Ever since I returned home from Florida, I’ve been plotting in my mind about how I can get back there. I’m not having vacation withdrawal, I’m having weather withdrawal. I know, it’s ridiculous. I’m not saying it’s like I’m up here on the chain gang or something—I love my life here—the people, my house, the gig I’ve got going. It’s unarguably one of the prettiest areas in the country. It’s just that I am telling you, even though I was born and raised right outside Boston and now live in New Hampshire, I swear, this is not where I’m meant to be. Someone in my ancestry took a way wrong turn! So me going somewhere warm for a week is like giving a junkie a crack hit and then taking it all awayyyyy. (That ‘splains why I’m all shaky and shivery and shouty and stabby right now.)

See, I h.a.t.e. the cold. And the older I get, the more I hate it. Being cooped up inside while I *know*  (warm weather people reading my blog–please forgive my tone as I’m relatively sure it’s temporary insanity) other people (me-ow!) are drinking in the aroma of  fresh cut grass while they swim outside makes me ca-rabby. Booooooo.  So….I might have bought a lottery ticket this week. Or three. I know. I know. That’ s a game plan, right? Stay tuned to watch me get struck by lightning!

But I’ve been thinking. It’s probably better this way, that I live in the land of Vitamin D deficiency. If I moved south of the Mason-Dixon line, think about all the bad things that could happen:

1. Melanoma would surely ensue, because let’s review, I vacillate between the color of sugar and flour. And hell, living in the cold is surely better than swimming with the fishes. Maybe it’s for my own good I’m locked up half the year?

2. If I wanted to ensure I ward off melanoma, I’d probably A. bankrupt myself buying Coppertone and B. blind the neighbors with my doughgirl Irish skin…I’d have to provide them with those eclipse glasses. They’d probably throw garlic at me and no one would talk to me at block parties as I stand in the corner drinking my beer out of my Canadian souvenir cup. They’d be all, “Tacky tourist!” and start singing, “One of these things is not like the o-ther!”

3. If I encountered someone rude or surly down south while buying my case of Coppertone, I’d likely blurt out, “Awww, you’re just pissed we won the war!” and stomp off like I did in Pensacola once. And that’s not how a lady should act! (Hey, she started with ME!)

4. I think I’d have night terrors about the bugs. Dude. The bugs. They need their own zip code down there. I saw a bug on the ground at Epcot and it was so stinking big it attracted a crowd. Ok, a crowd of little boys but still. (Seriously. You pay Walt through the nose to get in to go on rides created by literal geniuses, and there are all these boys staring at this…..thing….When the bug is the wow factor at Epcot, that bug ain’t right.) I can only say it was so honkingly huge, I told the boys I thought we could fly home on it. EEEEH.

5. Let’s not underestimate what a challenge it would be to live in a climate where there would be virtually little to no chance of masking the muffin top with a toasty, roasty cable Lands’ End nerd herd sweater or fleece? I’m down with down, yo! Wearing that shizz down there would probably create an international incident when the feds started tailing me thinking I’m all up to no good hiding contraband in my coat on a hot day. “Sorry, officer, no! Please don’t take me away! I don’t have ANY weapons under here—just my muffin top! I love my fami-leee….Noooo! How will I Facebook from the clink?????”

On the other hand…hmm…prison time. Three squares, no worrying about what to cook, no one recoiling at my cooking. Lots of time to pump iron and bond with other chicks—far cry from the frat house. And I’m sure in no time I could get an online MBA, master license plate making, or become an internet reverend! Mama would be proud!

On second thought, maybe I should go turn the heat up and go check those lottery numbers………..

A few months ago, a friend sent me an invitation to something called, “Pinterest”. Have you heard of it? I didn’t know what it was at first so I did what I always do when I don’t know what something is….nothing. (I put the I in initiative.) Then I got another invitation so I took the next step, set up an account under my alias, Muffintopmommy, and promptly forgot all about it. Til one day a few weeks ago when a funtastic muffintopper pointed me to a recipe blog called skinnytaste (nom, nom, low fat goodness!) whose glorious recipe pictures led me back to……Pinterest.

People? 2012 is the year I met my personal crack cocaine.

