I went camping last weekend. Let me reiterate that: I. Went. Camping. My idea of the outdoors is reading a book on the porch rather than on the couch. There are bugs. And spiders. And … dirt. Not to mention the fact that I have a one-on-one relationship with my allergist, who knows how allergic I am to anything green or furry.

My daughter’s Girl Scout troop had a mother/ daughter camping trip. It was a first for this group of 7 year olds. Technically, we slept on (painfully thin) mattresses in a lodge, but we went creek walking, hiking and cooked over an open camp fire (started with kindling, thankyouverymuch). Oh, sure, it was 183 degrees and I was sweating in places I didn’t know I had (even my sweat was sweating), but I endured it for her.

And here’s a surprise for those who knew me. It was a walk down memory lane.

I was a Girl Scout in the same troop from the time I was 6 until I turned 18 and graduated from high school. I spent nearly every summer as a camper and counselor at the Girl Scout camp we visited last weekend, and to my now-adult eyes, it seems so much smaller than it did then. …CONTINUE READING »

Yes, this is me in a Dodge Challenger. And, yes, it is a completely ridiculous (rental) car.

The week before last, I visited the City of Brotherly Love for work. I think I must have been a travel agent in a former life, because with careful online manipulation, I managed to shave $189 off my co-worker’s and my hotel stay. Sooooo… I didn’t feel too bad when we were offered an upgrade to a premium car by National Car Rental for $30.

We chose a silver Dodge Challenger and, suddenly, I became a Singleton again. Gone was the booster seat, the American Girl doll accessories, the Happy Meal wrappers, school flyers and the discarded cups of much-needed coffee.

I had power, and I liked it. …CONTINUE READING »

Meet Sam (left) and Julie (right). That’s Beauty Black the horse inserted into the middle of the pair –– and you better not call her “Black Beauty” or you’ll feel the wrath of a certain almost-7-year-old.

American Girl dolls have invaded our house top to bottom. The collectibles, once independently produced for mail-order before the company was purchased by toy-giant Mattel, has been a staple of little girls across the country for nearly two decades. Our daughter, B, received her first one, a Just Like You doll with blonde hair and blue eyes, for her sixth birthday last summer and historical doll Julie, faux circa 1974, last Christmas.

Recently, my brother and I had a discussion about an upcoming trip to the American Girl Place in Chicago. My mother and I are taking my daughter for a girls’ weekend in September completely with shopping, lunch and hair-styling at the Water Tower goldmine. “I don’t buy into all of that ‘American Girl’ stuff,” he said, adding that the high cost of the dolls and accessories adds up. Mind you, he has a two-year-old who’s ALL BOY.

My point of view? She’s only little once. She’s got years to deal with any psychological damage she’ll claim her father and I caused during her upcoming teen years (tell it to your therapist, sweetie. We all do.), but at seven, she’s still in to snuggles, playing hide-and-seek, sneaking candy from the jar in the basement and, yes, dolls. Besides, there’s much to be said about a trip with one’s grandparents. B still talks about a trip in which my mother accompanied us to Tucson three years ago. I can’t say the same for my own grandmothers, one of whom was still raising a family during my youth, and the other who died when I was 12.

After all, memories –– whether big or small –– matter long after keepsakes have been tucked away in attics or sold on eBay. And, for B, I’m making as many as I can.

A few hours after my nephew left my house on Saturday afternoon, I was in our basement with a glass of wine and a “Cheaters” marathon on television. (I’ve told you guys my television choices are questionable …) Suddenly, my cellphone rang, showing me a number I didn’t recognize.

“Mandy? It’s J!” exclaimed the memorable voice on the other end of the line. “Are you going to the reunion tonight?”

It seemed a bunch of my high school classmates had gotten together via Facebook and had planned a 16-year high school reunion at a local restaurant on the Ohio River. Oh, I knew about it, but I had been fastidiously ignoring it and had not planned to attend. My high school career was fine but is a but a blip in my history. College –– most notably graduate school — is where I blossomed. I hadn’t kept in touch with any of my high school friends, but I am still very close to several of my collegiate sorority sisters.

J talked me into going. THREE HOURS before the party. I hadn’t taken the time to highlight my hair, wax, well, anything or even get a pedicure. (I did have time to take a Xanax and wash it down with a glass of Chardonnay. I do have my priorities.)

J picked me up and we drove the 20 miles to the restaurant. “We still have time to forget this,” I said as we walked in, fidgeting with my one party outfit (well, it was either that or sweatpants. I AM classy, after all).

Bottom line, we had a blast. Yes, cocktails were consumed. We had a party crasher from the year under us. And things got a little dicey with a man in a red jacket wearing a Tabasco hot sauce tie whom we dubbed “Captain Morgan” since he assumed the infamous mascot’s leg-hiked pose. He was certainly cruising for his future ex-wife. (he’s in the picture at left checking out my friend, A. Sorry, Cap’n. She’s married.)

