do.

So, the give away is out. 

But I’ll showcase the new blog design just as soon as I figure out how to resize my header image and get my header title to reappear. 

Or, I’ll invent time travel. That’d be easier.

Do you want more people to read your blog? Would you like to have a popular website? Well, here’s a suggestion:

My beautician informed me that the best blogs are the ones that keep it real. The ones whose writers are not afraid to spill the beans, dish the dirt, speak the truth. The bloggers who don’t pretend that their lives are perfect. Or pretend that their friends, husbands, children, and dogs are perfect.

And, in case you doubt the authority of my hairdresser, she is wise. Because there are few people in the universe who have the knowledge and wisdom necessary to properly tame my unruly tresses.

Without her the world would be a much, much uglier place.

Let’s all pause for a moment to contemplate her genius. 

And now, in an attempt to follow her sage advise, and to increase the popularity of my blog, I thought I’d air my dirty laundry. Here it is:

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Yep. And there’s more:

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Also, I have a pot problem.

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I mean, I have a problem with pots. Ceramic pots, that is. My house is overrun with them. They multiply like bunnies. Or Legos. There’s at least 25 more not pictured.

25!

Because not only have my kids brought home the occasional pot they made at school, but at least three kids have taken a semester long ceramics class. My oldest son even took Ceramics 2.

I know.

And my kids don’t just make pots. See what else you can find in this picture.

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Did you spot the pyramid, the medicine balls, the wedding jar, and the fortune cookie?

We also have an aardvark:

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And an alligator (or is it a crocodile?):

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Then, we have these (creepy) guys.

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And scary masks.

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But one of my favorite pieces is this Zen Garden.

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When I asked my son about the crack in the bowl, he said it was so the rising sun could shine through it onto the garden.

Personally, I think it’s leaking all it’s Zen. At least, that’s how I feel most of the time.

Which is a shame. Because other than that, my life is absolutely perfect.

Many people have asked me why I blog. Okay. No one has asked me. But I ask myself all the time. And this is how I respond:

  • I blog because I don’t understand statistics.

Writer’s Digest published an article titled, “Is Blogging Right For You?” In it, M.J. Rose points out that according to Technorati there are “more than 112.8 million active blogs…, 175,000 new blogs created every day…, and 1.6 million [new] posts per day.” The author then states:

Compared to blogs, there are only 500 books published a day. So you could actually have less competition getting attention for your book than your blog. (These figures don’t include self-published books. But if we did include them, there would be 1,000 books published a day—still far fewer than the number of blogs.)

In other words, people are more likely to hear about my book than my blog.

Unless, I don’t have a book.

Because I’ve never written one. 

Sorry, Dad. Sorry, Mom. Sorry to all those other relatives who have told me I should write a book.

If I were to write a book it would be about how there were these kids and they never cleaned their rooms and their mom got angry and then they cleaned their rooms.

And the sequel would be about scrubbing bathrooms.

Not exactly best selling material.

So, let’s do a statistical analysis. Add the 0, carry the 1, multiply by 42 and you’ll get the question: Are people more likely to read my book, which I haven’t written, or my blog, which I have?

Hmm…

Another reason I blog:

  • I don’t actually want people (especially complete strangers) to read it. 

That would be creepy. (Except for you, the person reading this right now. You, I like.)

What better method of keeping a journal completely private than by publishing it on the internet for the whole world to read, but which no one will, because there are 1.6 million other blog posts competing for the readers’ attention?

But if my journal were hidden under a bed, and someone found it, he/she would read it for sure. 

Here’s another reason I blog:

  • Because my kids read it.

Some of my kids are my most faithful readers. In real life, they usually don’t listen to me. But on the blog, I can share with them valuable lessons, help them learn insights about life, and get them to do my bidding by including subliminal messages like “you will make chocolate chip cookies.”

So, you see, even though my blog is competing against 112.8 million other blogs, and no one reads it except my family and about 10 other really smart people, I AM NOT wasting my time. 

Now go clean your room.

I had this really great idea for a blog post. Really. It was great. It was so great that it would have had you lol-ing, rotfl-ing, haha-ing, hehhehheh-ing, and maybe hohoho-ing, even though it’s not Christmas.

But then, I checked my email. And I had a message from a friend who wanted me to join her on her private plane for the weekend in the Bahamas.

Or maybe it was an email reminding me to schedule a parent/teacher conference. I can’t remember.

