FeeFiFoto Blog

What's your Favorite November Holiday? No Fair Choosing Thanksgiving

Order personalized photo calendars from FeeFiFoto as outstanding Christmas gifts, but make your calendars even more personal with the addition of peculiar dates.

November seems to be a month to celebrate scads of creative innovators, including James Naismith, Madame Curie, Margaret Mitchell, Marie Antoinette, Aaron Copland, Georgia O'Keeffe and Voltaire.  See if anyone notices if you add some of these kooky dates to your 2009 personalized photo calendars.

November

1
Plan Your Epitaph Day
National Authors Day
My Birthday!

When I Was In School, Field Trips Seemed A Lot Less Strenuous

Field trips seemed to be a bit more fun when I was in school.

Gained some unanticipated Fun Mom points this morning by going on a combo fourth grade / first grade field trip to the pumpkin farm, which had been rescheduled from Monday because it's been raining nonstop here since, oh, September.  2007.  Or at least it feels that way.

Cupcake is in the fourth grade and each fourth grader partners up with a first grader as writing buddies.  One of the first grade classes is taught by my sister, so I had the opportunity to collect double points for going on a dual field trip.

Did I mention it's been raining since, oh, April?  2004?

Today was the one day this week predicted to be rain free (not cloud free or gloom free, but at least rain free), so the field trip was rescheduled.  I put on my schlucking-through-the-mud boots and drove and drove across the river and into another state (what, we don't have any pumpkin farms in our own state?) and got to the pumpkin farm before anyone else, and in fact before they were even open.  While I stood in a less muddy spot waiting for the buses to arrive, I saw farmhands scattering mulch and other organic stuff that I didn't have the courage to examine any closer over some of the many goopy spots (remember?  raining since July, 1997?) near the entrance to the farm.  I waited as one yellow school bus arrived.  And then another.  And then about fifty more, all piloted by extremely hefty women with tattoos on their ankles, cigarettes in their hands and curses on their lips.

When I got cold I considered getting back in my car and retreating home, but knowing that Fun Mom points don't kick in until the children actually arrive at the field trip destination, I put on another sweatshirt (I travel very heavy in the winter, schlepping coats and jackets of every size and weight in the trunk of the car just in case), and returned to the parking lot to await the little darlings.

Once they arrived, unloaded lunches and water bottles and split into groups, I trailed along after Cupcake and her little friend as they sampled the corn maze and another corn maze, paused briefly to compose the obligatory haiku paeans to pumpkins and corn mazes, and then queued up for the scenic hayride through the pumpkin fields.

The hay was fresh, golden and cozy.  The kids cuddled up to make room for everyone.  Cupcake and I ended up at the front of the wagon where we could see every bolt, gear and fleck of mud on the tractor.

Have I mentioned that it's been raining since, oh, 1492?

The tractor took off, its eight foot diameter wheels churning through the mud at the perimeter of fields filled with crackling weeds and rotting pumpkins.  We could see the tracks gouged in the glop by the enormous wheels, unless we were driving through standing water, in which case we saw waves and maybe even tides.  Thank goodness tractors can drive through anything without becoming mired.

The tractor became mired. 

The wheels spun, lurching the vehicle to one side.  The driver turned, gave us a grin that would have been toothy if he'd had any teeth, and announced that we were stuck and everyone would have to get out and walk.  After noting the horrified expressions on the faces of fifty city slickers wearing Uggs, he grinned, winked and started up the tractor with a gigantic lurch.

Remember?  Rain since the beginning of time?

Let me give you some valuable advice.

1. Don't wear nice clothes to the pumpkin farm.
2. Leave the nice shoes at home if you're going to the pumpkin farm.
3. Find a coat that's not white if you're visiting the pumpkin farm.
4. Don't sit in the front of the hay wagon on the pumpkin farm hayride.
5. If you're going to the pumpkin farm and you're riding a tractor and the tractor gets stuck in the mud and has to be lurched free, keep your mouth shut so that once the lurching is finished and you have mud on your coat and face, you don't also have a generous serving of mud in your mouth.
6. Bring lots of wet wipes to the pumpkin farm.

Fun Mom Points: well earned and well deserved.

What's your advice on traveling to the pumpkin farm?

Protecting Our Daughters

Let's not assume our daughters know how to protect themselves from stalkers.

