Remember back in the pre-Yahoo days when people actually wrote letters and sent each other cards through the mail? I sure don’t. As is the case with most people in their early- to mid-20s, I also have no idea how to use a card catalogue in a library.
   My generation was the first one to be exposed to the Internet at a fairly young age.  It no longer mattered if you were a genius or dumb as a brick. Everybody had the same, shamefully easy method of gathering information. All a person had to do was click a mouse, type in a few words, and a plethora of knowledge was at their fingertips.
   I don’t even think I ever had a diary when I was a ‘tween. Instead of writing to an audience of one, I decided to write to an audience of thousands. Blogging sites like Open Diary and LiveJournal were becoming popular in the early 2000’s. Blogs, much like notebooks or diaries, enabled people to pour their hearts and souls out through the written word. Most of the Web sites allowed users to leave each other inspirational or empathetic comments.
   It was like finding the Holy Grail to a 13-year-old. Suddenly, I had people cheering me on in my quest to date Ricky, the hottie in my third-period biology class. There were 30 different shoulders to cry on when again, Ricky did not ask me to the Homecoming dance. It was magical.
   Today, blogs not only serve a purpose for heartbroken teenagers, but also for politicians and journalists. They are a way to provide a specific audience with the information they crave. There are “foodies,” blogs dedicated to all things food, entertainment blogs, dating blogs, blogs about pets, and I’m sure there is even a blog out there about the joys of reupholstering sofas.
   Philadelphia even has its own circle of famous bloggers. In fact, there is going to be a luncheon to celebrate some of the city’s most famous. The Philadelphia Public Relations Association (PPRA) will be hosting a luncheon on Feb. 24 to introduce the public to some of the city’s most influential bloggers, including Dan Gross from Philly.com and The Philadelphia Daily News , Eric Smith of uwishunu.com, Hugh E. Dillon of PhillyChitChat.com, and Dan McQuade, who writes Philadelphia Will Do powered by Philadelphia Weekly. 
    The event starts at 11:30 a.m. and runs until 1:30 p.m. Tickets cost $45 for members of PPRA and $55 for non-members. The event will be held at the Radisson-Warwick Hotel in the Assembly and Grand Ballroom, located at 1701 Locust St., Philadelphia.
   For more information, and to order tickets, go to www.associationsites.com/page.cfm?usr=ppra&pageid=4843.
 

   I think it is a good thing when we become adults we cannot remember things that happened to us as a child. Cutting teeth is one of those things. I don't recall what that feels like, and I'm very grateful for that.

   Unfortunately, my daughter can't say the same. She “remembers” it, because it is a pain she is enduring every day. I think at 12 months old, it is probably about the most traumatic thing that has happened in her “entire” life.

   As with any pain your child has, as a parent, I wish I could endure it for her. I wish I could take it away, and that she'd never feel an ounce of pain for the rest of her life. But, let's face it, so far at least that is impossible.

   Instead, my husband and I are learning to deal with our own pain: the lack of sleep. Puffy, sore gums, a low-grade fever, puddles of drool, it is a series of unpleasant symptoms for all involved. However, the toughest for us all is the waking every few hours.

»  More Teething tot = zero sleep

    In my opinion, there are two kinds of people in this world; people who love cats, and people who love dogs. A person can be fond of both types of species, but they can only be truly dedicated to one or the other.
    I live in a two-bedroom apartment in South Philadelphia. I grew up with dogs in the house, and always wanted to get one of my own. I had to be very picky about choosing the right dog. I had inherited two very strong-willed cats by different means. (One followed me home from a bar one night, and the other I was cat-sitting for a friend, though she moved across the country without my knowledge, and a year later, I am still "cat-sitting.")
I needed a dog that was sociable with cats and children, who was laid-back, and who would be okay by itself for long periods of time while I was at work.
    I started visiting local shelters and combing the Internet for dogs that fit the standards that I was looking for. I finally found an ad for a 4-year-old English Bulldog named Brittany and set up an appointment to meet her.
    The dog was seriously one of the ugliest animals I had ever seen in my life.  Brittany had a massive under-bite and a cleft lip. She had one lone fang that stuck out of her sagging, sloppy mouth. She had needed her lower eyelid partly removed for medical reasons and the aftermath of the surgery left the right side of her face looking like it was about to melt off of her skull. Proportionally, she looked like somebody fused the head of a Mastiff onto the body of a Beagle.
    To make matters worse, my mother thought it would be hysterical to buy Brittany a pink, rhinestone collar and matching leash. Brittany now resembled Danny Devito in a prom dress.
    The first night I had her, I did not want to leave her alone so I let her sleep in bed with me. Brittany took it upon herself to sprawl right in the middle of the bed. I tried desperately to move her to one side, but she became dead weight. It was a lot like trying to move a 50-pound boulder from the sofa. In the end, I gave up, and slept on the floor.
    Brittany was a very sociable dog. She was a little diva and loved to be the center of attention. She did not mind the cats and loved children. She also was a dream when left alone. She did have a couple of weaknesses though, one of them being squirrels.
    I did not realize how bad her obsession with squirrels was until I took her to the park for the very first time. It was 6 A.M. on a Monday, and I am not a morning person. Bleary eyed and stumbling, I let my dog lead me to the park. I had not even bothered to change out of my pajamas and my hair looked like that of a Troll doll. Once we arrived, she did her business, and then we proceeded to walk the length of the park. All of a sudden, a squirrel darted out from underneath the bushes, and Brittany almost yanked my arm out of its socket. English Bulldogs are shaped like bullets, and once set in motion, it is very hard to stop them, especially when one is still half asleep. Needless to say, it took me 20 minutes to catch my dog. We now avoid the park on weekdays.
    I think owning a dog for the very first time makes you grow up a little bit. Your life is not completely your own anymore. You have to plan your days around your dog's potty schedule and feeding time. If you do decide to go on vacation, if even for a weekend, you have to find somebody to puppy-sit.
    The city shelters are overflowing with unwanted animals. There has been much debate about overthrowing the No Kill Law that most of the city's shelters abide by now. I am so glad I had the chance to adopt Brittany and give her a new life. She might not be a pretty dog, but she has a pretty soul, and has made my life that much richer.