And then, I would have written that spectacular post, except I spent three hours at the gym, because I believe in the importance of working out, especially before trips to the Bahamas.

Or, I might have taken a nap. The details are fuzzy.

So, then, I was definitely going to write that blog post, but I had this free spa gift certificate which expired soon. I had to go.

Or, I might have just taken a shower, now that I think about it.

And then, I absolutely, positively was going to write that funny, funny blog post, when my husband invited me for a night out on the town. Which would include a movie, dinner, and chocolate for dessert.

Or, maybe we went to his basketball game. And then he said, “I hate basketball,” which was odd, because that’s usually what I say.

Finally, I sat down at the computer to type up that blog post when I realized that Mary’s Glob of Blog was back, and I would much rather read her blog than write my own; in fact, I’d much rather read everyone else’s blog than write my own, which is (coincidentally) why I spend so much time reading everyone else’s blog rather than writing on my own.

Plus, I needed to read all 67,000 of Mary’s “welcome back” comments. And, I spent 10 minutes staring at her comment box, because I really wanted to leave a comment and be the person to make her do the 67,001 push up, but I couldn’t think of anything to say, except “welcome back” which had already been said 67,000 times, so I didn’t want to say it again, even though I owed her a comment, seeing how she was one of the first people to comment on my blog who wasn’t related to me. (Although relatives’ comments count, too, and I’m not just saying that because my sister has awarded me the “Top Commentator” on her blog, and she doesn’t give out that honor lightly.)

So, finally, I wrote this blog post, which probably won’t make you lol or rotfl. (Although who rolls on the floor laughing, anyway? The only person I know who rolls on the floor is my dog, who doesn’t laugh while he rolls, at least not out loud, and isn’t a person–in the eyes of the law, anyway).

But if I’m lucky, maybe while you read this blog post you’ll chuckle or chortle, or maybe the corners of your mouth will turn up ever so slightly. 

And maybe you’ll call this one of the best, not so bad, sort of okayish blog posts you’ve ever read.

I can live with that. Especially from the Bahamas.

Gene Roddenberry (the mastermind behind Star Trek) and his wife are having their remains blasted into space –a fitting tribute to the man responsible for much of my alien-like behavior (or my behavior of liking aliens) as a child.

It’s partly Mr. Roddenberry’s fault that I would stare up into the night sky waiting for space ships to land.

It’s partly his fault that in elementary school I hung out with the boys who wore authentic, knock-off Star Trek t-shirts and saved the galaxy with their phasers, tricorders, and communicators made out of folded paper.

It’s partly Mr. Roddenberry’s fault that I grew up to love science fiction and fantasy, since Star Trek was my introduction to it.

In junior high and high school most of my favorite books, tv shows, and movies were sci/fi or fantasy. And when I got to college, I worked on the university’s magazine of science fiction and fantasy. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Which was probably as close to space as I was ever going to get. 

Until I bought a new recliner.

Or, as I like to call it, a black hole.

When we re-did our floors months ago, we threw away our old, ripped up, tilting recliner. The absence of said chair left a sad void in our family room. I was at a furniture store a couple weeks ago and I found a great deal on a non-returnable (floor model) recliner. I thought it would match perfectly. It does.

But it’s dark. Maroon dark. In my already dark family room it looks almost black. Black hole black. It sucks all the light out of the family room. And all the white dog hairs show up on it like little flashes of stars circling the black hole on their way to oblivion. Except the dog hairs don’t circle. Or get obliterated.  

Here’s a picture of a black hole devouring a sun.

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And here’s a picture of my new chair devouring all the light in the family room.

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See. The two are practically identical.

Except the black hole picture isn’t a picture of a black hole. It’s our computer monitor.

And the chair can’t eat light. But it wants to.

And since I can’t return it, I’m thinking about launching it into space.

May it rest, and recline, in peace.

My kids keep accusing me of caring more about my new kitchen countertop and floor than I care about them. They say this because I get upset when they scrape a chair across the floor or put something hot directly on the countertop.  

While it is true that I do baby the new countertop and floor, I have yet to attend any of the countertop’s basketball games. Or concerts. Or parent/teacher conferences.

My 14 year said to me, “Well, you’d go if they had any.”

Touche’.

But when, I ask, has my countertop forgotten to clean its room or do its homework? And have I ever had to ask the countertop to stop texting at the table? And not once has it ever complained that I forgot to give it lunch money.