My kids are young enough that my worries about where they fit in society don't extend much farther than the identity of the class bully's latest victim; if one of my children is at the top of the rotation as either bully or victim, my concerns are a bit more complex. 

I had my parent-of-tweens thinking cap on when I began reading Vodkamom's post about the guy who's been bothering her daughter, so at first I thought she was referring to the class bully.  Soon I realized that her daughter is in high school and the guy who's been harassing her is old enough to drive, graduate, and sneak into her school.

Almost all of the 91 comments to Vodkamom's first post strongly encouraged VM to go straight to the police; the rest offered prayers, encouragement, and offers to kneecap the stalker.

Today she posted a followup with rules every girl should know, no matter her age.  Here are some highlights:

• When a person scares you and makes you too nervous to go anywhere alone- you must ask for help....
• If a police officer tells you that said person is dangerous – believe it.
• Be brave, be safe, make good choices- but never, never, never blame yourself for the actions of others.

These are things we don't think about until someone brings a problem to our attention, and by then it might be too late.  As a teenager I would have felt very uncomfortable bringing a problem like stalking to an adult, for fear of being blamed.  As adults we know (or should know) that this is wrong, and we should prepare our daughters to stick up for themselves.

Please click over to Vodkamom, absorb her wisdom, and offer some support.  Thanks.

Here's the picture Vodkamom posted to accompany her story.  Appropriate, no?

How long would you wait before notifying the police?

Who Says I'm Uncool: Surprising Your Kids By Knowing Something They Never Expected You To Know

ME: Oh, that's %57h*d#gf&5$, Jr. in that car

Robespierre: Who's he?

ME: He's Mrs. NextDoorNeighbor's brother.  He's also a DJ at K***, the oldies station.

Robespierre: I've never heard of him.

ME: Oh, you've probably heard him and just don't remember.  He also works the broadcasts of The World's Worst Football Team's games.

Robespierre: How do you know that?

ME: I don't know.  I just know.

Robespierre: You're scaring me.

Hi. Have You Heard The One About How I Run A Web Site?

Returning to the core purpose of this blog, which is promoting FeeFiFoto, although writing about kids, dogs and mishaps is way more funner.

So.  I've been running FeeFiFoto for just about three years.  We can put your favorite photos on all kinds of stuff that makes great gifts for friends, family, teachers.  I personally have a mousepad, mug, photo book and ceramic tile with photos of Cupcake on them; a photo book, travel mug and deck of cards with pictures of Robey, and several handbags with photos of Miss Puppy.

Why am I bringing this up now when I haven't written about FeeFiFoto Personalized Photo Gifts in quite a while?  Well, in case you haven't noticed, the Christmas Hanukkah Chanukah Hah-Noo-Kuh Holiday gift giving season is upon us, like it or not.  And with the economy still lumbering along, this year we're all being much more circumspect about how to spend our money on gift giving.  This year it makes sense to put your money into gifts for friends and family that will have some lasting meaning for them.  What could be better than putting the baby's photo or the dog's or cat's on a personalized photo calendar, or mug, or handbag, or tote bag?

One customer purchased 30 tiles with a photo of her mother on a show horse as favors for her mother's 80th birthday party.  Another customer put her parents' wedding photo on a porcelain plate in honor of their anniversary.  A third customer put a picture of her son on mousepads as Bar Mitzvah party favors.

When FeeFiFoto first started, under the profoundly boring name of Photogiftplace.com before I bought the site and transformed it into the aesthetic and retail powerhouse it now is, their main business consisted of producing personalized photo calendars; eventually they and we branched out into offering all sorts of items to be personalized with photographs.  Nevertheless, even the calendars lent themselves to imaginative gift giving; one customer produced an annual calendar with a year's worth of photos of his niece as she grew up.

It's not always photographs that end up on these personalized gifts, either.  One year we gave teacher appreciation gifts decorated with a graphic pertaining to teamwork.  Last year I designed two tapestries with photo collages of third graders' art work to be sold at our school's fund raising auction; I seem to recall they went for $1.5 million apiece, but I could be a little off here.

For the next three weeks or so, until November 15, whenever that is, you can get free ground shipping (domestic only) on personalized photo calendars from FeeFiFoto.  Just enter coupon code CALFREESHIP09 at checkout.  And keep checking back because once the calendar promotion expires I'm going to be offering a discount on personalized Christmas ornaments.

