Cracking Up: Finding the perfect vacation spot to dwell

as published at www.ocregister.com on July 11, 2012:

Nestled in a quiet wood past a sea of orchards in the Ojai Valley lies a quaint dwelling built into a trove of trees. Its rustic cabin-like exterior harbors a bohemian, modern enclave within. This abode — listed as the "Dwell house" (though monikered the Agave house) -- facilitated this year’s installment of our annual experiment to find a vacation place of our own. 

As a kid growing up in Memphis, TN, visiting relatives here in Orange County every summer was a pilgrimage to our getaway, our "place." Now that I have a family of my own with a permanent address here, I often feel like we live on vacation. But we still crave a place to which we can retreat to leave the knocking, ringing, and shuttling of daily life behind. 
The front view of the Dwell house: rustic cabin on the outside, ultra-modern sleek and chic enclave within.

AUTUMN MCALPIN, FOR THE REGISTER

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Over the years, we’ve tried out various spots within a one-day drive perimeter but had yet to find one that felt like ours. Until this weekend.

As a vacation rental, of course this Ojai "treehouse" can’t technically be ours. But the homeowner mastered the art of making it feel that way.

Upon entering, we were greeted by the scent of fresh white lilies and pine. Eclectic light fixtures and bold art accenting the birch framework begged for a lingering look at all the surfaces of the efficient loft-like space. Sunlight streamed in from the gratuitous windows that flanked every wall. My husband sighed in relief that his requisite Wifi worked while my kids scampered up and down both floors, waving to each other from the skylights in between that created peek-a-boo intimacy.

With fluffy comforters and linens lined by funky sequins aplenty, my kids quickly claimed their individual places to cuddle and settle in. And when I discovered my two daughters hunkering in the spacious closet "ort" under the stairs, I also stumbled upon my favorite home feature: the bookshelf...

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Cracking Up: Grandpa's heart bleeds red, white and blue

as published at www.ocregister.com on July 4th, 2012:

I inherited my mom’s love of good books, my dad’s love of roller coasters, and my grandpa’s love of the red, white, and blue.

When it comes to patriotism, Grandpa Davis is a flag-waving, parade-marching, my country ‘tis of thee Marine. And I pledge my thanks to him for teaching me what it means to be an American.

The day Autumn's grandfather was elected President of the Bodfish Chapter of the 1st Marine Division Association.

While there, we parents keep a close watch on our young kids as Grandpa’s house hides a mini-arsenal of wildly appealing weaponry. Ever a proponent of his Constitutional rights, Grandpa jumps at the chance to take his grandkids to the shooting range, and jokingly threatens to shoot us if we neglect our right to vote.

For as long as I can remember, the 4^th of July has meant a party at Grandpa Davis’ house—his delegated hosting role only natural as the one relative who served in the armed forces and once owned a firework stand. Every year, we all know to show up at Grandpa’s to eat our KFC and wave our sparklers. Upon arrival, we find his day-to-day patriotic home décor further enhanced by a whole Party City aisle of extra flags and streamers, and a sea of appropriately colored, berry-speckled cakes.

Though no longer on the battlefield, Grandpa feels it’s his mission to spread his Semper Fi spirit wherever we go. Whenever Grandpa spots a fellow Marine, he distributes one of the many refrigerator magnets he carries advertising that not only are Marines good-looking, but they’ll kick your a%$, too. Grandpa regularly gifts us with rare military coins or holiday light strands of bullet casings, and floods our email inboxes with tear-inducing stories of patriots who perform brave acts in the name of our country.

While Grandpa’s “Oorah” may sound dangerous, he’s a marshmallow inside. A few years back at a Marine auction, Grandpa Davis set his eyes on an item that he didn’t need for its intended use, but that suited his penchant for patriotic paraphernalia: a starred and striped walking cane. I’m sure he was thrilled when he outbid his opponent, bestowing the cane to his Americana collection.

But when he went to claim his prize, Grandpa was told that the woman who bid against him had real difficulty walking due to her multiple sclerosis...