   There’s a saying, “It’s a small world.” It is. I say it regularly, yet when I’m reminded of just how small our world is, it never ceases to amaze me.
   I planned a trip to the Reading Terminal Market for the weekend. I meant to get up early, go first thing and spend the rest of my Saturday afternoon cooking with my newly purchased ingredients. I was going to buy food to prepare a Valentines Day feast and needed to get going on it.
   But one thing led to another, as usual in my life, and I left the house in the afternoon. Then I got stuck in traffic, made a wrong turn and got turned around. It was nearly 4 p.m. by the time I parked and started walking to the market.
   Suddenly, I saw what looked like a familiar man, but I ignored it. I’ve only lived in the city for a few months and the chances of me running into someone familiar are slim.
   Then, my professor from University of Missouri-Rolla, said, “Molly?”
   It was him. Dr. Wayne Bledsoe, and his wife, Deb, were walking down the street. I love this couple, and they practically adopted me in my collegiate years. I worked as a circulation editor and columnist for a bluegrass magazine they owned. Under Deb’s tutelage, I learned about fashion, etiquette, work ethics and my then-suffering love life. She taught me a lot about journalism and so much more, especially the love life part. She schooled me on the importance of demanding respect from a significant other.
   Wayne taught me about history in lecture-style classes and how to put together a great essay among other things. Despite our close relationship and how much I valued them both as mentors, the Bledsoes and I lost touch.
   Since I moved from Missouri four years ago, I had only seen Deb once, when I visited my alma mater. Last they heard, I was living in Rehoboth Beach, Del.
   Here they were, on the streets of Philly, walking out of the market, just as I was going into it. I had no idea they would be in town on a one-day layover. Turns out they went to New York City to see the West Minster Dog Show and on their way back stopped over to see a niece who lives in University City. They, too, had planned to go to the market in the morning, but were running late.
   We caught up on gossip, what’s new in small-town Missouri and changes in the university. They sold the magazine and are both retired now, they’re in perfect health, and they said they loved visiting Philly, and of course, running into an old friend, quite accidentally.
   It really is a small world. 

    "Tweet, Tweet," says Philly.

The world seems like a very small place now-a-days. Everybody is connected to one another and anonymity hardly exists anymore thanks to the Internet. It's possible Google old classmates ancestors, and that fifth cousin twice removed that you never met in real life. Social networking sites like Facebook and Myspace have enabled the total world population to be only a mouse-click away. These sites allow you to follow a person's every move; where they live and work, their current relationship status, and how they're feeling on a particular day.

Other networking sites, like Twitter.com, have started catering to the population's love of instant access and need for speedy information. Twitter allows its users to send out "tweets," brief status updates about what the user is doing or feeling, to all of their "friends." Now a person can know exactly what their brother is eating for breakfast in his cubicle or how their best friend is feeling after her recent breakup.

Continuous knowledge of what people are doing can have a downside. Twitter has become somewhat of a minefield of ludicrous over-sharers. Some people have to send out a "tweet" every time they have a new thought. This overfeed can be a little daunting for some people and turn them off to the Web site entirely.

