I got sparkplugged: The sequel

Talk about a rush! After months of dragging my feet with "I wish I could" and "I wanna do that" I finally got together with my girlfriend and former newsroom colleague for a marathon business brainstorming session.

We started at 7 and moved from the coffee shop to a restaurant bar and I got home at midnight! After much discussion, we decided to start two writing businesses and then purchased the available domain names before someone else could gobble them up.

I'll give a little taste of what's to come, but will save the rest for when we are up and running.

The first business will be called The Lively Times and will offer families, businesses, and interested parties one to four page newsletter options, made to look like a newspaper and complete with stories we write and provided photos--perfect for birth announcements, keeping in touch with long distance relatives, and business announcements.

The second is PMC Writing Services, and will offer clients personal writing services which include wedding vows, eulogies, resumes and cover letters, and much more.

See? Told you we got a lot done!

I'l be tired in the morning but it was so worth it! But before I go to bed, I'd like to give a big thank you to Sparkplugging and their Freelance Parent channel for getting me, well, sparkplugged!

And then there were two...

Wow does time fly with three blogs to manage, a kid to raise, and trying to keep up with the laundry.

And just when I thought I had a nice little routine going, I got two assignments from Metro Parent's print magazine with a January 3 deadline.

That's great-and totally sucks...all at the same time.

Since both stories are education related, that means I have to haul booty on making calls to teachers and parents BEFORE the Christmas break, with enough wiggle room factored in to allow for follow up calls when I am writing.

Add that to the fact that I do not want to be working on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, my birthday (the day after), New Year's Eve, or New Year's Day, and you see my dilema.

Part of me wanted to turn the assignments down, but that would have just been stupid.

So like a good freelancer who wants to pay her bills, I accepted them.

And now the clock starts ticking...

Baby's "firsts" and other magical moments

You may have to squint, but if you concentrate you can make it out.

That's right. You are looking at the word "Ass" typed on a cell phone. And the only reason this is blog-worthy is because it was typed by none other than my angelic little daughter.

No joke.

She was playing with our phone and all of a sudden I hear Sweeter guffaw (and I only use that word because it is what it actually sounded like...) before showing me the phone. And there it was, clear as day: My baby had texted her first word!

Bonus points for it being a bad one!

We are so proud.

For the love of blogging

Wow, it's been a while, huh? Buttercup and I were sick all weekend with a nasty flu bug that made life pretty miserable, and I spent all day in my PJ's trying to play blog catch-up over at Berrie Sweet Picks in order to get all relevant reviews and contests up in time for Christmas. I still have a few more to go, but I made a nice dent!

I love reviewing, but sometimes I wish I was getting paid for it. I think I spent the better part of 6 hours on my blog today, and I'm just as broke as when I clocked in this morning.

In either case, if you are interested in possibly winning some free goodies for the kids that you can tell them Santa dropped off, please feel free to visit Berrie Sweet Picks and comment on the contests that interest you!

I promise I have some deeply relevant and profound freelance writing insight to share with you...just not right now. My mind is numb, my fingers are about to go on a typing-strike, and I need to put all of the folded laundry away on my bed or I will have no place to sleep.

I'm sitting in a church right now with my daughter my mom, my four sisters, thee nephews, and my grandfather, my aunts, uncles, and cousins.

It's my mom's 50th birthday, but we celebrated that this past Saturday. We figured it would be easier that way.

See, today might be Thanksgiving, but it is also the first anniversary of my father's death. And as we have always done on each anniversary of a loved one's death, we are now sitting in a a memory; a beautiful church in Mexicantown here in Detroit. After the service, during which they will mention my father's name, we will head to my sister's house for our Thanksgiving meal.

I wasn't planning on blogging until after the holiday, but I thought it appropriate to repost the eualogy I gave at his funeral.

And Dad? I'm thankful you are still with us. Your spirit is strong and will always guide and comfort us.




