Hear My Mantra

Writer's Workshop with Mama Kat:


Prompt of Choice: 2.) “I need all the help I can get and if repeating something healthy and inspiring to myself several times a day helps, then I’m going to do it!” -What affirmation makes you feel better?

There must be something about being a parent that narrows your advice to your kids to repeatable phrases--which you then repeat so often they become cliche.  Perhaps it stems from the belief that kids need to hear things simply--and often.

I am sure you can think of a few oft repeated phrases from your childhood. I know I can. . . "A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips!" . . . "You marry who you date." . . . "No one likes me everybody hates me, guess I'll go eat worms. . . " (That one was often sung to us when we were being dramatic and acting picked on.)

As a child I would often roll my eyes and think: "Oh please, you sooo don't understand my life!"  (I was a dramatic tween. . . and sometimes teen. . .I am sure you are surprised.)

Now I am a mother.

I often speak in repeated phrases.

My kids often roll their eyes.

But guess what.  I figure, I remember those phrases.  I like to think they made me think about my actions.  I like to think my repeating them makes my kids think about their actions.  Here are a few of my favorite:

"An orderly house is a sign of an orderly life" (repeated while making girls clean. . . and grumble)

"These consequences are a result of YOUR choice, not because I am a mean mom." (said while doling out punishment.)

"Choose to be happy!" (I then make THEM sing "If you chance to meet a frown, do not let it stay, quickly turn it upside down and smile that frown away.  No one likes a frowny face, change it for a smile.  Make the world a better place by smiling all the while." until they are giggling--works every time.  Sometimes they have to sing it four or five times.)

I even have a phrase for Rob:  "A happy wife, a happy life!" Mostly in jest. . . mostly.

But my favorite phrase, repeated to my kids AND myself on a regular basis:

BE A VICTOR, NOT A VICTIM

You can always find an excuse for why something isn't working out for you, but you can also find a solution and choose to look on the bright side.  Getting upset doesn't usually solve anything, and grumbling doesn't feel good.  Plus, people like victors better.

I'm still working on that one--hence to repetition.  It goes right along with "Think Positive."  It's working for me.

What is your mantra?

Nerdie Wordie

I have a confession to make.

I like words.

Of course, this is not likely a big revelation to any of you who actually know me. . . or read this blog with any regularity.  I went to the library to pick up some books for school and stumbled across a book entitled "Confessions of a High School Word Nerd" with the promise at the top to "Increase Your SAT Verbal Score While Laughing Your Gluteus Off".  I was hooked.

So far, I have known nearly all the words.  The only three words in the first couple chapters I was not familiar with were:

1 - Euphonious: adj. having a pleasant sound.
2 - Whang - v. to hit something and produce a loud resounding sound.
3 - Seraphim - n. an angel of the highest rank in the traditional medieval hierarchy of nine categories of angels.  (strangely I feel most like I should have known this one!)

Despite the tendency of the book to feel slightly pedantic (Which is really the point) and maybe a little ostentatious,  I love it!

I may not have perfect grammar, or be able to tell you every time you split an infinitive, (though I do get an inordinate amount of pleasure listening to Grammar Girl Podcasts) but, as a child, I had an apparently annoying habit of correcting my siblings--particularly the older ones--whenever they uttered something incorrectly. . . for which I got scolded (though, in my mother's defense, she probably discouraged my grammar policing antics as an effort to preserve my physical health, rather than from a lack of desire to have well spoken children).

Old habits die hard.

I still cringe when people use "I" incorrectly even when it REALLY should be "me".  For instance: "Julie invited Chuck and I."  Me! she invited Chuck and ME.  Or when people mispronounce certain words.

Let me just stop here and confess that I am really a big hypocrite.  For years I mispronounced SOO many words. . . macabre. . . liaison--because while I had read them (and then looked up the unfamiliar ones in my trusty dictionary that I kept on my nightstand) I had not heard them.

That is, until a few years ago when I discovered my new best friend: freedictionary.com .  It has sound bytes.