It was a circuitous route, but like all addicts, I perservered. And once I got there? It was the point of no return—I was ALL in. So now what? Naturally, Iwanna do like most good junkies do…. give others a taste and suck you all down my wayward path. That’s right. After being asked several times last week by friends what Pinterest is, I feel it is now my obligation to spread the good word. (I’m not going door to door. That’s just silly. It’s January in New Hampshire and this territory is owned by Girl Scouts right now. Have you ever tried to cross a sash clad, ponytailed, four foot tall ninja carrying an order form for the holy grail of minty cookies? Don’t. Just don’t. Just smile and give them all your money.)

Wanna come along? Consider this Pinterest 101. Right here. Right now. Time to woman up. This isn’ t for sissies. And it can be confusing. After one friend emailed me asking me to explain it and why it was so addictive, I sent her an email that I thought made sense, to which she responded:

“Ok, I think I kind of get it.  I can pin things to my board and they will stay there if I want to go back to them?  Do you share stuff with others?  I take it back…I don’t think I get it at all.”

She seemed down, so I emailed her back, “You is smart. You is kind. You is important.” Thank you, Pinterest, for reminding me of that phenomenal quote from The Help! I love you Aibileen, I love you!

People who are smart, kind, and important still often can’t grasp the concept of Pinterest because you see, it’s one of those things that’s harder to explain than it is to actually do. I know that sounds weird, but my best recommendation is to jump in with both feet and try it. You do need an invitation from someone who’s already on Pinterest. I know, it’s super exclusive. That’s why I am surprised I got an invite. (But really…if you need an invite, email me and I’ll send you one.)

So here’s my best stab at ‘splaining it. Pinterest is a virtual pinboard. Did you ever cut out pictures from a magazine of things you liked… a fun outfit? A wedding dress? A cool looking kitchen? A yummy recipe? And pin them to an actual corkboard? (Yeah, me neither, but I kinda wish I did.) I hear people who aren’t like me (read:organized) do, or they carefully file these clippings away for future reference/inspiration.

Well now, even disorganized dopes with no initiative can display everything we love! The really crack coke part of it is, you can follow what others display too, and “repin” what they have displayed on your corkboards. And you can have dozens and dozens of corkboards showcasing anything and everything your muffin top desires! For example, I have categories like, “The Yummies” for recipes, “The funny” for hilarious sayings, “Shoes and clothes and shoes, oh my!” for houses (Der, clothes and shoes! Just making sure you’re paying attention–this is so not important!) ,  and “Let’s Get Physical” for exercise tips. I even have a board called, “People I Want To Have A Beer With” and “People I’m Allowed To Cheat On The Hubs With”! Calm down! Stop calling me Newt. It’s just for funnies and let’s face it, Coach Taylor from Friday Night Lights isn’t into me hasn’t returned any of my  calls, text messages, or emails.

And who doesn’t love a trip down memory lane? Someone’s pin totally brought me back and led me to the greatness of this 70′s commercial:

Time for Timer!

Makes me teary. And inspiration? Is at your fingertips, my friends!

Can you even guess where I found this fat-tastic weight loss inspiration? Who needs to pay for Weight Watchers! Pfft!

 So pin those yummy recipes, Julia! Showcase the most fashionable outfits you’ll never fit into or be able to buy, Gisele! Pine away for that perfect porch to have a cocktail on, Martha! Be inspired to conquer your muffin top, um, Muffintopmommy!

See, Pinterest is almost like the life we wish we had or everything we aspire to be: in shape, well dressed, well spoken, well intentioned, grammatically correct, repurposing, funny, inspirational, selves……..who drive fantastic cars, cook like famous chefs, sip gorgeous cocktails on sweeping verandas whilst taking time to smell the perfectly pruned hydrangeas.

Mama can dream. Mama.can.dream. Don’t we all deserve a break, if only virtual, from cars covered in winter’s salt, shirts we bought because they were on clearance at Target, and humdrum dinners we could assemble in our sleep?

But hey, just don’t blame me if you’re soon writing status updates on your Facebook page like I did last week:

Dear Pinterest, thanks for making me hungry, hate my clothes, and want a new baby. I would complain, but your inspirational messages prevent me from not appreciating the wonderful kids I have, the (mediocre) food I cook, and (nerd herd) clothes I wear! Well played, Pinterest, well played.

Don’t hate the playah, just hate the game.

**You can even pin blogs! But apparently putting a pinterest button on my blog so you can follow me or pin my blog….is above my pay grade. I tried. And failed. On Pinterest, I’m much more talented…..so if you’re looking for me? Try there. And if anyone finds a blog post giving the 411 on that, pin it baby, pin it!