See also:

Creating a memento of a family vacation

It's always appropriate to say thank you to a teacher

Yes I have Kids, but I'd rather carry a purse with my dog's picture

Attention To Detail: How Clever Blog Titles Attract Readers

Not all blogs are meant to be funny, but there's certainly a place for those that are.

I have a long list of blogs in my reader (as of today: 198), that changes frequently based on who's updated lately, who annoys me, and how grumpy I am at any particular time.  Take more than a month between updates?  Yer out.  Offer too many boring posts about : "First we did this.  Here are a dozen pictures.  Then we did that.  Here are a hundred pictures..." earns you the hook.  And it goes without saying (so why am I saying it?) that consistently poor writing, grammar or spelling will land you in the trash.

What holds my interest, you might ask? Or you might not.  For all I know you couldn't care less. 

Writing that's concise, meaningful, thoughtful and inclusive.  It's fine if you want to talk about your family; so do I.  But at least try to relate your stories to the bigger world outside your own, unless you maintain your blog solely for the enjoyment of your own personal face-to-face friends and family, in which case just let me know and I'll get my coat and show myself out.

Oh, and one more thing: WIT.

I know -- some of us aren't witty.  That's okay; you can't be everything to everybody.  But those who are witty?  I can't get enough of them.  I love funny, engaging writing.  I especially appreciate the little gems some writers hide in their pieces, like little cookies for me to sniff out and savor.  Clever titles, subtitles and section headings keep me scrolling.

As a generous, selfless public service, I've spent many hours gathering some of my favorites and presenting them here.

SITE STATS

I Was Told There Would Be No Math Well Read Hostess

SUBSCRIBE

Just Can't Get Enough Whiskey in My Sippy Cup

AWARDS

Blog Bling Confessions of a Coal Miner's Granddaughter

Oohhh! Shiny Things! Well Read Hostess

ABOUT

Quick... Somebody Tell Me Who I Am How To Become A Cat Lady... Without The Cats

Cast and Crew Us and Them

In Case You're Wondering The Un Mom

Isn't It All About Me? Baby on Bored

LINKS

Just Do It Already. You'll Feel Better Frogs in My Formula

COMMENTS

Feel Free to Say Something Rude How to Become a Cat Lady Without the Cats

CATEGORIES

Look, Oh, Look! My Funny, Funny Family

ADVERTISING

Look At My Lovely Ads As I Command You to Click On Them Sweatpants Mom

Spare Change A Mommy Story

Shoppity Shop Peapod Squad Stuff

I'm Gonna Be So Rich What Would Jane Austen Do?

I Can Be Bought Vodkamom

Yep. Ads. That's Right.  Whiskey in My Sippy Cup

Click On This And Help Fund My Online Shopping Habit Frog and Toad Are Still Friends

Diaper Fund A Mommy Story

Shameless Shoe Whore Sassafrass

Trickle Down Economics Well Read Hostess

FOLLOWERS

The Reason I Wake Up in the Morning Besides the Bickering and Dog Vomit Stop Calling Me That

People Who Are Kind Enough To Follow The Cat Lady So She Doesn't Have to Leave Home to Find Friends How to Become a Cat Lady Without the Cats

They Just Really Want To Borrow My Shoes Chicky Chicky Baby

People Who May Need Therapy Us and Them

Submit to My Will The Monster Apathy

Kindhearted But Easily Misled People The Un Mom

Drink the Kool-Aid Happy Meals & Happy Hour

Who Doesn't Want To Be Friends With Clark Kent Clark Kent's Lunchbox

My Sheeple Always Home and Uncool

FAVORITE POSTS

Favorite Posts, As Voted On by Our Goldfish Sweatpants Mom

Trouble I've Caused Always Home and Uncool

But I Also Said This Post Picket Fence

ARCHIVES

Go Retro The Un Mom

Archived Stupidity Blogs Are Stupid

Sooooo Yesterday Confessions of a Coal Miner's Granddaughter

Blah Blah Blah Whiskey In My Sippy Cup

And Then I Said Post Picket Fence

Stuff I Talked About a Long Time Ago The Domestic Goddess

RECENT POSTS

Previous Stupidity Blogs Are Stupid

Stuff I Just Talked About The Domestic Goddess

EMAIL

Human Resources Us and Them

You Talkin' Ta Me? Confessions of a Coal Miner's Granddaughter

BLOGROLL

These Go Nicely With Some Cheetos and a Glass of Chianti Sweatpants Mom

These Are ... Blogs That Are Super Clark Kent's Lunchbox

Rolling With My Homes Whiskey In My Sippy Cup

The Order Says 'Not Within 100 Yards,' It Doesn't Say Anything About Blogs Us and Them

