Honestly, it would mostly be for direct access to an unlimited amount of Samoas but I also like that it’s character building to sell cookies door to door. The organization also teaches good values and the importance of volunteer work.
I was also thinking of not doing it because I loathe putting on those patches.
And because my daughter once fell in a shark tank during a Girl Scout outing but that was hardly their fault.
Last week, there was a very nice Girl Scouts representative at my daughters’ new school and I decided to sign up for more information.
Just a few hours later, I received a warm, professional email from this representative (a parent and local Girl Scout leader) inviting us to a BBQ so my girls could meet some of the other Girl Scouts members.
Fabulous, I thought!
And then I looked at the woman’s email address.
DirtyChristianWoman at yahoo dot com.
So I googled the woman’s name and quickly found her blog called…. Confessions of a Dirty Christian. (I see a theme here.) I tentatively clicked on it, half assuming it would immediately begin funneling money out of my bank account and into some kind of international sex ring.
But it was not a scam.
And even more surprising – not a porno site.
But instead, a blog focused on this woman’s religious beliefs and practice.
She explains… “Before you get all up in arms assuming that this is some pornographic symposium, let me explain…. I label myself “dirty” as a means of expressing the “imperfect/sinful” nature of my heart. As a Christian woman the blood of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ has made me clean, but my heart continues to sin or remain dirty until I bath in the Lords forgiveness through daily prayer in confession.”
I certainly support everyone’s personal religious beliefs. People have a right to practice whatever faith they believe in. But as a parent and Girl Scouts leader, is it really necessary or professional to have an email address calling yourself a DirtyChristianWoman?
We didn’t end up going to the BBQ because we had plans. And because I hadn’t had time to come up with a fun new email address for myself. I mean, I’m not going to be outdone by the Girls Scouts.
I haven’t made any final decisions but kelcey@HotSexyMama.com is totally a contender.
My 9 year old daughter, almost 10, has wanted a phone for awhile. And by awhile, I mean, forever. Like her life is ruined if she doesn’t get one soon. Of course, her life is also ruined if we run out of her favorite chips.
Anyway, I’m pretty sure that she heard Pantech had a first phone for tweens because suddenly I heard from the company. The conversation went something like this.
Pantech PR woman: Pantech has this great new phone for tweens. Would you like to review it and also give one away to your readers?
Me: Did Dylan call you?
Pantech PR woman: Who’s Dylan?
Me: Oh you know who she is. Your partner in crime. The clever 9 year old who is trying to get a phone. The one who called you to set this whole thing up.
Pantech PR woman: I’m not sure what you’re talking about but I’d be happy to give you more information about the Pantech Vybe phone.
Me: Man, she trained you well.
So Pantech sent me a phone for Dylan and her younger sister Summer to try out. This is how they felt when the phone arrived…
And the Pantech Vybe truly is a great first phone. It has a large touchscreen display, a slide-out keyboard (which is perfect for little fingers), an easy camera button, messaging, videos, Bluetooth, access to social media (if you want that for your kid) and more.
That’s the part my kids liked.
This is the part I liked….
It’s VERY affordable. It’s available at AT & T for only $29.99 with a 2 year contract.
Plus, all you have to do is disable the data usage and you can prevent you kids from using Facebook, Twitter, email and the Internet. That leaves old school phone calls and texting which is exactly how I like it.
Plus you know this company is smart because they bought the web address MyFirstPhone.com. Which was a much smarter purchase than MothersForJustinBieber.com. (Yes, I bought that address and no it didn’t really pan out.) I never invest in the right things.
Anyway, because the folks at Pantech are super cool, they are giving away one of these phones. Yes, that’s right. To one of you.
Just leave a comment on this site mentioning Pantech. Like… “If I had a son, I would totally name him Pantech” or “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GIVE ME THIS PANTECH PHONE.” Something like that.
Good luck ladies. xo
This is a sponsored post for Pantech. All ideas are my own.
About a year ago, when I moved from New York to Florida, I had to make some difficult choices. Like what stayed. And what went.
Like my stone washed denim jean jacket from 1984. Obviously it came with us.
And my tea collection from the 90’s despite the fact that I don’t drink tea. (I tossed the tea in this elaborate ceremony replicating the Boston Tea Party.)
And there were the girls’ gigantic art sculptures.
Unbelievably they made the cut and now reside in Florida.
In the garage.
And then there were the Build A Bears. We had a small village of them. But no one ever played with them. So with a heavy, panicked heart, I donated them all, along with their Build A Bear closets and their snazzy bear sized outfits to Goodwill.
Pretty much since that moment, I’ve been dreading the day the girls notice the bears never showed up in Florida.
I mean, I wasn’t an idiot. When their Brownie/Daisy troops did an outing to Build A Bear, we didn’t attend. And I did everything I could to prevent any kind of mention of bears in our house which is obviously difficult because bears are rampant in children’s literature.
But somehow we made it through an entire year. Until this week when we were wandering through some mall (in an effort to escape the satan like temperatures outside) and we passed the BUILD A BEAR STORE.
Dylan: “Heyyyyyyyyyy….. what ever happened to all our Build A Bears?”
Dylan: “Mom, where did our Build A Bears go? I loved all those bears. They were the best. I remember each one. I even had one that smelled like cookies. Mmmm..”
