(As a reminder, M.E.O.W. is an acronym for ‘My dearest Ellen, you Owe me nothing, but won’t you please send me a cat With short hair?)

Truthfully, there is no update. Except that Warner Brothers HAS read some of your emails to them regarding my plea for a cat. (Thank you!) And they are periodically checking my blog (I can tell these things….) Perhaps to determine if I’m nuts (duh), or maybe they’re trying to get to know me better in an effort to find me the PERFECT cat (?!!!!)

That’s gotta be it.

So perhaps I should start rehearsing my “surprise” meeting with Ellen and her team for when she arrives in her limo at my house, cat in tow.

What do you think of this…

I pull into my driveway and begin unloading groceries - just like any other day - when I hear,

“Oh, Sugar Mama…I’ve got a surprise for you….”.

I whip around to see my one and only, Ellen, holding a (my new) cat.

“This is for you.” purrs Ellen.

In my excitement I drop my groceries – the bag with the milk in it – and the (my) new cute kitty leaps out of E’s arms and starts lapping up the spilling milk in my driveway. We all kneel down and marvel in this sweet moment.

CUT!

Done. Now all we need is you, Ellen. And a heads-up so I can time my grocery shopping.

Actually, I really like Gap’s (et al) Red campaign. The problem is that I haven’t connected with one of their t-shirt sentiments. I’m happy to shell out 48 bucks for a good-cause t-shirt – seriously – but am I really DESI(RED) ? Or even on my best days, INSPI(RED)?

I’m certainly TI(RED). Especially because my son SNO(RED) all night…

Hmmm…let’s hope they don’t have one with FI(RED) on it.

IF I HAD MY LIFE TO LIVE OVER - by the late Erma Bombeck
(Written after she found out she was dying from cancer.)

I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren’t there for the day.

I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.

I would have talked less and listened more.

I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained, or the sofa faded.

I would have eaten the popcorn in the ‘good’ living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.

I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.

I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.

I would have sat on the lawn with my grass stains.

I would have cried and laughed less while watching television and more while watching life.

I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn’t show soil, or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.

Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I’d have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, “Later. Now go get washed up for dinner.”

There would have been more “I love you’s”; more “I’m sorry’s.”

But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute… look at it and really see it … live it…and never give it back.

While in Canada, I came across these tiny, home-made angels – each one with a “purpose”. There was the angel of laughter, love…the usual suspects. But a glimmer of red caught my eye – a “voodoo” guardian angel with tattered wings and a mischievous smirk. When I opened her (naturally, she was female) dossier, it read:

This little voodoo is one who will help anyone who has misfortunes. It will guard your luck and make sure that everything works out well for you in the end.

And if it doesn’t work out…it’s not the end.

So I bought it (her) for five bucks and hung it above my kids’ bunk bed. When they asked why, I told them I needed her to protect them against bad guys and monsters. My oldest resisted.

“But I thought you were supposed to do that.”

“I guess mommies need a little help sometimes.” I explained.

“Well, does she know taekwondo?” At age (almost) five, he wanted her credentials.

‘Better. She knows revenge.”

I’m leaving for Calgary today and had to dig around for my passport. (Pretending I’m less organized than I really am is my strategy to trick you into thinking I’m busy – too busy – and tremendously successful.) Anyway, my passport photo is from 1999. My teeth are white, my eyes are wide with a detectable hint of a sparkle and I…have…not…one…wrinkle.

I’m doing Botox again when I get back. And getting a bang trim. Who knew I was so stylish in the 90’s? The fashion mags could caption that shot the ‘no-kids-no-husband-only-one-job’ look!

Except who’d want it? Not me. Without spit-up, throw-up and being fed up, I’d be out of (one of my) a job(s)…

I received a chain email from a reader, in hopes to know more about the people in her life. Some of these are great questions, so I thought I’d post. Feel free to cut and paste and send to your pals.

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
Good question. I’ll have to ask.

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
My friend’s going-away party last Friday.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING ?
No, but better than my printing.

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Turkey.

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Yes, 2 sons.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Absolutely!

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
never…

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS
Yes.

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Yes, probably.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
Golden Grahams or granola.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
This is CRAZY that you asked this. I am just starting to make myself untie them in hopes to extend the life of my running shoes.

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Getting stronger every day.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
I like the combo flavors…coffee fudge, etc

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
If we “connect”.

15. RED OR PINK?
Pink.

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
Worrying about that other people think.

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST
My husband. He’s only at work, but it feels like weeks since we’ve had…just…one…moment.

18. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
Black sweat pants, no shoes.

19.WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
Special K (I’m trying their “diet challenge”).

20. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
My sons talking about their “weenies”.

21. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
Light pink. Or “freckle”, if that were a color.

22. FAVORITE SMELLS?
My sleeping kids’ sweaty heads.

23. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
Jorge – he offered to watch my kids last night!

24. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?
Yes, but I wish I knew her better.

25. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
College football.

26. HAIR COLOR?
Blonde with mousey roots.

27. EYE COLOR?
Blue.

28. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
Yes, but not colored.

29. FAVORITE FOOD?
Sushi or hot, fresh bagels.

30. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
Happy endings.

31. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Alpha Dog.

32. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
White with last night’s watermelon stains.

33. SUMMER OR WINTER?
Summer.

34. HUGS OR KISSES?
Hugs.

35. FAVORITE DESSERT?
Ice-cream or lemon bars.

36. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
The Mermaid Chair by Sue Kidd Monk (”Secret Life of Bees” gal)

37. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
A crayon-stained pic of one of my sons.

38. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?
Big Love.

39. FAVORITE SOUND?
My kids laughing so hard, they can barely breathe.

40. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Start me up!