People I Wish I Knew So I Could Stalk and Stuff The Domestic Goddess

Bloggers I Stalk Home Alone (With Kids)

Loving These B!tches Baby on Bored

These Are the Reasons I Haven't Been to the Library in a Year Vodkamom

The Incredible Flesh-Eating Blogroll Chicky Chicky Baby

The Daily Time Suck Voted Off the Island

What To Do When Not Weeding/Meeting/ Cleaning/Yelling Post Picket Fence

Blogcetera - An Idiosyncratic Blogroll Voted Off the Island

TWITTER

Follow Me Or The Bird Gets It The Junk Drawer

Stalking For Dummies Whiskey in My Sippy Cup

I'm a Twit Frogs in My Formula

They Made Me Do It Post Picket Fence

SUBSCRIBE

I'm Pretty Random.  Better Keep Tabs The Un Mom

Subscribe to This Blog: 0% Down, 0% Financing Happy Meals & Happy Hour

And some of your favorites are?...

It's okay if you want to include mine.  Sucking up is welcome and appreciated.

Facebook Is My Hero: Using Social Media To Keep In Touch With My Tween

Some aspects of growing up are actually beneficial to kids.  And maybe even their parents.

I recently relented to Robespierre's relentless hectoring for a Facebook page.  I exacted my pound of flesh before surrendering: he had to friend me and never delete me, and he had to read Fahrenheit 451 and To Kill a Mockingbird first.  Since I'd been hocking him to read both books I reasoned that I was getting a deal, but I also dreaded how much time and intellect would now be wasted online instead of being applied to anything more challenging than Calvin and Hobbes.

He's been on Facebook for two weeks (don't try to friend him -- he's only allowed to friend people he knows, and yes, I do monitor).  So far he has 110 friends, as compared to my paltry 34 (not that my friends are paltry; it's just that my friends list is a bit spare).  I can see when he's on, when he's active, when he's fooling around while he should be doing homework.  I can see his interests (FarmVille, a marginally adorable game with winsome sheep and ugly ducklings where he proudly raises pineapples, artichokes and other foods he'd never touch in real life); his friends; and the seemingly endless supply of quizzes and surveys he tries every day (How Fast Can You Type? What's Your Horoscope?  What's Your Indian Name?  Which South Park Character Are You?  Who's Your Enemy of the Day?)

I was right, of course: time is being spent on Facebook.  But to my surprise I don't consider the time wasted, at least not yet. 

Turns out Robey is also using Facebook to talk about... stuff.  Facebook lets him seek advice from his classmates, from camp friends, grownup friends, and family, and sometimes even from me.

I'm not going to divulge what's on my boy's mind.  Suffice it to say his anxiety has to do with adolescing, with issues like: "Why are all my friends developing acne and I don't have it?"  or "Why do my teeth have to be so straight and perfect?"  along with "Why am I so attractive to girls all of a sudden?" and "Why do I have to be such a ridiculously good dancer?"

Last week, after we'd spoken personally for nearly an hour about a personal issue causing him personal angst, I headed for my office computer and Robey retreated to his room, which is adjacent to my office, to hang out with his laptop.  Seeing that my Facebook was open, he pinged me:

"give me advice. what do you think i should do"

I looked around the room to see if he might be talking to someone else but I was the only one there.

"are you asking me?"  I inquired.

"ya" he answered (evidently in Facebookspeak, either you must abbreviate everything or you aren't quite sure how to spell "yeah").

So I answered.  And he replied.  And I responded. And he countered.  We pinged back and forth for thirty minutes and nearly a thousand words, give or take a few of these: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! some of this: ??????????????????? and a bunch of these: xoxoxoxoxoxoxo.