Dylan: “Mom, can you hear me?”
At this point, I was frozen by the Annie’s Pretzel counter hoping that if I stayed very still, Dylan would think I was just a mannequin display. I knew I had 3 options.
1. Go with my original plan to tell my kids the bears got so liquored up at the Laguardia airport bar that Jet Blue wouldn’t let them get on the plane to Florida and we had to leave them at the airport.
2. Come clean and tell them I donated them to charity and face the reality that for the rest of their lives my children would blame me for carelessly discarding their precious bears leading to feelings of loss and abandonment that keeps them from experiencing true connections with other people.
3. Tell them the bears must have gotten lost in the move.
I think it’s really important to be honest with kids. I mean, how else do children learn honesty if we don’t lead by example?
Which is why I told them the moving truck must have lost the bears.
Because maybe the charity decided to give the bears to kids in Miami.
And maybe the bears were loaded on a truck on route to Florida.
And maybe the driver had had enough of this trucking gig and didn’t drive to Miami at all.
And maybe instead, he hightailed it to Nevada where he now lives with a lovely girl named Rita and 15 magnificently dressed Build A Bears.
I’m just saying it’s possible.
My oldest daughter Dylan will soon be 10 (heads up on maternal nervous breakdown and cliche ponderings like “How does time go by so fast? coming your way in September).
Since Dylan is about to reach this momentous age, I figured it was finally time to explain how babies are really made. Like not the, “Mommy and daddy went out one night. They both drank too much Jäger and in the morning there was a baby in mommy’s belly!” version.
I made one attempt at the sex talk about a year and a half ago by purchasing two books, “Where Did I come From?” and “It’s Not the Stork.” While some parents might view these books as a conversation starter, I viewed them as “doing the job for me.”
At the time, Dylan didn’t have a lot of interest and the books got jammed under the bed.
But I pulled them out this week and read “It’s Not the Stork” to Dylan and her younger sister Summer. I had to include 7-year-old Summer because there is no way Dylan would keep this shocking information to herself and I didn’t want the details to be miscommunicated to her sister.
I tried really hard not to laugh when I read things like this… “When grownups want to make a baby, most often a woman and a man have a special kind of loving called ‘making love’ – ‘having sex’ – or ‘sex.’ This kind of loving happens when the woman and the man get so close to each other that the man’s penis goes inside the woman’s vagina.”
And there’s a picture…
Great bedspread for the special kind of loving!
As soon as I finished the book, I said to my girls, “So that’s the scoop. Any follow up questions can be directed at daddy. Good night.” Seeing how Rick was conveniently at work, an avalanche of commentary and questions came my way.
“That is DISGUSTING,” Summer shared immediately.
“I’ve never seen you and daddy go to bed naked. Are you naked in bed? When are you naked?”
“How do lesbians have a baby?”
“Do you have to be married to have a baby?”
I tried to answer these questions the best I could in the simplest of ways – letting them lead the discussion because I read that’s how the qualified parents do it.
Since that night, there haven’t been any more questions but I told the girls they can ask me anything, anytime.
And I figured if my girls can wrap their heads around the fact that Mommy and Daddy really did this, then maybe for a few more years they’ll keep believing that Santa Claus flies around the whole world delivering gifts. Because both scenarios seem pretty crazy.
I just got back from a family vacation to Naples, Italy!
Oh wait, I mean Naples, FL.
Which is less in Europe.
But it’s super pretty with these killer sunsets.
If you go on the old Naples Pier, you can buy very expensive ice cream and then watch it melts at a rate never before witnessed on this planet while your 4 year old throws a tantrum like a madman because he just realized he doesn’t like ice cream, especially not the melt all over your arm kind.
But you might also see this…
Both my parents were on the vacation too and by the way, if you ever really want to irritate my dad, run to the grocery store, buy him Hazelnut coffee instead of regular and also forget to buy his half and half.
Then say something like, “I thought half and half was the same thing as milk.” Then just enjoy the expression on his face. It’s a fun vacation activity.
We did a lot of cool stuff in Naples – like the beach, the water park and the children’s museum. Here’s Rick at the children’s museum doing what every parent wanted to do…
And we even planned one of those alligator airboat tours. At which point, I had the following conversation with my mother…
My mother: “If we are going on an alligator boat tour, I want to be fully lubricated.”
Me: “Mom, you aren’t going to make love to the alligator. I think you meant to say fully hydrated.”
I mean, OMG.
(At this point in this post, I think both my parents are wishing I had just gotten that law degree and skipped becoming a writer.)
Due to storms, we had to skip the Everglades airboat tour, so instead we drank beer and ate fried alligator. Which is delicious and tastes exactly like alligator.
We were vacationing with my sister and her family and of course, needed to take part in a little Naples, Florida nightlife.
(Rick should totally unbutton one more button on that shirt, don’t you think?)
We found this great bar for dancing (and I mean great because there were people older than Rick and me which is my new criteria for a perfect dancing place). We partied our asses off (AKA danced for 25 minutes) until we went home.
And finally it was time to go home for real.
I always hate saying goodbye to my sister and her family. Because they are awesome and I never stop laughing and because it really seems like they should be living right next door.