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Cracking Up: Grandpa's heart bleeds red, white and blue - OC Moms - The Orange County Register

There's just something about a Marine in uniform

as published in The Sun Post News on June 22, 2012:

There's something about seeing a Marine buying toothpaste at Walmart that makes me weep inside. Every single time.

The idea that these strong and courageous heroes allocate part of their monthly stipend toward such a mundane human task makes me feel somehow unworthy, yet connected as we stand in the same aisle. As I watch them price-check the plastic tubes, I suppress my awkward desire to offer to pay for their items and instead resolve to find them in the parking lot the next time they host a car wash. It's the one car wash I get that I don't check for missed spots afterward.

Not that these men would miss them.

Even when not in uniform, you can always spot a Marine around town – their shoulders broad as a bull's, their hair fastidiously shorn to the scalp, the modest bravery in their countenance that somehow emanates even as they buy toiletries at a superstore.

When people ask why we love San Clemente, my mind instantly turns to visions of the palm trees at T-Street, the sunset down Vista Hermosa, and the Marines. And now that I have sons of my own, every time I see a man in uniform, I think of what my sons could become.

I'll never forget my oldest son's first haircut. As we entered Jerry's Barber Shop, I was already emotional at the thought of saying goodbye to my toddler's wispy blond baby hair. And then a Marine walked in.

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Camp Mom: A good fix for summer break

as published at www.ocregister.com on June 27, 2012:

Am I the only mother out there who dies inside on the last day of school? Does two months of 24/7 family togetherness make anyone else a little bit … twitchy?

Sure, there’s that whole we get to sleep in, don’t have to do homework or pack lunches “sell” to summer vacation. But not really.

Time to debunk the myths:

1. Sleeping in? Actually means staying up late... as in the kids. It’s hard to duct tape your kids into their beds at 8:45 p.m. when the sun’s still out and the neighbors are still on the slip’n slide.  After a day of full sun family entertainment, I seem to be the only one passed out drooling on the couch by 9 p.m. while the rest of them party through all two hours of "So You Think You Can Dance." So really, I’m fine getting up early again if it’s to SEND THEM TO SCHOOL.


2. Don’t have to do homework? Only the kids win on this one. You find me a mom who doesn’t spend two hours of every summer day preparing for the pop quiz of "What are we going to do today?" and the science project of "Determining the Appropriate Amount of Aloe to Combat Third Degree Sunburn." When the kids are home, believe me, mom’s still doing WORK.

3. No packed lunches? YEAH, RIGHT!!! Not only will you be packing them, you’ll be packing twice as much for all the kids’ friends who snuggle their way onto your beach blanket. And then you’ll be loading them into appropriately chilled coolers with sand drains so you can haul/roll/drag them through three acres of parking lot and down rocky terrain and past two lifeguard stands ‘til you find an open two-foot by two-foot square.

Arguably, summer is only a break for the kids. So this year, this mama came up with a survival plan for me/them called "Camp Mom." I didn’t realize I was such a joy to be around until I threw out this clever idea about a month ago, and my kids asked if they could go to summer school instead. (I checked, unfortunately they’re not qualified for the free kind.)...

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Camp Mom: A good fix for summer break - OC Moms - The Orange County Register

Cracking Up: Digging for treasure in a backpack

as published at www.ocregister.com on June 20, 2012:

I’ve spent a year’s worth of afternoons asking my kids how was their day and what did they learn at school, only to be answered with "fines" and "nothings."

Well this month, like every other parent in Orange County, my counter is being splattered with evidence of all the fine nothings they learned at school. And in digging through the notebooks, collages, and projects, I’m learning a lot about my kids.

Like what makes 32 of my third grader’s friends special. The Star of the Week program is always a classroom crowd pleaser to give each kid his moment to shine, and thus one I fully support (except at 10 p.m. the night before I realize it’s my kid’s turn and we haven’t started our photo poster). But I didn’t know that during each kid’s week, the rest of the class journals about that friend.