»  More Still time to Tweet, Philly

In the top floor of the 2009 Philadelphia International Auto Show exhibit, employees were parking a Verdi-Ithaca green Lamborghini Murcielago. Its 640 hp, mid-rear-mounted V-12 filled the room with spent hydrocarbons. Those looking to own this car will have to dole out $413,000– that’s after all options, including a $5,400 “option” for the owner’s manual to be in “American.” It shared the room with its slightly less expensive cousin, the Gallardo, and a couple of Rolls-Royces and Maserati.

Car shows are never really defined by silly, lowly-slung exotics that cost more than a house in the suburbs – or 20 fully-optioned Toyota Corollas at $20,050 a piece. However, the atmosphere at this year’s installment of the auto show was noticeably stark – and the top floor was where some of the excitement was happening.

Media day, which usually features several manufacturers pulling the wraps off of their new concept cars – literally – in varying stages of production, included just one unveiling – the 2010 Ford Taurus.

That’s right. Ford unveiled the newest iteration of its bread-and-butter family sedan. Though the Taurus revolutionized the industry when it was unveiled in 1985 as an ’86 model, and is more powerful and arguably better looking than ever, the fact remains – the only unveiling this year was a family car whose name is synonymous with rental fleets and family vacations.

»  More Auto Show afterthoughts

   It is coming, just around the corner. Whether you remember or not, whether you celebrate or not, it will arrive. Many people call it a holiday created by the card industry. Others feel it is so commercialized and forced at this point, that it is nearly against the feeling of love to celebrate it.

    Of course, I am talking about Valentine's Day. This year, the “holiday” falls on Saturday. I am sure this is very good news for the restaurant industry. May not be great news for the flower industry, which may suffer in my calculations since women everywhere will not be in the office, the famed place to delivery flowers. I mean, you do it all for the display of love, right?! Kidding... somewhat.

    Regardless of the day it falls on, each year the holiday seems strange to me. I think it is odd to have the calendar tell me what day to show my love on. After all, you should show the feelings you have for your loved ones everyday, not just when cupid says so.

    Having two small children and limited budget, like many parents these days, we aren't in any position to make a big deal of the day as it is. But, I think stuck in this year's situation, it makes me realize just how important it is to show love in other ways. Sure, Valentine's Day gives you a reminder to send posies, buy a card, purchase chocolates. But what of the other 364 days each year?