So now when I correct my children for saying things incorrectly, I can be sure I am not leading them astray.

But lately two words have become quite irksome to me: Yay, and Wala.

They make me cringe.  Yay has become so widespread that I have reluctantly used it a couple times, but I really just wanted to quickly backspace and type "yea".  And "wala" annoys me for two reasons: it's spelled wrong AND pronounced wrong.

So when my six year old daughter flung out her arms and declared "Wala!" tonight, I stopped what I was doing and said, "There is a "V" at the beginning.  Say it 'voila'."  To which she said, "Oh.  I didn't know. "

So of course I asked her where she heard it pronounced that way and she said a movie, but quickly added: " It might have said voila with a "v" and I just didn't hear the "v"."  She has since said it three times, in context, perfectly correctly.  It makes me smile.

 In case you were wondering, I did sometimes find it cute when my very small child said something wrong. After a couple seconds of appreciating the cuteness, I corrected them.  Small children with large vocabularies are also cute, and as I wrote in a skit recently: "It takes less skill to swear than parry with a large vocabulary."  My kids still recite this line and it makes me proud.

So now that you likely think I am a Nazi Wordie (see I am capable of using words only found in "urban" dictionaries),  I want to know:

What puts chills down your spine like fingernails on chalkboards?    


***In case you actually go to freedictionary.com and test out "voila" you will note that THEY pronounce it wrong, with a hard "a" at the end.  This caused me a slight amount of panic which sent me googling all over the place until I had confirmed that it IS a soft "a" at the end.  So much for my new best friend! Many other dictionary sites now have sound bytes also.***

Coincidence?

While out running around I couldn't help but wonder. . . 

Was THAT such a good idea?

On the other hand. . .

This one I get!

My Year of Sweets

In my Women Writer's class we are reading a book this month called "My Year of Meats."  It is about a woman producing a TV series entitled "My American Wife!" which airs in Japan. It is funded by the beef industry and it's main goal is to promote meat eating in that country.  Each episode features an all American house wife who cooks a meat based meal.  It aires each week for a year.   Incidentally, American promotion of meat in Japan significantly raised their heart disease.  I am not saying anything bad about meat--I grew up on a beef farm and I eat meat regularly.  Just a little FYI.

But that's not what I am writing about.  While I was reading it I was struck by my own eating habits.  Meat is not my downfall. . . sweets are.  So I decided to outline my year of sweets.

MY YEAR OF SWEETS:

January - January is the month of resolutions.  Time to stop eating junk food and get in shape. . . ironically, we start all that off with a big party where we eat crap.  If that is not enough, in my house the Christmas candies are still hanging around (no not my waist--at least not only my waist, the cupboards and counters too).  What. am. I. to. do. . . I have to eat them to get them out of the house--right?!

February - Resolutions die quickly mid month.  Valentine's Day must be accompanied by loads of chocolate--preferably Dark Dove Chocolate. . . and Sees raspberry truffles (I am salivating just typing this). Plus since I bought a chocolate mold I had to try that out in various flavors and fillings.

March - I know what you are saying--"No one eats candy on St. Patrick's Day."  I don't--really.  I don't need to because my birthday is in March.  So I eat cake. . . lots of cake. . . and ice cream.  There is no break in sugar consumption this month.  And even if it wasn't my birthday it is girl scout cookie season.   You know what that means?  I ordered 18 boxes of girls scout cookies--you do the math (what?! it only comes around once a year and I accidentally promised two girls I would buy from them.  I couldn't disappoint). If you want to laugh a few of those calories off that were consumed due to over indulgence of the GS cookies, go here and have a listen--it's worth it.

April - It is only March but I am sure you know what is coming--the stores are stocked up and prepared for April. . . and the upcoming visit from the Easter Bunny.  Who can resist those cadbury eggs?  (Actually I can, but the Dove Truffle eggs do me in!)  The starburst jelly beans tempt me too. . . not the peeps though, never the peeps.

