(Re)Name My Blog

Posted on Mar 17, 2013 in Uncategorized

Hey Folks,

This blog is about to undergo a major redesign.  To go along with the new look, I’m going to need a new name.  But here’s the thing: I’m no good with titles.  That’s why half of you readers probably don’t get Non Om Mom now.  I need your help.

I’ve appealed to you before.  Perhaps you remember when I asked you to Name My Baby and Name the Grandparents.  I sure do!  You guys were awesome, offering up loads of wonderful suggestions.  So I’m appealing to you again.  (Re)Name my blog.

You’re probably all, “Dude.  Diana.  Start naming your own s*** already!”  I get it.  I get your frustration.*  I do.  But really, this is not my thing.  I can’t condense all my brilliance into a witty, memorable, AND succinct title.  It’s too daunting a task.   So I repeat – I. Need. Your. Help.

We’re going to make this fun.  We’re going to make this a contest.  This is how it’s going to go:  All you readers submit your suggestions for a new blog title.  If I choose your title**, you will receive an Amazon gift card.  BAM!  Who doesn’t love Amazon!?  Nobody!

Okay, well, don’t get too excited yet.  It’s only going to be a $20 Amazon gift card.  I’m not made of money, people!  But do you know how much crap amazingly awesome stuff you can get for $2o on Amazon!?  So much amazingly awesome stuff!  Go on, get excited again!   A really easy contest to win $20 on Amazon!  Woohoo!

Now that you’re appropriately psyched, put your thinking caps on.  Just this time, I’m going to request that you don’t leave your submission as a comment.  Please go to my Contact page and email me your suggestion.  Multiple entries are welcome!  And if your friends or family are smarter and funnier than you***, please feel free to pass this contest along so they can enter, too.

I wasn’t going to offer any guidelines for the title – I’m curious to see what title you think reflects this blog without my influence.  However I will say, do not be afraid of offending me or poking fun at me in your titles.  I make fun of me all the time.  I can handle it.

Thanks for your help!


*Whatever, you know you love sharing your opinion.

**There is a slight catch.  I still may come up with my own title.  But if one of your suggestions helps me get there, I’ll give you the gift card anyway.  I’m nice like that.  If not, um, thanks for playing.  I guess I’ll have to spend the $20 on myself.

***Don’t feel bad.  You’re obviously all smarter and funnier than me, otherwise I wouldn’t be giving away my money to you.

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The Only Workout Song You Will Ever Need

Posted on Feb 10, 2013 in Uncategorized

It’s February.  Which means your resolve to uphold your New Year’s Resolution is probably waning.  Actually it’s mid-February, so that resolve is probably completely gone. If your resolution happened to involve working out a) please stop crowding my gym classes every January and b) it’s your lucky day, because I am here to re-motivate you! A good playlist can do miracles for your workout.  Perhaps you’ve read about the motivational power of music or seen articles highlighting the best songs for getting your exercise on.  Last November, my friend Sarah posted her list of top 10 workout songs.  While I’m sure this list is excellent, I am not actually familiar with much of the music listed because at the time Sarah posted it, I was listening exclusively to the N Sync Christmas Pandora station.  But it got me thinking: What would my perfect playlist be? Oh, poor, poor me.  I already knew the answer – I’ve known it for years!  It’s just that since Elisabeth came along my running routine has been inconsistent at best, so I had forgotten. For shame!  I’d probably be running monthly marathons by now had I remembered!  But I must not dwell on what could have been.  Instead, right here, right now, I’m going to share a secret with you. Brace yourself.  This is going to revolutionize your workout. You don’t need an entire playlist to get you through a workout, you need only one song.  What song, Diana?  What song?! The only song you will ever need ever again* is: Celine Dion’s, “It’s All Coming Back To Me Now”. *Crickets* Okay, you’re confused, I get it.  Celine Dion? For my workout?  Just trust me.  Go get your iPod or smartphone or whatever it is you listen to your music on these days and give Ms. Dion a listen. But I don’t have Celine Dion in my music library.  She’s lame.  LIAR!  Falling into You was a magical album.  I know you secretly love it.  This is now the second time I have declared my love for Celine on this blog, and if I...

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Posted on Dec 19, 2012 in Uncategorized

I don’t really know where to start. I never post about “serious” things on this blog.  I am an opinionated person, but I very intentionally stay away from headlines, politics, etc. because this blog for me – and hopefully for you readers – is a way to get away from all that.  It’s supposed to be a lighthearted look into my life as a new mom, a way to find the funny in the everyday.  But there just doesn’t seem to be a lot of funny right now. I had a load of things I wanted to write about – and I will, eventually – but I can’t get the Sandy Hook tragedy out of my head.  Sitting down to write about my daughter’s birthday party knowing those 20 children will never have another birthday party seems somehow disrespectful.  And utterly heartbreaking. I feel at a loss.  Every time I see another news report on Newtown or a profile of a victim, I fight to keep my composure (not very successfully).  Honestly, I’ve tried to avoid it, cowardly though that may sound, because it becomes overwhelmingly painful to try to process this tragedy.  I wonder, if this had happened before Elisabeth was born, before I was a parent, would it feel so intensely personal?  And then I realize that as horrible as I feel – someone with no personal connections to that community – I cannot begin to comprehend how the families of those killed must feel.  How do you comfort those families? How do you honor those precious children and their brave educators? I don’t know.  All I know is now that I’m a parent, the idea of anything happening to my daughter is single-handedly the most terrifying, gut-wrenching thought.  I pray fiercely that she will never be exposed to such violence or tragedy, that she will be able to hold onto childhood innocence for as long as possible.  And now my heart has broken over and over not only for those children and teachers so senselessly killed and their families, but also for all those children who...