I love this. I love discovering that whilst my son Gavin’s sloppily printed "spetial" transformed through the year to a beautiful cursive "special," he recognized that "Nathan is special because he likes lasagna," "Kate’s special because her nickname is Kate the Great," and "Justyn’s special because his mom’s house has a dog and his dad’s house might get one." This spiral green notebook is a keeper as it holds within it budding friendships, potential wedding video ammo, and at its core the building blocks of community and respect...

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Cracking Up: Digging for treasure in a backpack - OC Moms - The Orange County Register

Cracking Up: So what if we're not breeding Olympians?

as published at www.ocregister.com on June 13, 2012:

                                                    Let's hear it for the participation trophy!

The track meet was going like any other sporting event to which my kids don a jersey. Sure, I love to watch them play. I even try to smile as I holler "Wake up!" "Stand up!" and "You’re running the wrong way!"

It’s quite painful, really, and it’s all my fault.

So after watching my daughter not place in first, second, third, fourth, or even fifth in a foot race at the track meet, I was a bit surprised when she leapt up the bleachers with a huge grin.You see, my kids inherited the B-team, third string gene from me. They prefer the stage and any type of screen to all sports. But in a perpetual effort to athleticize them and "find their thing," we actually spend most sports seasons playing the game of bribery: "You have to play the whole game if you want a snack!" and "Those who quit mid-season do not get to sing karaoke at the team party!"

"Did you see me? I broke a school record!" she exclaimed.

"For what?" I asked, wondering how one sells a baton drop to the hall of fame.

"For the world’s shortest long jump ever! One inch! I tripped when I hit the sand," she announced proudly. I couldn’t help but echo her giddy laugh. At least she’s finding the joy in her bragging rights.

And so did I. My athletic claim to fame is that as a child, I played on the same soccer team as women’s Olympic gold-winning forward Cindy Parlow. That’s right, we rubbed shoulders as we stuck oranges in our teeth at half time in the third grade. But that was the closest I ever got to her, as she played forward and was so amazing even back then that the ball NEVER once came on our side of the field.

Too bad because I’m sure I would have offered some mad skills on defense, where I was strategically positioned to sunbathe the entire season. There, I also started a side business making dandelion bracelets to hoc post-game with the other three directionally-challenged green jerseys...

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Tweeting for the Pulitzer

as published at www.humorwriters.org on June 12, 2012:

Despite the ever-progressive state of the technological age, it seems if we want to achieve real success as writers, we actually must regress back to behaviors we learned in, like, high school.

In the olden days, writers wrote. They moved to the forest to cabins with no electricity and hunted or trapped their own dinner or better yet never ate at all because they were too busy chain-smoking and ignoring everyone they’ve ever met and WRITING. The more angst and reclusivity, the better their work.

Oh, to be Harper Lee.

Now, if I want to make it as a writer, my muse is a homecoming queen. Because everyone “likes” her.

Social media has invaded even the most lonely of professions, and just like the quill, the solitary life has been expelled from the writer’s toolkit by the landmines of the “Like Me” world...

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Tweeting for the Pulitzer

A father who tells time by the hours spent with his kids

as published at www.ocregister.com on June 7, 2012:

When it comes to gifts, my husband doesn’t ask for much. If I forcibly cajole him into providing a birthday or Father’s Day gift idea, he usually appeases me with, "You know I like to collect watches."

Funny, for a guy who is never on time.

But Michael has a special gift when it comes to the extra hours he squeezes out of his day. Daily and without fail, they belong to his children. His time with them is generous, timeless, and intentional.

Time and responsibility frequently slip away when Michael takes the kids on a hike to the water tower or turns a two ingredient grocery run into a four store supermarket sweep to find the best-stocked Redbox, or falls asleep on their floor at night reading a few bonus chapters because the story’s just getting good. These are all perfectly legitimate excuses for missing appointments and meals and bedtimes in his mind.

In the long run, I suspect he’s right.