May - By May I am trying to reinstate the whole get fit routine (swimsuit season is looming)  but I have kids. . . and those darn kids like to buy me chocolates for Mother's Day.  You cannot refuse chocolates from your children on Mother's Day--it would be wrong.  So I suffer through and. I. eat. them. I know, it's tough, but that's what mothers do for their children.

June - June should be a sweet free month.  But of course those same darn kids can't leave dad out.  More chocolates -- luckily they tend to be cherry chocolates (which I am not fond of ) or peanut butter cups (which though they are not fond of me, they somehow manage to get into my mouth).  They aren't my chocolates. . . there should be no problem.  I don't know what to tell you.  Except--just because they aren't mine doesn't keep them from sticking to my thighs. . . darn chocolates.  

July - July takes a turn (for the better, really).  Fresh fruit is in season. June/July = strawberries, raspberries, blue berries.  But do we eat them straight and healthy?  Sure. . . and baked in pies and made into jam and added to homemade-straight-cream ice cream. . .  Delicious, sure.  Swim suit friendly?  Hardly.  

August - August keeps up the fresh fruit trends of the summer.  Plus we add more homemade ice cream and Popsicles and blackberries (which turn into jam and cobbler and milk shakes).  Plus all summer the Ice Cream Truck passes by our house every Friday--and we must purchase ice cream.  It is a compulsion I have.  To understand why go here.

September - Whew.  Sweet Free!  (unless you count apples season, and therefore apple pie and cobbler and crisp and applesauce and apple jam. . . but who counts that anyway?).

October - Halloween candy.  Carmel apples. Halloween candy. Bat and pumpkin shaped sugar cookies. Halloween candy.  Pumpkin bread, muffins and cupcakes.  Halloween candy. Rob's birthday cake Halloween candy. . . It is all going down hill from here.  Prepare yourself (But really it's all winter from here on out and what's an extra layer of fat?!  Insulation right?  And who can tell under all those sweaters and coats? No one I tell  you.

November - More sugar cookies (shaped like turkeys and pilgrims) Pumpkin Pie with whipped cream.  Apple pie with ice cream. Berry pie. . .with both!  Pecan pie (it's largely sugar, it doesn't need ice cream or whipped cream, but you will add it!).  Birthday cake for two birthdays. . .

December - The grand climax of the year of sweets.  Candy canes. Penuche.  Carmel. Cookies. White Fudge. Chocolate fudge. English toffee. Peppermint bark. Gingerbread houses. Candy garland. Chocolate oranges. Hot chocolate. Homemade marshmallows. . . .I think I am gaining weight as I type!  I better stop, though the list in far from complete.  There really is something to be said for going out with a bang (or a pop!).  

So you see, avoiding sweets is nigh on impossible.  Would it be wrong to resist?  Please tell me, what kind of year would it be if there was no sugar?  I know I would loose some recently acquired "body texture" if I turned a cold shoulder on sugar.  But I am addicted to a real bad thing and I know the parting will be painful.  

Have you said so long to sugar?  Do you even want to?  

A Matter of Appearance. . .

Do you ever wonder what people mean when they say, "That is so you!" I do. I wonder what they think "me" is. It is very difficult to know "who" a person is entirely. I am famous for looking at people who seem to have it all together and wondering what about me is keeping me from pulling it all off.

Rob is famous for telling me I'd get more done if I tried to do less. Maybe he's right, but I want to get it ALL done. . .and eat my cake too. I want to be one of THOSE people.

You know who I mean. They exist at work, on your block, all over blogland, and on Wisteria Lane (forget about the fact that her husband cheated on her, her fiance killed her husband and her new husband tried to kill her best friend's husband, the woman's house and wardrobe is pristine and her muffins divine!). They set a tough standard. . .don't they? Or is it only half the story?

That little illusion came crashing down in a fit of hysterical laughter today. I was in the midst of a war zone I like to call my house, after a night and morning of running around trying to play catch up on all the things I am behind on. In a burst of determination I swore I was going to take back control of my life and get organized---AND accomplish stuff.