41. WHAT IS THE FURTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
Europe, for a year.

42. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
Making people laugh.

43. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Mills Hospital in San Mateo, California.

You know what really bothers me? When American-born English speakers dart in and out of foreign languages mid-conversation. Now, I’m not talking about “Spanglish” or “Frenglish” – which are rightfully used to enhance communication between those speaking two different languages. I’m talking about when you ask a neighbor – born and raised in Des Moines, Iowa, by the way – where she’s going on vacation and she responds,

“Havah-ee”
Is that supposed to be “Hawaiian” for ‘Hawaii’? I had NO idea she spoke Austronesian! (Less than one percent of Hawaiian’s speak their native tongue, by the way.)

Or when you ask what she had for breakfast…

“Coffee and a Cwah-sohn.” Mmm, is that anything like a Croissant?
(Hey, I’ve been to France, too, and guess what…we’re not there.)

Does this bug anyone else? Or am I just jealous that I’m not going to Hawaii? (Not that I’d eat a fattening croissant, if I were…)

When I was of dating age and status, a guy would take me to see a sappy movie and I’d cry. I was completely aware of how unattractive that made me – an emotional, needy basketcase - so I’d pretend to cough and use my sweater sleeve to wipe the tears, or feign some allergy to movie popcorn…but I wasn’t fooling anyone. Oh, and at weddings – BIG crying trigger for me! (Except for my own where I had this weird nervous tick, causing me to laugh right in the middle of my vows.)

And now at my sons’ recitals, Disney movies and Hallmark commercials? BUCKETS.

What can I say? I’m a little sensitive.

But I DO know how to stop crying when I want to, and I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to share it with you! So in about two minutes you’ll finally be able to say ‘Au revoir’ to those awkward lip-quivering moments in front of your less-than-appreciative bosses, far-from-accommodating ticket agents, and oceans-away-from-being-right husbands.

You can try this sitting or standing. Well, sit, since you’re at your computer.

Think of something really emotional. A sick pet, missing the Nordstrom’s sale, the end of my career as an advice columnist before it’s really started…and stick your shoulder blades back. It’s actually a 2-step process.

1. Shoulders down
2. Blades back as far as they can go…push

Now stay like that until the crying sensation disappears (usually less than 20 secs). It’s like a slow motion of the “we must, we must, we must increase our bust’ exercise, but not as obvious. In fact, the only thing anyone should really notice is your stellar posture.

So that’s it. Now, you need to start the exercise the moment you feel even a hint of a tear. Timing is key. (Isn’t it always?)

So have a happy wedding season, all! And don that mascara with confidence!

So I was watching Ellen a few months ago (big surprise) and Christina Aguillera was on, talking about her new album and marriage. My ears perked up when she mentioned a ritual she and her husband shared called “Naked Sundays”. Every Sunday they spend the whole day naked – cooking, exercising, eating, etc. (Ah, celebrity newlyweds…)

But we have a naked ritual in my house, too. Every Monday, a woman comes to our house and takes off her clothes in front of my husband – and sometimes it’s a different woman every week! Now before you jump to any conclusions about Sugar Mama being a swinger (I’m not) or insecure about my body (I’m not… about my ankles), I must tell you that my husband is an ARTIST. In his spare time, that is. Or, at the very least, on Monday nights.

Each week, he hosts a drawing group downstairs with a nude model where other local artists can draw, paint, sculpt or ogle if they feel like it.

Hey, better her than me.

I truly have no qualms about it. And yes, my kids are upstairs, completely aware of the nudity a flight below. In fact, it was they who coined the phrase, “Naked Monday.” (Code for ‘Daddy’s unavailable to torture for three hours’.)

Some of you think this is weird. And I know this because you’ve told me. But in all honesty, if I stripped down to my ankles my husband would simply whip out his sketch pad. Nudity is not foreplay in my marriage. It’s “the kids are asleep”, or “I’m ovulating”. (Hot, I know.)

So Christina - if you ever change your day to Monday, come on over!

Come on over, baby…

My mother flew in from San Francisco (my home town) on Saturday for a quick, two-day trip. She does this every time one of my kids grows a size, as closet organizing, Goodwill vs. save-for-sentimentality pile organizing and making my kids try on clothes represent three of my least favorite things. Along with mushrooms. I dislike mushrooms so much, I pretend to be allergic to them.

So my kids and I were circling the airport trying to dodge the baton-weilding police officers (keeping us from stopping for just one, cotton-pickin’ minute!) when I asked Jackson (almost five, now) to “Keep an eye out for Gran”. It appeared to be a busy travel day, so when I saw him straining his neck out the window as only a swamee should do, I began to tell him to stop before a cop (or his baton) decapitated him. But as I looked closer in my rearview mirror, I saw he had one eye closed with the other bulging against the wind, head straining uncomfortably from his carseat. Concerned he was having a seizure, I immediately pulled over and jumped out of the car.

“Jackson!! Are you ok?!”

“Yeah, I’m fine, but this is really hard.”

“What’s hard, honey…?”

“You said to ‘keep an eye out’. And my neck hurts and my eye wants to blink.”

Oh my God. “Jackson, I meant to look for Gran. You can keep the window closed.”

“Well, why didn’t you just say that?”

With the baton crew closing in on me, I hustled back to my side and quickly blurted, “I don’t know. Mommy’s stupid sometimes.”

Finally back in driving position, the cops backed off.

“You said ‘stupid”, says Benji (2-1/2).

“Yeah, that’s a bad word, Mommy. You owe us a quarter.”

AAAARGH!

“Can you guys just keep your eyes peeled for Gran and I’ll give you a quarter when she gets here? I can’t stop right now.”

And just as their fingers headed for their eyelids, undoubtedly preparing for a “peel-back”, we saw her.

And not a moment too soon.