THERE IS TOO A SANTA CLAUS!

And he lives on a cul de sac. In my town. Which is naturally the North Pole. (Or at least it seems like it come February.) 

Don’t believe me? See for yourself. Here’s his website: www.santaholidayfun.com 

Now Santa and Mrs. Claus are lovely people, who sit in front of their home every night (BRR!), to the delight of parents and children who make the pilgrimage from near and far to tell Santa their wishes and to sit on his lap for a photo opp! (Really curious if the Clauses get invited to the block party come spring though!) Some of the neighbors seem very much into it…. 

THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! CLARK GRISWOLD WOULD BE PROUD!

And some, well, maybe not so much? 

I HOPE I'M A BETTER WRITER THAN PHOTOGRAPHER---THAT'S A LONE GRINCH ON THAT GUY'S YARD!

When we took our sons, 5 year old was beside himself with excitement. I don’t think he came up for air as he sat on Santa’s lap. 3 year old looked warily at Santa and Mrs. Claus from behind hub’s leg, and 23 month old shrieked, so Mrs. Claus graciously offered her seat next to the big guy to me, so I could hold my screamer. Santa and Mrs. Claus even gave out coloring pages, crayons, and candy canes. 

HE BETTER NOT HAVE BEEN ASKING FOR A RED RYDER B B GUN!

Santa and Mrs. Claus do all this for the kids–and parents– for free. They will not take donations. They are the real deal–the epitome of true Christmas spirit in a land of Grinchy, grouchy, grumpity umpities. 

The only thing they ask in return for their awesomesauce? Is that you do something nice for someone. Santa encourages random acts of kindness and he wants us all to keep the true spirit of Christmas in mind. Right on, Santa. 

So, I found myself at the mall this past Sunday—the last weekend day before Christmas if you hadn’t noticed. (I’m a planner.) I went with one specific errand in mind–to pick up some jammies I had ordered for my sons online and had shipped to the store. The whole way over there, I grumbled to myself at my short sightedness not to have paid the shipping to have them sent right to my house.  I’ve never had anything shipped to a store,  but as I am trying to follow the wisdom of the more fabulously frugal lately (Go coupongoddesss, go!) after my abysmal attempt at couponing last year, I figured I could pick them up and save some scratch. 

Without getting into the deets, during my quick trip, I had a serendipitous encounter with a person which led me to take Santa’s advice, and perform a random act of kindness. 

And Santa was right! It felt all kinds of awesome. (Much better than the greedy bastard feeling I usually have when exiting the mall.) Ahem. And so what if some rushed shopper  jackass parked so close to me I had to suck in the muffin top, turn fifty shades of purple, and flatten my arse back into my car after I skipped out of the mall, and *practically* (ok, not really) had to use the $6.99 I saved on shipping to buy ACE bandages? Joy to the world because I got my chance to pay it forward! 

(And by the way? If I had any doubt about my random act of kindness, it was abated when I saw the sorry line of parents and adorable whiny children waiting in what looked like a communist bread line for…mall Santa.) Be honest. What’s the over under on mall Santa hiding nips in that big red suit? Oh the horror joy!! 

After my adventures at the mall, I decided to run to Homegoodies to see if they had a gift I wanted to buy for muffintopdaddy. (You know, I should just say what it is to see if he really reads my blog!) Okay, okay, I’m focusing…back to the story…so I grabbed a spot, jumped out of the car, and BOOM. Right across from where I parked, sat a nondescript vehicle with a not so nondescript license plate–and I felt like it was SCREAMING at me: 

PAY4WRD. 

Nu nu nu nu! 

I was FA-REAKED out.  

I ran into Homegoodies in all my freakedoutedness, they didn’t have the item (sorry hubs!), so I ran back out, just as PAY4WRD was driving away. 

Coincidence this should happen not twenty minutes after my mall encounter? Or a sign via New Hampshire license plate?

I believe! I believe! 

I pulled out of the lot and decided I had one more errand left in me. Got to the next light, and I seriously thought I was about to see a flash mob dancing in the street. I was pumped! Why else would two cars full of six people park in an empty lot and be stopping traffic except for a flash mob?! Dugh. I’ve been watching too much youtube, clearly. Actually, a  man was stalled in the intersection, and these kind folks stopped two lanes of traffic and then pushed his truck across the two lanes of traffic. And no one honked. Or yelled. Or gestured. It was a random act of kindness so maybe no one wanted to be the jerk—in light of what they were witnessing. Which in the Northeast is truly a feat.