Making a last-minute decision to show up was the right move. I didn’t worry about hiring a personal trainer and killing myself for 6 months, waxing unsuspecting parts of my body or freaking out over the icky brown color of my hair. I had fun. And I don’t regret it. 2014, here I come!

I grew up a frog. 

Well, not literally.  But I loved swimming so much it seemed like I spent about as much time in the water as out of it.

My parents immersed me in swimming lessons before I could walk.  And before I was out of diapers I was hopping into and flopping around the pool as if it were my natural habitat.

Throughout my childhood, I spent many long summer afternoons in the pool, emerging only reluctantly.  My mom would call twenty minutes for me to get out already, while I plunged under the surface at just the right moment, pretending not to hear.

Now that I have my own child, it matters to me that he learn to swim and love the water the way that I did.

Baby D’s introduction to swimming came last weekend, on our Florida vacation.  We took him to the pool .  I watched nervously as we dipped first his toes, then his legs, then his whole body up to his chest in the water. 

Would he be afraid? 

Would he protest?

As he lay in his daddy’s arms, he started kicking those chunky legs.  Relief washed over me.  He loved it!  I am so proud of our little tadpole.

Next summer?  Swimming lessons!  And he better not try to ignore me when I tell him it’s time to get out, because momma frog will be hopping in after him!

We’re embarking on our second road trip with our little man. Our family is planning a six-hour drive to Florida to visit the grandparents.

We’ve found the following tips helpful:

- Hire someone to care for your pets so you can leave them at home and reduce the vacation chaos. We found Janet on Kudzu and absolutely love her. When we are gone, she walks our girls, feeds and waters them and even snuggles with them a bit for good measure.

- Make sure you have had a recent oil change and your tires are in good shape. It has been 4,500 miles and over four months since my last oil change so I need to get to it. Dad, I hope you aren’t reading this!

- Bring a cooler of drinks and healthy snacks. That way you won’t be tempted to stop for a burger at the local Pit of Boiling Grease and Despair at exit 72 in the middle of nowhere. ::Shudder::

- Speaking of the Pit, I’ll go ahead and contradict myself here. Use the bathroom at fast food places instead of gas stations – they are always cleaner and more likely to have a changing table.

Sometimes we walk right in, use the bathroom and walk right out without buying anything. Shhh.

- Finally, drive at night so that your little one sleeps most of the way. It’s tough on us parents to get into town after midnight and hear that wakeup call from baby at 7AM, but it’s worth it to have a smooth, fuss-free ride.

Plus, with a grandparent visit comes relaxation and maybe even nap time for mom and dad. Now that’s a road trip worth taking!

Let’s find out! My husband just picked up a test model for his company. Since it’s Saturday, I have all weekend to play with it.

I’m currently sitting on the sofa in our living room with the iPad laying on the cushion in front of me. I can actually use the on-screen keyboard fairly well, and the auto correction is a nice feature as I try to navigate my way through this post. I am able to type this fairly quickly using two hands.

One possible early problem is that some of the apps are not yet formulated for the iPad. I downloaded the Facebook app and it is still the same size as it is on the iPhone. There is a small button that allows you to magnify the app, but it becomes a bit pixilated.

Without 3G capabilities, I won’t shell out $499 for this version, since the main reason I want one is to surf the internet, blog and check my e-mail when I travel. As a casual user for whom I think this is mostly designed, I think next month’s 3G model is going to be a part of my family very soon!

To answer my initial question of “can I blog on an iPad,”: yes. Not quite as quickly as on my laptop, but it gets the job done. I’m not able to post a picture on WordPress (our blogging tool), so I will have to switch to a real computer.

Any questions? Leave them in the comment box and I’ll get back to you.

A few days ago, I was on a message board I frequent and a woman asked the general population if anyone had been in a sorority in college. I proudly posted that I was (and am) a member of Alpha Delta Pi social sorority, and several others posted their own house affiliations.

Then the thread turned, well, ugly. One woman posted that she would never pay to have friends. Another had a bad experience and would not recommend going Greek. And others seem to have the stereotypical television view of sororities — you know, the ones in which girls wear pink, have blonde hair, are mean and force pledges to perform stupid stunts for entrance. (For the record, I was never once hazed.)

I pointed out the simple reason I joined a sorority: I went to college four hours away from home and didn’t know a soul on campus. Joining a sorority gave me an instant connection with a group of women whose faces suddenly became familiar in huge lecture halls, walking across campus and in the school’s cafeteria. Instead of sitting in my dorm room with a roommate I hated (still do), I had activities to attend, study groups in the library and dinner plans nearly every night. …CONTINUE READING »