In the midst of this a friend of mine complimented me on my organization and ability to get things done. I nearly doubled over in laughter. Seriously, who did she think I was? One of THOSE people? Does this mean all of THOSE people are just a figment of my imagination? That makes me feel better. . .except it doesn't.

I still want to get it all done. Without the aid of medication. . .or a nanny. . .and a housekeeper--well maybe with a housekeeper. That would be nice. Especially if she ironed too.

What I am getting at is, things are rarely as they appear. And since I have been rather caught up in appearances lately it got me thinking: How do you see yourself? And since we are all heralding the return of our favorite fall shows I am going to pose this question in the guise of:

"What character from your favorite show do you think most resembles you?"

Are you Edie Brit, or Monica Geller-Bing? Samantha Jones or Angela Martin?

I think I would like to be a Bree but deep down I am really a Lynette (I just haven't had my successful career break yet!). So now I am wondering. . .who are you? And who do you want to be? AND, if you are not entirely what you seem. . .who do people think you are?

Blonde or Brunette. . .

. . .and other quandaries.

Some days I feel like I have lived my life in several different bodies. Thanks, in large part to the miracle of childbirth. You see, having children apparently changes many things about a woman. I am not talking about the suddenly selfless acts of nurturing and love that a mother experiences, or the loss of personal identity, or the change in career goals, or so many other things becoming a mother changes. I am talking about the half size larger shoe size, the less than perky body, the slightly less sharp eye sight (which my eye doctor swears has nothing to do with childbirth, but which got worse with each child). And finally, the thing that has caused me countless hours (Well, minutes at least) of pondering and wondering: should I just give up the fight and finish the job already?

I am talking about the ever darkening shade of my hair.

As a child I was a tow-head. My girls both are blondies. But with each child my hair has darkened considerably and continues to get darker the older I get. I have fought it. My husband has reminded me time and again, "I married a blonde. I would like it to remain so."

Then, about a year ago I saw a video by Dashboard Confessional (Stolen) and was struck by the actress in it. "She is a striking brunette." I thought. No blonde can pull off that striking elegance. So I googled her and found out it was Olivia Wilde.

Sound familiar? the first time I saw her she was on the OC and looked like this:

Pretty. . .and blonde!

So I started thinking. If she looks that much better as a brunette, can I do it? We both have blue eyes--does that count?

Here she is as a brunette:

What do you think? Better, no? (If you are not sure, go google the Dashboard Confessional video--plus, it's a great song.)

So I decided I needed more input. Here I am now:

(I'd offer a more original photo than my profile pic, but I take the pictures, so pictures of me are few and far between.)

I have been every shade of blonde, from bleach blonde, to slightly darker than this pic. Do you think I can pull it off? Or do blondes really have more fun? (Make no mistake, I get that she is pretty much beautiful anyway you look at it and I clearly don't resemble her, but none-the-less. . .)

I figure since it is one of the things I would like to try before I die, maybe it's time to go for it. Yes, or No? I was just wondering. . .

20 Things. . .

I would like to accomplish before I die.

I take no credit for the idea of this post. Jennifer over at The Peterson's Go Public did a list in honor of Dave Freeman who co-authored the book 100 Things To Do Before You Die, who died unexpectedly at the age of 47.