But isn’t that Santa’s point? That being kind is catchy? That grouchy begets grouchy, but kindness begets more kindness? 

Whether you’re 7, or 37, or 77, it’ s a great feeling to believe. 

There is too a Santa Claus—in each and every one of us. And if you don’t believe me? Then step off my blog, Grinch!

Merry Christmas!

XOX, Muffintopmommy

WHY WHAT CAN I HELP YOU WITH?

A muffintopper has finally come forward with an STFU nomination!

I’m so glad she could come to me. If I can’t spread sunshine and light into the world, I hope at least I can be a sounding board and venue for you to bestow some much deserved stfu sammies!

I’m all about helping my fellow (wo)man.

So, this particular muffintopper travels a ton for work. She, regrettably, found herself having to merge into a single line at a toll booth late one night. Already anxious to get home, the single toll lane didn’t help. (And really, come on New Hampshire….when peeps are waiting in line to pay for the pleasure of driving on your roads, at least make it snappy, ‘mkay? And if not, you best be handing out some french fries or Dunks coffee in that little booth to make up for it. Hmm…me thinks I have a good revenue generating plan…. Governor Lynch…..Cawl me!) Watch out Mickey D’s, New Hampshire’s streamlining!

Anyhoo, you can guess what happened next. Some asshat crept up beside her, and started to try to inch his way in. CUTTER! We’ve all been there. If you grew up in Massachusetts like me, or somewhere in the Northeast (or anywhere y’all is not spoken and cowboy hats are just for Halloween), you know this is where things can get ugly as you go car-o a car-o to see who ‘wins’.

Now, this muffintopper told me straight up, “I let him in, but not before I was a little bitchy about it!”

LOVE!

MIND YOUR MANNERS AND NO ONE WILL GET HURT!

See, if someone has the audacity to be a CUTTER (!), then really, isn’t it your duty to make it just a whole heaping ass load teensy bit difficult?

Natch. It’s a no brainer.

So then, after muffintopper let CUTTER (!) go? Well, CUTTER (!) did not even wave thanks.

HATE!

I hatehatehatehatehatehatehateHATE when I let someone go in traffic and they don’t wave thanks. Rude! Ingrates! WHO are you to not wave thanks? People like that contribute to the delinquency of moi, because then I get all huffy and snarky and mouth off, usually something like, “You’re welcome, d-bag!” and then my poor, innocent children squeak in concert, “What’s a d-bag?” from the back seat, and then, then (!) I have to explain it’s not a nice word, and then, then (!), they have to ask me “Why did I say a not nice word” and “Why isn’t it a nice word?” and then, then (!) I want to ram your car with my front grill and shout, “YOU’RE WELCOME, and when my kid yells ‘d-bag’ at the checkout counter or at his preschool, I WILL FIND YOU! And, now I will NOT win ‘Mother of the Year’ for like the fifth year in a row!” (And I have it on good authority I was not even this close to winning this year.)

But that’s just me…..

What?

But see, a funny thing happened on the way to the toll booth……….

Gracious muffintopper went to pay, and the toll worker told her the guy in front of her (CUTTER!) paid her toll.

And she thought, “Well, I’ll be damned!”

She  mulled it over and thought, “Hmm, maybe I deserve the STFU sammie this week, because I groused about this guy, but then he ended up paying it forward as a thank you for letting him in.”

And I said, “Don’t you feel badly because he’s still a CUTTER! He should have paid for you! THE CUTTER! CUTTERS should pay!”

YEAH! Cutter (!).

CUTTERCUTTERPAYCUTTERCUTTERPAYCUTTERCUTTER!

Then I thought….you know, sometimes in life when people are rushing and they fly by us on the road, cutting in, not saying thanks, letting the door drop in our faces (growl) at stores and such, I often think it only takes a second to employ some good manners and civility.  But then I’ve also thought, I guess you never know what someone is going through until you walk in their shoes. Maybe that guy had a sick family member he was rushing to go see, or a wife in labor, or he’s worried about his job or his mom forgot to pack his Twinkie in his lunch box, or who knows what. So then I felt badly, too. Maybe I’ve been too hard on the cutters. Aww.

But then I thought, “Nah, he’s probably just another d-bag!”

What do YOU think???????????????????????