This is me. For the past decade I have worked in local television news. Most recently I was an on-air personality. Sounds pretty fancy, huh? It’s not. I was a reporter. I covered every story you can imagine regardless of the weather conditions. I often rode in filthy trucks with toxic fumes billowing in the air.
Before you start booing and hissing please listen. The media isn’t as bad as many perceive. In fact, sometimes I cared too much. I never wanted to knock on someone’s door after they suffered an unimaginable loss. I had to. No matter how quickly I moved, the sidewalk seemed to go on for miles. Everything around me was a blur, my heart raced and I always had a pit in my stomach. I have cried during and after interviews. They weren’t crocodile tears. To this day a song, smell, street corner, etc. can trigger a memory of someone I only knew from a photograph.
Reporting is a young person’s career. Once you have lived holding the microphone becomes more and more difficult. I now look at the grieving mother and think about how her deceased teenage daughter was once a bubbly toddler like mine. She rocked her to sleep, taught her to ride a bike and together they shopped for a prom dress. These stories haunt me.
Don’t get me wrong, there were countless assignments that I found to be extremely rewarding and even fun. Our reports have helped those who couldn’t help themselves and did right injustices. Over the years, I have met thousands of amazing people doing incredible things in my community. I found my best friends in a newsroom. We have shared many laughs in a newsroom. Truth is, the folks behind your nightly broadcast are hilarious! Of course, myself included. It may surprise some people to know that I breathe sarcasm.
I am grateful for the opportunity to work in news. I have learned so many valuable lessons. The most important being life is a gift. Tomorrow isn’t promised. So, today I am hanging up this hat and focusing on my family. I will write, but as a Mommy Blogger. I will share my opinion on this website which is often forbidden in news. We will laugh together and yes I will still tell stories. Lots of stories. My stories. I hope you tune in.
All the Best,
I just got a speeding ticket. I was on my way to drop the kids at grandma’s house while I bring the car to the shop. Yes, my new minivan is already having issues. At speeds of 60 miles per hour or more the wheel shakes like Charlie Sheen when he isn’t “winning.” The mechanic at the dealer looked at me like I had three heads when I described the problem. “You just bought the car.” Yes, Sike! I am making it up. I would love nothing more than to waste an afternoon at your auto body shop reading magazines from 1999 and drinking coffee that tastes like it was brewed in an engine.
I was less than a mile from my in-law’s when I saw the flashing lights. My older son started to panic. Clearly, he has seen too many crime movies. I’m pretty sure my mug wasn’t featured on America’s Most Wanted. The officer asked me if I knew why he pulled me over. You like my nail polish and want to know the color? You wanted to see how the movie playing in my minivan ended? Nope.
He seemed like a nice man. I thought he was going to give me warning. Then, he asked my name. Clearly, this fella wasn’t fond of our family crest. He confirmed my name, grinned and said “I will be just a minute.” Really? You don’t have anything better to do than chase down moms in minivans? I’m sure that motley crew hanging out on the corner of Main Street is selling cookies. Sure enough he wrote me a ticket and dictated instructions about a court date. In my most motherly voice I replied, “Thank you so much sir. I sure hope you catch some real criminals today.”
I may actually try to make my first batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies. (I think)</span> <img title=”cookies” src=”http://media-cache0.pinterest.com/upload/16607092346012655_qevp5TyI_f.jpg” alt=”” width=”375″ height=”500″ /> <a href=”http://tendercrumb.blogspot.com/2008/09/my-favorite-chocolate-chip-cookie.html”>www.pinterest.com</a>
I need a good salsa recipe. I am addicted. The jarred stuff just doesn’t cut it. This one looks good. I will let you know.
Easy Blender Salsa
1 can (28 Ounce) whole tomatoes with juice
2 cans (10 Ounce) Rotel (diced tomatoes And green chilies)
1/4 cup chopped onion
1 clove garlic, minced
1 whole jalapeño, quartered And sliced thin
1/4 teaspoon sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 cup fresh cilantro (more To taste)
1/2 whole lime, juiced
My son finally won a prize yesterday at the Penny Carnival. It only took $40 to win something that is certain to break his heart. Why don’t you just tell him Santa Claus isn’t real? When has a fish won at a carnival ever been a good pet? You don’t ever hear “That fish lived a good, long life.” This sucker has a few days at best. My son already noticed the fish was lethargic. “The fish was tricking me and pretending it was sleeping. Then he woke up.” Tomorrow he will be “sleeping” on the surface of feces filled water. We will have to set the “sleeping” fish free in his grandparents pond. I’m not ready to hold a toilet funeral.
The person who built our house was cheap. We only have lamps upstairs and no ceiling light fixtures. I have to get creative. Love this idea.
I was like most girls in the late 80’s, early 90’s. I would dance in the mirror wearing a scrunchie in my hair and leg warmers. Whitney Houston’s songs would be blasting on the boom box. For those of you in your 20’s, a boom box was a portable radio with a cassette tape player that you could carry on your shoulder. If you were rich you had one with two tape players. Now, this was before Whitney married Bobby Brown. Cissy should have called Mr. Telephone Man to keep this bad boy away from her daughter. It is reported that Bobby Brown broke down sobbing on stage last night over Whitney’s sudden death. He is on tour with old members of New Edition. Perhaps these were tears of guilt and shame. He took the pop diva down this road. Sure, Whitney is also to blame. She had a life most people only dream of, but it wasn’t enough. I find her decisions incredibly selfish. Once you become a mother you don’t get to think about yourself first. Do you have any idea how many nights I would love to eliminate my stress by chugging margaritas? I can’t. I have three children who depend on me. Children I chose to have. Children I love more than myself. Whitney Houston obviously didn’t realize that is “The Greatest Love of All.” Otherwise, the pop diva would have taken one look at Bobbi Kristina and put down her crack pipe. Well, actually if she would have looked at Bobbi Kristina she would have realized her drug money should have been used to buy that poor girl some braces. You can drive a truck through her front teeth.
“Did he pee?” “Mom, did he pee?” “He peed?” “Oh man, really? He peed again?” These are common questions nowadays in my house. Why? We have a puppy. I have days when I wish I could put on a puffer vest , hop in a DeLorean and relive the day we decided to bring this dog home. Don’t get me wrong, I love animals. I grew up with dogs and it was such a joy. Of course it was. I didn’t take care of the pets. I played and snuggled with our dogs. Our cat curled up in my bed at night until it ran away. When that cat disappeared so did the allergies and asthma attacks I had been plagued with. Turns out I was allergic to that cat. Back then, I didn’t change kitty litter, walk the dog in frigid temperatures or clean up pungent dog urine. My oldest son loves the dog. My daughter tries to play with him, but cries whenever it playfully bites. My middle child? Well, he may be Satan. (I’m kidding. I think.) He torments this dog. Then again, I remember, as a child, my brother played football with our cat. Unfortunately for the cat it was always on the opposing team. My brother would race down the long hallway of our apartment and tackle the cat. Amazingly, the cat never got hurt and loved him anyway. I suppose I will grow to love our dog too. As soon as he learns to pee outside.