So I decided to make a list. After all, lists are my thing. I often make lists of things I would like to accomplish, so I had a short list ready. And I have done a few things noteworthy to date, I have written two novels, eaten dinner with the president of my church, spent a week in Mexico where I was the only 5'10" blond girl in sight, and fallen in love and married the perfect man for me. But I think I have more to do. Here are my grandest aspirations. . .and a few things I'm itching to try:

1. Publish my novels.

2. Learn the art of photography like a pro and maybe sell some of my photography.

3. Travel all over England (and France and Italy).

4. Have a yard worthy of a magazine -- landscaped by me.

5. Write a recipe book.

6. Open a restaurant.

7. Spearhead an educational program for underprivileged youth.

8. Finish my degree, and get a graduate degree.

9. Serve an educational mission for my church.

10. Learn to play the piano.

11. Speak a foreign language fluently.

12. Learn the art of cake decorating.

13. Try being a brunette.

14. Run 10 consecutive miles.

15. Own and restore a historic home.

16. Build something on my own using power tools--even the scary bladed ones.

17. Learn to ballroom dance.

18. Research and write the life story of an ancestor.

19. Become independent enough to drive around in a large city on my own.

20. Own a lake house.

So, there you have it. They say the first step in accomplishing a goal is to write it down. What would you put in your top 20 things?

Popularity Contest

It would seem that despite our best efforts to leave the insecurities and bids for popularity behind us in the corridors of high school, we never quite out grow the need for approval. I like to consider myself an independent minded person, but I am fully aware that I am a seeker of affirmation. I like to be liked, even by people I don't like.

But there are those of you who give off the impression that you are who you are and you don't care who thinks what. You know who you are. I like to think of myself in those terms occasionally, but if I manage to fool others, I rarely fool myself.

My husband is one of those people who can do anything, or at least he will tell you he can and then figure it out. He doesn't generally let other's opinions effect him over much and his confidence is certainly not lacking. So it made what happened today particularly amusing and revealing.

For work today Rob was scheduled to speak via conference call three different times. At least a thousand people of the North West were invited to join. He was all set up for the conference call and waiting on the line when the operator came on and informed him that no one had joined the call. He was shocked and dismayed. Then even more so when the experience was repeated for his second call. Luckily the third was well attended, but for a short while there it was clear that, despite all logic, part of him took it just a little bit personally. I think at one point he might have even said, "No one wants to listen to me." with shock and awe and little hurt in his voice.

It made me realize how often we seek the approval of others. I seek approval from my husband, my friends, even strangers who read this blog. Maybe not always approval, but acceptance, and encouragement. So, I was just wondering, do you feel the need for approval from others, and if you are willing to admit it, who do you seek it from the most? Your boss? Your parents? Your children? I find that in some way this show of approval and acceptance seems to validate us in our own eyes. Perhaps we are too worried about what we can do, and not who we are. I know I sometimes am.

Traditions

I am a traditional kind of girl. I love traditional, even historical homes. I dress in a fairly classic style. I have a traditional house in the country with a husband, two kids and a dog (all that is missing is the picket fence, and I have a picture of one I'd love to throw up!).

My husband often jokingly tells me I was born at least fifty years too late and probably on the wrong side of the country. I love the idea of big close-knit families that live in a house with a name that gets passed down through the generations. I aspire to one day have a home with a name that my kids will love so much that when I die they will just move in and not sell it to the highest bidder!

And I love heirlooms. I love the history of knowing something has been in the family for generations. Really, I just love history. Personal history. I don't have enough of that in my home.

But most of all I love family traditions. We didn't carry too many into our family when we married, but we have created several of our own. Traditionally, at Christmas time, our family does the 25 days of Christmas. We do something festive every day in December leading up to Christmas, ending with a formal, grand, candlelit dinner on Christmas Eve (With our heirloom silverware). And we watch a Christmas movie every night.

At Easter, the Easter bunny ALWAYS leaves a treasure hunt that leads to the baskets of goodies, with riddles and rhyming clues to show the way.

Traditionally on my birthday Rob has been out of town, so I started one of my favorite traditions--shopping for myself at Banana Republic in a major way for my birthday.

Every summer we all travel to Bear Lake, Idaho for Rob's family reunion. His Grandmother lives there. This is the first year in the eleven years we've been married that we didn't go. I am a little sad, because the girls so look forward to it--and I get a lot of great pictures. There is something about going to grandma's house during the summer that makes me nostalgic--which is funny, because I never went to my grandma's for the summer. One died before I was born and the other when I was young, and I never knew her well.