Ignacio Rene Campos
July 24, 1957-November 27, 2007

He never told you that he loved you, and part of the deal was that you didn't say it to him, either.
But even though the words were not there, the actions on both sides of the fence said plenty.
He worked married his high school sweetheart, my mother, very young, and started a family. He could have walked away, but he didn't. For 30 years, he stayed. Taking care of her, and making sure she could stay home to take care of us, were his top priorities. For 20 years, he worked 80 hour work weeks between a factory and the restaurant he met my mother at in high school, to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.
Money was tight, and for the majority of the time, we were too young to realize that we tended to ask for too much. But instead of yelling at us, my father would get that pained "why did I do this to myself five times over" look on his face, give that dramatic under-the-breath sigh of his, and look at us in the eye before telling us it was time to start working.
As the oldest, my turn came when I turned 13. And before I knew it, my weekends were spent in Mexican Village black and red, bussing tables as my father waited on his longtime regulars. I quickly learned from my dad that work meant work, unless he said otherwise.
It was slow one night, and I was standing around talking to the other bussers. I literally had nothing to do at the time'; everyone had chips, waters were filled, tables cleaned. But my father wanted me to know the true meaning of responsibility. He walked right up to me with a smile on his face, and put his arm around my shoulder, and proceeded to tell me in Spanish that I was here to work, not talk.
"Pero no tengo nada que hacer," I told him, explaining that I was caught up.
"It doesn't matter," he told me. "Yuu are getting paid to work. Not talk. Encuentra algo que hacer."
And just like that, I found something to do, whether it be helping the other sections, helping the bartender with filling ice, or anything else I could do to stay busy. My father had spoken, after all.
During those years of two jobs, little sleep, and not many chances for Daddy-daughter time (for me or my four sisters), he never let us lose sight of the importance of love and respect for the importance of family.
I think, because of the long weekends at our aunt and uncle's house and the resulting Sunday family dinner for my parents to pick us up and take us home, we always knew that family was more important that anything. He gave up his only day to sleep as long as he wanted and go fishing on his boat or do something for himself so we could all spend time with our Tias, Tios, Guelo, primas, and primos.
My father was always giving of himself. Even if he grumbled about it, he was all bark and rarely bit. He'd get really mad at me for saying this, but my Dad's gruff, "Mess with the bull and get the horns" attitude, and surplus of machismo did more than just scare our friends...that tough exterior also protected a very generous, forgiving, and soft heart.
My father was a good man with a strength of character others cannot claim to possess. Honor and loyalty defined him.
I didn't tell him I loved him before he died, and I'm okay with that. We both knew.
We all knew.
And we'll remember him always.
(My dad wasn't one for pictures. This is our only formal photo together since I was 13. It was my wedding in 2002.)

Don't wait up, I'll be back after Turkey Day

I have so many things I want to blog about but no time to do it right now. Sweeter (the husband) is going out of state for business on Thanksgiving morning for up to five months, and we are frantically trying to get him packed and make the rounds with our families for pre-Thanksgiving celebrations.

So please bare with me. I'll be back after the holiday. And I hope you enjoy your turkey!

I got sparkplugged

I have to be honest: With all my dreams of where I'd be by now in my freelance writing career, I've pretty much come up with diddly. I mean, really, I have had some great clips in some great publications, but it took me until tonight to realize that maybe I wasn't working harder to get more work because it's time to switch up my specialties.

I think I got bored, plain and simple. Covering too many city council meetings and criminal court hearings (or any topic!) can get old after a while. And while I first thought that I really needed to look at if I was done with writing and needed to look for a "real" job, I got the kick in the pants I needed tonight ad saw the light: I'm not done with writing; I'm done with what I am currently writing about.

I had a recent article published in a very prestigious publication recently. Last year, I would have thrown a party when it got published. I would have sung about it from the rooftops and decided that the byline validated my childhood dreams of becoming THE GREATEST WRITER EVER.

This year, I just wiped my brow in relief that the editor did not hate me or my work so much that she would decide not to publish it and then sat down to blog about life with Buttercup and worked on a product review. That right there should have been a wake-up call.

(With that said, you can bet your sweet little boo-tays that I won't be turning down any future assignments should they come my way. I'm not an idiot. I just won't be pushing as hard for more work once I get myself going in my new specialty!)

So with the help of this article at the FreelanceParent at Sparkplugging, I'm now on a new writing warpath. I'm still working out the kinks in my head, but I'm pretty sure I know which direction I am headed in. All I have to do is get myself a nice little affordable web designer, start pitching new prospective clients, and voila! I am in business!