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The Night Stalker Strikes Again

Posted on Oct 19, 2012 in Uncategorized

The Night Stalker.  That’s what my parents have named Elisabeth.  That, and Demon Baby.  You can probably guess how our nights have been going lately. My brain is too muddled from lack of sleep to remember if I ever shared with you how I sleep trained Elisabeth.  In case not, here’s a recap:  The child resisted sleep with all her power.  After months of Elisabeth SCREAMING before every nap time (no matter how much rocking, cuddling, singing, etc.) for sometimes upward of an hour, falling asleep in my arms and then waking the moment I placed in her her crib (over and over and over again), taking naps that averaged 20-25 minutes, and waking up several times throughout the night, I had reached the end of my rope.  I decided the best option for all parties involved would be to sleep train the kid, and the method I chose was Ferber’s.  Otherwise known as (mistakenly, in my opinion) the “Cry It Out” method. I can hear the gasps now!  How could she!  That cruel, cruel mother!  That poor child is ruined!  Here’s how I see it.  Elisabeth was crying before every nap and every bedtime anyway.  So instead of letting her cry in my arms for an hour I let her cry in her crib for 20-30 minutes while I periodically checked on her, until she fell asleep on her own.  And after a couple of days, the crying stopped.  And she slept.  And stayed asleep.  And I slept.  AND IT WAS GLORIOUS. -Sigh-  It was a nice month while it lasted. Since traveling to the states, Elisabeth’s sleep has been all sorts of messed up.  I had hoped that once the initial jet lag had worn off and we had settled down from our travels around the country, she would simply slip back into her sleep trained ways.  I should know better than to ever assume such silly things… No, no.  Instead we have the Night Stalker/Demon Baby.  The non-sleeping baby has returned with a vengeance.  The baby who thinks 30 minutes constitutes a nap.  Unless of course...

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The Tongue Gave Me Hives

Posted on Oct 12, 2012 in Uncategorized

I have allergies.  Pretty bad allergies.  Not “I carry an EpiPen on me in case I inhale a whiff of peanut dust and go into anaphylactic shock” bad (thank goodness), but more like a “I turn into a wheezy, sneezey, runny-nosed mess if I’m within 30 feet of your furry pet” bad.  One time I was visiting Damon (before we were married) and sat on his sofa.  His roommate had recently bought a dog who also liked to sit on that very same sofa, unbeknownst to me.  Within twenty minutes my right eye had completely swollen shut.  Did I mention this was the night of the Hornet Ball?  Nothing accessorizes an evening gown like a red, swollen eye! After far too many incidents like that, I learned to stockpile the Claritin and Benedryl and carry tissue on me at all time. Luckily I don’t have food allergies.  Your grasses, pollens, insect bites, pets, dust, etc. etc. will all fell me.  But food, no.  Or so I thought. Last week my mom, Elisabeth and I drove up to San Francisco to visit friends and celebrate my aunt’s 70th birthday.  It was at this birthday party on Saturday evening when I had a sudden allergy attack – but to what?  “It must be the flowers,” my mom suggested.  Indeed, there were a lot of flowers.  So I popped a Benedryl, drifted off into a drug-induced sleep, and awoke… with a rash all over my chest.  Attractive, I know. “It must be the flowers,” my mom said again that morning.  Eh, unlikely.  Though I didn’t believe the flowers from a party the previous evening had caused me to break out in a rash, I wasn’t going to fret.  It would go away on its own.  This was Sunday.  On Monday, the rash had spread to my torso and was a little redder, a little itchier.  On Tuesday, it had completely taken over my chest, stomach, back, and was creeping up my neck and down my arms.  At that point I decided I should go to the doctor, before it spread to my...

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Travel Time. Again.

Posted on Sep 27, 2012 in Travel Traumas, Uncategorized

“I can’t wait to travel internationally with a baby, by myself,” said no one ever.  Like, ever. And let me tell you why: It will be the longest 9 hours and 41 minutes of your life.  And that doesn’t even count airport time. And then you’ll have to deal with a seriously jet lagged infant. Let’s rewind.  About a week and a half ago, I packed (and packed and packed) Elisabeth and me up for an extended trip to the States.  With Damon on deployment, it made sense to go stay to my parents’ house in CA where I won’t have to do laundry or cook or get up with the baby in the middle of the night to pass some of the deployment with family and friends.  If you’re a regular reader of my blog, you know that traveling with the little one is nothing new for me.  Elisabeth went on her first flight at two months old and just hasn’t stopped flying since.  Heck, this past trip from Tokyo to Los Angeles was her fourth international flight.  Sixth if you include Hong Kong, which practically doesn’t count since flight time was under four hours.  But anyway, this kid has earned her wings. As for me, even though I’d always had adult travel companions on those past international trips, I’d also flown with the baby enough times by myself to feel mildly confident that this trip would be just fine. Isn’t it funny how when you have even the slightest amount of confidence the world decides to throw it back in your face by keeping your baby awake the majority of a 10-hour red-eye flight?  And then that baby – who had been successfully Ferberized without much drama and had been peacefully sleeping through the nights and taking real hour-long naps for weeks now – begins waking up every few hours throughout the night and once again refuses naps. Yeah, that happened. In fact, I’m writing this blog on the floor of Elisabeth’s temporary bedroom in California while she whimpers and cries and pulls herself up in her...

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