Traditionally, I take the girls to stay with my parents and Rob's parents for a week or two every summer. We are taking that trip next week and the girls can't wait. Our visit also usually falls on my niece's birthday and, since she is the same age as my oldest, this makes it extra fun for the girls.

Traditionally, on our anniversary, we go out to dinner and go shopping. I know, going on a date should be at least a monthly tradition, not a yearly one. I am working on it. But we had a great time none-the-less. Maybe one of these years I will say, "Traditionally we take a fabulous vacation on our anniversary." One can at least hope.

We have a few others, but I would love to add more. I really appreciate the comfort and expectation that traditions bring. It makes things feel stable and organized and happy. It connects us to each other, to our parents, grandparents, and children, and becomes "what our family does."

So I am wondering, are you a traditional kind of person? And if so, what are some of your family traditions?

Country Peace or City Bustle?

Having grown up in the country, on a farm, in a very small town, I thought the best thing in the world would be to become some high paid executive and move to the city. I would wear trendy clothes and intimidate unsuspecting men and have an orderly fast paced life with lots of shopping and high class parties.

I hatched this plan in high school and took several business classes. I started college with International Marketing in mind. Even struggling through business calculus and statistics I was undeterred.

Then I met a cute boy. A senior with his eye on medical school. And I really liked him. I figured I could be a doctor's wife and a high powered professional. So we got married and moved out of state. This was essential for my plan and his job. We bought a condo and settled in and loved the freedom we had. And while the city wasn't huge, it was a far cry from our roots.

Before we knew it we had kids and had moved to suburbia and really, I was just fine with that. I still had my plans. Then one day while I was back home visiting my family a funny thing happened.

We are driving through the country and my girls are fighting. I turn around and attempt to distract them with a clever suggetion. "Why don't you look out the window and count how many ditches you can find?"

Blank stare.

"What is a ditch?" my oldest asks.

What is a ditch? Seriously! Oh how far have I come that my children don't know what a ditch is?

"It's the dip in the ground that carries water to the fields." I explain slowly and point out the window, thinking they will now ask more questions. Questions about the country, the farms, maybe the cows. I am all geared to explain, like the time my neice, who also had not lived in the country, asked, "Why did they put the bales of hay all over the field like that?"

"Oh." They both turn. "I see one!" The oldest yells. "I am winning!" Apparently they don't need to know more. Not when there is a competition in progress. So much for the stories I could tell.

But it got me thinking. So when we moved I decided I wanted a little space for my kids to make outdoor memories. Close to a Banana Republic, of course. But as it turns out, if you want space you have go move out, way out, of the city. (Maybe I exaggerate--we are thirty minutes from a very large city, but it felt very far) There was no Banana Republic. I would have to drive forty-five minutes to get to one. But really, I do have a computer and a credit card!

So we purchased our little two-thirds of an acre (which is basically on a golf course-my quasi country house) and sighed with delight at the space.

Six months go by.

Man this place is crowded! I really don't want to hear my neighbors while they barbecue. I really need more trees for my kids to climb in. Wouldn't it be fun to plant an orchard, and a really big garden? Did I mention I started canning? And we got a dog! (granted he is a Maltese. . .do those really count? probably not--scratch that).

Who is this person I have become? What happened to the big city girl inside, bursting with impatience to get out?

You know, I don't really miss her. I love my life. I love space and quiet, county fairs and simple pleasures.

This post is longer than I intended. What I really want to know is, are you a City Dweller, or a County Lover? And did you always know, or come full circle like me? Just wondering.

What's in a Name?

Coined words, phrases and nicknames. . .

In this fast paced world of emailing and texting and IMing, one would think that a fast talker and a quick thinker like I am would not hesitate to jump on the band wagon. And I do love the time saved in leaving out the actual words in the sentences, but my family has a tendency to create nicknames and phrases that are longer than the names and situations they are meant to replace. (This really shouldn't come as a surprise considering my tendency to long windedness!)