Waitress, I said NO vegetables!

It used to be that I could puree up any combination of vegetable, fruit, and meat without a harsh refusal from my daughter.

See, I followed the expert advice to prepare homemade baby foods and made sure to serve a variety of all things yummy and healthy. Peas? Check!

Squash? Check!

Banana and avocado mash? Check!

Pureed chicken noodle soup? And check again!

I really thought I had all my bases covered and naively believed that Buttercup would grow into an agreeable toddler who would gladly gobble up the dishes I lovingly prepared for her.

Yeah, and then she learned the word "no." And then mommy woke up. What I once imagined is now a far-gone dream, and veggies (in all forms except for sweet potato french fries), all meats (except Wendy's kid's cheeseburgers with no bun), and did I mention vegetables? Yeah? Well good, because it all ends up on the floor for the dogs.

Even trying to "hide" the veggies in a scrambled egg and cheese concoction resulted in this sweet little moment of "Mommy, what in God's name is this crap?"


Sweet, huh?

Baby-wearers unite (or why Motrin needs to apologize)

Watch out, I'm on a roll with this vlogging thing. This time, it's my response to Motrin's new ad campaign which bashes baby-wearing. Some crap about their meds melting away all of life's tensions caused by us wearing our babies in the slings that made us "official" moms in our fashion-slave ways. This video may also appear in New Baby, and all of Twitterland is tweeting like crazy about this. So way to go there, Motrin. And I'm waiting for an official apology.



By the way, here is the actual wording from the ad:

“Wearing your baby seems to be in fashion.
I mean, in theory it’s a great idea.
There’s the front baby carrier, sling, schwing, wrap, pouch.
And who knows what else they’ve come up with. Wear your baby on your side, your front, go hands free.
Supposedly, it’s a real bonding experience.
They say that babies carried close to the bond tend to cry less than others.
But what about me? Do moms that wear their babies cry more than those who don’t?
I sure do!
These things put a ton of strain on your back, your neck, your shoulders. Did I mention your back?!
I mean, I’ll put up with the pain because it’s a good kind of pain; it’s for my kid.
Plus, it totally makes me look like an official mom.
And so if I look tired and crazy, people will understand why."

Really, do I have to say anymore?

Handle with care...

So I got a flip camera and an invitation to paticipate as a mom vlogger on New Baby! How cool is that? I'm new at this and a bit nervous, but here is a cute little clip with Buttercup as she "helps" me pack for our impending move to Arizona.

The wake up call

You know your style is seriously cramped when you can't even pull a proper all-nighter.

That might not make sense to those who don't write for a living, but there comes a time in every writer's life that looming deadlines and too many responsibilities result in an old-fashioned, red-eyed, going to bed when the rest of the world wakes up kind of writing marathon.

And for me, well, let's just say that procrastination is my middle name and I can't seem to get jack done without a deadline actually kicking me in the ass.

Before I had Buttercup? No problem. I did this often when I brought work home with me, writing an article from fresh notes taken at the city council meeting I had just covered.

Now? I'm lucky if I can write past 1 a.m. thanks to my lil' sweetie's internal alarm clock. No matter what time this girl goes to bed, she wakes by 2 a.m. to finish the night off cuddled in my arms.

Sure, it is a fantastic way to end my evening. No complaints there. But it does strike me as funny how this nightly phenomenon finally hit home with the "Hey-you don't call the shots anymore" message that should have been clear months and months ago.

I'd write more, but it is 1:41 a.m. and I have 10 minutes to brush my teeth, wash my face, and get my jammies on before my boss yells at me for trying to sneak in some overtime again.

Tomorrow's history books

I wasn't panning to blog today, but I realized it is very important that I say something. Anything. Just so I can have a written reminder of how huge today actually is.

That may not be the most poetic of terms, but "huge" is a good word. The right one, I think, to describe the fact that at 8 a.m., Americans will, for the first time, have a black Presidential candidate on our ballots.

What a moment...

When Buttercup is much older and reading through her mommie's crazy ramblings, she may come across this post. And it will be a little piece of history for her. A piece, that no matter the outcome of the election, I am glad to provide.

Today, sweetheart, I voted for Barrack Obama. And I'm proud.