»  More Valentine's Day planning 101

   In my three years of being a mother, I have yet to hear a solid tip on getting a toddler to eat. My son is very well behaved. He doesn’t act up too often in public, he always says “please” and “thank you.” I’m not bragging (too much), but we’ve had strangers tell us how good both of our kids are. It is flattering.
   But there is one department of parenting I have yet to master, and that is getting my son to eat. Don’t get me wrong, I mean he is a healthy boy. He is in the 50th percentile of height and weight, and his pediatrician says he is perfectly normal.
   However, his normal diet consists of about five foods. For meals, my son will eat peanut butter and jelly, grilled cheese, chicken nuggets, pizza or meatballs. And, the chicken and meatballs are new additions of the last few months. Up until then, we thought he was a self-proclaimed vegetarian (even though is father and I are no where near vegetarian ourselves).
   We’ve asked doctors, other parents, friends, family, read tips online, listened to radio shows … nothing we’ve been told to try has worked. And, we’ve really tried it all.
   What is strange, in my opinion, is that up until about 18 months, he would eat nearly anything. At a younger age, my son at full-sized pork chops, a cut up hamburger, vegetables, well basically anything we put on his high chair tray.
   Now, my daughter is nearly a year old, and we are desperately trying to break our son’s habits before she catches on and develops the same. My daughter, much like my son at the same age, eats any and everything we let her. I don’t want, in a year from now, for us to be having the same battles with her as we do with him. (Though she is her own person, and with her brother’s influence or not, it is quite possible she’ll stop eating a variety of foods all on her own, in the same inexplicable manner as her brother.)
   My son somehow stays healthy. We drop in a vitamin supplement to his daily juice. He drinks two-percent milk when he wakes and right before bed. We sneak him “vegetables” in a Juicy Juice product called “Harvest Surprise” (a mix of vegetable and fruit juices that taste like fruit alone). He eats a good mix of fruits. And, while he’ll only eat about five “main courses,” they are at least semi-healthy choices, mixing some of the missing food groups in his diet.
   We have tried rewards, stickers, discipline, begging, letting him cry, not making alternatives … my son just won’t budge. We’ve cut foods into fun shapes, matched their colors, purchased fun plates, forks and spoons … nada.
   Part of our problem is his stubbornness, and no, I have no clue where he got that trait. Part of our problem is the lack of energy we, as parents, have. Getting him to eat would be a long and difficult road, and most nights after working all day, I don’t have the “enthusiasm” to argue it out with him and listen to the screaming.
   I always said I’d never be the mom that made dinner, then made the kids alternative meals. Yet, here we are.
   I have no other solutions, but I’d love to hear suggestions on this. Register online and comment! I need your help!
   In my three years of being a mother, I have yet to hear a solid tip on getting a toddler to eat. My son is very well behaved. He doesn’t act up too often in public, he always says “please” and “thank you.” I’m not bragging (too much), but we’ve had strangers tell us how good both of our kids are. It is flattering.
   But there is one department of parenting I have yet to master, and that is getting my son to eat. Don’t get me wrong, I mean he is a healthy boy. He is in the 50th percentile of height and weight, and his pediatrician says he is perfectly normal.
   However, his normal diet consists of about five foods. For meals, my son will eat peanut butter and jelly, grilled cheese, chicken nuggets, pizza or meatballs. And, the chicken and meatballs are new additions of the last few months. Up until then, we thought he was a self-proclaimed vegetarian (even though is father and I are no where near vegetarian ourselves).
   We’ve asked doctors, other parents, friends, family, read tips online, listened to radio shows … nothing we’ve been told to try has worked. And, we’ve really tried it all.
   What is strange, in my opinion, is that up until about 18 months, he would eat nearly anything. At a younger age, my son at full-sized pork chops, a cut up hamburger, vegetables, well basically anything we put on his high chair tray.
   Now, my daughter is nearly a year old, and we are desperately trying to break our son’s habits before she catches on and develops the same. My daughter, much like my son at the same age, eats any and everything we let her. I don’t want, in a year from now, for us to be having the same battles with her as we do with him. (Though she is her own person, and with her brother’s influence or not, it is quite possible she’ll stop eating a variety of foods all on her own, in the same inexplicable manner as her brother.)
   My son somehow stays healthy. We drop in a vitamin supplement to his daily juice. He drinks two-percent milk when he wakes and right before bed. We sneak him “vegetables” in a Juicy Juice product called “Harvest Surprise” (a mix of vegetable and fruit juices that taste like fruit alone). He eats a good mix of fruits. And, while he’ll only eat about five “main courses,” they are at least semi-healthy choices, mixing some of the missing food groups in his diet.
   We have tried rewards, stickers, discipline, begging, letting him cry, not making alternatives … my son just won’t budge. We’ve cut foods into fun shapes, matched their colors, purchased fun plates, forks and spoons … nada.
   Part of our problem is his stubbornness, and no, I have no clue where he got that trait. Part of our problem is the lack of energy we, as parents, have. Getting him to eat would be a long and difficult road, and most nights after working all day, I don’t have the “enthusiasm” to argue it out with him and listen to the screaming.
   I always said I’d never be the mom that made dinner, then made the kids alternative meals. Yet, here we are.
   I have no other solutions, but I’d love to hear suggestions on this. Register online and comment! I need your help!

    If I never saw winter ever again, that would be just fine by me. Since my family lives in the commonwealth, and this is where I was born in raised, in the grand Keystone State, I have always lived here. Someday, I swear, I'll honestly move to the tropical climates and the crystal blue waters of the Caribbean. But, until then, here I will remain.
    And, since I am here until the long-off future (or until I hit Powerball at least, whatever comes first), I am stuck with Old Man Winter.
    I grew up in northwestern Pennsylvania, home to lake-effect snowfalls and very long hard winters. When I came many years ago to the Philadelphia area, I found the “shorter” winters and far less snowfall to be a vacation. I have since come to hate even them.
    This past week of temperatures in the single digits, I have been reminded of the deep-rooted hatred I have for the cold. But, something I may hate more than winter itself is the weather man's coverage of said season.
    Let's start with the “real feel” temperature. The term “wind chill” wasn't enough? Somehow, we have come to an age of relaying not only actual temperatures, the temperature read on the thermometer, but also the “feel” of that same temperature. In other words, when the wind blows, those out in the terrible cold FEEL a cooler temperature than “actual.”
    I am not sure when this phenomenon began. I remember beginning to be annoyed with actual temps and then wind chills. But now the “real feel” is really more than I can bear.
    To top that, weather personalities have also in this week of bone-chilling temps, to just skim over the actual degrees. In nearly every coverage of the weather this week, I have heard that temperatures will be “in the teens” or “single digits.”
    Apparently, when the weather gets to a certain level of cold, we don't even give the actual temperatures either. I mean, if the day was to range between 51 and 59 or 41 and 49 degrees, we wouldn't glaze over it saying that the temps would be “in the forties.” We give an exact number.
    On the other hand, as soon as you step out the door these days, your breath is taken away. It makes your joints achy to walk in this weather, even a few short blocks. Your face blisters in the wind. And, forget taking the kids out! I hate to even run them to the store.
    I know in a few short months, we will be back to sunny days, playing outside and basking in the warm breezes. It seems an eternity away for now.
    Until then, I will continue my dreams of white sandy beaches, banana daiquiris and aqua marine waters. That and winning Powerball...