The problem is that my kids are used to abusing the floor and, especially, the countertop. Before we redid the kitchen and the family room, I didn’t care if they put dings in the countertop by cutting directly on it, or if they scratched the floor with their rollerblades. In fact, I encouraged their bad behavior.

Because I hated the countertop. And the floor. Every ruinous thing that the kids did meant I was one step closer to remodeling. 

I have been dreaming of a new countertop ever since I walked into my brand new house 13 years ago and realized that the cabinet guy had installed the wrong color cabinets. I didn’t mind the cabinet color mix-up, but the countertops did not match.

After 12 years, 6 months, 2 days and 16 hours (give or take 12 years) of saving money and trying to pick out a new countertop color, I found the perfectly perfect countertop. Which perfectly matched the cabinets and the new floor.

And I love love love my new countertop. And my new floor.

So, I want the kids to be good. To use pot holders and cutting boards and to keep the rollerblades outside. 

But there’s something else in my house that I love love love. (Besides my husband, kids, and dogs, of course. But not the cat. Our cat is psycho.)

I love the furnace.

I know this because the other night it stopped working. And I realized how much I missed it when it was gone. 

Because the house got cold. And the people and the dogs and the cat in the house got cold. 

And I did not mind that I had to pay $473 to get the furnace fixed. Because I love it that much.

Nor did I mind that the repair guy said we shouldn’t pay the $473 because the furnace is 13 years old, and furnaces only last 14 or 15 years, and really we would be better off spending $2000 on a new furnace, rather than $473 now and then another $2000 in a year.

But I paid the $473 now (even though I actually did mind, a lot) because the $2000 I could have used to buy a new heater went towards the new countertop. And floor.

But that’s okay, because the new countertop might not keep us from freezing at night, but it matches the new floor and the cabinets perfectly.

And is much prettier than a brand new energy star furnace with an annual fuel utilization efficiency rating of 90%.

Throw a few more blankets on everyone’s bed and they’ll all be fine. Who needs a warm house, anyway?

My 17 year old knows where he wants to go to college, but he doesn’t know what he wants to study. The other night, though, he made an important decision concerning his future.

He said, “I’m going to be Batman.”

I’ve heard that’s a difficult major. The “Leap From Tall Buildings Using A Tool From Your Utility Belt 101 Class” is a real killer.

And my 14 year old wants to be an alien when he grows up.

Like that’s a profession you can aspire to.

But I could use a super hero in the family. After all, these are dangerous, perilous times. I know this because the other day I got a huge gash in my thumb. Okay, not a huge gash. More like a slit. A deep slit. Well, more like a shallow slit. But it still bled. Lots. Um, a little. But it was dangerous. And perilous. Because what if I got some of that flesh eating bacteria under my skin? 

And since I sliced open my thumb, it’s nearly impossible to do the dishes. And make dinner. And clean the house. That’s why I haven’t done any of those things, lately.

But I can still blog, so I’m hanging in there, despite my trials.

And do you want to know how I cut my thumb? I sliced it on a little piece of foil that was still attached to the top of an empty plastic can that I was cleaning. That’s right. I cut my thumb while I was washing garbage.

So, why was I washing the trash? Well, we have to clean all the leftover food out of our empty cans and bottles before we can recycle them.

I like helping the planet and all, but it’s bad enough I have to wash the dishes. And the laundry. And my hair. Now, I have to wash out the garbage so that I can throw it away. In a container that looks suspiciously similar to the one we throw the non-recyclable garbage into.

And since my idea of cooking is to open a lot of cans, I have a lot of cans to wash. I clean them all out by hand, too, because putting them in the dishwasher would be too easy silly.  

But I have cut back on the number of cans I’ve been using by cooking more from scratch. Not really. Actually, I’ve started buying food in jars, rather than cans, because our recycling center doesn’t take glass. I get to throw glass jars away. Without washing them.

And my sister tells me that glass gets ground up in the ocean and becomes little sparkling pieces of sand. So, that’s good for the planet, right? Who wouldn’t want beach sand to have a little sparkle (that you could potentially cut your feet on)? 

It’s either that, or I keep slicing my fingers while cleaning the dangerous, perilous garbage.

Maybe my son can save me once he becomes Batman.

Isn’t that the job of all crime fighters? To rid the city of thugs, villains, and leftover food particles?

He can start by washing that aluminum can.

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