Here are a few of Sig's best made up words:

Morether (more)
Churchable (This is like fashionable, but it means appropriately dressed for church. I think it is clever and quick, but I just ruined the quickness with this long winded explanation:)
Lasterday/lastertime/lateryear -- pretty self explanatory
Carshmallow - car completely covered in snow

Here are a few of Hannah's:

Crocatators -- one day she stopped saying alligator or crocodile and combines the two, covers both bases.
B's - Barbies, as in "I going to play B's."
(I would have more for Hannah, but, 1) I can't remember, and 2) she is a big fan of pantomiming until I am crazy trying to guess what she is saying!)

The Parents:

The happiest time of the night - girls' bed time, but we refer to is as "Girls, it's the happiest time of the night. Go put your pjs on." And sometimes we break out in song.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious - this is just the general password for escaping . . well, any trap Rob puts me or the girls in.

Bear Trap - any time Rob traps one of us he yells "Bear trap." Generally this involves someone laying on someone and minor suffocation.

Tweet-Tweet-Poop - Must be uttered before the holder of the treat will distribute a treat.

"You are a *insert last name*" - which means you must do whatever I am asking you to do. Generally uttered with force by Rob to encourage hard work, happiness. . .essentially it translates "Never show weakness!"

And our renaming does not end there. Most people and places we know get nicknames. Our girls become Sigbert (I call her this in public and people give me strange looks that clearly say "You named your child SIGBERT?"), Bigs, Big Little, Siggy Biggy. Our oldest became Miss Sass, Sassifrass, Banana Rama. Rob is Roberto, Dr. Science, or sometimes Dwight. I am Jenia, or Hey You, most often moooom. Grandma is Manna (Because Miss Sass couldn't say Grandma) I have a friend named Aki who became Archuleta. Our entire condo complex where we lived for the first two years we were married had only names like: The Cowboys, The Party Boy, The Flight Attendant, The Cranky Man, The Realtor, etc.

Fred Meyer is Freddies, Walmart is Wallies, Jack in the Box became inexplicably Yippy in the Box (Thanks to Sig). It is almost like speaking in code and it is fun when strangers can't interpret.

I have noticed that a good portion of the bloggers out there use nicknames for the people they refer to in their posts. So, I was wondering, what are your nicknames and what is the story behind them?

Bad Boy or Solid & Reliable

I recently heard about an article that discussed what a car says about the man who owns it and the women attracted to these men. Top five cars to attract women were (in reverse order):

Chevy Suburban
Men who drive Suburbans are the adventurous type and enjoy spending time with friends and family. According to Lorraine, these vehicles attract women that are family-oriented, down-to-earth and easy-going.

Mercedes S-Class

Men that drive Mercedes S-Class vehicles are classy, successful and stylish and, according to Lorraine, these vehicles attract sophisticated women that are in their late 30s and 40s and enjoy being taken care of.

Ford F-150
Drivers of Ford F-150 tend to be insecure, according to Lorraine, and overcompensate for this by acting tough and driving a “tough” looking vehicle. Lorraine said F-150s attract women that prefer to be protected by a man so they can feel safe.

Corvette

The Corvette is the official midlife crisis car, and the men that drive them are conservative but are trying to display their wild side through their car. Corvettes attract women that like bad boys and are probably bad girls themselves.

And the number one car. . .

Toyota Camry

The Toyota Camry is driven by men that are typically solid, reliable and committed, and these vehicles attract women that are sweet, level-headed, uncomplicated and undemanding.

My husband (Until he recently acquired a company car and sold it) drove a Honda Accord. I would venture to say it falls under the Toyota Camry category. He is definitely solid, reliable and committed. But I like what is says about me too!

He is however contemplating getting truck--but it would be the Toyota Tundra (probably still solid and reliable) And he does dream of owning a Porsche Speedster '57. What do you suppose that says about him?

What kind of car do you/your husband/significant other drive? Does the theory prove true?