As the one who logistically spends the most time with our kids, I often feel the opposite — that I'm at my limit, that I need a rest, that I need some alone time. Recently after spending six hours in the car with our 6-year-old who speaks 6,000 words per minute, I collapsed in my husband's home office chair, ears    ringing, and moaned, "That kid sure loves to talk..."

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A father who tells time by the hours spent with his kids - OC Moms - The Orange County Register

Cracking Up: I am NOT a cougar!

as published at www.ocregister.com on June 6, 2012

                                                                       This outfit has officially been retired.

I thought we were having a nice time. We met at the mall to pick out clothes for his new job. We quickly selected the perfect black shirt and shoes requisite of a Lonestar server. We laughed at the puppies frolicking in the pet store window.

We were just about to dig into some Panda Express (my treat) when he glanced around nervously and said, "I hope no one I know sees me sitting here with a cougar."

As I turned 50 Shades of Purple, it took all I had in me to not to spew a mouthful of orange chicken at my "date" — my 22-year-old-BROTHER who has yet to receive the memo that a sister of 33 years does not a cougar make.

So Mason, in case the orange chicken that should have hit your face but instead fell onto my leopard print pants didn’t quite clarify, here’s your word of the day, courtesy of the Urban Dictionary:

Cougar - (see also hunt, prowl, corner, pounce). Noun. A 35+ year old female who is on the "hunt" for a much younger male. The cougar can be anyone from an overly surgically altered wind tunnel victim, to an absolute sad and bloated old prowler, to a real hottie. The cougar can frequently be seen cleavage exposed, propped up against a swanky bar… waiting, watching, calculating; gearing up to sink her claws into an innocent young, strapping buck who happens to cross her path. "Man is cougar's number one prey."

How dare you! I am not a calculating hunter or bloated prowler, and I’m hardly lying in wait. Plus, you wouldn’t make for good prey anyway due to that whole oh yeah, we share the same PARENTS thing. And I’ll have you know that I am not 35+ -- for at least 15 more months. So why don’t you get on back to Lonestar where you can serve up a real cleavage-exposing cougar at your swanky bar -- wait, did they say "hottie?" Aw, Mason … you shouldn’t have...

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Cracking Up: I am NOT a cougar! - OC Moms - The Orange County Register

Are kids today ready for the real world?

as published at www.ocregister.com on June 6, 2012:

A college freshman thinks it's OK to write checks until her checkbook runs out of them, regardless of how much money is actually in her account. An 18-year-old leaves a sign on an open register at the juice shop where he works that says, "Be back in 15 minutes." After switching majors seven times, a 23-year-old finally leaves college with a degree in a field she doesn't like, $14,000 in credit card debt, and a student loan payment schedule that will follow her until her own kids go to college.


These are all shocking but true stories of real young people who met the real world completely unprepared. This spring, as more than 3 million high school seniors walk off the graduation plank and into the unknown waters of adult life, twice as many parents will wonder, "Is my kid ready?"

We'd like to think so, but the truth is: Probably not. The Alliance for Excellent Education estimates only 34 percent of high school graduates are actually prepared for college. Economists say that over the next decade, the U.S. workforce will need 22 million college graduates but will fall short by 3 million. Even with an unemployment rate above 8 percent, many businesses say it's still hard to recruit enough qualified workers.


As most high schools don't offer a Real World 101 elective, it's up to parents to arm their kids with life skills that will ensure they don't wind up living on the parents' couch.


So who are the parents of the prepared 34 percent, and what are they doing right? As author of the book "Real World 101: A Survival Guide to Life After High School," I frequently speak to teens about what to expect. Overwhelmingly, I've found that kids from lower-income families in which both parents work are most ready to face real life.


On the opposite side, many kids from well-to-do backgrounds...

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Are kids today ready for the real world? | undefined - The Orange County Register
Know someone headed off to the Real World who's not quite prepared? Need a grad gift for that niece, nephew, or neighbor? My book, Real World 101: A Survival Guide to Life After High School (Sourced Media Books, 306 pages/$15.99), is out to save the world, one teenager at a time... It's available on Kindle or paperback on Amazon or at www.thebestgradgift.com.