At one point, as we were going strong and making a lot of progress in pinning down his problem and identifying possible solutions, he hollered from next door: "Why are we doing this on Facebook?  I can hear you typing."

I answered that it can be difficult to have a serious discussion if you're looking someone in the face; that sometimes it's easier to unload if you have some degree of separation.

Did we solve the problem that night?  Did we make unanticipated progress and take our relationship to a new level?  What do you think?

Funny -- this situation reminds me why I was the only mom of my generation who actually liked Barney.  Now, I didn't like that big, ugly, purple creepy pile of polyester on his own merits.  But whenever that nauseating I Love You, You Love Me song started (if it's running through your head now, I'm terribly sorry.  Here -- let me see if I can help.  Sugar... Oh, Honey Honey... You are my candy girl... and you got me wantin' you...  Is that better?) Robey would leap into my lap and give out copious kisses and hugs.  This is the same kind of thing.  I think I might like Facebook even more than I did before.  I think Facebook might just be my new best friend.

Do you appreciate Facebook the way I do?

My Heart Was Breaking But It's Feeling Better: Finding A New Home For Our Puppy

We had to find a new home for Little Miss.

She's gorgeous.  She's small and portable.  She came whenever I called her.  She followed me around the house, planting herself contentedly beneath my feet whenever I paused.  She slept peacefully in my lap.  She gamboled cheerfully with Miss Puppy.

But -- whenever Robespierre entered the picture, she became possessed by the devil.

I get it.  Boys are noisy.  They slam doors, scramble up and down stairs, lurch into and out of chairs, fidget and twitch and bounce. 

Little Miss didn't get it.

She never managed to adjust to the fireworks that are Robey, and every day she became more unhinged whenever he was within earshot.  If anyone closed a door anywhere in the house she'd immediately panic, fearing he was about to crash around the corner.  She hid from him beneath furniture or in her cage.  When he came near her, even if just to retrieve his sneaker from under the kitchen table (where it didn't belong anyway and she was probably chewing on it, but that's a different issue), she'd bolt at him, growling and yowling.

My loaf of bread with an apostrophe tail was becoming a wolverine.

Oh, we tried.  We signed up for puppy classes.  We consulted a therapist.  We put Little Miss at Robey's mercy, hoping she'd come to accept him if he were her meal ticket.

But Robey made it clear that overhauling his agenda of at-home-boisterousness was not a viable option; short of employing tranquilizer darts, there was simply nothing I could do to force him to tiptoe from room to room as if he were trying to burgle us in the middle of the night.

I guess that's a good thing, isn't it?  My son has no future as a burglar. Now a demolitions expert... maybe.

Finally it was enough already.

Fighting the lump in my throat, I called Tibetan Terrier Rescue and explained our predicament.  I worried that my poor Little Miss was going to be bumped from place to place, never finding the forever home she deserved.  I fretted that she might end up cowering in the corner of a cage in a clamorous animal shelter, with no one to cuddle her and whisper secrets in her floppy ears.  I chafed at having to convince the Cupcake that ours was not the ideal home for Little Miss; that she'd be happier and safer in a home where she wasn't afraid of anyone; that our situation wasn't quite the same as when Harley came to live with Daisy since Harley evidently gets along with the entire family.

Camille at TTR took pity on me.  The gods of pet rescue took pity on me.  Phones were worked.  Cherubs sang.  Angels wept.  Within a week Camille found a home for Little Miss, with a childless professional couple looking for a companion for their six-year-old TT, and evidently prepared to take on a skittish rescue dog.

The kids said goodbye.  Robey sighed.  Cupcake sobbed.  I choked back tears and stole a few last cuddles and whispers.  The rescue people loaded Little Miss into a crate and transported her to her new home, where, we heard later, she played with her new friends and cuddled like a pro.

So that's it.  I learned a couple lessons.  First, the pet has to fit the family, not the other way around (so, sorry Cupcake: no bunny).  Second, no matter how hard I try to convince myself that I can force a situation into the mold I'd visualized, sometimes I simply cannot.  Third, never stand on the top step of a ladder.

Oops.  Wrong lesson.

Third, doing the right thing sometimes hurts A LOT, but in the end I have the comfort of knowing I did the right thing.

Bye, Poppy.  Best of luck.  I'll miss you.